#where i would only pick four colors and have it passed down

[tunas-spriting]

now we have the kids as trolls!!

[tofuxtea]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊 + “𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑” 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 | 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 + 𝙘𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — dracule mihawk x fem!reader x shanks

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, threesome, cuckholding, fingering, praise (shanks), teasing + edging (mihawk), reader is shanks’ lover, shanks has both arms for the sake of the plot, porn with plot, “mama” and “sweetheart” are used by shanks, “darling” and “naughty girl” are used by mihawk, p in v sex, shanks watches mihawk fuck his girl and gets off to it!

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 2.7k words. got this idea from the ending scene where mihawk brings shanks luffy’s wanted poster. they gave such divorced husbands energy and i fucking loved it so much. also what i wouldn’t kill to be in between these two anyways ??! [kinktober m.list]

“bring out the reserve booze, boys.”

your captain had loudly cheered upon discovering the bounty that had been set on an old apprentice of his. that was nearly four hours ago, a rowdy party slowly beginning to wind down.

a majority of your fellow crew-mates had passed out by now, strewn out around in the sand and drunkenly muttering incoherencies in their sleep. the rest were sharing stories by the fire they were lighting, seeing as the sun was giving its final fiery orange hue from the horizon. night would come not long after.

you were still among the living, slowly working on your third cup of the night while swinging in shanks’ hammock. the man himself was busy with the remnants of his crew while they started the nightly bonfire, laughing and celebrating with them.

you smiled towards the man before you broke out into a yawn, realizing you had partied pretty hard that night. it was starting to wind down anyways, who was going to miss you for the rest of it?

so you stumbled out of the hammock with your drink in your hand and started to where the red force had been docked for the week, pausing when you heard a familiar voice calling for you.

“where’re you off to, sweetheart?” shanks asked, playfully swatting at beckman and roux as they not-so-quietly shot suggestive jokes at their captain.

you only smiled back. “off to the ship. you can come join me in a few if you’d like.” you remarked before strutting off, shaking your head as you walked when you heard the boys’ whoops and shouts at the wink you’d given him.

you trekked through the sand for a while before you were aboard the red force, heading straight for yours and shanks sleeping quarters. yet once you ducked inside the dinette, you were stopped short with a shout.

mihawk, shanks’ old rival and the one who had informed them of one monkey d. luffy’s bounty, sat at the dining bench, yellow eyes piercing right through you the second you walked in. “good god, mihawk.” you clutched your chest. “what’re you doin’ in here?” you asked him, laughing lightly.

“the party’s out there, you know.” he replied lazily, swirling the glass he had definitely taken from the ship’s cupboard before taking a sip.

“i should be telling you that.” you squinted warily at his cup. “that better not be shanks’ stashed booze.”

oh, it most definitely was. you could tell by the color alone. how he’d even found it was a mystery, though. he never told anybody where he hid his special liquor. but you only rolled your eyes and took a seat beside him, slumping back with a sigh. “party’s almost over.” you replied softly. “i’m surprised you stayed for so long. figured you’d have a lotta marine work to tend to.”

“i don’t work for them.” mihawk quickly shot you a narrow glance. then he paused and his eyes lowered to his cup. “i’m surprised he asked me to stay.”

“ah.” you nodded understandingly as you took a sip of your own drink. “i was, too. it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, you know.”

mihawk seemed to pick up on the little underlying suggestiveness in your voice and you noticed his eyebrows pinch together. but it wasn’t hardly the reaction you wanted.

truth was, you’d known him since he was shanks’ rival. the two engaged in battles constantly when they were younger, but over the years they grew farther and farther apart until they just stopped.

the two seemed to form a strange alliance a couple of years ago, which had unintentionally blossomed into something much more not long after that. with you being a key member of shanks’ crew and his lover, you often joined the two for drinks whenever they were together.

sometimes you guys would have too many. the first time it ever happened, it was completely unexpected. it was most definitely the alcohol that had you straddling mihawk’s lap, bucking into the hand between your legs while shanks watched the both of you, painfully hard in his pants.

the second time, however, was not the alcohol anymore. nor were the handful of times after that.

it went on for months. you were shared between the two men more times than you could count on your two hands. it had gotten to the point where you believed mihawk only wanted to pop up for drinks for that reason alone, seeing as the man would vanish not long after you and shanks would knock out. then, as his and shanks’ battles had been, he stopped coming by as often. and then he stopped completely.

the two of you tried to keep regular tabs on the man — not necessarily out of concern for his safety seeing as he had been deemed one of the seven warlords of the sea, but out of sheer curiosity — but eventually it became a second thought. while shanks was well aware that mihawk would never get off of his tail for any reason, you doubted that. at first you believed he was bored of the two of you. maybe he was looking for something new, which didn’t tie you into knots. maybe it was partly out of shame.

shame from having drunkenly fucked his old rival’s lover right in front of him. shame from having done it over and over for months. shame from having enjoyed it a little bit too much.

no matter the reason he once had, he was back now. he’d traveled from wherever he had once been to give shanks a piece of paper. a piece of paper that the crew would have stumbled onto regardless — seeing as the bounty that they were celebrating was the highest in all of the east blue. the kid would’ve become a ship-hold name in no time. and as you stared at the side of mihawk’s motionless face, you knew that he knew that, too.

“you’ve missed me, darling?” you knew he was baiting you the second that name left his mouth, and fortunately for him it was working. your lips slowly curled upwards into an impish smirk and you breathed out a weak laugh.

“you could say that.” you replied with a shrug. you weren’t planning on losing to his games so quickly. he’d made you wait so damn long, after all. “didn’t you?” feigning cluelessness, you leaned into him and slid your palm over his clothed leg.

mihawk didn’t flinch, glancing first at the hand that slowly started moving upwards and then into your eyes. for the first time that night, he stared at you. his eyes were squinted slightly like he was questioning your actions, even though he was well aware of what you were doing.

part of you had not an inkling of knowledge of what he was thinking about. he’d left his cup onto the table in front of him, letting you know you had his attention, but his expression was unreadable, as was his body. but all it took was one look into his yellow eyes that washed away all of your doubt. those never lied to you. you looked down at his lips, running your tongue over your own as you found yourself craving him. his touch, his lips, him.

he brought his hand up to your face, gently pinching your jaw between his fingers as he tilted your head back just a little bit. “i did.” he finally admitted after a long and tense silence. he spoke quietly now, like if he was even slightly too loud, the moment would end.

yet it still did. a noise coming from the entrance made both of your heads turn, and shanks froze as he shut the door behind him, eyeing the scene before him. then he broke out into a wide grin. “i see you got to her before i could.” he took his bottom lip between his teeth as he strode up to the table, eyeing you like a piece of meat. “how ‘bout we take this to bed before the others come lookin’ f’me, hm?”

you could smell the booze on his breath as he pulled you to your feet. you followed him to the room you shared with him, mihawk at your side with his hand pressed into the small of your back. you swore you could see a gentle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he walked, but you’d forgotten all about it once the door shut behind you and shanks pounced on you.

his lips crashed onto yours, wasting no time to push his tongue into your mouth. you moaned, all of the fight leaving your body as he guided you towards the bed. he had a tight grip on your wrist, his other hand squeezing your exposed hip with lust-fueled fervor. you could feel mihawk’s gaze on the both of you and soon you heard his coat hit the ground. your top was next, shanks releasing you only to peel the tight shirt from your torso and toss it aside.

both pairs of eyes shamelessly raked down your naked body, shanks wasting no time to get rid of your shorts next.

“don’t just stare now, mihawk.” you spoke with a devilish smile as you sat yourself on the edge of the bed. the man got the message and followed you, slotting himself between your legs and caging you between his arms. you gently squeezed his hips with your thighs with a giggle before pulling him down into a heated kiss, grasping the brim of his hat and throwing it into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. mihawk groaned against your lips and he bucked into your clothed heat, drawing a whine from you.

your fingers raked through his hair, pulling at his dark ruffled curls each time he would rock his hips into yours. “mihawk,” you purred his name into his ear the moment he pulled away, enjoying the way his breath slightly hitched at the sound of your voice. your hand dove between your bodies and you desperately tugged at the waistband of his pants. “please. need you so badly.” you mindlessly babbled on.

“i’ve never seen her this desperate,” shanks whispered as he crept up behind you on the bed. “c’mon, mama, use your words. tell him where you want him.” the red-haired man looped his arms underneath your armpits, pulling you flush against his chest. he spoke tauntingly, a shit-eating smirk on his face as he looked down at you.

you whined, eyes squeezing shut with what felt like agonizing pain. “need you inside me, please.” you writhed in shanks’ hold, trying to rut up into mihawk’s clothed erection.

“you’ve already made her wait this long.” shanks now stared at mihawk with a lazy grin, waiting to see what he’d do next.

he shot shanks a narrow glance before turning back to you, eyeing the tears that were welling in your waterline because of him. “i suppose i have.” your eyes lit up at his confession and you waited for him to fulfill your wishes.

instead, he lifted himself off of you, completely deaf to your garbled protests, and lowered himself onto his knees beside the bed. you jumped when he pressed the pad of his finger against the damp spot on your panties, his eyes finding yours. “already so wet and i haven’t even touched you yet. naughty girl.” he spoke lowly as he hooked his slender fingers into the waistband of your panties and peeled them down your legs.

mihawk hooked your legs over his shoulders as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. you very poorly bit back a cry and let your head fall back onto shanks’ shoulder. he laughed softly.

“so noisy already, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

mihawk’s lips drew closer and closer to where you needed him most, drinking up every single noise you made because of him. his hand left your thigh and he started circling your clit with his thumb, watching your face morph with pleasure. you writhed around, wanting so desperately to squeeze your legs shut or card your fingers through his hair, but shanks had your arms restrained behind your back.

you bit your lip to keep your cries from spilling out each time mihawk brushed over your sensitive clit. the sensation was already winding up the coil in your gut and you could feel your orgasm building up fast.

“c’mon, sweetheart, let us hear those pretty noises. for us, hm?” shanks cooed into your ear, one of his arms releasing its hold on you to grasp your jaw, his thumb pushing past your lips and onto the flat of your tongue.

you gasped at the intrusion, and mihawk took your moment of weakness to slide his middle and ring fingers into your cunt. you choked against an obscene moan, and your walls clenched around his digits.

“there we go.” shanks mumbled, satisfied as more and more moans spilled from your mouth with each thrust of mihawk’s fingers. “ya sound so pretty for us, mama.”

mihawk was unrelenting, thrusting his fingers inside of you to the knuckle and keeping the pace he knew melted you every time. he could sense your orgasm nearing as your cries grew higher and your thighs started to tremble in his grasp.

he kept going until you were just about to come crashing down, your eyes squeezed shut with anticipation when he suddenly pulled his fingers out.

a sob tore from your throat. “no, nonono, mihawk!” you tried to chase after him as he lifted himself to his feet, but shanks held you securely in place.

it was pitiful, really.

“no need to cry, darling, you’ll get what you want.” mihawk towered over you, gently wiping the fat tear that had rolled down your temple. it was then that you became aware of the distance shanks had put between you and himself. your arms were freed from his grasp, but it wasn’t like you had the strength or mind to use them.

mihawk’s other hand swiftly nudged his pants down his hips, just enough to free his hard cock, before swooping down to catch you in a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth, drinking in the taste of booze that still lingered on his tongue.

the man pushed himself inside of you, groaning softly into your ear as your velvety walls sucked him in. you cried out and grasped his arms to try to keep yourself grounded. “mihawk!” you moaned when he started thrusting, his pace already unrelenting.

you could hear shanks just beside you, groaning lowly at the sight before him while he jerked his aching cock in his fist. he stared at your face, which was twisted up with utter pleasure, through hooded lids.

a cry slipped from your lips with each of mihawk’s slow, deep thrusts. it was a feeling so familiar yet so foreign after so long of not having him. you’d almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you up, how he was able to hit every single blissful spot inside of you.

you clung to him, your nails gently digging into his skin while he planted sloppy kisses to your neck. you knew they would blossom into bruises that you wouldn’t be able to explain to the rest of the crew the next day.

it didn’t take much longer before you were close, barely able to warn mihawk of your quickly approaching orgasm. but he already knew. he could tell by the way your eyes squeezed shut and how your whines had gotten much higher than before.

“that’s it, darling. just let go.” his palm soothingly slid up and down the side of your waist while he fucked you through your orgasm. your knuckles went white with how tightly you held his biceps and your head lulled back as a string of incoherent curses and moans flew from your swollen lips.

shanks’ breath hitched at the unfolding scene. “fuck, you look so pretty when you come, sweetheart. just for us.” he spoke against gritted teeth as his own orgasm washed over him, thick ropes of cum painting his own hand.

mihawk pulled out moments later, his seed landing on your lower stomach with a groan. his hooded eyes lingered on your cunt, messy with your own cum as it started to drip out of you. the sight nearly made him hard again within seconds.

you laid still, taking a minute to catch your breath when a low laugh from shanks made you pick your head back up.

“don’t fall asleep on us now, mama, we ain’t done yet.”

something about shanks and the word “mama” has done something irreversible and irreparable to my brain chemistry.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 4- The Chase

Summary: You can only keep running from Frankie Morales for so long. At some point, he'll catch up to you, whether you like it, or not.

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Do I spy a hint of... ✨feelings✨??? Yearning, a hint of teenage violence (Santi deserves it, it's okay), the appearance of the Miller Brothers, Frankie basically looking like this 🥺 for the last half of this chapter, banter because I live for it

A/N: I'm convinced that teenage Frankie and the Frontier Boys are the best characters to write for, period 😭 I never thought I would live to see the day where my chapters are less than 5K (?!?) but I'm really trying to be better about posting on a schedule- If you would rather have them be longer and wait two weeks between chapters instead of once a week, let ya girl know 🤷🏼‍♀️ Thank you for all of your kind words about this story, your kind comments literally fuel me and make my heart explode, ily 🥹💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Fall of 2005, Age 16

For as much as he hates school, there will be two classes Frankie knows he’ll always pass with flying colors- Gym and Math. 

When he and Santi went to pick up their 11th grade class schedules before the start of the school year, you would have thought they’d won the lottery when they looked down on the crinkled half sheets of paper to find they were both in the same 6th period gym class. 

Five weeks into the start of Junior year, Frankie’s now convinced that Santi and his new friends, Will and Benny Miller, are in on some sort of scheme to make him fail the one class he’s guaranteed an “A” in. 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, for the love of God, will you please slow down?!” 

Santi’s all but huffing at the pace Frankie had set for the four of them to run the two miles they’re supposed to finish by the end of class, only three of the eight laps they need to run around the track completed. 

“We’re not even going that fast, Santi, you’re fine.” 

Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way his friend is laboring behind him. Sure, Santi’s got football to thank for keeping him looking less like a gangly string bean than Frankie does, but even at 16, the boyish satisfaction of knowing he’ll always be faster than his friend is undeniable.

“Do you do like, cross country or somethin’, Frankie?” 

“Yeah man, I thought Santi said you swam not ran.” 

The Miller Brothers were a new addition to his and Santi’s long standing friendship duo. Will and Benny moved from North Carolina over the summer and had befriended Santi after a few weeks of preseason football camp that the high school held before the start of the school year. Of course, that meant Frankie became friends by proxy shortly after. 

Frankie was fond enough of the two, but the group was still stuck in the awkward dating phase of friendship where everything was just enough of a pissing match to prove that they were worthy enough of each other’s company. 

“Yeah, I’m on the swim team, I don’t do cross country or anything like that.” Frankie shrugs, rounding the curve of the track with ease as he leads the pack to their halfway point. 

“Then how the hell did you get so fast?” Benny pants, the straw blonde hair matted to his forehead with sweat scrunching as he pinches his brows in a mixture of confusion and unadmitted pain. 

“‘Cause he likes to go running with MacKenzie.” 

Santi’s lips curl to a devious smile as he watches Frankie’s face grow red from his sing-songy taunting. At least with the Millers, Frankie could pretend to chalk the hot, pink sting in his cheeks to the mile he’s been running. Unfortunately, he can’t assume the same with Santi. 

“Shut up, Santi.” Frankie grumbles, picking up his pace to the point he knows it’ll make Santi’s lungs strain just enough to keep him from rambling. 

“Oh shit, like, MacKenzie Anderson, MacKenzie?” Will’s face lights up, his less than lengthy friendship making him blissfully unaware of the history between you and Frankie, “She’s hot.” 

“Ew, n- no, she’s not. That’s weird.” 

The other three are surprised Frankie’s pants have yet to set on fire after such a bold lie. 

“They go run together every weekend.” 

At this point, it’s pure mockery the way Santi is teasing him, pushing Frankie to his limits to see how much he can get away with before his friend breaks. 

“So like, are you guys, dating or something?” 

“What?! No! No- She’s like, my best friend. I just- She plays soccer, so I go run with her to help her train and stuff. It’s good cardio, anyways.” 

Frankie doesn’t mean to snap at Benny for his question. It’s a secondary response to the way his chest is tightening and heart is racing as the eyes of all his friends stay peeled to him, like a guilty suspect in a courtroom everyone is waiting to catch in the midst of their lie. 

“Running’s not the only kind of cardio he wishes he was doing with MacKenzie, huh Frankie?” 

The boys are too busy snickering at each other to realize that Frankie’s completely stopped in his tracks ahead of them, turning around with arms outstretched to greet Santi with a brute shove to the ground as they collide. 

“I said shut UP, Santi!”

Frankie doesn’t intend for it to draw as much attention as it does, how the way he’s practically screaming at his friend he’s pushed to the ground has garnered the attention of everyone else in his gym class.

“Jesus, Frankie, it was just a joke! Chill out!” 

Will and Benny help Santi off the rubber of the track, leaving him and Frankie in a silent stare down of flared nostrils and gritted teeth, bodies boiling with teenage testosterone. 

Despite his rage, Frankie has enough self control to keep from saying (or doing) anything else he’ll regret, forcing himself to take off running in a frustrated huff of silence, heart in his throat and fists clenched, leaving behind his group of friends.  

“Shit. Is he always like that when you talk about her?” Will asks, still slightly stunned by the altercation he’s just witnessed, considering Frankie’s usual calm and quiet demeanor. 

“Yup.” Santi replies, popping the “p” at the end of his answer, “Well, not always this bad, but still,  ya know?”  

“Why?” Benny chimes in, the three of them slowly beginning their trot back around the track, lengths behind their fuming friend. 

“‘Cause they’re like, secretly in love with each other. They say they’re just friends, but they act like they’re fucking married.” Santi pretends to gag as he forces his eyes to roll as far back in his head as they possibly can. “He’s been extra pissy because yesterday he found out this guy, Nick Walsh, who’s some senior on the boy’s soccer team, tried to ask her to Homecoming.” 

“Did she say yes?” 

“No! That’s the thing! I don’t know why he’s got his fucking granny panties in a knot about it. Whatever, man. Not my problem.” 

The Miller brothers exchange intrigued glances, wondering how much more they can pry out of Santi as they mope around the track, hoping they can at least make the second half of their two miles entertaining. 

“If he’s mad about it, why didn’t he just ask her?” Will shrugs, offering up what seems like a reasonable solution to his new friend’s problem. 

“Ask him, dude. I have no fucking clue. They’re going with the same group of friends, so they’re gonna spend the whole night together, anyways. Honestly, if you want my opinion, I think he knows he doesn’t have the balls to nut up and ask her himself ‘cause he’s worried she’s gonna say no.” 

Despite the 23 other kids in the class who are also being forced to run circles around the track, there’s only one who makes the three of them freeze as he passes by, feeling the hole he’s burning through the back of their heads. Santi knows he’s too loudmouthed for his own good, and that there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Frankie didn’t make out what he had to say as he snuck up behind him. 

And he's right. Frankie hears every word.

If he wasn’t at school, he wouldn’t think twice about punching Santi so hard in the gut it would knock the wind right out of him. But right now, all he can do is keep running, faster and faster, one foot in front of the other. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, no one will be able to see the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, or the disappointment that’s drained every ounce of color he’s got left in his face. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the cold, hard truth of the way Santi’s words ring in his ears and put bricks in his chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he runs fast enough, somewhere along the worn high school track he’ll find the courage to prove himself wrong. 

You, Present 

You’re convinced he’s following you. He has to be. 

All you wanted to do this morning was to go for a run to clear your head, to blow off some steam after the shit show that had been yesterday’s first interaction with Frankie in the past three years. You were confined to your room for the better half of the day, your dad keeping Frankie hostage in your home far too long for your liking. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to deny a dying man whatever he wants, even if it’s Frankie Morales’s unwelcome presence in your living room. It also meant having to listen to your dad ramble about Frankie for the next several hours after he’d left, politely nodding at all the compliments and praise your father had to give him while your blood boiled in silence. 

Now, all you wanted to do was to run until your head was free of Frankie for just a little while.

It seemed like Frankie had other plans. 

You gave him the benefit of the doubt the first quarter mile, hell, you even tried to just play it off as unlucky timing at the half mile point. But now, you’re a mile into your run, turning on to Fuller Street with Frankie still trotting behind you. It’s clearly not an accident he’s chosen the same path for his morning jog. 

“There are other ways you can go run, you know.” You shout at Frankie without even turning your head over your shoulder, thinking that maybe he’s assumed you hadn’t noticed him and your not so subtle suggestion will get him to turn around. 

“It’s a free country. I can run where I want.” 

Part of you wishes you would have turned to look back at him so he could see the way your eyes met the back of your skull from rolling them so hard, but you keep your gaze glued to the pavement in front of you. You won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.  

“Can you please just go run somewhere else? I’m just trying to enjoy my morning and you’re not helping, Frankie.” 

“Not trying to bother you, just trying to run. I didn’t have anything to say until you started talking to me.” 

You know if you turned around right now, he’d have that stupid little smug grin hiding in the corner of his cheeks. A battle of wits is his favorite game to play. He’s learned how to strategize, to stay calm, cool and collected in the midst of your chaos, waiting until you hit the breaking point of his crazy you can’t bear to tolerate anymore. Your jaw tenses with the long exhale you take as you prepare to go head to head. 

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t been following me the past mile.” 

“How do you know I’m following you?” 

“You’ve literally been running ten feet behind me for the past twelve minutes.” 

“Who says I wasn’t planning on running this way to begin with but you just got a head start?” 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, please just go pick a different way to run.” 

“Who put you in charge of the running police? Do I have to sign a permit before I go jog now?” 

“Go. Run. Somewhere. Else.” 

“No. You don’t get to tell me where to run. This is the way I wanna go, so I’m gonna keep going until-” 

“No! I know you don’t want to go this way!” You’ve accepted defeat, swinging around to storm towards Frankie, stopping dead in his tracks as he realizes the ferocity you’re approaching him with, “I know for a fact you don’t wanna run this way. You know how I know? Because you hate running down Fuller Street. You would run five miles out of your way before you even considered running down this street on your own free will. There hasn’t been a single time we’ve ever run down this street where you haven’t complained the entire way because of how much you hate the hill at the end of the road before we turn onto Wilson way! That’s how I know, Frankie! So stop pretending like you just happened to choose the same way as me by accident, and just leave me alone! Ugh!” 

You’re positive there’s a trail of steam streaming behind you with the way you’re absolutely fuming, turning back around to take off as fast as your body will let you. You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but straight ahead, too afraid that if you turn around, those stupid, sad brown eyes will make you feel guilty enough to give him the last word he doesn’t deserve. 

Your feet are flying so fast across the pavement, you’re convinced he’s given up, shocked into submission by your anger that he’ll at least let you finish the rest of your run in peace. Your eyes are still locked on the horizon ahead. It’s the arrogance of your self-reassurance that doesn’t even let you contemplate the thought that several yards behind you, Frankie lets out a quiet “fuck me” before letting his hands drop from their place on his hips to chase behind you at full speed. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

It’s a stupid question. It’s obvious Frankie has said a prayer to hope his knees don’t give out on him as he runs as fast as possible to try and catch up to you. The rhythmic thump of his sneakers pounding against the concrete catches your attention enough to see how quickly he’s gaining on you. It only makes you run faster. 

“Jesus- fuck this hill- MacKenzie, will you fucking slow down?” 

You won’t admit you’re probably just as exhausted as Frankie from the way you’ve been sprinting up the steep incline at the end of the road, but his exasperated huffs are enough to keep you pushing through the pain, mental and physical. 

“No. Run faster.” 

You’re hopeful it’s early enough that no one is awake to see the comedic game of cat and mouse you and Frankie are playing in the middle of the road, chasing each other like you’re on the playground in a childish round of tag. You’d never admit to his face that you know he’s stronger, even faster than you, but the grip he settles around your arm as he finally catches up to you lets you know you’ve lost. 

“Let go of me, Frankie!” 

If the street wasn’t already awake from your wild game of chase, your scream certainly would have gotten their attention. 

“Jesus Christ, MacKenzie, will you just let me talk to you for two fucking seconds?! Please, just- fuck- please just let me fucking talk to you, okay? Please.” 

Even if you wanted to keep running, there was no use. Truth be told, it wasn’t the grasp he had around your arm that was the thing keeping you from sprinting off into the distance. What had you frozen in place was that pathetic pout you knew was splayed across his face, burning a hole in the back of your head. What’s worse, was that you could feel it burning a hole through your chest, too. 

The all too familiar pain that came with holding onto the same, shriveled shred of hope that maybe this time, he’d prove you wrong. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t let you down. 

“Fine.” You barely mutter the word loud enough to hear as you turn around to face him, eyes still looking everywhere but directly at him. 

“I’m sorry, Kenz. I'm sorry, okay? I fucked up.” 

Somehow, his second apology stings worse than the first. It still doesn’t mean you won’t deny how much it hurts. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

You let your gaze lift just enough to see the way he’s gnawing at his bottom lip, chewing at it like he’s trying to digest his own thoughts before they come out of his mouth. 

“What I said that night at Santi’s wedding, I just-” He pauses, knowing you can hear it clear as day in your head too.

“Fuck you, MacKenzie. Fuck you for ruining my life. It’ll be better off without you fucking in it.” 

“I- I- Fuck. I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I regret ever saying it. I think all the time about how much I regret it. I just, I was in a bad place.” 

You’re not sure what to say. Fuck, you’re not even sure what to feel. Part of you wants to scream at him, kick him in the crotch and berate him for how badly the past three years have hurt you. Part of you just wants to stand there and cry, to say nothing and let your tears flow and spill your emotions down your cheeks. Part of you wants to hug him, to believe him, to have him hold you so tightly against his chest that his apology seeps into your skin until you’ve forgiven him. 

But none of those parts are strong enough to win out alone. Instead, they’ve formed together to create a strange sort of storm that brews in your belly, swirling it so violently, it makes you want to vomit. 

“But you still said it, Frankie. You still said it. If my dad weren’t dying, would you even be here? Would you have ever apologized? Or are you just choosing to apologize now because it’s convenient and you feel like you have to?” 

It’s the first time you can bring yourself to look him in the face. You can see how his brain is churning with the same type of vicious waves that are in the pit of your stomach, drowning out the brown of his eyes. You both are lost in the midst of the storm, but you’ve got a lifeboat. He’s sinking below the thrashing tides, looking for you to let him board your ship. You won’t let him on unless he fights his way through the current to get to you. 

“I should have apologized a long time ago.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“I don’t- I don’t know. I was scared you’d never forgive me.” 

You swear you feel the grip he still has on your forearm tighten just for a moment. Now that he has you, he’s too scared to let you go. 

“Just- Jesus- Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I have to forgive you now, Frankie.” 

“Will you ever?” 

“Ever, what?” 

“Forgive me?” 

Your brain wants to say no. God, with everything in you does it want to say no. But that same stupid pain in your chest that lives and dies by that stupid shred of hope you’ll always hold onto just won’t let you. 

“I don’t know. I- I don’t know, Frankie.” 

You can’t ignore the way he’s still holding your arm. The shred of hope doesn’t want him to let go, even when you scowl at the way his fingers wrap around your skin. You scowl because of how his touch burns your skin, the way it ignites a fire in your gut from how tenderly he touches you. It makes you scrunch your face in frustration and confusion, trying to block out all the times he’s touched you like this before, fingers grazing against your skin in a desperate plea for affection, not forgiveness. He’s holding onto your arm to see if you’ll let him in the lifeboat- if you’ll offer him a chance to save himself. 

“I get it. I’m sorry, Kenz. I hope you at least know I mean it.” 

“I do.” 

You’re not sure what makes you want to offer him a last chance at survival. You’ve been separated by different sides of the same storm for so long- You can’t attest to the way he’s had to fight through it to stay alive, but if it’s anything like the side of the squall you’ve been stuck on, there’s a strange relief in finding in finding someone who knows the hell you’ve faced to keep from drowning in the undertow. You can’t seem to bear letting him drown right in front of you without even trying to help. 

“I still hate you, ya know.” You sigh, a defiant cry to prove to him you’re not happy about the path you’ve chosen. 

“Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve that.” 

It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh in so long. Even though it’s a muffled huff, trying to hide behind the raise of his eyebrows and nod of his head at the ground, you know it’s there, in that same corner of his smirk he gets when he knows there’s no point in arguing with you- there’s no denying it’s there. 

There’s no denying it makes you do the same. 

“You gonna let me finish the rest of my run in peace, Morales?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Only ‘cause I still hate this fucking hill.” 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[spence-whore]

I wonder if u might do a Spencer besties to lovers fic (:

‘Best Friends’

Spencer Agnew x Reader

a/n forewarning, i read through this like four times but i don’t have the time to heavily edit it. please overlook the mistakes lmao but i hope you guys like this one:)

Ever since your first day at Smosh, you have felt loved and important. They were like a huge family, just welcoming you in. There was one specific crew member that you grew close to and that was Spencer. Everyone was always giving the two of you shit because you were always glued to each other’s hips. They swore up and down that the two of you were going to pull a Courtney and Shayne but on the entire crew, announcing the fact that you and Spencer were together this entire time.

When in reality, he was just your best friend. You would give everything for it to be more than that but it never would turn out that way. He only sees you as his best friend, nothing more.

“Y/N!” Angela screamed while standing in front of your table. You were currently eating lunch while scrolling on your phone.

“Angela!” You attempted to scream back before giggling and almost choking on your chips.

“Your husband was looking for you.” Amanda announced while pulling up a chair beside you. You rolled your eyes and glared at her. “What did he want?” She just shrugged her shoulders and started to talking to Angela about the next shoot. Their rambling lasted for a good five minutes talking about some characters they were wanting to try out in Try Not to Laugh before you heard footsteps approaching from the corner.

You could immediately tell it was Spencer. You didn’t even have to turn your head to look and see who it was. “Hey Spice.” You said loudly while stuffing your mouth with more chips. Spice was some dumb inside joke, the two of you had from whenever you had to go get your wisdom teeth taken out. Spencer was the one to drop you off and pick you up. You could not get the name Spence out, you just kept calling him Spice.

“Another reason to add to the list of why I think they are soulmates. They can literally tell it is him walking up just from his footsteps. What the actual fuck?” Angela said to Amanda rolling her eyes.

“Hey short stack. I got you a coffee and a chocolate croissant from that one place you-“ He stopped talking for a minute while staring at you.

“What are you staring at me for?” You asked looking at him weirdly, mid stuffing your face with more chips.

“Isn’t that my hoodie?” Spencer asked while pointing towards the hoodie you have on. You had gotten cold and passed by his desk earlier. You noticed he had a hoodie thrown on his chair and figured, hey, he wouldn’t miss it?

You just smiled at him before grabbing the coffee and croissant. “You’ll have to pry it off my dead cold body before you can get it back. It’s comfortable and it smells like you.” You said before thinking about what you were saying and felt blush flooding your cheeks. “Wait, I mean it smells good.” You said really quickly while covering your mouth and looking at him and everyone else with a panicked look.

“I’m not complaining that you have it on. I was just wondering where it went earlier and literally told Shayne I bet that you had stole it. You look cute in it anyways. You can just bring it to me later whenever you come over.” He said with a faint smile on his face. “You still are on for tonight, right? For us to finish the next episode of Fallout?” He asked tilting his head while looking down at you, practically sliding down in your chair.

“Yup. I will be there.” You said real quickly, praying that the heat in your face will go away. He just nodded his head before smiling and walking away.

Angela, Amanda, and Courtney, who joined the table during the interaction, all stared at you while you tried playing it off as confused.

You just stared back at them, “What? Is there something on my face?” You asked while wiping at your face.

