#which is why his story ends with the scene it does (putting him back into that narrative)

[sokkastyles]

To me, the ask reads like the people were saying that Zuko should have killed Ozai to spare Aang's morals/cultural beliefs, because he's 12. Which proves that this isn't actually about morality, it's about preserving Aang's moral purity. Like, Zuko can do it because he's older / was a bad guy / is a darker character?

And aside from the fact that the narrative gives us the reason why - Aang has to do it because only the Avatar can restore the balance - I reject the idea that Zuko has to get his hands dirty to preserve Aang's morals, largely because of what Zuko walking away from that fight meant for him.

One of my favorite themes of Zuko's story is the way he reclaims his own innocence as an abuse victim who had that taken from him. Like when Iroh says at the end that Zuko is an idealist with a pure heart and Zuko is shocked to hear himself be described as pure because he's made so many mistakes? That so heartbreakingly captures the experience of an abused child who was never allowed to see themselves as innocent. And one of the ways Ozai tries to take Zuko's innocence for the last time is that scene where he tries to goad Zuko into fighting him. And Zuko says no.

And the reason Zuko can do that is because he knows he has a support system. Zuko tells Ozai that Aang is going to defeat him. Zuko tells Ozai that Iroh has been a real father to him. And although he doesn't mention it, Zuko also has that experience of Katara caring for him and telling him that he doesn't have to choose his family's path for him.

Had Zuko not had those experiences, he very likely would have killed Ozai because he might have seen no other way out of his situation. This is what happens to victims of abuse who are pushed to the edge in the real world. And it usually does not end well for them.

So when I see people say that Zuko should have killed Ozai, his own father, to preserve Aang's innocence, Aang's childhood, I have to give pause. Especially when they're so ready to morally condemn Zuko for wanting his father dead at the same time that they think it would be no big deal for him to do it, and that his own childhood isn't worth preserving.

Also, it's not like Zuko is saying Aang should kill Ozai while he sits back and watches. Zuko joined the group because he wanted to help make it happen. And Zuko stayed while Aang ran away, and continued to lead the group when they didn't know what to do after Aang's dissapearance. Zuko isn't the one who lacks convictions in the finale or the one relying on destiny to make things work out for him, he's the one making things happen while Aang stumbles into a solution to his problems.

There's also the weird moralizing that goes along with this that feels uncomfortable in the context of Zuko's story as an abuse victim, and it goes like this: Zuko is morally wrong for wanting to kill his abuser (but also wrong for not doing it), while Aang is morally pure for trying to appeal to Ozai's better nature and almost getting killed by him in the process. Do you see how that narrative wrongly places responsibility on victims and puts them into dangerous situations? I'm talking about both Aang and Zuko. Zuko wanted Aang to kill Ozai because he was terrified that Ozai would kill them all, not because he wanted Aang to do his dirty work or because he didn't understand Aang's morals.

I've seen people criticize Zuko for not taking the opportunity to kill Ozai during the eclipse but expecting Aang, a 12 y.o. pacific monk to do that instead. He was called hypocritical for being unsympathetic towards his unwillingness to take a life when he himself couldn't. I do like Zuko and tend to side with him ( post redemption ofc ) over Aang, but that seems like a valid take, I don't think I have a counter-argument to that.What is your opinion on It ? Also, what do you think was the in-universe reason for Zuko to make such a decision? He said that It's not his destiny, do you think there was any other reason for It? Is he not wrong for not doing It just bc of destiny since It's just an abstract concept and the stakes were really high ( plus It's against the show's message about shaping your own destiny) ?

Maybe I'm reading this wrong, but it sounds like the people criticizing Zuko for not killing Ozai when he had the chance wanted Aang to do it? That doesn't sound like a contradiction, so I'm not sure if that's how you meant it?

Aside from that, I can only speak for myself. I understand why Zuko didn't kill Ozai. I also understand why Aang didn't want to. What my problem with the resolution for that was that it was the first time Aang seems to have even thought about what ending the war would entail. It doesn't make him look noble, or idealistic. It just makes him look stupid. What do you mean? What do you mean that he took this entire journey to get him to master all the elements on a deadline so he can end the war, and he had no idea what ending the war would even look like? He didn't even consider it? It had to be told to him. He really goofed off this entire series and didn't think about his project until the night before it was due. And don't anyone try to use his age to excuse this to me. First of all, Aang isn't a 12 year old. He's a fictional character who was created by writers. Writers who were telling a story. THEY are the ones who didn't consider how Aang would end the war. Second, within the story, Aang's age is never used as an excuse for why he did this. In fact, not only is an excuse not given, it's treated like a virtue on his end and not a lack of forethought on his part. He's rewarded for it.

Listen, I hate the Lionturtle/Rock of Destiny double deus ex machina, and I have made no secret of it. It was a cop out. It cheapened the finale. It made everything Aang was supposed to learn irrelevant, because no, he didn't have to make sacrifices and hard choices for his victory. He won because he was supposed to win (and how's that for shaping your own destiny?). Here's the thing, though. The Lionturtle, at least, could have worked. If Aang had to come up with the solution himself, go find the Lionturtle and ask for help (and maybe have to perform some challenge to earn it), then it would've been a satisfying ending while still not making Aang himself have to shed blood (nevermind that keeping his hands clean was a privilege most of the heroes in this story couldn't have).

I didn't necessarily want Aang to kill Ozai, and definitely didn't want him to kill Ozai just because it would look cool (although...). I would have been fine with a no-kill ending, if it had been set up right. I just think having Aang kill Ozai given the set up of the rest of the story would've been more satisfying than the cop-out ex machina double team. Or someone else could've faced Ozai, because he was never the main villain of the series. Azula was. And that fight was both satisfying and didn't end with her death, either (because it's a kids' show). It wouldn't even have to change. Aang was not the real hero of this story. Katara was the hero of the first half, and Zuko was the hero of the second. Aang was just the McGuffin. He could've sat this one out and been the one to make the "Real Hero" speech instead of Zuko. That would have been a good ending.

[tulakhord]

the thing about the black sails finale is that dead/alive is a false dichotomy, which is why there lingers this need to vote for a secret third thing. it has roots in the same false dichotomy of victim/perpetrator that silver cannot get himself out of, that eleanor cannot get herself out of, that silver tries to put madi into, that max understands and weaponizes, that vane crawls out of at his very end. the answer is that james escapes the narrative, or rather the narrative can no longer contain him. the question of james flint or james mcgraw is a false dichotomy that can no longer contain him. he becomes the secret third thing, or is becoming it, in season four. he is unmade because he is removed. as far as the story is concerned, he is dead, because the storyteller can no longer conceive of what he has become.

[widowshill]

not for nothing that roger and jeff are wearing completely identical suits for vicki's wedding down to the same pearl stick pin and it's roger that is distinguished with the accessory and the visual emphasis. that roger wears the pocket square and jeff goes plain without one, without a boutonnière (as feels the most probable and appropriate; they both wear boutonnières in roger's prophetic dream of the wedding). that not only is he wearing the handkerchief, but it's folded in such a way as so take as much space as possible – straying from accepted formality of a neat TV fold, occupying more room on the screen, drawing more attention, pointing among other things to his heart in bright white.

[agnimybeloved]

regarding that last post... not that black butler's canon has to be uplifting or have dadbastian or a happy ending to be "good" (i'm actually partial to tragedies especially the cyclical kind and would love for the series to straight up end with despair and the collection on the contract lol) but i do think that toboso's largely fumbled the found-family/interpersonal,/introspective aspects of her story and sacrificed a lot of narrative and thematic meat there for low-brow and off-putting comedy.... which is really exactly all she does with ciel's trauma as well-- shallowly using it for the purposes of trauma porn and/or comedy/inappropriate fanservice.

ciel only seems to have reasonable responses to his trauma when its aesthetically convenient if that makes sense. i honestly could go as far as to say that she depicts his trauma fetishistically-- every instance i can recall of ciel having an extreme traumatic response (i.e. vomiting, flashbacks, psychosis) is represented with (imo but honestly.... i'd be shocked if this wasn't intentional...) sexual undertones. his episode during the green witch arc doesn't have one of these moments within the episode itself as far as i can recall, but certainly i think the preceding/inciting medical emergency that forces him and sebastian to bathe together contributes to the reoccurring sexualization of "sickness" (physical & psychological).

not to mention ciel's subsequent episode is treated as the dramatic peak of his ptsd and something that he "overcomes" through sheer force of will (and the threats of sebastian... neither of which are a proper/reasonable way to handle such an extreme trauma response) and doesn't really battle going forward in the story. of course a lot of stories take this "one dramatic moment and then its fixed" approach to representing mental illness, and it makes narrative sense for toboso to want to more or less settle that thread to gear up for the important blue cult arc, but i think toboso's handling of mental illness in general goes so far beyond suspension of disbelief and tastelessness that i think she should lowkey be brained for it. the way she intermittently writes ciel's traumatic experiences as something horrifying and wrong and to be given sympathy meanwhile relentlessly putting ciel in inappropriate fanservice situations that diminish the severity of csa & pedophilia as well as disrespect the complexities of trauma and turn them into comedy... mind boggling...

overall though i think that black butler shows a real mastery of narrative arcs while falling short in terms of character arcs. most of the time these arcs are shown in retrospect with the addition of new backstory, but it feels as if the characters in present have barely grown at all... not that every story has to be character driven and a static character type makes sense for someone like sebastian, but for all that ciel is a unique and mature thirteen year old due to the circumstances of his life, he is still a thirteen year old, and one that has experienced a significant trauma quite recently at that. not allowing him coming of age-esque character arcs considering all that sort of breaks the believability of his character imo.

but i think that coattails does a lot in staying loyal to ciel's character and experiences while also respecting his trauma and bringing the depth and flexibility of adolescence to his worldview and actions that toboso unfortunately seems disinterested in. i love that aforementioned chapter of coattails and its sentiments especially with how it reexamines ciel's actions at kelvin's manor and the worldview that lead to burning it down with the children inside... not that it was an out of character decision for ciel in the moment, but i think it established a lot more severe facts about his character and worldview than toboso is willing to address in her writing and therefore feels unresolved. coattails' remedy to that awkwardness by coming full circle is so intriguing and fulfilling in contrast... it shows how adolescence and trauma can work together to so completely convince one of hopelessness and yet how just a bit of hope can change that worldview entirely. literally just the honest love of a random dog and the mundane care of a guardian... there is a cure and it is this..... what da helllll....

[volleychumps]

Kurōo cheating on his s/o for his new manager but quickly falling out of love with her and she realizes so she quits as manager. But when he comes back to you he realizes you’re with someone else so he begs you to lie to him and say “I love you”.

Won’t You Lie to Me?

- the one in which Kuroo Tetsurou would do anything to hear the lies that stain your tongue

xFem! reader

Warning(s): cheating! angst, lots of tears, reader doesn't want Kuroo's touch in the last part, read with caution this was a painful write but I love angst soooo

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

If you could go back in time, you wonder if you would take the detour to stop by your boyfriend’s volleyball practice again. It’s a bitter afterthought really, an afterthought to the scene before you. 

She yelped, manager tracksuit zipping up quickly in the process as one of her hands flies to her hair, attempting to smooth down the mess of it as if it would magically fall back into place.

But you're not staring at her. How could you? Why stare at her when the raven-haired boy standing behind her with a slackened jaw and crumpled t-shirt was just such an interesting sight to see?

"Someone's hard at work." your tone is sarcastic, but the slight crack in the tinge of your words is enough for Kuroo to take a step towards you, watching the light fade from your eyes as the cowering manager of their team stares like you're a bomb about to explode.

"Y/N-"

"Don't."

Your reaction is mild and tame, simply tilting your head to the side as you don't break eye contact with him. It was a silly high school love story to begin with, perhaps one of those where happy endings don't exist and things are too good to be true.

If you knew that, then why does it feel like every inch of you won't stop trembling?

"Go to hell, Tetsurou." But he knows. He sees it in your eyes, the finality in your tone that sealed things in place. He knows you mean it. He knows you never say things you don't mean, the same way he knows things will never ever be what they once were.

So why can't he will his legs to move towards you?

Instead, dark eyes watch you hang your head with a heavy sigh, as if you were suddenly exhausted before shoving something in the manager's hands, ignoring the yelp that left her swollen lips.

"It's for the headache he claimed he had." Your voice was monotone as you refused to lift your gaze. "He's your problem now."

"Y/N."

It almost broke you. Almost. The gentleness in his tone, the way in which a shaky hand lifted towards you, but you simply took a step back. Staring down at the manager you once called a friend, you giggle humorlessly before simply turning on your heel and walking away.

"She's so calm about it, Tetsu-kun." The manager sniffed at your absence, trying to put a hand on one of his broad shoulders. "She must have never loved you, I told you so."

But Kuroo knew better. He wasn't sure why he gave in. He wasn't sure why for a second he believed what Yue was saying before she came onto him, not denying her when she advanced. Something about your plans to break up with him? Something about how you had giggled to Yue about how you were planning on leaving him for someone better?

He can't recall why or what was said. All he knows is as he's watching you, he strangely feels quite empty inside. This must mean he doesn't have any outright feelings for you anymore, right?

If he isn't hurting when he watches you go, isn't this for the best?

He's lost in his thoughts when the gym doors come to a tight shut, your knees hitting the soft grass outside as your legs give out from underneath you, a silent wail wracking your whole body as your heart splits into pieces, taking the form of salty tears that slide down your cheeks.

--

Kuroo Tetsurou still isn't really feeling much of anything.

He didn't feel much when he told Yue he still didn't want to be with her despite the deceptive steps taken. Not when she slapped him across the face. Not when Kenma had eyed him with a look of pure disgust with a sharp warning not to speak to him for the next couple days.

The only twinge he felt was when you handed in your resignation as manager, the gym an eerie quiet before the first years hug you tightly, teary-eyed as they exclaim that they didn't want you to go but they understand. Yaku glared at him the whole time, but Kuroo kept setting up the net as the first years tackle you in their last couple of embraces, glancing your way as you stroke their hair lovingly and explain you'll still find the time to hang out.

Kuroo was waiting for you to be on your way, out the door to catch you and say one last thing-

"Y/N, you have to know I'm so-"

"Sorry." Your voice is a little breathless, like you just had the wind knocked out of you. "But let's not, okay Tets-" You catch yourself, inhaling a shaky breath before managing a small smile.

"Okay, Kuroo? I'm happy being strangers. I don't hate you, okay?"

Your shoulder taps his as you stride past, a finality in your footsteps.

"I just wish we never met."

Kuroo stands there, a single emotion stirring in his chest as his gaze stares straight ahead, his shoulder on fire from where you had gently grazed it.

Confusion. Confusion swirls in his chest as his eyes brim with unshed tears he can't exactly match an emotion to.

--

A couple weeks pass...maybe a month or two? But the raven-haired third year doesn't even notice it. He goes through the motions of school and club activities, his team eventually having to slowly begin speaking to him again as preliminaries near the corner.

Kenma taps his head against the doorway of his room, staring at him blankly.

"Hey cheater."

"Funny." But Kuroo isn't laughing, sitting up in bed to eye him with an even stare. Kenma doesn't like the look in his eyes, the usual sarcastic and confident glint in his irises and smile nowhere to be seen. "What's up."

Kenma shrugs, taking a comfortable seat on the floor before pulling out his handheld device, Kuroo blinking once in surprise before laying back down in bed, listening to the click of the buttons and the movements of the joystick.

The cat-eyed boy glances at him, looking back down at his device before taking something out of his pocket and placing it on the end of his bed.

"Y/N wanted me to return this to you."

Kuroo eyes the red scarf at the end of the bed, Kenma focusing on the next level of his game before he sits up again to examine the fluffy fabric, the characters for Nekoma High School on the corner of one end.

His chest seems to twist.

"Don't be a brat, Y/N, it's cold out here."

"What if you get sick, idiot?"

""Stop calling your best friend an idiot! You're the worst, you know."

"Don't kid yourself. Kenma's my best friend."

A lump forms in his throat.

"Fine, whatever." Kuroo had smirked down at you from his towering height, wrapping the scarf around your neck despite your wishes as you eyed him weirdly. He leans down to your height, his eyes twinkling with something you can't pinpoint.

"I don't wanna be just your best friend anyway."

You glare at him a little, tip of your nose colored from the cold before standing on your toes to lean up and kiss him, smiling as your bag hits the snow beneath you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as the first snow falls around you.

"Promise me." Your sweet voice is hushed, eyes staring at him brimmed with straight adoration as you cup his cold cheeks, Kuroo's onyx eyes holding yours carefully.

"Let's go see next year's first snowfall together."

"Cheesy." Kuroo's grin is cocky as you swat his chest in slight embarrassment, but he grabs your hand anyways, stopping your attacks before leaning a little closer to your face, so close your breaths are mingling. His fingers are touching the scarf wrapped so carefully around your pretty neck, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed.

"We'll get a front row seat, kitten, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Tetsu?"

"Hm?"

You smiled, snow in your hair as you kissed him again.

Kuroo Tetsurou could now feel again.

"I love you."

And it was his heart absolutely breaking as regret fills the beginning of the onslaught of tears.

Kenma looks up, eyes widening a fraction as his childhood friend hunches over the now clenched red scarf, his body trembling as sob after sob pours out of him, the fabric smelling of you as he holds it close to his seemingly irreparable heart.

No, it wasn't that he couldn't feel.

His body was numb and in shock with the loss of you.

--

Kuroo Tetsurou wasn't a complete idiot.

He knew the damage done was nearly permanent. There would be no fixing things, the "nearly" part of that statement lingering on the sense of false hope he had that you would at least begin talking to him.

Strangely enough, it wasn't that difficult. You began nodding to at least acknowledge his existence when dropping off a packaged treats at practice. You even began saying hello when he was with Kenma, Kuroo only being able to manage an awkward greeting back before watching you walk off with a longing in his eyes.

"Doesn't Y/N-senpai seem so much brighter these days?" Inuoka slurps his yogurt pouch, brightening up as he mentions your name. He finishes tying his shoes, stretching out his arms overhead with a careless yawn.

"Maybe she's seeing someone new."

Kuroo misses a spike, chest heavy as the first year looks up at his captain, startled.

"Relax." Kenma scolds him, not missing a beat. "It's probably not true."

Yeah.

Kuroo jogs back to center court, watching Kenma's fingers set the ball up perfectly.

It's probably not true.

He misses the spike again.

--

"After we win this, I'm going to ask Y/N for another chance."

Kenma doesn't look surprised, eyeing Kuroo seriously before releasing a heavy sigh.

"Kuroo, you should really know that-"

"Oi. Get a move on, you two, this is the last preliminary match before the qualifying match to Nationals." Yaku cuts off the team's setter, Kenma groaning a little as Kuroo jogs ahead of him onto the court, Fukurodani waiting for them on the other side.

Kenma waves to you in the stands, and you smile, waving both hands in the air at the entire team as Kuroo's heart skips a beat.

That smile was still his, it has to be.

Bokuto greets his friend with a wide grin, slapping Kuroo on the back with a little less energy than usual as the two teams begin their warm ups, the two captains meeting once in awhile since the training camp.

"Hey hey Kuroo!" The owlish boy crosses his arms, smirking a little as the crate of balls gets rolled out onto the court. "You look great, better than I was expecting!"

"So you heard?" Kuroo sighs, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. "about me and Y/N breaking up?"

"Hm? Oh, that too. I just thought it would've been a little weird seeing as she's dating Akaashi now and all."

