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tojicide · 15 days ago

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chapter 2 ── too easy, this game.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb x fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

chapter summary. ┆ after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be sweeter and much more interesting than you had originally anticipated.

prev: pest control. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

“Remember that fundraiser I was telling you about?”

You lift your gaze from the sidewalk, giving Tara a sideways glance. “Yeah, I think so. What about it?”

“Well,” she sings, hugging her thick textbook tighter to her chest before nudging you with her elbow, “I was wondering if you’d like to help us out! We’re always looking for more girls, you know. The sisters of Delta Gamma can only do so much.”

You suck your teeth, tilting your head as your eyes drift to the towering oak tree at the center of the great lawn. The campus had spent the past few days drowning under gray skies and spring showers, but today, the sun had finally broken through. Its warmth pressed against your skin, so bright you had to squint just to avoid being completely blinded.

You look back at Tara. “What day is it again?”

“Next Saturday,” she says with a shrug. “2 PM, in the parking lot between the Delta Gamma house and Lambda Chi Alpha’s.” A pause, as if she was already sensing your impending rejection. “Please? Please!”

You hate when she does this. The puppy dog eyes. That hopeful little tilt of her head. The same look that had managed to drag you to one too many frat parties when you swore you wouldn’t go. Saying no made you feel like some heartless villain stomping on an ant just for the fun of it, and for a moment, you almost caved entirely.

“I’ll… think about it, but midterms are–” you start, but before you can finish, she’s already beaming.

“Yay!” Tara links her arm through yours, practically bouncing as you continue toward Grand Hall. “I’ll text you all the details, ‘kay? I so owe you one.”

You press your lips into a thin smile, debating whether to remind her that you hadn’t actually said yes. Instead, you settle for, “If I end up making it, we’ll call it even for you helping me study for chem.”

She grins. “Good luck on that, by the way. I know you’ll do great!”

The two of you stop outside the building, and Tara leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially like she’s about to tell you a scandalous secret.

“And remember, the electron cloud model—”

“—is the area around an atom’s nucleus where electrons are most likely to be found,” you finish, unable to fight a smile. “I know, I know. You trained me well.”

You squeeze her arm before unhooking yourself and stepping into the lecture hall.

“I’ll find you after class!” she calls after you.

Inside, the air is sharp with cold, and a shiver runs down your spine. The mood of the room seems different today, as if the oxygen you were all breathing in was thick with anxiety. Your seatmate, Yvonne, is already at her desk, supplies neatly arranged in front of her. You give her a silent smile before sitting down and doing the same.

Once again, you can’t help but notice that the room is quiet—eerily so. Everyone is either too tired to talk or too nervous to form a coherent sentence. Probably both.

As the exam begins, the only sounds filling the space are the rustling of paper and the scratch of pencils against scantrons. You’re on question 21 when you realize you’ve just marked “C” four times in a row. A bead of cold sweat pricks at your temple, and you read over each question about a hundred times, praying that you’ll catch your mistake. After all, that can’t be right… can it? Your gut says yes. Your overthinking says absolutely not.

An hour later, relief ripples through the room as students zip up their backpacks and shuffle toward the front to turn in their scantrons. You’re right behind them, ready to bolt for the door—until Dr. Rappaccini calls your name.

Pausing mid-step, you turn back to face her, plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah?”

She digs through her bag before pulling out a worn notebook, its cover littered with colorful tabs and sticky notes. Holding it out to you, she looks as if she couldn’t care less about the transaction.

“I believe your lab partner left this in the laboratory last class.”

Your brows furrow as you take the heavy notebook into your hands, flipping it open with a frown. Lo and behold, there it was—‘Property of Caleb Xia’ scribbled in that god-awful handwriting. Raising an eyebrow, you shake your head. “It’s his, yeah… but why are you giving it to me?”

“He didn’t show up for today’s exam, and I’ve canceled class next Monday,” she explains, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “Since you work closely with him, I figured you’d see him before I do.”

Now that catches your attention. A sliver—no, a slap—of satisfaction rolls through you. So his sabotage in the lab had already come back to bite him? Karma was fast today. You couldn’t be happier. But unfortunately, the thought of voluntarily interacting with Caleb makes your stomach churn, so you extend the notebook back to your professor without hesitation.

“I assure you, I don’t care to see that man. It’s probably best if you return it to him.”

She glances at her watch, and you can practically see the sweat break out on her forehead. “Oh, I wish I had the time to. I’m running late!”

Gathering her belongings, she makes a beeline for the door. You’re quick to try and follow suit.

Her voice adds a swift, “Ask around! I’m sure someone can help you track him down.”

“But wait! I don’t even—”

The door slams behind Dr. Rappaccini, leaving you frozen in place with Caleb’s stupid notebook clutched to your chest.

“—know what building he lives in.”

You groan, dragging your feet toward the exit, already dreading the idea of having to track down that idiot. In fact, maybe you won’t.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Tara’s voice cuts through the air, startling you. The flicked lighter in your hand dies out before you can hold it to the bottom of Caleb’s notebook long enough for the flames to catch.

“The damn thing won’t light,” you huff, shaking your head in defeat. “Do you happen to know anyone on campus who has lighter fluid?”

Tara crouches beside you, watching with mild horror as you attempt—and fail—to ignite the corner of the notebook again. “Uh… no, not off the top of my head.” She pauses, tilting her head. “And just to be clear, you’re aware that you’re about to light your notebook on fire, right?”

You shrug. “It’s not mine.”

Her head snaps toward you so fast you worry about whiplash. “Okay, let me rephrase that. You’re aware that you’re about to commit a felony, right?”

You flick the lighter again, giving her a puzzled look. “Please, Tara, I don’t care about felonies right now. This is war, and I need to take my revenge.”

“Revenge?” she echoes, her lips tugging downward like she hadn’t considered that to be your motive. “On the notebook or the owner?”

“On Caleb fucking Xia,” you reply, punctuating each word with another flick of the lighter. Then, finally, a tiny flame flickers to life at the corner of the notebook. A wide grin spreads across your lips. “Yay! I did it! Look, I—”

Tara leans forward, blows out the flame, and snatches the lighter from your grasp. “Are you nuts? You can’t just burn his chem notebook!”

You hum, twisting your lips to the side. “You’re right. I’d totally get caught. Maybe I should pawn it off to a frat guy? Make a quick buck. They’d probably pay good money for his notes.”

“What? No! You can’t burn his notebook because that would mean stooping to his level!”

You reach for the lighter, but she stretches her arm out just far enough that you can’t reach.

“Tara! When they go low, we must go lower.”

“When they go low, we should be the bigger person,” she corrects, patting your head like a disobedient child. “How did you even get it? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, I wish. Dr. Rappaccini gave it to me to return to him. Apparently, he left it in the lab.”

Tara tilts her head. “Oh. He didn’t show up for the exam? That’s… unlike him.”

Shrugging, you brush off the singed paper flakes from the bottom of the notebook. “I guess. Can’t say I care, though. It’s what he deserves.”

She scoffs. “Geez, this whole scandal has turned you heartless. The Caleb I know would rather eat glass than miss an exam, especially the first one of the semester. I hope he’s alright.”

“In that case, maybe you should be the one to return it to him,” you suggest, holding it out. “You seem to know where he lives, and you actually care if he’s alive. That’s already two steps in the right direction.”

Tara glances at her phone, then sucks on her teeth before flashing you a wry smile. “Oh, shoot! I can’t. I have my physics exam in four minutes.” Before you can argue, she’s already bolting toward her class. “Uh, I think he’s close with Zayne! The one from our bio class!”

You toss your hands up. “Why the hell am I being sent on a manhunt?” Patting your pockets, you realize something’s missing. “Hey! You took my lighter.”

“It’s for the better!” she calls over her shoulder.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After a deep dive through Canvas, a trip to Outlook to send Zayne a rather frantic email, and a very long walk across campus, you find yourself stalking through the halls of an unfamiliar dorm building.

Your eyes flick up from your phone every few steps, scanning the numbers on the doors to make sure you haven’t somehow wandered into oblivion. It’s been ten minutes—too long, in your opinion—and you’re beginning to feel like a headless zombie, doomed to wander these halls forever.

That is, until your eyes land on a familiar set of numbers.

Room 323.

Exhaling sharply, you raise your fist and knock three times against the door. The response is almost immediate—an audible thud, followed by an impressive string of curses.

Then, the door swings open, revealing a very panicked and very shirtless Caleb.

And you? Your brain short-circuits.

For a second—just one—you can’t help it. Your gaze drops straight to his torso, where sharp lines of muscle carve into his biceps and abdomen like a damn Michelangelo sculpture. You’re almost positive those weren’t there yesterday. Scratch that. You’re absolutely positive they weren’t.

And you would have noticed. You’re nothing if not boundlessly observant. After all, you’re just a girl. You would have noticed if your infuriating classmate had nice biceps that would have certainly softened the blow of his sudden betrayal in the lab yesterday.

Pretty privilege is alive and well, you can’t help but think.

Caleb, looking equally flustered, yanks the door halfway shut, reducing the view to just his face. His chest still heaves from whatever chaos had preceded your arrival.

“I, uh… um.” He blinks, clearly rebooting his internal system. His brain fries, and of course the first thing he can do is lean his elbow against the door frame while not-so-obviously flexing his much larger bicep in the process. “So… what’s up?”

Dragging your gaze up to meet his with only minor difficulty, you hold up the slightly charred notebook in your hands. “You left this in class. Rappaccini told me to bring it to you.”

Caleb reaches for it, and the moment his fingers graze the cover, his brows furrow. He flips it over, rubbing his thumb against the edge. A smudge of soot stains his hand.

“What… happened to it?”

You lift your shoulders, hands flying up in a gesture of pure innocence. “No clue. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Before he can properly assess the obvious fire damage, you straighten your posture. If you beat him to it, there’s a good chance that you’ll be able to walk away from this entire ordeal scot free.

Just… be civil. You can do that much.

“Are you not going to say thank you? I literally had to email your roommate to find out where you live. It was a total inconvenience.”

Or not.

Caleb presses his lips into a thin line, tossing the notebook onto his desk before giving you a barely-there nod. “Right. Thanks.”

His clipped tone does nothing to soothe your irritation. You’re actually starting to regret not letting the damn thing go up in flames. If it weren’t for Tara and her obnoxious morality complex, you would have.

“You’re welcome,” you say sweetly, pivoting to leave. But just before he can close the door, something crosses your mind. “Oh! By the way, I wrote my number in the margin.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. His grip on the door frame tightens. “What? For me?”

A beat of silence. Then, you burst into laughter, and the fact that he isn’t laughing with you makes it ten times funnier. You have to physically wipe the tears from your eyes before you can speak again.

“Oh, you’re serious?” you wheeze, still catching your breath. “God, no. It’s for Zayne.”

“For… Zayne?”

You nod. “Yup. I have biology with him.”

Caleb leans back slightly, like you’ve just personally offended his ancestors. “And? You have chem with me.”

You flash him an expression that Caleb can only assume is the most passive-aggressive smile known to mankind. “Mm-hmm. Well, maybe I want to get in kahoots with people who don’t sabotage my lab reports.”

Ouch. Caleb rubs the back of his neck, swallowing hard. “About that…”

“Save it,” you hum, turning to leave. “Just be a doll and relay the message, yeah?”

But just before you step away, your eyes flicker to his chest again—this time, with an exaggerated furrow of concern. “Wait a sec… what the hell is that? You should really get that nasty mole checked out.”

Caleb’s brows knit together. He instinctively glances down—

And just as his chin tilts, your hand smacks against it, forcing it back up. Your laughter is louder this time. Almost cruel.

“Too easy, this game,” you taunt, shaking your head.

You’re gone before he can do anything other than stand there, jaw slack, ears burning a shade of red that rivals a fire hydrant. How could you prank him with the easiest trick in the book? He rubs his chin, shaking his head in utter defeat as he nudges his door shut.

Yeah. He doesn’t like you one bit.

Before he can dwell on that fact, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): i woke up late and missed physics. can U slide me the notes for the past week? i also slept through those days too… btw Ur still coming to the frat car wash next saturday right ?? we need U bro. U brought in so many new customers

caleb: sure man :)

xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): the goat

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Sirens blare loud enough to wake you, their wailing cries bouncing off the buildings outside your window. The flashing of red and blue does little to ease your nerves—if anything, it invites the perfect storm of overthinking.

Your room is a mess. You haven’t eaten a balanced meal in days. A biology project is due next week. But above all? Midterms are rapidly approaching.

Lately, most of your days are spent holed up on the second floor of the library, tucked away in your usual corner seat. From there, you can people-watch from above and soak in just enough sunlight to keep from feeling like life is draining from you with each word you scribble down or type up. But after a while, even the comfort of routine turns into a cage.

It’s monotonous. Tiring. Far too predictable for your liking. If you don’t see at least one interesting thing each day—whether it’s someone walking their adorable dog or a person wearing a sweater so blindingly neon it makes your eyes hurt—you consider the day a waste. You still study, of course, but you need something of substance to fuel your brain. Something besides your bitter iced coffee, which barely manages to keep you conscious.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of your second midterm season settling into your bones. Maybe it’s the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. Whatever it is, it drives you to seek out a new place to study.

Is it 4 AM? Yes. Are the sirens especially loud tonight? Also yes. You can’t sleep. Sue you.

It makes perfect sense why you find yourself trudging into your university’s 24-hour café, headphones snug over your ears and meal card already in hand. Fuzzy pajama pants and an oversized hoodie hang off your frame, but if the cashier doesn’t care, neither do you. You’d be damned if you didn’t at least get your usual morning drink and a slice of banana bread to kickstart your day.

No more than an hour passes before the faint jingle of the entrance bell rings to life, prompting you to spare a glance over your shoulder, curiosity piqued.

Luck isn’t on your side. Of course it’s Caleb.

And he looks… different. Not in the way he did a few days ago—no, he looks worn. Tired. A bruise blooms across his cheek, stark even in the café’s dim lighting. You force yourself to look away before you can start ogling like a freak. Again.

But as he makes his way in your direction, you barely suppress a groan, turning back toward your laptop in a last-ditch effort to seem busy. It doesn’t work. Not when you feel the weight of his beady little amethyst stare boring into the back of your head.

You sigh, forcing a cheery tone. “Can you maybe not stand next to me looking like a decaying corpse? You’re going to attract flies.”

Caleb shrugs, managing to pick an almond off your banana bread before you slap his hand away. “You’re doing that on your own. Didn’t you hear? This café was infested with fruit flies last semester. Your perfume is basically a mating call for ‘em.”

You huff, tilting your head. “Aw. Is that your way of saying I smell nice?”

Rolling his eyes, Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. You notice a small cut on his bicep, but you do your best not to stare. You've done enough of that lately.

“No,” he flatly says. “I’m just… stating my observation.”

You turn back to your laptop, sliding your headphones over your ears. “Well, stop observing me.”

”Psh. Gladly.”

His actions are the first thing to betray his words, because he makes the executive decision to sit in the chair directly behind yours. He was sitting so damn close that you could feel the warmth of his skin through his hoodie—which you now notice is thrashed in a few places, as if he had taken scissors to the fabric and snipped away. It was odd, but you managed to look away as he shifted around to fish his own laptop out of his backpack.

Then, before you can finish typing the sentence you’d been working on before he walked in, he beats you to it. Obnoxiously so. His fingers slam against his keyboard with such force you briefly wonder if an elephant from the Linkon City Zoo has escaped and taken up tap dancing behind you.

Your teeth clench. “Can you stop typing so damn loud?”

“Oh, I’m not the loud one here.”

You glance over your shoulder, finding that he was already looking at you, “And that means what exactly?”

“It means that I could probably hear your music if I was three miles away.” With his new heightened senses, that was hardly an exaggeration. He gave you an all-too-charming smile. “Turn it down a few levels, yeah? Thanks.”

The lilt to his voice made you want to set him straight in more ways than one. “You little—”

“New Magic Wand by Tyler, The Creator at 4 AM is crazy work, by the way.”

“Boy, I’ll show you crazy—”

Suddenly, a chipper voice rings through the air. Much to your surprise, it called out your name.

Tara strides in as if you all aren’t up at the crack of dawn, looking incredibly enthusiastic about life, much like she always did. You wish you could inherit whatever will she has to live.

“Hey!” she greets with a wave. She plops down beside you, turning around in her seat so that she could face both you and Caleb at the same time. “Funny seeing you guys here. Are you talking about the fundraiser?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Why would we be talking about the fundraiser?” he can’t help but question.

“Well,” Tara sings, “my girl here is going to be helping out Delta Gamma with the sorority wash! And you’re going to be helping out Lambda Chi Alpha again this year, right?”

Caleb is almost positive that his heart has just dropped to his ass.

He looks between you and Tara. “What? She can’t come.”

You let out a short, annoyed breath. “And why can’t I?”

And he knows he sounds like a petulant child when he mutters, “It’s my thing.”

“Aw,” you coo, tilting your head with a forced pout. “Is it your thing? Womp womp.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, but you don’t care to see it as you lean toward Tara, lowering your voice as if you were telling her top secret information. “Why didn’t you tell me he would be there?”

“Because if I had, you would have totally refused,” she says matter-of-factly. “And we need you! We can’t let the guys bring in more revenue than us this semester, they held it over our heads for, like… months last time! Plus, I need you to combat him. I swear, he brought in more customers than anyone ever has, it’s no wonder Xavier begged him to do it again.”

You blink. “Are you serious?”

Tara nods.

You can’t help but rub your chin. “I’m surprised anyone paid him for that.”

Caleb glances between the two of you. “I’m sitting right here.”

You glance his way. “We know.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “Look. If you don’t want to see me there, don’t come. Real easy fix.”

You tilt your head, raising a brow. “Why do I have to be the one to cancel? Why can’t you just skip it? You already had your fun last year playing chick magnet or… whatever.”

“I can’t. I already made a commitment.”

“Well, so did I.”

“Perfect!” Tara beams, clasping her hands together. “I’ll see you both there then. This is gonna be sooo much fun, guys! You can probably even get over the little feud you have going on, I swear, it’ll be…”

Caleb can’t even hear the rest of whatever Tara was saying. His mind is too busy short-circuiting over this very dreadful realization.

You’ll be there.

In a bikini top.

Covered in soap suds.

Trying to pass him up yet again.