“Uh, nothing but the color red.” Courtney answered quickly before laughing and shaking her head. “When are you two going to admit the fact that you are head over heels for each other? It is so obvious.”

You could feel your face getting even redder while the three laughed over how much you’re practically melting due to the teasing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. So, tell me more about the character you were wanting to test out during TNTL?” You asked.

A few hours passed by and it was time for you to leave and head over to Spencer’s place. You were walking out of the office whenever you bumped into Shayne.

“I heard you and Spencer are gonna attempt to finish up the rest of Fallout. How are you liking it so far?” Shayne asked walking aside you.

“It’s been pretty good. I never realized how much I enjoyed watching a show like this with someone else. It’s so fun to just watch something like that together and witness their reactions while the stuff is happening.” You explained while getting excited over the thought of hanging out with the man and eating snacks.

“I think you just like the idea of hanging out with Spencerrrrrrrrr.” Shayne said with a huge smile covering his face. “He’s really excited to hang out with you too. It is literally all I have heard about today.”

You started to complain whenever he first teased you until you heard him comment about Spencer being excited to see you as well.

The two of you had hit the parking lot and were about to separate. “What do you-“ Shayne cut you off before you could even finish. “Y/N, please stop acting like you can’t see it.” Shayne laughed before smiling at you. “Sorry, that sounded a bit harsh but everyone can see it and I’m pretty sure you can too. That guy is so hopelessly in love with you. You can’t tell me he isn’t.” You didn’t know what to say, you just stared at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Shayne said while giving a polite wave and walked off towards his car, where Courtney was waiting on him.

Some time passed by and you were finally walking up the steps to his house. Something about tonight felt different. For some reason tonight, you were nervous. It was just Spencer. He is your best friend, so you had no reason to be nervous. Shayne’s words were sticking in your head though. Any other time, it wouldn’t get to your head but man it was really fucking with you tonight.

You had a spare key to his house, so you just unlocked the door and walked in. “Hoooooneeey, I’m hooooooome.” You yelled trying, trying to not giggle.

“Hey Y/N.” You just hear Spencer respond and see him pop his head around the corner. “I’m just changing into comfier clothes. You can go onto the living room.”

All you could think was weird. He usually carries on with your comments whenever you enter his house.

You just thought, maybe he was tired. So, you tried thinking nothing of it and headed into his living room. You got situated on his couch and started pulling up the next episode of Fallout.

“I put your hoodie on the counter.” You nodded towards the kitchen area while forcing a smile at him. He just nodded his head okay and sat down beside you.

Spencer is usually the touchy type of friend. He is always touching you in some way, either it grabbing your legs and throwing them over his, arm against yours, something like that. Tonight was different though. He had a distance between the two of you.

“You ready to start?” He asked before nodding towards the TV and you just nodded your head yes.

It was killing you. There was something going on and you couldn’t tell what. It was like there was a blanket of thick tension laying over the two of you. You would look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch him glancing over at you. He would catch you looking over at him then looking back at the TV. It was starting to drive you insane, so you had to speak up.

You grabbed the remote and paused the show. “What is going on?” You asked while turning towards him.

“What are you talking about? We’re at the part where-“ You realized he was about to explain the part of the episode, so you cut him off. “No, what is going on with you? You seem upset tonight.”

He looked at you then stared at the TV for a few minutes. You sat in silence as well, thinking maybe he needed it till the silence got deafening.

“Spencer? I don’t understand? Any other night we hang out, we’re always cracking jokes with each other and talking about our days and tonight-“

It was like it happened within a flash.

Spencer turned to face you while you were talking and you thought he was turning to listen to whatever you were about to say. You couldn’t be further than wrong.

He grabs both sides of your face and cuts you off. “Can I kiss you?”

It was like all of the words immediately got stuck in your throat and you just stared at him in shock. He started laughing over the way your face starts getting red in his hands. “What?” was all you managed to squeak out.

He inched a little closer to you, “Trevor was calling me an idiot for not realizing how much you like me. At first, I thought he was ignorant, of course. I thought there is no way they would have the same feelings. I, then, remembered how you acted earlier today over the hoodie and the comment about liking how I smell. It was like something just clicked. You also blush anytime we have an interaction. I could be wrong and if I am, I’m so sorry for butchering this friendship, Y/N, but can I please just kiss you already?”

You couldn’t even get words out. All you could do was shake your head yes and immediately, it was like all of the words left your head. He didn’t do the stereotypical ‘starved’ kiss that happens with the friends to lovers trope. He just softly pressed his lips against yours while pulling you closer to him by your face.

This lasted for a minute before he slowly pulled back. Your hands immediately fell to his wrists that were under your chin and you both just stared at each other.

“Your face is probably the reddest I have ever seen it. I’m going to assume everyone was right?”

You just smacked him on the chest and then wrapped your hand around his neck and pulled him close to you, “Yes, you dork.” You kissed him again but didn’t last long before he pulled back again.

“Wait, mentioning earlier… I wanted to ask, so you like the way I smell?” He says with a stupid grin on his face and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh for fucks sake, just kiss me again already Spencer.”

[luimagines]

Can I request the chains or readers reaction to a massage please??

Sure thing! I had a debate on whether this should be scenario of headcanon, but I figured since I've mentioned this in headcanons before, I'll write it out. :D

Masterlist

Part 1 will include Twilight, Wild and Four.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

You watched as Twilight hauled another heavy pack onto Epona. You saw him wince and rub his neck, trying to get to his upper back.

Your heart ached for him at the sight. He looked pained but kept it silent.

You stood up and walked over to him with a frown on your face. You wanted to count your lucky stars that it was morning so he wasn't wearing his armor or layers. Then again- that didn't really help him now, did it? The day has literally just started and he's already in pain? Unacceptable.

You put a hand on his shoulder. He jumps at the contact, not having heard you coming. He relaxes when he sees you and smiles, putting his hand down as if everything is fine. "Good morning. Did you need something?"

"Are you ok?" You say quietly, not wanting to attract any attention to yourselves. "That looked like it hurt."

Twilight pauses and flushes slightly. "N-no, that's not it. I think I pulled something in my sleep. Nothing too bad, I just-"

"Do you want help with that?" You offer. Because really, it would be hard for him to move if he's got a muscle locked up. If you were attacked later today it would be worse for him. You can't even begin to imagine what would happen to him in that state if he was Wolfie. You don't want to think about it.

Twilight flushes a dark color. "...H..How?"

You also begin to blush but move behind him. "Don't make it weird. How else am I going to do it?"

You press your thumbs into his back and begin to knead behind his shoulder blade. You can actually feel the knot behind it. Poor Twilight. It must really hurt.

Twilight lets out a choked sound as the other half of him tenses up. You run your hand over the spot again and he strangles a moan to stay where it belongs.

You giggle and keep at it. Twilight has to fight to keep the sounds at bay. You poke his ear from behind with your free hand. "Feel good?"

"Yes, thank you." He says quietly, horrified but what he just did. "It feels a lot better."

"Good."

Wild

"Oh for the love of-!" Wild nearly curses, dropping the arrow he had knocked onto his bow.

Your attention snaps to him in an instant. "Everything good?"

Wild doesn't hear you. He doesn't even bother to pick up his arrow. His attention is solely on his forearm. Wild presses harshly onto a spot and makes a pained face.

You stand up and make your way over to him. "Pull something?"

"I don't know how." He hisses, running his thumb along the length of his forearm. He struggles for a moment but takes off his layers in frustration, throwing them to the ground non to gently.

"Easy." You take his hand and pull his arm towards you. "No need to get upset. Does it hurt that bad?"

You press your fingers along the side of the spot he was paying attention to, ease the area softly.

Wild winces but lets you do as you please. His other hand lands on his hip. "I don't know how I did it. I just woke up and it hurt to move."

"I don't remember you doing anything yesterday that would have caused this." You say softly, trying to diffuse his energy.

Wild flinches when you pass over the sore spot once more. You begin to move up his arm, going as high as his shirt will allow. Wild bites at his lip, but eventually his other hand drops as well. He takes a breath and his shoulders sag. "...Its been a few days actually."

You pause and give him a deadpanned look.

He flinch, but not from your touch. "I know, I know. I thought it would go away but it only got worse. Now I can't even shoot my bow straight."

"What on earth am I going to do with you?" You shake your head and click your tongue. You don't say anything else, opting to keep massaging his forearm, eventually moving to his bicep to help ease the tension in his arm.

Wild also falls silent, letting you work for a while. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't try to stop you. Neither of you know why you simply started doing this, but you don't feel like stopping and it's helping Wild more than he wants to admit.

Eventually you stop, moving his sleeve down and patting his shoulder. You're done. "Feel better?"

"Yes." He whispers, bending to pick up the gauntlets he had thrown down earlier. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Four

Four rolled his shoulders for what to be the nth time this hour. He winces and pulled his arms back. Sure it puffed up his chest but you were certain that wasn't his actual intention.

You walked over to him and poked his arm, sitting next to him. "You've done that like ten times already. Everything alright?"

Four winces and shakes his head. "I think I pulled something earlier today. But for the life of me, I can't figure out what I did. It just hurts."

"Do you want help with that?" You offer, sitting beside him. "Does this happen often?"

Four shakes his head again. "I'm pretty good at keeping up with my stretches and forge work doesn't leave much to be desired when I have to switch over to the whole hero thing- which leaves me only more confused."

"Maybe you slept wrong?"

"Maybe." Four rolls his shoulders again. "Man, this sucks. What on earth did I do?"

"Let me help." You poke his arm again. "Turn around."

"I don't see how you're going to help me. There's only so much you can do." Four does as you say anything, not thinking twice about it.

You put your hands on his shoulders and begin to knead. Gently at first. Four hisses and you can see him flinch from behind but he doesn't voice any complaints. "If I'm too rough, you have to tell me ok?

"I doubt you would even be able to- mmm!!" Four hisses again and you can feel him arch with the way you press your thumb behind his shoulder blade. "There. You found it. Right there."

You chuckle and focus on putting the nerves and muscles back into place. "You were saying?"

Four tilts his head. "What was I say? I already forgot."

"Then don't expect me to remind you." You grin, happy that he's finding some relief after all this time.

"That is.. perfectly fine by me." Four sighs, relaxing under your touch. "You're pretty good at this."

"Thank you." You keep at it a little while longer before you pull back and pat his shoulder. "Did that help?"

"Tremendously."

"Great!"

Part 2

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Four

Pairings: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: did you guys know fifty dollars back in ‘66 was like five hundred dollars??? I didn’t and now I wish I never did. Anyway I kinda just wanted to explore more of Angus and Y/n relationship before the event of the holdovers. So a little backstory on this one. I maybe got carried away. Also this is a long ish chapter cause I have MAJOR exams to take so yeah :0 it might be while till I update again.

Word Count: ~7.5k

Enjoy!

Four Years Before - June 12th, 1966

Your parents had fled to Barbados for a destination wedding which they would follow with a cruise they claimed to deserve. Although it was one of those rare occasions where they had extended an invitation, you had declined. The prospect of being able to stretch your legs on the couch without worrying if you would be crushing some unknown guest, or to be able to walk into rooms without crashing into a waiter passing out shrimp puffs, was much more appealing. You had been left behind with fifty dollars for your fun fund, as your mother called it, and a kiss on the forehead. The nanny your parents kept on retainer would check up on you occasionally only to find you were much better at cleaning up after your messes and doing ordinary tasks than your parents. She’d leave after a few hours and then over the course of the first week she stopped coming.

You had prepared yourself for a month of solitude after Angus had announced he’d be spending his vacation at a tennis camp in Montauk. You must have been reorganizing your bookshelf for the third time that day (once by alphabet, then by color, and finally by size) when you heard a knock at the door. The sun had just begun to set, the sky colored a purple-blue, and you cautiously decided to take your fathers golf club. You dropped the club shortly after opening the front door to find not the face of Norman Bates but of your best friend. You scanned his tear-stained face. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks rosy, like when one stands in the snow and is attacked by the harsh winds that nip at your skin.

He collapsed into your arms, and you are quick to hold him steady. He was crouched over, having had a growth spurt a few months earlier, making it hard for you to look at him eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

It was the summer of ‘66, where paranoid parents were starting to believe rock music would possess you. Ironically, it was the year Pet Sounds came out and you couldn’t stop rewinding the songs on your turntable. And most significantly it was the summer you spent with Angus.

He broke the news through jumbled words and choked down tears. How his father had been placed in a Mental Health hospital and how taking him to camp was just an excuse to make sure he wouldn’t be there when the people from the hospital came to pick his father up. They had apparently come early, mixing the dates up.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” You asked, hugging his torso.

“No. I'm sure she’ll be coming to check soon though,” he sniffled, “She’ll probably try to drag me to Montauk anyway and say that ‘it’ll be good for me’.”

You kiss his curls, “What if you stay here?”

He lifts his head up, “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”

“I think she will,” you reassured, “I am a very good guilt-tripper.”

“You can try if you want. How much did your parent’s leave you anyway?”

“Enough for both of us, don't worry. Even if we run out, we could whip something up to eat.”

His eyes widened, “Let's stick to take-out.”

Your house was the first place Angus’s mother looked in, just like he had predicted. He hid at the top of the stairs, staying away from his mom's line of sight as she pressed you for his whereabouts. You had been truthful about how he wanted to spend the next few nights here.

“Are you serious? I’m not going to leave two fourteen-year-olds alone, unattended, unsupervised! God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” you argued, “We’re smart enough to not light the house on fire and to dial 911, in case we happen to. Angus just wants to be away for a little while. You should understand why,” you glared.

She looked down, shuffling her heeled feet.

“Besides, you take him away now he’s just to keep coming back here,” you sighed, stating the obvious.

She cleared her throat, coughing as she nodded, “Fine. Alright. Uhm- just make sure he calls me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you do your best to stop yourself from slamming the door in her face. "Bye.”

“The coast is clear,” you shout to Angus who came barreling down the stairs, skipping the last few steps.

“Did she look mad?”

You shrug, “A little. But she'll move on.”

He hums, agreeing as his eyes flicker around the room. He’s looking at the house he must have been at least a thousand times, whether because you invited him or because your parents did. And for the first time in either of your lives… it was completely silent. …

That first night Angus slept on your bedroom floor on a mattress you had dragged from the guest room. You had only your lamp on, and your window was open just wide enough to bring in the refreshing summer air. You were reading a few pages of your book to Angus, and when you glanced down you saw his eyes beginning to close.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You have a nice voice is all.”

“Thank you. You do want to go to sleep though,” you observe.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He says almost immediately. He lifts himself up slightly so he can reach your bedside table and waits for your permission to turn it off.

“Yes please.” You settle deep into your duvet. You turn to the side that faces Angus and wish him goodnight.

A few minutes later he speaks up again in a whisper. “Thank you again. For letting me stay here. I'll be out of here by next week, swear.”

“If you could, I would want you to stay here your whole life.” He scoffs at your words as you lean up with the support of your elbows to stare him down. “I’m serious. I only wish I could live in a house with you. Except somewhere far away from here.”

“By the beach,” he adds.

“Yeah. On a beach so obscure they can’t even send us mail because no one will know our address.”

“Oh no. How would your parents ever send you the invitation for your debutante ball?”

“I guess they’ll just have to throw it without me.”

“Shame,” Angus sighs. “I would love to see you in a white dress.”

You pause and then crash down back into your bed. You admire the garland that hangs above you. It’s made of postcards your parents sent you during their many endeavors. In that moment you're reminded of them and turn to Angus. “Oh. About that. My mom told me to tell you to prepare to be my escort in a few years.”

“Already?!” …

You and Angus had fallen into a routine. He’d sleep way later than you, sometimes until noon, and you’d wake him when you got too impatient and hungry for breakfast. He’d stir and groan to the point that it was obvious he was faking before finally getting up.

You would carry what you could from your kitchen pantry onto the backyard patio and eat under the summer sun. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of fig jam, English muffins and sometimes pears from the tree that stretched over your neighbor's fence. Afterward you and Angus continued your day in the green grass. He would sprawl himself out on a picnic blanket and read a comic book, wearing shades that were on the verge of tipping off his nose. Meanwhile you would tend to your mother's garden. You’d put on her straw hat too, just to make it feel like you were with her.

When you were little, you’d pull the weeds out of flower beds as your mom pruned her lavender. It was her dearest plant, and she treated them so, regularly nursing it to keep it alive. She’d motion for you to come with her and pick up the shears from the gardening shed. Eagerly obedient, you did as she said, and you would work together until called for lunch. Your mother was always a vivaciously elegant woman, always knowing the right things to say and charming anyone she met. You often wondered why you hadn’t inherited her brilliance, the one that made her seem as if she was glowing in any room she inhabited. It was odd that she’d often claim her ability to converse was her greatest ability when the two got along best when moving in silence.

You did your best to care for the plant too. Before you mom left, she asked to handle their upkeep. You took your duty seriously, checking in on them every day until you saw one sign of disarray.

That summer was like playing house. And although you never admit, for the fear that he’d read too much into and freak, it was exactly as you had often dreamed it to be. June and July passed quickly, and you hadn’t even noticed it. You imagined a life where it could just be you two forever, away from your parents and outside of stifling Massachusetts.

You imagined a life in an apartment described as ‘quaint,’ by the realtor to disguise the incredible small square footage. You wondered if he would like to be in a city like New York or Chicago. Somewhere that was always busy, and the chirping of morning birds was replaced by honking cars.

By the time August had rolled around, you could practically hear the unmistakable sound of the school bell ringing in your ear, warning you of its proximity. Thoughts about the future had you asking Angus one bleary Sunday afternoon, “Are you nervous about starting high school?”

Angus was pushing you on the tire swing, trying to give you motion sickness by twisting the ropes of the swing and letting them untangle a second later.

“Not really. It’ll be like eighth grade just with more tests.”

“I guess. But aren’t you nervous about making new friends and stuff? What if we tangled ourselves into a web so deep that we can’t talk to other people normally.”

“Then I have done my job of keeping you to myself.”

“Haha,” you deadpan, “Seriously though. Won’t you miss having me to talk to?”

“Of course I will. But you’ll write to me and crap… right?”

“Of course,” you echo his words back to him, “You’ll visit me when you get the chance too, correct?”

“Eh. If I’m not busy.”

“Angus!”

“Yes! Obviously, I will.” He pushes you a little harder.

“I do want you to be more out there though. Don’t go sulking in corners like you always do. People would really like you if you let them talk to you for more than one minute.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother Y/n.”

“Seriously though. Did you notice we’re always addressed as ‘Y/n and Angus’ by teachers. Never just Y/n and never just Angus.”

“Yeah. But I like it. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t separate them because then it sounds plain wrong.”

“Okay Clyde,” you roll your eyes. You stop swinging, scraping your shoes through the dirt until you are still.

“I’m giving us two weeks before we break down to each other over the phone.” You lose the hold you have on the tire swings and let them drop onto your lap. You simmer under the sun and enjoy the breeze that flows through your hair.

“Don’t go replacing me when you get to your school.”

“Don’t worry, you got a head start seven years ago. No one else will be able to catch up,” you smile teasingly. “Maybe I’ll find myself a boyfriend though. About time for the both of us, don’t you think?”

He frowns, “You don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do. Everyone else does.”

“Since when do you do what other people do? I think you should stop talking to people who peer pressure you,” he flicks your forehead.

“Why?” You rub your forehead, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” You smirk.

“Gross! No! I was just kidding. Get a boyfriend, I don’t care.”

“You wouldn’t care if I got a boyfriend?” You look at him skeptically.

“As long as he treats you nice and shit,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just that we do everything together Angus. There are some things I would like to get over with that I can’t do with you.”

“Like what?” Angus wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Like hold hands and go to bowling alleys or whatever.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I like…kiss,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So would you want to do that … now?”

“What!” You shout, leaping off the swing and walking a few steps away from him. “I’m not asking you to,” you clarify, shaking your head.

“No, but I would like to be over and done with it too… so maybe we should just…” He motions his finger between you two.

“Uhm,” you laugh, tilting your head, “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be just to check it off the list,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Um, yeah, okay,” you move closer to him in small timid strides. “You lean in though. I read that the guy is supposed to do that in my mother's Cosmopolitan.”

“Right, right,” he nods eagerly, interlocking your fingers together. With hesitancy he leans his head down and pulls you even closer to the point where you are bumping your noses. You close your eyes, and it's like your brain begins to spin like those show wheels with choices on them. Your brain tries to land on a feeling but loops on endlessly. His lips are softened by the humidity, and you don’t even notice it is over until a couple seconds after he pulls away.

When you think back on it, it really was the most 'first kiss moment’ to ever exist. It was more of a peck, both of you were bright red and shortly after you were as stiff as statues. Not knowing what else to do, Angus clears his throat and removes his hands from yours to wipe them on his shirt. “So, uh, what does your mothers Cosmo say to do afterward?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “I don’t know. I didn’t read that far.”

…

Christmas Eve - December 24th, 1970

After that summer, when you shared a weepy goodbye and headed off to your own high schools, it was undeniable that something had shifted between you both. Even if it often went unspoken. Neither you nor Angus had brought it up, but on occasion you would acknowledge it. Like last night after leaving the auditorium to return to the common room and pick up the dishes, your eyes drifted to the TV where a cheesy kiss scene was happening on screen. The two of you shared a knowing look that said, “That’s not how ours went down,” before shutting the television off and helping Mary into a more comfortable sleeping position.

You tried not to dwell on the past, but it was hard not to when the only thing in your childhood that had always been good, always been constant, was Angus. Every time you looked into his eyes it was like the decade you had spent together flashed by in a sequence of blurs. All he had to do was breathe a specific way in his sleep to remind you of some obscure memory that had died but he had brought back to life.

This morning you felt like you were ten again and Angus was trying to steal your bread rolls at Thanksgiving dinner. Except today he tried swiping your bacon as you shoved him off playfully.

“Get your own Angus,” you say playfully.

“I’ll trade you for my toast,” he offers.

Rolling your eyes you accept, grabbing the bacon and shoving it in his mouth, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, muffled.

You munch on your toast and catch Mr. Hunhams stare.

“I see you two finally made up,” he comments with a sly smile on his face.

“Mm-hmm,” you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew and turn away embarrassed.

Mary joins you all a second later, emerging as usual with her coffee and a cigarette. She switches between eyeing the two men infront of her, “Why’d you two miss supper last night?”

Mr. Hunham and Angus freeze. “We went into town on, uh, some school-related business.”

“And you couldn’t call? You left me and Y/n out in the cold.”

“Yeah Angus,” you pout at him as he nudges your ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Hunham turned to you, “And to Ms. L/n.”

“No worries. Really. I had fun,” you smile up at Mary who pats your shoulders gently.

Danny, a man you had been introduced to a few days ago, enters with a mop and bucket. You wave to him which he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

“Good morning, everybody.”

“Hi, Danny,” Mr. Hunham greets.

“Good morning. You can go on in and make yourself a plate,” Mary points to the kitchen.

“I just saw something funny,” Danny focuses onto your friend. “I walked into the gym, and somebody had vomited in there.”

Mary and you raise your eyebrows in sync.

“You don’t say. I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Hunham feigns surprise.

“Yeah, me neither,” Angus wipes his mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll look into that right away. Thank you,” he dismisses the conversation.

“Mm-hmm. I see how it is. Trying to leave us out of your boy's club,” Mary tsks. Danny places the custodian supplies beside Angus' chair and walks away.

“Gross Angus,” you say, like it's his full name. You shake your head in disappointment. He nudges your ankle harder, shaking the silverware above. You fight back, beginning to use your hands as a defense. You two are soon in a game of tug of war.

“Knock it off you two! You are acting like fractious children!” Mr. Hunham scolds and stands up from his seat. Across the table, he tries to part your hands. “This is not how young scholarly men and women behave!”

You and Angus are too drunk on laughter to care. …

You and Angus are in a search for Mr. Hunham who stomped away upon realizing stopping you two was a fruitless cause. You intend to apologize; Angus intends to nod along as you speak. You follow the chatter you hear coming from the kitchen to find Mary replacing you as you as her sous chef.

“Hey that's my job,” you point at the potatoes Mr. Hunham is peeling.

“That’s the culinary industry for you. It’s cut-throat. You still want to be a part of it?” Mary peers over her glasses.

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “Um. Mr. Hunham?”

He stops his task, “Yes Miss L/n?”

“I want to apologize for my-,” Angus clears his throat, “Our behavior. You were right. It was very inappropriate. Emily Post would turn in her grave.”

“She certainly would. I accept your apology, however unnecessary. I understand it was that childlike spirit in you that is still intact that came out.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. “Uh yeah…”

Angus gasps behind you as he notices the tray of brownies on a table beside him.

“Brownies? God, yes. I want all of these.”

“Each of you just take one. The rest are for the Christmas party tonight.”

Angus snags you a brownie before practically chomping his down.

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He perks up like a dog being told he’s going out for a walk.

“Yeah, at Miss Crane’s house. I’m only gonna go for a little bit, show my face and say I was there. You know Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

“Who’s Miss Crane?” You ask, inspecting the brownie and wondering what Mary does so differently to get it to taste so good.

“School secretary,” said Angus with a full mouth. “Just one of the loveliest faculty members at Barton,” said Mr. Hunham at the same time.

A beat passed as you all noted the flustered expression that passed through Mr. Hunham face.

“Ah- anyways, she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

“If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take them.”

“Mary can take us,” problem solved, Angus thinks.

“Oh! Okay… so we are going! I packed a dress that’s been collecting dust in my luggage.”

“No, that’s not how it works. You’re under my supervision,” Mr. Hunham reminds.

“Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around reading books all day, but I am losing my goddamn mind! Jesus!” Angus' suddenness makes you flinch. You avoid the flying brownie as he storms past you.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. Not on Christmas Eve!” Mary yells after him.

“You, see?” Mr. Hunham points at his retreating figure. “I can’t trust him in a social situation.”

“Mr. Hunham, if you’re too chickenshit to go to that party, then just say so. But don’t fuck it up for the little asshole or his sweet little angel of a friend! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a party. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hunham said so quietly you could hardly hear him.

“Shit. Now you’ve got me nervous,” Mary wipes her hands on her apron.

You’re still standing there until they hear you go retreat the brownie and throw it in a nearby waste bin. “I could replace those?” You laugh uncomfortably.

“That’s alright sweetie. I want to come out of this party with my reputation intact,” Mary winks.

“Ouch,” you clutch your heart jokingly. “So can I go get dolled up?” …

Someway, somehow, Mary had gotten Hunham to take you to the party. You got ready in the room Ye-Joon and Alex had occupied before. You hadn’t anticipated wearing anything fancy, so the dress you had was a relatively simple one. It was red which fit the Christmas theme well enough and ended just above your knees. You hoped Mr. Hunham wouldn’t make a big deal out of it like Ms. Orchard probably would. You wore flats and did your hair the best you could without products. Although you had managed to give it some more volume by using some leftover soda cans that had yet to be thrown out. It was a common hack all Janie Patrick School girls learned in their freshman year. It was practically a seminar, as the senior girls taught you how to roll them into your hair just right.

You waltz out of your room, feeling as fresh as a daisy and catch Angus shaving. You sneak up behind him, putting your hands on his shoulder and looking at him through the mirror. “What is there to shave Augie? You’re as clean shaven as a newborn baby,” you tease.

You try to check your makeup and feel Angus stiffen under your touch. You remove your hands and see him staring at you open-mouthed.

“What?” You panic. Had you screwed up your hair? Was your mascara too clumpy on your lashes?

“Nothing,” he gives you a once over as he gulps. “You just, you look, you… you look pretty.”

“Oh,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. It’s just the makeup.”

“No, it’s not that. You always look pretty; I just never have a reason to tell you. But I can… today.”

“You look handsome everyday too…” you fidget with your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him bashfully. Quickly you take the razor from his hands, “even more handsome once you change. We’re going to be late."

You run back to your room and try to regulate your breathing. In the reflection of the fogged-up window, you admire yourself momentarily. You suppose you do look pretty tonight. …

You four travel in Mr. Hunhams rickety car. You awe at the town Christmas lights before arriving in front of what you assumed to be Miss Cranes house. One by one you all enter, lingering by the front door like wallflowers. You inch closer to Angus, self-conscious suddenly. You loop your arms together when Miss Crane enters to greet you.

“Oh, hi. Oh, you made it! Welcome,” she pauses to address you and Angus, “Aw hi!”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she tells Mary.

She laughs at the flattery and refers to the brownies, “Where should I put these?”

“Um, oh,” Miss Crane lifts the cloth draped over the tray and gasps, “Those, I’ll be putting on my bedside table.”

“Oh! You're a wicked woman.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she takes the tray off Mary's hands.

“Certainly a lot of people here,” Hunham comments, surveying the room. It is lively with Christmas classics blasting on the radio and kids running around playing tag. The entire house is decked out, almost looking like the spirit of Christmas had barfed out the decorations. Some adults take a swing of their liquor, others smoke, others do both as they chat.

“Yeah, yeah. Some family, friends from town. Only you guys from work.”

“That’s my mom on the couch,” She points to an older lady sitting by the silver and blue Christmas tree. Next to the woman dancing with her toddler who wears no pants. “Uh, that’s my sister Kathy and her son Marvin.”

As she continues to point out each invitee you wander with Angus further into the living room. He seems captivated by a snow globe on a mantel. He shakes it and watches as the snow falls around Santa. You too are enchanted by the sweet melody that plays from it.

“Angus!” Miss Crane snaps you both from your trance. Miss Crane stands next to a girl who appears to be around your age.

“This is Angus Tully. He’s one of our students at Barton. Angus, this is my niece, Elise,” she introduces.

“Niece Elise. Nice,” he glances at you, hoping you got the joke as Elise rolls her eyes at his word play. You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And is his friend Y/n L/n. She goes to the school across the lake from Barton. Janie Patrick’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stretch out your hand for her to shake. She does so awkwardly.

“And this is Mr. Hunham. He’s one of our finest teachers. History, right?

“Ancient Civilizations, yes”.

“And this is Mary Lamb. She’s the manager of the cafeteria.”

You don’t know why, but you start chewing your nails. A habit you had thought you had broken in the seventh grade. You bite down particularly hard every time Angus glances at Elise.

“Hey, why don’t you take Angus down to the basement and introduce him to our family tradition?” Miss Crane has a hint of something you can’t identify in her voice.

“Come on,” Elise tilts her head and hesitantly he seems to follow.

“Um. What about Y/n? Can’t she come?”

“Don't worry about that! I have someone I think she would like to meet,” Miss Crane nudges you forward.

“Oh?” you say worriedly.

Elise takes Angus away by the hand and distantly you hear him call out, “Wait what?”

“His name is Joseph Leery. He’s a freshman at Yale!” she gushes.

“Oh? Great? Go bulldogs? That’s the mascot, right?”

“Honey, save your charm for him!”

…

Angus descends downstairs. He repeatedly glances behind him, desperately searching for the remaining bits of your voice. “Um. Maybe I should go back upstairs? My friend Y/n doesn’t do so well with crowds so.”

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine. If I know Auntie Lydia, she’s probably introducing her to the Leery's son, Joe.”

“Joe?” Angus scowls at the name.

“Yeah. Family friend of ours.”

Elise leads him to an arts and craft table, full of scattered red, green, silver and white pipe cleaners. Glitter is spilled everywhere, and the kids take their time decorating their popsicle sticks.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I grew up playing down here during my aunt’s parties. I think it’s kind of cool. There’s a purity to it. I mean, every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist when we grow up. Picasso said that.”

“Picasso’s cool,” Angus digs his hand further into his front pockets, “I saw Guérnica once. You know, the big mural, with the horse,” He tries to mimic it as best he can.

“Yeah, I know Guérnica. You really saw it?”

“Yeah. At the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It’s huge. My dad took me.” And Y/n too, he wants to say. Although if what Elise said was true, that Miss Crane fancied herself a modern-day cupid, then he figures he should try not to scare her off by bringing up another girl.

Although it's hard not to think of you when he thinks of his dad. His dad liked puzzles which you happened to have a plethora of that your parents had bought you to keep you entertained during long plane rides. This was before they trusted you enough to leave home alone.

In the winter you’d sit by the fireplace and lay out the puzzles of Monet’s Water Lilies. Then when the spring would offer you limited warmth, you’d all be found in the backyard of Angus’s house trying to piece together Van Gogh's Starry Night.