What?

His hand freezes midair, voice caught in his throat by the huge lump that forms. Slowly, even though his body was screaming at him not to, he looks back up at the stands.

Akaashi had draped his jacket around your shoulders, slight smile on his lips as he seems to be immersed in conversation with you, Bokuto allowing him to run up real quick to see you before the match began. The setter's blue eyes were brimmed with so much adoration, the beginning sparks of new love evident between the two of you as you shyly nodded along to what he was saying.

Akaashi looks down at the court once before looking back at you, bringing your hand up to kiss once affectionately with a content smile on his face before placing a quick one on your cheek, jogging back down the stairs afterwards.

You don't know what to expect when you look back down at the court, warmth in your cheeks and chest with a foreign form of love you're not accustomed to yet. You want to meet Akaashi's eyes, cheer on Kenma and the Nekoma team, wave a greeting to Bokuto-

but the look of Kuroo's absolutely broken stare was not within the scope of your expectations.

Among the feelings Kuroo Tetsurou was learning how to feel again,

Panic was not one of them.

Panic is all he knows as the whistle blows in his ears, the game calling for someone to serve the first ball.

--

"Y/N."

"Kuroo." You say his name so easily, as if you're not the same person you were that day in the volleyball practice that never existed.

The one where he took your heart and completely discarded it.

"Where are the others-?"

"Washing up after the game." Kuroo can't meet your eyes, his head swimming with the things he rehearsed for hours on end, yet unable to communicate them.

"Oh." You say softly, and Kuroo hates it. He hates how you grow awkward and uncomfortable, like he wasn't the one kissing down your neck as you giggled for him to quit teasing. Like he wasn't your first love.

Like he didn't mean anything to you anymore.

"Y/N." Panic. Panic is what paints his voice as he steps closer to you, reaching an arm out to tug you into his chest, pretending like he doesn't feel you grow rigid at his touch. "Please."

"Let go, Kuroo." Your voice lost it's soft edge, void of emotion-

just like he used to be. You love him right?

"Say it."

"What-?"

"Won't you lie to me? Say that you love me, please say it."

False hope. He recognizes the next feeling when you shakily put your arms around him as well, your tears beginning to soak through his shirt.

Please say it.

"T-Tetsu." Your trembling in his hold. "I..I love you."

Confusion is next. He feels it when you break out of his hold, pushing him back abruptly with an ocean of emotions across your face, the feeling of holding him simply wrong.

Kuroo doesn't even know he's crying, not until your placing a careful hand on his cheek to swipe at his tears messily before laughing a little at the situation.

"Tetsu, let's put us in the past." Your voice is quiet, the air freezing as your warmth creates a slight puff from the contrast. "It's over for us now, don't you see? There's too much hurt-"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't go to him. Please, I love-"

"I won't lie to you again." The tone in your voice is gentle, Kuroo's breath stuck in his throat again as his eyes well up with fresh tears. "I don't feel the same anymore, you broke my heart first...why do I have to take responsibility for yours?"

Kuroo says nothing, another familiar feeling inching towards his chest.

"But look-" You point up at the sky, snow falling down almost mockingly for the first time this season, a sad smile on your lips and wet tears down your cheeks. "It's the first snowfall."

You've never looked more beautiful, with snow in your hair and warmth in your lips.

"You kept your promise."

You turn around after that, continuing to cry as you walk off to go find Akaashi to apologize for the lie you let stain your tongue as Kuroo falls to his knees, his skin numb from the cold-

but his chest isn't numb.

No, he knows this feeling. He knows this feeling a bit too well, the snow seeming to shower at his expense in a rueful manner as he stares at the dark swirl of the sky above.

Heartbreak.

--

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 III

Part I Part II Part IV

Took me so long to figure out how the rest of the story could go XP Also, I've seen how some of y'all want the reader to become a vigilante/villain :) It is definitely possible but not with the current story idea I have in mind. Maybe one day, I'll make a side story where the reader becomes a vigilante/villain

CW: Violence (Bar Fight), Stalking, Blood, "Death"

It has been a few weeks since you moved into Bludhaven and Nightwing being your nighttime companion

He always comes over to your apartment with a couple of injuries and asks to stay a bit

With Nightwing’s instructions, you learn to bandage injuries to help the hero

Maybe it’s because your mental wounds from your neglectful family are still fresh, but Nightwing quickly started to grow on you.

It just feels nice to have a friend while adjusting to your new life.

It also could be because he actually came to the rescue when you were attacked

This does make you wonder why Batman didn’t save you in Gotham but who knows what that big guy does.

Another thing you wonder about sometimes is who Nightwing is.

You were never really curious about the vigilantes in Gotham, even though four well-known vigilantes resided there.

Ever since you met Nightwing, you tried doing some research on him but you immediately stopped when you saw the words “Richard Grayson” in an article.

While the batfamily would be more than happy to stay in Bluvenon so they can meet you, Gotham needed them. (Also they may overwhelm you)

Because of this, the family (except Dick and Jason) return home where more plans are made.

Jason decided that he will be the next person you meet and he won’t take no for an answer.

There is one problem though, you’ve seen Jason with his Red Hood attire

You may not have connected the dots at the time but you definitely will when you see him again.

After debating with Dick, Jason finally agrees to primarily watch you from a distance

In an attempt to meet more people, you decided to participate in some summer events that your college was hosting

You make a couple of friends and go out together

College classes are just around the corner and your friends suggested going out to a bar

This is a special moment so you decide to go with them

You all made plans on the designated driver and kept an eye out for your drinks

When you go to the bar, it's almost sunset.

This is your first time drinking but you trust your friends to keep you safe. (You ended up hating the taste)

Unknown to you, Jason is watching you from outside of the bar

If it was Dick’s turn to watch over you, he’d drag you back to your apartment.

Jason just allows you to have your fun time with friends, getting lost in how happy and innocent you seem.

This all crashes down when a fight suddenly happens right next to you

You and your friends try to get away from the scene but you're suddenly knocked to the ground

A drunk person slams a glass of alcohol next to you, probably mistaking you for someone else, which gives you a ton of small cuts.

Jason quickly puts on his mask and breaks into the bar. He beats up any drunk person who tries to stop him from reaching you.

Your sober friend tries to pull you away from the fight but is worried about all of your cuts

Red Hood suddenly appears to drag you and your friend away from the fight.

The fight gets worse and some random person seems to have called the ambulance

When the ambulance arrives, your sober friend hands you over to them and Red Hood disappears

You’re given a few bandages before the medic has to focus on another injured individual

In your dizzy state, you manage to slip away to stop the ringing in your ears

Something in you also told you it wasn’t safe to go to the hospital

Walking through an alley, your bandages seem to loosen and you eventually collapse on the ground from blood loss

Red Hood steps away for a second and you suddenly disappear.

He didn't want to be seen by the ambulance so he got onto a nearby rooftop to update Nightwing on the situation.

At least you didn't get far but the blood pooling under you slowly grows. This would be the second time you died

Nightwing appears and finds you wrapped up in a jacket while Red Hood picks you up off the ground.

One of the walls of the alley seems to have gotten a hole from Red Hood punching it out of frustration

Getting closer, Nightwing can see that you were given fresh bandages before being wrapped up in Red Hood’s jacket.

Also, you’re still breathing!

Seeing that you may still be alive, you’re taken to Nightwing��s apartment

Red Hood places you on the bed while Nightwing contacts Batman.

After one final look over and a blanket thrown over your body, Red Hood joins Nightwing in the living room

You slowly wake up in an unknown room and immediately sit up

The first thing you notice is how dark the room is

Squinting a bit, you find a lamp on the nightstand and turn it on

You find yourself in a bedroom with a blue and black color palette

There’s a desk in front of the bed with two computer monitors

You turn on the computer to see the date and immediately recognize a name

Richard Grayson

The name is enough to fill you with annoyance but you try to stay focused

How did you get here? Are you back in Gotham? Back at the manor?

You go to the bedroom door to find a living room instead of a hallway

Maybe you were still in Bludhaven?

This room definitely looks like it belongs to Dick

You never found his room in the manor but you did learn about some of his interests when you tried to befriend him (Alfred had to tell you all this)

As you finish snooping around the bedroom, a sound from the other room makes you freeze up

You quickly turn the light off, lay back on the bed, close your eyes and pretend to be sleeping

There are some voices in the living room but it's hard to hear past the sound of your racing heartbeat

Your heart almost stops when you hear the bedroom door open and the voices get louder.

At least you can actually understand what they’re saying now

They mention Batman, Robin, Demon Spawn, and other things you don't understand.

Maybe this was Dick and his friend talking about vigilantes? Though…one of them sounds familiar….

Your train of thought is cut off by someone putting their wait on the bed and running their hand through your hair

To distract yourself, you try to recognize the voice the best you can. Could it be Nightwing? Does Dick know him?

A kiss is placed on your forehead before the two people leave the bedroom.

After waiting a couple of moments, you open your eyes and confirm that you’re alone.

You slowly slip out of bed to try to listen to hear more of their conversation.

It seems that they called someone because there are new voices but it isn't that clear

The conversation begins to scare you as they talk about you.

Calling you their sibling/daughter and status on how your injuries were healing

Based on what is being said, you figure out that five vigilantes know quite a bit about you…

Deciding that you’ve had enough, you find a way to sneak out of the apartment

Looking out the window, it looks like you're a few floors high.

You carefully open the window as quietly as you can and peek outside to find a fire escape just one window away

You must be lucky because you reach the stairs safely and immediately start going down the stairs

The sun is about to rise and you realize that you don't know where you are

You run around for an unknown amount of time before finding a bus stop

There isn't any money on you so you just pick up a map for the bus route

Looking over the map, you’re able to find a familiar street before finally making it home

It took you a long time to get a new key because you basically had nothing on you but eventually, you were able to finally collapse on your bed

You fall asleep immediately

By the time you wake up, it is night again

Getting up, you start making yourself some food while some research on vigilantes

Focused on finding answers, you’re able to connect the dots on who the vigilantes are based on your information from when you lived in the manor

At some point, a knock is heard from your window

On instinct, you walk over to your window and open your curtains

Seeing Nightwing and his dumb smile fills you with rage. Which you are more than happy to let him know

You close your curtain and can faintly hear Nightwing trying to talk to you from the other side of the window

Well, it seems that you now know their identity

Jason saw and heard you run off. He and Dick were about to follow but Bruce told them to not follow you

The next night, Jason watch you reject Dick as he tried to pretend last night didn’t even happen

But it seems you weren’t having any of it

Dick returns to Jason, dejected

A new plan would have to be made, and Tim knows exactly how to get back on track

[laneywrld]

Oh Baby | part three

third and final part.

word count: 8.6k

Warnings: tame(er) smut. Pregnancy sex. childbirth.

progress is made, all thanks to your hormone gremlins.

It's safe to say everyone's favorite duo was back like they never left,  just with a lingering air of sexual tension and babies in the oven. 

You were never good at holding water, which is why you told your family and friends about it the very same night. Your friends were the most excited you'd ever seen them, and that was before you even mentioned who the father was. 

When Miles questioned who the father was with a meek voice interrupting said celebrations, Lewis stepped forward with a cocky smirk and a pep in his step that made you want to kick the back of his legs in. 

Instead, you gently motioned to Lewis with your arm thrown out. 

You'll never forget your friend's reactions like a scene from a telenovela; they all gasped dramatically and clutched their pearls. "Oh, I'm going to beat everybody's ass; why didn't we know y'all were together?"

"We are NOT together." You interrupt.

"So fucking?" Miles pipes up, and you feel like you are on stage with a literal spotlight directed at you, with the way they are all intently observing you, including Lewis.

"Not fucking either." You deny, slapping Lewis' arm as to say, help me out here. He shakes his head at you, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"It was a one-time thing that we both agreed would never happen again. This is the consequence of our actions that night." You put your hands on your pudgier stomach. "Yay!" you cheer quietly.

Whit stands first, and with tears in her eyes, she throws her arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a hug. Mori stands after already having been emotional since the initial announcement. She saunters over with a coo of "Aww, mama bear," joining in on the embrace. 

Lewis' boys stand up, Miles put his hand out to Lewis for a dap and ends up pulling him into a hug. "One step closer." He chuckles gripping Lewis' shoulder as he steps back. 

Daniel grins, approaching Lewis with his arms open and ready, "I'm proud of you, brother." He congratulates them through his own wide grin. 

You turn to Lewis with your bottom lip poked out as your friends kneel around your tiny belly. It doesn't even really look like there's a child in there, but that doesn't halt your friends from gently caressing it.

You wipe away an unsuspecting tear as Miles coos gently to your stomach, "Hope you don't get your dad's forehead, lil man."

"She's a girl!" Whit scowls, mushing his face away from your belly.

"We don't know what it is, actually." Daniel returns Whit's actions, mushing her to the right as he emerges front and center.

Lewis, who had stood off to the side watching your friend's love on you and your unborn baby, steps to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. He leaves a lingering kiss on your hairline before knocking Daniel over with his foot. 

"Don't call my child an it."

-

Your parents, on the other hand, were a completely different story.

Your full government name is shouted by your mother as she holds onto your dad for support. They both look like they've been shot, and the greater betrayal was that you were the one who pulled the trigger. "Oh, Lord in heaven, please!"

"Ma." You whine, "Don't look like that, guys."

Lewis parents are sat beside your own, his mom is eyeing you up and down a interested look dawning her face. When your dad wipes the suprise from his face he looks like he is beginning the five stages of grief. 

"My baby- I can't."

Lewis' mother slaps her ex-husband's thigh, motioning to the anxious look adorning their son's face. 

"Lewis," His mom all but shouts, "Are you the father?" It comes out in a squeal, one that has your parents pausing their dramatics and leaning forward in sync.

Lewis looks like a thief caught red-handed. And just as you looked to him for support earlier, he does the same to you. You shrug at him, throwing your hands into your pockets.

How does it feel to be thrown to the sharks?

He stutters for a while, so he avoids eye contact with your dad. When his father speaks up, his voice is demanding. "Be a man, Lewis, answer."

You almost feel bad watching as your guys' parents sit literally on the edge of their seats. Lewis has never felt more nervous in his life. Deciding to put an end to his misery, you close the distance between you two and intertwine your hands.

"The baby is mine," Lewis announces, and your family jumps up like they've won the lotto.

Unlike your friends, they don't rush to you guys; they rush to each other. Your mom and Lewis' mom bounce up and down as they hug, and like the annoying men your fathers are, they point at each other with wide grins on their faces before they are in each other's embrace as well.

You and Lewis face each other in perplexity.

He clears his throat, and you call out, "Umm, hello?"

"Aww, my baby," your mom cries, rushing to you with her arms held high. You still stare back at Lewis, and your face is set in bafflement as she presses her lips to your cheeks and then cups your belly. Your dad comes barreling through, quite literally pushing your mom out of the way, and he is enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug.

Your mom shouts your dad's name, whacking the back of his head, "The girl is pregnant. Be gentle."

He eases back and holds your face in his hands, eyes staring into you with such adoration that it makes you emotional all over again. "My baby is having a baby."

Choked up you see Lewis' parents loving on him in the same manner, you catch Anthony's eyes and he is unraveling himself from his son and pulling you into him. "I couldn't be any more happier, my girl." He talks quietly into your ear as he hugs you. 

As you talk to Lewis' mom, you see your dad and mom embracing Lewis, and you chuckle as he happily accepts their graces.

As time went on they just barely settled down.

"Oh please," you taunt. "You literally looked like you guys were ready to kill me." 

You watch on in puzzlement as they begin writing Facebook posts. 

"Yes, my darling." Your mother hums. 

"Before we found out Lewis was the father." His mom adds with a cheeky smile.

"So?" your dad motions between the two of you, relaxing comfortably on the loveseat. "How long has this been a thing?"

At your words, the grin is wiped from his face, "It's not."

"Have you defiled my daughter Lewis Carl Dav-"

"Dad!" you shout, groaning again as he turns to Anthony with an incredulity like no other. 

"So, maybe let's not do Facebook?" You suggest.

Lewis raises from beside you sauntering over to the dad couch, he sits on the arm of the chair beside your dad and talks lowly to them. You cannot hear what he says but by the way a grin covers the faces of the entire couch you know he's used his classic Hamilton charm on them.

He watches you as he speaks and shoots you a wink when he sees you trying to read his lips. 

"I think we're going to head back to our wing of the house." He announces and that's your cue to start lifting from the couch. 

You say your goodbyes, giving everyone smooches and welcoming the last of their congratulations. Lewis saunters over to you after doing the same and reaches for your hand. You graciously accept, waving one final time before he pulls you from the secondary house. 

"So how are we going to go about this?" You question as the two of you walk hand in hand.

"However you want."

"I don't like how you just agree with everything I say; give me some input; this is your child, too." You ensure, "I'm open to what you want as well."

"I want you to be close to me during the pregnancy. It'd make me feel better for sure." He hums.

"Can I ask how that'd work? You're going to be traveling for the season. I want to keep my job for as long as I can."

"I want you to be stress free, I meant what I said, I'll take care of anything you need. Please just- you don't have to quit forever; just let me take care of you while you're pregnant, at least."

He looks so concerned with the idea of you working that it has you reaching up to physically push the frown from his face. You stop in front of him and poke your finger on his face by the corner of his mouth.

"Stop pouting," you instruct, "I work for my dad, after all. I think he'll understand."

He breathes a sigh of relief, grabbing your hand again as you start walking ahead of him.

"I also want everyone to know the baby's mine." He adds. "Unless you planned on keeping them out of the light, which I get-"

"Done." You cheese. "I'll let the world know you knocked me up, Sir Hamilton. More requests?"

"Move in with me."

You don't say anything as you turn to face him. The moon creates a glow around the two of you as you glance up at him. 

"C'mon, I purchased the house because you liked it anyway," he shrugs. "You're there more than me during the season; Roscoe loves having you there; I love having you there. Plus, you love it there."

You stare up at him with an admiration like no other. It has him turning his blushing face to the side.

"I did say it'd be the perfect home for a kid one day, huh?" You squeal, wrapping yourself around him, "I'm so excited!"

He lifts you with one arm like you weigh nothing, and you wrap your legs around his waist.

"I'm excited, too." He hums as he walks you into the primary home. The lights are all off as he carries you up the stairs and into your room. He plops you down onto the bed, crouching down to pull your slippers from your feet. 

"I can do that myself, you know? I'm not that pregnant yet." You huff.

"What kind of man would I be if I had my baby mama doing anything?" He smirks up at you.

"All it took was me carrying your child for you to be awfully sweet to me, would've fucked you sooner."

"Always sweet to you," Lewis smiles up at you, "gotta stop talking like that to me if you don't want me to get the wrong idea."

"Mhmm." You fall back into the bed.

Lewis crawls onto the bed beside you, laying his head against your stomach; he pokes you, making you jump.

"Stop it, I'm ticklish." You warn; he only smiles, nestling further into you. "There's a baby in here." His voice is so low you almost miss it. 

"Thank you." You express gently, rubbing your fingers through his braids. 

"For what?" utters Lewis as his palm rubs in circular motions against your belly. 

"For giving me everything I've ever wanted."

"I always will."

-

Whoever came up with the saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder was truly right. Although it was less than ideal, you and Lewis were back as if it had never happened. In fact, it's like the time you had away from each other forced you into the beautiful dynamic the two of you have now. Neither of you wanted to be without the other again.

It had been three months since your beautiful discovery, so that put you at a whopping five months pregnant.