This was going to be a damn nightmare.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n consider liking, commenting, or rb if you enjoyed :) i’m sorry this update took so long </3 i got so swamped with my uni work and wasn’t entirely satisfied with the chapter sooo i pushed it off.

i know that this is lowkey a slow start with really short chapters and there isn’t much spider-man stuff going on rn but… trust me guys. just trust me.

also ofc there’s a xavier cameo bc that’s my man soooo i had to include him somehow, even if he’s just a sleepy frat boy

edit: if you don’t know what a frat/sorority wash is just look them up on tiktok LMAO, it’s usually shirtless frat guys and sorority girls in bikini tops who wash cars to raise money for their foundations. it’s just a silly college tradition idk 😭

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post!)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

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nerdy-novelist017 · 9 months ago

Note

Omg yay!! Ok obviously feel free to decline this since the subject matter could be rough for some people but, canon Benny’s reaction to what happened to Kathy was definitely my least fav part of the film and I need it to be rectified through fic🙏🏽. So could you write something about the aftermath of something like that happening to reader when her and Benny have been dating for a while? Im starved for caring and protective Benny unfortunately

Starve no more, anon ;) I have more protective Benny fics in the works! I made this one as a one shot to my Benny x Bunny series, hope that's okay! (This ISN'T the next part to Little Bunny! It's just a little one shot for after they're together ;) I'm working on getting the next part posted tonight!)

Word Count- 1.1k

Summary- Benny couldn't possibly want you after what almost happened, right?

TW- SA, 18+

*Please don't read if you are uncomfortable with the content!

Life Raft (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

Benny was going to be so upset with you.

Your hands shook from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You blinked and the tears burning your eyes threatened to spill over. Kathy’s hand rubbed the spot between your shoulder blades soothingly as she sat on the edge of the bed with you. Downstairs, you could hear the party wrapping up, Johnny and Funny Sonny trying to get everybody to leave. The party was over, too many bad things had happened for everyone to just pretend they didn’t see it, pretend they didn’t hear it.

You swallowed roughly, the events of the last hour still looping in your mind. The way his cold eyes raked over your body, the way he smiled sinisterly as you backed away. The course palm of his hand that wrapped around your throat, pinning you against the wall. His hot breath fanning across your mouth as his tongue invaded. His other hand going up your skirt, grazing the line of your panties.

You squeezed your eyes shut at that part. You had screamed, but Benny wasn’t there. Kathy wasn’t there. Zipco wasn’t there. Brucie wasn’t there. You were alone with this man, prey to this predator. And who even was this man? You hadn’t seen him before, even though he wore the colors you had been so used to seeing almost every day. More chapters were popping up everywhere and with it, came new faces to the parties, meetings and picnics. Strangers, dangerously prowling through the club now, waiting for opportunities of solitude to attack.

You had only left the bonfire for a moment, telling Benny that you were going inside to grab a soda from the fridge. They only ever had beer coolers outside by the fire. You would only be gone for a moment. But a moment was all this animal needed as he stalked into the kitchen after you.

You were alone and that realization sent ice through your veins. This animal could do whatever he wanted, and you were powerless to stop it.

And then suddenly Johnny was there, grabbing this man and throwing him away from you. You were stuck against the wall, frozen in fear as you watched Wahoo and Corky jump into the fight as well. The two dragged the man out of the room, heading for the back door.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Johnny asked, trying to make eye contact with your frantic gaze. He reached out slowly and pulled the hem of your dress back down to cover your trembling legs. “C’mon, let Kathy get you upstairs.”

You hadn’t even realized Kathy was there too now. She wrapped her arms around you, guiding you to the stairs.

“B—Benny?” You tried to ask and Johnny nodded.

“I’ll get him for ya,” he said, eyes empathetic.

That seemed to be hours ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. You weren’t sure; everything felt a little hazy. However long it was, Kathy never left your side, having planted herself next to you. You tried to say something to her, to thank her, but your throat was too dry and your mind too incoherent. You felt dirty and scared and you just wanted to go home.

Benny was going to be so upset with you.

Footsteps climbed the stairs and you stiffened at the sound. Benny appeared in the doorway and you wanted to sob. The man you wanted to run to, the man you wanted to hold you tight and carry you back to safety stood there, a dark expression on his face. With one look at Kathy, he dismissed her. She squeezed your arm gently.

“I’ll be right downstairs if ya need me,” she promised softly and then she was gone. Benny closed the door behind her and a heavy silence filled the bedroom.

Your heart raced as he moved to stand at the dresser across from you. You could see the tension radiating from him and you swallowed back any kind of hope for him to love you still.

“What happened?” he asked finally, his voice wavering with barely-controlled anger.

“I-I just wanted a pop. I just came in-inside and he—he . . . I couldn’t—couldn’t get away—” The words tumbled out of your mouth incoherently.

“Which one?”

You looked up at him through your tear-soaked lashes. “I—I don’t . . . Did Johnny not—”

“Johnny didn’t tell me who. Just told me . . .” His words died as he looked at the purple marks forming on your neck. His jaw clenched hard and he looked away from you. Your heart sunk at the action. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. He was so disgusted that he couldn’t even look at you. You could feel him slipping through your fingers and total desperation hit you like a wave. The ocean, you thought, that's what it felt like. You were lost in the middle of the ocean and a storm broke a nasty hole in your tiny ship. You were sinking, drowning in that vast, dark water.

The tears broke free from their dam and rolled down your cheeks as a sob caught in your throat. “I’m—I’m so sorry, B—Benny. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” He looked back at you but you couldn’t face his hard gaze.

Looking down at your lap, you cried. “Please don’t be upset with m—me. I’m sorry.”

He crossed the distance between you, lowering himself to his knees before you. You squeezed your eyes shut to avoid his gaze, heart shattering in your chest.

His warm hands enveloped yours tightly. “Bunny.”

Please don’t leave me here to pick myself up, you wanted to say. Please don’t abandon me to this darkness, I'm already drowning. I'm still me. I'm still your girl.

“Bunny, look at me.” His voice was so soft, just barely above a whisper.

You obeyed his gentle command. His face was inches below yours, eyes examining. Slowly, he lifted his hand and his fingertips ghosted over the bruises forming on your throat. His brows pinched together but his eyes were soft as they returned to yours. His fingers traveled over the curve of your jaw and up to swipe the heavy flow of tears from beneath your eyes.

“I could never be upset with you, Bunny," he whispered. “I could never.”

Your hands came up to grip his wrists as if he were a life raft holding you afloat. His hands, you realized, were shaking slightly and you held even tighter, anchoring him to you.

“I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. Angry that I wasn’t there to protect you.” His voice wavered, tears rimming his beautiful blue eyes. “I promised to always protect you and I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry, Bunny. I’m so, so sorry.”

Words failed you, but you never needed them for Benny. You threw your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. He reacted immediately, pulling you impossibly close as he moved to sit on the bed beside you. You cried, and he let you.

And when Johnny came to check on you, that’s how he found you: curled into your Benny's chest, his arms a protective shield from the rest of the world as he whispered into your ear, hands running gently through your hair. And Johnny knew that you’d be okay, because you had Benny. And Benny would be okay because Johnny and his boys had already taken care of the ex-Vandal who dared to lay a hand on their little bunny.

*Tag List *

@Imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer

#soft benny will be the death of me :(#benny cross #the bikeriders #austin butler #benny x bunny #benny cross x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders #benny cross x you #motorcycle #austin butler fandom #tom hardy #jodie comer #requests #asks

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gastersreturn · 2 months ago

Text

[GASTER'S RETURN CHAPTER 1] P.27/31

THE VERY BEGGINING

BEGGINING OF THE CHAPTER

Just some thoughts :

Finally ! Here they are !

I hope you like those pages, you get to learn a lot more about Aster here, about his way of thinking, of reacting to emotionally challenging situations, all those informations will be really really important for the rest of the story

Also, I don't know if I'm just having an Aster brainrot at this point after thinking about this AU every day since April, but I can't help but find him so freaking funny on those pages.

The way he's saying "My family forgot about me and I dunno why, that sucks, but that's a new thing to study yay :D" . His salty attitude toward Undyne at the end because she hurted his ego. His freaking socks.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who finds him funny here xD

You know the drill, next pages in a two weeks, for real this time ✨

Bye bye !

#gaster's return #utdr #undertale #undertale alternate universe #undertale comic #undertale au #undertale fandom #art #gaster #undertale gaster #gaster undertale #wd gaster #w d gaster #aster

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smartkookiee · 5 months ago

Text

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.2 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, fluff (tooth rot worthy), yay first date woohooooo, Jungkook having an immense knowledge about fish(like a nerd), rom com clichés left and right, cute Jungkook, early 2000’s rom com vibes??, kissing, drinking (if you squint), ❥word-count: 8.6k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

“I can’t believe you’re going out with him tomorrow.” Ronnie bumped her hip against yours as she sat down on your couch next to you, “And on a Sunday.”

It was the night after. Ronnie invited herself over to your place rather than planning to hang out, but it worked out because Jungkook took a quick step forward. he sent you a nice good morning text and asked if you were available tomorrow to go out. You had tried–really tried–to come up with any possible excuse to put off the date but alas fell short. So you agreed, you thought sooner this got started the sooner you could be done with it.

“Well we have to start somewhere.” Which wasn’t a lie, even so, Jungkook’s text was a surprise. “I actually didn’t expect him to act so soon.”

Ronnie laughed, clearly amused, “What are you guys going to do? Dinner? Dancing? Skydiving?”

“I don’t know.” You slumped back further into the cushions. “He said he was planning something. I made a jab about him not being a serious guy, and now he’s all, I’ll show you how serious I can be.”

“How serious he can be ? It’s a first date not a proposal.”

“We’ll see, I guess. Honestly, I have no idea how to go about this. I’m supposed to date him, but then, you know... gradually become annoying or crazy.” You gestured vaguely, not even sure what annoying or crazy would look like yet.

“I know just who can help with that.” Ronnie patted you on the knee and then immediately started typing frantically on her phone.

“Oh no.” You knew immediately what she was doing.

Twenty minutes later, a myriad of knocks came from your front door. Opening your door, and in walked Jin with a flourish, his signature grin plastered across his face. In one hand, he held a bottle of wine, and in the other, a notepad that looked suspiciously like it had been used for devious plans before. He paused dramatically in the doorway, like a game show host about to reveal a grand prize.

“I’ve been summoned.” Jin declared, his voice as grand as his entrance.

An already exhausted sigh leaves you, “Oh hi. So good to see you, come on in.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. You let your door close and you make your way back onto the couch next to Ronnie. Settling in for whatever Jin clearly had prepared

Jin had placed himself in the front of your living tiny living room, like he had prepared a full presentation just for this occasion. “I was told my assistance was needed so I am here to grant it.” He did a small bow before the two of you and you roll your eyes.

“Here we go.” You tease but Jin looked a little offended.

“You,” He hits your leg with his note pad, and your mouth falls open at the gesture. “My dear, have a tendency to stray from the goal. You’re going on a date with this guy–”

“You told him?” You gave a side eye to Ronnie, you were of course going to tell Jin but probably but maybe not till after the date had concluded. He had a tendency to meddle.

Innocently, Ronnie shrugged. “You need a strong team to help you, who better than Jin to have around.”

“Exactly.” Jin perked up and you decided to surrender and listen. “As your coach I am going to make sure we you to the end game…” He gestures to you like he is expecting and answer to the end of his sentence.

“To lose the guy in 30 days.”

“Correct !” Jin pulls a pen seemingly out of nowhere, Marking something down on his notepad. “One point for you.”

“Wait, we are getting points?” Ronnie perked up, her clear competitive side showing through.

“Indeed!” Jin confirmed with a grin, enjoying the theatrics. “Anyways—”

“Hold on.” You cut him off, curiosity getting the better of you. “What do we get if we win?”

Jin paused, clearly not expecting this twist. He groaned, tapping his pen against his chin, deep in thought. After a moment, he dramatically sighed. “Fine. I’ll buy your dinner next time we go out.”

“Deal.” You and Ronnie said in unison, sharing a knowing look. Giving each other a sportsmanlike handshake.

Jin waits for a moment like he is a teacher in class, “May I begin?” You and Ronnie both nod and settle back into the couch. “Firstly we need to go over your big rules for this.”

“Rules?”

“Important things to remember!” Jin cleared his throat. With a quick flip of his notepad, he glanced down, all business now. “Rule number one—”

“You made rules already?” You interrupt him again.

He cut you off with a finger to his lips, “Number one. We will not be falling in love with Jungkook .”

“I’m not going to fall in love with him. I don’t even know him!” You sit up with some protest.

Jin narrowed his eyes, his glare accusing. “You have a tendency to fall a little too easily for wit and charm! Remember, Jungkook is a serial fuck boy!” Jin paused for effect and turns around his notepad and underlines the note he has that says, in all caps: SERIAL FUCKBOY. Followed by other rules and scribbles along the rest of the page.

Ronnie let’s out a little laugh and you resign yourself back, “Okay fair point.”

“What’s the first rule?” Jin repeats pointing his pen back at you.

“We will not fall in love with Jungkook!” Ronnie raises her hand but blurts it out and you just huff a little. Although this rule was fair, you knew it but it didn’t feel great to be called out on it.

“Point to Ronnie. Rule number two.” Jin waves his pen around in the air like its a wand, “Be annoying at any given opportunity but not too annoying. So sending too many texts, memes, calling him at inappropriate times.”

“Or calling one too many times!” Ronnie added on to the end of his statement.

“Half point for adding an idea.” Jin scribbled on his pad for a moment.

You scratched the side of your head, feeling a twinge of discomfort. “Okay, this one might actually be hard.”

Jin arched a brow. “Why?”

You shifted a little, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “I don't like to... overbear myself. I usually let people have their space, give them time... It’s just not who I am.”

Jin clicked his tongue, wiggling his finger at you like a disappointed parent. “This is why you need to fight your people-pleasing instincts! A delicate task, but one you must master.”

You sighed, already feeling anxiety welling in your chest from the internal battle in your mind. “I know, I know. I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” Jin praised, patting your head dramatically. “If it’s too hard, just let one of us take over. We’ve got no skin in the game, so we can be as obnoxious as we want.” He gestured to himself and then Ronnie, who had an evil expression across her face.

“I’ll take any opportunity to torture a man.” Ronnie wiggled her eyebrows at you, and nudged her with your shoulder.

Jin clapped his hands together, refocusing the energy in the room. “Now, what’s rule number two?”

“Be annoying at any given opportunity.” You sigh and repeat it back to him.

“Point to Y/N.” Jin marked down on his notepad again, “Rule number three. This is not going to be a serious relationship. Period.”

“This is a rule?”

“More like a reminder.” Jin looked a little more serious, “You have a tendency to fall into the I can fix him trap. That is not the case here, this guy does not want anything long term. So you have to avoid your natural attachment instincts.”

“As well as your situation will be starting on false pretenses.” Ronnie pointed out, which was true. All of this was starting on a lie. An experiment.

“Okay that’s fair.”

Funny enough though, this is the most detached you had ever felt going into a first date. Other first dates you had been really nervous or really excited and you were thinking through every word and every touch a little too deeply. This time felt totally laid back and different. Like it might be easy and you could keep yourself from falling into your usual habits.

“Rule number three?” Jin waved, waiting for the answer.

Both you and Ronnie repeated at the same time, “This is not going to become a serious relationship.”

“Point to you both.”

The game continued for a while, with Jin rattling off a mixture of absurd, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful rules. Some had you rolling your eyes, others made you laugh. There was something about the way Jin played this out—keeping you focused on the goal without letting the seriousness of it weigh you down.

In the back of your mind, you realized what he was doing. Jin was good at that, pulling you out of your overthinking spiral and making everything feel lighter. It wasn’t about figuring out all the answers now—it was just a date. All the complicated stuff? You could deal with that later. He had this way of turning every dilemma into something manageable, even fun.

Jungkook wasn’t some life-altering mystery; he was just a random guy. By the end of this, it would be nothing but a funny story. One of those "remember when" tales you'd laugh about in the future. Difficult? Maybe. But funny? Definitely.

However much you were planning a sabotage, Jungkook was trying to plan the greatest first date ever. Except it wasn’t going quite as planned. Jungkook had not been on a real first date in years. What did people do on first dates anymore?

“Fun things to do on first dates… reddit.” Jungkook muttered to himself, typing on his phone.. Hoseok didn’t quite hear what Jungkook was mumbling and looked over his shoulder to see what he was searching for.

“Don’t tell me you are consulting reddit for date ideas.” He chuckled but stopped when he realized how serious Jungkook looked. “Dude, come on. Since when do you care this much about a first date?”

Jungkook groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t remember the last time I was on a real one, Hobi. It’s been... a while. Every 'date'I’ve been on, we both knew what it was about. No expectations.” He frowned at his phone, closing the tab in frustration. “I don’t want it to be lame.”

“If I didn’t know you better I would think you cared or something.” Hoseok pinched Jungkook’s cheek with some exaggerated affection, but Jungkook pushed him away.

“Well that’s the thing. We have to be able to talk and get to know each other. Which I suck at.” To Hoseok, Jungkook actually looked to be concerned and it seemed important. Hoseok would almost believe Jungkook wanted to prove a bigger point by winning this bet against Jimin and Taehyung.

“And usually you spend your time what… not really talking?” Hoseok thought but felt stupid for even questioning it. “Right. I forgot who I was talking too.”

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, okay, I get it. I don’t exactly… excel in the conversation department.”

“Excel in other things apparently.” Hoseok laughed and Jungkook rubbed his face out of frustration.

“Well now I need to change my ways.” Jungkook groaned a little before thinking, “You know, a really good friend would help me in my time of need.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Hoseok looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the pleading. “No way. I’m not getting sucked into that ridiculous group bet you guys cooked up. I have standards, you know.” Hoseok held his ground, knowing he will fold if he saw Jungkook’s pathetic face. Jungkook was giving him that sad little pouty face anyways.

“Please Hobi. I’ll owe you big time.” Jungkook whined and shook Hoseok by the shoulders. "Plus you are great on first dates.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You always have these great date stories. You’re really good at this stuff.” Jungkook settled back and let Hoseok go.

Hoseok sighed and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re not as hopeless as you think, you know. You’re just out of practice.”

Jungkook instantly perked up. “I knew you couldn’t resist helping me.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, but this is the last time I will help you with any of this.” Hoseok gave a warning finger to Jungkook, “I’m only doing this for this poor girl.”