So many art inspired puzzles eventually had Angus’s father turn to you both and asking, “How would you guys like to see these in real life?”

That easter break had you three crammed into a yellow taxicab and enjoying New York pizza slices.

“Hey Guérnica,” she breaks through his nostalgia plagued mind, “You just gave me an idea,” she smiles.

…

Mr. Hunham stands by the funky-looking Christmas tree when he feels someone’s lips crash onto his cheek.

“Oh!” He says shocked. He feels as if he had just been dumped into a cold bucket of water.

“Mistletoe!” Miss Crane laughs, pointing at the little green and red plant that hangs on the ceiling. She hands him the Jim Beam he asked for earlier as she wipes the side of his face clean to get rid of any lipstick that might have been transferred.

“Yes, of course,” he laughs along, unsure of what else to do but to let her caress his face. “I didn’t you know you were quite the mastermind.”

Miss Crane tilts her head and motions him to elaborate

“Playing matchmaker for Mr. Tully and Ms. L/n.”

“Oh! Well, when Angus said they weren’t an item I figured they’d were itching for a chance to mingle outside of their little circle. I hope I didn’t overstep anything. After all I imagine they don’t get many opportunities to openly chat with people of the opposite sex! Dating is crucial in shaping character.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Mr. Hunham agrees, unsure if that is fact or fiction. He is awful at letting silence just be silence, so he does what he does best. Spew nonsensical facts.

“You know, it’s interesting. Aeneas carried mistletoe with him when he descended into Hades in search of his father.”

“Oh. Huh…” Now it is Miss Crane who is unsure of what to do with that.

“Um. Anyways. I like your tree. It’s really space age,” he comments and is hit slightly in the shoulder by her enthusiastic hand.

“I brought it to commemorate the moon landing!”

“Really? Wow.”

Miss Crane takes a sip of her punch, “So where is your family this Christmas.”

“Nowhere. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was young.”

“And your father?”

“Let's just say I left home when I was fifteen.” If Mr. Hunham had known this was what small talk topics had evolved into, then he must have been right in avoiding social functions all this time.

“You ran away?” She guesses.

“Worse. I got a scholarship to Barton. And from there, I went to college and never looked back.”

“But you did a little,” she points out.

“Hmm?”

“I mean you came back here.”

“Ah.” He really did not feel like being questioned so heavily tonight. Not to pat himself in the back, but he believes he's credible enough to label himself as a decent writer, able to handle the equal weight of a pen and his words with ease. But as a conversationalist, he figures even one of the dimwits in his Ancient Civilization classes have him beat.

“It feels kind of like home I guess,” he muses, “and I guess I thought I could make a difference. I mean, I used to think I could prepare them for the world even a little. Provide standard and grounding that Dr. Greene always drilled into us.”

Mr. Hunham can feel himself run out of breath, “But, uh the world doesn’t make sense anymore. I mean it's on fire. The rich don’t give a shit. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punchline. Trust is just the name of a bank.”

“Well…” Miss Crane tries to soothe him by running her hand back and forth on his arm, “look, if that's all true then now is when they most need someone like you.”

Mr. Hunham knows when he is being humored and told what people he wants to hear. He looks at Miss. Crane and for the first time in a while he is looked back at with genuineness.

…

Elise and Angus finger paint on a wide piece of blank paper. He’s mixing the colors, and they all tend to come out looking a sickly brown. Elise covers her side with an untainted red. She seems to be more into it than him as she incorporates real swirls and shapes onto their canvas.

“Am I doing this right?”

“There is no right or wrong,” she reassures. He feels her stare linger on him for a second. He is scared to look up. “Are you okay? You seem… gloomy.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, tell me about this Joe guy.”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“Just curious. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him around my school is all.”

“Well probably because he graduated over a year ago.”

“So, he’s in college.”

“Yes. A freshman at Yale.”

“Yale!” He shouts loud enough for even the kids to glare at him for disturbing their fun. “Sorry,” he apologies to them.

“Would you say he’s cool,” he asks a millisecond later.

Elise tries not to laugh at his blatant desperation, “Yeah I would say so.”

“Funny?”

“He's basically Gene Wilder.”

“The dude from The Producers?!”

“Yes, and he was also a football quarterback.”

“What.”

“And valedictorian, and the heir to the Campbell Soup Company.”

“What the hell? Is this guy superman or,” Angus takes a minute to recognize the smug face on Elise. Finally, she breaks out in a loud giggle.

“Oh,” Angus sighs in relief, “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,” she says through fits of laughter. “Anyways if you’re so worried why don’t you go back up there?”

“I was just worried that he would try something. But technically he sounds alright.”

“Ah. So, you’re jealous?”

Angus rolls his eyes, “No. I’m a concerned friend.”

“I’m not sure about that. Concerned friends don’t start interrogating the girl they are on a hypothetical date with.”

She leans down to point at a glob of paint in the corner of the paper, “I think you even doodled her name.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, going over it and trying to cover it up along with his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like this was going to go be framed at the MET.”

“What are you implying anyway,” he narrows his eyes.

“You’re going crazy being gone from her for two minutes. What do you think I’m implying?”

Angus slumps his shoulders and admits what had been ignoring. It's like a message in a bottle he threw into the sea, desperately trying to avoid the shore. Even when it does reach land, the cap is tightly sealed, clinging on to the bottle and doing it best to remain unread. When it does pop open and the paper is unfolded, although it might be difficult to read, the message still exists. It still exists even though time fought so hard to destroy it.

“I do think about her that way. Sometimes. Then the rational side comes out and tells me that it's human nature for a girl and guy friend to think about each other that way.”

“Well, does she know you think about her that way?”

“No. Sometimes I imagine she feels the same, but you’d have to know her to understand why I’m so confused. She’s the most thoughtful, kind, and perfect person in the world. It's hard to tell if she’s showing that side to everyone or if I’m special enough for her to give me that treatment.”

“You know Picasso also said that ‘Everything you can imagine is real’.”

“Are you Picasso's biographer?”

Without missing a beat, Elise smirks and says, “Yes.”

Angus is up the stairs without having thanking her, too fueled by adrenaline to practice basic manners. He’ll have to tell Miss Crane to pass on the memo. He’s on the hunt for you but is yanked into the house's kitchen by a mysterious hand.

“Hey?” He asks, disoriented.

Danny is staring straight at him, with both hands on either side of his shoulder.

“I need you to find Mr. Hunham,” he orders. Angus looks past the man to see Mary weeping heavily into the sink. Understanding, he nods firmly and is back out the door.

…

Joseph Leery is not half bad. He’s kind of funny, clever and not a bad person to pass the time with. You sit in the back of Miss Crane's living room on a couch all to yourselves. He tells you how he’s majoring in English in hopes of becoming a journalist.

“What kind of journalist?”

“Investigative. I would love to be the next Upton Sinclair. Or Seymour Hersch.”

“Ew! The Jungle made me so sick for a week after. It was so gross.”

“I know but that's what made it so great. Exposing the meat packing industry probably put him on a few hit lists too.”

“Oh yeah definitely. So, then who are you planning to expose?”

He laughs, “I don’t know yet. Is there any chance you’re planning on becoming some corrupt politician?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know if I ever do,” you giggle.

“What are you planning to do then?”

“Then? Um... Like as president? I don’t know. Fund schools-.”

“No,” he laughs harder, “I mean like with college and life. Do you have anything planned out?”

“Erm, not really. My parents probably want me to go to the Ivy Leagues and crap. I should have a plan, I know, but I guess I’ve been putting it on the back burner.”

“Why?”

You shift in your seat. “I have this friend. He’s sort of had this rocky life, not I haven’t, and I know it's stupid to mold your entire life to fit around one person’s but for him I would.”

Joseph sniffs and straightens his posture. “Sorry. Lydia didn’t mention you having a boyfriend.”

“No, I don’t,” you stress, “I just really care for him, you know. We’ve known each other for so long. He’s important to me.”

“Y/n have you ever read Persuasion?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, not yet. I know the gist of it.”

“Well, it's ultimately about regret, right? Anne spends eight years longing for Wentworth when she could have been with him instead, had she not given into pressures. The point of the novel is not to wait to love the person you’re sure is it for you.”

“Love?” You hear someone say above you. You look up to see Angus, his arms stiff by his side. He glowers at Joseph. You jump off the seat and on operating on some strange reflex you go to fix his shirt collar that has stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“What were you guys talking about?” he interrogates.

“Books. Why?”

Angus doesn’t buy it but ignores the gnawing feeling in his gut, “Mary needs us in the kitchen. Go ahead, I still need to get Hunham.”

“Oh…Alright,” you turn and wave to your brief companion. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah maybe,” Joseph lifts his canned soda as if to say cheers.

You walk on ahead as Angus loiters behind, silently scrutinizing him.

Joseph takes a sip from his coke and points towards the direction you disappeared to. “Your girl went that way man.”

Angus rolls his eyes but leaves, nonetheless.

…

Miss Crane and Paul are sitting next to each other, their drink half-finished. They can feel the red tinge on their cheeks and themselves becoming looser.

“Are you planning anything special for tomorrow?” Lydia inquires.

“No. Why? Are you having a…”

“No, I just thought maybe you’d be doing something special for Angus and Y/n.”

Mr. Hunham shakes his head and Miss Crane lets out a small gasp, “You should! Help preserve some of the magic. Angus may be a little difficult, but he’s still just a kid. So is Y/n. And life catches up to them so fast. Them,” she stares at her lap, contemplating. “Ha. Us!”

“You’re a very sweet person, Miss Crane,” he compliments.

Miss Crane melts, “So are you, when you want to be,” she quips, “and it’s Lydia.”

He enjoys the feeling of camaraderie between them. He feels a cool breeze at the back of his neck and the sound of the door opening.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Miss Crane gets up and moves past him.

Mr. Hunham turns in time to see a man take off his coat, a gift under his arm. A moment later Miss Crane is there to receive him with a kiss. Together they walk away, and Mr. Hunham is left alone. Once again.

“Mr. Hunham, could you come with me, please?” Angus nearly trips as he stumbles over to the teacher.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sighs as he gets up with a groan.

“Come on, it's serious,” Angus leaps away. Peeking at him at the corner to see is Hunham is following, “Come on.”

Mr. Hunham is dragged into the kitchen, where he spots Mary, crying quietly to herself. Danny is next to her. You’re across the room biting your nails and hinting at Mr. Hunham to do something.

“Mary? You alright?” he questions, even though he knows it's in vain.

“Just leave me alone,” She mumbles.

“Want me to take you home?” Danny offers, placing what he thinks is a consoling hand on her back.

“Back off! Back off!” Mary whisper-shouts, her hands shaking down in anger. Mr. Hunham shuts the door, giving her privacy if nothing else.

“He’s gone,” she erupts into full on sobs. The mask comes off and she’s no longer Mary, the woman who appears to deal with grief like it was nothing but a bump on the road. Instead, it's Mary, who lost a son and whose grief has entirely consumed her until she can no longer breathe.

…

Angus and Mr. Hunham support Mary on both sides, as they make their way to the car. “I was right. This is why I hate parties. That was a disaster. Total disaster!”

“Speak for yourself. I was having a pretty profound conversation. I was about to make some serious life altering moves,” he blurts, angry and unable to believe his window opportunity was slammed shut. He had an internal plan. That'd he’d whisk you away from stupid Joseph and ask you to dance, maybe lead you to a mistletoe and see where it goes.

“With whom? The niece? Are you kidding me? This poor woman is bereft, and all you can think about is some silly girl.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not talking about Elise; I'm just saying this is the first good thing that came from being in this prison with you.”

“Need I remind you it’s not my fault you’re stuck here? Do you think I want to babysit you? I was praying to the God I don’t believe in that your mother would pick up the phone, or your father would arrive in a helicopter or a submarine or a flying fucking saucer to take you-.”

“My father’s dead,”

“Angus-,” he hears you say but he holds up his hand for you to stop speaking.

Mr. Hunham stops dead in his rant, “But I thought your father-.”

“That’s just some rich guy my mom married. Give me your keys,” he sticks out his hand.

“It’s unlocked.”

Furiously, Angus stomps away. You excuse yourself from the two adults before doing your damnedest to not slip on the ice. Flats at this time of the year were not your best idea.

“Angus,” you reach him, tugging at the back of his jacket so that he’ll slow down. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The thing about your dad,” you mumble.

“The way my mom and Stanley talk about him, he might as well be don’t you think?”

“You don’t mean that,” you scold. “What happened? Are you really this mad about Elise?”

“No. Damn it. I don’t even like Elise.”

“Oh,” despite the circumstance, you can’t help but feel giddy. “Then what is it?”

“You seemed to be having a pretty good time yourself with Joe on that couch.”

“Joe?” You cross your arms. “You mean Joseph?”

“Oh great. You have a nickname for him.”

“Angus, Joseph is his legal name, that's the opposite of a nickname.”

“I don’t want to talk about Joe,” he says. You both reach the end of the block where Hunhams car is parked. In the distance you see them come closer, their feet crushing the white snow.

“You brought him up,” you massage your temple. You think back of the endless list of books you have read, or the many movies you’ve watched. You scour through the genres. You think of how Joseph managed to connect to life. You think of the rewatch of Cactus Flower with Mary. How envious Ingrid Bergman character was every time she saw Julian talk to Toni.

“Angus, were you jealous of Joseph?”

He stops his ongoing struggle with the car handle, finally prying it open.

“Were you jealous of Elise?” he asks you.

You frown and fixate on the pavement; your nails dig into your palm as your hands turn into fists. Deafening silence engulfs you before Angus exhales heavily. Before you can speak, Mr. Hunham arrives and motions for you to scooch over so he can open the passenger side for Mary.

“Sorry,” you apologize and get in the backseat.

“Straight to bed you hear me,” Mr. Hunham warns once you are all buckled in. “Enough theatrics for one day.”

“Mmhmm,” Angus responds, but all he is doing is looking at you.

[snailmail444]

Silent Night

NSFW ⭐️ 18+ ⭐️ MDNI

It’s your first winter star with Sam’s family! Everything is going great, except for the fact that you two can’t get a moment of privacy.

For @beet-roots Merry Kinkmas

AO3 Link

“Okay now let’s do Sammy’s girlfriend’s present!” Vincent squirms in your lap with excitement, looking upside down at you. His big blue eyes sparkle with adoration, and you think he takes after his brother.

Sam beside you looks playfully dejected. He pushes out his lip in a pout, shoving his hand into Vincent’s hair and down his face.

“Bro, stop,” he whines, and you think maybe his jealousy isn’t all for show, “you’re rizzing her up too much! She’s gonna leave me for you, dude!”

Sam’s playing, but you know he is at least a little perturbed because Vince can sit in your lap and he can’t. It’s a wonder he’s not climbing the walls right now, all things considered.

With deadly efficiency you use one hand to tickle his ribs, and Sam cringes back in a cry of surrender.

Kent rolls his eyes and coughs to hide a laugh while Jodi giggles. She gives you a sweet smile as she passes over a silver wrapped box. It says ‘from all of us’ in swooping calligraphy, and you know that means it’s from Jodi.

“You wanna unwrap it bud?” You ask, and Sam’s hand twitches out to the package before he realizes you were talking to Vince. Another pout, and you smirk at him while Vince annihilates the beautiful wrapping job Jodi did.

Dutifully, he passes back the unassuming cardboard box and crawls off your lap so you can open it properly.

You pull the top away and don’t delay in pushing back the tissue and removing the deep red nightgown, holding it up to the light to see better.

“I know it’s not very hip,” Jodi says, her voice quiet and maybe a little insecure, “but I—uh, we—just couldn’t leave it. Sammy sent those gorgeous pictures of you and I kept thinking how lovely you would look in it.”

It is pretty, albeit more conservative than you would ever pick for yourself. The gown is ankle length, with sleeves that hit the wrist. Lace and gold beading trim the edges, and you think Jodi has good taste.

You can feel Sam’s eyes heavy on you, on the nightgown, and you have to bite back a grin. He’s so desperate for you at this point, you know exactly where his brain is. Poor baby hasn’t gone over a day without sex since you two got together about four months ago, and with prepping and visiting it’s been a week since he had his hands on you.

“It’s perfect Jodi, thank you,” you say, winking at her conspiratorially before saying, “all of you have excellent fashion sense.”

In a show of good faith you change into it after dinner. Jodi was right—the color complements your complexion perfectly. And while it’s long, and shows no skin, it clings to your curves and drapes in such a way that you still look shapely. You look sexy in a prudish sort of way.

You’re not the only one that seems to think so. The moment you emerge from the bedroom to show Jodi the final product, Sam’s back to staring at you hard. As Jodi ooh’s and ah’s over you with the affection only a mother has, and Vincent stares with big round eyes and tells you you’re beautiful with a nervous little blush, Sam begins to fidget.

A glance at him and you think he might drag you out to his truck for some privacy and rail you in the passenger seat. Your cunt pulses with excitement. Vincent is going to be too distracted with his toys to bother you, and Jodi and Kent are going to take the Mullner’s Christmas cookies, so you’ll have time for a quickie if all goes well.

“And what about you, Sammy, don’t you think that—“ there’s a knock on the door, startling Jodi into silence. She presses a hand against her chest. “Goodness, now who could that be so late?”

Jodi wanders off towards the door and Sam circles in on you like a predator, fingers skimming the fabric where it hits your waist. He leans in close, and his voice is raspy in your ear. “I like this,” he says, giving it a small, affectionate tug, and you know that tone. That’s the tone he uses when he’s going to fuck you like an animal. A shiver of anticipatory arousal claws its way down your spine, and you smile.

“I can't say I approve of you coming all the way out here in the cold so late, but you know I’m always happy to see you Sebastian,” Jodi giggles, opening the door wider and letting in a pink cheeked, crookedly grinning Sebastian. He’s got a small present wrapped in his hands, and his eyes are positively glittering as he stares up at Sam’s mom.

“You know I can’t go a Winter Star without seeing you, Miss Jodi,” he says, savoring the words Miss Jodi. Sam retracts from your space while Jodi giggles and blushes, and he throws up his hands with a groan.

“Dude stop flirting with my mom,” he whines, and Sebastian laughs once before shaking his head and giving Jodi a sweet smile.

“I’m not flirting Sammy, I’m being polite. You should try it once in a while,” he says, and he winks before coming up to you and Sam.

“Why are you here?” Irritation drips off his every word, and you know Sam is properly annoyed. Pent up, desperate, and cockblocked by his best friend who’s also hitting on his mom.

Bad day for Samson.

“Other than I wanted to give you your present? I needed a break from the ‘festivities,’” he makes air quotes around festivities, and you can feel Sam unwind in resignation. “Come with me for a walk?”

“What’s the magic word?” Sam’s already stepping towards the door to his room, presumably to get dressed for the outside, and you feel a tug of disappointment. Maybe it’s not Sam getting cockblocked.

“I’ll say please if it makes you happy Samson.”

Your face must be doing something by the time Sam’s dressed and ready for the cold, because Sebastian frowns apologetically and Sam twists his mouth. Once Jodi finishes fussing over her boys and departs with Kent, Sam approaches with a sheepish smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and you stare at him hard in a way that hopes to convey your emotions.

“You better,” You respond, and maybe it’s a little more irritable than you meant for it to be because Sam looks like a kicked puppy as he follows Sebastian out the door. You’d feel worse if you weren’t babysitting Vincent alone on Winter Star when you could be getting railed.

It doesn’t take long for Jodi and Kent to get back—an hour said and done—and everyone readies for bed pretty immediately, too exhausted from the fact that Vince woke everybody at the godless hour of five am for presents. Sam still isn’t back by the time you crawl into his bed, and you glare at the air mattress where he should be and hope he can feel the phantom pain wherever he is.

You’re drifting off when a swoop of cold air chills you to the bone. There’s a light commotion, and you hear Sam go “fucking shit ass,” before you fully process that he’s stumbling in the window. You sit back, burrowing into his blankets as he regains his footing.

“Later Seb,” he calls outside with a wave, and you wave too, tight and irritable.

“See you Sammy. If you need me I’ll be in the master bedroom,” Sebastian calls back, and you hear his footsteps recede along with maniacal laughter, a faint call of bye to you billowing in the wind as an afterthought.

“Remind me to kick his ass,” Sam looks at you once he snaps the windowpane shut with a big grin, his cheeks pink and snow dusting his eyelashes. It makes you angry how good he looks right now, how disgustingly cute and charming.

“Sure,” you cross your arms and pout, averting your gaze as Sam comes up and kneels by the side of the bed.

“Baby please, I’m sorry,” he reaches for your hand, and when you don’t give it he settles for your gripping the nightgown, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that it’s right at the apex of your thigh, “what was I supposed to do? Say no to Seb in front of everybody?”

“Yes.”

He buries his face in the sheets beside you and you finally spare him a glance. He senses it and looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster, and you feel yourself melting under his gaze.

“Please, let me make it up to you,” he says, and there’s a little whine in his voice. Desperation, maybe. “I need you so bad, you look so hot right now, please.”

The chill of the room mingles with the sensation of watching Sam beg on his knees and makes your nipples hard, and you decide to go on with it for a minute. “It’s just a shame. I’m not even wearing any underwear, Sammy, because I was so excited to finally get a minute alone with you.”

He whines, shifts, and you can see the excited bulge growing in his pants.

“Too bad everybody’s home now so we can’t do anything. I’m really horny too.”

“No we can, please,” he grabs your hand now, chilly fingers insistent on yours, “we just have to be quiet. Everybody’s asleep. Come on, please?”

You almost break right now, but you hold out. If you can get him that much more worked up, it’ll be worth your while. “I dunno if you’d be able to keep it down Sammy. For your Winter Star present I was gonna let you fuck me without a condom—you know, an unwrapped gift kinda thing.”

It’s something you’ve been saving specifically for a moment like this. Truthfully you know Sam’s clean and you have reliable birth control, and would have let him hit raw months ago, but making him twitch with anticipation has been more fun than anything else.

And oh, it’s worth it to watch the way his eyes widen and his face slackens. He sits up that much taller, and you’re almost surprised he doesn’t clasp his hands together and shake them.

“Baby, I promise I’ll be good. I need you so bad. I really want my present, I’ll do anything.”

You gesture for him to stand, and he does because he’s a puppet on strings, and you arch your eyebrow at him. “You can start by putting your money where your mouth is. Sit at the foot of the bed for me and prove you can stay quiet by touching yourself.”

Sam’s clothes shlump to the floor unceremoniously as he peels off his layers, and you feel a pang of guilt because he’s shivering and flushed since he’s not warm yet. In a show of good faith, you kick the blanket towards him and scoot until you’re rested on the headboard.

It’s alright, you reason, because he won’t be left alone for long.

Sam wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and you watch with enthusiasm as he shifts. His cock is hard and flushed, his nipples pink and pert from the cold, and he’s wearing that shy expression he always has before he truly gets into it. You might be drooling.

It’s hard to tell if he’s teasing you or if he’s warming himself up when he runs his hand down his chest and across his stomach painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat when he finally wraps a hand around his cock, deliberate as he spreads a bead of precome from his tip down with his thumb.

His teeth sink into his lip on the first stroke, cheeks darkening while his eyebrows scrunch inwards. He watches you watch him, and one corner of his mouth ticks upwards while he spreads his knees that much more and arches his back.

Stage fright gone, Sam’s putting on a show now, and god do you ever watch. You lose yourself in it—in the way his abs tighten and his breath puffs out intermittently like he might’ve moaned in another situation. His head falls back on his shoulders, eyes screwed shut, until finally he tightens his hand around the base of his cock and looks at you with pure desperation.

“Please,” his voice is hoarse when he whispers, and he’s squirming. For just a second you think you should tell him no, keep going, because you’re so into watching him you want to see his come paint his beautiful stomach. But then he’s blinking at you, big blue eyes pleading. “Baby?” His voice cracks when he prods for a response, and you decide he should be put out of his misery.

“Remember to be qui—“ Sam cuts you off in a bruising kiss. He doesn’t waste a second, licking into your mouth while he fumbles between your legs, rucking up the nightgown in the process.

“Quiet,” he pants while he rips the hem up past your breasts, leaving you suddenly cold and exposed, save the places where his fingers trail blazing paths towards your cunt. “Quiet, uh huh, I’ll be so—quiet—“ he nods into your skin, latching his mouth to your neck and sucking while he slips a finger into your eager cunt.

Sam’s fingers are expert, long and dexterous and callused from years of playing the guitar, and you’re the one struggling not to make any noise now while he fingers you open for him. Every glance of his fingers has your thighs twitching and you biting back little wanton moans.

“Shit, I can’t,” Sam withdraws his fingers after barely a minute, still managing a throaty murmur, “I’m so sorry, fuck, I just can’t wait. You’re so goddamn wet.”

And then he’s lining himself up and thrusting into you slowly. Inching in while he huffs air through his clenched teeth. You can tell he’s really trying to hold himself back, to be gentle, but then his forehead drops to your shoulder and he looses a high whine when his hips snap all the way forward seemingly against his volition.

You freeze, heart hammering in your chest as you hold him still and listen for any sounds that somebody in the house has woken up. Sam’s doing his best, but he’s gyrating against your cunt frivolously and begging against your chest.

“Just couldn’t help it, I’m sorry. Sorry, please baby,” he’s much quieter in his whisper now, “you just felt better— ah —than I expected—please let me move, I’ll be good I swear.”

After another moment of nothing, you finally relax your grip, and Sam wastes no time, fucking into you so hard and fast your eyes roll back in your head.

“Thank you baby— nngh —thank you,” the words are spoken against your breasts as he presses his mouth to them, sucking and nipping the skin while he humps you like an animal in heat. “Best Winter Star gift ever, swear. Thank you, oh God.”

You’re actually surprised when his thumb finds its way to your clit. Sam’s one track minded on his best days, and you would’ve thought he’d be too overwhelmed to even think of it.

“Wanna— hah —feel you come. Can you come on my cock baby?”

You go to say yes, you’re right there, and a too loud moan slips from your chest instead when he slams right into your g-spot. Sam’s free hand closes over your mouth, eyes wide and hips stuttering as he tries and fails to still to a stop.

He either doesn’t give a fuck or can’t bring himself to slow down anymore, because a moment later he’s back to absolutely railing you, making little tiny grunting whines as he does his best to keep himself quiet. “Gonna come,” he manages, strained, and that’s what finishes you.

You ride wave after wave of delicious white heat as Sam stuffs you with his come, shaking and muffling himself against your skin. He doesn’t stop thrusting, greedy and prolonging your mutual pleasure as long as he can before he collapses onto you, limp.

When you finally get your bearings back you take stock of the situation: Sam draped over you, cock still inside, nightgown around your armpits, bruises beginning to purple in the places where Sam used you as his silencer. A ripple of perverse arousal trickles through your overstimulated body at the sheer wrongness of it all, and you twitch.

That’s enough to rouse Sam, who kisses your cheek and pulls out of you, lovingly tucking the nightgown back down to your ankles and pulling up the blanket before snuggling into your side.

When you two wake, you’re horrified to find come staining the inside of the nice garment. Sam sees it over your shoulder while you’re changing and packing, and he tugs you close to him, purring into your ear, “I want you to wear that again when we get home tonight. I’m not finished ruining it.”

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟱: 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗦 𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦

𝟬𝟰 : 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗢𝗡 | 𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦

Author’s Note: I didn't expect to be gone for so long but life just got in the way T_T. I'm still doing well and will see this story to the end! Updates won't be as frequent so I'm not going to put dates on when in case I disappoint like last time and can't stick to a set schedule. More chapters will be coming soon (the next one is written, just needs heavy editing). Call me crazy but if I'm not satisfied myself with what's written, I feel like readers won't either so I have to take my time and make sure it's good enough. Hopefully this long one makes up for my unintended hiatus and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it in the comments! Also, please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. Thank you to those still reading (and those just finding this now). It means a lot to me ♡

"Jun-Hee, please come back to me..." You place your hands on either side of his face and turn it toward yours. He stares at you, the only thing visible in the dark being each other.

As Jun-Hee stands frozen in shock, eyes shadowed by grief and body trembling uncontrollably, your heart aches at the sight. Without another word, you step closer, sliding your hand from its previous position on the side of his face down to hold his hand. In your mere presence, Jun-Hee's rigid posture begins to relax and his breathing, steadier.

Even when shrouded in darkness and even on the brink of despair, you would always be one another's comfort. And that, in itself, exists enough hope to spare.

"I can't do this without you," he whispers, hand clutching yours like a lifeline, his eyes refusing to look away from your own.

You smile up at him, but the sadness seeps through and the corners of your lips don't curl upward like before, the crinkle of mirth not quite reaching your eyes. "As long as we have one another, we have yet to lose."

The two of you watch forlornly in stunned silence as chaos continues to unfold all around, students like passerby thieves in the depth of night.

What was the price for stealing a life?

Seconds tick by, the passing of time like that of a fever dream where you can't escape the confines of an endless nightmare.

One Mississippi.

[ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ᴏʜ ʜʏᴇ-sᴜɴɢ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ᴏʜ ʜʏᴇ-sᴜɴɢ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ.]

Two Mississippi.

[ ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ᴋᴀɴɢ ʏᴇ-ᴡᴏɴ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ᴋᴀɴɢ ʏᴇ-ᴡᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ. ]

Three Mississippi.

[ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ʟᴇᴇ ʜʏᴜɴ-ᴊᴜɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴇᴜɴ, ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴs, ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ.]

Four Mississippi.

"Jang Hyun-Ho!" You immediately swivel your head to the right, recognizing Kyung-Jun's voice, seeing him pick up a phone that slides his way after rebounding haphazardly from a mistaken kick of desperation. He holds it up high just as the lights flash a dark scarlet hue, the deepest of the shades of red in the beam's spectrum. In its opaque midst, his Cheshire smile appears ever more sinister, pristine teeth stained with the color of blood. "Better find your phone quickly." With a taunting shake, Kyung-Jun chucks the device clear across the room carelessly and it clatters a short distance before settling deep underneath the lowermost bleacher seat.

You look back and forth between Hyun-Ho and Jun-Hee, torn on who to help. Regardless, you still had the chance of resurrection, to revive one of them, but with that comes the knowledge that you'd eventually have to first let go of one of them entirely.

Five Mississippi.

You would rather lose yourself all together than having to choose between either of them and watch as your world falls apart.

Making up your mind, you pull Jun-Hee along and he trails behind, not questioning where you were headed. Hyun-Ho is already on all fours by the time you reach the sidelines, face pressed against the ground and trying his hardest to reach beneath the small space to retrieve his phone.

Although he has long arms, they're neither thin nor flexible enough to reach far.

"Your muscles are useless." You move Hyun-Ho out of the way lightly and settle Jun-Hee on the ground next to you so that he's seated resting against the bleachers, finally catching on to what was going on.

"How can you still tease me in this situation?!" Hyun-Ho drones at the absurdity, whipping his head back and forth as more bodies drop dead all around. "Go, and don't worry about me. I'd give up a thousand of my chances for your one."

[ ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ᴋɪᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴊᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ᴋɪᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴊᴜ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ. ]

"We promised each other, remember?" Even in the dark lighting, you can feel his eyes softening.

You don't mind the floor, laying down on your stomach with your arm outstretched. Even in his blank state, Jun-Hee instinctively extends his hand out, palm upwards for you to rest your face on rather than have it press against the dirty surface.

Your fingers tiptoe against the cold wood, feeling around for the phone, but all you sense is dust. Not giving up, you flatten your arm further, stretching your fingers as far as they can go, finally coming in contact with a sharp and hard edge. Without wasting another precious moment, you swat it slowly and surely outward, ensuring that it wouldn't get caught or trapped beneath the bleachers forever.

One more sweep and you hold in your outspread hand Hyun-Ho's lost phone.

"Hurry and vote." You push the device towards him. "So long as it's not for the person who has the most votes. We can't afford to give anyone else up." Before he can say anything, you pull Jun-Hee back to his feet again and run into the center of the gym, digging around at every single phone that someone else hasn't already picked up.

Even without words, you end up looking for Jun-Hee's and he, yours. To the right by the upturned trash can, two phones lay stacked atop one another, area not yet ransacked.

You hastily grab them and flip to inspect the phone cases. Thankfully, one of them is Jun-Hee's, the shared photo booth picture sets you two took together peeking through the back pocket.

"I found yours!" You press Jun-Hee's phone into his palm, encircling his fingers around it tightly as you both escape to the edges of the gymnasium, out of the way of others searching.