Your belly was now noticeably bigger and rounder, much bigger than it would've been if Lewis' family didn't have a history of twins. And it was most definitely getting in the way of things, literally. 

You huff as you struggle to squat down low enough to lift the box of blankets you packed. Just as you feel yourself get a good enough grip on the box and you begin to lift Lewis is by your side wearing a disapproving scowl.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to carry stuff out of here."

"Lewis," you huff, "It's literally just blankets."

"I don't care, sit down." He orders.

You stomp away from him, plopping down on the couch. He walks out of the front door and returns only moments later, waltzing into your kitchen.

He appears again with a plate full of orange slices, and you sigh as he approaches you.

"Lewis, there's only so many orange slices I can take in a day, buddy."

"The doctor said oranges are a good snack for month five," he pouts, "my kids need vitamin C."  

"Trust me, belly's fine."

Almost like they can sense the presence of food, they kick at you, and you, still not used to the sensation, cup your stomach in a gasp.

"Mhhm," Lewis disapproves, "feed my babies." He is setting the plate of fruit in your lap, bending quickly to peck your stomach. "I have a few more boxes to help them load and then I'll be taking you home, okay."

You can only offer him a puffy smile, your cheeks filled with fruit. He chuckles leaning over to ruffle your hair and he's pulling your forehead to his lips pressing a chaste kiss there before he's walking towards the stack of boxes.

You dreamily sigh, watching his glistening tatted back contract as he lifts the heavy mass. 

These fucking babies were turning you into a horny mess. 

It was the second week of June. A week later than the deadline, you promised Lewis that you'd move into his home. Well, your home now, too.

It was safe to say that Lewis meant business. You had spent the last few months bouncing from country to country, attending every race with him and basking in the free time with each other, which he had before and after races. 

When you opted to skip the Canadian Grand Prix under the pretense that you would go home to oversee the movers, he hesitantly drove you to the airport the day before qualifying. 

But when you got home and your preganacy brain got to you, you realized you scheduled your movers for the wrong saturday. You could've sworn Lewis was having a panic attack with the way he was in hysterics over the facetime call as you explained your situation.

He had booked himself a very late flight after his race and appeared at your doorstep with an armful of plant-based treats and a carton of strawberry fro-yo. "It's good for the babies." He smiled sheepishly as he rushed in. 

And here you were now, big and bored, spread across the couch as Roscoe snuggled into your side. You don't remember falling asleep next to your furry friend, but as Lewis gently shakes you awake with an adorable twinkle in his eyes you can't even be bothered to be irritated.

"Hey, mama," he coos. "You ready to head out?"

You nod, still groggy, swinging your legs over the couch and preparing to stand. Lewis catches you off guard as he swoops you into his arms, carrying you bridal style with ease. He calls for Roscoe as he slips through the front door. 

He opens the passenger side door of his car and sits you down softly, reaching over you to grab the seatbelt. And he's so close to you that it has your heart hammering when his hand swipes against your chest to pull at the belt. 

"I'll be back in a second, going to lock up here."

He smirks as he closes the door and you see him taking his precious time to make it back into your former home. 

You were no fool; truthfully, you were fully aware of the sexual tension that hung between you and Lewis since the night of his birthday. 

There were lingering touches and gazes that you were sure were sexually charged. You've even noticed Lewis' impure reactions to you, and it made your brain race with questions.

The driver's side door opening drew you from your thoughts as Lewis appeared this time covered in a white tee. You will away your disappointment and reach for his phone to play some music. When you do you see a message from a saved contact.

Marie

Isn't it about time for you to come see me again?

"You've got a message." You tell him nonchalantly even though your heart aches.

"From who?"

You try to hand him the phone, but he waves it off, reversing the car. "Can you read it to me?"

"Marie, she says, and I quote, Isn't it about that time for you to come see me again? You late to a link, Lew?" You laugh even though there isn't shit funny to you.

"You can block her." He declares casually. 

"Huh?"

"Block her for me." He orders, but he still hasn't turned to look at you. "She was just someone I saw when I was in Canada."

"Lewis, you don't have to end your fun on my account; I'm the pregnant one. You do know that you don't have to."

"Yeah." He pushes out hoarsely. You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. In a way, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. Life with Lewis has felt so extra domestic lately. It was almost like the two of you were in a relationship, minus the physical affection. And even then, that physicality was there; you two just never kissed or, well, had sex.

You wondered if he felt it the same way you had.

But then the thought lingers in the back of your head: did he see her when you left to come home?

The way he was acting oddly uncomfortable with the conversation gave you your answer, and in the end, you couldn't fault him for it.

You do as he instructs, clicking Marie's contact and blocking her number, and then you continue on with your initial mission and scroll through Lewis' Spotify until you find music to your liking.

The rest of the drive is silent except for the soft melodies escaping his speakers.

When you pull into Lewis' driveway, he parks, turns off the car, and hurries to your side, opening the door before you even have the chance to do so. He opens the backdoor and holds onto your hand. "Roscoe, c'mon boy."

He leads you into the home like you haven't passed through the very same doors a million times before. 

"Which room did they move me into?" You question making your way upstairs.

"Oh," Lewis pauses, "I figured you'd be with me, in mine."

"Oh, okay."

You walk past him and further up the stairs as he trails behind you.

When you enter his room you beeline straight into his closet, well you guys' closet and sure enough there are more of your belongings taking up space. 

You stand on your tiptoes to reach for one of his tee shirts. He is behind you in an instant, one hand holding your hip firmly and forcing your feet back onto the ground. The other reaches up and grasps the shirt you had been aiming for. 

When you turn to take the shirt from him, he once again gives you the same disapproving gaze he'd given you earlier.

"Oh God, Lewis. I can't even get on my tiptoes anymore?" You question, pulling the shirt from his grasp.

"You could've tipped over." He argues, following you out of the closet. "You want a bath or a shower tonight?" He queries, already heading into the bathroom.

"A bath, please; my body is killing me." 

"Put this on," he orders, tossing you your robe. 

You strip from your shorts and tee-shirt throwing the robe on and waiting patiently for Lewis to emerge from the bathroom. 

When he does, he's shirtless, and the sweats are hanging low.

"I've got your bath running. Sit down," he orders, pointing to the bed. 

"Why?" you question, but you're already moving to the bed and plopping down. 

"Why do you question everything?" He chuckles. And he is slipping behind you in an instant, his hands instantly moving up to knead at your shoulders.

You can't help the moan you let out. "Fuck, that feels great. Thank you."

"It's the least I can do, letting my youngsters beat you up all day."

You can only chortle as his hands move along your back. 

"Gonna come out feisty, like you."

"I am not," you argue.

"yeah, okay." He whispers, his hands traveling lower and lower. His hands are gripping your sides firmly as his thumbs massage masterfully into your back.

"Fuck, Lewis." You mewl.

"Feels good?"

"Yeah." 

You almost cry as you feel him lifting behind you, but when he pushes you onto your back gently and cradles your legs, the whine in your throat is replaced with a nervous gulp. 

His hands caress your thighs, moving up and down expertly, and you bask in the comfort.

"I didn't sleep with her in Canada, never even saw her this year."

"Oh," you murmur with your eyes closed. On the outside, you were calm, but mentally, you were shrieking tears of joy. 

"Haven't been sleeping around." He announces again. 

When you say nothing, he persists, "Haven't been with anyone since you."

You know Lewis so well that you can predict his face even before you open your eyes.

His voice sounds a bit gravelly and shaky, and you know he's peering up at you through his perfect lashes, waiting to gauge your reaction. 

So when you open your eyes and see him hovering over your legs exactly as you imagined, you can only shoot him a purposeful smile.

"I figured. You've spent all of your time with me." You shrug. He nods relief washing over him. In all honesty he was happy that you recognized the switch in him. Recognized that all of his focus was soley on you and your unborn babies, who you've nicknamed belly. 

"Five months is a long time to go without sex." You declare, and he bobs his head to the side, 

"Not really, not for me. What about you?" 

He feels his heart leap with joy at your next words.

"I haven't slept with anyone else since you either. I've gone longer without sex, so five months would've been easier if I wasn't lugging around two hormone gremlins." 

You both share a laugh as you motion to your round belly. 

"You're suffering then?"

"Suffering like a motherfucker." You huff.

"I can fix that."

You sit up, coming face to face with him; he stares at you intensely. It was your idea, not to mention the night you two had shared, as well as your doing, to solidify the fact that you two would never sleep together again.

However, your emotions were running, and your hormones were at an all-time high, so could anyone really even blame you for pulling his mouth to yours in a searing kiss?

Like the time before, it's like Lewis is ready for you. He pushes you back down, his legs still holding him above you. This time, Lewis takes the initiative, spreading your mouth open and entering like it's home. One of his elbows is being used as leverage to hold him above your bump. His other hand has your jaw in a tight grip, holding you in place.

Your hands are exploring his body. Traveling the expanse of his chest to his back, anything you can reach. 

He disconnects his mouth from yours, his head turning towards the bathroom. "Shit, sorry."

He stands, shooting you a sorrowful look as he beelines into the washroom.

When he appears again, he is looking at you with hungry eyes, but his words are so domestic that you are ready to jump his bones.

"Made your bath too hot. Got time to let that cool down."

You smirk at him, beckoning him over. You're both sitting angled towards each other and just as you move forward to touch his lips with your own he is moving his head to the side forcing you to peck the corner of his mouth.

You lean back with furrowed brows. "What was that?"

"I want to clarify something first, this time. So we won't have a repeat of last time."

Damn, you scream to yourself. You were already extremely horny, and now you'd have to sit and listen to him declare that this was a means of pleasure only. Which in return would most likely turn you off. So yay, no life-altering dick for you tonight.

"Go on then." You wave your hand, and Lewis laughs.

"Patience, you horny beast." 

You gasp, thumping his head.

"But really, I, um, wanted to let you know this for a while. It's been on my mind even heavier since my birthday."

"Okay," 

"I love you." He blurts, "and not in the conventional friendship way, you're my best friend but I love you more than that. And I have for as long as I could remember."

You feel like you've been freed from hell's gates; everything in you feels so much lighter, so much more merrier. 

Like always, when Lewis tries to find the words to say, his head is tilted downwards to the side as he works through what to say. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he can't find it in him to look at you quite yet. He has to say how he feels now, or he'll never say it.

"I'm the man I am today because of you. You've been with me every step of the way. You've never turned your back on me or gotten sick of me; you've been everything I've ever wanted from the beginning. I've tried to fill the void of not having you with other... distractions, should I say. And it never made me forget about you, never made me want you any less, always made me want you even more."

You choke up at his words. This was all you've ever wanted to hear spoken to you.

"I love you and I feel like I have ever since I've been able to have complex emotions. You are my childhood dream. Over the racing and the luxury lifestyle, over anything. I've always wanted you more than anything. I meant every word I said to you on my birthday, and I'm taking accountability now for the argument. I wanted to hear you say that you meant the words you said to me, like I meant the words I said to you. I should have just admitted it. But I didn't, and I was a fool; I regret it every day. But I love you all the same."

He peers up at you through his lashes and through his own teary eyes he can see the tears bubbling over the surface as you poke out your bottom lip in your classic pout.

"Oh, Lew," you whine, wrapping him in such a tender embrace. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say those words."

He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, and you can feel wetness glide down your collar.

You grasp his head in your hands, cupping his cheeks so that you can see him eye to eye.

"I love you," you state. "More than the entire world, I've always told you that, and I've always meant it."

His lips twitch, and his eyes soften. Finally, he breaks into a smile. "How much I love you is unexplainable, Lew. I've been fighting myself forever about it, frustrated that I'd never see anyone like I see you. I've been settling because I thought I couldn't have you. You're all I've ever wanted. And I meant what I said that night, too. I was made for you and only you, always only ever been yours. No one has had my heart but you."

This time, the kiss is passionate and slow. You taste saltiness as you succumb to each other. You separate with a gasp, hand coming down to soothe your stomach. "They're beating me up again." You whisper, watching as their tiny feet nudge against your stomach.

Lewis bends down, pressing pecks to your bulging belly, "Think they're just celebrating."

You watch from above with a loving smile on your face. "My little family." You coo, bringing your hand up to rest in Lewis' hair.

"I'm going to marry you, you know that, right?" Lewis peers up at you. 

"I sure would hope so." And you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

"They're not stopping." He announces, his hand covering your own on your belly.

"They always get excited when you're close to me." You admit. 

His eyes crinkle at your words, and his mouth spreads into a grin.

"I'm happy to be with you guys, too," he coos to your gut, "but we have to let Mama relax, okay." At his words, the thumps from inside of you come to a halt, and you and Lewis marvel at each other.

"Wow," you whisper.

"Come on." He is standing from the bed, holding his hand out for you. 

He helps you stand from the bed, gently pulling you into the bathroom.

When you're inside, he faces you towards the mirror. He unclasps the necklace sitting it onto the bathroom counter and slowly his hands travel to your front to untie your robe. It falls off of your shoulders and he proceeds to drag it down your arms and from your body.

You stare at him through the mirror with no shame as he trails his eyes along your body.

"Most beautiful woman in the world." He hums. You're standing in front of him naked as he reaches past you to drop your now discarded robe beside your necklace.

As he does so, he presses lingering kisses to your neck. 

He steps back, holding out his arm to direct you into the bathtub.

"Get in with me?" You suggest as you notice him standing off to the side. 

Lewis curses himself for feeling like a shy virgin around you every time you even remotely flutter your eyes at him. 

"Please." You add submerging yourself into the warm water.

Lewis slips from his sweats, easing into the tub at the other end.

"Remember when we used to have baths together as kids?" You reminisce, blowing a pile of bubbles at him.

Lewis leans back, his arms dangling over the edge. "Simple times."

"You remember when you pooped?" You tease, leaning forward.

Lewis splashes you a tiny bit, bubbles landing on your face. "That was you," he denied.

"Big fat liar." you cackled. 

Lewis sees you inching towards him like a tiger on the prowl. You're in his lap before he knows it, your arms locked around his neck. He wraps his own around your waist.

No more words are spoken between you two. You lift your soapy hand and tilt his head up to you, pressing your mouth to his.

Lewis groans into your mouth as you settle over him.

"Want you so bad." You confess, your lips trailing from his mouth to his jaw and down into the crevice of his neck.

Your hand reaches down between the two of you, and you smile against his skin as you grip him.

So hard already.

Lewis throws his head back against the porcelain as you wrap your hand around him in a snug grasp. 

You're in his ear saying some of the most obscene words he's ever heard as you sit on top of him, tugging him. He can feel your belly rubbing against his, and it's driving him mad.

"Want to make love? Can we do that, Lewis? Make it even better than the last time."

Lewis gasps out his words as you sit back on his legs and use both of your hands to twist and tug on him. He bites on his bottom lip and grips you tighter. "Fuck, yes. Please"

You can only smile at him as you observe his resolve crumbling. You don't stop even as he begins to spasm and continually moan out your name. He grunts one last time before it transforms into a fit of masculine whimpers. He literally falls apart in your hands as you massage him through his release. 

"Got another one in you?" You ask, already positioning yourself over him.

He opens his eyes, pupils blown and wild. And then his bitten and swollen lips spread into a dopey smile.

You give him a peck; widening said smile before you line him up at your entrance. The smile is wiped from his face as his facade once again contorts to one of pure pleasure.

You can only gasp and move your grip to his shoulders as you sink onto him inch by inch until you feel him nestled tightly into you.

"Fuck." He groans.

You ease your body up and down over him slowly, he's so fucking big.

You moan as you continue your slow pace. You want to take your time with him. But it was getting increasingly hard feeling that delicious stretch every time you lifted over him.

Lewis hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sank down onto him. He is staring at you like you hung the sun, moon, and the stars yourself.

He uses both of his hands to pull your mouth towards his, "I love you." He breathes into you, pressing passionate pecks onto your lips. He holds your face close to his, maintaining eye contact as you roll over him. 

Your mouth drops open as you feel him lift his hips over and over. Between his eyes piercing into you and the slow, languid strokes he's giving you, you weren't sure what would throw you over the edge first. 

You moan quietly as you feel the blaze building in your belly. He's so big that it feels like he's entering you for the first time all over again.

You feel inebriated by him as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. He's still just as vocal as he was the first time, and it's putting you in overdrive.

Lewis is thrusting up into you with a force that has the breath leaving your lips in sharp pants with every re-entry.  

Your foreheads fall against each other, both of you watching your bodies drive against the water.

Lewis is lifting you from his lap like you weigh nothing. He turns you around to face the opposite way. You gasp as he pulls your arms up and directs you to hold onto the end of the tub in front of you. You're on your knees, arms holding your upper body out of the water. You feel his knees slide in between your spread legs, and his hands caress up and down your wet back. 

One hand settles on your shoulder, the other on your waist, and then he is sliding into you slowly. You hang your head, letting out a deep breath, "fuck." you cry out as he strokes at such a deliberately slow momentum.

As he pushes into you, his grip on your shoulders forces you back at the same time. He's going so slow but getting so deep that it has you tightening your grip. 

When he hits your spot, you lurch forward.

He pulls you back onto him, his hand tightening against your waist.

"Don't run. Stay with me." He orders, his voice is deep and raspy. "This what you wanted, remember?"

You nod your head, eyes closing shut as your thighs quiver. "Oh god."

"Want to make you feel better." He moans. "I was waiting for you to let me see this pretty pussy again." He hums, and you feel his hands spread you apart.

"So fucking pretty, so tight."

It was like he was tormenting you, giving you an inch and then taking a mile every time he pushed into you slowly just to have you wallowing for more when he pulled himself out.

"You're being greedy, mama." He chuckles as you push yourself back onto him. "take what you want then."

At his words, you begin to swivel your hips back at a much quicker pace, feeling his pelvis brush against your ass with every motion.

"C'mon, take it." he grunts. "that's right, want it so bad."

You pull yourself forward, only to spiral back into him repeatedly. Lewis is a mess behind you, his hands reaching up to hold his braids from his face. He kneels there and allows you to use his body in any way you please. 

He takes in an unsteady breath when you tighten around him. As you drag your pussy over him, he feels himself being tugged with you. "So tight." he moans, "don't even wanna let me go."

He pulls you up by your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, and begins hammering into you over and over. One hand travels to your throat, and his grip is temperate. 

"All you needed, huh? Feel better already?"

You nod your head, yes, head falling back onto his shoulder. He pummels into you stroke after stroke until he feels it. You constrict around him, hands coming to grip his arm, and you moan his name over and over. 

He doesn't show you any mercy. He keeps up his fast pace as you writhe in his arms. His head falls, and as he feels himself come undone, he bites down on your shoulder with a growl that lights your body on fire all over again. You feel him spurt into you, and you whine as he nestles himself into your core further. 

After a while, Lewis pulls himself from your gut with a hiss. He reaches down and unplugs the drain. He sits, spreading his legs and pulling you in between them. When you're nestled against his chest, he sighs, once again placing his hand on your neck to angle your face towards his. He places a sensual kiss on your lips before letting you go with a smile.

"Should I run us a bath, or do you want to hop in the shower for a quick wash?"

You turn to the left, observing the standing shower, and you scoff. "you've ruined my legs, Lew; I couldn't stand in there if I wanted."

"Bath it is." He grins, already reaching for the knobs.

"Plus, I want to sit with you like this for a while. Bask in this."

"I love you," he expresses, "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."

_

Spoiler alert: he never did. As the days went on and turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, and Lewis never changed his affections. You two were in a constant honeymoon phase, which you were sure was permanent.