“Deal.” Jungkook nodded quickly, ready to move on, but Hoseok wasn’t done.

“Be honest with me though.” Hoseok’s tone was even more serious now and Jungkook gave his full attention, “Are you going to tell this girl the truth when this is all over? It’s messed up if you’re just dating her to win the money and then dump her.”

Jungkook froze for a second. The thought hadn’t fully crossed his mind in detail before now, which in itself, was a red flag. He had been so focused on the logistics of the bet and the potential payoff that he hadn’t considered the real impact on you. A real person with real feelings, which was fucked up that he hadn't thought about that first. Which, made him kind of a huge dick by default.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll be completely honest once it’s all over. And then… she can decide what she wants to do.” “Okay… just feels really shitty. If you are only dating her for the money.” Hoseok pointed out, not fully convinced by Jungkook’s statement.

Jungkook bit his lip. Hoseok had a point, and now that it was out in the open, it ate at him. The bet really felt harmless in nature. A chance to see if Jungkook was even built for dating anymore. The money was a nice bonus, sure, and getting to date an attractive woman didn’t hurt either. But now, he was starting to see the faults in all of this.

It had been… longer than he liked to admit since he’d dated someone seriously. Even longer since he’d genuinely liked someone. He didn’t want this to turn into some shallow game where feelings got stomped on in the process.

“I promise I am going to give this a real shot. Beyond the money. I will be as real as I can be.” Jungkook was sure and confident in his answer. Even if he wasn’t so confident in how he was feeling about dating again.

Hoseok studied Jungkook for a moment, but found he was satisfied with the answer. “Who knows maybe this will turn out really good for you. If you take it seriously, maybe this could be something really great.”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Day 1

Leaving the train station, all the nerves you thought you didn’t have about all of this rushed through you. Your heart thudded in your chest as you made your way up unfamiliar streets. You checked in with Jungkook this morning about the plan and he had sent you and the address to what looked to be a cafe. That’s what you’d seen when you pulled it up on Maps, and yet, it felt like more than just a casual coffee date. A sense of unease tugged at you.

You had tried subtly fishing for details earlier, asking what you should wear, but he only responded vaguely with a simple ‘dress nice’. No clues. Just…nice. So, you were left to mull over your wardrobe, trying not to overthink it, but of course that did not work.

Yesterday, you had convinced yourself this would be no big deal , but now? It felt like you were walking yourself into a trap you laid yourself. Yes this was for work but you couldn’t help but feel so strange with all of it. You had to keep reminding yourself, this was all business. This is for your professional career.

It was the only thing that kept you grounded, instead of daydreaming.

When you rounded the final corner and spotted the café, your stomach did a sharp flip. There he was, Jungkook. Standing by the door, leaning ever so casually against the wall. He looked different, so different that for a second, you almost didn’t realize it was him. He wasn’t the guy you’d run into casually at the bar anymore. No, he looked polished. Adult.

He wore a pair of well-tailored black slacks that hugged his hips, and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, showing off his tattoos in a way that made your heart skip. You didn’t really see his tattoos at the bar so now you had a chance to actually see them.

Two buttons were left undone at the top, and you caught a glimpse of a silver chain against his skin. His dark hair, usually so relaxed, was flipped out at the ends, styled deliberately but effortlessly. He had on sunglasses, so you couldn’t quite read his expression.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Because this Jungkook and the Jungkook at the bar were suddenly two completely different people. Jungkook at the bar was a guy you could easily mess with… this Jungkook… was exactly your type.

Shit.

You pull out your phone and send a frantic text.

:ABORT!

Ronnie: The date hasn’t even started!

Ronnie: YOU CAN DO THIS!

:I can’t. He cleaned up. You were right I can’t do this.

Ronnie: NO

Ronnie: REMEMBER YOUR RULES

This is not a serious relationship. You will not fall in love with Jungkook. He is a serial fuck boy.

You could hear Jin’s words clearly in your mind. So clearly in fact, but another part of your mind and heart were speaking a little louder. That little part of you that liked that he put some thought into how he dressed for this. He actually took careful consideration into how he should present himself for you. It made that little pink heart of yours flutter with excitement.

Snap out of it. He’s just a guy.

You shake your head, and ground yourself. You are a writer. You are doing this in the name of research and science. You can do this. This is just a date. A date.

You force one foot in front of you, walking over to him, “Jungkook.” Flashing your best smile and give a small wave, the one you hope masks the unease swirling in your stomach.

Jungkook’s eyes snap up to meet yours, and his entire face lights up with a warm, easy grin that disarms you for a moment. He pushes a hand through his hair, letting the dark strands fall effortlessly back into place.

Jungkook found himself a little disarmed as well. He had gotten a lot of tips from Hoseok the night before about how he should act and carry himself if he wanted to do this right… but he didn’t expect you to look so cute. You’re dressed in something simple—casual but still pretty. Your smile was so warm and inviting he immediately felt that desire to pull any of his usual lines, but he fought that urge.

This is not a hookup, this is a real date.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” Jungkook says, his tone teasing. “I thought for sure you’d ditch me.”

You force a laugh, though it’s a little shaky, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your nerves are still very much present. “Had to see for myself if you could actually step up.”

He chuckles and steps back, spreading his arms out to his sides as if presenting himself for inspection. His confidence is palpable, and it makes it worse? Better? No, definitely worse. “Told you I could take this seriously.”

And he had. Hoseok actually decided Jungkook should go for dressy but simple. Simpler the better. Means you are seeing him and not a façade. Hoseok had warned him to not carry himself too high because it could come off as arrogant. So he retreated from his normal confident stance, trying to pull his natural instinct back a bit. Why was this so hard?

“That’s for me to judge.” You say, lifting your chin and tilting your head at him playfully. “Date’s barely begun.”

“Well,” Jungkook held the cafe door open for you, “I thought a quick coffee and a short train ride wouldn’t hurt to start.”

“Do I get to know where we are going now?”

“Now why ruin the magic?” Jungkook's tone is a little more flirtatious now. You couldn’t help it when it makes you blush, but you try to shake it off.

The two of you grabbed your drinks to-go and quickly left the café, heading toward the train station. The conversation so far had been light—small pleasantries exchanged, but nothing too deep. It felt like you were both easing into the moment, cautiously testing the waters. Jungkook, however, was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping things moving, keeping the energy up. He seemed determined to make sure this date went well, as if he had something to prove—not just to you, but maybe even to himself.

The city blurred past the windows, concrete and steel flashing by, though your mind wasn’t really on the view. The train rumbled beneath your feet, the soft hum of people chattering fading into the background. You were acutely aware of Jungkook standing so close, his presence hard to ignore.

“So here we are.” Jungkook said with a small smirk, leaning in just enough to catch your eye.

“Here we are.” You echoed, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I know we’ve got to do the usual first-date dance.” He continued, taking a casual sip of his drink. “So feel free to ask me whatever you want.”

“Anything?” You muse, sensing an opportunity for fun.

“Anything at all,” Jungkook replied, mirroring your playful tone. “I’m a completely open book.”

You paused for a beat, keeping the moment light. “Alright, let’s start simple. Job?”

“Engineer.” He replied confidently. “You?”

“Writer.” Your response was met with a raised brow from him.

“Very interesting.” Jungkook remarked, almost like he hadn’t expected that answer.

You tilted your head slightly. “How so?”

“I just don’t meet many writers. Journalist?”

“Correct.” You nod, impressed with his deduction. “Okay, your turn. Hobbies?”

Jungkook's eyes brightened at the question, and he leaned in a little closer, his hand still gripping the pole above. “Photography.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? What kind of work do you do?”

“Street photography.” He shot you a grin, clearly pleased. He didn’t get to talk about his photography very much these days. “Mostly just day to day things. People living their lives or things that I find pretty. I like how raw it feels.”

He didn’t think he would be sharing this but Hoseok did say he should be less afraid to share the more vulnerable sides of his personality.

“That’s... actually really cool.” You admitted, genuinely impressed. It was clear this hobby wasn’t just for show. It was something he cared about. “Do you ever share your work?”

He looked down for a moment, a shy laugh escaping him. “Not really. I mean, I’ve shown a few to close friends, but it’s more for me. A way to... I don’t know, relax, I guess. Focus.”

You hadn’t realized it but you had become so laser focused on him now. You shook your head and had to remind yourself to come back to reality. Remember, he’s only saying these things to impress you; it’s not real.

Jungkook continued, “What about you?”

“Painting. It’s a new hobby so I’m really terrible.” You laugh thinking about your really sad first attempt at watercolor sitting on your coffee table at home. You had tried to just do a simple flower but it definitely looks like a little creature instead.

“Anything I could see?”

“God no.” You laugh a little too loud and embarrassed, “Trust me they are terrible.” You pause for a second and think, “Okay, how about your favorite food?”

“Easy. Fried chicken.” His answer was quick, like it was non-negotiable. “Yours?”

“Pasta. Any kind, really.”

“Oh I make a really good carbonara.” He threw the comment out there seeing if you would bite.

“Is this your invitation for a second date?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“We’ll have to find out.”

You brush past his comment, “What’s the last movie you watched?”

“Interstellar. ”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not bad. So you’re into space stuff?”

“Who isn’t?” Jungkook's expression softened, eyes glinting with a bit of excitement. “You?”

“10 things I hate about you. ”

“Romance fan?”

“I’m a sucker for a good love story.” You shrug.

Jungkook laughed, glancing around the train as if to make sure no one else was eavesdropping on your banter. “Alright, one more from me: What’s something people don’t know about you?”

You leaned back in your seat, tapping your chin like you were really pondering it. “I’m embarrassingly bad at bowling.”

Jungkook laughed again, his grin wide and easy. “Awe so you’re saying our second date should be bowling?”

“Only if you’re okay with watching me throw gutter balls all night.” You teased.

“I’ll just have to teach you.” Jungkook quipped, his flirtation bubbling back to the surface. The playful tension between you building.

Jungkook was surprised at himself, because he was actually good at this. Keeping things light, fun, yet somehow engaging enough to make you feel at ease. The back-and-forth flowed effortlessly, and before you knew it, the train slowed for your stop.

“So how am I doing so far?” Jungkook asked, as you both hopped off the train.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, drawing out the silence to keep him in suspense. Humming, you finally raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, the coffee’s good, so points there.” You mused, “But the scenery? It's left a lot to be desired.” You joke, gesturing subtly to the less-than-charming view from the train window.

“Well our next location will have a much better view I promise.” Jungkook assured, chewing on his lip.

Before long, the two of you arrived at your destination—the aquarium. To your surprise, despite the cliché of an aquarium being a typical first-date spot, there was something about it that immediately felt special. Jungkook had already secured the passes online, casually pulling them up on his phone as you neared the entrance. His relaxed demeanor seemed to contrast with your initial nerves, but seeing him here, comfortable in a place like this was calming in itself.

“I’ve never been here, actually.” You observed, taking in the murals that adorned the entrance. Sea creatures, some extinct and some from modern day stretched up toward the high ceilings. It was both beautiful and intriguing, the imagery setting the tone for what lay inside.

Jungkook followed your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips as he leaned a little closer. “Well, you’re in good hands. You’re with the foremost aquarium expert in the city.” He said with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid, so I can probably tell you more about the fish than the staff can.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his confidence. “Oh? A fish expert, huh? I’m expecting a seriously educated tour then. I want to walk away knowing everything about aquatic life.”

Jungkook chuckled, his grin widening. “Trust me, by the time we leave, you’ll be able to name at least three species of jellyfish without googling it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “That’s quite the promise.”

Jungkook then guided you inside, the cool, dimly lit interior of the aquarium enveloped the both of you, contrasting sharply with the bright, bustling world outside. The gentle hum of water filtering through the tanks that expanded both walls of the exhibit, mixed with the occasional murmur of other visitors, created a serene atmosphere. It was pretty busy, most with other families and some teenagers running around. Jungkook led the way confidently through everyone, his playful energy still very present, but with an ease that was contagious.

Jungkook caught a glimpse of your profile as you took in the vibrant sea creatures. She looks intrigued, he thought. His heart raced a little, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe I’m doing a good job so far.

“Alright, let’s start here,” He pointed towards the first exhibit, a massive floor-to-ceiling tank filled with vibrant schools of tropical fish darting through the corals. “Fun fact—most of these fish are native to the Indo-Pacific region.”

“Impressive,” You say, glancing between him and the fish, already intrigued. “What else?”

Jungkook’s grin widened as he launched into an impromptu lecture about the ecosystem of coral reefs, his enthusiasm making it hard not to be drawn in. As much as you were supposed to be trying to find little annoyances for your plan, you couldn’t help but enjoy the flow of the conversation. It didn’t feel forced. Instead, it was comfortable—lighthearted, but surprisingly informative.

“Okay, okay.” You interrupted at one point, leaning slightly into him as you looked up at the jellyfish exhibit. The tank glowed softly with blue and purple lights, jellyfish gracefully floating like little underwater ghosts. “What about these? Teach me about jellyfish, Mr. Expert.”

“Ah, jellyfish,” Jungkook said dramatically, pausing like he was about to unveil a great mystery. “Jellyfish have what are called hydrostatic skeletons.”

“And what are those?” You blinked, you expression clearly saying you had no idea what that meant.

“They have no bones, they have circular muscles and they have to contract their muscles to move along the ocean.” He nodded. “There is also a species that is essentially immortal. Turritopsis dohrnii. They can reset to their juvenile form after reaching maturity, which allows them to avoid dying of old age. So, yeah, immortal jellyfish.”

You stared at him for a second, half-expecting him to say he was joking, but the serious expression on his face told you otherwise. “Okay, that’s actually super cool. You weren’t kidding when you said your probably know more than the staff.”

As the two of you wandered through the aquarium, it surprised you how easily the conversation flowed between the both of you. Jungkook pointed out different fish, talked about their unique traits, and asked you questions too, like what your favorite animal was or whether you had any pets growing up. It didn’t feel like an interrogation, but more like a genuine curiosity, and that put you more at ease.

You reached the penguin exhibit, and Jungkook stopped in front of the glass, his eyes lighting up as a group of penguins waddle by. “Penguins are the best.” He declared, “They mate for life, you know?”

“Now that I did know. I’ve seen the march of the penguins.” To be fair is was when you were extremely young and that may be the only fact you could pull from the movie.

“I used to sit here and watch the penguins for hours. I just thought they were so cool when they would slide along on their bellies.” Jungkook mused and realized he had been guiding the conversation for a while now. “Seriously stop me anytime though. I can go on and on about animal facts.”

“Don’t stop! I think it’s cute.” You said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. The moment felt light and playful, and you liked it.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” Jungkook smirked, wiggling his brows. The thought sent a flutter through your chest, and you felt heat creeping up your cheeks.

“Or just a nerd.” You pull yourself away in front of the exhibit and start to press on to the next section. “Come on geek!”

It was hard to remember you were supposed to be finding ways to be annoying or difficult when things were going this smoothly. Maybe Jin and Ronnie would have to help more with that later because, right now, this was actually...fun. More fun than you had expected.

As you both continued on through the aquarium, the awkwardness that often accompanies first dates seemed to be non existent. By the time you reached the final exhibit—an enormous tank filled with sharks and stingrays gliding overhead. It surrounded the entire room and there were section you could go and stand and watch fish swim above you. You and Jungkook found a nice spot to sit and to just watch. You had a found a fascination with a rather large stingray floating around the tank.

“I’m in heavy anticipation for your shark facts.” You kick your feet back and forth and glance to your side at Jungkook who was enraptured with the tank.

“Maybe not a fun fact, but hammerheads will trap sting rays with their heads to the seafloor to catch and eat them.”

“Huh,” He was correct, not so fun but still interesting, “I always wondered what their heads were good for.”

Jungkook hummed, a smile on his face. He had started the day nervous but he felt so comfortable now. The aquarium was actually Hoseok's idea, told Jungkook he should go somewhere where he could be at ease and maybe show off a little bit. Now showing off fish facts may have been unconventional, it was working here. You seemed to be really enjoying yourself, and laughing at most of his little jokes.

In that moment of silence, as he observed a sleek shark swim by, he glanced over at you, his voice softening. “So, how am I doing so far? Honestly.”

You looked at him, taking a beat before answering. “Well, I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to actually be this...interesting.” You teased, keeping it light. “But you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression. “Surprised you in a good way, I hope?”

It was good, but horribly horribly bad. Because you weren’t sure if you could go through with this, Jungkook was nice and goofy. He took you somewhere he clearly really enjoyed and spent his day trying to make you laugh and smile. It was one of the best first dates you had been on in a long time. Maybe Jin had the completely wrong idea about Jungkook? Maybe this was all a mistake? Maybe you could find something real with Jungkook.

You would have to find a different guy for your experiment, not ideal but you admittedly were already having a small crush on Jungkook. A small voice in the back of your mind was screaming, I told you so. I knew you couldn’t do this. You are too much of a gooey romantic to pull this off.

“Good so far.” You smile, and turn your body to face him, “Okay, ask me anything you want. My turn to be an open book.”

“Oh really?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow but also adjusted to face you. “Okay. What made you become a writer?”

“Oh, good question.” You thought for a moment, “I used to be a mini reporter when I was younger. I used to dress up like an old 40’s style detective or journalist and I would write news stories about things happening in my neighborhood.”

“Did you pick up anything juicy?”

You shook your head, laughing at the memory. “Not at all. It was usually just anything I saw happen. Like breaking news: Ryan fell off his bike, or Mrs. Johnson bought apples and milk from the store. It was never anything groundbreaking, but I loved it.” Excitement seeped into your tone. “As I got older, I realized I liked reporting and journalism of any kind, even trashy magazine writing. I just wanted to be one of them. Have my name on something like that.”

Jungkook listened intently, fascinated. He found himself wrapped up in how animated and alive you looked talking about your passion. He admired the way your hands danced through the air as you spoke, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to picture you living out your dreams, pen in hand, telling the stories of the world.

“So what are you writing now?” Jungkook wanted to hear more, hear more about what made you excited.

You paused, because even though Jungkook didn’t know, that was a heavy question. “The promotion I mentioned the other night? I’m getting promoted from research to an actual writer for the magazine I’m at.”

Jungkook eyebrows shot up, “That’s incredible.”

“I know. It’s a huge deal and the piece I’m working on is… well.” You chewed on your lip, “It’s a research heavy piece and requires me to go out and do some actual field work.”