His grip on you tightens, not ready to let go yet; neither your hand nor the temporary sense of safety you provided.

"And what about yours?"

Right as he says that, Kyung-Jun meanders over with your phone resting in his hold, the lavender outlined case easily recognizable even in the dark. Matching photos with Jun-Hee's of the two of you during happier times stares back at you.

You have absolutely no clue where he managed to find it or why he looked for yours in the first place, but you knew he would never tell you even if you were to ask.

Surprised, you peer up at him but he avoids looking directly at you in favor of cradling your hand to place your phone facedown into your palm before leaving just as quietly as he had come.

Jun-Hee is as taken aback as you though he doesn't question it, mind still focused on the impending doom and punishment he riddled on everyone.

Not long after, Da-Bum, Jung-Won, and Yoon-Seo come bounding over, their own phones in hand. The thought comes suddenly to you, unbidden, as to why Da-Bum and Jung-Won always seem like they're together as of late.

It seemed unexpected that either had developed mutual feelings, for both preferred solitude over company if they could help it. Not being able to put a finger on it unsettles you for some reason, the pair appearing together solely when night falls only to be more indifferent than strangers during the day. Maybe Da-Bum feels indebted to your group for the help, or maybe Jung-Won is simply protective for the sake of it, your mind concludes for you. Regardless of whatever case it may be, if you thought any more about it, you would spiral into an oblivion of unanswerable questions.

[ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ.]

[ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[sʜɪɴ sᴇᴜɴɢ-ʙɪɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴊɪɴ-ʜᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴀʜɴ ɴᴀ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

"Eun-Ha it is then," Jung-Won says to your group coldly. "Vote for her."

"What? No!" you outright reject, and Jung-Won is taken aback. "I'm not going to side with So-Mi on this without proper reason."

Yoon-Seo nods her head, assenting. "If we vote for her too, she'll die. We can't do that."

"What other choice do we have?" Jung-Won looks tense as she scrolls through the tally of votes yet to end.

"We'll scatter our picks so that we all get one vote each. I'll choose myself."

"We don't know if that's against the rules," you tell Yoon-Seo. "You can vote for me. Jun-Hee, you too."

"But—" they both oppose at the same time.

"I'll be okay." You look between them, resolute.

"Seol-Hwa..." Jun-Hee utters, more forlorn than ever.

"I'll gladly bite the bullet of two votes if it means we can hold out just that much longer. You and I both know we neither have the luxury nor time to think this over. I can take the small risk to save another innocent classmate."

"We don't know if she is," Jung-Won retorts.

"I know what I know and I trust my instincts. You can vote for her if you feel like it." Never before in your life have you ever seen less than eye-to-eye with Jung-Won but with the existence of this deadly game, it has become a given and no longer a rarity.

You watch as Da-Bum and Jung-Won eye one another nervously, your curiosity peeking over how they got so close so fast.

[ᴊɪɴ ᴅᴀ-ʙᴜᴍ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ.]

[ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴊɪɴ ᴅᴀ-ʙᴜᴍ.]

[ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ.]

[ʟᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴏɴ-sᴇᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ.]

[ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ.]

[ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ.]

[ᴊᴀɴɢ ʜʏᴜɴ-ʜᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴅᴏɴɢ-ʜʏᴜɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

You bite your lip in frustration as the two boys vote hastily, most likely swayed by the majority and not having been within earshot of Yoon-Seo's suggestion. Your eyes meet across the room, soulless and empty, shells of the people you once were, looking back at one another in a haze of blinding lights.

As the red hue morphs back into a dulled white, it feels like you have all just descended into hell and back, heaven now much too far out of reach.

[ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs, ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ.]

Eun-Ha sits lifeless on the ground in the middle of the circle, fingers twisted around her phone, the one precious vote failing to be her saving grace. "I said I was a citizen," she whimpers in tears, going around and grabbing everyone's hands, pleading uselessly. Those that voted for her look away guiltily, the possibility of her innocence still up in the air. "How many times must I tell you it wasn't me?" Her steps stagger, not yet able to accept the unfair death sentence hanging above her head, everyone an executioner. "Why?" She repeats like a mantra. "Why me?"

Secretly pulling out your phone, you make sure no one knew of it. In the moment, everyone's attention was directed at Eun-Ha's spiraling emotions and you quickly click on her name, the first person you were choosing to heal.

You look up as Eun-Ha's footsteps squeak against the floor, her hands covering the tears streaming down her face as she runs through the glass doors of the gymnasium until her figure can no longer be seen rounding the corner.

Fate, please be less cruel.

No matter how hard you try to fight it, as the music crescendos over the speakers like a cursed lullaby, you can't fight the heaviness settling over you. Your eyelids heavy, droops to cover your eyes in a blanket of darkness as your body sinks to the ground.

Even above water, you feel like you're drowning on air.

Whether it's in sleep or reality, the pull of the void is too strong for you to resist, and you can't for the life of you, seem to get away, forced to succumb to it.

[ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ.]

You're suspended on the threshold of subconsciousness and consciousness, light spots flickering behind your eyelids momentarily before they dissipate and you're forced to come back to the realm of the living.

As your eyes refocus upon opening, extricating yourself from the caress of sleep that miraculously enveloped you, you feel so, so tired of everything.

Would it be better to give in or give up?

Jun-Hee is beside you but doesn't utter a word, his gaze fixed on an empty space in the distance, eyes rimmed red. Your hand itches to reach out toward his but you instead will it to remain still, digits curling into your palm, nails clenched hard enough to create crescent divots intersecting the creases in your hand.

How do you even begin to comfort him when you can't so much as do it for yourself?

Yoon-Seo sits to your right, hand over her eyes as silent sobs rock her body, trembling back the telltale sign of her suppressed cries.

"Joo-Young..." Mi-Na calls, your attention turning to the pair. Your hand comes up to clasp over your mouth as you realize a white sheet had been laid upon her face.

Try as you might, you couldn't pretend not to know the one thing that meant.

"No..." you whisper out.

"Joo-Young," Mi-Na repeats, still receiving no response from her friend. Even shaking her foot does nothing to change the silence. "This isn't funny..."

Yoon-Seo scrambles over on shaky legs, dropping to her knees in front of Joo-Young's rigid body.

"She's acting weird..." Mi-Na mumbles, hand unsteadily reaching toward her friend. As she grabs the corner of the white cloth, the incoming announcement has her hand dipping to the floor limply.

[ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʟᴇᴇ ᴊᴏᴏ-ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴡᴀs ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ. ʟᴇᴇ ᴊᴏᴏ-ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ.]

Yoon-Seo throws back the cover to the onslaught of gasps at the pale, lifeless body beneath, already stiffening up due to rigor mortis.

Irrespective of everyone's state of mind, the announcement drones on monotonously, unfitting of the somber atmosphere.

[ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀs ɴᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄʜᴏsᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ.]

[ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪ��ɪᴘᴀɴᴛs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs.]

The staticky sound over the speakers is drowned out by Mi-Na's cries, yet to comprehend the death of her friend who she fell asleep beside last night, only for one of them to wake up in the morning.

Quietly, Yoon-Seo pulls back Joo-Young's shirt collar, fingers trembling against a ligature mark bruised red like branding done by the devil. "Strangulation..."

Mi-Na ignores Yoon-Seo's remark, beelining for Jun-Hee and grasping him by the neck of his button up shirt, shaking him in hysterics, resentful. "I said I wouldn't follow your plan," she reiterates her sentiment from the previous night. "If we hadn't listened, none of us would've gathered here only to end up like this." Jun-Hee is shoved back with every word, every accusation. "You killed them all and now it's on you!" Mi-Na nearly spits in his face, angry tears staining her face.

"Stop it!" So-Mi shouts.

You merely stare, not daring to move an inch. Everyone else remains rooted to their spot, the events of last night yet to fade from memory. Even Jun-Hee acknowledges his fault, allowing Mi-Na to throw him around and curse in his face. Nothing could make him feel better. Tears well up in your eyes as you dissect the gravity of the situation, pitying how responsibility can so easily become liability.

"They're not wrong," Ji-Soo voices, voice barely above a whisper. "We simply survived by pure luck. You and Kyung-Jun...neither of you can fix this nor return the lives lost."

Kyung-Jun, who had been sitting in the chair he fell asleep in last night, stands up and kicks it aside, sending it skidding across the floor. "Fuck you," he swears with venom at Ji-Soo. "If you know what's good for you, then keep my name out of your mouth. It's not my fault to share." He turns to her, glaring. "Did I suggest the idea first?" Pointing straight at Jun-Hee, Kyung-Jun shakes his finger condescendingly. "This happened because of you, and only you."

"I'm sorry," is all Jun-Hee manages to say as he staggers away from the scene, wanting to be alone.

No one runs after him.

This time, not even you.

You sit motionlessly, only having the heart to count how many steps it takes for Jun-Hee to walk away, and wonder how many it will take for him to come back.

"Whatever," Kyung-Jun waves his hand dismissively. "The class president got us into this mess, and the only way for us to get out of it is to go to the very end. Let's vote him out today." He casts a hidden sidelong glance over at your soulless gaze after Jun-Hee's retreating form and turns away, adding nothing more to fuel the fire but neither does he retract his statement.

Jung-Won steps forward, sizing up Kyung-Jun without a single fear of the possible consequences in doing so. "You—" At her address, his head swivels back, cat-like eyes sharp as daggers. "You said it was a good idea and went so far as to collect our phones. Why change your tune now?" She crosses her arms in front of her chest, gauging. "Care to tell us why you were the only one relaxed last night?" Jung-Won raises one eyebrow defiantly. "Is it because you took your phone back secretly?" Scoffing, she ridicules him. "Don't play innocent when you're the most suspicious."

You whip your head toward Jung-Won, wondering how she possibly found that out in the commotion. It finally clicks to you that either he had both his and yours hidden in his possession or he only had yours to look for after already having secured his survival with a vote. No matter which way you looked at it, Kyung-Jun devised a win-win situation. The clear advantage had compelled him to so readily agree with Jun-Hee and avoid the brunt of blame.

Of course he wouldn't change.

"Yah," he voices lowly and menacingly, stepping closer to Jung-Won, staring her down. "Isn't it obvious? How are we to trust Jun-Hee? For all we know, he could be Mafia." Turning to look at everyone in succession, he yells loudly, those nearest to him jumping from the sudden sound. "GUYS! Our lives depend on this game." His eyes shift toward Jung-Won pointedly. "Why entrust someone else with mine? I just used my brain, something you all don't seem to do." Despite his anger being directed at Jung-Won, he punctuates his words with punches to Da-Bum's chest, a mere bystander beside her. "If not, last night I would've been another corpse in the mountain of bodies."

"Stop it, please..." Yoon-Seo nearly begs, tiredness seeping into her voice. She throws her hands up in frustration. "Do you still want to fight after everything that's happened? How long must we stay here and anxiously wait out our turn?" Even when no one answers, Yoon-Seo adds, "Won't we even attempt to find our way back home?"

Though the schpiel was aimed at Kyung-Jun and not even her, So-Mi sneers, rolling her eyes, displeased. "How naïve do you have to be to think that we can? It's not that we don't want to. We can't."

Yoon-Seo turns to her. "This game—if we figure out its purpose, we can find a way out without anyone else dying." Silence envelops the room as she looks around, eventually gesturing to the bodies strewn across the floor. "Before that, let's move everyone."

Mouth hanging open, So-Mi looks at Yoon-Seo in shock. "Excuse me?!"

"We can't leave them like this. They were once our classmates. The least we can do is to allow them rest in the freezer."

As Kyung-Jun turns on his heel to leave, Seung-Bin and Jin-Ha are quick to follow, no ounce of sorrow hanging over them.

Yoon-Seo, ever-courageous, latches onto Kyung-Jun's wrist as he brushes past her. "Stay and help."

He yanks his arm back, grumbling under his breath. "Crazy bitch.”

Woo-Ram backs up Yoon-Seo, indignantly criticizing Kyung-Jun. "How cheap of you to always walk away by yourself, leaving others behind. Is it not in your ability to leave half of your heart to care for someone? Not even a single person?"

Kyung-Jun advances, ready to round on him, but So-Mi and Jung-Won block Woo-Ram off from his path and you're once again left floundering in the dark searching for answers to the unexpected dynamics established over the course of just a few days.

Not giving up, Yoon-Seo grabs Kyung-Jun again, on the brink of pleading.

You get up to your feet unstably, shuffling over to pry her quivering fingers away as no one else steps up to side with her. "Yoon-Seo..." you get out listlessly. "Don't waste your time on those who will never understand. We don't need them. We'll be fine on our own." You don't look back as the two of you task yourselves with the act, the others watching on aghast.

Mindlessly, you go through the motions, forcing your arms and legs to cooperate, mind numb as you drag the cold and bloody bodies of your fellow classmates.

So many hopes and dreams have yet to blossom, but this is where they'll remain, wilted and buried forever, never to bloom.

You kneel on the ground, aimlessly orientating limbs to lay properly and force the tears to stay suspended on the rims of your eyes, not allowing them to fall and desecrate the bodies of your schoolmates. Your thoughts blur as you move on autopilot when someone suddenly tugs you by the forearm up into a standing position.

You come face to face with Kyung-Jun, the force with which he pulls you up propelling you inches away from him as he fights with himself to keep up the angry facade, glint slowly fading as he catches sight of your eyes. Through the haze of tears, his features blur in your vision, the distortion of expression leading you to see only concern.

You attempt to yank your arm out of his grip but he doesn't intend to let you do so. Seeing you flinch, he realizes the force of his strength and relaxes his hold around your forearm, fingers lingering at your wrist.

"Let go."

"Why are you doing this?" he questions, the scene drawing the attention of the others, yet none dare to intervene.

"Because I actually care," you grit through your teeth, only loud enough for him to hear, tears cascading in rivulets down your face.

Away from the veil of tears, there's no mistaking the look on his face this time, pupils wavering back and forth between your own. The realization of the night in the infirmary dawns on him as he finally understands that you are the type of person to care for everyone, regardless of all else.

Kyung-Jun's eyes trail every path your teardrops make as it etches marks onto your face, his hold becoming lax. You pull away roughly and swipe at your tears with your sleeve, returning to the matter at hand and choosing to ignore him completely.

Everyone is more than surprised when Kyung-Jun moves you out of the way and wordlessly transports the bodies himself, enlisting the aid of Seung-Bin and Jin-Ha, who after being forced to get over their initial shock, have no choice but to listen and reluctantly follow along.

He throws backward glances at you all the while, not understanding or being able to pinpoint why and how infuriating it was that you were the only one who seemed to be able to get under his skin by doing nothing, by your presence alone, yet he doesn't think he'll get the chance to ever find out.

You drop to the floor even as everyone heads to the freezer, fingers pressed into the palms of your hands.

As you uncurl your trembling digits one by one, it reveals stains that bleed into every fold of skin.

One in particular is a darker shade of red, seeping deeper into the crease.

Your eyes trace the curve adjacent to your thumb, path now extended.

Life line.

Yet, you can't find it in yourself to rejoice at the sight when the one thing symbolizing your prolonged existence is a promise written in blood.

After Yoon-Seo requested to be alone to pay her respects to those who passed, you wait outside the ice-cold room, sitting on the floor with your back pressed against the sealed doors.

At the sound of footsteps, you look up to see Jun-Hee. Silently, he crouches down before you, simply looking at you before he lifts his hand toward your cheek. Your eyes follow as his fingers hang suspended in the air by the side of your face.

He closes his eyes once before opening them again and letting his hand drop into his lap, a dark look flitting across his soft features. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

You let out the breath you weren't aware you were holding. "What for?"

Jun-Hee slumps against the metal frame beside you, head leaned back and eyes avoiding yours. "Everything."

You watch him intently.

"I shouldn't have done what I did last night," he tells you, angling his body toward yours.

You shake your head, sensing him drawing into himself. "Don't blame yourself. None of us could possibly know what would happen."

"No, it really is my fault. I'll live with the guilt forever."

"I won't let you live with it alone..." You scoot closer to him, your arms pressed against one another's.

"How—" his voice shakes as he gazes at you, the space between his eyebrows creasing. "How can you still stand to talk to me? To look at me? To be next to me?" You make to speak, but he continues on before you can get a word in. "It hurts, Seol-Hwa." With a weak murmur, he rests his head on your shoulder.

"It's okay to be hurting. Cry if you have to." You lean your head atop his. "I'm here for you."

"Are you not repulsed by me?"

"Is that why you drew your hand away earlier?"

He sits back up properly but doesn't reply. You grasp the answerless answer all the same.

"Jun-Hee," you say, fingers still itching to intertwine with his as you look down at your hands touching in the gap between your bodies, but not enough to hold. "Until this game is actually over, people will keep dying. There's no way we can fight that, no matter how hard we try, but if you really want to be responsible—to still be responsible—think of how to find a way to get everyone out safe, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, smiling the faintest for your sake.

You stare at him in the momentary silence that follows, wishing you could tell him what you truly mean. Instead, you mask your feelings, settling for a word of comfort that doesn't overstep the boundaries of friendship. "You can always come to me. When you're happy...and when you're sad."

This time, he reaches out to cradle your face without reluctance, without hesitancy. "What did I do to deserve you?" His thumb brushes across your cheek lightly. "Our friendship is my life's biggest dilemma."

"Good or bad?"

Your question draws a soft chuckle from Jun-Hee. "Good, I promise." He gets a faraway look in his eyes for a second as he mumbles, "Almost too good for me to ever change it. Even though I find myself wanting to, more and more, every single day."

"What do you mean?"

He pulls his hand away and smiles faintly to himself. "Later. I'll tell you later."

Although confused, you let it slide. "I'll hold you to that." You get up, brushing off your skirt before angling your hand down, outstretched for Jun-Hee to take. He grabs it and stands up, the two of you facing one another. "Me and you against the world?"

"Always," Jun-Hee affirms, pulling you in by the hand, so close that the toes of your matching white sneakers are aligned.

"Jun-Hee...?"

"Can you hug me? Just so I know that it will be okay?"

You stretch on your tiptoes, placing your arms around his neck and pull him in nearer as his wind around your waist, drawing you tighter against his chest, hands settling at the small of your back. He snuggles his face into the line of your shoulder and presses closer, breathing in deeply.

"Everything will turn out alright." You rest your chin on his shoulder and lean your head against the side of his.

"I believe you," Jun-Hee exhales out shakily, squeezing you that much tighter so that you have to rise higher on your toes.

"Let's not give up until this is over, yeah?"

"As long as I have you by my side, how can I?"

The two of you slowly extract yourselves from one another, the sound of something tumbling in succession on the other side of the sliding metal doors making you and Jun-Hee dash in without another thought after a second glance at each other.

Yoon-Seo lays in the middle of strewn empty crates, hands around her neck and gasping for air.

"Yoon-Seo!" You stoop beside her as Jun-Hee makes to prop her up while you dig in her skirt pocket for her inhaler, administering it to her quickly.

Given the sudden commotion, the rest file in, having heard the ruckus and loud exclamations, crowding around to see what exactly was going on.

Yoon-Seo still struggles to breathe as you assess her level of consciousness, supporting her the best you can. Eventually, her eyes close and she passes out.

You recruit help from Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun, Na-Hee trailing them as they take Yoon-Seo to the infirmary to rest. Unfortunately, that meant you and Jun-Hee had to sit down with the rest and discuss what to do going forward.

Thankfully, you realize with relief and a weight lifted off your heart, Eun-Ha is back and sitting with Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan, very much alive and very much safe.

The only seat remaining is between Jun-Hee and Kyung-Jun, and you gingerly settle down in the middle, not acknowledging the latter even as he speaks up.

"Let's not drag this out and cut to the chase." Kyung-Jun sits spread eagle, leaning his elbows on his knees with his arms hanging down toward the floor as he looks up with his head slightly bowed, addressing everyone. "If you're part of the Mafia, speak up."

Jung-Won purses her lips, thinking it idiotic. "Are you aware that your mouth runs before your brain does? Do you think you would reveal yourself if it were you?" she says sarcastically.

Kyung-Jun whistles, in disbelief at her sassiness. "Okay, that was bad on my part. Let me try again. To rephrase, I'm giving you all a chance to condemn someone. Who would like to start?"

"So-Mi," Eun-Ha inserts without missing a beat.

"Yah! It's not me!" So-Mi shrieks, extricating her headband roughly from her hair and tossing it on the ground with a clang.

"Did I say it was you?" Eun-Ha crosses her arms and sneers, much bolder and more confident after having revived. "I simply called out your name. Why are you already on the defensive?

Kyung-Jun leans back in his chair, watching the scene unfold with amusement, the rest eyeing warily the two girls with nothing but a wall of animosity between them. "We'll come back to this," Kyung-Jun resolves, merely rolling his eyes at So-Mi's glare, unbothered.

Dramatically, Seung-Bin suddenly slams his hand against the table in front of him, a resounding outburst that's sure to have hurt his palm more than he let on. "Disclose if you're on the Police team too." Met with radio silence, he menacingly tries a different approach of threatening answers out of everyone. "Are you not going to?"

Da-Bum repositions himself in his chair, looking up and down from his clasped hands settled in his lap. "I...don't think they would do that either, just like the Mafias won't."

"Of course they won't," Yu-Jun agrees, making everyone turn toward him, still suspicious about his role.

Given how he was healed without imminent danger or justification to be saved, he was high on your list as a fellow doctor who chose to protect himself first and foremost. That was one of the reasons for you deciding not to ever pick yourself, otherwise the group could come to a certain conclusion if they put two and two together.

"Fuck," Kyung-Jun curses, looking out over everyone gathered. "Why the hell won't you cooperate?" When no one responds, and not knowing what more to say, he turns your way but looks past you at the last minute, instead turning the focus on Jun-Hee. "Banjang, it's you, is it not? Only citizens died because you didn't allow us to vote. Tell me then, was it all part of the Mafia's plan to get rid of as many citizens as possible?"

In a deadpan manner that leaves no room for argument, you don't look at Kyung-Jun when you defend Jun-Hee. "That's not true. If you read through the alerts of everyone who passed last night, a Mafia was caught in the crossfire too. Why would they willingly give up their own member if it was supposed to be a foolproof plan?"

You can feel Kyung-Jun staring a hole through the side of your face but it quiets him for the time being.

"At least we can be almost sure about who one of the doctors is," Woo-Ram voices, everyone's eyes flickering over to Yu-Jun, virtually indisputable.

He finally notices the attention on him and rejects the assumption feebly without a strong counterargument. "I'm telling you it's really not me." Yu-Jun looks to his girlfriend for help but Ji-Soo misunderstands the look as throwing her under the bus.

"Who do you take me for?"

Mi-Na points between the couple. "It has to be you two. Who else would bother to save Yu-Jun?"

The boy in question turns to Mi-Na, half offended and half frustrated. "I don't know why they decided to save me either. Would I be dumb enough to protect and out myself simultaneously if I had that role?"

Even Ji-Soo turns to study her boyfriend as he speaks and you're now positive with the way he's shielding that he was indeed the other doctor aside from yourself. "Maybe it really isn't him," Ji-Soo helps out. "By the same logic, you'd be saying that either Eun-Chan or Yeon-Woo had saved Eun-Ha, but the two of them were more shocked at her resurrection than she was."

Mi-Na uses that mention to segue into the next point of discussion. "Kim So-Mi."

"Me?" So-Mi huffs, widening her eyes in anger. "Again?"

"Eun-Ha said you were a Mafia yesterday. Did you pick her because she caught you red-handed?"

Hesitating, So-Mi turns her body toward her accuser. "I only voted for her because she was going to vote for me first."

"That's a weak excuse and you know it," Eun-Ha chimes in. "Don't forget I saw what you did on the mountain. Did you think I would disregard it and let it slide? After you nearly killed me yesterday?"

"What happened on the mountain?" Kyung-Jun presses, glancing over at you without your noticing, eyes trailing down to your legs still littered in bruises and cuts yet to heal.

Eun-Ha smiles sarcastically. "So-Mi purposefully tried to push Dong-Hyun and Seol-Hwa downhill so that they would fall outside the lines and be executed."

"You bitch!" So-Mi points a finger at her. "I almost slipped myself trying to grab his hand."

"You clearly didn't try hard enough," Eun-Ha retorts. "That same day when we came back, Dong-Hyun himself said that you never did so. You had no intention of doing it." Eun-Ha glances over at you briefly before continuing. "If it wasn't for Seol-Hwa risking her own life to help her friend, he would've most likely impaled himself on that tree stump down by the edge of the cliff." The description leaves little to the imagination and you close your eyes against subconsciously reliving the unwanted memories.

"This is all circumstantial evidence!" So-Mi screams, feeling cornered.

"Both Dong-Hyun and Seol-Hwa are still here. She hasn't corrected me, and if we're to go and get Dong-Hyun right now, I'll bet everything I have he would side with me." Eun-Ha smirks at So-Mi. "The three ghosts you failed to make are back to haunt you."

"What motive would I have to do it? Huh?!" So-Mi provokes, running out of options to act blameless.

"Easy," Eun-Ha leans forward, at the edge of her seat, not breaking So-Mi's gaze. "Dong-Hyun had to go first because you knew he's stronger and the only way to endanger him would be petty tricks like telling him to check the fading boundary line, knowing there was a fifty percent chance of him being wrong." She shrugs, using her face-up palms like a scale, weighing. "If he was unfortunate and was out of favor with the Lady of Luck, you knew either way Seol-Hwa, being the kind person that she is, would have done everything in her power to save him. If you played your cards right, you could've rid of both of them at once."

"And what would Seol-Hwa have anything to do with me being suspected like this?!" So-Mi fumes, vein protruding from her neck.

"I think everyone in the school knows this by now. They'd have to be blind or living under a rock not to." Eun-Ha laughs mockingly, hiding her smile behind her hand. "It's obvious how much you like Jun-Hee but he could care less about you when he'd probably turn the world upside down for Seol-Hwa. That's the only vendetta you have against her."

Jun-Hee shifts back and forth in his seat next to you, uncomfortable at being involved in So-Mi's villain origin story, and you try not to blush at what Eun-Ha is implying, entirely inappropriate for the situation.

So-Mi flushes in embarrassment, even more so that none of her friends were coming to her defense. "Do you really think I'd be that petty?!"

In a turn of events, it's not Eun-Ha but Kyung-Jun who replies to her. "Yes, we do. We've all seen what you're like at school and all the things you've done."

"You're no saint either, Go Kyung-Jun," So-Mi says to him bitterly.

He cackles in her face. "Maybe, but unlike you, at least I'm not a murder suspect."

"Fuck you—"

"Thanks but no thanks, because I wouldn't like you either." Kyung-Jun swats his hand flippantly at So-Mi before he reaches out and pulls your chair toward him, metal squeaking against wood. The rest turn and look, entirely baffled at the sight. You don't move very far as Jun-Hee drags the other side of your chair back toward him, not letting go even as Kyung-Jun releases his hand instantly, smirking. Jun-Hee probably doesn't realize that his hand has instinctively settled on your knee, without any intent to move it away. "Now that was a test." He motions with a circling finger from you, to Jun-Hee, and finally to Eun-Ha in succession before stopping directly in front of So-Mi, miming drawing an 'x' in the air level with her face. "And you're the only one who didn't pass." As So-Mi gapes at him, he turns to Jun-Hee. "Don't worry." He throws a sidelong glance, tilting his head at you, gesturing. "I'm allergic to nice people."

"Take of it what you will," Eun-Ha concludes, having said everything she needed to get off her chest. You can't help but beam to yourself seeing her back to the best version of her she could be. You've been suspicious of So-Mi from the start with all her power trips and victim mentality. It was about time someone put her in her place, and who better to do it then the person she expected to have finished off last night.

"Aside from So-Mi's inferiority complex," Mi-Na begins again. "Anyone else have anything to say?"

As a last resort, So-Mi turns the table on Mi-Na herself, knowing an attack on Eun-Ha would just be her announcing she'd like to be voted off. "What about you then? You're a Mafia, right?" She stands up, gaining height advantage as she approaches Mi-Na. "You and Joo-Young had a big argument yesterday."

"We did have one but why would I kill her over it? Friends fight all the time about the littlest things."

"You lick her boots as if you're her servant in front of her and then proceed to badmouth her behind her back. I guess you found the perfect alibi last night handed to you on a silver platter."

"No wonder," Jin-Ha chimes in, hatefully. "Joo-Young did treat Mi-Na no less than a dog."

"That's not true at all!" Stumped, Mi-Na turns to read the room but everyone is still processing all the accusations that have sprung up.

Kyung-Jun pinches the bridge of his nose, irritated. "Dammit, you all talk so much. Where was this fervor when I asked initially? Just turn yourself in or you'll see blood. I won't say it twice."

After a short pause, Woo-Ram dares to question him. "Why did you do that, then?"

"What the fuck are you going on about?"

Woo-Ram looks up, sitting backwards in his chair facing Kyung-Jun. "Why did you hide your phone if you knew the consequences of forfeiting our votes?" He scoffs, shaking his head and sending his hair into his eyes. "You purposefully didn't tell us, right?"

The room is silent, with all you can hear being the thoughts echoing in your head circulating around his repetition of what Jung-Won had said this morning.

Did they perhaps discuss it, or did he arrive at the same exact conclusion? How come Jung-Won isn't the one to bring this up now when she was the first to point out Kyung-Jun hours earlier?

Something gnaws at you for even starting to suspect Jung-Won when you hadn't initially. The feeling only hit you in the midst of disarray and now it refuses to leave no matter how hard you try to dissuade yourself that it couldn't be Jung-Won. You steal a glance at her, but she's simply staring at the ground, hands holding the sides of her chair, feet still and flat against the floor, body unmoving.

She's one of your closest friends—one of the few people you trusted the most. Surely, she wouldn't lie to you this way, would she?

Oh, how the betrayal would hurt.

Kyung-Jun's angry defense reels you back into the conversation as he once again, deflects the blame onto Jun-Hee. "I told you. How can we trust this bastard?"

"If you didn't believe it then, why tell us to follow through?" Woo-Ram pushes, dead set on incriminating Kyung-Jun.

You had no idea what Woo-Ram's role was, but you knew for sure Kyung-Jun wasn't part of the Mafia. He may be inhumane, caring about no one aside from himself, but all the things he's done in the name of self-preservation has been in-character, matching his notorious personality. The only thing that troubled you about him was his cornering of Jun-Hee.

Kyung-Jun chuckles darkly. "Don't try to cast the spotlight on me now. It's too late for that, Woo-Ram." The way he says the name scares you, like he knows something no one else does. "It's you who killed Joo-Young. Do you think I wouldn't know?"

Stammering, Woo-Ram grips the backrest of his chair tightly, fingers turning white from the force of his hold. "W-What?"

"You confessed to her only for it to end in rejection," Kyung-Jun details bluntly. "She spread the incident online where in place of sympathy, all you received was criticism. No one took pity on you and instead sided with her, bashing the one who bared their heart." He laughs sardonically. "Usually, people root for the one who professes for their courage in speaking up, yet you were a lost cause." Kyung-Jun raises one eyebrow, going in for the kill. "You've always been nothing but pathetic in the end."

"Did you seriously think I meant what I said to her?!" Woo-Ram whisper-yells. "I was joking. It was a prank. I was dared to do it." Judging by his digressiveness, you knew the cat's out of the bag.

"Don't try to fool me. I'm no idiot." Kyung-Jun brushes his hair back only for it to flop back down in its usual style by the sides of his face. "You kneeled and begged her to take down the post. Everyone here knows it. We all saw how much you groveled." He turns to Mi-Na, inciting her to join with a snap of his fingers. "C'mon. You say it. You were the one who recorded the whole thing and uploaded it."

You eye Mi-Na as she agrees without reserve and you sigh, realizing just how everyone lacked a sense of loyalty.

"It doesn't pertain to this!" Woo-Ran pounds the back of his chair in irritation. "What does that have to do with this game?" By saying that, he was basically admitting to it.

"IT DOES BECAUSE YOURE A GODDAMN MAFIA!" Kyung-Jun shouts back, control of the conversation now back in his court. "You killed Ju- Won first because it would've been suspicious if you went for Joo-Young first, correct?"

You have no idea how Kyung-Jun manages to sidestep every single allegation thrown at him with ease, ultimately making his opponents seem more suspicious than him. Though you believe he has no important role, there was no denying how formidable of a player he is in this game.

"How can I be a Mafia when you're still an option? The one who relentlessly blames others," Woo-Ram retorts blandly. Even he himself seems like he knows he's on the losing end of the fight.