You two were perfect for each other in every sense and made each other whole. 

The dynamics that made you two the perfect friends bled over into your relationship, and things were flawless, to say the least.

Until, you felt a popping feeling and then a gush of water fall between your legs. Lewis was on his way home from the airport having left to race in Singapore he was relieved that he'd be back three days before your expected due date.

But when he gets a call from his best friend and hears your cranky voice in the background, his heart hammers with nerves. 

"Miles, I swear to fucking god," he hears you groan. "if he doesn't have his high yellow ass to the hospital before I push these goddamn babies out of me, I will kill him. Tell him I will kill him."

"You heard her, man," Miles stammers. He hears commotion over the phone, and he gives up his useless attempts to grab either of your attention.

"Oi Miles!" He hears a slap in the background. "Oh my fucking god," you cry out. "Where is Whit? I don't want your help, fucking men."

Miles reappears on the screen; he looks disheveled and like he's just been in a cat fight, "Hey, brother." he pants. "I'm trying here, just how far are you?" 

"Lewis leans forward, seeing his ETA on his driver's screen. "Only ten minutes. Is she okay?" His voice is full of concern, and Miles squawks.

"Brother, ten minutes is too long. She just absolutely beat my ass for putting the wrong treats in the bag. There are a million gummies in here. How am I sup-"

"Gushers, Miles. On the top shelf of the pantry behind the rice cakes."

"Why the hell are there gushers behind rice cakes?" He cries out, rushing to the pantry. Lewis sees you in the background as Miles breezes by.

You stand in the middle of the living room face set in a pout one hand grasping the a bag of organic gummies and the other holding your phone to your ear. 

"Whit!" He hears you cry out, "I'm about to have these fucking babies alone with fucking Miles! Fucking Miles! And he gives me fucking Annes organic fruit snacks, Whitney! Why the fuck would I want organic candy? And Lew hid the gushers, and he's not going to be here in time, and I don't know where he put them."

Miles drops his jaw, halting his reach for the treats. "Hey, I'm trying my best! I want the best for you and my godchildren. I'm trying here!"

"Your trying isn't enough; obviously, I need the god mom. Whit! Fucking men, can't even find my fucking candy." You call out again. 

"Ugh- did she just stomp away from me." 

The call disconnects, and Lewis lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls into his neighborhood. He rushes out of the car, running up the steps of you guys' home. When he enters the foyer, he rushes to where he saw you last on the phone. Only you're not standing in the living room in distress. It's Miles slumped onto the couch with a family pack of gushers in his lap. He notices the two gusher wrappers beside his friend, and he storms up to him, snatching the box and slapping the side of his head.

"Where's my baby?" 

"Upstairs, y'all are going to learn how to appreciate me one day. I'm the godfather to your children-"

Lewis smacks his teeth, rushing up the stairs and into your bedroom. He sees you lugging your baby bag onto the bed, and he rushes over to you, pulling it from your grasp. 

"Hey bunny, I'm here." 

Your lip wobbles as you look up at him, and you let out a relieved cry. Lewis opens his arms to embrace you, and you quickly pull the box from his hands, stuffing it into your bag. 

"I was looking for these." You cried.

Lewis, used to your pregnant shenanigans, allows you to cry tears of relief for the sudden appearance of your after-labor treat. It's all you'd been asking for for weeks, but your doctor had you on a strict diet.

"Bunny," he persists, his arms open. You sniffle, stepping into his embrace.

"How are you feeling?"

"My vagina hurts, and I was scared you weren't going to make it." 

He chuckles, holding you close to him, "always going to make it when it comes to you guys."

It's safe to say your mood didn't get any better when you made it to the hospital. 

Lewis was by your side as you held onto his hand for dear life.

"Baby," he coos, "you're doing great."

"Oh my god," you wince, pulling your hand from his as you clutch the sheets. "Get the fuck away from me."

He looks baffled as you curse up a storm.

Lewis takes a step back only to be nudged forward again by the doctor. "Trust me, she'll murder you if you get away from her."

He holds onto your hand again, using the towel to wipe the sweat from your hairline.

Even now as you take in deep breaths and hang your head like you're about to die, Lewis think you are beautiful. You're glistening with sweat and throwing out words that would make a pastor faint but you're still beautiful with your freshly done birthing braids and bewildered face.

"Oh fuck this! Count the shit, measure the shit, whatever, and check again. I don't care if I'm not dilated enough; make it enough! Get these babies out of me."

You were regretting your decision to go all-natural as another contraction rippled through you. You let go of the sheet and grasp Lewis' hand again.

You look up to him, and he is staring at you in pure adoration. "I promise, you've got this." He encourages.

You feel tears of relief pool as your doctor let's out a direct order. "And we're there, when I get to three you push, okay."

You only nod as Lewis crouches down, "Push like hell, bunny."

You don't count how many times you hear him count to three or how many agonizing pushes you give until you hear the first cry. You're momentarily distracted as you watch them hold your baby into the air. 

"Come on, Mom, got to keep going," your doctor orders. 

You exhale, taking another deep breath as you push again. Lewis remains by your side, holding your hand and coaxing you through the pain.

"You're doing so great, bunny. So proud of you. We're about to meet our babies; we just have to push a little bit more." 

His words are all you need to get through another insufferable ninety seconds before you hear an even louder cry. 

Lewis kisses the top of your head as you fall back in exhaustion. "So proud of you, baby, hmm. I love you."

You're no longer the angry woman you were twenty minutes ago. You're looking up at Lewis with tired eyes that still glow with love and excitement.

"Baby boy came first." Your doctor hums settling him on one side of your chest, Another nurse comes forward settling your second baby on the oposite side. "And his sister came to stake her territory after."

You cry out, but it comes out in the form of a laugh. Your hands come up to hold both of your babies against your chest. Lewis crouches down, eyeing you three in amazement.

"My beautiful family." 

He places a kiss atop each head, watching as they instantly settle down amongst your warm body. 

You've never felt so much love in your life. You think back to all of the times you felt you were destined to be alone, all of the times you craved for someone to love you unconditionally. You gave up hope that you'd find it in a partner, so a baby was all you craved. But here you were with a man who loved you more than it was possible for love to exist. Here you were with two products of that love. 

You order the nurse to remove one of the railings so the Lewis can nestle in beside you. The doctor suggest for him to remove his shirt and he does so quickly, gently sliding beside you. You motion for him to grab the babygirl and he eases her onto his chest with ease. You peck his head as you watch the tears glide down his face. 

"I just love you all so much." he cries. 

And you know exactly how he feels as you two bask in the moment.

You think back to the moment that made this all possible, laying in Lewis' bed as the words leave his mouth, "It's something about loving someone so much that you want to fill them up with another part of you."

Looking at your two babies, you could tell they each were going to represent a part of both of you. As your daughter lets out constant noises, Lewis turns to you with knowing eyes, "Just like her mama." Your son's eyes pop open at the sound of his sister, and you coo, "Brother bear."

"Do we have names ready?" The doctor hums.

-

y/u/n

liked by fencer, champagnepapi, and 2,786,901 others

y/u/n I want to share this love I found with everyone. you deserve to meet my happy family after all of this time. Of all of the things that I wanted to be, being a mother was always my true calling. It's not easy, but it's worth it. To my babies, mommy loves you always; when the world is cruel, and your heart makes you feel like a fool, know that I will be there always. To LJ, my daring little boy, I see your father in everything you do; you will always be my baby bear, so strong and courageous, but with a mind so strong and a heart so big, you're forever unstoppable. My baby, Giana, Gigi girl, you came into the world demanding to be heard. You're fierce and bold in all of the best ways. Already, I admire the way you think and the things I know you will do. You heal a part of me I didn't know needed healing. You're my favorite girls girl, I love listening to you yap puppy, I love that you love talking to me. Always stand your ground, girly; never dull your light or lower your voice for anyone or anything. If no one listens, know I will. And to the love of my life, who has given me everything I could've ever wanted, plus more. You've outdone yourself, Lew; there aren't enough words to articulate how much I love you. Still my best friend, soon to be my husband, forever and always, the love of my life <3

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lewishamiton I can never think you enough for all that you've given to me. I love you more than life bunny. ❤️

user okay but the family of crochet animals. PUPPY? BEAR? CHEETAH? BUNNYYYY? 🥲

whitwhit still so proud of you mama ❤️

y/u/n the best god mommy in the world! I love you.

landonorris Mother🤰🏽Literally. Beautiful souls, even more beautiful children.

y/u/n love love love you Lando

user i always knew they'd get together one day, my happy heart!

lewishamilton

liked by charles_leclerc, mercedesamg, and 7,796,801 others

lewishamilton Thank you will never be enough for all that has been given to me. I love you, bunny, and every time I think it's impossible to feel more than that, you prove me wrong. To the rest of our lives together, to our children, and to the life I've had with you. We're in this together, forever. Daddy loves you, LJ, and Gigi, forever here, forever loving you.

charles_leclerc So happy for you man!

sebastianvettel never have you been happier man, congratulations.

user you mean to tell me that all of this time we thought he was uncle lew and whole time HE'S THE PAPPYYYY

lewishamilton like these are my kids, that my son. I was so bothered by that ngl. THEY LOOK JUST LIKE ME.

user you tell us not to assume and then when we don't assume you want us to assume what do you want from us sir?!?!

so this is the end that's not the end, I'll most likely make blurbs for their future 🌚

hope you enjoyed it.

not proofread sorry for any mistakes I was rushing honey

@barcelonaloverf1life @mitruscity

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta wasn't killed by Barem, she's his ally 

Poor fandom, you're disorientated just when your compasses should be working properly. 

Let's learn how to eat sushi properly, step by step. Or rather, how about reading Chainsaw Man in the right order? By calmly superimposing everything we know in the right order 

So let's not panic, let's get on with it. Dry your tears, clean your snot and let's get back to the introductions. 

First layer of sushi: Denji and Pochita are made for each other 

Who is Chainsaw Man? It's a question we've been asking ourselves a lot, but how about a simple answer - we're not here to mess around. Chainsaw Man is the combined result of Pochita + Denji. Do we agree? Why have they become so close? Because they look alike, don't they? Alone, hungry, in need of a little warmth and a little love. 

Second layer of sushi: birthday, despair, amnesia...

If we take the stories in outline, Denji meets Makima and then bonds with his siblings. A sibling who eventually dies, and whose final breaking point is his sister, cut in two. On top of that, it's his birthday, isn't it? Makima invites Denji to open the door that confined his traumas, including the death of Denji’s father? 

You see, I've already missed it, I went too fast. Let's resume calmly, birthday... Denji had forgotten it was his birthday, hadn't he? His birthday is the day you're born, it's one of the few pieces of information we don't really question, but Denji forgot it. But haven't you ever really wondered...

If Denji had celebrated his birthday? And why, how, he wanted to eat a cake? His father was violent and his mother died when he was very young, so is it really safe to say that Denji celebrated his birthday? 

I had another question, why does Fujimoto always seem to accentuate the cakes so much?

I really think that cake is one of the keys, because it's a tunnel of memories that resurfaces in Denji, the cake, his birthday, then Power's death, then his father's death. It's a sushi within a sushi (we're slowly taking things back in order), I think it's about layers that need to be taken back in chronological order, yes chronological 1) the death of Denji's father 2) the death of Power 3) Denji's birthday 4) the cake. Which brings us to this scene.

Was this scene shown not just metaphorical or symbolic, but actually happened? Denji having contracted with the control demon whose power is to control memory, in order to reshape him perfectly so as not to be happy and to do whatever she asks of him later. Why couldn't Denji open that door? Why does Aki's death sound so abruptly like Denji's absence, with a mini ellipsis that doesn't show us in concrete terms how Chainsaw Man killed him? I'm going too fast again, let's start again...

Makima hasn't made Denji unhappy, she's created a being made for unhappiness.

This scene refers to an anniversary, amnesia and despair, all ingredients that enabled Pochita to take complete possession of Denji and show us the most complete version of Chainsaw Man.

Which means Barem isn't lying, is he? Same here, I'm going too fast!

Third layer of sushi: the closer Denji gets to happiness, the more he doubts...

Denji manages to become himself again and succeeds in killing Makima, by devouring her. In a very simple and concrete way, Makima was devoured and this put an end to her existence. Keep this in mind. Nayuta is reborn, becoming Denji's little sister, lots of dogs surround them, Chainsaw Man becomes extremely popular and it's in this part 2 that Denji will feel the least like himself, the least like Chainsaw Man. Strangely enough, it's when he approaches a semblance of happiness that Denji pulls away from himself.

Barem really doesn't seem to be lying, does he? But once again, I'm going too fast, let's get on with it!

Fourth layer of sushi: Barem never lies 

This is something I quickly came up with, and it's so precise, I think his character is thought of that way, and it's his narrative role. Even though he's deceitful, manipulative and devious, the bro does NOT LIE. He didn't lie about the weapons attack, he didn't lie that he looked like a Chainsaw Man fan, and he doesn't lie in the last chapter. But same, I'm going too fast. 

Fifth layer of sushi: Nayuta betrayed by Chainsaw Man 

When Denji made the choice to become Chainsaw Man, the house, his source of happiness, was falling to ashes, his dogs, his cat were dying. Denji went through with his dream and abandoned the little sister who made him happy. Barem didn't impose misfortune on Denji; it was Denji who chose misfortune, despite Nayuta's fears. The happier he was with her, the more he lost himself. He left her in Barem's hands and provoked an existential crisis in her. Which made her reconnect with her old self. 

Sixth layer of sushi: an unblocked memory. 

The aftertaste that sticks to your palate is a piece of information I mentioned earlier. Makima has been devoured. What defines the Knights of the Apocalypse from the rest of the demons? Their memory. What if Nayuta had now understood how Chainsaw Man's power worked? 

Seventh layer of sushi: chapter 170. 

This explains Nayuta's severed head, a macabre mise-en-scène to make her brother lose his mind a little more. As for Barem, he doesn't lie to us and gives us instructions on how to read Chainsaw Man. He knows how to read Chainsaw Man, since he knows the two conditions for him to regain his full power because Nayuta gave them to him. For all this is nothing more than their death. 

Layer zero of sushi: the unknown. 

Now I'm entering the quintessential madness of my analysis. Makima contracted with Denji at a very young age, and gave him several orders: survive at all costs, remain miserable, and one day kill Power and Aki. Above all, she ordered him to contract with Pochita, hence Denji's reflex to hand his open wound directly to the demon. This misfortune, this amnesia due to the contract with Makima, this survival on his own, finally allowed a weakened Chainsaw Man to find a kindred spirit, a loved one. Believing in happiness, then destroying it, kept Chainsaw Man's power in check, those vain dreams only a human could imagine. Denji was a kind of Russian doll, holding back Pochita and his over-power. That's why these two conditions exist. 

To be unhappy, or to break this Russian doll. 

To be feared by all, or to be alone. 

Or kill Denji. 

To save Pochita. 

Layer - 100000 of sushi: did you think I'd finished losing my head? I don't think so. What if everything I've been telling you all along, taking things in order, were to be done in reverse? Take them out of order. I'll ask the questions so you can understand. Why is Makima so obsessed with Chainsaw Man? Why did the Knights of the Apocalypse fight Chainsaw Man in the underworld? How did they manage to retain their memories? Why start the story with a parricide? Why was Denji finely polished by Makima to welcome Pochita when Makima never saw Denji, the reason for her own death? How could she enter into a contract with someone she has never seen? 

Because someone is controlling the control demon itself. Just as it controls the way the story is presented to us. How can we trust an antagonist who controls memory? And an amnesiac protagonist? 

Why did Pochita do what he did in the underworld? Why this sudden fury? Why do demons hear chainsaws at the moment of their death? 

Because we've come full circle. More precisely, what you're reading is not part 2 but part 1, or to be more (MORE) precise, the end of Chainsaw Man will lead to its beginning. The desire to create a better world, to kill death, will lead to a temporal loop in the world that will never cross the apocalypse, blocked just ahead. 

Makima herself is controlled by her future self, which allows her to make references to the future and know the recipes for unleashing Chainsaw Man's power without understanding why, her future self knows Chainsaw Man, she loved him. So Makima also loves Chainsaw Man without really understanding why, amnesiac like Denji.

Denji doesn't kill his father, it's his old self who is killed. 

But another Denji tries to put an end to this... 

Spiral. 

Stuck between two worlds, two temporalities, morning (Asa), night (Yoru), someone is trying to put an end to this endless world, before dawn.

[cjrae]

Rank And Responsibility. Or: The Hairpin Scene from Jinshi's POV.

Be warned now about the consequences of choosing to do an English Lit degree - you end up doing lit crit for fun. With that in mind, let's break down the hairpin scene at the end of Covert Operations (Episode 5). Mild spoilers for Jinshi's arc are below.

While this moment does kick off the romantic subplot, with all the implications that giving Maomao the hairpin out of his own hair has, I would argue that this is not the moment Jinshi realizes he's in love with Maomao. Instead, from his point of view, this scene demonstrates how Jinshi handles failure.

Holding Power In An Open Palm

This is still very early in the story. Our first hint to Jinshi's true rank does come in this scene, but for now we know him as the manager of the Rear Palace. For the three thousand people who live and work there, for all intents and purposes, Jinshi is the highest authority they will encounter. He literally has the power of life and death over them, either directly in the case of the servants and eunuchs, or in the case of the consorts, his word to the Emperor directly can serve the same purpose. We also see Jinshi use this power early on - he's not just there to keep order, but also to test the consorts' loyalties and virtue. We never see what happens to the lower-ranked consort who attempted to invite Jinshi back to her room, but at the very least that report ensures that her already small chance of the Emperor choosing her as a potential mother of the nation is utterly cut off - and if she doesn't bear children, she will be discarded.

We also know that Jinshi will not hesitate to order corporal punishment if he views it necessary - for example, when Maomao discovers that the toxic face powder is still being used by Consort Lihua's ladies in waiting, she mentions in the aftermath that the eunuch who failed to recover the powder was flogged, while the lady in waiting who hid the powder is put in solitary confinement. These are brutal punishments - and if we consider the historical inspirations, these are also very restrained consequences. For hiding an item that caused the death of the prince (unfortunately, the more valuable child) and has put the life of one of the Emperor's favored High Consorts in danger, Jinshi would be utterly within his rights to order executions. If ignorance is a sin, ignorance in the face of knowledge is a greater one.

Microcosm of Li

For all that Jinshi holds his power lightly, he also takes the responsibility that power bestows upon him quite seriously. It's worth noting that Jinshi takes over governing the Rear Palace shortly after Maomao's service contract is purchased. (Remember, Xiaolan talks about the "beautiful, new eunuch that's been posted to the central courtyard," which tells us that Jinshi has not been in the Rear Palace long enough to become a fixture - he's an object of speculation and admiration from episode 1).

In context it's clear that, with the birth of two Imperial children, his job is to ensure the survival of the Imperial line and investigate why children of the Emperor are dying consistently in one of the wealthiest and safest places in the entire empire. We're shown him running in between Lady Lihua and Lady Gyokuyou to ensure that their very sick children are being seen to properly, investigating what could be causing it, while also managing tensions as rumors about the Emperor's children being cursed begin to spread and outright accusations of sorcery are being thrown between consorts. While the audience might immediately scoff along with Maomao at the idea of one consort cursing another, if Maomao hadn't found the cause of death, those types of accusations followed by Lady Lihua's and Princess Lingli's inevitable deaths could have ended with Lady Gyokuyou's execution.