“I want to read it when it’s done.” Jungkook had a genuine smile on his face and he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since you started. You had just now noticed and all of those first date nerves came bubbling up in you.

“Oh, no.” You let out a breathy laugh, “It’ll be just a silly little think piece when it’s done.”

“So?” Jungkook tilted his head trying to meet your eyes, “I want to be your first reader when it’s published. Then I can walk around and brag about it.”

You nervously laugh to yourself, “I’ll make sure you get the first copy.”

Even though inside you were thinking, absolutely no way in hell is that happening .

“Perfect,” He said, nodding eagerly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, your gaze drifting back to the mesmerizing display of fish swimming above. You couldn’t help but feel lighter.

“So what do you think your ultimate goal as a writer is?” It surprised you little when he continued, you didn’t think he would want to know more about it.

“I think…” You said for a moment, watching a school of fish go by in the glass. “I want to be a funny writer but also someone who makes you think. I want my work to feel real but also force you to really examine yourself.”

“Well when you get famous and stuff,” Jungkook stood from his seat, “I get to say I knew you.” He extended a hand out to you. He hadn’t offered his hand the entire date, but he felt like now was appropriate.

You stared at it for a moment, he’s just helping you up that’s all, then you slipped your hand into his and stood with him. So to your own surprise, he didn’t let you go. Jungkook laced his fingers into yours, and it made your heart race in your chest. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Now we still have plenty of other things left to see.” With a swift movement Jungkook began to pull you along into the rest of the aquarium.

You both bounced around exhibits you had already seen and joked around a lot along the way. Jungkook also had plenty of more fish facts to throw out when you would encounter something you may have missed before. After a while the both of you managed to make it back to the front of the aquarium and found the gift shop.

“Oh these are cute.” You pull up a pair of tiny penguins that had magnets in the fins that held them together. “I think you can split them up so you can give one to someone.”

“That’s really cute.” Jungkook really wasn’t looking at anything, he was having more fun watching you look around at the items. Everything is a bit too overpriced.

You had a thought in mind, and took the penguins up to the counter. After the cashier rang you up and you took the penguins out of their package and gave one to Jungkook. He looked confused.

“One for you.” You smiled, “For such a nice first date.”

“They mate for life, you can’t split them up.” Jungkook fake pointed and you rolled your eyes, you eye the pocket on the front of his button up and tucked the penguin into his pocket. It fit perfectly so the head was sticking out.

You giggle a little at it and Jungkook smiles at your amusement, you then stick the other penguin to the shirt to see if the magnets would still stick and to your surprise they do indeed stick together. Jungkook also laughs at the gesture and then hands the other penguin back to you.

As Jungkook handed you the second penguin, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at his playful smile. It felt like a little secret shared between the two of you, an inside joke that was unique to this moment. You turned the penguin over in your hands, admiring the tiny details.

“These little guys can be a reminder of our first adventure together,” You said, glancing up at him. “Every time I see mine, I’ll think of you and all your random fish facts.”

“I knew all of this aquatic knowledge would come in handy someday.”

The both of you made your way out to the entrance of the aquarium. You weren’t even really sure what time it was but the sun was starting to set and it was raining outside to both of your surprise. You and Jungkook had been so wrapped up in the day you hadn't even thought to even check your phones or check the weather for the day. Jungkook hadn’t either, he really hadn’t expected to enjoy himself this much but here he was. He really didn’t want the date to end.

“We might have to make a run for the subway.” Jungkook glanced out the windows, it was really coming down hard now.

“I’m so going to get sick.” You laugh, but with some confidence and you push the exit door open, stepping into the rain and looking back waiting for Jungkook to follow. The rain hitting you and icy cold hug made you gasp.

Jungkook laughed too, the sound brightening the dreary weather. Without a second thought, he dashed out into the rain after you, grabbing your hand as you both braved the elements. The rain was relentless, and you quickly found yourselves sprinting up the street toward the nearest subway station.

The air was crisp, and the rain felt like little stinging needles against your skin. “Definitely an unexpected twist for a first date.” You called to him, the sound of the rain a little deafening.

“What do you mean? Running in the rain? It’s a totally rom com cliché.” Jungkook calling back to your love for romance movies.

The both of you kept moving but began to shiver a little bit. The only heat between the both of you coming from your hands wrapped in each other.

The both of you could see the station just up ahead. The both of you tried to keep a quick pace so you could get in and catch the train. You and Jungkook and you spot a puddle you both try to gracefully jump over, but the slickness of the ground betraying Jungkook. He slips a little and almost takes you with him. laughter spilled from your lips, mixing with the sound of rain splashing against the pavement. It was pure chaos, but it felt exhilarating. Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at you, and for a moment, all the worries of the world faded away.

“An interesting way to close out the date.” You try wiping away some water from your face but it was useless at this point. “My outfit is definitely ruined.”

“I don’t know, I think the wet look is in.” His hair was sticking to the side of his face and forehead, he was clearly shivering but was still managing to have a boyish grin on his face. As you both reached the subway entrance, you paused, leaning against the wall, your laughter dying down into soft giggles. The rain still poured down around you, but it felt different now—intimate, almost magical. Jungkook’s eyes were bright, his expression softening as he looked at you.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The world around you blurred, and it felt like it was just the two of you in that cocoon of raindrops and laughter. Despite the biting chill of the rain soaking through your clothes, a warmth blossomed within you, igniting a spark that felt impossibly bright. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Jungkook stepped a little closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. You felt your own gaze drawn to his, mesmerized by the way his pink lips glistened in the dim light, kissed by the rain. He looked so cute, his expression a mix of surprise and delight. Before you could think about it, you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his.

Initially, Jungkook seemed taken aback, but the moment was electric, and he quickly melted into the kiss. What had started as a tentative peck transformed into something more quickly. He responded with surprising warmth, his hand gently cradling your cheek as he kissed you again, pulling you closer as if he wanted to shield you from the cold.

That kiss was sweet and tender, a balm against the rain. The warmth spread through you, wrapping around your heart like a cozy blanket.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your cheeks flushed from both the cold and the moment. Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and happiness, a wide smile breaking across his face.

“I’m pretty sure kissing in the rain is the biggest cliché of them all.” Jungkook broke the tension in the air and made you roll your eyes, you taking his hand again and pulling him into the station.

You both managed to make it to your train in time. You weren’t sure if Jungkook also lived this direction but he was coming with you nonetheless. The two of you were leaving puddles behind the both of you everywhere you went.

When you got off at the right station you realized how hungry you actually were now. Starving in fact, you and Jungkook had been so wrapped up in the aquarium food was the last thing on your mind, “Are you hungry?”

“Really hungry actually.” Jungkook was now realizing he was beginning to fade away with the lack of food.

“You want to get something to eat?”

The two of you found the closest place you could find to eat nearby and there was a crowded restaurant. The two of you managed to get a table really easily and settled it. You both got a series of weird looks at the state the two of you were in, but the two of you didn’t really care.

As you excused yourself to the bathroom, your heart was still racing from the high of the day. You needed a moment away from the intensity, a breath of space to gather your thoughts. The date had been so easy, so natural. Nothing like what you’d imagined when you first got involved in this whole thing. But you couldn’t let yourself get lost in the fantasy.

Once inside the bathroom, you didn’t even bother to check the mirror. You pulled out your phone, pacing frantically as you called Ronnie and Jin, knowing they’d be waiting for an update.

“Guys,” You blurted out, your voice low but panicked, “I can’t go through with this. I swear he’s just… a regular guy. This isn’t what we thought!”

There was a pause before Jin’s voice came through loud and clear. “Bad writer!” He scolded you. “Do not waver now. He’s playing you, just like we suspected.”

“I’m telling you, Jin, it feels real. The way he’s acting… he’s not some player. This all feels too genuine.” You caught your reflection in the mirror and grimaced, frustrated with yourself for even saying it out loud.

Ronnie chimed in, clearly less invested in your emotional rollercoaster, but supportive nonetheless. “Sounds too good to be true if you ask me. Stay strong, Y/N. This guy’s probably a master at making things feel real. That’s what they do. You’ve got this.”

You sighed, adjusting your hair with your free hand as you continued pacing. “You guys aren’t here with me! You didn’t see him today—he’s been amazing. It’s not like other dates where it’s all surface-level stuff. We were wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.” Jin insisted with that trademark smugness of his. “Trust me, his true colors will show soon. Stick to the plan.”

With a little more argument. They forced you to not give up and continue, Jin convinced he is still right about Jungkook.

They didn’t see him today though.

You rejoined Jungkook back at your booth and you were sitting right next to each other. Jungkook was typing on his phone, which managed to survive the downpour. You were also surprised that your phone somehow managed to survive it. Right now though, Jin and Ronnie were completely blowing it up with messages following your call.

“What is it?” Jungkook’s curiosity gets the better of him, glancing at your phone briefly but then looking away.

You shake your head, “Nothing my friends were just worried about me because I wasn’t responding. They thought you might have murdered me or something.” A lie but it would disarm his curiosity.

“How do they know you haven’t killed me?” Jungkook jokes, and you smiled.

You shrug and set your phone down on the table. “Nights still young. That could very well happen.”

“Fun.” Jungkook laughed at your obvious sarcasm. “I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook placed his phone down next to yours and excused himself away. Probably to go to the bathroom. You felt a warm glow in your chest just from the day. Everything was so nice and so fun, and easy. Jungkook was not what you were expecting, he probably wasn’t what your friends thought either.

It would be just your luck to accidentally pick a really great guy.

Or so you hoped.

At that moment a buzz came from the table and you thought it came from your phone since Jin and Ronnie were continuing to blow up your phone with reminders to stick to the plan. You glanced down and in an instant you wish you hadn’t. You really wished you hadn’t. Because the text did not come from your phone, it came from Jungkook's phone.

It wasn’t a text from just a friend either.

You looked away as fast as you saw it but it immediately brought you back to reality.

Hey baby, are you free tonight? I really want to do that thing again…

You really wished you hadn’t looked. You didn’t even register the name because you flipped Jungkook's phone over. For a moment, everything inside you froze. It felt like someone had just yanked you out of a dream, dropping you back into reality with a crash. The words, the suggestive tone—it wasn’t just a friendly text. This was someone else, someone calling him “baby”, someone who clearly thought they had plans with him tonight.

Because this is who he was, and why you set all those rules.

Of course Jungkook was texting another girl. Because that is the guy he is. He could be dreamy all day long but this was his nature. Not whatever façade he put on for your benefit today. For a second, your mind spun with questions: Who was she? What did they do? But no matter how many answers you wanted, one fact remained: this perfect day wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

Your waitress brought over the drinks you two had ordered. You sipped it so you could give your hands something to do. The disappointment swirled in your stomach for a moment before you pulled yourself together.

You were here for your own reasons.

That text just proved why you picked Jungkook in the first place. He is a playboy, and you had a goal. Day one, twenty-nine more to go.

You spotted Jungkook returning to the table and he had a big smile on his face. You put back on a big smile yourself. Acting as if nothing had changed and nothing was different. You took a quick moment to send a quick text to Ronnie and Jin.

: Nevermind. You guys were right. I can do this.

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stevie-petey · 7 months ago

Text

episode two: vecnas curse

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse. Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.” “We’ve done worse, angel.” You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Summary: you and billy play marco polo, max interrupts a saturday morning breakfast at the henderson household, robin crushes steves dream of becoming a 1950s housewife, reefer rick has an odd taste in movies, boathouses are creepy in the dark, and eddie munson likes it when you pull his hair.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: drowning, violence, swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, blood mentions

Words: 10.5k (i wrote this in one day)

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! so i wasnt supposed to update so soon. and then i wrote this entire chapter in one day. so now here we are. anyways ! read the warnings, this chapter starts heavy. on another note: i start senior year of college on tuesday so updates will vary as i settle into my routine again so pls be patient !! for now, heres a very surprising and unplanned chapter 2, enjoy !

–

Water.

There’s so much water.

In your mouth, in your chest, burning your lungs and swallowing every scream that scrapes your throat to escape. Every breath you take, more water spills into your body and quiets the desperate cries and gags you.

Your head breaks through the water’s surface and you inhale so sharply it burns your lungs even more than the chlorine does. You choke on the air, it’s sickly sweet, and a hand shoves you back under the water before you can inhale again.

Bubbles encase your screams, your arms flail up, your legs kick wildly to try and reach the surface again. But the arm attached to the hand is strong, it holds your body under the water without effort. In the rims of the ripples above you, the corpse of a boy you once knew stares down at you.

“I’ve found you.” Billy sneers, his voice muffled by the water that rushes in your ears.

His eyes are cold, his skin sunken in and littered with cracks. It’s yellowed, decayed, edges of his skin have turned gray as he’s decomposed. Billy’s hair is matted and his shirt is torn and yet his hand shoves you underneath the water again and again and again.

You try to scream, you try to fight against him, but he’s always been so much stronger than you. Even in death, Billy Hargrove’s weight on you anchors you to the rushing water that threatens to drown you.

Your head breaks the surface again. Billy pulls you up by your hair, your scalp burns. Air wracks your lungs as you struggle to inhale anything other than Hawkins' pool water. Coughs shake your body, bile rises in your throat, and Billy shakes his head at you in disgust.

“I’ve found you.” He shoves your head under, your nails claw at his skin but he doesn’t flinch. Blood drips down his arm, stains the pool’s crystal blue, and yet you’re drowning still. Again Billy yanks your head back up, for a brief moment you can breathe, before his breath ghosts your face and he hisses into your ear, “I’ve found you.”

Water. It’s all you can feel around you. Your lungs are on fire, you scrape your nails the concrete as you struggle against Billy, but you’re dying.

You’re dying.

Billy pulls you back, air kisses your face. Your vision darkens, more bile rises. There’s so much water. You can’t stop coughing, you think you’re crying, the chlorine stings your eyes as it sears your raw throat. Billy slams your head down onto the pool’s edge. Pain explodes in the bridge of your nose, blood stains the water even more.

“I’ve. Found. You.” You take one final gasp of air before Billy shoves you back under the water.

You’re weightless.

Everything goes dark.

Suddenly your body rips forward, jerking awake so violently that it makes you nauseous. Your chest heaves, your body struggles to inhale the air that was so cruelly taken from you in your dream.

It had been a dream, though the water felt so real. The taste of chlorine lingers in your mouth.

Panting, you force yourself to look around your room, list all the things you see. It’s become a little game you play, every time you have a nightmare so vivid that it challenges reality. Your eyes find Steve’s old basketball hoodie, draped over your desk chair. You focus on the bite of bitter cold from the charm bracelet’s silver that rests against your wrist. Breathing through your nose, you try to name what you can smell.

The scent of your mother’s famous waffles wafts through your room. Notes of freshly roasted coffee accompany it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, your heartbeat settles down. Your fists unclench, your body finally relaxes.

It was only a dream. Billy isn’t really here. He didn’t really tried to drown you at the pool. It was all just a fucked up, horrible dream.

“Y/N! Breakfast is ready!” Your mother’s sweet, doting voice carries through your closed door. “Come join Dusty and I, please.”

You rub your face, sighing deeply. The nightmare bears down upon your shoulders, the weight of last night crushes your chest. “I’ll be there in a second!” Your voice is brittle, exhaustion evident.

Breakfast with your mom and Dustin is the last thing you want right now, but you know it’s better not to deny Claudia. She’ll worry, ask you if everything is okay. You’re scared she’ll notice that you aren’t at Family Video for the first time in months. Every weekend you’re there to see Steve, to tease him with Robin.

But the hurt that marred Steve’s devastatingly handsome face last night… You can’t see him, at least not right now. You’re not even sure he’d want to see you, which scares you even more.

You take your time getting ready, your movements slow. In the shower you scrub your skin raw, as if you can cleanse yourself of the memories from last night. The betrayal in Steve’s brown eyes, Jonathan’s raspy voice asking questions that made your head spin. Lucas and his heartbreak as your brother abandoned him. Dustin’s denial of your code blue.

Pulling on one of Steve’s old t-shirts, the smell of his cologne lumps tears in your throat. It’s all too much. You miss him, though how can you be sure you haven’t really lost him?

When you finally sit at the table, Dustin doesn’t look up at you, and your shitty mood only worsens. Only your mother brightens when she sees you. “Y/N! Here, I saved you some bacon, I know you don’t like it crispy.”

She slides some food onto your plate and you try to give her what you hope is a bright smile. Your mother can see through people in a way only you can, an ability she passed down to you. Today, you’re afraid that if she asks you what’s wrong, you’ll break. “Thanks, mom.”

Breakfast is tense. Your fork scrapes against the plate. The food looks delicious, your mother is a brilliant cook, but there’s cement in your stomach and you can’t bring yourself to eat any of it. Dustin doesn’t look at you even once, and your mother tries her best to make conversation.

“So, any big plans for spring break?” She asks, looking eagerly at you and Dustin.

You push some fruit around on your plate. “No, not really.”

“Hm, well why don’t the two of you go and build something together? Remember that robot set from Stevie? I’m sure you and Dusty could build something with what’s left!”

“Yeah, maybe.” As if Dustin wants anything to do with you right now. You must not sound convincing enough because your mother starts to frown. Panicked, you clear your throat and try to change the subject. “Hey, have you gotten any new toys for Tews?”

“I got her some new stuffed mice, but she doesn’t seem to like them.” Your mother responds, setting her fork down. She looks at her children in front of her, sees the tension that brews between them. Dustin hasn’t said anything all morning, and the dark circles underneath your eyes worries her. Grasping at straws, she rushes over to the T.V. and turns it on, hoping one of your favorite programs is playing. “Here, let’s watch something.”

Only the Saturday morning cartoons don’t appear on the screen. Instead, Channel 9 lights up. Hawkins’ news channel.

“We’re at the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” A broadcaster announces as a swarm of people behind her gather around something. There are cops everywhere, and you get up from the table, curious. “We don’t have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Your mother lets out a strained gasp, the shock ripping through her body. Your own body stills, your heart skips a beat. The broadcaster drones on, explaining how the police believe there’s foul play involved.

Someone has been murdered in Hawkins.

Over by the table, Dustin’s eyes finally meet yours. You know he’s thinking what you are. Monsters have plagued Hawkins for years now, but there’s never been something as gruesome as a murder. Not in the six years your family has lived here.