Kyung-Jun stands up all of a sudden, his height towering over the rest seated. "Fuck it," he says, raising his phone in the air as he makes a show of pressing the button underneath Woo-Ram's name.

[ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ-ᴡᴏᴏ ʀᴀᴍ.]

"Don't listen to him!" Woo-Ram turns and appeals to the rest. "It's really not me!"

Looking down, Kyung-Jun pats Woo-Ram's cheek mockingly, more like a slap to the side of his face before grabbing his chin and squeezing roughly, angling it up so Woo-Ram has no choice but to look at him. "These are the eyes of a killer. He's one hundred percent Mafia through and through," Kyung-Jun declares with certainty, pushing Woo-Ram by the chin, twisting his neck to the side harshly.

Before a fight can break out, So-Mi grabs a hold of both of Kyung-Jun's arms and tries to pin them down. As far as you were concerned, So-Mi and Woo-Ram were good friends but not to the point where she would go out of her way to help him. There was more to this interaction than meets the eyes.

You jump in your seat as Kyung-Jun casts her to the side callously, her hip slamming against the edge of the nearest table with a hard thud, sure to leave a bruise. She yelps in pain, hand holding her side. "Hands off me, you filthy bitch. You're next after him." He throws an unnoticeable look in your direction before rounding on So-Mi. "You've done much worse than Woo-Ram."

A single tilt of Kyung-Jun's head is enough to send a quiet message across to his lackeys, both pulling out their phones, screens bright.

[sʜɪɴ sᴇᴜɴɢ-ʙɪɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴊɪɴ-ʜᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

"You lot of jerks!"

Kyung-Jun shuts Woo-Ram up instantaneously by effectively yanking him by his collar, choking him one-handed, eyeing the room as he addresses everyone. "You should all vote for him too. Who knows what trivial reasons he has hidden to kill you?" His eyes slide over toward Mi-Na sitting on the edge of her seat. "He holds so many grudges against you. Since Joo-Young is dead, you better watch out. Maybe it'll be your turn soon." He releases his fingers effortlessly and Woo-Ram drops like a dead fish face first onto the table, gasping for air.

With that, Kyung-Jun saunters out of the room, his friends in tow, Seung-Bin shoving Jun-Hee out of the way as he tries to get them to stay.

Slowly one by one, everyone disperses, Ji-Soo taking hold of Yu-Jun's hand and dragging him away the catalyst in driving the others to follow suit, filing out without listening to Jun-Hee's calls. You can tell by his eyes just how much it pains him having lost so much respect, authority as class president having diminished in the blink of an eye.

[ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

"That crazy witch." Woo-Ram makes way to locate Mi-Na, but Jun-Hee stops him.

"Don't," Jun-Hee warns. "Think of what this will make you look like if you go after Mi-Na just as Kyung-Jun said." He squeezes Woo-Ram's shoulder. "I'll persuade them."

Before he can leave, Yoon-Seo walks in, supporting a still-limping Na-Hee, Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun behind them.

"What's going on? What happened?" Yoon-Seo looks around at all your stricken faces.

"I fell prey to Kyung-Jun's plot," Jun-Hee acknowledges. "I shouldn't have let them vote for Woo-Ram."

"Do you think they would've listened to anyone but themselves?" Jung-Won questions, her point standing.

"Instead of talking here, don't we have to sway the others to choose someone else?" So-Mi brings her nails to her mouth, biting at it worriedly.

"Who would we ask them to vote for?" Jung-Won shoots back, exasperated at So-Mi's inept attempt at rational thinking.

"I don't know," So-Mi drags the syllables out, pricked. "Anyway, it'll be fine as long as it's not us."

"Of course you would say that." You fix her with a sharp gaze, analyzing from your spot atop a table beside Hyun-Ho.

"What's that supposed to mean, you bit—" She steps toward you but Jun-Hee is quick to shield you behind him and she backs down, quieting.

"If only we knew more about the other team," Na-Hee mutters.

[ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

[ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

[ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

[ᴊɪɴ ᴅᴀ-ʙᴜᴍ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ.]

"How can they do this to me?!" Woo-Ram laments loudly, pacing the room.

"Right!" So-Mi exclaims, cutting him off. "Ji-Soo and Yu-Jun are on our side. I'll find them and talk to them."

Yoon-Seo turns to Woo-Ram, kindly assuring him. "It's okay. We'll find a way."

He's having none of it though, nearly crazed. "A way?" He chuckles sadly. "A way?!" His fists pound the table forcefully and Yoon-Seo, standing closest to him, flinches. "Screw this. I have no choice. It's me or Kyung-Jun. It won't end before one of us dies." He delivers the ultimatum, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Let's do the same thing he does; vote for anyone else."

Jun-Hee turns to him, dismayed. "You would stoop to his level...?"

"He always bullies others. That reason alone is enough as to why that scumbag deserves to die. Kyung-Jun will do anything to survive." He looks at the half circle of people, meeting all your eyes. "Say he kills me today. What will happen tomorrow then? Who do you think will be the next sacrifice?" Woo-Ram takes pause for emphasis. "You—it will be one of you, and he won't stop until the whole class roster is wiped clear." Woo-Ram points to himself then at the door. "Make a choice."

"Woo-Ram is right," Na-Hee agrees, even though she wasn't present for the entirely of the discussion. "I'll vote for Kyung-Jun."

"Me too," So-Mi supplies, glancing at Woo-Ram.

"Then I'll follow," Jung-Won gives her word to Woo-Ram, which only further unnerves you. Just what deal did the three of them have to keep sticking to one another?

Seeing the rest of you hesitate, Woo-Ram implores, sweating and eyes glazed over in a frenzy. "Guys, if you don't help me, I'll die. Can you live with the fact that you sent me to my death? Please. Please help me," he begs.

Due to his guilt tripping, everyone ends up voting for Kyung-Jun in rapid succession, but your finger hovers between the two candidates, torn.

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴡᴏᴏ-ʀᴀᴍ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ʟᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴏɴ-sᴇᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴀʜɴ ɴᴀ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴊᴀɴɢ ʜʏᴜɴ-ʜᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

[ᴋɪᴍ ᴅᴏɴɢ-ʜʏᴜɴ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ.]

"Why are you hesitating?" Woo-Ram probes, all attention directed at you.

"I'm still thinking," you answer, feeling bad for him but also not wanting to make the wrong choice at the same time.

"About what?" So-Mi's eyebrows raise, incredulous. "Are you seriously considering all the lies Kyung-Jun told?!"

"Seol-Hwa," Jung-Won adds in, in a much nicer tone. "There's nothing to contemplate. Woo-Ram's right. Kyung-Jun is trouble." She looks at you warmly but all you can sense is the distance between the two of you, ever-widening.

"You and Kyung-Jun..." So-Mi starts, crossing her arms. "I wasn't going to say anything, but what's with the unspoken truce all of a sudden?"

Jung-Won pats your hand softly. "If he's blackmailing you, please tell us. He shouldn't do that to you of all people."

"No, it's not like that," you reassure, pulling your hand away gently, her touch cold. "I just don't want to vote rashly and then have us deal with the consequences in the morning. Have we not regretted things enough?"

"We have a lot of time remaining," Yoon-Seo settles nicely, ever the peacemaker. "Don't feel pressured to make a decision yet. We all know how difficult it always is." She smiles softly at you, genuine.

Woo-Ram doesn't say anything aside from staring helplessly at your phone, the only one yet with a vote placed.

"You let me know if that punk is messing with you," Hyun-Ho drapes an arm around your shoulder protectively. "I won't let him live it down, okay?" His fingers squeeze your shoulder comfortingly.

"We know what he's like," Jun-Hee intones. "He can bend lies and turn them into truths, so you can tell us even if it's hard to say. I'll always believe you, no matter what."

"Or..." So-Mi picks up again. "Is it something you can't ever tell us?" She smirks lightly, no one else ever the wiser to the slight uplift of the corner of her lips. Her hand comes up in a fake show of shock, mouth open behind her fingers. "Did you sleep with him and now you have to be on his side, afraid he'd use that secret against you? You can say you slipped up."

Before anyone can react, you use your hand with the phone still in your clutch and smack it clear across her face. Filled with so much force and ire, it snaps her head to the side, hair flying in disarray. The skin below her left eye bleeds from the cut, the surrounding area already left with an imprint.

She whips her head back your way, fingers clasping her cheek gradually turning red as she gapes at you in plain and utter disbelief.

You lean toward her, eyes innocent and wide, not able to tamper down your satisfaction at the sight of her cowering away.

"My hand slipped."

Powering your phone off, you walk away to echoes of shouts in the form of your name, yanking the classroom door shut behind you with a slam. The sound of its oscillating hinges reverberates repetitively like a gavel hitting the judgment stand with finality.

Your decision has been made.

𝟬𝟰 : 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗢𝗡 | 𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦

[ Taglist ] @ennycutie

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟’ 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 11/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

                “A fishing boat?” Bradley asks, pulling a face. “Really?”

                “You said you wanted to be in the Navy. Are you scared of a little seasickness?”

                “No. I just…”

                “Understanding and appreciating our food, from where we harvest it, or take it, is all important. Learning what fresh really looks like is also very important when it come to fish and seafood hmm?”

                “Oh yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bradley says, thinking of Johan’s ability to look at fish and simply pick the best pieces.

                “Also a week in Greece is not the end of the world hmm?”

                “Okay, you deliberately made it sound like I was going on a fishing boat in the North Sea, not a… charter boat for a week in Greece.”

                “Hmm. You will earn your stay. But I think you will enjoy the change of scenery.”

                Bradley had no idea how Leandro knows him so well, but he finds himself the sole chef on a charter yacht for a group of six tourists. They’re American, and once they realize he’s also American they stop speaking slowly and loudly, chat happily to him while he cooks. He fishes and dives with them during the day, makes breakfasts and lunches and then cooks what they’ve caught that day. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but when the week ends a couple of them tip him heavily, even though he tries to insist there isn’t any need. Then one of them passes him a business card.

                “If you ever consider setting up shop back home, look me up. I’d be interested in supporting you. And eating more of your food.”

…            …            …

                “Holy shit. Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Yeah. Hello again…”

                “You’ve met already?” Jake asks, looking between Bradley and who must be his sister. She’s maybe a few years older, hair the same color but longer, tied back in a plait. Bradley finds himself automatically nodding, although he’s also hoping that her surprise is that he’s at her front door, and not because she’s starstruck. She hadn’t seemed at all perturbed when he’d met her on Saturday with the film crew trailing him. Turning up with her brother shouldn’t be any more alarming, surely?

                “Yeah, at the Farmers Market in the weekend,” Bradley starts. “I tried the chili jam, it was really good. Bought a few jars.”

                “Oh cool. Well, then I don’t need to introduce you. Well, her name is Maria if you need a reminder. I call him Leo because Bradley Bradshaw sounds made up.”

                He’s glad Jake has provided a name, and he notes Maria’s eyebrows shoot up and god, he’s been enjoying Jake’s complete disregard for Bradley’s fame, whether it’s real or contrived he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think Jake would care, if he did know, but it’s also really nice not having any expectations put on him from the person he’s with. The last few days have been great, reminding him of his younger years in Europe.

                “Leo is the name my Italian family call me. Short for Leonardo.”

                “I definitely prefer Leo,” Jake says, grinning at him and he follows his lead in taking his shoes off, putting the bags of ingredients and previous iterations of sauce down. “Keep forgetting your name is actually Bradley Bradshaw…”

                Maria makes a high-pitched sound Bradley can only guess is a choked off laugh and he grimaces and shrugs his shoulders, tries to convey that he’s doing the best he can and Maria is just looking at him and shaking her head, her eyes wide as she looks between him and her brother.

                “Um, yeah, okay, hi again. Jake said you were after some help with… tasting things. Right. You’ve been… trying to feed him,” Maria says, now looking at Jake. “Wow…”

                “Yeah. He’s pretty decent. Not as good as grandma, or even you or Olivia, but he hasn’t killed me yet.”

                Bradley clenches his jaw to stop himself from laughing outright, his eyes not leaving Maria’s face, and she looks equal parts mortified but also like she’s also trying not to laugh again. She makes a little high-pitched sound and Bradley has to pretend to cough as a burst of laughter makes its way out. She definitely knows who he is, had known on Saturday when he’d been walking around with the film crew but she’d been very chilled and laid back, hadn’t even asked for a selfie.

                “What chores need doing? I can go and do whatever it was you were planning on doing and instead you can help Leo with his new recipe… I like your cooking, but I am kind of over tasting the same thing over and over and you expecting me to be able to taste the difference,” he says to Bradley. Bradley looks back at Maria who has covered her mouth with both her hands and closed her eyes, had her head tilted back like she’s hoping the ceiling has answers.

                “Thank you, I’ll try my best not to poison your sister…”

                “Oh god…” Maria says from behind her hands.

                “Thanks. Appreciate it. Maria, you okay?”

                Maria wipes at her eyes, waves away Jake’s concerns saying it’s the pollen making them itch and hands Jake a piece of paper with writing on it and he tucks it into his pocket.

                “I’ll be back.”

                Then he’s kissing him, his thigh slotting between Bradley’s and he finds himself almost being dipped and he knows he’s flushing bright red, wonders if that was Jake’s whole aim, trying to embarrass him. It’s over quickly, although he’s not sure if that is a good thing or not.

                “Don’t be mean,” Jake says to Maria, and then he’s tugging boots on, grabbing the same cowboy hat Bradley remembers him wearing on Saturday.

                “When am I ever mean?”

                “Only every day of my life,” Jake says with a grin, but then he’s tipping the hat and Bradley bites his lip as he watches him stride back outside. Hmm.

                “So, you’re Leo. I had no idea he was bringing you around.”

                A little reluctantly he stops watching Jake stride off, and he turns to find Maris watching him, eyes amused and he smiles.

                “Yeah. I gathered he hadn’t told you when you said holy shit first thing when you opened the door. He and I met years ago, in Italy. He said he told his sister?”

                At that Maria’s lips twitch and Bradley starts feeling a little uneasy.

                “Did he say which one?”

                “Uh. No?”

                “Has he mentioned exactly how many sisters he has?” Maria asks, and she’s folding her arms and leaning back, watching him and Bradley feels like he’s being tested. That’s fine. If he can survive the Gallo family he can survive Jake’s sisters. Why he feels like he needs to survive or befriend Jake’s sister isn’t something he’s going to examine too closely but… he likes to think he’s a nice guy when he isn’t stressed out.

                “Not exactly? But… three? I mean, I know he’s the youngest. And there’s a sister with kids because he babysat them on Monday night.”

                “Sandra.”

                “And then his sister who he told about meeting me in Italy? And that isn’t you?”

                “Hmm. He only told me about meeting you in Italy on Sunday, so… it was probably Nicola when it happened originally.”

                “Okay. So. Jake just mentioned an Olivia, so… four? That’s my best guess. Four.”

                He can’t even imagine having four older sisters, having Violet is bad enough, although he calls her cousin he sometimes wonders how much closer they’d be if they were actually siblings. She’s his best friend.

                “Nope. Five. You’re missing Amanda. She’s Nicola’s twin.”

                “Five sisters. Holy shit.”

                “What about you? Big family?”

                “No. All the stuff about me losing both my parents is true. I’ve got a big Italian family that informally adopted me though…”

                “So he met you, and you bumped into each other on Saturday and now you’re…”

                She doesn’t finish the sentence and he’s grateful, although the look she gives him clearly spells out exactly what she’s thinking. She grabs some of the bags at his feet and jerks her head for him to follow her.

                “So you’ve told him your name, he’s just…Oh my god… he has no idea who you are.”

                “You think so? I kind of like it,” Bradley admits and Maria’s shaking her head.

                “Oh, he’ll have no idea. He’s smart, but he’s also fucking oblivious. Also I’m judging you. He adds sauce to nearly everything…”

                “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

                “Well, he had really bad reflux as a baby. Like… he needed an operation to fix it type bad. He was such a picky eater as a kid, drove us mad. We got around it by pretty much putting sauce on everything.”

                “Oh…” Bradley murmurs, and he’d wondered. He sets out the ingredients and the little containers of sauce saved from his previous attempts.

                “Yeah. Obviously he’s an adult now, he doesn’t have to add sauce, but if he has the choice?”

                “On it goes. Right. Okay…”

                “Yeah. You okay with that?”

                “Of course. He’s not making me eat it. I’m not…” he shrugs helplessly, wants to try and say he’s not the uptight and angry chef that that TV producers like to portray him as. Sure he has a temper, but it’s definitely not as bad or as frequent as they make it seem. He also knows he's got something of a resting bitch-face. At least that's what Vi calls it.

                “Hmm. Thought so. Anyway, Jake doesn’t cook. He’d never watch a cooking show. Doesn’t like reality TV at all… If you wanted to keep it on the downlow you could. I don’t think he’d accidentally stumble across you. And I can keep my mouth shut.”

                “I don’t want to keep it a secret from him or anything. He knows it’s my job. And he knows my name…”

                “Okay. So… not to be super crude but you’re just, uh, hooking up right?”

                “I mean… yeah.”

                “Well. If you decide you want something more than hooking up with him, you’re going to have to spell it out, be really obvious. More obvious than you think you need to be. And I have an idea for showing just how oblivious he can potentially be…”

TWELVE

[muffinsin]

hey i really liked that feral cass post, i keep rereading it. was wondering if you would ever consider doing a pt 2?

Hell yeah🙌 have a feeling someone else might like a p2 to this!

Part 1: here

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlists

You’re carried; far, far away, it seems. You couldn’t find your way back to the village even if you wanted to

This creature- this woman..her grip is tight on you, but not bruising. She snarls at all around you

Leaves, trees, little animals scurrying across your path

Then, at last, far in the distance you can see the tip of a tower. As you get closer, you see more and more. Eventually, a castle is revealed

Only when she carries you towards the rusty gates and heavy doors do you notice what castle this is, just where you have found yourself

Castle Dimitrescu

They say, this is where all dies

Men are tortured and killed instantly, made into scarecrows or thrown aside in the dirt out front

Women are imprisoned, made to work, made to serve, only to be taken, tortured and killed or turned into wine at the smallest mistake. Or so they say

You wonder, will this be your fate? Is the woman carrying you to your death?

It doesn’t seem so, though. The woman doesn’t come across as though she has ill intent for you

She is feral, this much you can say. More of an animal than a human even, perhaps

But, it brings you a certain amount of comfort, too. You know at least, she will not attempt to deceive and trick you

You watch silently as heavy doors are opened and the warmth of the castle greets you

Your stomach growls when you pass what must be the kitchens, the sound alerting the feral brunette

She stares down at you, as though unsure what that noise was. Just as you think she will investigate, though, she keeps walking

You notice, all attempt to avoid her. No one glances your way, all make space for her. Clearly, this woman is just as dangerous as she comes across

You’re carried a little longer, through long hallways with red rugs and white-golden walls adorned with paintings and lights, past wide vases and small cabinets

Then, she steps into a room you know must be hers

Weapons are scattered across the floor and walls and while a bed is present in the room, there is a large pile of blankets, pillows, clothing, even some items on the floor. You immediately recognize this as her nest

And, true to this, she sets you down on it gently. You feel the soft cushions below you, the warm and thick blankets

Around you, you see dresses. Some too big to possibly fit her, some a little too slim for her, but matching hers in color and style precisely. You spot lipstick, daggers, necklaces and rings, books, pictures, pencils, and more among the cushions

Then, a picture catches your eye

You look up to find the woman staring at you, and slowly, slow enough for her to react should she want to, you take the painting from underneath a pillow and pick it up

She only continues to stare for a few moments, then busies herself by biting into some of the pillows and readjusting their position

You allow yourself to breathe, albeit shakily, then take in the picture in your hand

Four women, one tall, enormously so, in a white dress and a black hat. You know this woman. Alcina Dimitrescu, one of the lords of the village. You remember seeing her picture in the church

Then, three shorter women, all dressed in the same black dress. Among them, your feral saviour

The other two look nearly the same upon a quick look, but you soon notice differences, such as their hair colour, blonde and auburn, and the shape of their face

You spot writing at the bottom of the painting; Countess Dimitrescu and her three daughters. Bela, Cassandra, Daniela

“Cassandra..”, you say out loud, trying the name on your tongue

You nearly jump when her head snaps up, her eyes scanning you as though she is attempting to figure out what you want

Again, your stomach growls. You can’t remember the last time you ate

This time, the woman moves

You jump when she leans forwards, the tip of her nose nearly touching your stomach

Then, she growls. Did she think your growling stomach was an insult?

You can’t be sure, but feel too petrified to move even as your stomach keeps growling and the woman- Cassandra- keeps growling back at it

You feel your blood run cold, but eventually speak. You fear should you not, she might attack. You don’t want to imagine what risks that might bring to your unborn child

“I’m hungry”, you whisper

“I’m hungry”- Cassandra knows those words. She has heard them before. Hungry. Cold. Good. Bad. You. I. Yes. No

She knows them, but what are the meanings again? She shakes her head, as though trying to clear it

Then, just when she thinks your stomach will demand a fight again, she catches the sweet scent again

She still can’t understand what is so different, so special, about you

As though to make up for her growls though, she gently, or as gentle as she can, nuzzles her cheek against the round stomach. What a curious little creature you are indeed

She freezes when she feels your hand near her. You’re cupping the stomach. Why? She doesn’t understand. Though, she wants to learn

You watch as her hand reaches out, then sets it on your stomach too. She doesn’t seem to understand, merely copies your movements

The moment seems to go on for far longer than it does. It’s not unpleasant, though

Then, in the next few seconds already, it stops. She jumps up, then, to your surprise, she darts out the room, halfway turning into flies in her go

Cassandra races past maids and so, her mind set on a single goal: to retrieve food for you. She remembers now what hunger means. It means, she must fetch you some prey

Too feral to sit back and think, she races past the kitchens and back outside

It’s an easy task to find you something small for the time being, until she can bring you a nice and thick bear

She tracks sounds easily, her head snapping from one direction in the other. She’s drooling slightly

Then, golden eyes find her prey. A deer, in perfect shape it seems, feasting near the castle grounds

Of course, she can take it down in no time

While lacking her older sister’s coordination and younger sister’s speed, Cassandra still manages to catch up in no time at all, her arm wrestling around the creature’s neck and bringing it to the floor

From this on, it’s almost too easy

But she doesn’t kill for her pride, nor for showing off. She feels no such things, only the urge, the duty, the obligation to catch, fetch, and bring you the nutrients you require

And yet, you nearly scream when the door opens again and a deer is tossed to you. Dead, certainly. And fresh. You nearly vomit at the sight and smell

Cassandra doesn’t seem to understand

She nudges its side with her hand like a cat might do with its paw, her golden eyes searching yours

Her lips part, as though she is about to speak, but no words get past them. Instead, only low growls and grunts

You swallow hard to keep from vomiting as you feel the deer’s blood on your hands

Then, you press your eyes shut when she leans down and digs her sharp teeth into its tender flesh

You hear her feast, watch the blood smear her face when you open your eyes back up

But, she doesn’t swallow the bites in her mouth. Instead, part of the animal’s flesh hangs from her mouth, held tight between her teeth

You freeze as she crawls closer. More and more you feel like prey. Will you end up the same as the deer?

No, certainly not

Instead, you watch with wonder and slight disgust as she drops her bite, the tender flesh falling directly into your hands

She nuzzles your stomach again, and again

“I-I can’t eat that”, you whisper

She looks up, her head cocked. You watch as she picks the piece up again and bites a part off. She eats, swallows, then looks back up at you

You understand what she means

“I mean- I- humans, we don’t eat that”, you clarify

She looks puzzled yet again, and you can’t entirely blame her. You’re sure it must be strange to look after a human when she is surrounded by her family, who you’d bet shares her special diet

You close your eyes, your mouth watering at the memory of the smell from earlier. You smelled cake, you smelled grilled vegetables, you smelled cooked meat, you caught the faint scent of toasted bread, even

“The kitchen has human food”, you add when no response comes from her

You yelp when you’re picked up again. Truthfully, you don’t mind in the slightest, as your ankle still aches painfully with every step you attempt to make

Cassandra, as feral as she is in this state, takes good care of you, you notice

Better care of you than the villagers have done

You smile to yourself as you feel her cool skin against you

Perhaps, you can take care of her in return

[poorwritingandstalecoffee]

in vita, in media morte sumus. Ch.1

WC: 2K

Note: New series popping out! I really have no idea the direction of this series or how many chapters will be included. Also, updates will likely be spread out since I am in the middle of the semester. Therefore, patience will be greatly appreciated with how quickly I can shell out chapters. Also, this is only the second extended work I've done, so once again, patience and kindness are very much appreciated.

Note: Also, Desdemona is 19-20 years old. The terms of her education at Nevermore will be explained in the upcoming chapters. HINT: Nevermore has blended into a high school/college atmosphere for Outcasts using alternating schedules.

BUZZZ!

*Rustling* 

“I.D.? … Hmm, here for the Addams girl?”

“What gave it away? The black or the black?”

“Tish, play nice, my love.” 

“Ohh, a playful little barb never hurt anybody, dear. Now, where is our little dagger, hmm?”

“Right this way,” the guard grumbled with his head down. He pulled the radio to his mouth. “Open cell block 394.”

BUZZ! 

Their banter reached your ears before you reached the end of the hall. It made you want to claw your ears to bloody shreds and stuff them down the throat of the guard that would not stop picking at his fucking fingers—flicking dirt from underneath the dead nailbed with the toothpick. Swipe, dig, flick. Swipe, dig, flick! Nothing like family to incite you into a murder spree.

Morticia and Gomez turned a corner and met you at the halfway point between cell block 394 and cell block 394-C. “Aahh! Our little dagger! Look at you in your little red uniform,” said Gomez, clapping his hands as if to seal the finality of his joy.

Morticia smirked at you and murmured, “Only the best for an Adams.” She winked at you behind the bars separating the cell blocks, making your lip twitch. 

Despite your distaste for her overtly sweet manner, you did appreciate her respect for your reputation that has awarded you such an unmatched level of security—a uniquely colored uniform and private cell block, in fact—and fear that wafted off those you passed, including the guard who has yet to remove his eyes from your form. You suppose rightly so since you did have the propensity to pounce on those inside the prison with teeth slashing into their pliable flesh, even if your hands were permanently locked into a steel cage. 

You watched the guard pocket his dirty toothpick and slowly speak into his radio while eyes remained watchful of you, “Open the gate.” 

The security light overhead flashed green while the gate buzzed open from a remote control center, and you stepped through the threshold. You sighed and walked up to your mother and father. “Hello, parents. Did you get bored of trying to act like you could still procreate and decide to pay your eldest a visit finally?”

“Desdemona!” Morticia shrieked. 

Gomez chuckled and touched her back to quell her growing frustration. “Easy, Tish, she’s just warming up for the day. You didn’t mean it, did you, my little hellion?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How serious are you about breaking me out of here?” You narrowed your eyes at him while all four of you, including the guard, walked back to the entrance. As the four of you stepped outside the prisoner living quarters, Gomez turned and gestured toward the guard, who was hesitantly moving toward you with a set of keys jingling in his unsteady hands. You watched him fit the correct key into the lock of the steel cage and turn the little knobs inside, releasing the pressure from the cuffs and letting them bounce apart from your wrists before the box snapped open and thudded to the ground. Your brow raised while you rubbed at your sore wrists. Giving a cursory glance at the guard, you thought, ehh, there’s better prey than you, little piggy. 

You turned toward your father and mother as they said, “Dead serious, darling.” You smirked and followed them to the car. Lurch let you all in, moved into the driver's seat, and put the pedal on the floor, leaving dust and gravel flying in your wake with the prison and the shaking guard fading into little dark spots.

Turning back to your parents, you said, “So, who did you kill, poison, or bribe to get my indefinite sentence halted?” 

Morticia and Gomez stopped fawning over each other and whispering like teenagers about their little escapades in their youth that were similar to this one. They turned to you, and Morticia said with a familiar smirk, “A certain judge might have suddenly come to the belief that were you not immediately released, his bowels might begin imploding on him, causing massive internal bleeding that would quickly escalate to extreme bloodloss and sudden death.”

You raised your brow, thinking, gross, definitely not your style. Then again, yours and your parents’ signatures have never quite aligned. Have they? “And he agreed to that?”

“Well…a little give was admittedly needed on our part, little dagger. No justice system would simply allow a famed serial murderer to walk without some sort of agreed-upon rehabilitation plan. That is what our little friend informed us." Gomez said this with palms up and a placating smile, knowing you would add in that you could have done it without having to bend your will, albeit coming away with messier hands and the smell of blood on you. 

Scoffing, you looked out the window, knowing whatever they agreed to put you through would not be to your liking, which would most certainly make your parents smirk with satisfaction—Morticia, anyway. Your relationship with your parents has always been a complicated one. “So, what will this forced rehabilitation plan look like, hmm?”

You could practically feel Morticia buzzing with selfish glee as she slowly said it, letting her lips form each word wholly before dropping them before you to splatter into the carpeted floorboard under your feet. “You're going to attend school with your younger sister, Dezzy. Our old alma mater, Nevermore Academy.”

“WHAT?” You barely registered that she used that stupid, loathsome nickname because all you could hear was your blood ringing through your ears. Your heartbeat sped up, imagining you mingling with petty little tweens and other teenagers as they giggled, cursed, sweated, cried, and chatted with one another. Their germs and fluids mixing as bodies inevitably tangled, writhed, and pulled at one another while they threw away all of their intellectual capacities for brief moments of desire and ecstasy. You don’t know how Wednesday does it every day. God, I hope that place hasn’t changed her, you thought. 

“Oh, come now, Dezzy–

“I told you never to call me that! You know how I feel about that fucking nickname!” You screamed, images of you trapped and bashing your fists against the underside of the musty floorboards while tears streamed down your cheeks, listening to the girls chanting Dezzy! Dezzy! The scared little baby! above you flashed in your eyes. You blinked the memories away and looked at Morticia out of the corner of your eyes with betrayal and disappointment. She never fucking learns, you thought.

Morticia was always startled at your outbursts, the level of fury you could hurl at her in a second. Like the flip of a match, you exploded on her, which never fails to leave her speechless and hurt. She looked to Gomez for support but found him nudging his head towards you as a signal to apologize; Morticia, come on. She looked at you as you stared out the window, watching the foliage blur into greens and browns. Sighing, she thought, fucking stupid, you remember why she hates that name, hell you walked in on them doing it, Morticia! Leaning her head towards you, she tries to get your attention again and slowly says, “I’m sorry darling, I- I know, I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped out before I knew what I was saying, little dagger. Desdemona darling…” she waited for you to look at her, “forgive me?”

You studied her expression, saw the plea in her eyes, and remembered how she ripped out the floorboards, picked you up from that dark, spider-infested place, and held you in her arms. While you cried and clung to her, she held you and screamed how could you? What is wrong with you? You’re fucking monsters! to the group of blushing girls caught red-handed. You remember how she stormed into the headmaster’s office, demanding an explanation for why he didn’t protect you, why those girls were left unsupervised, why he let you go so long without a single friendship made at that damned school? Above all, you remember her vowing never to bring her daughter back to that hellhole and that he could say goodbye to his reputation and credentials as an educator. You recall as she carried you out of there, hearing her swearing on her mother’s grave that he and those girls would pay severely for making her baby scream and cry out in fear. Ohh, how you could hear her chanting something deadly in her spell room while Gomez talked with strange men about visiting the families of those unfortunate, monstrous people, and finally, you remember seeing four little dolls that looked so like the condemned from that school wind up on your mother’s desk in gruesome conditions with pins and burned bodies.

“Okay, fine, I forgive you—but only for the nickname, not for this nightmare you are about to put me through,” you grumbled and leaned your head on the back of the seat. 

Morticia smiled and forced herself not to reach out and clasp your hands because she knew how alike her daughters could be. Instead, she grasped Gomez’s arm and said, “Nevermore is a charming little gothic wonderland! We swear it is not like other schools; Nevermore is a place for freaks, ghouls, werewolves, vampires, and gothics alike. Tell her, Gomez.”

“Tish is right, my little dagger. Nevermore is unlike any school; it was founded by Faulkner himself, after all. The principal there is devoted to ensuring every student feels welcome…especially after what happened last year, the school has become more like a family of goths and freaks that protects its own.” 