The Rear Palace is a reflection of the nation as a whole. No Imperial heirs plus the deaths of two High Consorts with various foreign and domestic political ties had the potential to thrust the entire nation into chaos. Jinshi's choices have very real consequences, so when Maomao discovers what the true cause of death is and sends her warning, Jinshi looks at Maomao and doesn't see a person. He sees a "perfect pawn." A tool, one with talents that have ensured that at least one Imperial child has survived and providing a rational explanation why these children have died so that it can be prevented from happening again - and a skill set that can be turned to preventing any more shenanigans in the Rear Palace that could threaten the empire's foundation.

And, as Gaoshun points out, in the beginning of the hairpin scene, she is a toy. Maomao amuses Jinshi up until this point.

For all that Jinshi is shown wielding power with a light hand and a responsible mindset, it literally doesn't occur to him that the people working in the rear palace have stories - some tragic - about how they came to be there. They are resources to be used as befits the Emperor's (and therefore the nation's) need.

Hidden Beauty

When Maomao turns around and Jinshi doesn't recognize her until she speaks, he's shocked. He thought he knew exactly who and what this girl was - ugly and unremarkable, except for her intellectual brilliance and the challenge in managing her by other means than empty compliments and smiles. He attempts to recover and assumes that she is enhancing her looks - and is shocked again when he realizes that the face Maomao has presented to him so far is a protective mask against attracting attention. In a world where beauty is both a currency and a tool that others covet, Jinshi doesn't understand why Maomao would deliberately devalue herself like that. So she tells him.

This is the moment Maomao becomes a person to Jinshi.

Not a toy, not a pawn. Someone who has been ripped from her home and her life illegally and sold off. It's in this moment that Jinshi is forced to confront the ugly side of the society he lives in, people who would rape Maomao out of pure convenience or just take a "borderline marketable" girl off the street in order to get extra drinking money.

Worse, Jinshi is complicit in Maomao's captivity. The Rear Palace has bought her contract - and as the manager of the Rear Palace, Jinshi is responsible for everything that happens within its' walls. The fact that Jinshi does not personally oversee service contracts is irrelevant. The buck stops with him. If the Matron of the Serving Women or whoever is below her is buying these contracts without checking their sources, that is Jinshi's fault because he has allowed a lax enough system to flourish. He has failed to govern this microcosm of the nation wisely, with thought for the welfare of the least powerful among his people. Worse, he has failed to even notice the problem - Maomao may say she's angry about having been kidnapped and sold, but she doesn't react in a way that indicates anger. Instead, she's resigned. Yes, what happened to her was wrong and she's angry about it, but there's literally nothing she or Jinshi can do.

Or Is There?

Jinshi offers Maomao two apologies, the first of which is our first hint to his true status. "I'm sorry we couldn't police them better." Maomao immediately blows off this apology - she points out that there's no way Jinshi should have known and has a very "all's well that ends well" attitude about her situation - her contract will be up eventually and in the meantime she's managed to land in a fulfilling role. Essentially Maomao is telling Jinshi that this apology is not his to make - he's overstepping his responsibility. And, if Jinshi were simply the manager of the Rear Palace, she would be right. It's his job to ensure that the Rear Palace is properly staffed, not to regulate that all contracts comply with the law.

Jinshi apologizes again. This time, he offers no other context. He doesn't accept Maomao's absolution of responsibility - because he knows (even if we, the audience, don't) otherwise. It can certainly be read as Jinshi refusing to accept easy absolution, and the rest of those witnessing the scene, apart from Gaoshun, certainly take it that way.

Instead, he takes the hair stick from his own hair and places it in Maomao's. Their entire relationship has just been upended; Maomao is a person who has been gravely wronged and it is Jinshi's responsibility to begin to make it right. Aside from the personal implications of giving her the hairpin (and the faint blush on his face makes it clear that he's aware of them), it is a form of restitution. There is an unspoken social contract Jinshi is offering that Maomao does not understand in the slightest. It never occurs to her that Jinshi would do something for her with no thought of what he would receive in return, because of the difference in their social ranks. But, from Jinshi's perspective, that social difference is the point. He has failed her and, as the person of higher rank, it is his responsibility to do what is within his power to begin to remedy the situation in front of him.

And, of course, in that moment he sees Maomao in a new light, the other meaning of gifting her his hairpin has fertile ground to take root in Jinshi's mind.

[mandarinmoons]

dad!spencer

DAD SPENCER SPENCER AS DAD

yknow that scene where JJ calls Will and Henry over the phone so she can read to Henry? or atleast I think she read to him it was so long ago that I watched 😭 anyway, what about that with Spencer and a toddler Bailey? he’s on a case but he still wants to make sure he’s present for his daughter even if he’s not physically there

<333

Your ears rang as Bailey’s cries echoed through the house. She had been fussy and inconsolable for days and you knew why, her dad was gone.

Spencer flew out to a case all the way in Nebraska leaving you to take care of Bailey all by yourself until he got back. You weren’t cross with him, you knew his schedule was hectic and that he tried his best to be a part of both of your lives.

For Bailey however it was a different story. The second her dad walked out the door she was upset and ran to the door to run after him. The only way she would fall asleep is by draping one of Spencer’s shirts over her, her breathing would calm down and a moment later she would be at ease.

It had been four days since Spencer left and there had only been limited text messages between you two. The case turned out to be more complicated than initially thought and it was taking up more of the team’s time.

You and Bailey were cuddling on the couch watching one of her favorite cartoons. Bailey had a crying fit and after some time she managed to calm down a bit and now here you were, caressing her back as her tear filled eyes were focused on the TV in front of her.

As you felt yourself doze off and your head leaned to the side, your phone rang which caused Bailey to get fuzzy.

“Shh there there,” you sat up and pulled Bailey into your lap as you dug your phone out of your pocket, seeing it was Spencer calling you sighed in relief and immediately put it on speaker.

“Hey Agent Daddy,” hearing your words made Spencer chuckle and Bailey’s eyes went big as she heard the laughter.

“Hey you two, how are my favorite girls doing?”

“We’re doing okay, Bailey misses you a lot.”

“She does?” Bailey immediately made grabby hands at the phone.

“C’mon, say hi to daddy.”

Bailey got the phone in her hands and chanted “daddy, daddy, daddy!” in an excited voice.

“Hi baby, do you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, daddy will be home soon, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Spence, do you think you could sing to her a bit?”

“Yes yes, daddy sing!”

Both you and Spencer laughed as Bailey grew excited over hearing her dad sing to her.

As Spencer sang along to the lullaby he recited to Bailey every night before bed, she nuzzled into your chest as her cheek was squished against you, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed.

You pried the phone from her hands gently and took it off from speaker mode, pressed it to your ear and quietly spoke as to not wake up your daughter.

“She’s finally asleep.”

“Has she really not slept these past few days?”

“Well only when she tires herself out from crying.”

Spencer chuckled lightly, “I feel bad now.”

“Hey it’s okay. You’ll be home soon so she’ll feel better in no time.”

“I hope so.”

Silence took over the line for a moment and you could hear Spencer trying to cover up a yawn, he was dead tired but still managed to make time to call you.

“You should go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up for too long. You still have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah,” Spencer yawned and rubbed his eyes as he looked at the time, 8:47 PM in the evening and yet it felt like it was 1 AM for him.

“Be safe, yeah? Think about how happy Bailey will be once you get home.”

Spencer smiled as he thought about his little girl running into his arms as soon as he walked through the front door.

“Give her a kiss from me please.”

“I will, good night.”

“Good night.”

As the call ended you looked down at Bailey and watched her sleep peacefully in your arms. Her hand was gripping your shirt and you chuckled as you remembered what you wore, the same shirt of Spencer’s that you draped on her as she slept.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @themarauderseraslut @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai

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[hylianane]

I’ve read Time Traveler Zoro AUS far more interesting than anything my feeble little mind could cook up on it’s own, but I’d still love try to play around with the premise and give it my own spin.

I’ve read two in which Zoro loses the crew in a great tragedy, so he goes back in time to save them, and the greatest source of tension in the story is the way he tries to hide all the future knowledge he maintains from the others, while still trying to rewrite history. It’s so good and thrilling. But. Yet. However.

I’m reminded of the scene in Sabaody in which Rayleigh offers to tell the crew about the One Piece, and Luffy furiously rejects him. Says he doesn’t want a boring adventure where he knows the ending. And though I don’t recall Zoro saying anything in that moment, I think he would agree. So in this Time Travel AU, when Zoro goes back in time, he does so with the idea that this second try isn’t for him. He wants to help, but if he gets on that boat, he won’t be able to keep himself from giving Luffy all the answers in hopes of saving his life, and that would ruin his Captain’s dream.

So let’s imagine Luffy. At seventeen years old, he sets out on a journey through the Grandline to become the King of the Pirates. He has his navigator, his sniper, his cook, his doctor- all his friends by his side. And things are challenging sometimes, but always fun. And he gets lucky.

He gets lucky a lot.

Sanjj tells him it’s a guardian angel, but Luffy’s not so sure. There’s something at the back of his mind, an itch behind his ear. He starts to notice signs of a certain presence everywhere he goes, a mysterious someone who seems to always want to beat him to the punch, but also seems to never finish the job.

Like back in Orange Town, when he met Nami and fought the Buggy guy, the Clown complained about his knife thrower being put out of commission by a bounty hunter right before the fight. Or in Syrup Village, when Captain Kuroo called for reinforcements two of his officers were a no-show, their crewmates reporting that it was as if the Nyaban Brothers had disappeared into the night. When Luffy met Sanji at the Baratie, he’d felt a tension build within him as he listened to all the rumors of the Greatest Swordsman in the World having been seen nearby. But then, the tension is cut abruptly when Don Kreig walks through the door instead, announcing that he’d escaped the Warlord when some suicidal swordsman intercepted his chase.

In Whiskey Peak, Nami tells him about how she saw a cloaked figure take down 100 hundred bounty hunters without making a sound, as if trying to not disturb the Strawhat’s sleep. Luffy thinks he might’ve seen such a figure from afar when taking a leak, but he can’t be sure. In Alabasta, Ace keeps throwing looks over his shoulder as if searching for someone, but always telling Luffy there’s nothing to worry about. Vivi is shocked to discover someone took down Baroque Work’s Number 1 in a duel a night before their arrival at Alubarna. When Robin joins them at the end of it, she seems shocked to find the crew only has five members, instead of six. But she doesn’t seem keen on elaborating why just yet.

The only place that they haven’t been followed to by this Mystery Guy (as Luffy has taken to calling him) is Skypeia. Almost like he couldn’t figure out how to get up there.

And still, the whole time Luffy’s there he can’t stop thinking about him. Looking left and right as if between the clouds and the trees he’ll catch a glimpse of Mystery Guy’s face. Nami says it’s ludicrous to think that all these instances can be chalked up to same guy. Usopp tells tall tales of how they’re being stalked by a man who fell madly love with the Great Sniper’s good looks, or sometimes he tells tales of how they’re being followed by the ancient God of Fortune, or sometimes it’s any other grandiose tale he’ll accept before he accepts that it’s just a guy, just a Mystery Guy, who is real and Luffy knows it.

He knows, and he’s a little obsessed with it. And it’s not always great. He loses sleep, wondering who are you and do you know me and do i know you and stop getting in my way and why don’t you do it more and do you want to join my crew and i need you to watch me and i need you on my crew.

(Meanwhile, on his end, Zoro is planning how to stop the tragedy that will befall his family. But in the meantime he doesn’t want to just be dead weight. He doesn’t want to be apart from them. He may not have a place on that boat anymore, but he can’t have his Captain fighting his battles. He can’t let his friends go unprotected. So he’ll protect them, protect him, in silence, from afar, always one day head, always knowing what’s coming next)

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[i314flix]

the one where jake seresin likes to call it ‘welfare checks’ whenever he’s checking how you are—but let’s be real, everyone knows that it’s only an excuse he uses because he can’t seem to erase the uneasiness he feels whenever he knows you’re not fine.

pairing: jake seresin x fem!reader

word count: 5.8k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers au; ft. naval aviator!reader

warning/s: swearing, alcohol consumption, making out, sexual innuendos, daddy issues(?), mentions of feeling pressured, mentions of drunk driving (nobody drunk drives here though), mention of a near death experience, most likely wrong info about naval aviators and the nature of their job sksks i'm sorry this is strictly fiction okAY

opening note. idk how this ended up being almost 6k LMAO. but anyways, i was so inspired to write this one scene (which you can read below) and ended up just adding so many details and back story that now here we are???? hope you guys like it though! jake seresin brain rot is real and i'm admittedly a goner for—as glen once put it—navy draco malfoy 😭

Jake knocks on your door three times, patiently waiting and looking around the street as if he’s afraid that someone followed him here. He knows that it’s unwise to be at your doorstep at this hour, but he was done eavesdropping and subtly asking around about your absence, bothered that it’s been almost a week and you haven’t been attending training like you should be. He heard Phoenix tell Bob that you were taking a short break because of the near-death experience you had while flying along the course last time, in fact almost quitting entirely if it weren’t for Maverick who instead offered you to breathe for a few days and then come back to see if you still wanted out of the mission. You were considered by your fellow TOPGUN graduates to be one of the captain’s top candidates to lead the mission, so Jake understood why Maverick didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

A few seconds pass and he contemplates on knocking again or leaving, deeming this idea as ridiculous—but then he sees the lights open and you’re peeking through the curtain of the small window beside your front door, disappearing again only to unlock the dozen locks on your door and opening it to greet Jake who meets your gaze immediately.

“What the hell are you doing here?” is the first thing you say, flummoxed by his presence. You and him aren’t exactly the closest among the crew, and there have been several times in which you’ve displayed how annoyed you were by everything Jake either says or does.

“I’m visiting you,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t been in training for a week now. Are you quitting or something?”

You stare at him, appearing in deep thought or perhaps attempting to read his mind, and suddenly, you’re closing the door.

Jake widens his eyes in surprise but is quick to extend a hand out to prevent you from doing so.

“Really?” he complains. “You’re going to slam the door in my face?”

“Look, Hangman,” you begin, sighing and making your tired state known, “if you’re here to give me shit, don’t, because I have no will to show you the patience I typically have on a normal basis.”

“I’m not here to give you shit.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I told you—I’m visiting.”

“For what? To make sure that I’m not going back so that Maverick can assign you as team leader?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay. I heard you’re doing fine, but I just wanted to see it for myself.”

You’re quiet again, and you revert back to staring at him, as if you’re waiting for him to admit that this is just some prank. Jake doesn’t say anything though, he just returns your stare, appearing sincere for once, worried and waiting for you to realize that he’s not aiming to piss you off every time an opportunity presents itself.

You open the door wider. “Now you see me.”

“You doing good?”

“I’m doing good,” you affirm. “Just… I don’t know. Going through some stuff. Mixed thoughts—feelings—I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m here and it’s past 11 p.m.,” he says. “If I didn’t want to be bothered, I would have done this welfare check another time.”

You snort at the term he used in visiting you. “Are you sure? You don’t peg me as a good listener, to be honest. I don’t want to pour my heart out and end up listening to your life story instead.”

“I’m not like that. I could be a good listener if I tolerate the person enough.”

“You hate me, though.”

He laughs. “I don’t hate you, Goldie.”

Goldie. Jake liked your call sign because he liked the way you scowled whenever he was the one who utters it. The story behind the name was that your very first squadron saw a picture of you wearing these ridiculous platform gold sneakers when they were snooping around your Facebook profile, finding a photograph taken years ago by your mother at some family gathering you no longer remember. Eventually the joke turned into them calling you Goldie, and when the callsign review board was held, every member of the squadron voted for it to be your call sign and got it approved.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. 

“I just like driving you insane,” he admits with a smirk, and now you’re more reminded of the Hangman you know. “It gives me great pleasure to get under your skin. You never know how to fake that look on your face whenever you’re mad—it’s very funny.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

The edges of your mouth twitch. “Fine, come in. I have beer. Or wine if that’s what you prefer.”

Jake contemplates about it—because like what he thought of earlier when he arrived on your porch, it’s unwise to be here. It wasn’t like in TOPGUN or the Hard Deck wherein there were other people around you for him to always be cautious of his actions; he’s afraid that he slips up or let his repressed romantic interest in you get the best of him since he has you alone.

At the same time however, he just didn’t care enough about the consequences for him to miss this chance of getting to know you better. 

“Beer would be nice,” he tells you as he steps inside.

You nod and turn to head to the kitchen.

The house is a standard bungalow. When you walk in, you’re met with the living room, and then a few steps away from that is the kitchen. On the left side of the house, there’s a hallway leading to what Jake assumed to be the bedroom and washroom. He takes a seat on the sofa upon your instruction, scanning his surroundings and taking in the actuality of the situation he allowed himself to be in.

“Here you go.” You hand him an opened beer and he mutters his thanks, watching you go to the chair near him and plop down.

There’s silence, the two of you just drinking. You engage in small talk for a while, conversing about the most trivial things and matters that he’s not that even keen to know. The topic bounces on and on, until he can’t help but finally break it, impatient now and wanting to know what’s really been going on with you for the past few days.

You smile, amused by his little outburst. “You really want to talk about what’s bothering me?”

“I'm certainly not here to drink and talk about how hot it is on the beach.” He points out. “Just get on with it. You don’t have to tell me your whole life story. Just tell me why you’ve been gone since the accident.”

He catches you wince at the mention of an accident. “I’m resting.”

“You’re resting?”

“Yeah. It’s what Maverick wants me to do. He insists that I take a breather and then go back once I’m feeling better.”

“And have you been feeling better?”

“No,” you admit. “Actually, I…” you hesitate, flickering your eyes to Jake who’s listening intently. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re the last person I should be—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I know. But that’s the thing, Hangman,” you say. “I think I have to tell someone about it or else I’ll end up more conflicted about the whole thing. And you know what? You might actually be the right person for this.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t give a damn whether I have  your approval or not.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “Wow. Thanks, I guess?”

You grin; you loved teasing him as much as he did the same to you. “I’m planning to quit.”

His hand halts as he’s raising it to get another sip of the beer. He didn’t expect you to drop the bomb that quickly. “What?”

“I want to quit.”

“Because of what? Because of a near death experience? I know your record, and this isn’t even the first time you experience an occurrence that involved—”

“It’s the third time,” you clarify before he’s even done speaking. “I promised myself I’d quit if I almost ended up dead three times.”

“That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“I never wanted to be a fighter pilot, Hangman.” You confess and he’s stunned by the revelation.

It seemed impossible and untrue. You graduated at the top of your class and you have the reputation of being one of the best in the field. Your leadership skills were top tier, your flying was superb, and you were fearless in the face of danger. He didn’t understand how a person who didn’t want this occupation to have all those qualities and be an overall amazing naval aviator.

“You’re lying,” he says, not knowing how to reply to that other than accusing you of being a liar.

You lean back on your chair, bringing your feet up and holding your knees together. “It’s because of my dad. It’s the typical shit you hear about a daughter wanting her dad’s approval. He’s just… he used to be a fighter pilot himself—and then he got into an accident, lost one of his legs after it happened, and got forced to retire.” You bring the rim of your beer bottle to your lips. “I think he was depressed for a while. He didn’t talk that much anymore and when he did, he was always so angry. Mom always encouraged him to talk to a therapist, just to release all the pent up frustration he must be feeling about what happened, but he refused. He didn’t believe in therapy. He was convinced that he could solve it all on his own.

“Anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought if I could live the life he couldn’t continue and be a naval aviator myself, he’d feel better—or at least, he’ll be the father I used to have. Turns out I was right. Do you know how much he changed when I told him I sent an application to the Naval Academy? He was so pleased. He did a complete 360. Suddenly, it felt like I was his daughter again. It was clear to me then that if I wasn’t Goldie, I wasn’t anyone worth knowing.” You bite your lip, trying not to get emotional. Jake can see that, noticing how your lips are slightly quivering and how you’re avoiding eye contact. “But in a way, I still had some self-respect left. So that’s why I told myself that if I almost get myself killed in three different instances, I’d quit and I wouldn’t care about what Dad thinks. I’ll just go and live my life how I’d want to live it.”

“And last time was the third time.” He reiterates.

“Yep.”

He nods and downs the last gulps of beer.

There’s that silence again, but it’s not awkward. Jake is absorbing everything you just shared to him and you’re trying not to regret the fact that you told all of that to Jake. It’s a story you’re not used to disclosing to just anyone, especially not to someone like Jake who before this night was the reason why your temper was often brought to its highest limits. Yet you can’t deny that a huge weight has been lifted off your whole body thanks to the impromptu venting session; you appreciate the manner in which he stayed quiet and let you finish talking, not once interrupting and not once taking his attention away from you.

“Does Maverick know about this?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m already drafting my request for resignation.”

“You know that most of the time, those requests get rejected, right?”

“Yeah.” You groan, finishing your beer as well. “But I don’t care. I’d at least try. Then if they won’t allow me, maybe I’ll just orchestrate a fourth near death experience and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jake cuts you off and you raise your eyebrows at him. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I was just joking.”

“It’s not a good joke. You know better than to joke about things like that.” He’s serious, the most serious you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s right. You know he is and it pains you to admit it to yourself. You swallow hard, abruptly ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just all over the place these days.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was being stupid.”

“You’re going through a hard time.”

“I’m sorry for trauma dumping.”

“It’s alright, Goldie.”

You stand up, getting his empty bottle and trudging to the kitchen to place them on the counter. “If you want to go, you’re free to. It’s late.”

“I can stay here if you need company.”

You laugh humorlessly. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not babysitting.” He pushes himself off his seat and follows you. “I just don’t feel good leaving you in this state. You’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m okay,” you correct him. “Like I said, I’m just all over the place these days. I need time alone to think and be sure of what I want to do.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great loss to the Navy if you quit.”

You snort. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Why do you think I like pissing you off? It’s because you’re competition. You’re almost as good as me.”

You’re leaning on the counter and Jake’s standing beside you, his hand a few inches from your waist. 

“Actually, I’m better than you, Hangman.” You smirk. “And maybe so is Rooster. He’s certainly better than you when it comes to being a leader.”

“Yeah, but I’m faster than him.”

“You’re reckless compared to him.”

“I can beat him in a dogfight.”

“He doesn’t leave his teammates behind.”

“Yeah, he forces them to go as slow as he is.”

“It’s not a bad thing. He’s being careful.”

“Slow doesn’t equate to being careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like him better than you anyways.”

“You like him better? You sure about that?”

You don’t know how it happened but you’re suddenly standing very close to Jake, your faces tilted towards each other that you’re certain if one of you moves any nearer, you’ll end up kissing. You’re reminded of how the squadron often teases you both, saying that the reason you bickered a lot was because of the sexual tension that both of you shared, but you always made an effort to deny it, declaring that there was no way in hell that you saw Hangman in the sense and you’d rather make out with a frog than the said cocky pilot.

Being in this situation with him right now though? After sharing a beer and letting yourself show your most vulnerable side to him? Seeing how genuinely concerned he is for you? How he actually see you as a highly skilled and capable naval aviator? It messes with your head a bit, makes you think that maybe you’re just really excellent with pretending that you’re not affected by his stupidly handsome smile, or drawn to gazing at his toned body whenever he’s in his uniform, or distracted when he’s sputtering off nonsense meant to rile you up and instead you’re noticing how pink his lips are, how soft they must be, how dozens of girls have fallen victim by his charm and how good he must at working those lips of his…

“You’re staring,” he whispers.

Your eyes move up. “What?”

Jake grins, like he understands what’s happening at this second. “You’re staring at my mouth, Goldie,” he says. “Is there something on my mouth?”

You shake your head. Your cheeks are warming up. Your heart is beating faster. You’re aware that he’s teasing, that he wants to get a reaction from you, and you’re annoyed that he’s getting what he wants. “It’s late,” you repeat your statement from earlier. “You should head back. Get some sleep.”

He thankfully steps back and you exhale.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.” You start leading him to the front door. 

Once you’re there and opening the door for him, he stops for a second, looking at you. “Hey, if you need someone to talk to… you can call me, alright?”

You find yourself smiling in amusement. “Tonight doesn’t make us friends, Hangman.”

“Good.” He returns the smile, sly and that teasing glint still in his eyes. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Before you can quip back a reply, he’s saying goodnight and marching down the steps of your porch, going inside his car and driving off.

****

You came back two days later and returned like you never left.

He didn’t talk to you again after that night. You didn’t call if ever you did need someone to talk to, and he didn’t approach you unless he really had something to say. You two weren’t avoiding the other per se; there just wasn’t a need to be within the other’s vicinity nor the obligation to initiate the conversation that much. However, in Jake’s case, he wanted to check on how you were doing, especially after being briefed on why you were having second thoughts about your position in the Navy—he just didn’t think it was okay for him to do so, not when he had a feeling that you didn’t want acknowledge the fact that you did tell him your story out of everyone in the squadron.

Eventually, it was decided and announced by Cyclone that Maverick would be appointed team leader to conduct the mission, seeing him to be the most fit among the graduates he was supposedly training for the job. Maverick chose Phoenix and Bob to accompany him, picked Rooster along with Payback and Fanboy to head the second strike team, and assigned Hangman as the emergency action pilot.

Jake saw how you were disappointed not to be given responsibility for anything for the mission, which didn’t make sense since you didn’t even want to be here in the first place. He figured you must have been looking forward to being appointed nonetheless, maybe driven by your desire to make your father proud still that you were willing to go on this dangerous operation to please him.

“Hey,” you called just as he was about to hop on his aircraft. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He grinned, tilting his head at you in a mocking manner that makes you regret for saying anything. “Are you going soft on me, Goldie?”

You scoffed, but you were flashing him a grin in an instant. “You wish. I just don’t want you to get yourself killed so I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, that’s totally why.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”

He gave you a wink before carrying on with what he was doing while you made a show of rolling your eyes before walking away.

After that, despite how the events weren’t as smooth sailing as you liked, nobody ended up arranging anyone’s funeral and Jake was even hailed as one of the heroes since he successfully saved Maverick and Rooster when they were heading back to the carrier. 

And now, the whole squadron is doing some kind of post-mission celebration. It’s held in the Hard Deck, the bar near the naval base, and as Jake drinks with the rest of the crew and secretly relishes how everyone no longer saw him as only an arrogant pilot but an arrogant and reliable pilot, he finds himself trying to spot you among the crowd of aviators and every significant staff that made this mission successful, wishing he can know what are your thoughts about what has happened today.

“You see Goldie anywhere?” Jake asks Javy, placing the empty bottle of beer on the counter.

Javy scans the area and shakes his head. “No. But I think I saw her going out earlier.”

Jake nods.

Without further ado, he decides to go out of the bar and try starting his search there. He’s grateful he doesn’t need to explore the whole seaside to spot you plodding to where he’s guessing your car is parked, your legs wobbly and all, appearing you’re preoccupied with no regard to your surroundings that allow him to catch up beside you inconspicuously. As soon as you notice him though, you’re blinking multiple times, pausing for you’re surprised to see him here when you know he should be with the others.

“Jake,” you say, and he ignores the odd feelings that erupt in his chest upon hearing his name from your lips. “What are you—”

“Welfare check,” he explains. “Where are you going?”

You laugh out loud. He realizes you’re a bit drunk. “These welfare checks are becoming frequent.”

“It’s the second time. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Two times is too much for you.”

He changes the subject. “You’re not planning to drive home when you’re drunk, are you?” 

“No, I’m not that stupid.” You scoff. “But I was planning to sleep in my car, just until I’m feeling okay to drive.”

“I can drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Let me do it anyway.”

You stare at him and he holds the stare, green eyes piercing through yours that you can feel right in your core. You’re mesmerized, caught in the moment, similar to that time in your kitchen, and before you understand your actions, you’re handing him your keys and going to the passenger’s side.

****

You don’t verbally invite him in but he follows you regardless, taking the sign of you opening the door wider for a few seconds as he walks from behind the invitation itself. You allow him to act as some shadow as you cross the living room and go to the kitchen to get a water bottle from the fridge, no words spoken from the both of you, and it’s only when you turn around to say something that it’s dawning onto you how it was maybe a bad idea to have him over.

You trust Jake as a man who won’t take advantage of you, but you don’t trust yourself with the thoughts you’ve been having about him lately. After that night when he did his first ‘welfare check’, you couldn’t shake him off your mind as fast as you usually could; you’ve spent a lot of your free time thinking of him and how you don’t exactly hate being in his presence like you’ve been telling yourself. Worse, you’re considering how you might truly be attracted to his infamous charm, captivated by that Texan accent and confidence whenever he went, steering the attention of everybody in the room.

You watch him take slow strides in your direction. You’re not moving, you’re not attempting to get away, and when he stops directly in front of you, your heart is doing that thing again—palpitating and striving to burst out of your ribcage.

“Are you going forth with your resignation?” he suddenly asks.

“Not yet, I suppose. I talked to Maverick about it today, and he’s offering to endorse me to the Admiral and Vice Admiral to make me an instructor in TOPGUN.”

“And are you taking it?”

“Maybe.”

The lights inside the house aren’t open. It’s only the lamp you had beside your sofa; its warm hue illuminates your faces and creates this sense of intimacy that you can’t brush off. Jake’s expression tells you he’s in deep thought, as if he’s having a dilemma of his own, and you’re under the impression that perhaps he’s confused with what’s going on right now as much as you are.

“If you take that job, then you’re staying here, aren’t you?” he guesses, and you shrug.

“Most likely.”

“Then there’s no chance we’ll be deployed again in the same squadron.”

“I wouldn’t say there’ll never be a chance again but—it’s a high possibility,” you say. “Why? Can’t stand to be directly in the same team as me anymore?”

He chuckles. “Partly.”

“Partly?” you exclaim. “You really don’t like me that much, huh?”

“It’s not that. You think I’d be here if that was the case?”

“You said the other day you didn’t want to be friends.”

“Yeah, and being friends is still the last thing I want with you.”

“Fine by me. My feelings are very much mutual, I assure you.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re not understanding what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m glad we won’t be placed in the same squadron again because there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest.”

You’re left speechless, the implication of his words causing you to overthink. Is he telling you what you think he’s telling you? Are you completely missing his point? Is he just messing with you? Playing mind tricks to have you wrapped around his finger? Whatever it is—whether your suspicions are right or not—you don’t let yourself think about it further, for this tension between the both of you is heightening and there’s a voice in your head that tells you to kiss him to find out what he really sees you as.

So you do. You kiss him, closing the gap between your lips and throwing your arms around his neck to tug him closer. It’s probably because you’re drunk that you’re brave enough to execute such a crazy gesture; you think how liquid courage indeed does wonders to your brain and your ability to know what’s wrong and right. And you can literally hear the gears in Jake’s brain moving as he stands there, hesitant at first to reciprocate, but eventually succumbing to it with an intensity you didn’t know he’s capable of giving, a hand falling on your hip while the other presses against your cheek, his fingertips inching forward to your hair that you quietly moan at.

Every sense you have is enhanced as the two of you make out. You can discern the pounding of your hearts; you can hear every pleased sound he makes as well as yours; you’re aware of every action he does, what he decides to do with his hands which moves to your waist, to your back, and lower… and even lower than that… 

However, it ends as fast as it starts, and before you can properly react, Jake’s already breaking the kiss.

 He looks grudging. It’s clear that he didn’t want to stop. “You’re drunk,” he whispers, an explanation to why he still did.

“Just tipsy,” you correct, about to try kissing him again but he dodges it, instead placing a lingering kiss on your cheek that spreads chills all over.

“We’re not sleeping together unless you’re sober.” His lips are on your ear, and you’re awfully getting mixed signals. It’s like he’s saying no yet continuously seducing you.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I drove you home because you are.”

“No, you insisted on driving me home.”

“Because you were planning to sleep in your car, Goldie. Come on, are you seriously arguing with me on this?”

You groan, frustrated. Your head is starting to hurt because of the aftermath of the kiss and the thinking and the analyzing when it comes to what he’s saying to you and the actions he’s showing tonight.  “Am I getting the signals wrong? Isn’t the reason you went here because you want to sleep with me? You just told me you didn’t want to be friends—because obviously, friends don’t fuck.”

Jake’s laughing once more. It certainly doesn’t seem you’re sober from the way you’re talking to him, too blunt and careless. “You didn’t read the signals wrong. I do want to sleep with you.”

“Then why are you rejecting me? I’m practically begging here. It’s goddamn embarrassing.”

“____,” he utters your name, still grinning in amusement yet his features are softer now as he stares at your half-lidded eyes boring into him, “if you were any other girl who’s asking me, I’d gladly sleep with you. You’re not some girl though—and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“What?”

“I want to date you.”

“Okay, hold on.” You whip your head back in shock but you’re not pushing him away which Jake takes as a good sign. “Are you kidding? You better not be messing with me right now.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“There’s no way in hell you want to date me, Hangman.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“You don’t even know me that well.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to elope and run away with me.” He chuckles and steps away, giving you a bit of room to breathe. “I’m just saying I like you and I want to get to know you better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline that’s never going to arrive. “You’re nuts.”

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought you only wanted sex!”

“I still want sex.” He smirks and you squint at him in distaste. “But after a couple dates maybe. I take it slow with women I actually like.”

“You take it slow? You?”

“In relationships and in bed—if that’s your thing.”

“God, you’re giving me a migraine.”

You head to the part of the kitchen where you have a pouch of medicine for instances like these. From your peripheral vision, you see Jake already getting your unfinished water bottle to hand it to you as soon as you popped the aspirin in your mouth. 

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says. “You should rest.”

“I should wake up from this nightmare.”

“I didn’t know jumping on me and begging for sexual intercourse was part of your nightmares, Goldie.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Go to bed. I’ll leave right after.”

“How are you going back to the Hard Deck?”

“I’ll book an Uber.”

“Okay.”

You let Jake usher you to your bedroom, saying that he’ll visit you first thing in the morning. You tell him that he doesn’t have to bother but he replies that he needs to do another welfare check which you roll your eyes at, reckoning that it was cute the first time but now it was getting old and corny. He just laughs at you, for what seems like the nth time that evening, the reality of what happened between the both of you is beginning to sink in—and you’re not freaking out anymore. You think you kind of like it; you like the idea of Jake taking you seriously and conveying how serious he is by making his intentions clear.

“Good night, darlin’,” he says, brushing a portion of your hair away from your face.

You take a deep breath. You still kind of want to jump on him still but you immediately push those inappropriate thoughts away.

“Good night, Jake.”

****

The next day, a huge part of you genuinely thinks that everything that transpired last night was only an infuriating almost-sex dream. 

You would have slept all day if it wasn’t for the heat of the sunlight seeping through your windows. When you opened your eyes, you saw that it was past 11 a.m. and your head was already killing you, causing you to sit up and head groggily towards the kitchen to wash your face, brush your teeth, and find the aspirin that could help with the headache. You’re the type of person who prevents a matter from worsening while it’s still possible, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your day wincing and complaining about your condition when it could easily be solved.

The moment you swallow the medicine, your brain thinks it’s the perfect time to bombard you with memories of what commenced the day prior. In an instant, you’re remembering the drinking, and then Jake driving you home, that odd tension between you two, and—oh, God. The kiss. The conversation after the kiss. Jake confessing what he felt for you and what he was going to do about it now that he said it out loud.

As if on cue, a knock pulls you away from your thoughts and like a robot, you mechanically go to your door to greet whoever it is that’s on the other side. You don’t even have the energy to peek through the curtains first like you usually do, and you realize that it’s a huge mistake that you forgot that step because once you’re swinging the door open, there’s Jake on your porch.

“Woah, not so fast.” He puts a firm hand on your door as you attempt to shut it on his face, very reminiscent of the other night. “I see you’re not planning on using an amnesia card on me because of yesterday.”

You grimace at the reminder. “Go away. My head hurts and I can’t deal with you today.”

“Good thing I bought hangover soup then. Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What if I say please?”

“Still no.”

“Alright, come on,” he’s still resisting the force you’re putting on the door to close it, “at least take the soup.”

You glance at the paper bag he’s holding and reach for it. However, he slyly moves it to the opposite direction.

“Hangman.” You grit your teeth.

“If you’re taking the soup…” he trails, “then that means you’re agreeing to a date. Will you still take it?”

It’s ridiculous. It’s such a middle school tactic, you think—yet there’s a little something fluttering inside your chest, a bit amused at how Jake is approaching this. There’s truly nothing like a man who goes out of character for the woman he adores; from the manner in which he’s acting, it’s apparent that he’s not afraid to show you a side of his personality that isn’t the usual macho, cocky, and self-absorbed one. Somehow, even if you’re aware that he’s going towards the cheesy route, you’re digging it.

With a roll of your eyes, you snatch the paper bag from his grasp and saunter back to your kitchen.

“Are you coming in or what?” you call, noticing that he hasn’t stepped in.

He strides to where you are, this cheeky look on his face as he reverts to his standard overconfident self. You remark how he goes after you, soon caging you by the sink while you’re getting the utensils from its designated cabinet to use for this so-called hangover soup he brought with him. You’re not fazed despite the proximity and how this scene mirrors last night when you face him, even raising your chin a bit higher to appear further composed.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says.

Jake makes a familiar show of his eyes flashing from your eyes to your lips, smirking, and just when you think he’s leaning down to continue where you left off, you tease him by placing a palm on his face and gently shoving his face away.

“Shut up, Bagman.”

gentle reminder: this author is a sucker for validation so please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts about this! ♡

[justmeinadaze]

Don't Be So Hard Part 4 (Steddie & Plus Size Reader)

Warnings: Older Dom (30s) Coach Steve Harrington/Older Dom (30s) Professor Eddie Munson & Young (20s) Fem Plus size Sub Student Y/N, SMUT, overstimulation, choking, light degrading, use of the stop light system, DP, dirty talk, lots of praise and aftercare.

ANGST, LOADED IN ANGST, *dances in angst*

This chapter begins with a meeting and people in Hawkins being shady bitches in regard to Eddie being a professor and the play the school is putting on. Mentions of Y/N's weight (so brief, more than anything is alluded to when it comes to the lingerie in the play), Mentions of what happened in chapter 1 with her assault. Martin's dad is a dick and victim blames, brings up her father and Steve's.

Steve loses control a bit with Y/N and they get into a fight. Boys get jealous slightly. Um...OH cliffhanger ending but not quite like my others. You'll see. It will make you feel things but...you'll see!

Word Count: 6138

Series here/Donate to Me

You listened quietly as you sat in the back of the auditorium, listening to the parents, faculty, and dean of Hawkins University speak. You told Eddie and Steve you would be in your dorm and asked them to call you when it was over but both men seemed so on edge all week the moment they found out about the meeting. 