Something isn’t right. The news channel interviews a plethora of neighbors in the trailer park. One woman talks about Barb, all the suspicious deaths since 1983. How Hawkins is cursed. Your eyes find Dustin’s again and you both exhale nervously. The woman is right, although she can never know what really goes on in this town. Hawkins is cursed, but not in the way anyone thinks.

Then, terrifyingly too late, you remember that the broadcaster had announced that the body was found in Forest Hills. Max lives in Forest Hills, and the body had been a highschool student. The police haven’t released the name of who it was and panic slices your nerves at the thought that it could be Max.

“My heart can’t take it anymore. It just can’t.” Your mother whimpers, holding Tews close to her chest. Your heart aches for her, she grew up in this town and all it has endured these last few years is pain and death.

Dustin sighs next to you and when the doorbell rings, he goes to open it. You follow, nervous and fretful as you always are.

Max stands on your porch, and the moment you realize it’s her, you pull her tightly into your arms. “Oh, thank God.” She stiffens at the touch, you notice that she’s out of breath, panicked. A terrible, horrible feeling of dread takes a hold of you. Pulling away, you force her averting eyes to look into yours. She’s scared; she’s never scared. “Max. What happened?”

Everything falls apart quickly after that.

Max drags you and Dustin into your room and collapses onto the bean bag. Her words are jumbled as she tries to explain everything. You sit motionless on your bed next to her, listening to every word she says. Dustin paces the room, both of you try to make sense of what you’re hearing.

“The body… It was found in Eddie’s trailer.”

Your breath catches at Max’s words. Dustin’s steps falter. Nausea washes over you, you place a shaky hand over your stomach to quell it. You’ve left your brother alone with Eddie hundreds of times this year, and now a dead body has been found in his home?

“No, that can’t be possible.” Dustin doesn’t want to believe it, he doesn’t want to consider the idea that his mentor could ever harm anyone.

Max bites her lip. “The police have his trailer taped up, it’s under lockdown. And the body they found, she was-” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “It was bad, guys.”

“You can’t seriously think it was Eddie though, right?”

You catch Dustin’s arm and give him a warning look. He’s antsy, you get it, but he needs to calm down. Turning to Max, you ask the question you’re dreading. “Who was the dead student, Max?”

The girl looks down, plays with her fingers, and you can see the remorse that drapes her shoulders. Fear plagues you again, it had to have been someone you knew. After a few moments, Max finally tells you. “Chrissy.”

An overwhelming sense of grief forces any air left in your lungs out. Chrissy had always been so kind to you. She was a ray of sunlight, you shared a class together sophomore year, she had given you daisies when she heard of Will’s disappearance.

Chrissy Cunningham was one of the few good things in Hawkins.

And now she’s dead.

Dustin can’t believe it, either. “Chrissy Cunningham?”

“A-are you sure?” You breathe out, eyes following his pacing figure as Max nods.

“Yes, she was in her cheerleader outfit. Same thing she was in when I saw her with Eddie.”

You frown at this. “She was with Eddie?”

Max nods again, and you’re struck by how odd the entire situation is. Chrissy is, was, the head cheerleader. While she was always nice to you, she never interacted with anyone like Eddie. Hell, hardly anyone ever associates with the guy, so you can’t believe that she would even talk to him. That she would willingly step foot in his trailer, especially after the basketball game last night.

You had overheard one of the kids on the team mention a party to Lucas before he left. Chrissy should’ve been there, next to Jason as they celebrated the win.

“Did you tell the cops?” Dustin asks, still trying to wrap his head around it all.

Max shakes her head. “No, but I-I can’t be the only one who saw them together. I mean, they stood out.”

“Are you even sure they were together?” You also can’t wrap your head around the fact that they’d be together in the first place. “Maybe… I don’t know, Chrissy had a friend who lives in Forest Hills as well?”

“No, Eddie and I are the only two students who live in the trailer park.”

Dustin paces again, in complete disbelief. “Eddie, the freak, with Chrissy, the cheerleader.”

“You know, his name’s not in the news yet or anything, but–”

“Eddie is going to be the prime suspect for Chrissy’s murder.” You finish for Max, understanding where she’s going with all this. It’s the only logical conclusion that can be drawn from finding a dead girl’s body in the guy’s trailer.

Anyone would be suspicious of that, and yet Dustin refuses to admit it.

“No, that’s crazy.” He glares at you, he can’t believe what you’re implying. “Eddie didn’t do this. No way.”

Max looks at you, she has a grimace on her face, and your expression mirrors hers. Sighing, you try to reason with your brother. “Dustin, they found a body in Eddie’s trailer.”

“No way,” Dustin hisses out, eyes burning into yours. He won’t back down from this, he knows you hate Eddie but he’s furious that you’d go as low as to accuse him of murder. You’re so fucking hypocritical. “And, FYI, your annoying vendetta against him won’t get us anywhere.”

“I don’t have a vendetta against him!” You scoff, hurt that Dustin would assume you’re only saying all this because Eddie mildly annoys you.

Max, sensing an argument brewing, gets up from the bean bag and intervenes. “We can’t rule it out.”

“Yes we can!”

“Dustin!” You and Max berate him at the same time, now standing in front of him. He isn’t listening, he’s blatantly ignoring the fact that someone died in the same trailer Eddie grew up in. He was the only one with Chrissy last night. Dustin is refusing to see the glaring red flags presented in front of him.

“Look, you guys don’t know him like I do, okay? Y/N practically wants the guy dead most days–”

“Hey!”

“So I don’t necessarily trust her judgment on the matter.” Dustin doesn’t let you interrupt him, he’s adamant to defend his friend. “When we got to high school, Lucas made all his sports friends. Mike and me? I mean, no one was nice to us.”

Upset creeps up your neck. You had been there for the boys, offering them sanctuary their first day, but they had denied you. It hadn’t been enough for them. They didn’t want your help, not anymore. “Dustin…”

“No one except Eddie.” He finishes, eyes only on Max as if it’d make it sting any less. He recognizes what he’s saying, that it isn’t fair to you, but he’s too overwhelmed to try and clarify it all to you. Not right now.

Max’s shoulders deflate, her resolve dwindles but she still argues anyways. “Okay, well. They said the same shit about Ted Bundy.”

“Ted Bundy was charming.” You snort, understanding what Max is trying to say, but it’s a poor example. “Eddie isn’t.”

She smiles briefly at you, the joke amusing her, but then she sees Dustin’s narrowed eyes and quickly defends herself. “I mean, he’s like a super nice guy, but then he’s murdering women on the weekends.”

“So you’re saying Eddie is like Ted Bundy?”

“No, we aren’t saying that.” You mollify Dustin, although you can’t help but add in, “besides, Eddie could never lure in multiple women. We still aren’t sure how he even lured Chrissy in the first place.”

Dustin is about to start yelling at you, you can see it in the way his mouth twitches and the enraged breath he exhales, but Max is quick to step between the two of you. She isn’t sure why you guys are at each other’s throats this morning, but she doesn’t have time to deal with it.

“No, we aren’t saying that.” Max glares at you, and you smile weakly back at her. “We’re-we’re saying that we can’t presume anything okay? But it doesn’t look good for Eddie.”

Dustin, now finally starting to listen, sits on the bean bag behind him. He lays there, looking small in the mass of the makeshift bed. He’s crestfallen, and your anger from earlier disappears. Sighing again, you sit next to him and nudge his shoulder. “Listen, I know it’s a lot right now, but maybe the police will find evidence that Eddie didn’t do it–”

“Why haven’t you told the cops this?” Dustin sits up, eyes on Max.

She crosses her arms, the question surprises her. “I… I don’t know.”

Dustin presses her, both of you notice how her body language changes. She draws into herself, she’s uncertain. There’s something there, buried beneath all the information she’s told you today. Something else happened in Eddie’s trailer, something she isn’t telling you.

“Max,” you soften your voice, afraid. “What did you see last night?”

The girl’s knees find your bed and her body falls against it. Max’s eyes won’t meet yours, she almost seems scared. Her demeanor causes your stomach to drop. What could she possibly have seen that terrified her so much?

“After I saw Eddie and Chrissy go in the trailer…” Max looks up at you and Dustin, her blue eyes guarded, alert. “Something else happened.”

She explains the lights flickering in her house. The static on her T.V., how the air felt thick. She tells you that she could hear a scream, Eddie’s fleeing silhouette ran into his car and the way the tires screeched on the pavement as he left.

The more Max recounts, the tighter the fist of dread inside your stomach coils. Flickering lights, static… It can’t be what you think it is. You catastrophize everything in your mind, you always are the first to fear danger that isn’t really there. Hopper closed the gate last summer. He died saving the world. The gate is closed, the Upside Down is out of your life. For good this time.

But then why does it feel like its spillage is leaking through the cracks you’ve desperately tried to glue over?

Max must see the panic on your face and she quickly backtracks. “Y/N, it wasn’t that weird or anything. Eddie always drives like a maniac and the power goes off at my place all the time. It’s a piece of shit, alright?”

“Then why did Eddie run?” The question taunts you, there’s something wrong with it. Shitty power grids and reckless driving can be explained, but why would someone scream while fleeing a crime they committed?

Max swallows. The question has been on her mind, too. “The look on his face… He was scared. Really scared.”

Dustin sucks in a breath, it’s subtle but you can feel it against you. He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and the dread that resides in your ribcage seeps into his. Max stutters out possible explanations, she tries to find something else to explain what it could mean, but you all know that it’s no use.

You realize why Max had rushed to your house. Why she hasn’t gone to the police with what she knows.

The fear on Max’s face when she arrived on your doorstep, how breathless she’d been from running over. That had been real, familiar. The same fear that crossed her face when you’d first unwillingly introduced her to the Upside Down all those years ago.

“Or maybe Eddie was scared because…”

“Something else killed her.” Dustin mumbles quietly, piecing it all together as well.

Your body is numb, your lips move but you don’t recognize the voice that speaks. “You think it’s the Upside Down.”

The words hang in the air, everything stills the moment they’re brought into the light. Beside you, Max nods, slowly, regretfully. As if she doesn’t want to believe it herself. “But, that’s impossible, right?”

Every year the impossible somehow becomes possible. Every year the wound that scabs over reopens, the blood of it chokes everyone you love.

“I don’t know,” Dustin’s voice is soft, he’s scared, too. “It should be.”

“And yet we always end up here,” you laugh bitterly. It’s the same fucking thing, over and over again.

Dustin’s hand finds yours, his touch is warm, yet unfamiliar now. He hasn’t held your hand in months, you almost forgot what it feels like against yours. “We don’t know that,” he squeezes your hand. He’s kind again, he’s your brother again. “There’s only one person who knows what actually happened.”

Eddie.

Whatever he saw, it’s important. No one will believe him if it’s the Upside Down, no one will understand that he hadn’t done anything at all. That monsters haunt the shadows of this town, that the deaths in Hawkins hadn’t really been deaths.

You have to find him.

–

Steve doesn’t think he’s had a worse morning than the one he’s having today. He hadn’t slept, his exhaustion a reminder of how much of an asshole he had been to you last night. He had yelled at you; he’s never, ever yelled at you. Not in the entire three years he’s known you, not even when you’d hurt him so deeply by cutting him out of your life that fateful summer.

But last night Steve swears he saw the same look in your eyes that Nancy had in hers the night she told him she didn’t love him. He saw it, he knows he did, and he had been fucking terrified. He can’t lose you, he doesn't think he’d survive if you ever left him. Especially not if he’s the reason you leave.

Steve is miserable, and his foul mood only worsens when you don’t float through Family Video’s front door with a smile on your lips and a glint in your eye like you always do every Saturday.

“Where’s Y/N? Normally she’s here by now.” Robin looks around the store, noting your unusual absence as she scans a movie to restock.

Steve pretends not to hear her, he really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. He knows that if he tells Robin the two of you had a fight, she’d demand an explanation and promptly call him an idiot, regardless of whether or not he’s in the wrong.

“Dingus, did you hear me?” Robin shoves the cart his way, causing it to hit his hip with a slightly painful thud. “Where’s that gorgeous girlfriend of ours?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve grabs the cart and throws random movies inside of it as he starts to walk down the romance aisle. Fitting.

His coworker doesn’t miss the way he avoids the question. Suspicious, she blocks Steve’s path and forces him to look at her. “You’re dodging. Why are you dodging? Where’s Y/N?”

“Robin, we should really be focusing on work right now–”

“Oh my God, did you kill her? Did all that hairspray rot your brain and cause you to kill Hawkins’ sweetheart and force the world to mourn the beautiful legacy she’d leave behind? Huh, is that it?”

“What! No, I didn’t kill Y/N. What is wrong with you?” Steve elbows the girl, he isn’t in the mood for her ramblings, yet Robin remains standing in his way. She raises an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to keep avoiding her questions, and Steve knows he has to fess up. Looking away, he clears his throat. “We, uh. Sorta had a fight last night.”

Robin frowns. “A fight?”

“Yeah.”

“But you two never fight.”

“Yup.”

“Alright, so it was all your fault then.”

Steve rolls his eyes, he knew Robin would say that. “I didn’t even tell you what it was about.”

“And yet I know it was all your fault.” Even though she’s kidding, she sees the hurt that flashes across Steve’s face and eases up. Clearly whatever the fight had been about was bad. Bad enough that you don’t show up to Family Video like you always do. Taking pity on her friend, Robin flicks Steve’s forehead and prompts him to start talking. “Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what happened.”

Steve leans against the wall, rests his head back. He knows he should talk about this, Robin will know what to do. He doesn’t have the best track record of communicating with his girlfriends, and for the first time in his life, he wants to try with you. Steve would do anything for you, even if it means being vulnerable with Robin in order to figure out how to make you laugh his name so softly again.

“Y/N was… Upset last night. After the game. She’s been having some problems with Dustin lately, and, I don’t know. I was trying to be funny, I guess? Cheer her up, get her to laugh.”

Robin winces. “Oh, that never ends well.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve huffs. He always somehow makes things worse, and last night he’d gone for a world record with you. “I just… I really wanted to see her smile, you know? So I joked about our future together, said we’d live in a shoebox apartment in New York after she graduates, and she just…”

“Lost it?” Robin shakes her head at him, trying to hide her disbelief. She wants to give Steve the benefit of doubt, but she thinks she knows where this is going. And it isn’t good.

“She told me I couldn’t come with her.” The words had branded themselves onto Steve’s chest, the flesh still raw and bleeding. You hadn’t wanted him to come with you; you didn’t want Steve anywhere near you. “She was just going to leave, without me.”

Robin stands next to him and she nudges his head with her hand, hitting him without any malice. He’s such an idiot sometimes, a hopeless, well meaninged idiot. “Okay, you’re being very thespian right now. I’m sure that’s not what Y/N meant when she said you couldn’t follow her to college. She’s like, crazy in love with you. Anyone can see that.”

“Then why was I the only one considering our future the entire time? I mean,” Steve scoffs, angry again. “I asked her what she thought we’d do after she applied to college, and she couldn’t even answer me. For months she was applying and she didn’t stop to think about us, about our relationship. She just… she was just going to leave.”

“And your solution was to… Follow her to college, unannounced?”

Steve recognizes how stupid he must sound, but he doesn’t expect Robin to understand. When you’re with someone, when you love them, your actions become theirs. How they breathe becomes your heartbeat, how they sleep becomes your solace. From the moment Steve’s eyes laid on you, he knew he’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

He just thought you’d do the same for him.

“I wasn’t going to just show up at NYU unannounced, alright?” Steve pauses, he tries to find the right words. “But I thought… I thought she envisioned us together, for the rest of our lives. Instead she told me that I deserve better, as if I-I’m physically able to imagine a world where I’m not standing next to her, where I’m not a ten minute drive down the street.”

Robin bites her lip. She thinks she understands what Steve means, where his actions were coming from. She remembers the late night talks about Nancy, how the girl had hurt him deeply when she abandoned him. The surface level love that tainted his perception of himself for years afterwards. Robin knows that Steve clings onto any semblance of stability he’s presented. Years of being lonely and used have left him unwilling to let go of the ones he loves the most.

But that doesn’t mean he should give up his entire life to do so.

Robin thinks that this is what you really were trying to tell Steve, even if he’s too blind to see it right now. “Y/N wants you to live your own life. You gotta see that, Steve.”

“She is my life!” Steve throws his hands up in the air, he’s sick of explaining this to everyone. You’re his everything. You’re the blood he bleeds and the tears he sheds. His life is yours. He doesn’t care how pathetic it may sound or how dramatic it may seem.

“Steve,” Robin places a hesitant hand on his arm, and when he doesn’t pull away, she takes it as a sign to continue. “Y/N loves you, she wants what’s best for you. Meanwhile, you have no idea what you want. You’re seriously considering abandoning everything to live in a giant, rat infested city, and you hate cities! I mean, what would you even do there? Lay around all day and wait for Y/N to come home like some 1950’s housewife? No offense, Stevie, but you don’t have the legs for a dress. Although, maybe if you wore heels and some lipstick–”

“Get to the point, Robin.”

“Sorry,” she shakes her head quickly, refocuses. “The point is that her not wanting you to follow her to college is nothing personal. If Y/N didn’t see a future with you, then she wouldn’t waste her time with you. Simple as that. But she does, and she’s totally, madly in love with you. Plus, we both know that the real reason you want to go with her is because you’re scared she’ll find some hot, 6’5 guy to replace you with and if you’re not there, she’ll be swallowed up by all those hot models and rich business men who prowl the streets of New York–”

Steve covers his ears, shoving Robin away from him. “Okay, okay! I get it, Jesus. There’s plenty of hot men in New York, you’re totally not making this worse for me.”

“So you admit that you’re scared she’ll find someone else.”

“Okay, no. I didn’t say that–”

Robin runs towards the other end of the store and grabs a VHS tape. “Ignoring you! I’m right, you’re wrong, and I’ve just found our morning movie: Doctor Zhivago.”

Steve lets her change the subject, he’s tired of arguing anyways. “You know I don’t do double VHS.”

“But it’s about doomed love.”

Of course it is. “Oh, well that’s relatable.”

“Precisely.” Robin starts to go on and on about an actress in the movie who’s hot, but Steve drowns her out as he returns the cart. She grabs the T.V. remote and clicks it on for their movie, but quickly their morning plan dissipates when Channel 9 comes onto the screen.