“How touching,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm in response to their sickly sweet praises of the school. You looked out the window and saw the beginnings of a massive castle-like structure forming in the distance. Turning to your parents, you sighed, “Well, if I am to spend the rest of my sentence here, at least tell me more of this famous school and its esteemed principal that you’re so giddy to bore me over—quickly though, otherwise my ears might burst with anymore prolonged exposure to your insane joy.”

Morticia frowned at the word sentence and watched you smirk at her facial expression. Sighing, she thought, sometimes you and Wednesday are too alike before going into detail with Gomez about the academy’s history and the unfortunate events of last year. The tales of the raving monster they called the Hyde and its evil commander, how they ravaged the town, the school, and everyone that came unsuspectingly into their path—they were gruesome. Morticia and Gomez smirked at the unmistakable growing spark of curiosity and thrill in your eyes. An Adams through and through. They told you how Wednesday and her band of misfits were crucial to stopping the Hyde and its evil commander, Mrs. Thornhill, and how Wednesday’s known skill for potionmaking ended up saving the principal with one of her concocted antidotes. Indeed, what a tale of misery, murder, and mystery it was. Agatha Christie would be pleased, you thought. 

…

Staring up at the gothic architecture, in all its dark, sullen glory, you thought it impressive. At least your parents were not wrong about the appearance and atmosphere of the place. Nevermore is most certainly a school reserved for only the best of freaks and goths; you could see students roaming about under the gables, curved archways, gargoyles, and on the marbled and grassy surfaces of the quad and the lawn surrounding the gothic concrete creature. It looked more like an overdone mansion than a school. Students dressed in matching dark purple and blue uniforms, some with black glasses, others with mixed expressions of glee, curiosity, suspicion, or dread, and carrying books, backpacks, trinkets, or all three; it made them look like little characters from a story that were hiding powers and ambiguous morality. 

Making your way through the school entrance with your parents on your heels and gossiping about the glorious days of their youth—yuck!—you came face to face with the gold plaque of Principal Weems. You could hear her typing away on her laptop and talking on the phone about a banquet, or was it a dance? Her voice was distinctly sweet yet deep—how dark could it go?—and smoothly rich, the voice of someone who was not afraid to demand respect and authority she likely felt she was rightly due…and of someone who was used to receiving it promptly, with haste…someone who rarely found herself matched and challenged. Hmm, you might actually have some fun here, Des. With that thought, you knocked sharply on her door, hearing her voice come to a halt before she murmured a short apology and goodbye, followed by a short silence and then the rhythmic, steady click of her heels as she approached the other side of the wooden barrier. 

[farfromstrange]

Hey can I make a Matt Murdock request. It's Matt and reader's wedding day, and Matt remembers how you met in st. Agnes , the little adventures you had and how sister Maggie caught you trying to sneak out which sometimes worked out

I want to apologize for taking so long to write this! I'm so sorry. I just spent the past four hours pouring my whole soul into this because this request was just so beautiful... Like seriously, I have tears in my eyes. I listened to a lot of love songs while writing this, and I hope I could match up with your expectations. Thank you for your request and enjoy! <3

You Are The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On the day of your wedding, Matt thinks back to your time together at the orphanage.

Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. (not proofread though)

Word Count: ~6.8k (oops)

The church bells play an all too familiar tune. It echoes off the high walls that are adorned with colorful paintings and stone sculptures that are as old as time. Clinton Church stands taller than he is, but he doesn’t feel suffocated by it, not today.

Matt Murdock grew up on religion and has lived by his faith in God ever since. He fell into several dark holes over time, but he crawled out of them and he picked himself up again. He played this tiring game for a while. He never felt like he truly belonged anywhere. He was lost. And then you stepped back into his life.

After his father died and he was taken in by the St. Agnes orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt had more than just his grief to deal with. The accident that blinded him a year prior turned his life upside down and no one knew.

His father knew he was blind, of course, but no one knew about how he could suddenly smell or hear much better than before, and that it was worse than the usual enhancement of one’s senses after becoming blind. His senses became heightened to the point he could pick up everything around him with his ears, nose, and hands alone.

It has been the most exhausting experience, especially as a little boy, he thought about giving up many times because it confused him and it made him bitter, and then his father died and the only person he could trust was gone, too.

He felt so utterly alone, he had nightmares, he was traumatized and the children at the orphanage didn’t like him much, either. He was a broken boy, and he had no one to turn to but the sisters taking care of him. But after a while, even that support stopped when more children arrived, and he chose to fight this battle on his own. He didn’t want to bother anyone. He was lonely, but he accepted that he just wasn’t that important and that sometimes, life goes a certain way.

Matt told himself God blinded him for a reason. He tried to find a purpose in his heightened senses and whatever else came with the accident and his father’s wrongful death, but with each passing day in this small bedroom with the church bells ringing in the background, causing his head to spin with their audacity, he lost more and more of the hope he swore himself he would keep. He wasn’t just alone, he adopted this feeling of loneliness and ran with it, turning more and more into an outsider. But he also had nothing to show for himself as the other kids did. He was blind, he was different, and that was never appreciated.

One day though, after spending most of his time hiding away in a corner, listening to the people around him and judging them in his own way, a set of small footsteps approached where he was sitting in the garden behind the orphanage.

He remembers the way your dress brushed against your tights, a sound he found annoying and painful at first, but he quickly got used to it. He remembers how you walked up to him with almost determined steps after Sister Maggie showed you the way and dropped you there for you to explore. He remembers your little sigh when you realized how far away he was from the other kids, but you didn’t turn around and leave when you noticed his black-rimmed glasses or the cane next to him.

You stopped in front of him, and Matt did not once forget the sound of your voice when you first spoke to him, “Is this seat taken?” he remembers you asking, and you sounded a lot nicer than the other children.

He frowned, at first, because he wasn’t used to being talked to. He figured you must be playing with him. But you didn’t stop there.

You chose to sit down next to him, and you smiled when you said, “I like your glasses, by the way.”

He remembers turning his head in your direction, signaling he was listening. You took that as an invitation to introduce yourself. Your name rolled beautifully off your tongue, and he stored it away instantly, along with the sound of your voice.

“I’m Matt,” he chose to tell you.

You smiled even brighter and took his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Matt,” you said.

Eight years, that’s how long you stayed. And during those eight years, you became inseparable. He confided in you about his heightened senses, and when Stick came around and left as fast as he had appeared, you were the one who picked up his broken pieces.

The first field trip you took together was to Central Park. The sun was shining brightly that day. Sister Maggie and some of the other nuns accompanied your group, and you quickly found your spot next to Matt. It was the first time he wasn't stuck with an adult during a day out, and he was so flustered, he remembers forgetting his words when your cheery nature found a place next to him.

Your heart has always been a steady sound in his ear, and back then, it grounded him whenever he had to face situations that made him uneasy. Field trips held so many different sensations that overwhelmed him, and he often felt as if his disability wasn't taken very seriously, but with you by his side, he could actually feel the sun on his skin rather than the heavy lump in his throat. He didn't want to cry on the way there; he listened to the beautiful sound of your voice, your laughter, and your excitement both infectious enough to make him smile, and it's something he swore he would always cherish. You had a talent, and he was the only one you used it on.

“Hey,” he remembers you saying when he was hiding away at the back of the group once again. You reached out to gently take his hand. “Don't worry, I'll be your guide today,” you said.

It wasn't pity, you actually enjoyed doing this for him. Even though it was hot outside, he ignored the sweat simply to hold your hand.

“What if…I get lost?” he remembers asking you, and you laughed at that-

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I've got you. Trust me.”

As you strolled through the park, you described everything you saw. You walked him through it the way you saw it, and he imagined how the world looked like through your eyes.

“The sky is so blue, Matt,” you said, pointing upward. “It stretches out like an endless canvas. And the clouds are little white specks of color that take different shapes wherever you look.”

Matt tilted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. “I wish I could see it.” It was the first time he actively admitted it to you, and your heart broke a little.

“But you can feel it,” you instantly tried to make him feel better. “The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle breeze ruffling your hair. You can smell the flowers. It's all there. Sight is so overrated, anyway.”

He stored your advice for another day, knowing that you weren't wrong. Next, you stopped near a bed of colorful flowers. You crouched down and reached out, picking one. The scent seemed familiar.

“Close your eyes and breathe in,” you instructed, holding the flower near his nose.

Matt followed your guidance, inhaling the sweet scent. “It's… it's beautiful,” he said.

“You see, Matt,” you said, “Beauty isn't just in what we see. It's in the little things we discover along the way.”

For someone who lost so much, you were a true optimist. You breathed fresh air into his life.

With each step, you continued to describe the vibrant colors, the rustling leaves, and the laughter of children in the distance. Matt's trust in you grew, and he found solace in the world you painted for him.

Of course, he could hear, smell and feel everything down to the smallest detail, but the way you described it was so different from the picture he had painted before, and he let you change his perspective. Your view of the world was much more beautiful than his, and he rather lived in a fairytale than take everything too seriously. With you, he could be himself. That was the first day he came to that realization, and his loneliness slowly started to die out.

That day, as you explored the park hand in hand, Matt realized that his blindness didn't define him. With you by his side, he discovered a newfound appreciation for the world and the beauty that could be found in even the smallest details.

The months passed by and turned into years, and you grew closer as friends. During the times you were allowed to play together, you never left each other’s sides, much to some of the nuns’ dismay, but Sister Maggie was the one who encouraged Matt to tie himself to you so he wouldn’t be as alone, and he gladly did it every time. She saw something in you that he could feel with every one of your fleeting touches and the sound of your voice, and your friendship became a lifeline he kept holding onto. But he was yours, too, which you told him many times before, and he told you he would be more than happy to show you the world through his senses. He made you feel seen and appreciated in a way no one has before, a job he took seriously enough to somehow take permanent residency in your life–but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The summer sun beat down on the small group of children from the orphanage as you made your way to a nearby lake. Sister Maggie never struggled to control the group and she was one of the nicer sisters who allowed you to do silly things others didn't, so you often used that to your advantage.

Being friends with Matt for three years, you gradually figured out who he is, and in return, you revealed parts of yourself. You were the duo most kids feared, which was one of the reasons why the boys stopped picking on him, and the girls had never even dared to say a bad thing about you. Still, you were the weird outcasts who always hung out together; you both prided yourself on that title and often made fun of it.

Laughter filled the air as you excitedly chatted about the day's adventure. Matt walked beside you, his cane tapping gently on the ground. His other hand rested on your arm. He didn't need it, he once admitted to you, but he still felt safer and more grounded, knowing he could hold onto someone in case something happened.

As you approached the shimmering lake, you couldn't help but notice Matt's hesitance. You turned to him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Matt,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “Remember the promise we made when we were little? That we'd jump in a lake together someday?”

Matt's lips curled into a shy smile. “Yeah, I remember. But… I can't swim,” he said. “What if something goes wrong?”

You patted his back reassuringly. “You're not alone, are you?”

With newfound determination, Matt nodded, placing his trust in you once again. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks as you waded into the lake, the water lapping at your feet.

You turned to Matt, splashing water playfully. “Come on, Matt! The water feels amazing!”

He remembers the goosebumps on his skin, the eagerness in your voice. His uncertainty melted away when you reached out to help him inside somewhere he could stand, and he felt a little less scared about his ability to control the setting. With hesitant steps, he followed you, the soft sand beneath his feet giving way to gentle ripples in the water.

As you both ventured deeper, you guided Matt's hand to your shoulder, urging him to relax and float. “Just trust me,” you said.

Little did you know that he trusted you with his life already.

He took a deep breath, his body relaxing as he felt the water supporting him. A surge of joy filled your heart as you watched his confidence grow. You took his other hand, spinning in the water together, laughter echoing across the lake. He might have been standing on the sandy ground of the lake, but it still reminded him of the times his father took him to the pool. Sharing this moment with you felt… different, but in a good way, and he slowly started to warm up to the idea of enjoying a day in the water. You were always careful with him, and he knew you would never let him drown.

Time seemed to stand still. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the tranquility of the lake. The other children moved into the background, and Sister Maggie's pleas for you to be careful or even better, get out, met deaf ears as you got lost in each other's eyes. You were only twelve then, but it was like that day changed a lot in the way he felt about you, which is why he remembers that day vividly, still. You made him feel so alive that day, and it's a feeling he still gets whenever he looks into your beautiful eyes.

Matt's voice broke the peaceful silence, barely above a whisper. He said your name softly, something that always managed to make you smile. “This feels… it feels like a dream,” he said.

The warmth of the sun on your face mirrored the warmth in your heart. “No, Matt, this is real,” you told him. “This is our moment. And it's ours to keep.”

As you floated side by side, surrounded by the serenity of the lake, you both realized that this connection, this friendship, was something precious and unbreakable. Life without you seemed like an impossibility to him.

One month turned into twenty-four. You were teenagers, he remembers when your mischief took on a new size. You would appear in front of his door at random hours of the night, tapping on his door three times, before leaning against the wall. He would put on his shoes and grab his cane before making his way outside.

The first time it happened, he hissed at you, “Are you insane?! What if we get caught? Sister Maggie would ground us for the rest of our lives! Oh God–”

You cut him off with a giggle and told him, “We only live once, Matthew, and I am tired of spending every last minute of my life in this place. I wanna live! Please, just trust me. I have a plan.”

And from there on, you would sneak out any other night. You always found spots in nature for you to sit down and talk without people around. You shared stories, laughed, and cried together, and it worked as glue. You became even more inseparable.

Sometimes, you would take him to the lake, sit down with him and describe the night sky to him. You would point out constellations, tell him the meaning behind them and fantasize about life beyond what you could see. He was quick to dispute it because there could only be one God, so there couldn’t be any other universes out there, and once again you only laughed.

You both had a different take on religion; he’s always considered you a dreamer, and you never changed, which he found endearing because you believed in what you wanted to believe in, always. And you made sure you always got what you wanted.

You always snuck past Sister Maggie’s room and made it back in time. It worked almost always, except for the days when someone else was in charge of supervising you, and then you would have to wait until everyone was asleep to tap a steady rhythm against the thin wall of your dormitory.

The sole reason you learned Morse code was to communicate with Matt, knowing he could hear you wherever. In a time before everyone had a cell phone, it was your way of staying in contact.

A few more years passed. You both started maturing, growing up, and going through changes. Life became harder, but you stayed together. Your friendship blossomed, you continued to sneak out, and the one-time Sister Maggie caught you, she simply rolled her eyes and sent you back to your rooms.

That one pivotal night though when you were both sixteen and carefree, the night shimmered with an air of excitement as you sat by the peaceful lake by the orphanage, engrossed in Matt's animated storytelling. His voice had dropped sometime over the past year and it was a sound that would always send shivers down your spine.

He was full of enthusiasm as he shared the details of his latest discovery while he was doing research for a school presentation. You found yourself focused on his hands and his lips rather than the story, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine. When you looked into his eyes, his glasses long discarded, you seemed to realize something, and the silence from your end alarmed your friend.

Amidst the excitement in his voice, a new realization took hold. Matt was more than just your best friend; an undeniable connection went beyond friendship.

Caught amid this realization, you found yourself lost in the features of his face, your mind spinning. Matt's voice trailed off, and he noticed your gaze fixed on him, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

Your mind raced to catch up with your feelings. Without uttering a word, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips against his. It was a spontaneous and slightly awkward first kiss, but Matt remembers every last second of it.

For a moment, the world paused, and you both froze, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. Uncertainty hung in the air, but then Matt's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. He traced your features, and they were so vulnerable and delicate that night.

He remembers swallowing, the panic that sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, and the strange change in the rhythm of your beating heart. “I, uh…” Matt tried to find the right words, but his mind was blank. Your lips left a tingling sensation on his own, and he somehow couldn't comprehend what was happening to his body. It was confusing. “That was… unexpected,” he said.

You felt mixed emotions swirling within you, but the desire to explore this newfound connection outweighed any awkwardness. Without hesitation, you leaned back in and kissed him again, this time more confidently, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

The awkwardness quickly melted away when Matt finally realized what he wanted, too. Your lips moved in harmony, exploring the tender and unfamiliar territory you found yourselves on.

The touch of Matt's lips against yours sent electric currents through your veins, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you.

Eventually, you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I… I don't know what to say,” he confessed.

You smiled at him. “Do we need to say anything?” you retorted.

Matt remembers the exact moment he realized that he fell fast and hard for you; it wasn't the kiss that proved his feelings for you, it was what happened after. You looked at him, brushed a strand of hair out of his face, and told him, “You're beautiful, Matthew. Inside and out.”

And that was the moment he first knew he loved you more than just a best friend. He would have walked through fire for you, and it was never a doubt in his mind. The realization hit him hard, but he somehow never questioned it. He realized he loved you, and from that moment on, he rolled with it.

Matt remembers that he only acted after hearing you say those words. He told you, “Says the most beautiful girl in this godforsaken place.”

He gently pulled you back into his embrace, his lips finding yours once more. You couldn't even berate him for the blasphemy because he was right, and you smiled against his lips; this was the day you both finally found a home.

A few years had passed since that fateful night by the lake, and your bond with Matt grew stronger.

On this particular night, you found yourselves drawn to the library. The quiet stillness of the space provided a temporary escape.

As you settled into a hidden corner, the soft glow of the moon filtered through the window. You found solace in each other's arms, curled into a corner on the window sill. Matt's arms were wrapped around you and he held you as tightly as he could.

His lips ghosted over yours and you kissed back. He sighed into your mouth, his large hand on your cheek holding you right there. “I wish I could stay with you,” you murmured.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “You know that's not a good idea,” he said.

“Why though?”

“For one, we'd get caught and two,” his hand stopped at your neck, feeling your pulse jump and he sighed, “I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Your cheeks flushed a bright red, and just as you're about to kiss him again (damn his silver tongue), he stops you with the same hand that's on your throat. “Sister Maggie,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see Sister Maggie standing at the entrance of the library, her expression a mix of surprise, disappointment, and disapproval. The realization of the rules you were breaking washed over you.

You shot up into a sitting position and Matt followed suit. You had never been so ashamed in your entire life.

Sister Maggie's eyes flitted between you and Matt. The disapproving silence hung heavy in the air before she finally spoke.

“You two,” she said. “What on earth are you doing?”

“We, um…” You bit your lip. “We weren't doing anything, I promise!”

Matt quickly adjusted his shirt and agreed, “We're so sorry, sister.”

He remembers faintly how she lifted her finger. “I expected better from the two of you,” she continued. “As young adults, you should understand the importance of adhering to the rules and maintaining appropriate behavior within these walls. And in front of God? I taught you better than that! Up, both of you!”

Neither of you hesitated to get off the window sill. She approached you both. “Now, I suggest you both leave this library immediately and return to your rooms. There will be no further discussions about this matter.”

Her words cut deep, but you tended to forget where you were living sometimes. You exchanged a glance.

“You're lucky it was me who found you,” she said. “Now go! I don't want to see either of you wandering these walls at night ever again, are we clear?”

You nodded wildly. While you said, “Yes, Sister Maggie,” Matt found himself at a loss for words.

Without uttering another word, you followed Sister Maggie's order, slowly making your way out of the library. Each step felt like a punishment, he remembers.

Her actions had made it clear that the boundaries between friendship and romance were not to be crossed within the confines of the orphanage. You had to live with that.

Though once you were out of her earshot, your giggles filled the hallway, and Matt pinched your arm. “It's not funny,” he whispered.

You couldn't help but giggle again. He's always loved how you could laugh about everything. “I know, I know,” you said to him, trying to stifle your laughter. “But the look on Sister Maggie's face… I can't help it.”

Matt shook his head. “You're going to get us into even more trouble if you don't stop.”

You sobered up, realizing the truth in his words, and you both fell into a comfortable silence as you walked back to your rooms. The echoes of Sister Maggie's disapproval still lingered, a reminder of the boundaries that governed your lives.

As you reached the hallway that led to your respective rooms, you paused, facing each other. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows on your faces. You longed for him. Just one night with him would have fixed both of your sleep habits and it would have done you good, but you knew you had to part ways. It hurt, but it was a reality you came to live with.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I didn't mean to get us into trouble.”

Matt's expression softened as he reached out to gently touch your cheek. He made sure no one was around so he could touch you one last time, at least. “It's not entirely your fault,” he said. “We both got carried away.”

You nodded. “We should be more careful. We don't want to risk getting separated, do we?”

Never, he remembers thinking. Getting separated had sounded like torture then. “You're right,” he agreed. “We'll have to be more cautious from now on. It's not worth putting our future at risk.”

A mixture of disappointment and longing settled in your heart as you prepared to part ways for the night.

You hoped your relationship could survive this.

With a lingering touch, you both turned and retreated to your respective rooms, the weight of the night's events etching themselves into your memories.

You both knew the boundaries were in place for a reason and though it pained you, you were willing to respect them. You had to. You grew up there. The stolen moments and the unspoken promises would have to find solace in the hidden corners of your hearts until the time was right to let them flourish fully. At least that was what you told yourselves for the following 365 days.

When you turned eighteen and finished school, everything changed. Matt remembers that day as trauma, and maybe it partly was.

One day, as you returned from school, Sister Margaret approached you with a warm smile, handing you an envelope.

“Congratulations, dear,” she said. “A letter from Stanford arrived for you today.”

You froze.

Entering your room, you found Matt sitting on your bed, his head turning toward you as you entered. He sensed the strange weight in your hands, the unshed tears in your eyes, and his smile faded. “What's in your hands?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. Your heart dropped, he could hear it. And that was when you told him, “It’s a letter from Stanford.”

Silence hung in the air as Matt absorbed your words. This wasn't what you had planned together, and his world seemed to stop right then and there.

“Why didn't you tell me you applied?” Matt's voice held a touch of hurt.

Your heart sank, knowing that this was a conversation you couldn't avoid. “I didn't know how to bring it up,” you admitted. “I was scared… scared of what it would mean for us.”

His brows furrowed. “What does it mean for us? Are you planning to leave? We said we’d go to Columbia, why–Is this no longer something you want? Us? You and me, going to college together?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you rushed to explain, “No, Matt, it's not like that! I love you, and I want to be with you. But Stanford… it's an opportunity I've always dreamed of. I don't want to live with regrets if I don't even try. It's… it's a full-ride scholarship, Matty. It's not just an acceptance letter, it's an offer.”

He was happy for you, and in hindsight, he should have reacted differently, but he was so hurt. He looked away, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “But what about us?” he asked. “What about the plans we made? We made all these plans for the future…”

Unshed tears glisten in his unfocused eyes, and he could tell it broke you just the same to tell him.

“I don't want to lose you, Matt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The letter weighed heavy in your hands. “But I also can't ignore my dreams.”

“I won't ask you to give up your dreams for me. You know I wouldn't, but… I can't help feeling like you're just going down a path so far from mine, and… it scares me.”

The room filled with a heavy silence. The realization that a difficult decision lay ahead threatened to tear at the fabric of your love. You were so young, so naive, but you have always known just exactly what you wanted.

“I don't want to lose you,” you whispered, repeating your previous sentiment. “Maybe… maybe we can make it work, despite the distance.” Your eyes lit up, but the hope felt tainted. “We can try, right? We can promise to support each other and keep our love alive, even if we're apart.”

Matt's gaze softened. “I want to believe that,” he said, “but it won't be easy. We'll have to fight against the odds. Are we strong enough for that?”

“We'll never know if we don't try,” you said. “We owe it to ourselves to give it a chance.”

He took a deep breath, then opened his arms for you as so often and held you as you cried, not sure if out of sadness or excitement, but that stupid letter to Stanford was bound to change everything.

When you moved away to college, leaving New York and Matt behind, the contact you promised to keep up faded eventually. He got into law school, you made a living for yourself, your calls eventually stopped, no more letters or gifts, and after one particularly rough night of partying, that was it. You ended it.

Eight years washed down the drain because life has funny ways of breaking people apart. At first, Matt was sad, but he learned to move on and eventually became a lawyer, found friends, and moved on the same way you seemed to have done all those years ago.

But there came a time when he least expected it, and you promptly bumped into him in a courthouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt recognized you almost instantly from the sound of your voice alone, and even though he grew up and aged like fine wine, you called his name the second you looked into his red glasses.

As you locked eyes, the memories of your past came rushing back for both of you. It was pouring rain outside. Your hair stuck to your face as so did his, but he was still the same Matt from before, only older, and you also hadn't changed much.

“Matt?” you whispered in disbelief.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, his hand resting on your arm. “Is it really you?” he asked after calling your name.

A bittersweet smile graced your lips as you nodded. “It's me,” you replied softly. “I never thought I'd see you again. How- how have you been?”

He told you about his practice, he remembers, and you listened closely. You told him you were proud of him and then you told him about med school and how you were a resident now, but a slot opened up in Hell's Kitchen for a fellowship and you chose to move again. It was fate, almost.

His gaze softened as he listened to your breathing, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, and the feelings he had pushed down for so long resurfaced. “I thought about you often,” he remembers dropping on you the second he caught his breath again

“I'm sorry,” you whispered back to him. “I let life get in the way, and I let go of something so special. I will never forgive myself for how we ended. I… we… I cared about you, Matthew. It wasn't just some stupid childhood fling for me.”

Matt's hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “We both made mistakes. We should have worked harder, it's not…You're not the only one who fucked up, so…”

You licked your lips. “We were too young,” you said.

“Yeah,” he instantly agreed without missing a beat, “We were. And a little dumb, maybe.”

You chuckled, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked into his eyes. “I've missed you,” you confessed. “I've missed us.”

“I've missed you too. Us. But especially you.”

The courthouse buzzed with activity around you, the hustle and bustle of lawyers, judges, and clients filling the air. But at that moment, it felt as if time stood still, and it was just the two of you. It reminded you of your childhood when you would spend time at the water together, whispering hushed promises underneath the night sky.

“Let's start over,” you suggested. And then you reintroduced yourself, telling him your name with that wonderful smile of yours, and he was enchanted all over again.

A smile tugged at the corners of Matt's lips, too, as he reached out to take your hand. “Matt Murdock,” he said. “Nice meeting you.”

That was the day everything changed. To think that day lies three years in the past now is something he still hasn’t wrapped his mind around, but fate brought you back together, and after months of pining and him hiding who he truly is to no avail, you finally took the first step.

You accepted that he is Daredevil without second-guessing or being mad at him. You walked through hell with him and you came out on the other side stronger than before, and Matt realized soon enough that he could never love someone as much as he loves you.

And on a beautiful Saturday in June, he asked you to marry him at the same lake you used to hide out as kids. You said yes, of course. He feared for a moment you wouldn’t, but you jumped into his arms as soon as he got on his knees, and the deal was sealed.

Matt can’t see, that is no secret. He thought it might ruin your wedding experience, but you reassured him you didn’t care about whether or not his eyes fell out of his head when you would walk down the aisle. He wishes he could see you in your dress, but he has made peace with the fact he couldn’t.

As he’s standing in the small room hidden away in Clinton Church now, nervously fiddling with the flower stuck to his suit jacket, he can’t help but recall all the little moments you shared while you were growing up, and how fate brought you back together when you both needed it the most. You picked each other up, and you saved each other’s lives.

You asked one of your bridesmaids to tell him to wait right there, and he has been standing there, looking out of the window at the small lake in the distance for a while now. He wonders what you’re doing, but Foggy told him to be patient, so he tries to swallow his curiosity and waits some more.

He never thought he would get married, but he remembers thinking one night as a boy that if he ever got married, he would only get married to you.

As the anticipation builds up, Matt's heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He can hear the distant sound of footsteps approaching, followed by your heartbeat. You smell like flowers and vanilla, and the fabric brushing against your legs sounds soft, almost like his silk sheets.

The door to the small room creaks open, finally, and he holds his breath, bracing himself for the sight he would never be able to see. And then, there you are, standing at the doorway. Your dress, carefully chosen and adorned, flows elegantly around you. It's silk with lace adorning the top, but you made sure that it would feel nice to him and look good on you, still.

Matt's senses heighten when you enter, capturing every detail he can possibly perceive. Most of all though, he memorizes your heartbeat once again and takes a good whiff of the beautiful scent you carry with yourself. You are one hundred percent yourself and he has never been more in love.

Today, you don't have to sneak around or hide away, even though it still feels like it, in this room secluded from everyone else, and his heart races faster when he thinks about how full circle this moment feels.

You take a step closer, your footsteps soft against the floor. You're wearing heels, but you seem to walk comfortably in them. Matt's heart skips a beat when he hears your voice. "Matthew," you breathe. "I'm here."

With a gentle smile, you extend your hand. Matt reaches out, intertwining your fingers. You close in on him until you're right in front of him, and he blinks as if he can't believe it. You remove his glasses, tears already forming in his eyes from how many emotions crash into him, but you don't feel much better. Seeing his brown eyes search yours, you swallow the lump in your throat, and you try not to start sobbing right then and there.

Your pulse jumps under his fingers; he chuckles because it seems ironic that you're more nervous than him, so beautiful and innocent. You're his everything, his world, the reason he's still alive, and he can never repay you for all you've done for him.

His fingertips graze the delicate fabric of your dress. He traces the intricate patterns, feeling the smoothness and intricacy, the silk and the lace. You guide him a little, building up his confidence. He feels the slit that runs down your leg, the garter belt you're wearing, and he swears he might puke. Your face is next, and with that, he takes his sweet time. You close your eyes and let him explore. He cradles you so delicately, almost as if you're a porcelain doll.

His breath shudders. "Fuck," he murmurs. The reality of the moment hits him. The first tear escapes his left eye. He never thought he would have the opportunity to experience something like this, and now he is experiencing it with you, the love of his life. It feels so surreal, he can't breathe.

His voice quivers as he speaks. "You're breathtaking," he says. "I can't even…Jesus, you're amazing."

You choke up too, your lips curling up into a smile. "Don't make me cry," you retort. "You're gonna ruin my makeup, Prince Charming."

He joins in, his hand remaining on your cheek as he takes in the person that you are through his other senses. You feel so much closer like this. You're his and he is yours, forever.

You step closer. Matt's arms envelop you in a warm embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. He always knows what you want, what you need, and he is more than willing to give it to you unconditionally.

"I love you," Matt whispers into your ear. "I've loved you since we were kids, and I'll love you until the end of time."

You swallow the tears that threaten to fall. "I love you too. With every beat of my heart. I fell in love with you the second I saw you sitting there all alone," you say. "You're never getting rid of me."

He chuckles. "Oh, sweetheart, that's the reason we're here today in the first place. You don't get one without the other." Matt brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. "You're mine and I'm yours. Always and forever. I promise."

Just as you are starting to get lost in each other's eyes, the door creaks open, and Foggy's voice breaks the moment. "Am I interrupting something here, lovebirds?" he chirps.

You turn to see Foggy standing at the doorway, a playful smirk on his face. Matt releases you from his embrace, and the two of you share a sheepish smile.

"Not at all, Foggy," you reply, wiping away the remnants of your tears. "We were just having a moment."

Foggy chuckles. "Well, don't get too caught up in the moment. Remember, Matt, you can't kiss the bridge until the ceremony. That's what you told me to tell you," he says. "So, take a step back."

Matt rolls his eyes but follows his instructions. "Better?"

Foggy shakes his head. "Further."

"You want me to wait outside? You know this is my bride, right? And I can't even see her."

You laugh. Turning to your husband-to-be, you gently tug at his arm. "Guess you'll have to contain ourselves until then," you say.

“How will I ever manage that?” Matt retorts. “I only waited over a decade to get you back.” Followed directly by a dramatic sigh.

“Exactly,” you and Foggy say at the same time.

You glance at Matt, a silent understanding passing between you. You faced so much together, hand in hand, and this moment would be no different. You’ve never been big on traditions, anyway.

You turn back to Foggy. "We're ready,” you tell him. “And we've decided to walk down the aisle together.”

Foggy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but a smile quickly spreads across his face. "Well, I'll be damned!" he quips. "Leave it to you two to make things even more unique. Less work for me, I suppose. Let's get this show on the road then."

And as you take those first steps together, Matt realizes that you chatting him up all those years ago at St. Agnes was just the beginning of your story.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal

[cluelessmoose]

How about All Downhill from Here?

All Downhill from Here-

Four centric~ He experiences fun(damentally miserable) times with snowy hills

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

“-ur! Four you have to move-”

Wild’s voice pierced louder than all the rest, a scream shrill enough to slice through the snowstorm and jab the words like knives into Four’s throbbing skull. “SHIELD! GET ON A SHIELD!” 