The coach told you a lot of times these meetings were randomly called when parents wanted to complain about a “murderer teaching on campus” but something seemed off as the day slowly approached so you snuck in before it began through the booth entrance and waited for it to begin. 

“Ah you little troublemaker.”, Theo teased as he sat beside you. “Got a weird vibe to? Yeah, Ms. Lilah was talking about this meeting with a friend while I was at work so I got curious.”

“Alright professors and parents let’s get started.”, the dean announced trying to hush the people in the room. “Now this meeting here was called forth by some of the parents…”

“Pfft ‘called forth’.”, the boy beside you whispered as you smiled his way. 

“We’re concerned about how downhill this school seems to be going!”, one woman yelled.

“There’s a killer still teaching class, our football team keeps losing and they’re doing plays of satanic garbage now?!”, screamed another. 

“Ok, Ok! Let’s not let this get out of hand.”, the dean shouted as he sighed. 

Both your men were sitting in a corner and you could tell they were already annoyed by their demeanors alone.  

“First and foremost—”

“First and foremost, satanic garbage? Really?”, your theater teacher interrupted as she rose to her feet. “It’s a play about being yourself and—"

“By parading around half naked?”

“Oh, Mrs. Martinez, I didn’t know you were a fan of the film.”

“Pfft, we don’t watch that filth in my house. This town has enough chaos in it.”, the woman spits. 

“It does which is why I feel like these kids should be open to expressing themselves. Everyone in my play is consenting and perfectly fine with the wardrobe.”

“They may be but WE aren’t. Why would I want to see people like Benjamin Lineck and Y/N Y/L/N parading around in that attire?!”

Eddie leaned forward, prepared to say something before you see Steve bring him back. 

“What’s wrong with that? Both my students are brilliant performers and have worked hard for their parts. Why don’t you be man, Paul, and say what your real issue is? You don’t think a boy or a full-figured woman like Y/N should be ‘parading around’ in lingerie.”

“Full-figured? Really? How about—”

“Hey! Enough!”, the dean shouted trying to regain control. “We aren’t here to bad mouth students. Your concern is the material in the play which was also a concern of mine. From the scenes that I’ve seen I’m not worried and it seems Lilah here has taken great care to keep as much detail focused on the story.”

“Recast it.”

“What?”, Lilah laughed. “No way. Even the dean just said your problem is with the material not my actors. No way.”

“It seems the problem is Y/N.”, Martin’s father sighs aggressively. “She’s the lead in the play, right Lilah? She’s the reason my son was kicked off the team and we’ve been losing—”

“No, your son was kicked off my team for assaulting an innocent girl.”, Steve defended. 

Theo’s hand reached for yours and desperately seeking comfort you threaded your fingers through his. 

“He also made threats and disrespected me and another professor.”

“Your friend the murderer?”, Jared countered. 

“You know what? I’m really sick of your fucking attitude.”, Eddie growled as he stood up placing himself chest to chest with the other man. Trying to calm him, Steve placed his hand on his chest to bring him back to his seat but he just pushed against him. “You people accused me and hunted me down based on how I dress and a fucking game I play! You’re doing the same thing with Y/N and I’m not going to let you!”

“ENOUGH!”, the dean shouted so loud even you jumped and Theo ran his thumb along your skin trying to calm you. “This is my school and I WILL be heard! Now, in regard to Mr. Munson and his employment here, he wasn’t charged with a crime and is an excellent teacher to the students of this school. We have evaluations every semester and his marks are always high. This matter has been discussed at length and unless there are new developments it will not be brought up again. As for the play…I will take a vote amongst the student body and faculty and if they deem it inappropriate I will cancel the production. We already know how you parents feel. For the football team, Mr. Harrington have you found a full-time replacement for Martin Click as of yet?”

“No, sir. I didn’t want to replace him fully until your investigation was finished. I’ve been using his back up but Mr. Hunter stated the pressure from the town has been too much. He, uh, left my team last week.”

A heavy sigh left your chest at his words; he hadn’t told you that. 

The dean nodded as his eyes took in the angry faces below him. 

“Stay low, ok? And stay here.”, he whispered as Theo let go of your palm and tip toed to the aisle. “Excuse me.” All eyes turned towards the boy in the back as he waved their way. “Uh, I know I’m not supposed to be here but I may be able to help. I was a quarterback in my hometown. I never tried out because it kind of seemed like…people had their fantasy team in this town.”

“Oh yeah because this is a good first impression and who we want representing our team.”, another parent snarked. 

“Yeah but at least I don’t tear girls shirts and push them to the concrete.”, Theo shot back.

“Allegedly!”, Martin’s father yelled. 

“No, not anymore. Based on Y/N’s testimony to me and the confrontational conversation I had with Mr. Click Junior, I agree with Coach Harrington’s decision to remove him from the team and I hereby expel him from my campus.”

“What?! You can’t do that!”

“I just did. This meeting is over and everyone drive safe.”, the dean sighed as he rolled his eyes. 

Scooting back to your side, Theo waited for people to leave as he blocked you from sight with his body but unfortunately he couldn’t hide you from everyone. 

“How does it feel, Y/N? Ruining someone’s life?”, Martin’s father shouted with distain your way. “Your father would be ashamed of you.”

Your eyes widened in anger as you stepped towards him but a fist blocked you as it flew across the other man’s face. Theo straightened in front of you as Eddie held Steve back so he didn’t hit the man again. Jared spit blood to the side as he squared his shoulders. 

“I can’t wait to tell your father what you’ve been up to, Steven. I know he gave up on you a long time ago but I imagine he never fully understood how bad things could get with his name’s sake. The final nail in the coffin would be if you and the freak here were fucking but even you wouldn’t sink that low would you? Still have some standards?”

As the man spoke, Steve kept try to push Eddie out of the way to get to the man in front of him but the metalhead kept his ground. 

“Get out of my auditorium now.”, Lilah growled as she put herself between everyone. 

“Or what?”

“Try me, Jared. I have no problem taking you out but I imagine you do with me. Want to uphold that ‘reputation’ right? Your son isn’t that smart I’m afraid.”

The man huffed as he promptly turned on his heel and slammed open the doors as he left.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“M’fine.”, the man grumbled as he flexed his hand and winced at the pain in his knuckles. “What are you bothdoing here?!”

“I talked her into coming. I had a feeling something was off—”

“You lie and defend her a lot. Are you two an item?”, Eddie snarks causing you narrow your eyes his way. 

“No, Mr. Munson, we aren’t. Theo is my friend and just helped defend me.”

Their seemingly calm but annoyed eyes racked over you but you had been with them long enough now to recognize when they were furious. At you or the situation though you weren’t sure.

“Don’t listen to what they said, Y/N, honey, ok? None of this is your fault and fuck them. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, Lilah.”

“Theo, why don’t you walk Y/N back to her dorm and—”

“Actually, I’m, um, going to my mom’s house but if you could walk me to my car I’d appreciate it.”

“No detours, Y/N. Just straight to the house, ok?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Munson.”

***

You knew what Eddie meant and didn’t stray as you headed to their house. After letting yourself in, you hastily got an ice pack ready before you heard a car squeak and the front door fly open. 

“…have to talk to me! I don’t like when you get silent like this!”, the metalhead shouted as he followed his boyfriend into the living room. 

“You! What were you doing there?!”, Steve shouted when his eyes found yours. 

“You both seemed concerned about the meeting so I just…I wanted to know what was going on.”

“You could have gotten in a lot of trouble if the dean or any of those other fucking people noticed you there.”

“I-I-I didn’t expect them to blame me like that—”

“Of course you didn’t, little girl, because you don’t know this town like we do!”

“Just because I didn’t have a ‘posse’ come after me before doesn’t mean I don’t know how cruel people in Hawkins can be! You think Martin Click is the only one to hurt me and make fun of me!?”

“Well, you definitely have a good amount of people protecting you.”, Eddie sassed as he folded his arms across his chest. 

“Really? I haven’t forgotten about that comment you made. Theo is my friend and he’s a good guy—”

“That fucking made out with you on my desk AND we get to see kiss you on stage constantly.”

“Oh my fucking God! I’m not doing this with either of you! I just wanted to make sure Steve was ok—”

Reaching for the ice pack you had been holding, Steve threw it hard against the adjacent wall making you jump back as Eddie’s eyes scanned him over with concern. 

“I’m fucking fine. What I’m not fine with is you sneaking around and putting yourself in danger!”

“Said one of the men who puts me in danger by being in a relationship with me!” 

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips as his eyes darken and he straightens to his full height. 

“I’m sorry…”

“I’ll bet your fucking are.”, Steve growled before abruptly reaching forward to grab your throat. “You’re always sorry.”

“Baby, let her go.”

“She’s fine, Eddie. Right, Y/N? Tell him you’re fucking fine.”

“I’m…I’m fine…Mr. Munson.”, you responded, your voice incredibly strained with how hard the other man’s palm was wrapped around your neck. 

“Ok, sweetheart.”, he replied cautiously as his gaze shifted between you both. “You remember the word right? If you get uncomfortable…”

“Yes, sir. Ahhh!”

Guiding you to the bedroom, Steve practically pushed you the entire way and all but threw you on to their mattress. As he tried to pull down your pants, he became annoyed, tearing them with his hands before tugging them the rest of the way on to the floor. 

“Wear these fucking tight pants like a fucking slut.”, he grumbled as he roughly yanked your legs apart. “Don’t fucking cum, little girl. Do you hear me?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Harrington.”

He was ruthless with the way his tongue flicked and sucked between your legs, bringing you to the edge multiple times before taking away your pleasure. Eddie gently propped you up with your back to his chest and you were grateful for the feeling as you pressed your sweaty forehead to his cheek. 

“You’re doing really good, pretty girl.”, the professor whispered as his palm brushed your damp hair away from your face. “Steve, how many more—”

“As many as their needs to fucking be, Edward!” The metalhead’s head ticked to the side at his name. His partner only ever did that when he was extremely upset and wanted to feel in control. “My fucking dad, this town, and those stupid fucking people think they can tell me how to be or who to fucking love? Keep your legs open, Y/N! After everything I’ve sacrificed for these people and it’s not enough.”

“You—You both are—mmm ahhhh—more than enough for me.”, you cry and Eddie kisses your cheek.

 “Oh please! Like you fucking care.”, he spits as he pushes two of his long, thick fingers inside you. “You can leave whenever you fucking want to… go off to fucking…Hollywood with your young, buff boyfriend who can apparently to it all it seems. He can keep you safe better than we can since loving you is putting you in more danger!”

You barely registered it but his partner did as his wide eyes scanned over Steve. You were too busy trying not to cum as he didn’t pull back this time but had yet to tell you it was ok. 

“Steven, stop.”, Eddie commanded in a firm tone that the other man ignored. “Red, Steve, stop. NOW.”

When the man’s fingers only slowed but didn’t completely come to halt, your professor slid out from behind you and shoved his boyfriend away from you. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?! She said she knew the fucking word, Eddie!”

“Yeah and I know you! What the fuck was that?! You tell her you fucking love her this way?! After saying she doesn’t care and that she’s going to leave us, you fucking asshole! That’s not fair to her. We can’t take her out on dates or show her off but at least us conveying how we feel shouldn’t be hidden under all the bullshit you just did.”

“Eddie…”, you sniffle as they glare each other down. “It’s ok…”

“Get the fuck out.”, Eddie commands as he points past Steve towards the door.

“This is my house to. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

Your professor steps forward and bumps his boyfriend with his chest, making him stumble backward as Eddie guides him towards the bedroom door. 

“We agreed that we’d protect her so that’s what I’m doing. I’m protecting her from you.” Steve’s eyes widened as he glanced around the room as if finally recognizing where he was and who he was with. “You don’t want to leave fine but I’m not letting her anywhere near you till you get yourself together.”

With one final shove, Eddie pushes him out into the hallway and slams the bedroom door in his face locking it tightly behind him. 

As quickly as he can muster, the metalhead lifts you into his arms and places you on the edge of the tub as he fills it with water. 

“I-I-I was doing ok. You didn’t have to stop h-h-him.”, you cry as you wipe your eyes. 

“Look at me, sweetheart. Everything is alright. You may have been able to handle it right now but sometimes Steve… goes overboard…when he’s angry. I think it comes from years of growing up with his parents but even when we fight which is rare he has a bite to his words.”

After carefully guiding you into the bath, you remain silent as you allow him to clean you and massage any part of your body he can reach. 

“I’m sorry I went to the meeting. You both seemed so worried and I couldn’t wait. I didn’t expect them to turn on me like that.”

“You’d be surprised how quick they turn.”, he sighs. “We were worried because Steve already knew the town was pissed off about their recent losing streak so he assumed they wanted to talk about what happened with Martin. I didn’t expect them to talk about your play or you like that.”

Your fingers reached out to caress his face and he smiled as he placed his hand over the back of yours. 

“Thank you for trying to defend me with his father.”

“I’m sorry for what he said about yours. Y/N, your dad would be so proud of you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Not even with you two?”

Eddie heavily exhaled as his eyes closed and he shook his head. 

“No, baby, not even with us… what is wrong is hiding you…hiding that you’re ours and that we can protect you. Y/N, when that kid stood up for you and I saw him shield you behind him, I was glad he was there but also really fucking jealous.”

“I know. I heard it in your tone.”, you giggle as his grin widens for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah. What I mean is… I couldn’t push you behind me. I couldn’t tell those people to fuck off because you’re my girl and I’d take a fucking bullet for you. I almost died trying to save Steve and my friends and I’d do it again to save you. I don’t even need to think about it. You and Steve are safe with me and I want all of Hawkins to know that.”

Your lips tenderly find his before he helps you out of the bathtub and dries you off. 

“Eddie? Do you love me to?”

Pausing for a moment, he smirks your way and slides one of his shirts over your head. 

“You caught him saying that, huh?” After getting you into some comfy shorts, Eddie climbs into his bed with you and you promptly curl up into his side resting your head on his chest. “I’m sorry he said it like that.”, he whispers as his fingers play with your hair. “Um, what if I said that I do love you…very much…”

“I would say that I love you to, you and Steve, but that scares me. I don’t want to ruin your careers or the life you’ve made here.”

“I would probably say something back like how it scares me to but not as much as how hard I fell for you. It was the same with Steve. I wasn’t expecting to fall for him but here we are 10 years later. I—we—also don’t want to ruin your life either. You deserve all the good things, Y/N.”

“So do you.” Quietly, he continued to rub your head as you listened to his steady breathing as his chest rose and fell. “Eddie…I love you.”

Pulling you tighter to him, he tenderly kissed your forehead. 

“I love you to, Y/N.”

##################

In the middle of the night, the sound of low grumbles woke you as you opened their bedroom door and tiptoed out into their living room to find Steve asleep on the couch as he tossed and turned. 

“No…no… please…”

As he groaned, you fell to your knees beside him and tenderly moved his hair away from his face. 

“Don’t…don’t hurt her…please…”

“Everything’s ok, Steve. Shhhhhh, baby. I’m right here.”, you tried to sooth as his nose scrunched in what looked like pain. 

“Run, Y/N…Run!” With that his eyes snapped open as he shot up, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey. It’s ok, Steve. I’m here.”

He didn’t say a word as he forcefully pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you as he cried. You continued to pet his head as you held him to your chest, whispering comforts as you tried to calm him.

“People in Hawkins were trying to hurt you. I tried to tell them…I told them you did nothing wrong but…they wouldn’t listen… you were so scared…I couldn’t…”

Your lips kissed his sweaty forehead before trailing down his cheeks to dry his tears. 

“Steve, everything’s ok. No one’s going to hurt me but if they did I know you and Eddie would keep me safe.”

Leaning back, his large hands cupped your face as he kissed your lips. 

“I’m so sorry for yelling and taking my anger out on you. That asshole was saying all that bullshit and then he mentioned your dad and I just lost it. It made me think of Eddie and what he went through…I just felt so out of control.”

“I know, Mr. Harrington, I know.” At your words, his head hung as he pulled away but you quickly grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you again. “Use me to find your control again…both of you.”

As your gaze shifted towards Eddie who had been watching from the hallway, Steve’s lips kissed your cheek before trailing down to your neck. 

“Please, Mr. Munson...use me.”

The metalhead slowly stepped forward and descended to his knees in front of his boyfriend as you moved off his lap out of the way. Lifting his hips, Steve helped him pull down his shorts, groaning when Eddie spit over his tip and stroked it along his length.

Cupping your cheek in his palm, he brought your lips to his, lightly whimpering against them as his partner enveloped him into his mouth and bobbed his head. 

“Fuck, baby. That’s it.”, Steve mewled as his fingers threaded through his long hair. 

When his free hand lightly tugged at your shirt, you got the message and as soon as you tossed it aside he lowered his head to your breast eliciting a soft moan as his tongue swirled and sucked on your nipple. 

“Both of you…use me.”, you repeat with heavy pant as Steve grips Eddie’s throat to passionately kiss his lips before guiding him beside you on the couch as both sets of hands roam along your skin and their mouths suck at either side of your neck. “Please.”

“Sweetheart…you always say…you need time because…our cocks are too big. I don’t think you can handle that…right now.”, Eddie exhales out between each kiss of your skin. 

“But we’ve—”

“We’ve done some stuff yeah because you were curious but that’s different.”

“Please, Mr. Munson. Pleeeeeeeeease.”, you whine making Steve chuckle. 

“Yeah, Professor. Show her how it’s done.”

Eddie playfully narrows his eyes at his partner before falling back against the couch to remove his boxers. When you straddle him on his laps, out of habit, your hands run along his bare chest making him mewl as his fingers take hold of your thick waist. 

“Whenever you’re ready, princess.”

As Steve starts to stand, you quickly take hold of his shoulder and place a tender kiss on his lips. 

“I love you.”

The coach blinks a couple of times as he scans over the softness in your face. They never expected to meet you let alone start a relationship with someone they trusted so completely as to tell you their deepest, darkest secrets. While Eddie was in the hospital after their battle, he would sit beside him in the chair and imagine what a life could be with him. 

He pictured dancing at metal concerts outside of town or even screaming along to one of Eddie’s songs as he played on stage. He envisioned lying in bed with him while holding his hand kind of like he had been for the past couple of weeks except the metalhead would be smiling and laughing at something goofy Steve probably said. He imagined holding him to his chest as he slept, playing with his hair, and reminding him in every way he could think of that he was safe.

Since they started seeing you, he pictured dancing at a wedding with you in a beautiful white dress that showed off every one of your gorgeous curves while he and Eddie were in crisp black tuxes. He saw you at a game he was coaching in the bleachers with the man you both loved at your side holding a baby that looked exactly like him while they clapped their little hands at something happening on the field. 

Steve saw a future with you both he desperately wanted and would do anything he had to, to protect you both.

“I love you to, Y/N.”

Your grin grew as you focused on Eddie again, surprised when you were met with his lips. 

“I love you to, pretty girl.”

Clinging to his neck, you lowered yourself onto his cock as you whimpered at the familiar stretch. 

“I love you to, Eddie. So much…fuck.”

“There you go, baby. You got it.”, he cooed as you rolled your hips slowly. “Take your time. We have all night.”

“God, you feel so good. Is…is it going to hurt. I mean more than when we…”

“When we put the toy inside your ass?”, Eddie finished for you. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m not going to lie to you. But then it will start to feel good.”

Your forehead falls on his and he cups your face in his hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Did I tell you I was Steve’s first?” He smiled when you giggled and shook your head. “Oh yeah. Obviously, he had been with women before but he had never explored that part of himself.”