“... that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Steve and Robin stare at the screen in silence, the broadcaster’s words echo throughout the room. A Hawkins student is dead. The temperature in the room drops, Robin shifts uneasily next to him and Steve presses his arm against hers, silently offering comfort.

They stand side by side as the broadcast goes on. Neither one of them speaks, listening quietly as the details are revealed. It’s a horrific murder, from the sounds of it. The more the channel announces, the more tense Steve becomes. He doesn't like it, violence has always made him anxious. As his nerves spiral, he gets the horrifying idea that maybe the body is yours.

He knows it isn’t, he dropped you off at home last night, but he hadn’t stayed to make sure you made it inside safely. Steve curses, he’s a fucking idiot. He left you alone last night, and if you got hurt because of his selfish actions, he will never forgive himself.

Suddenly the front door opens and you run in with Dustin and Max by your side.

“Hey, Steve.” Dustin tries to get his attention, but the teen is already hopping the counter, sprinting over to you.

Forgetting about the fight from before, Steve clings onto your shirt and hugs you. His arms shake, you can hear his heartbeat stuttering a mile a minute. Overwhelmed with the scent of him and the feel of his body against yours, you melt into the hug as relief sags your bones. “You’re okay,” Steve exhales against your ear, his hand finding your hair. He tangles his fingers through the strands, tries to pull you in even closer.

“I’m okay.” You whisper back, clinging onto him just as desperately as he is to you.

The moment is interrupted by Dustin, who pounds on the counter to break the two of you apart. “Hey! Assholes!”

Steve glares at the kid, he doesn’t let you go, but he reluctantly steps away. “Someone was murdered, you know that, right?”

Dustin ignores the sarcasm. “How many phones do you have?”

“Two, why?”

“Technically three, if you count Keith’s.” Robin adds.

You make a disgusted face. “I wouldn’t touch his phone.”

Max tells Dustin that three phones will work and the younger teen quickly takes off his backpack before sliding it onto the counter.

Steve narrows his eyes, looking at you with slight panic. “What is he doing?”

Dustin throws the backpack over the counter and Robin yells as the kid jumps over and lands with a loud thud on the ground. He brings down a pile of tapes as he does so, and Steve tears himself from your side to try and stop him, but it’s too late. The damage is already done and Dustin has sat himself at one of the computers.

“Dude! My tapes, what are you doing?” Steve cries, groaning as he bends down to pick up the ruined pile.

Robin glares at your brother as she huffs as well. You quickly hop the counter, an apologetic smile on your face, and bend down to help. “I’m sorry about him. He’s Dustin. That’s the only way I can explain his behavior.”

“I’m setting up base of operations here.” Dustin’s fingers fly over the keyboard, ignoring Steve’s distressed cries.

“Base of operations?” Robin looks at you, she likes you, she really does, but sometimes she hates Dustin. “Y/N, I love you, but I’m about to strangle your brother.”

You hand her a tape and blow a strand of hair out of your face. “Ya know, I get that a lot.”

“Stop, get off!” Steve pushes Dustin, but the kid is like stone at the computer. Max is beside him now, having chosen to walk around the counter like a normal person.

“I need it.” Dustin responds, not giving much else for an explanation.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to you. “Y/N, please come get your dog.”

“He’s not my dog–”

“I need the computer for Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.”

“Oh, you mean your new best friend that Y/N and I hate? The one you think is cooler because he plays your nerdy game?”

You step in between Steve and Dustin now. You’re getting really tired of being accused of hating Eddie. While it may not necessarily be wrong, hate is a strong word. “We don’t hate Eddie, you’re just dramatic, Steve.”

“I never said he was cooler than you guys,” Dustin tries to amend, finally looking at you and Steve.

Behind you, Robin slams a tape down while she rebuilds the ruined pile. “Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.”

You help her pick up a dropped sign, feeling bad for disturbing their place of work so early. “I promise I wouldn’t take them here unless it was important, please don’t hate me–”

“What Y/N is taking too long to say is that this cannot wait until Monday.” Dustin jots down the numbers he ends up finding. Steve drops his head into his hands, exhausted.

Robin rolls her eyes. “I’m not blaming your sister, she’s an angel, but is calling Eddie’s friends really an emergency?”

“Correct!”

You drop your head onto the counter, defeated. Dustin is only making everything worse, like he normally does, and you’re tired. Steve stands next to you, allows a hand to fall onto the small of your back. Without thinking about it, he starts to rub soothing circles into your skin.

“Want me to strangle him or you want to?” Steve asks Robin.

“We could take turns.”

Not bothering to lift your head up, you leave your face smushed against the countertop as you speak. “Please don’t strangle him, my mom would be really sad and we can’t afford a funeral.”

“Can you just fill them in already, Y/N?” Dustin pokes your side.

“Fill us in on what?” Robin asks, exasperated.

Finally raising your head, you look at Max and swallow down any remaining uncertainty. The sooner you explain everything to Steve and Robin, the sooner you can find Eddie and figure out what the hell is going on. With Max’s help, the two of you give them an abridged version.

“The murder happened in Eddie’s trailer.” You begin.

“And the body was Chrissy Cunningham.” Max finishes.

Steve’s eyes widen. “What, so the freak killed her?”

“Unconfirmed.” Dustin snaps from the computer. He’s almost done writing down all the numbers.

“Not exactly. There’s some… details that we’re hoping to figure out, first. Before we go to the police about Eddie.”

Robin doesn’t like the way you say this. “What details?”

“The lights flickered in my house, I-I could feel static.” Max says, eyes downcast. Nothing else needs to be said, Steve and Robin understand immediately.

Now quiet, Steve’s hand finds yours. If it’s really happening again, he’ll be damned if he lets you go anywhere out of his sight. He’s not losing you. Surprised by the affection, you look and Steve and find that he’s staring down at you with so much tenderness in his eyes, even after you both maliciously hurt one another the night before.

It’s almost too much for you, the honey in his eyes that are meant for only you to see. Jonathan’s words from last night burn your skin.

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

Steve doesn’t know what’s been said. Neither does Nancy. How could you possibly tell them what he’s done? The line he almost crossed? After everything the four of you have been through together, the deep history that divides you, how can you settle the ruins that Jonathan left in his wake?

You can’t. Not without hurting everyone in the process.

You’re torn out of your thoughts when Dustin calls your name. He’s giving out instructions, ordering everyone to call Eddie’s friends.

“Y/N, you’ll call out the numbers we need to dial and write down any leads we get. Max, Robin, you’ll be with me on the phones. We need to figure out where he is, if he has any specific hiding places. Steve, you can bat your eyelashes at customers or whatever.”

Steve makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat and you squeeze his hand. “You heard the kid,” you lean against his chest, allow yourself to smile up at him. “Go bat your eyelashes, handsome.”

He laughs, and because he loves you, because he will always love you, Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, right where your smile line forms. It’s a quick, chaste kiss. Enough to remind you that he’s still yours, yet mindful of the fact that things may not be as easy as they once were between you. “Aye aye, angel.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you with such a rush of love for him within your bones. Later, when there’s time, you and Steve will talk, and he’ll still be yours and you’ll still be his.

Everyone gets to work after that. Max, Robin, and Dustin spread out around the store and begin dialing the numbers that you read off from the list. Their conversations are short, all filled with the same set of questions. There’s at least eight people to get through, but dividing them up helps.

Robin shouts at you to write down some kid named David who has a vacation home in Tennessee. Dustin tells you to cross off one of the phone numbers ending in 5823, apparently the guy and Eddie no longer talk.

Max, who stands the closest to you at the counter, hangs up the phone and turns to you. “I think I might have a lead.”

“Seriously?” Dustin spins around in his chair and Robin sets down her phone.

“Yeah, apparently Eddie gets his drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick–”

“Wait, Eddie actually sells drugs?” You thought that had only been a rumor, a stereotype from people who didn’t know any better. Why the fuck is a drug dealer hanging out with your fourteen year old brother? Alarmed, you grab Dustin’s arm and force him to look at you. “He hasn’t offered you any, right? I swear to God, I will stab his boney little body if he’s offered so much as even a whiff to you–”

Dustin rips his arm out of your grasp. “Can you not freak out for more than five seconds? Holy shit, no! He hasn’t offered me anything, he isn’t irresponsible with his business, he only sells to seniors.”

“So you knew he was a drug dealer?” You’re so going to kill Munson.

“Guys!” Max claps her hands, breaking up yet another fight between you and Dustin. “The drugs aren’t important right now, what we should be focusing on is the fact that Eddie sometimes crashes at Reefer Rick’s.”

Robin pats your shoulder and nods at Max’s words. “Okay, that sounds promising. Where does this Reefer Rick guy live?”

“That’s the thing. No one knows. He’s more of a… a legend than someone people actually know.”

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” You mumble under your breath, but Dustin hears you anyway and elbows your ribs.

Ignoring your pained cry, he looks at Max. “What about a last name?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“Bet the cops know a last name.” Steve says, back turned to you guys as he organizes some tapes. Max asks him what he means and he finally walks over. “I mean, listen, if this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, I guarantee you he’s been busted at some point. Means he’s in the system.”

Dustin throws his head back in annoyance. “The cops? That’s your suggestion?”

“I mean, at this point I think they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.” Steve defends himself, and honestly a part of you agrees with him.

Technically speaking, this is a lot to hide from the police. If this had been happening last year, you would’ve been the first to suggest telling Hawkins police about everything. But last year Hopper was alive, this year he’s dead. He’s gone, and the new chief wouldn’t understand or even bother listening to what you’d have to say.

Hopper would’ve believed you. He always believed you.

“The police won’t help,” you say, and Dustin is surprised you’re agreeing with him for once. “At least, not like they used to.”

“You think Eddie is guilty, don’t you?” Your brother accuses Steve, and a fight breaks out between them.

Steve brings up some weak point about believing in everyone being innocent until proven guilty. “I just, you know. I don’t think we can rule it out.”

“That’s precisely what we’re trying to do here, Steve.” Max points out, annoyed by all of this.

Dustin nods. “And maybe we’d have a little bit more luck if you spent less time ogling my sister and more time trying to find Eddie.”

You flick the kid’s head and Steve waves his arms out, defensive. “I wasn’t ogling her, and even if I did, I have every right to as her boyfriend! Besides, someone has to attend to the customers.”

“And by customers, you mean Y/N.” Robin teases, knowing she’s right.

“I’m right here, you know.” You don’t like this conversation, you don’t even know how everyone ended up here in the first place.

“Sue me for trying to find a movie for my girlfriend, alright? We’ve got a very big selection in here. It can be super overwhelming, even if I’ve worked here for almost a year.”

You tilt your head at Steve. “You were trying to find a movie for me?”

He blushes, suddenly shy. “I mean, yeah. Figured we could… watch something later?”

“I’d like that,” you tell him shyly. Things will be okay between you, they have to be.

Meanwhile, Robin types frantically on the computer, and Max asking her what she’s doing catches your attention. You walk over, lean down to stare at the screen in front of you. “Maybe we don’t need a last name,” Robin explains, pulling up the store’s video rental catalog.

A list of Ricks pop up, and you quickly realize what she’s doing. “Oh, you’re a genius, Buckley.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, pretty girl.” Robin smirks, showing everyone else the screen. “There’s twelve Ricks who have accounts here.”

“That’s a lot of Ricks,” Max remarks.

Robin nods, she expected this. “So, let’s narrow it down.” She clicks on the first Rick’s name and his movie rental history appears. “Rick Alderman’s latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo.”

“I doubt a drug deal would rent sensible children’s movies.” You say, and everyone agrees.

“Alright, Rick Conroy. Sixteen Candles, Teen Wolf, and Romancing the Stone.” In unison everyone says “no”, and Robin moves down the list. “Okay, Rick Joiner. Mask, Footloose, and Grease.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Grease, I like this Rick’s taste in movies.”

Dustin snorts. “But he isn’t the Rick we need.”

Finally, Robin lands on a Rick Lipton, who has rented three Cheech & Chong movies over the course of a week, and immediately you all know that you’ve found the right Rick. Robin looks up the address and Dustin observes that it’s out by Lovers Lake.

Lovers Lake. Where you and Steve finally got together.

As if thinking what you are, Steve’s hand finds the small of your back, where it permanently resides, and he shares a shy look with you. There’s fondness in his eyes, the memory from that night doesn’t burn him. The tension of your fight lingers, you both can feel it, but the memory of that July night causes you both to smile.

And it’s enough.

–

Steve is the one who drives, he’s always somehow the designated driver, and everyone crams into his car. You sit in the passenger seat, he doesn’t let anyone else sit there when you’re with him, and Robin complains from the backseat.

“One of these days I’m going to sit up front and no one will stop me.”

“You sat in the passenger seat yesterday morning, Robin.” You remind her, smirking when you see how squished she is between Max and Dustin.

“Minor details. Please drive quickly, Harrington. I think Dustin’s elbow is lodged between my third and fourth rib.”

Lovers Lake is far. The house is in the middle of nowhere, the perfect place to hide, so by the time you arrive there it’s dark. Steve keeps a few flashlights in his trunk, a precaution he’s adopted since befriending you and Dustin. He hands them out to everyone with the warning to stay close.

“I don’t want anyone slipping away, you hear me?”

“Okay, dad.” Robin shoves past him, causing Max to giggle, and you pat his chest in pity.

Dustin rings the doorbell, figuring if Eddie is really here then he’d want to see a familiar face. When no one answers, he starts to repeatedly hit the doorbell over and over again.

“Guess he’s not here,” Steve says after Dustin rings the bell for the hundredth time, but the kid ignores him and starts to pound on the door instead, now yelling.

“Eddie! It’s Dustin!”

Still no one answers, and you begin to think that maybe you’ve gotten it all wrong. There’s the woods, the abandoned Hawkins Lab, and a million other places to hide. Reefer Rick’s house may have been too far for Eddie to run off to.

Dustin calls through the door about how it’s just him and that there aren’t any cops. Robin tries to get a look inside the house through the window while you shine your light around the house. Max seems to get the same idea and the two of you wander over towards the side, trying to find another way in.

Only you don’t find another way in. Instead, you find an old boathouse down by the water’s edge. It’s huge, masked by the trees and house in front of it. Eddie has to be hiding out in there, then.

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse.

Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.”

“We’ve done worse, angel.”

You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Slowly the five of you approach the building, there isn’t any sign of life. The door is unlocked, which is both a good and bad sign. Robin pokes her head in cautiously, calls out into the darkness. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

Steve walks behind you, guiding you gently with his hands. Everyone spreads out, Steve grabs an oar that he finds hanging on the wall. He shows it to you, raising his eyebrows as he silently asks if it could be of any use, and you nod. Following his lead, you flick your knives out, eyes catching on a boat with a tarp draped over it.

Wary, you point it out to Steve, and he understands. Raising his oar, he brings it down onto the boat with force, stabbing at the tarp. Luckily he doesn’t catch on anything, or anyone, but Dustin yells at him.

“What are you doing?” Then, seeing the glint of your knives, Dustin scoffs at you. “Seriously, you really think those little elbow stabbers are gonna help?

You raise them at him. “I stabbed Billy with them, don’t forget.”

Besides, like hell you’re taking any chances this time. Even if Steve’s oar isn’t the most ideal weapon, it’s still a weapon. You’re in an abandoned building with a killer on the loose. Neither one of you is willing to risk being defenseless, not after everything you’ve been through together.

“He might be in here,” Steve continues to stab at the tarp, and even you have to admit it’s overkill.

“Just take the tarp off!” Dustin says through clenched teeth. Steve tells him to take the tarp of himself and again they spiral into an argument. You watch with slight amusement. Some things never change.

Robin and Max find something over by the table, alerting you that Eddie may have been in here. Dustin waves an arm out in front of Steve, who’s still jabbing his oar into the boat’s tarp. “Don’t worry, Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you’re being funny, little Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slight–” A figure jumps out from behind Steve and grabs him. “Wait, wait, wait!”

“Steve!” You scream, extending your knives, following after them. The person shoves Steve into the wall, holds a broken glass bottle to his neck. Pressing yourself behind them, you bring your knife to the perpetrator’s face, digging its tip into his cheek. A mess of curly hair touches your face, the scent of leather infiltrates your nose. It’s Eddie.

“Eddie! Stop!” Dustin exclaims, struggling against Robin’s hold. To your relief, she isn’t letting him get any closer, which you’re thankful for. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve, and the girl with a knife fixation is my sister Y/N. She’s not gonna hurt you, right, Y/N?”

“Let go of him,” you sneer into Eddie’s ear, pressing your knife deeper into his face. The blade nicks the crest of his cheekbone, blood drips down, but you don’t ease the pressure. He has Steve in a chokehold, he could slice his neck any second.

Steve sees that you’ve cut Eddie and he knows you’re seconds away from gutting the guy, which would only escalate the situation. He needs you to be safe, he’s afraid that Eddie will turn the glass bottle towards you instead. “Y/N, angel. Look at me, I’m okay. Drop the knife, and I’ll drop my oar, alright?”

You hesitate, and Dustin screams at you to do as you’re told. Your eyes flicker between Steve and Eddie, lingering on the bottle that is pressed even deeper into your boyfriend’s neck now. A thud echoes in the room, Steve drops his oar. He looks at you again, his eyes pleading, and you reluctantly flick your wrist to put the blades away.

The moment your knives are gone, Steve lets out a pained groan. Eddie only tightens his hold on him and the glass cuts his skin. In a heartbeat your hand fists through Eddie’s long hair and you pull. Hard. He sucks in a breath, clenches his teeth, and finally looks at you. “Cut him, and I will kill you.”

“She’s cool! I promise she’s cool!” Dustin shouts from across the room, doing everything he possibly can not to get both Eddie and Steve killed. He doesn’t worry about you, he knows you can handle yourself. He’s more concerned that you’re about to have blood all over your hands.

“If you let me go,” Steve chokes out, careful not to move his mouth too much and cut his throat. “Y/N will be cool.”

Eddie doesn’t ease up, and neither do you. Despite the awkward angle of his head, he leers down at Steve. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re looking for you,” Dustin tells him, taking a cautious step forward.

Robin now speaks up. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band.” She pretends to play the trumpet to ease the tension, but it doesn’t work. “This is my friend Max, the one who never wants to play DnD. And you know Y/N, she used to hang out with Jonathan Byers all the time and I always talk about her.”

“I know all about Hawkins’ sweetheart.” Eddie sneers, flinching only slightly when you pull his hair even more. “She isn’t so sweet now.”