Four -GreenRedamuddyblurofthemall- gasped, tumbling helplessly, every weakening grab for the shield knocked askew as the ringing in his ears grew louder. Something struck his head, sending the world whiting out, and his body jolted, tugged about, a senseless cacophony of roaring snow and metallic buzzing and his own panting breaths, echoing oddly. His skin tingled in the freezing air, head lolling as the roar quietened and the ambient sounds became slowly clearer, a soft keen escaping his lips as everything tipped and the dizziness returned. 

Then, through the loud, jumbled confusion of the Colors, a voice came into focus, speaking quickly and quietly. “-okay, I got you, Four. We’re going to be alright.” That was… Twilight, he slowly parsed, groaning as they lurched and his head lolled where it was drooped bonelessly over… an arm, the hands clutching him to Twi’s chest tightening.

“Don’t move, Four, I’m not- holy shit that was close- as ahaha-” and that sounded a little unhinged Blue-Vio-urk noted blearily “-good at this as Wild is,” Twilight rambled, something very nervous and very strained in his voice, the sound of grinding continuing. Four’s ear flicked at the annoying sound, the motion lost in the cold shuddering of his frame, wind nipping relentlessly through his thin clothes. 

“Cn’t st-stop shivering,” Four managed quietly, all too happy not to move otherwise as everything spun and spun and spun-

‘-our? Four?” Twilight sounded distinctly panicked now, and the taller hero shook him slightly, drawing a weak moan as the jostling kept him from the quiet, dark stillness. “Sorry, sorry, but no, no Four open your eyes, tell me what you see,” Twilight coaxed, as if Four couldn’t, even in his current state, pick out the rampant worry in his voice. 

‘S dark,” he murmured wearily, head lolling back and forth as they… swerved?. “Colors… bleeding ‘tghtr.” 

“You’re bleeding?” Twi’s voice sharpened, commanding now. “Four, no, open your eyes!” 

He- oh, yes, hm. Four slitted his eyes open, giving a soft hum at the just… whiteness there. A slow blink did nothing but add further pale shades. “S white,” he slurred, unimpressed. Twilight spoke again, too quickly this time for Four to understand the words as anything more than a lilting rise and fall of tonality, and he continued to stare as their surroundings became clearer, exposing a strange, alien landscape. Great icy pillars held aloft a sheet of frozen snow far above, the pale sky and growing blizzard visible through holes in the roof, openings marked by the thick fall of snowflakes whirling wildly beneath them. There was visibility down here, even if everything was white on pale on ice glazed stone. 

They were moving fast, and Twi wasn’t running-

“What- wait, what?” Four twitched, head twisting, only for Twilight to clutch him tighter as they both wobbled on the shield he was surfing down with Four in his arms holy shit-

He immediately grasped Twi’s shirt, curling in tighter, adrenaline spiking as pillars flashed past that would very much kill or maim them if they crashed, and then the word avalanche filtered through the panic and color-ridden whirl of his thoughts and that was even worse-

It had a very different feel to it then when Wild had first shown them down a gentle grassy slope, Four thought hysterically. Between the hiss of the shield on the ice and his own wavering hearing it was impossible to tell if the rumbling roar was only echoing off the snowy bilayer or if it was right behind them or if it was only his body trying to pass out once more. He was too afraid to crane around for fear he’d unbalance Twilight, who thankfully seemed to be better at out-shield surfing an avalanche down an icy obstacle ridden slope than Four certainly would have been. 

He’s pretty sure he’d be hylian mush somewhere back under the avalanche, actually. 

But Four was very used to ignoring reminders of his own mortality, and it was all too easy to let the fear slip away into the gentle fog permeating his mind, the Colors still a water-whorled blur within him even after a few faints, thoughts slippery and sluggish as molasses. “Okay,” he whispered shakily, lifting his heavy-weighted head and tucking it into Twi’s chest, light-headed and sick. He could trust the Ranchhand to keep them both alive, no matter how it itched that he was so useless. 

“I’ve got you, Smithy. I think we’re good, but I’m gonna keep going just to be safe-”

Four listened to Twi’s rambling assurances, shivering viciously with no way to get anything warmer on. Then all at once they passed under open sky once more, blinded by the snowstorm as the icy cover was left behind, any trace of the avalanche’s thundering lost all at once to the screaming wind. Four couldn’t see anything but white before he shielded his face in Twi’s shirt but the shield was still zipping along, spinning them once more as the ground dipped, his head going light as the inertia sent his equilibrium wobbling. 

The shield rocked violently beneath them, Twilight tensing up and leaning hard to stay atop it but next moment there was a slight jolt and a yelped curse. 

A distinct sense of being airborne, Twi curling around him. 

They hit rock hard ice and skidded along it, rolling and being ripped apart from one another, and then- free fall once more, Four’s lungs too frozen for a proper scream, and-

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

It was cold. Four’s body was all but convulsing as shudders wracked its freezing form, pulling him back to consciousness. He let out a soft sound of pain, so cold it hurt, trying to draw up the memory of what had happened- a portal, then… a landslide? No, Vio pushed, Blue-muddled and blearily pissed, an avalanche, and Twi had managed to shield surf them down the mountain and then… 

And then crashed? Gone over a ledge? Something sudden, Four knew that much, but the whole unbelievable scene was almost dreamlike, all a pale, confused blur. 

There was a whirl of panic in his mind, a sluggish consensus that he should really, really change into something warmer now. He unfurled in the snow slowly, getting a general bruised feedback from his body but too bitterly cold for anything more specific. He dragged his bag open with his teeth, layering the winter clothes over his tunic and leggings, pulling on a hat and gritting his teeth as he tugged off the pegasus boots to replace them with another layer of woolen socks and proper winter boots- gloves topped off the whole set, precautionary gear they’d all taken to carrying considering how seasons swapped between worlds. 

He couldn’t remember whose idea that had been, but he owed them a hug after all this was over with. 

Feeling warmer already, Four huddled into his knees once more, still shivering and sick from the portal, head spinning and thoughts a mess as the Colors tried to settle back in from the blender that was cross-dimensional travel. Then all at once the background wrongness finally focused in on the reason his sluggish mind had been grasping after since he’d woken up still in his light clothes, alone. 

Where was Twilight?

He dragged his head up to scope around, trying to force his fogged brain to work properly. All Four could currently make out was some rocks nearby and what looked to be a tundra, going by the plants poking through the snow and how flat it was past view. Still, he patted and kicked around him, just in case, heart sticking worriedly in his throat as no Twilight showed up in the heavy, wet snow nearby. Four squinted around, trying to gauge where he’d come from and where Twilight could have landed, getting up and wading determinedly through the deep snow at the foot of the cliff he’d fallen off towards what he thought to be farther uphill where they’d been separated while falling. He was a hair wobbly, the path behind him marked with multiplied body prints in the snow where he’d toppled over, and… 

Oh, damn.

Four looked around, hugging himself for warmth, absolutely lost for where he was in relation to where he’d woken in the snow and with no idea when he’d managed to get onto the tundra. He thought, maybe, those were boulders through the pale wreath of whirling snow, and was staggering his way over in hopes of finding the foothills again when he heard it-a howl, barely discernible from the wind, lilting through the air. It must be close, with how clear it was despite the snowfall was muffling things, and Four tried to call back, heart leaping at the thought of Twilight, of help when he so needed it, of Wolfie and any additional warmth. His voice broke in the cold, though, and he whistled instead, shrill and tremulous. There was another call, longer, and Four answered back, waiting. A few minutes passed before Twilight called out again for a pinpointing whistle, then-

Nothing. Four whistled again, gasping desperately as he stood uselessly watching the snow whirl around him, leaning on the rock to remain upright. His head was spinning again from overexerting himself while still suffering from the damned portal, balance completely shot, grappling for Red’s optimism instead of Vio’s knowledge of hypothermia and only running himself in whirling circles as he tried and failed to struggle through the baseless confusion miring his thoughts. A plan, he needed a plan, but trying to look at the facts was useless when they were meaningless to him right now, and Four was left standing helplessly, knowing he was rather screwed and utterly unable to wrangle himself together enough to figure out what to do about it but stand there, lost enough to feel tears burning behind his eyes. 

He had to find Twilight, who must have been injured to not have come to him right away, who could be passed out right now by his silence. He had to… do something, anything but get more lost or just sit and wait when Twi could need help. There was nothing wrong with him but his own brain being stupid and slow and useless, and he couldn’t wait for it to clear on its own like he usually did after the accursed portals messed badly with him. 

It… wasn’t the first time Four had been helplessly furious at his unlucky incompatibility with their only means of moving between worlds. 

He hauled himself up, driving forwards and whistling again desperately, determined to push his body until it gave out rather than sit and wait. He could rest when he passed out.   

But then, not too long before it would have come to that, a familiar silhouette blurred into view against all the white, head low and searching, trotting through the snow. Four shouted, waving his arms as he fell forward, scrambling for Wolfie. “Twilight! Over here!” Ears perked his way, the snow clumped figure running for him, a bark just legible through the storm. Four laughed, falling to his knees and then forward onto his hands, all but sobbing with relief, feeling about ready to faint now that the panic that had been all that was keeping his portal-wracked body up and moving was draining all at once for weak-limbed relief. 

There was an unhappy growl, and Four tried and failed to drag his head up, just this close to collapsing. “I’ll be alright, I jusneedamomen’-”

A too tight grip on his shoulder, padded by his coat, hauling him forward and onto his knees in a harsh tug that snapped him back to dizzying awareness. “Hey,” he protested weakly, flailing his arms out to shove Twi away, vision refusing to focus past a blur. “‘M not doing so hot, gimme a min…”

He blinked heavily, not quite putting together why Wolfie’s eyes were gold or where the markings had gone on fur that was a washed out gray, not the mossy slate he’d expected- 

The biting grip on his shoulder suddenly clamped down, teeth piercing skin and bones sending warning signs as the pressure grew to crushing levels, Four shrieking and flailing blindly in startled agony, still not understanding why Twi would- 

Wolfie shook him viciously, and at some point between the first and third head rattling snap of his body Four lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, still grasping for an answer.

[stardroptasteslikesocialism]

Say it Ain't So Part One

Gator has to face the music when his girlfriend turns his world upside down.

manchild!gator tillman x teacher!reader TW: Pregnancy, canon-appropriate violence, possible Fargo S5 spoilers.

Liberty Elementary School saw a lot more police presence after your first date with Deputy Tillman.

It was strange at first to the rest of the squad when Mr. Kick-Ass-Take-Names volunteered to cover school drop-off and pick-up times; a cupcake duty usually reserved for cops nearing retirement. And Gator wasn't exactly known for his concern for the wellbeing of children. But after seeing him make googly eyes over the new kindergarten teacher in charge of the car line, it made a lot more sense.

Things started to get serious between the two of you after a few months of back and forth during car line duty. He'd stop by your classroom during lunchtime, where you'd have an identical lunch packed for him. He'd rattle off stories about his morning that were most likely embellished to make himself sound cool. Still, you'd listen intently, trying not to get lost in those brown baby cow eyes of his. He'd feign interest in your morning with the "ankle-biters" as he dubbed them before heading back to his patrol.

You were keenly aware of the Tillmans' reputation. Sitting next to Gator in the front pew every Sunday Service led to many confused glances and jealous glares. Why on Earth would a teacher - arguably more educated than all of the Tillmans combined - seemingly settle for the high school has-been, nepotism man-child that was Gator Tillman?

But they didn't notice his look of adoration as you listened to every Sunday Service when the church's natural light hit the highlights of your face just right. They didn't see the Gator that made you laugh with his childish jokes and interests. They didn't hear the sweet nothings he muttered into your hair late at night, tangled in your sheets as you passed his vape between hits.

He made you feel beautiful; wanted, hell even needed.

The thought of possibly losing all of that terrified you. This was why the color drained from your face one particular afternoon when you heard a familiar knock on your classroom door.

"Mister Gator!" your students yelled in unison. They were enamored with the deputy.

"Mister Gator, is your gun real?"

"Have you ever killed anyone with it?"

"Can we see it?!"

The kids were relentless in their questioning of your boyfriend, who looked at you with panic in his eyes as the kids swarmed his legs. You rolled your eyes as he mouthed 'help me' before placing two fingers in your mouth and blowing your best Midwestern dad whistle.

"Hey! One, two, three. Eyes on me, kindergarten!" you shouted over the babble of 18 five-year-olds. You stifled a groan as all eyes fell on you, including Gator's, "Quit asking about Deputy Tillman's gun. It is for emergencies only and can only be used by him. Got it?"

The kids (and Gator) nodded.

"Good. Now, line up for lunch. You'll sit with Miss Julie's class today."

Gator heaved a sigh of relief as the kids lined up for lunch, chattering away. You felt his casted arm grace the small of your back.

"We need to talk," you whispered, ducking from his attempt to peck your cheek. You waited until the last kid was out the door before you locked it, leaving you and a confused Gator alone.

If a man could short-circuit, you'd probably witnessed it as you watched Gator freeze rigid, leaning against your Halloween-themed bulletin board.

An agonizing silence loomed over the classroom before Gator finally cleared his throat.

"H-how, uh, how long have you known?" he stammered, his fingers fidgeting with his vape. You could tell he was fighting every urge to give it a massive inhale in front of you.

You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, "I took like four tests this morning; all positive."

Gator mimicked your hand through his own hair, muttering fuck under his breath.

"Look, Gator I'm sorry," you shifted against the desk you were leaning on, "I definitely didn't plan on this, and I know this isn't exactly what you wanted, but-"

You kept rambling, but your voice was warped to Gator's ears like he was underwater; he was drowning. Drowning in the realization that he had fucked up; he royally fucked up again. Your tear-drenched pleading snapped him back to reality.

"Gator, please say something! I feel like I'm losing it, here."

Gator opened and shut his mouth multiple times before uttering a strangled "I - I don't know what I should say," God, his chest felt tight, "I don't know how to be a dad, Y/N. I'm already a colossal fuck-up in my dad's eyes. I don't want to fuck this up, too."

For the first time in his life, he was speechless; and it was happening at the worst possible time.

"Well, you're not off to the best start, asshole," you sniffled and wiped your nose on your bright cardigan's sleeve before glancing at your watch, "Kids'll be back in five minutes," you rubbed at your eyes, attempting to erase any evidence of your tears, "Look, my first appointment's on Monday. Come by if you want to. Or don't if that's what you want."

You turned your attention to the construction paper at your desk. As Gator turned toward the door, you called his name one more time.

You took a deep breath as he turned your way.

"There's no half-assing this; I can't have you half in and half out of this kid's life. It's all or nothing with me, Tillman. Don't come around unless you're ready for that."

Gator quietly nodded before entering the hallway and inhaling the largest gust of strawberry kiwi nicotine he could muster on the way to the patrol truck.

Gator spent the rest of his patrol mindlessly staring out the passenger window in an attempt to clear his head. But the longer he stared at the empty North Dakotan plains, the more his thoughts spiraled.

You were having his kid.

He was a boy in a man's skin; twenty-six, still in his childhood bedroom; still doing chores for his daddy. Before you blew into his life he was destined to live life under Roy Tillman's thumb, sniveling in the sheriff's shadow with nowhere to hide from the town's judgment.

You were having his kid.

And he dragged you into this, too.

Once Roy caught wind of his son knocking up a schoolteacher any semblance of freedom for you two would be gone. Roy would either use his connections and bribe you into agreeing to a back-alley abortion; or, he'd strong-arm you both into a shotgun wedding and life on the ranch forever under Tillman's watchful eye. No option sounded good.

Gator nodded at his partner, Alvie, as they neared a familiar gas station.

"Pull over here. I gotta take a piss."

Alvie obeyed, agreeing to fill up as Gator went inside. After taking a much-needed leak, he scoped the gas station for some much-needed snacks. After finding his goods he paused for a second before grabbing another pack for you. He wasn't sure if you'd even like them, but he figured the thought would count.

An eerie silence permeated the air as Gator climbed back into his passenger seat, tearing open his jerky packet with his teeth.

"Fuck, that's hot," he muttered as he struggled to open his Mountain Dew bottle with his casted arm. The heat rising in his lips made him regret his choice of snacks for you. He sat for a second in silence before glancing at his rearview mirror.

It was the image in the side view mirror that made him slide down in his seat in a panic before clambering out of the truck, service revolver in hand. Gator crept to the bed of the truck where Alvie lay dead on the pavement, a knife through his chest. Gator's pulse sped up and his breaths became ragged as he read the message attached to Alvie's bloody corpse.

You owe me. _______________________________

Thanks for reading! This is my first Tumblr fic and first Fargo fic, so any input is welcome. Stay tuned for part two!

[nowgiveusakiss]

as long as you love me so

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie’s never liked christmas but maybe you can fix that. 8.9k

warnings: brief mentions of a neglectful childhood

Eddie wasn’t one for celebrating Christmas. Always throwing out excuses like ‘it’s capitalism at work’ or ‘it’s based on some made up story about some random dude’ when his friends ask him what his holiday plans are. He doesn’t actually hate the holiday, he’s just never seen a point in it. Most of his childhood was spent with a drunk father and a runaway mother, so Christmas was never even on the table.

Constantly listening to the other kids talk about what they got for Christmas or what they were writing on their lists or trips to some ski lodge. Eddie can’t sit here and say that it didn’t hurt. When he was still in elementary school, before Uncle Wayne, he used to make up stories about gifts he got. Creating this fantasy world where his parents were picture perfect and spoiled him with everything he could ever desire.

Once he was in middle school, he stopped playing make believe. His dad’s mistakes finally caught up to him and his mom never came back, so Uncle Wayne stepped up. His view on life became pretty cynical after that.

Wayne tried his hardest to give Eddie a normal Christmas but Eddie was no fool. He knew Wayne couldn’t afford the Christmas he used to dream about. After watching Wayne calculate and recalculate bills all for some silly holiday, Eddie assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“Wayne, I don’t need anything. I can’t even think of anything I would want anyway so don’t worry about it.” A lie. Eddie could think of plenty things he wants but none of it was worth watching Wayne work himself to the bone for. Wayne tries to argue with 12 year old Eddie but both Munsons are stubborn as bulls.

After Eddie threatens to sleep outside and skip school every day in protest, Wayne finally relents. He knows deep down that financially, he can’t make it happen. No matter how badly he wishes he could.

Christmas was a luxury the Munsons couldn’t afford.

They grow accustomed to the mundaneness of it all. letting each Christmas pass them by as if it were any other day. Never any decorations. No lights, no tree, no cookies for Santa. Rather than indulging in the traditions that come with the season, Wayne and Eddie use this time to rake in some extra cash. Wayne picking up shifts at the plant so the guys with families can celebrate with their own. Eddie offering house calls for an extra fee, taking advantage of the fact that kids need something to take the edge off but are trapped in their homes by demand of the parents. Both boys not giving a second thought to the day. It never mattered, especially not to Eddie.

Until he met you.

You’re the pretty little thing that works at the local record store. A quiet girl. Probably doesn’t even realize how pretty she is, Eddie thinks. He remembers you from Hawkins High, having meant to graduate in the same class as you but Eddie never claimed to be a scholar. Now here he is on his third try of senior year. But this year is gonna be his year. He can feel it.

Eddie is a frequent visitor to your store. He visits at least four times a week. He could lie and say he comes in so often to keep up to date with new releases but really he comes in for you. To see how you styled your hair, what color skirt you picked out, whether you decided to wear makeup that day. He’s even got your schedule memorized, only now realizing what a creep he must seem like to you.

What Eddie doesn’t know is that you remember him from school too. He sat up one desk and to the right from you in Mrs. Demoine’s algebra class. He doesn’t know you used to watch him solve the problems in his head. Or that you picked up his habit of sticking his tongue out when he’s focused. Or that you admire the boldness of him being unapologetically himself in a community that thinks him evil. You know better than them. You saw the way Eddie took those kids under his wing, treating them as if they were his little brothers. His prodigies.

A few months pass of Eddie silently pretending to look through records before he decides to finally speak to you.

You’re lost in cataloging the newest shipment of The Smith’s latest album, having been selling out fairly quickly.

“Do you guys have any Metallica?” You snap your head up at the familiar voice, doubting there’s anyway he could be speaking to you. When your eyes meet his, you realize that he is, in fact, speaking to you.

The Eddie Munson is currently leaning over the counter you’re working, into your personal space. breathing your air, asking you a question. You fumble with the tape you’re holding and it clatters down on to the countertop.

“Shit- um, yeah. Yeah, we have Metallica. Are you looking for something specific?” Your hands are shaking as you try to put the tape back into it’s case. How were you supposed to keep cool when Eddie was staring at you with those big brown eyes? It’s practically impossible.

Eddie sees you’re shaking and fears that you might be scared of him. He knows what people say about him. Maybe you believe them. Maybe he should just walk away from you before you tell all your friends how the freak tried to lure you into his satanic cult.

But then again, you’re looking up at him with the kindest eyes he’s ever seen. He can see that you’re nervous but maybe that’s the lingering shyness he remembers from high school, not fear.

“We actually just got the vinyl’s for Master of Puppets last night, if that’s what you’re looking for.” You’re trying to fill the silence that Eddie left, not answering your initial question. Instead just staring at you. But you seem to snap him out of whatever trance he was in and he visibly relaxes his shoulders.

Your soft smile puts Eddie at ease. There’s no way a nice girl like you would ever believe those stupid rumors. The way you’re looking at him as if he’s the only person in the room makes his stomach churn.

“You read my mind.” He flashes a cheshire grin, all teeth and round cheeks. You tell him where he can find it as if he doesn’t know exactly what section Metallica is under. Eddie turns around in a slow circle to examine the entirety of the shop, feigning ignorance. When his gaze finally meets yours, he gives you his best ‘lost in the woods’ look.

“Well you know, miss, I’m not the brightest crayon in the box. Would you mind showing me the way?” Your immediate reaction is confusion. Eddie probably knows this store better than you as much as he’s here. He’s even bought a Metallica tape from you before. He’s got this look on his face, like he knows a secret you don’t.

It clicks.

Eddie Munson is flirting with you.

That was in march of ‘86. You two have been inseparable since. You’ve met all his friends, gone to his D&D sessions, met Uncle Wayne, even cheered him on at graduation. But neither of you has taken the risk of asking the dreaded boyfriend/girlfriend question. Preferring to stay in the comfort of friendship and occasional flirting.

Okay, frequent flirting.

It’s actually through this innocent flirting that the topic of christmas comes up. Eddie’s got on this huge red sweater with a bow stuck to the front, a gag gift from Dustin for Eddie’s birthday. You just had to see him in it before it eventually landed in the dump.

His face is screwed up in pure disgust. Yours is alight with amusement. Giggling and clapping as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve seen all year. It’s definitely in the top three.

“Real handsome, teddy. You look like a christmas present that I’m just dying to unwrap.” You finish with a cheeky wink and laugh as Eddie’s ears turn a lovely shade of pink.

“Really? A Christmas present? I’m gonna hurl.” Eddie let’s out a cackle at your face, his crude language always catching you off guard. You’re the sweet to his sour. Once he’s ripped the sweater off and chucked it in the bin, you ponder his response.

“What do you have against Christmas, Munson?” You throw your legs over his and settle back onto the arm of the couch. His warm hands immediately seeking out your calves, rubbing up and down.

“Christmas is just another way the man keeps us in the cycle. Making money off us for their own gain. Plus, the whole red and green thing, totally not my style.” He looks over at you to find you’re looking at him as if he’s personally offended you.

“How pessimistic of you. I love Christmas!” Eddie watches in awe and adoration as you list off all the things you love about the season. Ranting and raving about gift giving and putting up a pretty tree with handmade ornaments. While he loves your enthusiasm, he just can’t seem to get on board.

Thus begins the months long debate over Christmas. Slight jabs at his bah humbug attitude and nicknames like Mr. Grinch and Scrooge. But it’s around July that Eddie really starts to comprehend your love of the holiday. And maybe he’s coming around to the idea of celebrating. You joke that his heart has grown two inches, although that would be near deadly considering how big of a heart the boy has already.

As the holidays approach, your badgering becomes a daily occurrence. You show up at the auto shop where Eddie is now working as a mechanic on an early November afternoon. He's covered in grease and his hair is held back in a loose ponytail. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. His sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos, sweat dripping down the front of his unbuttoned uniform despite the chill in the air.

“Munson, your girls here!” His coworker calls out to him over the sound of machines whirring. You flush at the idea of being Eddie’s girl. Eddie doesn’t correct him.

“Well, well, well.. what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” It’s a harmless comment. No where near as scandalous as some of the other things he’s said to you. Yet, you’re shying away like some lovesick school girl.

He’s beaming at you as he meets you halfway, not wanting you to get too far into the shop. He’s always scolding you for wandering around, lecturing you on how dangerous it is. Always receiving an “okay, daddy. whatever you say.” in jest, clearly mocking him in your tone. Eddie ignores the feeling that kicks up in his abdomen at the name. He is also trying to ignore that same feeling when he sees the skirt you’re wearing. Instead focusing on the motions of wiping his hands on the rag he kept tucked in the back pocket of his uniform.

“I came to ask you a very serious and important question.” Eddie halts his movements, white knuckling the rag in his fist.

“Okay, lay it on me.” He gestures to a more secluded area, away from the ears of his coworkers. His hand is hovering over your lower back as he leads you, not wanting to dirty your top. Especially if you’re already upset with him. He’s running through everything he’s said or done in the past week that could have upset you. His chest feels tight and he can’t suck in a full breath.

Your arms are crossed over your chest as you finally blurt out this so called important question.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Eddie visibly deflates, crouching over with a hand on his knee and the other slapped to his chest.

“You can’t do that to me, sunshine. Feel like i’m having a heart attack right now- fuck.” His heart is racing like a horse in the Kentucky derby and you’re not helping. Looking down at his crouched figure and letting those soft giggles escape your pretty mouth. You’ll be the death of him, he swears it.

“Sorry, Eds. I didn’t mean to make you freak. But to be fair, this is a very important question.” He returns to his full height, now he’s the one looking down at you. He doesn’t look too thrilled to be talking about this. And truly, he’s not. But he’s glad you came to see him anyway. Regardless of the motive.

“Maybe it’s important to you but it isn’t really all that special to me. It’s all kinda stupid,” he replies, waving his hand as if brushing away the question flippantly. One look at your face and he regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He didn’t mean to come across so callous. The dejected look that wipes off the small smile you were holding sends a pang to Eddie’s chest. He knows Christmas is something you care about and he loves that about you. And now he’s gone and basically called you stupid for it.

Your heart sinks in your chest. Showing up like this was clearly a mistake. You didn’t expect him to be jumping up and down at the idea of celebrating Christmas with you. But you also weren’t expecting complete rejection.

You’re fumbling through apologies and making up excuses to leave. Maybe coming here and bothering him at work over something you know he has no interest in wasn’t a good idea. A phone call would’ve been fine. Or just leaving him alone all together. You’re regretting ever coming in the first place.

As you start to step back after a stuttered goodbye, Eddie reaches out for your wrist. He doesn’t want you to go.

“Wait, please stay. I didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh. It’s not stupid, poor choice of words. It’s just I’ve never seen the point in the whole thing. But I love that you love it.” The smile returns to your face. Eddie wants to press his finger into the crease that forms on the side of your mouth. “I just meant that you don’t need to worry about me.”

You take his apology in stride. Something about the way he looks at you and the way he says he loves that you love Christmas makes you want to forget he even hurt your feelings in the first place.

“Well too late because I’m always gonna worry about you, teddy.” His heart soars in his chest hearing that you care enough about him to worry. Eddie tries to brush off the initial question, repeating the same excuses he’s used on Wayne in the past.

“Sweetheart, really. There’s nothing I even want!” But you’re persistent. There just has to be something he’s been after. Eddie never buys himself new things. He’s a boy who deserves the world but would give it away in a heartbeat if you asked him to.

“Not a single thing? I find that very unconvincing, Eddie.” He pretends to think on it. Finger to the chin, eyes cast to the sky. You can almost see the little lightbulb over his head when he finally thinks of something.

“How about this? Hows about you come over on Christmas and grace me with your presence? I’ll take that as my gift.” Eddie is grinning from ear to ear. A compromise that he feels is sufficient enough. Easily a gift just to be around you but a gift that costs nothing. He seems pretty proud of his answer.

“But I always come over! And you know I’ll spend time with you whenever you ask so that doesn’t count as a gift. Just my presence isn’t special enough!” You’re arguing with him like a toddler. You even resemble one considering the pout on your lips. Eddie mimics your pout and bends over to be eye level with you.

“I wholeheartedly disagree with you on that one. You are more than special enough.” The pout falls off your face and your eyes widen. The two of you share a look of knowing. Both wanting the same thing but both being too scared to admit it. Eddie’s gaze flicks down to your lips for the briefest of moments. You wish he would just kiss you and get it over with.

Instead he holds eye contact with you, searching for something he knows is there. Secretly hoping you will make the first move, but he knows you’re shyness would never allow for such boldness.

“Hey! Munson! You gonna finish this lemon or what?” The same coworker who insists on calling you ‘Eddie’s girl’ interrupts your moment. Eddie lets out a loud laugh before straightening his back.

“I’ve worked on that car about 5 times in the last month. Pete just won’t give it up.” You have no idea who Pete is but nod and chuckle as if you do. “I’ll see you tonight then?” Eddie’s got a gig with Corroded Coffin tonight. You haven’t missed a single show as long as you’ve known each other yet he still seeks the reassurance that you will be there. It’s sweet.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, teddy.” You flash a bright smile at him before waving your goodbyes but not before yelling a, “you’re getting something for christmas whether you like it or not.” Leaving Eddie blushing red for the remainder of his shift.

The topic of gifts has been put on the back burner, Thanksgiving now the forefront of everyone’s minds. It’s just Eddie and Wayne this year, it always is. Thanksgiving being much more financially achievable for the two man family.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to invite you. Not that he wasn’t planning on doing so, but the constant interrogation from Wayne about what your plans were was driving Eddie up the wall.

When he asks you, he can see the look of disappointment on your face. Pouring out apologies and explaining how you're visiting your grandparents out of state.

He should’ve known better. You’ve got a family to do those things with. The normal things that Eddie has never known.

You want to tell your parents ‘fuck the trip’ and stay with Eddie, but your grandparents are old. It’s grim but the fact is, they probably won’t have much time left. And it’s not like they can travel to you. But seeing Eddie’s face when you have to turn him down makes you want to cry.

In the quiet moments of the night, snuggled up in Eddie’s bed while he’s on the floor, making notes in the margin of his well-loved copy of Lord of the Rings, you remember you’re going away. In the light of the day, surrounded by Eddie’s laughs and his lewd jokes and his constant fidgeting, you were able to forget. Eddie was always good at distracting you from any negative feelings that may plague you.

You watch his brows furrow and his tongue poke over his upper lip as he underlines a quote he finds significant. He’s rubbing his rings against one another emitting a soft metallic clicking. You can see his lips barely moving as he mouths the words to himself. A subconscious habit, you figure.

You watch the way his chest rises and falls. How his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. The way his face shows every emotion he feels as he reads. The slight stubble that’s grown since he shaved this morning. The way he is totally lost in his book yet completely in tune with you, reaching back every so often to touch you. To rub your leg as a reminder to you that he hasn’t forgotten you’re there. His subtle way of thanking you for being here with him.

All these little things are becoming big things. You look away from him, staring up at his ceiling instead. Looking at him just exist close to you is enough to have you overwhelmed with emotion. You’re not coping well with the fact that you won’t feel his hand on your calf or hear his laugh for a whole week.

You realize how silly it is to be so upset. It’s not like you’re going away forever, but this will be the longest either of you have gone without seeing each other. You’re not sure you remember how to be without Eddie Munson.

“I wish I could shrink you down so I could carry you with me everywhere, teddy.” The sound of pages being slammed shut and a pen being dropped to the floor brings your gaze back to him. He laughs a little before crawling off the floor and into the spot next to you. He’s got the softest smile you’ve ever seen on his face as he lays mere inches away from you.

“And why’s that? Think that would get annoying after a while.” He’s teasing you but you’re dead serious. You want him around always.

“Because I don’t like to be without you. I never want to be without you, Eddie.” The smile drops from his face as tears fall from your eyes. His heart is racing and he can’t pinpoint why. He’s thrilled at the notion that you want him around all the time but he’s upset that you’re upset. But then again, you’re so pretty when you cry. But you��re also crying over him. And why are you crying over him? Is there something else going on? He’s a mess of emotions right now.