Lips kissed your back and the metalhead scooted his body down till his neck was leaning against the back of their sofa. Something cold made you gasp before Steve’s lube covered fingers ran between your cheeks. This part you knew from playing with them prior and your eyes squeezed closed as Eddie continued to watch your face. 

“We had been together for about three months—fuck, I could sit here for hours inside you telling you stories—and he asked me if we could try. Y/N, I swear, the way those big, beautiful eyes looked up at me…I thought I was gonna bust.”

After placing a palm on your shoulder to steady himself, your breath caught in your throat as you felt Steve’s cock lightly press against your hole.

“When I started to slide inside of him? Fuck me, baby, he was so tight I lost my fucking mind.”

As slowly as he could, the man behind you began guiding himself into your behind. Your fingers that were clinging to the base of Eddie’s neck dug into his skin as you bit your bottom lip to keep from screaming.

“It’s alright, honey. You’re doing so—fuck—so good.”, Steve whispered. “I’m going to push a little more in, ok?”

You nod aggressively before you remember the rules.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Harrington.” As he continued, a sharp burn coursed through your body as you lifted your head and grunted in pain. “Wait! Wait…yellow, please…wait.”

“Ok, pretty girl. That’s alright. Tell me when you’re ready. L-Like he said, I could let you warm my cock all night and I’d still cum.”

“He came before I even started moving.”, Eddie continues as his thumbs stroke your skin. “I fucked him a couple more times that night and then after we laid in my bed talking about the future.”

“Ok, green. Y-You can keep going.”

“Good girl, baby. Thank you for telling me.”, Steve praised, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Taking ahold of your waist with both hands, he subtly rolled his hips bumping into something inside you that had your eyes rolling. 

“Shit. Was that the spot, sweetheart? Your pussy just choked my dick.”

After a couple more minutes pass, you feel Steve’s warm body and you realize they are fully sheathed inside of you. You had never felt anything like this and the overwhelming ecstasy of the moment had tears falling down your face. 

“What color, Y/N?”

“G-Green, Mr. Munson. I’ve never felt anything this g-g-good before. Mmm—use me. Please…I need you to.”

Testing the water, both men thrust their hips and a moan they had never heard from you escaped your lips. Your own movements took over as you bounced against them, their guttural grunts of approval keeping you motivated. 

“Atta, girl. You like—mmph—feeling us inside you at the same time?”

“Yes, sir. Fuck, you both feel so good.”

While Steve pumps into you, Eddie plants his feet and thrusts up to meet each of your movements with a hard one of his own. Their hands cling to you tightly, sure to leave bruises you don’t mind wearing. 

A sweaty chest leans against your back, pushing you against your professor’s chest and you laid your head on his shoulder as you listen to both boy’s lips smack together as they passionately kiss. 

“I’m sorry.”, Steve murmurs softly.

“I-I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“I hate—oh, fuck—I hate the way they s-still talk about you. You’re both…perfect.”

“Shhhh… don’t focus on that right now, baby. Just…feel our beautiful girl. H-How tight her holes are…fuck. E-Every time your cock slams into her, s-she—mmm—squeezes tighter around me.”

Pulling himself halfway out, skin slaps against skin as his cock roughly hits that spot deep inside making you moan and clench around Eddie. 

“Like that?”

“Fuck, Steve. Just like that.”

Limply, you cling to the man in front of you as you allow them to take over. Matching each other’s rhythm, it doesn’t take long before your orgasm washes over you and crashes like a wave as you shudder against them. 

“Good girl, princess. Good fucking girl.”, the long-haired boy praises as his fingers thread through your hair to hold you tightly against him as they chase their highs. 

Steve cums first, his palm gripping the back of your neck as he slams his release into your ass and after a few more rough thrusts Eddie follows coating your walls with his spend.

“I know, honey. Shhh. It’s ok.”, the coach softly comforts when he hears you groan as he carefully pulls out and Eddie does the same. 

Taking you in his arms, he carries you to the bathroom and holds you to his chest as his partner gets the bath ready. Wincing as he lowers you, they continue to murmur soft praises before Steve climbs in with you and the other man sits on the tub behind you as you lean against his leg. 

“How are you feeling?”, the pretty boy asks, smiling when you nod. 

“I’m worried about you.”, you answer gently as Steve tilts his head. “Jared said he was going to talk to your father. I don’t want him to cause trouble for you both.”

His gorgeous eyes scan over you and his boyfriend as Eddie pours warm water against your skin making you moan as you tip your head back so he can kiss your forehead. 

“My dad already thinks I’m a fuck up like he said. I don’t imagine how much worse Jared can make it unless I tell him about me and Eddie.”

“After the quake, he didn’t try to make amends? I would think something like that would bring a family closer.”

“It brought us closer.”, he grins as he gestures between himself and the man he loves who smiles back. “It made me realize I wanted to be happy. My parents weren’t even in town when everything happened.”

“Are you going to let Theo try out?”

“Can’t say no to someone who wants to see you safe to.”, he chuckles. 

“Speaking of, we may be a bit more protective for a while, sweetheart. You have no idea how Martin will react to being expelled or even the town as a whole so.”, Eddie advised as his eyes flick towards Steve who nods in agreement. 

After getting you clean, the long-haired man carries you to their bed where you fall asleep tangled in their arms. 

######################

Walking down the hallway, you can feel eyes bore into you as you stroll past. The dean had sent the survey asking students and facility their thoughts on the play but that was nothing compared to the gossip of Martin Click being expelled and being fully removed from the team. 

“Hey, Y/N.”, Theo beamed, ignoring the people around him. “Coach Harrington put me on the team as the new quarterback.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m excited. Let me walk you to class.”

As your eyes search his, you see something behind them.

“Coach Harrington asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”

Pursing his lips, he nods as he loops his arm through your own and leads you towards Eddie’s room. 

“He said after last night and with everything going on, he trusted me to look after you. He’s a good guy unlike his dad.”

“Have you met him?”

“Ah no but like everyone else I’ve heard the rumors and small-town gossip about the Harringtons.”

As soon as you reach your next class you pause noticing the sign that read “Class Cancelled.” You had just seen Eddie that morning and he hadn’t said a word about cancelling class. Opening the door anyway you are met with complete and utter chaos. 

The desks had been flipped over with the chairs thrown randomly around the room. His own desk that he taught from was on its side with all his papers tossed every which way on the floor. On the board in front of the class “FREAK” was scrolled across in big bold letters. As you headed for his office you noticed the lock had been busted and it was even more messy with all his books and documents damaged. 

Images were dangling from the ceiling above and as you pulled one of them down, you realized they were pictures of the people that were killed in 86.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s strained whimpers caught your ear and you found him in the corner with his knees to his chin, his head down in his folded arms with one of the pictures scrunched in his hand. 

“Go get Mr. Harrington. Now.”, you commanded sternly.

As soon as Theo ran out of the room, you knelt by your professor’s side and slowly pulled the picture from his desperate grasp. It was a school photo of Chrissy Cunningham taken for the yearbook in her cheerleading uniform, her smile bright on her adorable face. 

“Eddie, it’s ok. Come back to me, baby.” 

His head shot up when your fingers touched his hair as his palm instinctively grabbed your wrist. 

“Fuck…fuck, Y/N. I-I-I’m—”

“No, no. It’s ok. Come on, let’s sit in the classroom and wait for Steve. You shouldn’t be looking at these.”

When you rose to your feet, he promptly wrapped his arms around you as he pressed his face into your stomach and cried. Neither of you cared in that moment if you got caught or if someone walked in. He just needed to feel safe again. 

“Jesus Christ.”, Steve panted from running to the room as his wide eyes took everything in. “Eddie, baby.”

Falling to the floor, his partner immediately clung to him as he climbed into his lap. While rocking him back and forth, he whispered comforting words as you stepped back to give them some space. 

“His office is trashed to.”, Theo relayed. “When we spoke, it was heading to the locker room so he probably hadn’t seen it yet. It’s nothing like this though.”

Your wide eyes suddenly meet his.

“Oh, no. Lilah.”

“Y/N, WAIT!”, your friend calls as you run out of the room towards the auditorium. 

You hear your theater teacher shouting before you even open the door. 

“Those little shits are going to get it! I’m not letting this town fucking scare me away!”

In the middle of the stage were all the set pieces she and her team had worked so hard on, now in shambles and charred as if they had been burned right there. 

“We don’t know it was them.”, the town sheriff sighed as his deputy continued to take pictures. 

“Of course it was them! Are you fucking kidding? Martin gets expelled and then the morning after they set my stage on fire with my things!? That’s just a coincidence?!”

“Mr. Munson and Coach Harrington’s offices were destroyed to.”

Lilah looks at you completely shocked before anger fills her face as she gestures your way.

“See?!”

“Is everyone alright?”, Chief Hopper asks right as all three men appear behind you. “Alright. I guess I have an idiot and his father to go talk to.”

#################

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @nailbatanddungeon @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @too-efn-old-to-be-here @eddiexmunsonlover

I think I got everyone

[trillscienceofficer]

This is going to be long, but I want to describe an example of how misogynistic behavior can run way deeper than a “if only Rick Berman hadn't been there...” meme. And I want to do it by analyzing one of the most notorious stories about him, to boot.

We know Berman was personally responsible for forcing Terry Farrell to quit the show ever since “The Fifty-Years Mission: The Next 25 Years” was published in 2016, and Terry Farrell laid out her side of the story there:

According to Farrell, when her Deep Space Nine contract was expiring following the end of season six, she requested that she appear in fewer episodes, noting the sheer number of regular and recurring characters featured on the show, which would allow her to work fewer hours.

TERRY FARRELL: Basically [Rick Berman] was trying to bully me into saying yes. He was convinced that my cards were going to fold and I was going to sign up. He had [another] producer come up to me and say, “If you weren’t here, you know you’d be working at Kmart.” I was, like, “What the hell are you talking about? I had a career before this. Why the hell would I be working at Kmart? Who are you?” Just to be jerky, he’d call me in my trailer: “Have you been thinking about it yet? Are you going to sign?” Like, right before I had a scene. It was that kind of thing. Rick Berman said I was hardballing him, and I was, like, “I’m not. I just want to have a conversation. You’re giving me a take-it-or-leave-it offer and I’m not okay with that.” So I finally did have a conversation with him and asked to cut down my number of episodes or just let me out.

In the same book, Berman obviously denies everything:

To say that this woman was let go is absolutely ridiculous. She was not fired. She requested to not be in all the episodes. She wanted to be a recurring character. You can’t be in a situation on our shows where somebody is just going to do seven out of thirteen. I love that people, including some of these actors, love to think that I had all this power. The studio basically said “no way.” She’s a regular character and she does all twenty-six episodes or nothing. And I think there was a big battle with her attorneys or agents with the studio. I don’t remember whether this had to do with money or had to do with her refusal to be in every episode, but she ended up departing. It certainly was not my choice. It was the loss of a character and it was difficult for us. I’ve heard stories of her at conventions blaming me and saying that I had something to do with her leaving, which could not be farther from the truth. Brannon and I talk about this all the time, you tend to focus on the nasty things people say about you, and I know that there’s been a lot of animosity on the Internet or at conventions that are 100 percent untrue. It’s so painful to read stuff like that.

I love how he plays the victim at the end there! Classic villain behavior. And this is what the book says about Ira Behr had to say about his reaction to learning what had happened after the show was over:

IRA STEVEN BEHR: Let’s put it this way: if I had known what was going on, I would have stopped it. There is no doubt in my mind, because that opened a whole can of worms, and I learned more than I wanted to know what was happening under my nose and behind my back of things that were going on. I would have walked over to the Cooper Building and in one conversation I would have stopped that from happening, but everyone chose not to tell me for various reasons. Including, as I found out, to protect me from having to get in someone’s face and what that would mean for my position and stuff like that. And I said that was all ridiculous.

HANS BEIMLER: Ira was really upset about it when he found out, because it happened on his watch and he wouldn’t tolerate that kind of shit.

TERRY FARRELL: When I told Ira what happened years later, I think he almost projectile vomited. Ira was, like, “We were writing for you. How could you think we didn’t like you?” But I thought he was thinking whatever Rick Berman was thinking. I thought they were all thinking the same thing. Rick Berman’s representing them, right? But Rick Berman, you don’t feel like anyone else could tell him anything. That’s the number-one guy. It begins and ends with him so I didn’t reach out to talk to Ira, because it didn’t even occur to me that he’d have a different opinion than Rick. Ira, when he found out, was, like, “You would have been recurring?” and I said, “Yes. It would still be thirteen shows.” I wasn’t starring, Avery starred in it and so did Nana. I was number five. There really was no harm in having me be recurring. But Ira had no idea about the situation. I didn’t know I could have talked to him about it at the time.

So far, so good, right? “The Fifty-Year Mission” builds a pretty straightforward narrative about Rick Berman being a petty king (which he was! There are many more stories about this kind of behavior coming from him, both on TNG and on Voyager) and everyone else having to live under his absolute rule, which resulted (among many other things) in an actor being let off when it could've been prevented. If Ira Behr, very well known for his penchant to picking fights with Berman whenever it served to make DS9 better, had been actually informed and not shielded from the situation by the studio culture (which I must say he cultivated himself, the writers pretty much never visited the set on DS9) then all of this could've been prevented. The villain is Rick Berman according to this book, no doubt about it.

Let me be clear, I really believe Terry Farrell here. I have no doubt she was forced out once she was unwilling to just passively accept a contract that would've meant one more year of being totally tied to DS9. I have no doubt that Berman tried to intimidate her into signing it, and flipped out when she refused. It fits into the many anecdotes about him that have resurfaced over the years. And yet the reason why Farrell didn't tell anyone, especially not Ira Behr, about it is kind of... strange, right? Why did she feel like Behr wouldn't have had a different opinion than Berman? It's, I think, the first indication of how much of what she experienced was also due to the entire environment of the production of the show.

But that's not all, because “The Fifty-Year Mission” is not the end of this story, or how it's been told. Imagine my disappointment when the DS9 documentary “What We Left Behind” came out in 2018 (I'd already read the book by then) and, in it, Behr chose to go with a milquetoast ‘we just don't know what happened!’ narrative about Farrell leaving the show. I was honestly aghast, the book had been out for years at that point, and it had been published while the documentary was still in production. Farrell had already gone on record with her version, a very believable one, and yet Behr pulled off some of the most mealy-mouthed both-sideism I've ever encountered, and he did so in a product that would obviously gain much more visibility than an unauthorized non-fiction book about the Trek machine. I imagine Behr had to, in order to keep his interviews with Rick Berman in the doc, but it's hard for me to not see this as him pretty much throwing Farrell under the bus a second time for the sake of ‘the show must go on’. I sincerely lost all my respect for Behr right then and there. I'm sure he was a pretty good showrunner and DS9 is better for it, but I don't think he cared about the people under his jurisdiction as much as he said he did “The Fifty-Year Mission”. I get the feeling that he just disavowed his own words at the first tough decision he encountered, in fact. It's worse because Farrell in the book seemed genuinely relieved to hear that Behr would've had her back—but would he really? His behavior from then on casts more than a few doubts on that, imho.

So that is why I'm not impressed when Trekkies are like “if only it weren't for Rick Berman...” I'm not even talking about people who just deferred to Berman completely (like eg Brannon Braga); I'm talking about everyone, no matter the relationship they had with Berman. No one on the Star Trek lot was immune to poor decision-making, or revealing their racism, sexism, homophobia through their choices of what to air and how. The discrepancy between Behr's words and actual actions re: Terry Farrell is just so emblematic to me, but by no means exhaustive. There are so many more examples of the kind of cutthroat environment Trek was.

So no, I don't believe narratives about one singular villain in the Trek production that could've been vanquished if things had been just a little different. It was way, way more complicated than that, and built into the culture that made Trek in the first place. It's a giant bummer for sure, but it's the closest thing to the truth I can surmise.

[cobragardens]

5 Good Omens Timefucks that Haunt Me

1.

Why is this here? Why is this line included? Is it just to add texture, to imply that larger world of corporate fascism of which Crowley and Aziraphale are subjects and victims and little worker bees? If so, why "They've started early" specifically? Why not "I wouldn't have expected that shrub to be the first to go" or "Aw, I liked that rock formation"?

Crawly doesn't make this comment in an offhand way: he sounds a bit taken aback and not thrilled that things have kicked off sooner than he anticipated. But it doesn't ultimately seem to make any difference to this scene, so why do we, the audience, need to know Hell started early?

2.

This one I'm not as confident will turn out to be significant, because iirc it appears in the book, which was a complete story when written, and because it serves a narrative purpose: it puts Agnes Nutter in charge of the situation, not her murderers. By backfooting Witchfinder Major Pulsifer, Agnes startles him enough she's able to walk past him without Pulsifer seizing her and discovering the extra 80 lbs of gunpowder and roofing nails in her skirts.

But. Agnes Nutter's sense of time is Nice and Accurate, and she notices the witchburning party are late and remarks on it to herself before she says anything to Pulsifer. So assuming a few minutes to position Agnes, tie her to the stake, and read the charges and conviction against her, Pulsifer and Agnes' neighbors are 12-15 minutes later than they should be. Why?

If the book answers this question, I don't recall; the show does not. And again, it seems to make no ultimate difference to this scene.

I'm not saying this was even purposely included in S1 as a timefuck. I am suggesting that as Gaiman seems to be fucking with time or timelines in this story, even if he and Pratchett didn't plan it like this when discussing the sequel, a retcon is hardly out of the question.

3.

As others have pointed out, Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 is 45-55 minutes long. If you're listening to it on 78s instead of LPs because you are a CRAZY PERSON, it's going to take you more like 1 hour 5 minutes, because one side of a 78 holds, at most, 5 minutes of music, so every 5 minutes you have to get up and flip or switch the record.

Shostakovich wrote his 5th symphony in response to criticism in the state newspaper (possibly penned by Stalin himself) that his previous work didn't suck the Communist Party's dick hard enough--the kind of criticism that put him in danger of being sent to prison or killed. At the time it was first performed in 1937, Symphony No. 5 was considered a massive triumph, walking the line perfectly between Shostakovich's artistic standards and the Communist Party's demands of him.

The choice is symbolically significant, but it's a symphony, so whoever's censoring it isn't censoring lyrics or information. Again, why? Why is a 45-55-minute symphony only 21 minutes long? What did the time thief do with the 24-34 minutes?

4.

Here's the rug that covers the portal to Heaven in Episode 1:

Here's the rug in Ep. 2:

Aziraphale does not change this rug for the party. We know this bc we see it in Episode 5 when Mrs Sandwich enters the bookshop and the party is in full swing:

Now here's Aziraphale moving the circular rug to expose the portal to Heaven:

But here's Crowley, putting the rug back:

Why are there two different rugs?

5.

Every end credits track has the first line of "Everyday" embedded in it But after the line from "Everyday," at the end of Episode 4, the theme skips twice like a vinyl record, and then is stopped by whoever controls the turntable and restarted, with several seconds of music having been skipped over.

This is not the first time it has mattered to a character in Good Omens what we in the audience see and hear. I argue here that God asks Aziraphale what he did with the flaming sword She gave him in order to show us the audience who Aziraphale is. God also addresses us the audience directly in S1, not only narrating about characters omnisciently but speaking to us about Herself in first person.

Now we evidently have a second character who has gone meta and is changing what we the audience experience of this story, and--indications are good--the story itself.