Your other hand reaches towards your back pocket, towards your knives, and Dustin’s heart skips a beat. He needs to resolve this. Now. “Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

Robin and Max both swear, and Steve chokes out, “Yes, we swear on Mrs. Henderson. She-she’s great. You’d love her.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. Seconds pass, although they feel like hours. His neck must ache from the way you pull against it, and you see him staring down at you from the corner of his eyes. A crazed smile of interest crosses his face, his gaze lingers on your figure, blood drips down from his cut. You watch his every move, and when Eddie finally releases Steve, you throw him aside.

“Are you okay?” Your fingers ghost over Steve’s neck, checking for any sign of injury. He’s panting heavily, finally able to breathe again now that there isn’t a sharp edge grazing his neck. Your touch is gentle, your hands shake, and you hardly even register that Robin is next to you.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out, rubbing his neck. His shaking hands find yours, steadying them with your interlocked fingers. Mindful of the fact that Robin is present, he kisses the backs of your hands. “I’m all fine, angel. I promise.”

You want to carry him away, out of this town, away from anything that can harm him. You want to tuck him somewhere far away, where no one will ever find him again, alone with only you, safe and sound.

But you can’t. Instead, all you can do is sit next to Steve, caressing his hair as your body slowly attunes to his again.

Eddie is crying a few feet away, his threatening persona long gone. His entire body shakes, his eyes are dark with haunted memories. Dustin crouches down next to him, and Robin joins. Softly, as if talking to an injured animal she doesn’t want to scare away, she tells him, “We want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie sniffs, sounding completely and utterly broken. Something horrible happened to him last night, something that will haunt him forever. The way he holds himself, how small he tries to become, how he shakes violently. They’re all signs of trauma, not guilt or remorse. He didn’t kill Chrissy.

Taking pity on Eddie, you reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. He’s startled by your touch, only moments ago you held a knife to his face, and now your hand warms his body. “We’ll believe you,” you whisper.

He tells you everything. The details are gruesome, bloody and terrifying.

“Her body, it just… lifted into the air and,” Eddie’s voice breaks as he cries again, and a part of you wants to tell him that he can stop, clearly he’s in pain. “And she just, she hung there. In the air. And her bones, they-they–” He stumbles over his words, but he clenches his fists and forces the rest out. “Her bones started to snap.”

Your heart stops. You can’t imagine how horrifying that must’ve been to see. The image of Billy’s body pierced by the Mind Flayer is still burned into your retinas. The same will be true for Eddie with Chrissy’s body.

“And her eyes,” he shakes his head, he tries to get the memories away from him. “It.. it was like there was something inside her head, pulling.”

Eddie describes the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping, the squelching pop when her eyes exploded. “I-I didn’t know what to do so I-I… I ran away.” He stares at the ground, you see his fists tighten, he’s angry with himself. Ashamed. “I left her there.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do, Eddie.” You tell him. Anyone would’ve ran away. He’s human for being afraid, and you hope that he hears you through all the unnecessary shame. You know, better than anyone, how hard it is to hear anything over the roaring rush of guilt that floods someone’s mind.

Eddie ignores you. “You all think I’m crazy, right?”

“No, we don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin’s voice is gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it. Eddie yells at him, he thinks you’re all playing some cruel trick on him. He’s stuck in a state of flight, panicked and ready to flee, and Dustin lowers his voice even more. “Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little… Difficult to take.”

You sit next to your brother, everyone else stands behind the two of you as you face Eddie. Dropping your voice to its own soothing, comforting lilt, you lean in closer to the scared teen and offer whatever solace you can give him. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll be right here, okay?”

Eddie stares at you, his hardened expression softening little by little. “Okay.”

Dustin takes a deep breath. “You know how people say Hawkins is cursed? They’re not… way off.”

“There’s another world, hidden beneath hawkins. And sometimes it… bleeds into ours.” You reveal, careful to make your words as clear and concise as possible. Even after all these years, it still feels impossible to explain it all.

Dustin continues, beginning to explain the monsters that haunt Hawkins from the Upside Down. How you all thought they were gone, but that they somehow come back again and again. As your brother talks, memories flash before you. Billy’s death, Will’s disappearance, the darkness that infiltrated his tiny body. El, her powers. The Demogorgon, its cruelness and its tunnels.

Steve walks up behind you, your body falls against his, he draws you in.

“They’ve come back before, that’s why we needed to find you.” Dustin explains to Eddie.

Max steps forward as well. “If they’re back again, we need to know.”

Robin asks Eddie if he saw anything that night, Max asks if he saw any dark particles. Any indicators that you’ve come to learn that signal the Upside Down, but Eddie can only shake his head. Dustin presses him further, describes what the particles would look like, but it’s no use.

“No, man. There was nothing you could see, or-or touch.” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but his words catch your attention.

“Was there…” You swallow, your mouth has gone dry. “Did you feel static in the air? Like an electric pull, almost as if lightning was about to strike?”

Describing the sensation is easy, it’s the same feeling you’ve come to associate with El. Her powers, they have a magnetic pull to them. It’s hard to miss, easy to feel.

Eddie stares at you, and slowly, with hesitancy, he nods.

You fall back against Steve’s chest. Everyone else goes silent as the realization settles upon the room. It’s happening again. The dread crawls over your neck, settles into your throat. It will never end.

“She couldn't move. It was like she was-she was in a trance or something.” Eddie says, unaware of the despair surrounding everyone.

Dustin looks at you, his eyes reflect the grief that you feel. “Or under a spell.”

“Like El.”

He nods, before Eddie adds, “Or a curse.”

“Vecna’s curse.” Dustin says, eyes now on Eddie, and a cold chill creeps down your spine.

Steve asks who Vecna is, and upon hearing the name again, a pang rips through your head. Dustin explains who Vecna is, a character in Eddie’s DnD campaign, but you don’t hear any of it. You gasp in pain, the beginning stages of a migraine darken your vision and twist your stomach. Max notices, her eyes trail up your body and linger on the hand pressed against your head.

Lost in the pressure building within your skull, you don’t see the way Max almost seems to know what’s happening.

She doesn’t say anything.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #bdyr #m's writing #a much less heartbreaking chapter #yall are welcome #(for now)

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anothermaletfwriter · 1 month ago

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Dark Macademia Masculinity

(First story yay, I'll post a companion story to this soon)

Jonathan and Jeremy were your typical gay couple. Jeremy worked as a hairdresser in the local mall and Jonathan was a flight attendant. When the both of them were home, which was rare due to Jonathan’s job, they would usually play a cozy soft fantasy-themed farm dating simulator on their bright pink Switch, or crochet colorful plushies of bees. Jeremy was the bookish nerd of the two. Obsessed with tropes and romances, he would info dump about his favorite graphic novels and fanfiction to Jonathan. While Jonathan loved Jeremy for his softness and approachability, he sometimes wished he himself was a bit more masculine. Less flamboyant looking. No matter how hard he worked out or how many protein powders he bought, he could never see any progress at the gym. But Jeremy loved him for the soft twink he was, so he typically kept those thoughts to himself.

Today was an exciting day for Jeremy. There was a promotional event in the local bookstore. Jonathan reluctantly went with him, only there to support his ever loving boyfriend.

In the brightly lit modern store, a large bright pink banner with black bold lettering above said “Try An Extrasensory Novel today.”

“Babe, I’ll be at the Graphic Novels section. They have the newest book of the CardiacPauser series,” Jeremy wrapped his arms around Jonathan, his white hoodie drapping over his.

“I’ll stay. Something tells me I’ll find a book I like here.”

Jeremy kissed him on the cheek, before traversing to his section. “Okay babe.”

Truthfully, Jonathan wanted to be left alone, knowing that if he had gone with his boyfriend, he would just be standing there as he read the graphic novels. He peeked at some of the bold and brash covers of the books but none stood out to him. Some boring modern day issues and thrillers. None of that was interesting.

A strong nutty scent of macadamia nuts interrupted his picky process. It was delicious. He was enamored by it since it was his favorite syrup in his boba order. But where was it coming from? There were no bubble tea places or even a coffee shop nearby. Hopefully no one had spilled anything, it would be a hot mess to clean. All the residue would attract ants and no one wants that, especially at a book store.

The scent grew stronger as he knelt down on the floor but there were no stains or spills on the dark green carpet. Not even a droplet of liquid. His nose led him to a specific book. The cover was a simplistic black text in front of a gray to white gradient background. An amateur with a dream and MS paint must have made it. It read: “Absolute Maximum: Understanding Yourself”. The blurb revealed it was a self-help men’s book. MAXIMIZE YOUR GAINS. MAXIMIZE YOUR ALPHA. MAXIMIZE YOUR MASCULINITY. Finally, a book that appealed to him. While he read the acknowledgments to alpha males and the pinnacles of masculinity, an aggressive warmth developed in his chest but he wasn’t sweating. The book was smaller and lighter in his now larger hands.

Chapter 1: ASSERTING YOURSELF. The simple prose asserted him to realize his true self. He was a man’s man, not a flamboyant twink. He felt the glow in his body starting to spread. Jonathan failed to notice his limbs stretching and growing to fit his muscular frame. His baggy clothes were tiny on his taller frame. While he remembered being at eye level with the middle shelf, he towered over it in the present.

He speedread the first and last paragraphs of the rest of the chapters, after all everything in between was filler. His once faint abs exploded into rock, hard canyons on his stomach. Adonis belt defined enough to go skiing on them. The flat soft joke of a chest ballooned into firm pecs. He owed it from his strict dieting routine and gym sessions with the bros. But what about Jeremy? Wait who was that? His memories of his boyfriend shifted into memories at extensive frat parties and going home with hot chicks afterwards.

The rest of the pages flew by from his intense skimping. His twig arm exploded with bulging biceps and triceps. He rolled up his small hoodie and flexed the peaks of mountains that were on his arms. He felt a glowing pleasure as testosterone fueled throughout his body. He thirsted for a protein shake. His face hardened into a mature shape, his hands gliding across a chiseled jawline. His traps and shoulders spiked up, bulging out of the jacket close to bursting out. The more words he read, the more of his memories transmuted. All the times he cuddled with Jeremy with hot cocoa under a pink blanket were replaced by his new memories of flattering women in his own apartment with a bookshelf of books he curated solely from their color schemes. He hardly read anything in them besides the blurb on the cover and the first chapter. He wasn’t a fuckboy, per se. He had a more academic approach, aiming to get into women’s pants through the seductive language of surface-level literature discussion.

Jonathan Johnny exhaled a deep breath as his tight top, which constricted his chiseled pecs, turned into a loose black shirt underneath a dark beige open jacket. He outgrew his sweatpants into a dark pair of jeans, which he tightened using a studded black belt. He felt god-like but his heart started to race. A quiet part internally knew this wasn’t him— but it was. This was the real him. None of this should be surprising.

Thoughts of his boyfriend, Jeremy, dissipated into the air. He didn’t have a boyfriend. He wasn’t into men. He was Johnny, the straightest man ever known. He had been straight his whole life, recalling his first time with a hot book nerd girl in the unisex bathroom of a bookstore back in his small town. In his time as a flight attendant, he often slept with the foreign women around the airport, sneaking into his overseas hotel rooms.

The book was unnecessary, so he returned it. It no longer smelled of macadamia nuts. He didn’t need it. He already was the most alpha he had been. His once kind and feminine personality turned into a more manipulative, masculine one. He used the charms of academic aesthetics to sleep with woman, often pretending to know the novels they loved. He surveyed the store for any hotties to bang, as a red head with glasses catching his eye.

Johnny walked up to the girl, feeling like a titan over her, with a book he had picked up that was a modern retelling of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. He didn’t really care about the contents of it since it was a lure for the woman he wanted to conquer. He peeked down on her, and felt his underwear being restrictive.

He leaned on the shelf opposite to her, opening his book one-handed while squeezing his chest with the other hand. He glanced at her to elevate his mysterious nature.

“Oh hi,” The red head squeaked, rearranging her glasses. Her fingers that held her fantasy romance novel were shaking.

Turning the book down, he revealed his square jaw, “What are you reading?” He walked closer to the girl, subtly flexing his bicep.

“Nothing. It’s just a romcom. Dark broody male love interest. Strangers to lovers. Heh.”

Johnny kneeled down to her height. He whispered in his deep voice seductively to her ears, extending a hand out, “Hope it has a happy ending.”

The red head took his hand with no hesitation. Her face red from the blushing, dropping the book on the floor. She was utterly lovestruck. While walking out the store, they passed by a gay couple who apologized for bumping into him. No worries, he said. He enjoyed gay men’s existence since they took out potential competition for his women.

On the drive home on his motorcycle, the red head noted that Johnny had fit every criteria of her dream love interest: well traveled, dresses in a dark academia style, tall, muscular and drives a motorcycle.

He fucked her brains out while she felt his defined physique with the crevices between his chest and bulging six pack. Her moans were a common sound in his dimly lit apartment. After he finished his seed in her, the remnants of Jonathan and his homosexuality were shot out as well. He went to his bathroom and snapped a mirror selfie to put on his social media profiles. This was the real Johnny. No more Jonathan. He admired himself of the man he was before returning to round two.

#male tf #male transformation #gay to straight #tf story #muscle tf #reality change #breeder tf #mental change

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koojks · 23 days ago

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a/n: HI. i've ultimately decided to split this part into two, mainly because it's taking me longer than i originally thought (thanku work and college. sigh.), but also because I JUST WANTED TO POST THIS. so i hope thats ok with u all <3 i've almost finished the second part to.. well this part? but i hope it doesn't disappoint you!! so yeah :) the next part will also be written, and a direct continuation of this chapter!! and out so much sooner, yay :). also thankyou all so much for enjoying not ideal. it makes me so happy <333

wc: 4.1k

The evening is warm, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains in golden ribbons, painting the room in soft, pretty hues. The distant hum of traffic drifts in from outside, mixed with the occasional echo of voices from the street below. It all blends together into a strangely calming backdrop as you sit in front of the mirror, makeup brush held loosely between your fingers.

There’s no rush, no pressure.

Not yet, at least.

You still have time before everyone meets up for pre-drinks, before the night really begins. Before you’re crammed into loud clubs, laughing over overpriced drinks, and listening to terrible remixes of otherwise great songs.

For now, the moment is yours.

Your playlist hums softly from the speaker, a familiar song you’ve heard a thousand times plays, one that you never seem to get bored of. It’s the kind of music that fills you with excitement and confidence as you continue getting ready for your night out. You take your time applying mascara, careful not to smudge it, something that happens more often than you'd like.

Your room is a comforting kind of chaos. A an open wardrobe with half its contents strewn across the chair, from the aftermath of outfit trials. a half-finished iced coffee sitting forgotten on your bedside table, and the faint scent of vanilla perfume hanging in the air.

Outside, the city feels alive. But in here, it’s just you.

Eventually, you slip into your final outfit, one that feels right, comfortable but flattering. You smooth the fabric down and turn to assess yourself in the mirror. A moment of silent approval.

You look good.

Not for anyone else, not for the sake of attention or validation. But for yourself.

You find there’s a quiet, confident power in feeling good in your own skin.

You pick up your phone absent-mindedly and skim through your messages, finding nothing new. You scroll through your texts with Taehyung from the day before, confirming your plans to meet up earlier than the others so he can practice his awful gaming skills before Jimin inevitably challenges him again tonight.

That man has a serious competitive streak, but losing to Jimin? It brings out the worst in him.

The night already feels predictably familiar, in the best way.

Jimin will show up early too. Taehyung will be dramatic when he loses again, and you’ll witness the same bickering you’ve seen a hundred times. Then, the rest of the guys will roll in one by one. The music will get louder, the energy will rise, and it will all unfold as it usually does

Jungkook said he was passing, not really a surprise. You didn’t expect anything else. You assume he’s with someone tonight, just a guess.

Maybe that girl. The one you pieced together he left for during movie night.

You don’t really care.

In fact, it makes things easier, the less you have to deal with him; his mood swings, his sharp tongue, the better. You still don’t get him, not really, the way he goes between hostility and indifference, how he’ll engage with you one minute and then make it clear that he finds you insufferable the next.

He’s weird.

he’s not important.

Once you finish getting ready, you take a moment to tidy up your room, just enough to make things easier for future, drunk-you to find your bed later. You sling your bag over your shoulder, grab your keys, and step out into the warmth of the evening.

The last remnants of daylight stretch across the sky, casting a soft glow on the pavement. The streets hum with the familiar energy of the city, couples strolling hand in hand, clusters of students making their way to bars, and the occasional dog leisurely walking with its owner.

You weave through it all, headphones in, your playlist setting a steady rhythm beneath the city’s pulse.

As you continue your walk, you pass by a new café, one you’d mentally bookmarked after hearing Namjoon rave about their coffee. You think about dragging him there soon, letting him ramble on about blends and brewing methods while you nod and watch the world pass by through the window.

This city is full of these small, familiar places that hold different memories, woven into the fabric of your friendships, each corner steeped in experiences, some happy, some bittersweet.

It’s grounding, in a way.

You’ve not even been close to taehyung and his friends for too long. A few months really. You met him over the summer break, completely by chance at some gathering through mutual friends. But somehow conversation came easy with him. He was welcoming in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Before you knew it, you were spending more and more time with him and his friends. And when the new semester had started, they felt familiar. Like a safe space, all bar one, that is.

The recognizable street stretches ahead as daylight begins to softly fade into the horizon. Things grow quieter. Faint conversations drift from open balconies, a few cars pass by, but it’s peaceful, quiet, a stark contrast to the liveliness just a few blocks away.

You slow your pace as you near Taehyung’s place, shifting the weight of your bag over your shoulder. His flat sits at the end of the street, a row of houses converted into apartments, all occupied by students. A little worn, but full of character. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t stand out, but still feels like home.

You step up to the building, glancing automatically toward the windows at the front of the house. The curtains are usually wide open, but tonight they’re drawn shut. You can just make out the faint glow of the living room light behind them.

At first, you think nothing of it. He’s probably in his room, maybe doing something else.

You pull out your phone, unlocking it as you reach the door. You almost walk in automatically, what else do you do? You've never had to knock before. It feels weird, awkward. Taehyung is usually just... there.

You check your messages, nothing.

Very out of character for him, especially considering he’s the one who made the plans. Sure, it was just yesterday, but Taehyung’s reliable. He doesn’t just bail last minute.