“Sweetheart.. it’s only a week. I’ll still be here when you get back.” He pulls you into his chest and lets you cry there for a moment. Once you’re reduced to occasional sniffles and swollen eyes, you pull your face out of his chest. The pair of you stare at each other for a moment before you’re bursting into laughter. Eddie is so lost but you’re laughing so that must be a good sign.

“That was so stupid, holy shit. I can’t believe I just cried like a baby over that. I’m sorry,” you’re a giggling machine and Eddie can’t help but laugh along until the quiet finally returns. It lingers for a long time, so long Eddie thinks you might have fallen asleep.

“I meant what I said. I do wish I could carry you around with me, teddy.” He feels your warm breath through the fabric of his shirt, words whispered directly to his heart. Eddie sucks in a breath. Is this it? Is this when you finally ask him the question you’re both itching to hear? Or say the three words he’s dying to tell you too?

“If I had a magic lamp, that’s what I would wish for.”

so maybe not tonight.

But as you drift away, Eddie stays up thinking about anything and everything. Most of the thoughts revolve around you though. How you want him around, the way you’re wearing his favorite sweater, why you started calling him teddy, how he wishes you could carry him around too.

And then he gets an idea.

Maybe you could carry him around, metaphorically speaking.

Now, Eddie had zero plans to get anyone anything for Christmas. He never had and he wasn’t planning to change that now. But the perfect opportunity and the perfect person have presented themselves to him on a silver platter.

He starts to do the math in his head. Thanksgiving is in 4 days. Making Christmas in 31 days, so he really has 30 days to get the gift ready. You’ll be gone for a week starting on the 25th, which gives him 11 days to save up. If he picks up extra shifts at the shop and does a couple deals, he can save up some extra cash to make sure it’s perfect. He can pick up the supplies while you’re gone too.

The tricky part is going to be hiding it all from you. You two are practically attached at the hip and Eddie knows the second you’re back in town, you’ll want to be near him. And he’ll be dying to be around you too. He also knows that you’re smart and there’s no doubt you’ll catch on.

You spend the remainder of the four days in Hawkins working around Eddie’s work schedule. You’re a little ticked off that he took up so many shifts when he knows you’re about to be gone for a week, but maybe he really needs the money. And you can’t stay mad at him when he makes such an effort to see you even after he’s worked himself to the bone.

His schedule also gives you the perfect opportunity to get one of his Christmas gifts together. Making a trip to a print shop out in Marion, a couple cities over from Hawkins. It being the only place you could track down that would print designs onto guitar picks. Who would’ve thought it would be such a to-do?

When you handed the guy Eddie’s hand drawn logo for Corroded Coffin, he seemed to recognize the name. You got to talking to the guy and it turns out he’s made a couple trips out to The Hideout to see Corroded Coffin. He swears they’re gonna be the next big thing. You tell him all about Eddie and how this is a Christmas gift for him. The employee, Zach, says he can give you the sample today but the rest will have to be shipped.

“I’ll make sure they get there well before Christmas. Just make sure you remember me when your boyfriend gets famous.” He chuckles and hands you the pick as you flounder for words. You don’t tell him Eddie’s not your boyfriend, letting yourself live in the fantasy that he is for this moment.

Eddie’s second gift comes from a second hand store you used to visit when you were a kid when you’d stay with your grandparents in Wisconsin.

Eddie had commented multiple times on the sun pendant you wore around your neck. Even using the name ‘sunshine’ for you once in a while. Since then, you’ve been on a hunt for some kind of jewelry with a moon. But finding something like that in Eddie’s style is damn near impossible. Your last ditch effort being scouring every thrift store within a 20 mile radius of your grandparents house.

You’re ready to give up and just stick to the guitar picks and maybe a t-shirt. It’s not like he cares all that much about gifts anyway.

Until you visit that old store run by Marty, who used to ‘forget’ to charge you for an item or two. He’s still managing the place, even now that you’re all grown up. He’s beyond happy to see you, asking all about your life now. Who you’re friends are, where you’re working, if you’ve got a special someone.

During this chat, you obviously have to brag on Eddie. You have a bad habit of working him into every conversation.

Walking up and down the aisles with Marty, he tells you all about the repairs he’s had to make to the shop over the years. The wood flooring wearing down, shelves rusting, roof leaking. But he loves it all the same.

“I’ll keep this place standing with duct tape and a dream if i have to.” You snort, knowing he means that one hundred percent. He’s showing you some renovations in the back he was able to afford back in March, when you just glance at the small jewelry case. It doesn’t hold much, mostly old wedding rings or a pair of clearly vintage earrings.

You don’t really give it a second thought until Marty is pulling you over to show you a necklace he recently acquired. He says it’s from some lady who passed away who was apparently an heir to some fortune. It’s a beautiful piece but you can’t bring yourself to care when what you’ve been searching for is staring you in the face. A beautiful silver ring with a crescent moon, oversized and chunky. Very clearly worn by a previous owner with scratches and scuffs. So clearly Eddie.

“She had this grandfather who owned-“

“Marty!” You damn near startle the poor man to death with your shout. “How much for the ring?”

You’ve got eyes bigger than saucers, practically bouncing on your feet waiting for his answer. He doesn’t quite know what you’re so excited about. It’s nothing special, no diamond or gold.

“Well that depends. who’s it for?” Marty knows it can’t be for you, considering it’s clearly made for someone with much thicker fingers. And based on how excited you got, it must be for someone special. If Marty is anything, he is one nosey old man.

“It’s for my friend I was telling you about. Eddie. I’ve been looking everywhere for something like that!” Marty considers you for a moment. He takes a second to replay the last hour you’ve spent in the store, bringing up this ‘Eddie’ no less than a million times. He’s lived a long time, seen a lot of things.

“Yes, this boy who you ramble on about but is just a friend. That one?” you roll your eyes at his insinuation.

“Yes, Marty, that one.” You let out a huff at Marty’s infuriating grin. The one where he looks like he’s got you all figured out.

“In the spirit of love, you can have it free of charge.” The shit eating grin he gives you is bigger than the state of Texas.

“Jesus… You’re lucky I like you, old man.” He bags up the ring and slides it across the counter. He gives you a stern look before letting you take it from him.

“You tell that boy he better be good to you or Marty here will have to pay him a visit. Can’t be having my best girl with some rascal.” You shake your head fondly at the man, bid him goodbye as he tells you to visit more often. You promise him you will and he waves at you until you can’t see him in the rear view anymore.

Back in Hawkins, Eddie’s room is a mess of fabric and sewing needles. This tiny jacket he’s sewing is giving him hell. He’s pricked himself approximately ten times in the last half hour. He’s really putting his artistic skills to the test. Utilizing every ounce of knowledge he’s picked up from painting D&D figures and sewing patches onto his battle vest. This whole gift idea is turning out to be a lot more time consuming than he anticipated.

He spent a solid five hours in every toy store in the near vicinity, even traveling as far as Indianapolis. He spent every last cent he owned on fabric and paint and gas to acquire said items. It will all be worth it though to see the look on your face when he gives it to you.

When you knock on his door for the first time in a week while he’s in the middle of painting a tiny patch of denim, he’s scrambling to hide the evidence. Determined to not spoil the surprise. He flings open the trailer door to see you standing there in sweatpants and his sweater, which he could’ve sworn he lost about a week ago.

“You know, it’s not very kind to steal, sunshine.” Eddie thinks his eardrums have suffered some serious damage after the way you squeal his name. Practically tackling him back into the living room with arms tight around his neck. His hands seek you out just as quickly, one gripping the softness of your waist and the other resting gently on the back of your head. He can’t suppress the grin that spreads over his face, eyes squinting from how hard his cheeks push up.

“Missed you so much, teddy.” The words vibrate in his neck. He can feel you smiling against his skin. When you pull away, it takes every muscle in his body to not keep you tucked against him until there’s no way to know where he ends and you begin.

“I missed you even more.” You’re still grinning up at him and he has yet to let go of the grip he has on your waist, tethering you to him for as long as you’ll let him. He’s missed being able to touch you, see you, talk to you. Before you left, he had tried to argue that he should get to call you at least once but you weren’t having it. The rates for out of state phone calls were beyond either of your budgets.

Eddie would’ve paid anything, done anything, just to hear you speak his name.

Once you’ve finally settled into the couch, legs thrown over Eddie as he strokes up and down your calf, he finally asks you about the trip.

You tell him all about your grandparents and how things have changed since your last visit. The new dog they rescued and the chickens that wander in the house through the doggy door.

Eddie is trying his best to listen. He really is. But it’s hard to pay attention to the words coming out of your mouth when he’s too busy admiring you. The miniscule movements of the muscles in your face as you shift through a range of emotions. You’re practically vibrating with energy as you retell your every movement while you were away.

He’s snapped out of his trance at your next words.

“And… I’ve got your Christmas gifts, Mr. Munson.” Eddie opens his mouth to respond before he takes a second to replay a specific word in that sentence.

“Hold on. Gifts, plural? As in multiple?” You’re grinning like the cat that ate the canary. You watch as Eddie tosses his head back onto the couch and runs his hands down his face. He rubs his eyes out of frustration and gives you the meanest glare he can muster.

Which isn’t very mean for a guy who’s nickname is teddy.

“If looks could kill.” Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. You know what he’s probably thinking. That he doesn’t deserve anything. That he’s not worth the effort or the money.

And you’re right. Eddie’s mind is full of self doubts. He doesn’t think he deserves the gifts but more importantly, he doesn’t deserve you. Someone who cares enough to want him to have a good Christmas, despite his constant criticism of the holiday.

He wants to insist you take them back and push you as far away as he possibly can. But there’s a part of him that wants to be spoiled, just this once. The part that wants to keep you all to himself and let you shower him in love.

He’s looking at you with those big, sad brown eyes and you just can’t stand it anymore.

“It’s just two things, teddy. Three if you count my promise to spend the day with you.” He huffs in your direction and you decide it’s enough of a response, shifting the topic back to your travels.

“Marty told me to tell you that if you hurt his best girls feelings, he’s gonna have to pay you a visit. So you better play nice, Munson.”

“His best girl? I might have to pay him a visit first.”

Eddie spends the remaining weeks in secrecy. He’s barely let you step foot in his trailer lately. He’s starting to run out of excuses until it’s finally Christmas day. He spent all Christmas Eve finishing up his project, adding final touches and stitches.

You’ve finished opening presents with your family and have now set up post at the telephone to wait for Eddie’s call. You’ve got his gifts wrapped in metallic black paper you were able to dig out of the bottom of a bin at the local craft store. The clerk gave you a weird look when you put it on the counter, shocked they even carried such an item. But Eddie didn’t seem like the snowflakes and Santa wrapping paper kinda guy.

You’re all kinds of nervous. It’s silly to even think such a thing but what if he hates them? You don’t want him to pretend he loves them if he doesn’t actually love them. But you’ll also be heartbroken if he seems unimpressed. And he’s been acting all weird lately so that’s not helping.

You’re chewing on your fingernails when the shrill ring of the phone startles you.

“Hello?”

“Well hello there, do tell. Were you on the nice list this year?” You can hear the smile on Eddie’s face through the speaker.

“I don’t know, I don’t think Santa checked his list twice this year. There’s no way I ended up on the nice list.” You can hear a chuckle on the other end.

“Personally, I’m dying to find out if I’m on your naughty or nice list. Why don’t you come on over and break the news in person?” You don’t have to see him to know he’s got his hand to his chest, feigning a shot through the heart. You tell him you’re on your way and rush out to your car.

Hawkins winter is anything but forgiving as you plead with the heater to kick on in your old Volkswagen. You don’t have the patience to wait for it to cooperate as you speed over to the Forest Hills trailer park. As you pull up to the Munson’s residence, Eddie is sat on the couch on the porch smoking a cigarette. He’s not even wearing a coat, just his everyday attire.

“Teddy! You’re gonna freeze to death out here!” You’re chastising him as you run up the steps, careful to keep a grip on your gifts.

“So dramatic, sunshine.” He finishes off his cigarette and stomps out the butt with his sneaker. He blows the smoke away from your face as he slings an arm over your shoulders. You let him lead you into the warmth of the trailer. You know Uncle Wayne more than likely cranked it up for you, wanting you to be comfortable even if it means a higher electric bill this month. If he was here, you’d chastise him too.

Eddie helps you take off your winter coat before you toe off your boots, leaving you in your Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer socks. As you settle onto the couch in your designated position, legs thrown over Eddie’s thighs, he makes a comment on said socks.

“Killer socks, bub.” You roll your eyes and shove your gift boxes at him.

“Shut up and open your presents, dingus.” Eddie jabs that you’ve been spending too much time with Robin as he opens the first gift.

Eddie seems to hesitate as he sees the black velvet box, immediately recognizing it as something that carries jewelry. And not just the cheap jewelry he gets from the halloween store once a year. The real shit. He sucks in a deep breath before flipping the top of the box to reveal a thick silver ring.

“Is that a-“

“A moon? Yeah, ya know cause you always call me sunshine. I figured we could match, it’s okay if you don’t want to though.” You interrupt his question with your rambling. He can tell you’re nervous but he can’t do much to settle your nerves, too busy staring at it like if he blinks it will disappear. His chest feels tight and his heart swollen. He can’t stop his eyes from watering.

He’s pondering the unintentional meaning behind him being the moon and you being the sun. Besides the obvious, he can’t help but find a parallel between the two of you and the way that the moon only shines at night because of the sun. When the two align, it’s magic.

You are the sun to his moon.

Eddie has never experienced love like this. Sure, Uncle Wayne and his friends all love him. But this is different. You’re different. This gesture which seems so small in the grand scheme of things, feels monumental to Eddie. To be loved by you is life altering.

“I can’t… I can’t accept this. It’s too much, sunshine.”

“I think it’s just enough.” Your words are reassuring but not overly so. You know if you say what you want to say, which is the fact that it’s not nearly enough, Eddie would shrink away. Just enough to remind him that you think he’s worth it. That he’s deserving.

Eddie looks up at you then. Your eyes are wide as you try to decipher what’s happening in that head of his. You’re waiting for a reaction that isn’t humble denial as he slides the ring onto his marriage finger. You try not to read too into that.

Eddie holds his hand out in front of his face, examining every groove and scuff mark. It’s imperfect but a perfect fit for him. He’ll cherish it forever.

“Thank you. Seriously. It’s beautiful.” Eddie reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his gently. He’s looking so deeply into your eyes you’re afraid he’ll be able to see your thoughts. Clearing your throat, you pull your hand from his grasp to pick up the second gift.

“You still have one more to open. And might I say, I’m quite proud of this one.” Eddie’s smile is dazzling. Finally allowing himself to become giddy. To allow his inner child to make an appearance.

He rips open the paper like it’s life or death. This time it’s just a small cardboard box. He sighs quietly in relief as his hope that whatever is inside isn’t an expensive item grows.

He tears the cardboard box completely apart, guitar picks spilling all over the floor and into his lap. You heave a sigh of Eddie’s name but can’t help the smile from growing as he rushes to the floor to pick them all up. His movement scattering the pile on his lap to the floor as he gets on all fours in front of you. He’s muttering apologies and looking up at you with those stupid brown puppy dog eyes.

Once he’s scooped them into a pile, he makes a comment about having needed more picks considering all of his are lost to the filthy, sticky floors of The Hideout. He hasn’t even looked at them up close.

“Eddie, you have to actually look at them.” He looks confused before picking one from his neat little pile on the floor. He squints his eyes as he registers what has been printed onto the little black pieces of plastic.

“Holy shit! Is that my design?” He’s grinning from ear to ear. His very own guitar picks for his very own band. He didn’t even know you could do that! He��s made his own Corroded Coffin t-shirts before but those were strictly homemade, and very obviously so.

But these. These are professional. The kind of stuff a real band has.

“I figured when Corroded Coffin gets famous, you can toss these into the crowd. Like Kirk Hammett or something.”

When. You said when, not if. Eddie feels like he could burst. You have so much faith in him that his success is a sure thing.

Eddie practically body slams you back into the couch, pressing all of his weight into you. The epitome of a golden retriever who thinks he’s a lap dog. Rambling off a thousand thank you’s into your shirt his head is buried in. You stroke your hands up and down his back, soothing his energy back to it’s normal state.

Before you can say anything, he’s yanking his body away and darting down the hall to his bedroom. You hear a crash and a curse before Eddie emerges back into the living room, gift bag in hand.

He clocks the smirk before it even forms, cutting you off before you can make some slick comment.

“Just because I’m not fond of Christmas doesn’t mean I can’t indulge. So this is for you.” He holds the very worn Christmas bag out to you with both hands. It’s got Eddie written all over it. From the chicken scratch of your name to the mismatched tissue paper to the mustache and devil horns combo he drew over the painted Santa Clause.

You hold the bag in your lap, not daring to look at it let alone open it. You know Eddie has never given a Christmas gift to anyone. Ever. But here he is, giving you one. The affection you feel in your chest is liable to kill you. Paired with the bashful look on his face and his fidgeting hands, you’re not sure you’ll make it to the new year.

“You didn’t have to…” You start to say but Eddie will have none of it.

“I know I didn’t. But I want to. So open it already, you’re giving me a heart attack over here.” There’s no hiding the nervous waver in his voice. You want to tell him not to be nervous. Eddie could gift you a pile of dirt from the front yard and you’d love it. Just because it came from him.

You slide the tissue paper out of the bag so carefully that Eddie wants to jump in and rip it out himself. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t what lies in the bottom of the bag.

You stare at the teddy bear for a moment, afraid to touch it. Swallowing a breath, you pull the bear from the bag and nearly pass out onto the floor.

The teddy bear is the exact shade of Eddie’s brown hair, the fur even holding a slight curl to match. He’s wearing a tiny version of Eddie’s signature Hellfire Club t-shirt and tiny black jeans that Eddie clearly ripped himself. He even fastened a chain to the pocket that clinks when it moves. Even more impressive is the denim vest Eddie had clearly sewn himself, on top of a leather jacket that was probably made for a baby doll.

Flipping the teddy over, your eyes feel swollen with tears as you see that Eddie hand painted an exact replica of his Dio patch onto the vest. You examine every inch of this bear, marveling in every detail Eddie put into making it look just like him. Even cutting the leather sleeves to add those little chains he crafted to fix the zipper of his life sized jacket.

What really sends you into a state of shock, is the messy stitching on the foot. In red thread, it reads ‘your teddy’.

Eddie is internally panicking at your frozen figure sat on the couch. It’s too quiet. So he fills it with his shaking voice.

“I know it’s silly but I just thought it would be kinda cool to make a mini me for you. Cause you said you wanted to carry me around with you and, like, now you totally can. Or not, if it’s too childish. It’s not the prettiest-“

“I love you.”

Eddie freezes. You’re still as a statue. You couldn’t stop the words from coming out. Your mind just screaming ‘iloveyouiloveyou’ on a loop until it breached your lips. Finally taking your gaze away from the bear to look up at Eddie.

He looks shell shocked. His face is void of color and his adams apple bobs as he swallows harshly. He’s not sure how to respond to the suddenness of your confession. His mind is begging him to say something. To tell you he loves you too. To kiss you. But for the first time in Eddie Munson’s life, he’s lost for words.

“I-I’m in love with you, Eddie. Have been for a while now but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” you set the bear gently on the couch next to you as you rise to your feet, standing almost toe to toe with the boy. “You don’t have to say it back. I’ll always be your friend and I don’t want you to feel obligated-“

Eddie slams his mouth into yours. It’s not pretty or gentle like the movies. It’s overeager, desperate and messy but it’s everything you both need. Your hands seek out his face as you hold him to you, moving your mouth against his. His nose is smashed so hard against your cheek he can’t breathe, yet he’s still pushing into your mouth harder.

His hands are gripping the fat of your hips so hard there’s sure to be Eddie shaped bruises tomorrow. God, you hope there are. You want to be marked with him. Leave no room for any doubt that you belong to one another. Two souls merged into one. No longer ‘you’ and ‘I’ but ‘we’ and ‘us’.

Eddie lets you pull your mouth away from his, chasing your lips in a desperate attempt to lure you back in. You hum against him as you peck one last kiss onto those swollen pink lips of his.

He’s close enough that he’s breathing your air. He can feel the huffs of your warm breath fanning over his face. Hair moving gently against the pressure of it. He soaks in it for a moment. Letting his eyes stay closed as he just feels.

Feels the warmth of your palm on his cheek, contrasting the chill of your cold fingertips against his temple. The give of your skin beneath his grip on your hips. The softness of your tummy and chest as it smushes against his. Your forehead mussing up his bangs.

He shifts his face just far enough so he can look at you but close enough that he can still feel you breathing. The way you look at him could have him melting into a puddle on the floor. So pretty, he thinks.

He moves one hand from your hip to rest on the side of your neck, brushing his thumb over your jaw. Eddie tilts his head down so he’s at your level. An equal.

“I love you.” Eddie drops the ‘too’. It feels flippant. Like he’s only saying it because you said it. Not because he truly feels it.

He can see you visibly relax, reassuring you that he does in fact, feel the same way. He chuckles a bit as the tension starts to dissipate. A lighter, giddier feeling in the air.

“Not sure how you didn’t notice. I mean, the only reason I even went to the record store was to stalk you.” You fake a gasp as if he had scandalized you, slapping the back of your hand against his chest gently.

“You’re telling me you had ulterior motives this whole time, Eddie Munson?”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” You roll your eyes before leaning back in for another kiss. This one lasting longer than the short peck you gave him earlier. Just lips pressed to lips, nothing more but nothing less. You realize you never got to tell him how much you love his gift. But frankly, Eddie’s forgotten all about it.

“If it wasn’t obvious, I love my teddy. Both the mini and the life size version.” Eddie blushes, flustered at your shameless flirting mixed with a genuine appreciation for the gift he worked so hard on.

You pull Eddie back to the couch. This time not just settling your legs in his lap, but your whole body. Your knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips. Eddie tries not to think about the fact that your ass is pressed into his thighs and if he pulled you an inch closer, he’d feel the warmth between your thighs.

He doesn’t know you’re thinking the same thing, knowing that a shift in the right direction would have his bulge pressed right into your center. But you’re also thinking about how pretty he looks and how natural it feels to be in his lap. To have his hands settled on your hips.

You file those thoughts away for later, picking up the teddy bear you abandoned earlier. You sit him in between the two of you, stroking one of his fuzzy round ears.

There’s a moment of quiet before you launch into a full college level dissertation about that damn bear. Listing every single detail you noticed and why you love it so much. Asking Eddie how he found the perfect shade bear and where he got the clothes and the paint and the tiny chains and, and, and…

Eddie wants to kiss you silly.

So he does. It starts out sudden, using the kiss as a method to shut you up before it turns soft. Pure adoration spilling from his mouth into yours and from yours to his. Tongues sliding against each other and soft breaths against cheeks. Eddie fumbles as he attempts to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, losing the suction too early, making an obnoxiously loud popping sound.

He attempts to keep your lips pressed together but your giggling is making it very hard for him. He can’t find it in him to be frustrated considering how sweet your giggles taste as they fall into his mouth.

You can barely even call it a kiss as this point. Both too busy laughing to focus on the task at hand. Eddie let’s out the tiniest snort that vibrates against your cheek and it triggers a laugh so deep in your belly that it almost feels like a cramp. Your head is tossed back, letting yourself laugh unapologetically.

It might be ugly and unattractive but Eddie has a way of making you feel comfortable like that. No fear of judgement or harsh comments.

On the contrary, Eddie thinks this is when you look most attractive. Neck straining from the weight of your head, smile so big it hurts, tears in the corners of your eyes. It’s so utterly you.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you pick your head back up to look at Eddie. Still wearing a bright smile, just softer than before.

“Merry Christmas, teddy.” You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger for longer than you’d care to admit. You settle your face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling your nose into his soft skin. You feel his hum tickle the tip of your nose. He rubs soothing circles into your back, closing his eyes in utter bliss.

It stays like that for a little while. Both in a state of complete relaxation before Eddie finally speaks.

“I think I might like christmas.”

thank you so much for reading!! likes are always appreciated! reblogs get smooches under the mistletoe!!!

i live for soft boy teddy. and the thought of him holding up his hair to hundreds of teddy bears to find the right shade… i’m proposing.

[breannasfluff]

Molting Time - P2

Legend, Hyrule, and Wild sit in the backyard of Legend’s house. It makes it easier to pick the loose feathers while preening and blues, yellows, and browns are scattered across the grass from the light breeze.

Ravio comes out the back door, carrying a tray of drinks. His wings shine a blue-purple in the sunlight. How does he keep them so sleek when Legend is gone? Is someone else helping him preen?

The vet winces as he tugs a feather too hard at the thought. Ravio doesn’t deserve to have poorly cared-for wings when Legend is gone. Even if he is wearing the vet’s feathers in the ear cuff. He didn’t address it the last time he was back. With the addition of Wild as a flockmate, a lot was going on. Maybe he should.

Yet, for all Legend is the hero of courage, the thought of talking about…feelings? Relationships? He'd rather fly through a dust storm.

Ravio sets the tray down by the group. “I brought drinks!” Then he looks them over. “Molting is never fun.”

Legend takes a drink but keeps his eyes on Ravio. “When did you molt?”

“Oh, it was while you were gone. Zelda was so sweet, she offered to help with the back of my wings.”

Legend’s grip on the glass tightens and he puts it down before he breaks it. “Did she.”

Zelda helping Ravio is—objectively—fine. She helps Legend with his wings and he helps her if he’s around. In Hyrule, relying on others to help with molting is expected. Many birds deal with it and another pair of hands makes it easier.

Ravio, though, said that preening during molting was only for bonded and close family. Despite this, he still helped Legend when he was molting. And he wears Legend’s feathers, so they are a step closer to being bonded. The wording might not match up exactly between the two realms, but the intent is clear. Preening during molting is only for those with a close bond.

So why was Zelda helping Ravio? Sure, they know each other, but not well.

Ravio is oblivious to his swirling thoughts, passing out the rest of the drinks. “Wild, Hyrule, would you like some help with preening?”

Legend gives an undignified squawk that has the others staring at him. Ravio should be helping him preen! Not the others! They might be flock, but Ravio wears Legend’s feathers behind his ear.

“Legend? Are you okay?” Ravio’s wings are still on his back; no inner secondaries flashing.

The bowerbird works his jaw. It wouldn’t be very heroic to throw his lemonade at Ravio’s stupid, oblivious head.

Wild rolls his shoulders and stretches his wings. “No, thank you. I don’t like people touching my wings.”

Ravio nods easily enough.

Hyrule looks between the two bowerbirds and something in his expression shifts. It’s the same look he gets when he’s about to cause someone no end of grief.

“Well, I would love some help preening my wings, Ravio! No reason to suffer if you are offering, right?” The brown thrasher throws a pointed look at Legend.

He seethes. Yet Ravio just chirps and moves behind Hyrule, fingers sinking into brown feathers. Legend seethes some more. That’s not fair! Why didn’t the merchant ask him? Why is he suddenly so—blasé about helping?

Legend has been gone for a little while…does he think the bowerbird isn’t interested in him? He’s never given the vet his feathers back, actually. Sure, Legend never addressed it, but Ravio didn’t bring it up either.

Across from him, Hyrule gives a coo of pleasure. “That feels so much better, thank you.”

Legend’s wings flutter, spreading without his consent to show inner secondaries. Ravio’s eyes don’t leave Hyrule’s back.

Wild, however, notices. “Vet, you are turning your favorite color.”

“What?” He finally pries his eyes off Ravio. “No, I’m not.”

“Sure are. Red as an apple.”

“I am not!”

Hyrule titters and Legend is starting to understand the urge to murder someone you love.

Nesting is a bit of a mess with molting birds. Wild retreats to the nook upstairs, where he and Four get into a fight over bedding. One night, Hyrule nests with Legend and Hyrule, but the next he goes to bother Wild. Four takes offense to being booted from the nook and wiggles uninvited between Legend and Ravio.

Neither of them would push him out of the nest, of course, but the addition of Four also means the addition of pointed comments.

“There’s too much red and blue and it clashes. You’re lucky the walls are a neutral color. Hylia above, why do bowerbirds have such awful taste in colors!”

Legend is tetchy with his own molt. “Look who’s squawking! You hogged all the colors on your wings! They’re—gauche!”

Four shrieks and jumps on Legend, who snarls his own challenge back. Feathers fly. Ravio beats a hasty retreat.

The next morning, Sky is absent, as is Warriors. Time and Twilight mumble something about supplies and Wind books a hasty retreat behind them.

Maybe Ravio doesn’t know that Legend is interested. That must be it. Flashing secondaries may be mostly involuntary, but it’s a hylian thing. Ravio explained that in Lorule, there was a focus on fluffing the scapular feathers at the base of the wings to show the skin beneath. It is something rarely seen outside molting, so it makes sense.

Yes, the bowerbird must not be understanding Legend’s intentions. He resolves to fix this problem.

Left alone in his house with Ravio—and three cranky, molting passerines—the vet enacts his plan to gain back the merchant’s attention. His wings itch even more than normal, but he hasn’t accepted help from Hyrule or Wild. Ravio hasn’t yet offered.

“Wild,” he says at breakfast, angling so the back of his wings are facing Ravio as he makes them pancakes.

“Legend.”

The vet stares because he didn’t think further than this. He needs an excuse— “Want to do some wing stretches with me?”

“In the kitchen?”

“…yes.” Shit, he didn’t think this through.

Wild shares a look with Hyrule, then rolls his eyes. “Sure. Wing stretches. Why don’t you show me?” His blue wings make no move to join in.

Good enough. Legend stretches his wings out and up—thank Hylia for his high ceilings—and fluffs his feathers. The scapularis puff as well, showing skin. Even in the warmth of the kitchen it’s chilly to do so.

Wild is not watching him, or his wings. He’s looking over Legend’s shoulder and promptly bursts out laughing. The vet whips around, but Ravio’s eyes are fixed on the pancake on the griddle. His wings are a little poofy, but he’s not looking at Legend’s stretch.

The vet can’t help his hiss, annoyed, angry! and stomps out of the room.

Behind him, still laughing, Wild calls, “What about the wing stretches?”

He doesn’t answer, because the only words that come to mind are curses.

Four ditches them to go find a spot for a dirt bath. Hyrule and Wild move to the roof, wings spread to soak the sun and grumble at each other about itchy feathers. Legend finds himself alone with Ravio for the first time since the Chain got there.

He can’t help the way his wings droop, because the merchant hasn’t looked once when he shows off the back of his wings. He’s nothing but courteous to Wild and Hyrule and only winces when Four insults his rabbit hood. Yet through all of it, he hasn’t offered Legend help preening.

Does…Ravio not like him anymore? Has he been gone too long? Did he take too long to say something?

The two have retreated to the nestroom and Legend messes with his feathers. Molting is the worst. He looks terrible. Maybe that’s the problem; Ravio only sees a scraggly bird with ugly, patchy wings.

The thought of Ravio changing his mind hurts more than he cares to admit. When did the merchant become so important to him? Sure, he gave Ravio his feathers, but it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He didn’t have to have a conversation about it, he left on a new adventure.

Was the bowerbird unhappy with what little Legend could offer? He gives a sad whistle and lets his hands fall from his feathers.

“What’s wrong?” Ravio crawls closer, his wings sleek and well-cared for.

Legend glances at him, eyes catching on the ear cuff. Two yellow feathers and one red stand out against the merchant’s dark hair. A promise never addressed.

In the end, the hero of courage is nothing more than a coward. “It’s my feathers,” he lies. “They itch.”

“Want some help preening?”

It’s what he’s wanted since he got home, but the offer tastes of failure. “…yes,” he tells the bedding.

Ravio chirps his ascent and hops off the bed. Drawers open and close and then he’s back, pushing blankets aside. “I’ve got some cream that should help the itching. Oh, and here.” He shoves a small box toward Legend. “It’s a little trinket I picked up a while back. Seems like now’s a good time to give it to you.”

Ravio settles behind him, fingers sinking into his feathers. His touch is light as he combs, carefully tugging on each shaft to check for loose ones.

The bowerbird’s wings loosen at the attention, relaxing slightly. He picks up the box. “If it’s something blue—”

Ravio titters and it sounds…nervous. “I’m afraid it is. Blue. Sorry.”

Legend pulls the lid off the box. Inside is an ear cuff, complete with three purple-blue feathers.