You shift on your feet, frowning slightly. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, he could’ve lost track of time, or maybe he’s just being annoying.

You tap your phone idly, deciding to send a text.

you: i’m outside

Seconds pass.

Nothing.

You knock at the door. It feels weird.

Your frown deepens.

Just as you consider calling him, your phone buzzes.

Taehyung: shit.

Taehyung: Fuck, i’m still out.

You inhale sharply, tightening your grip around the phone, glaring at the screen.

you: so you invited me over and you just AREN’T HERE????

Taehyung: okay but in my defense, I thought I’d be back by now.

Taehyung: i swear i won’t be long.

You roll your eyes. Great. Wonderful.

Now you have to wait outside like an idiot until he gets back or-

The sound of the lock turning catches your attention.

A slow, creeping awareness settles in your chest that the other person that lives here is home. As the gap in the door widens just enough for a figure to step into view. Dark hair, broad shoulders, familiar build.

Jungkook.

Standing in the doorway, towel slung over his bare shoulders, and a look that suggests he’s just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

Every assumption about tonight shifts.

The silence stretches in the doorway. You should have known. Should have accounted for the one variable that always seems to throw your calculations off.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook stands there, Hair damp and pushed back, droplets trailing down the cut of his collarbones, inked arm on complete show, subtly flexing. His brows lift slightly, equal parts confusion and amusement, like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You don’t owe him one.

Your grip tightens on your phone. “You’re here?”

Jungkook scoffs, shifting his weight against the frame. “I live here?”

Right.

The plan had been so simple. Go to Taehyung’s. Beat him at Mario Kart. Drink. Go out. Jungkook had said pass in the group chat. You assumed that would mean he wouldn’t be here. But he is.

And Taehyung? No where to be seen. of course.

The realization settles like a weight in your chest. Your prediction for the night was off. Completely. You hate when things don’t go how you’d expect them to, it just messes with your brain.

But It’s fine, you can deal with this.

You exhale, straightening. “Taehyung invited me over early.”

Jungkook blinks, exhales a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? Well Taehyung isn’t here.”

“No shit,” you mutter, shifting awkwardly. You avoid eye contact, because it’s better not to look at him right now. It’s too awkward. And it doesn’t help that he’s standing there half-dressed. Who answers the door topless, anyway?

You could leave. You know that. It wouldn’t be weird. no one would judge you for turning around and walking away. Well, maybe the guy standing in front of you would, but then again, he seems to judge you for breathing. Yet, for some reason, you stay rooted to the spot like an idiot, caught in the unspoken weight of the situation.

It’s just you and him.

Jungkook doesn’t look like he’s about to tell you to get lost, though. Instead, he exhales through his nose, rubbing the towel against his hair before slinging it over his shoulder again. He steps back, tilting his head towards the inside of the apartment. “Come in. Wait if you want.”

…right.

You pause for a moment, before stepping inside anyways, the warmth of their place wrapping around you instantly as Jungkook closes the door. It’s quiet, too quiet. No music, no lingering sounds of a game or a movie. Just the muffled sounds of the city, barely heard through the windows.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he pads toward the hallway, presumably to his room. Leaving you standing awkwardly in the living room. It’s different. for a place all too familiar to you, the energy is so concentrated, so tense.

“You could’ve shut the door on me.” you call after him, pulling off your jacket and draping it over the armrest of the couch.

He turns around briefly and looks at you, before he continues walking. “Could’ve.”

The silence that follows when Jungkook goes into his room is heavier than it should be. It lingers, it’s felt. Pressing against you as you stand there, unsure of what to do with yourself.

You don’t belong here.

Not alone, at least. Not without Taehyung to balance out the atmosphere. Usually when you’re here, it’s loud, filled with the chaotic voices of your friends. music playing, conversations overlapping. You’ve never stopped and focused long enough to realize how the space really feels. How it smells like a mix of cologne and detergent. How the lighting casts a warm tone across the room .

Without others, everything feels different.

Your fingers tap against your thigh as your gaze drifts, scanning the apartment you’ve been to more times than you can count, yet never quite paid so much attention to.

The living room is undeniably lived in, but not messy. Taehyung’s style is evident in the colorful throw pillows, the decorative candles, the carefully picked prints the are plastered on the walls. Jungkook’s presence, however, is quieter, more subtle. The black gaming controller resting on the couch. the weights that sit by the door, the faint scent of whatever body wash he uses still clinging to the air from his shower.

Your gaze catches on a framed photo sitting on the shelf near the TV.

You hesitate before stepping closer, drawn to it for some reason, despite yourself.

It’s a picture of the two boys, candid, arms slung over each other, mid-laughter, real grins plastered on their faces. Jungkook looks different. His hair is shorter, his eyes sparkle. Younger, or maybe just.. lighter. His shoulders aren’t weighed down with whatever makes him so guarded now.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until a voice cuts through the silence.

“Didn’t take you to be someone that snoops.”

You jolt, slightly, turning to find jungkook standing in the living room, leaning against the wall.

He’s changed into a loose black t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips. showing off the band of his boxers. Dark strands of hair still damp, and curling slightly at the ends. The scent of his cologne now present, something clean, sharp, familiar in a way that makes you hyper aware of the fact that you two are alone, again.

You blink. “I was just looking.”

Jungkook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. That was a while ago.”

There’s something in the way he says it that you can’t quite place.

You tilt your head, studying the photo again. “Never seen you smile like that.”

He scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he steps by you, moving toward the kitchen. “Maybe i don’t have a reason to.”

The weight of the statement lingers, but before you can think too much of it, He’s in the kitchen, opening the fridge.

“Drink?”

You nod briefly.

He redirects his attention to opening two bottles of beer, and you exhale slightly, moving to sit on the sofa. The clinking stops, and a few seconds later, jungkook reappears into your sight, stepping back into the living room.

He doesn’t say anything as he extends the drink towards you, gaze fixed somewhere behind you, like it’s nothing. Like he’s trying not to acknowledge your existence too much.

You stare at him briefly before taking it off him. “Thanks.”

He just nods.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The faint hum of the air-con fills the space, the low buzz of city life filtering in through the window. You take a sip of your drink, the cool bitterness grounding you, giving you something to focus on other than the weight of Jungkook’s presence beside you.

There’s something hanging in the air between you and him. Something quiet but heavy, a feeling neither uncomfortable nor easy.

Just. there.

Lingering in the spaces where words usually go.

Tonight feels different. The usual sharp remarks and teasing comebacks are missing, replaced by a silence that feels… uncertain. There’s still the weight of past arguments, old words left unresolved, but for once, neither of you is filling the gaps with sarcasm. Jungkook glances at you briefly before looking away just as fast. It’s subtle, but you notice, because for some reason recently, when it comes to him, you always seem to notice.

He’s sitting at the other end of the couch, one arm stretched over the back, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his beer bottle. He looks relaxed, but you can tell it’s forced. The way his shoulders are just a little too stiff, the way he seems like he’s holding something back. Jungkook has always been good at keeping things buried, pretending things don’t bother him. But tonight, something is different. It’s small, but it’s there.

You’re not sure how to feel about it. The quiet between you isn’t normal, but it isn’t exactly bad either. It’s delicate, like it could change at any moment, and you’re not sure if you’re more nervous or curious to see where it leads.

You shift slightly, the couch creaking under your movement. Jungkook is staring into the distance, but you can feel that his mind is elsewhere. You consider saying something lighthearted, but instead, the words that come out are different.

“You always this much fun to hang out with?”

Jungkook lets out a small breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. It’s barely there, but you catch it. He finally turns his head to look at you, dark eyes sharp yet unreadable as he raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be entertaining you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “You invited me in. Least you could do is talk.”

For a moment, he just watches you, gaze unreadable. There’s something weighty about the way he looks at you, something quiet yet deliberate. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You look different.”

Your fingers pause on the rim of your drink. The comment catches you off guard, Making you feel confused, aware.

Jungkook doesn’t clarify right away. His eyes flicker over you again, subtle but searching, before he takes another sip of his beer. There’s no teasing to his voice, no signature smirk or sarcasm. Just observation, cool and calm. “The outfit,” he adds after a beat, voice softer now. “It suits you.”

It’s not just the words, but the way he says them. Jungkook isn’t one to toss out compliments easily, especially not to you. There’s no playful edge, no challenge in his tone. Just something steady. Something sincere.

And you have no idea what to do with that.

The usual rhythm between you feels off now. The back-and-forth teasing, the careful space you keep between each other, it doesn’t seem to fit anymore. Not in this moment. You tighten your grip on your drink, casting your gaze elsewhere. “Thanks.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It just… exists. Not heavy, not suffocating, but present. You steal another glance at him, catching the way his jaw tenses like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Jungkook has always been careful with his words, measured in a way that makes it hard to tell what he’s really thinking. But tonight, there’s a hesitation you don’t recognize.

Your eyes drift across the room, landing on the shelf beneath the TV. Stacks of DVDs sit in a messy row, a collection of action flicks and psychological thrillers. But among them, something unexpected stands out.

You lean forward, squinting. “No way,” you murmur, amusement slipping into your voice. “You own Studio Ghibli movies?”

Jungkook, in the middle of taking another sip, pauses slightly. His gaze sharpens. “So?”

“So,” you say, turning to him fully, a grin tugging at your lips. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s something else in his expression, something almost guarded. “Just because I like something doesn’t mean I have to announce it.”

He doesn’t sound defensive, just honest. And for a second, you wonder how many other things he keeps to himself, buried under that quiet, unshakable exterior.

A beat passes before you shift. “Wanna put one on?”

Jungkook hesitates a fraction too long before exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. Fine.” But the usual resistance in his voice isn’t quite there.

You watch as he moves toward the shelf, fingers skimming over the cases with a careful slowness. He picks one, hesitating briefly before turning back. There’s something in the way he avoids your gaze, just a little.

“Haven’t watched this one in a while,” he admits, voice lower now, like he’s sharing something, an action he's not entirely comfortable with.

You don’t push. Just nod and settle back as he starts the movie. The opening score fills the quiet room, familiar and warm. From the corner of your eye, you catch the way Jungkook’s shoulders ease, the sharp edges of him rounding out, even if it’s only slightly.

Minutes pass in a comfortable quiet, both of you paying attention to what's playing on the screen. Then, Jungkook shifts. At first, you think he’s just adjusting, but he isn't. He stands up and disappears down the hall.

You frown slightly, your gaze following him. Before you can ask where he’s going, he reappears, something small held between his fingers.

Your lip balm.

The one you’d left here before. The one he told you he threw away.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he holds it out. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in the way he hesitates.

You stare at it, then at him. Slowly, carefully, you take it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for just a second. The warmth of him lingering against your skin for longer than it should.

“Thought you threw this away.”

Jungkook exhales, dropping back onto the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. “Yeah. Well.”

That’s all he gives you. No explanation, no extra words.

But somehow, it says everything.

The moment lingers between you, something unspoken yet understood. Before you can fully process it, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts through the silence.

Taehyung’s voice fills the apartment before he does, loud and carefree. “I’m back, losers.”

And just like that, the spell is broken.

You feel your shoulders tense slightly, snapped back into the present like you had almost been pulled out of something fragile. Jungkook didn’t move, but his expression changed. His face hardened. His guard, that was almost down a few seconds ago, was now firmly back in place.

Taehyung was already making himself at home, kicking off his shoes and walking into the living room. Grin wide, energy buzzing.

He flops onto the couch between you and jungkook, stretching out his legs with a satisfied sigh.

“alright,” he exhaled dramatically.

“Tonight is going to be so fucking good. Everyone is on their way. Jimin’s already tipsy from what I’m aware. Which means he’s going to be a menace before we even leave. Hope you’re ready,”

Jungkook didn’t react.

But you could feel the weight of him near you, presence still heavy in the room, albeit silent. He just listened, posture stiff, face sharp. Tugging absentmindedly on his lip ring. A habit you had started to notice he did when he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

Taehyung was seemingly oblivious, too caught up in excitement to notice the stark shift in energy. “You better not bail halfway through the night.” He said, nudging your knee with his own. “we’re going all in. I wanna see you wasted by at least-” he checks his watch dramatically. “-midnight.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No promises.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply.

And then stood.

The motion was slow, like he had only moved because he’d decided he was done with this conversation, with whatever had settled in the air.

Taehyung watched him with mild curiosity, eyes following him. “Where are you going.”

Jungkook stretched briefly, rolling his shoulders before responding, voice flat. “To get ready.”

Taehyung blinked. “For what.”

Jungkook looked at you, no emotion on his face before diverting his attention. eyes reaching Taehyung’s. “I’m coming out.”

Taehyung let out a short laugh, caught off guard. “since when?”

Jungkook was already half way down the hall as he replied. “Since now.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give either of you anything before disappearing into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Taehyung stared at the hallway for a moment then turned to you, face showing utter confusion. “What the fuck was that.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I have no idea.”

Taehyung still looked baffled, his gaze flicking back towards Jungkook’s closed door before landing on you again. “Like, what? I wasn’t even going to try and convince him to come tonight. He’s too fucking stubborn.”

You shrugged, trying to seem unbothered, But the difference in his demeanor has seemed to shake you more than you’re willing to admit.

Taehyung huffed, leaning back against the couch. “Man is so weird.” He turns towards you more now, expression less teasing. “Anyway. Sorry for being late. I forgot i had this lecture, and then i was hungry-”

You shook your head, interrupting him. “It’s fine. I hope you know hate you now though.”

He smiles for a moment, before studying your expression. “So.. how was it?”

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hanging out with him.”

You just sighed quietly, messing with the hairband on your wrist. “It was fine. He spoke to me, so.”

Taehyungs lips curled, amusement flashing in his face. He stretches his arms out, letting them rest along the back of the couch.

“I told you. He’s not so bad.” His expression was still light. easygoing, but something about the tone felt pointed.

He didn’t push or pry. Just let the words sit between you before turning his attention back to his phone, scrolling through messages, back to being his normal self.

But something about the way he said it this time, made it linger a bit longer.

Jungkook wasn’t so bad.

You weren’t sure why that felt like something worth thinking about.

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taglist: @somehowukook @diame93 @golfjoon @wdym-ree @jkrailme @laross860 @ttipa @rrosiitas @yikes-ukiyo @jjeonjjk7 @isjwshaidsk @minniejim @jimintopiaaaa

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fake texts #jungkook smau #jungkook texts #jeon jungkook #bts smau #jungkook fic #fanfic

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writing-flower · 2 months ago

Text

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Chapter I: “Happy Birthday to you (me)”

WARNING: None for now, just a little sad background at the beginning with a calm ending. Enjoy!

Prologue

Masterlist

The hallways are the same as I remember, white walls and full of marked photos, there weren't that many, but enough to make me think that I don't appear in any of them.

Although I am grateful that my room is not that far from the stairs, but at the same time, it hurts.

Looking at all those photos, looking at how everyone is smiling carefree (except Jason), everything is fine, except that one member of the mansion is missing.

And you know what the worst part is? Today is supposedly my birthday.

And I bet you anything that none of them remember.

The last photo they took was still next to the stairs, a photo big enough for all the Waynes to fit into it.

But since I'm not a Wayne, I didn't appear, I'm not, in any sense.

Because I would never "save" a child from the streets so that he would later receive the same treatment he once received there.

I would never allow the child to be insulted and denigrated for coming from the slums much less would I justify it by saying 'he's just a child'.

I would have taken that child directly to another family who could give him the attention that every child deserves. I wouldn't have taken him to a house where he would suffer.

Of course, they never touched him, they never hit me.

But words hurt worse than a sword.

Anyway, I doubt I'll be spending much more time than I should, I have to get back somehow.

But how?

[Name] stared at the photo for a few more moments before finally rushing down the stairs.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind out of control, so many questions hovered around her, stalking her, but there was only one that did not disappear.

Why? Why her? Of all the people who would long for this chance, why choose the one who would hate it the most?

"Lord, or whatever higher being is behind this, if you hear me... I hope you find your partner with another man, you damned wretch." She thought, completely ignoring her surroundings, until Alfred's voice called her.

"Miss" Alfred said, looking at her somewhat strangely. His expression didn't say it, but she noticed it. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm still a little sleepy." She replied smiling a little. Alfred just raised an eyebrow but didn't reply further. "Alfred, do you know why the mansion feels so... empty?"

Alfred headed to the kitchen to finish preparing her breakfast before answering, "Today is Monday, Miss. It's normal for the mansion to be like this, even more so in the morning."

[Name] didn't say anything, she looked at him curiously. "I mean, yeah, it's normal, for now it's just Tim, Damian and I living in the mansion." She thought as she sat down in one of the chairs.

"There are two more years until I officially leave the mansion, but, I don't think I can handle two years of pretending to be the same girl who wants approval...I have to-" [Name] snapped out of her thoughts, again, as she watched Alfred place a plate of food in front of her, pancakes with cream and strawberries.

"Happy fifteenth birthday, miss." Alfred said with a small smile adorning his normally serious and expressionless expression.

"Alfred"

"Yes, miss?"

"Is there another important date today? You know, some event, gala, party?" [Name] looked at him curiously and attentively for his answer, Alfred on the other hand didn't say anything.

"No, miss, there is nothing planned for today."

Oh.

"Alfred... Were you always this bad at lying or was I just really naive?" She thought with a smile, smiling trying to fake a hopeful look.

"That's great! That means I can spend today with my family!" She said with a smile, she seemed genuinely happy. She seemed.

Alfred fell silent.

"Of course, miss, today will be a special day for you." Those words distracted her a little, but she didn't show it, she had to keep up the role.

"YAY! Well, nevermind, I need to go find a dress and look nice! I want to show Dick the dress I bought, it's blue! I'm sure he'll love it! Bye Alfred, thanks!" [Name] stood up from the chair so quickly that it made a high pitched, annoying noise, Alfred simply tried to ignore it.

He just watched her run up the stairs with a smile, a smile that the butler could sense was strange.

[Name] on the other hand, barely left Alfred's sight, her smile disappeared, now being replaced by an expression of curiosity.

"Well, what happened today? Besides my birthday..." She muttered as she slowed her walk back to the squares in the hallway.

Observing each one of them one by one.

"What are you looking at?"

[Name] almost screamed when she heard the other voice, she turned around to see boy younger than her somewhat sleepy.

Black hair, Green eyes. Damian Wayne.

"Honestly, have I always had bad luck or is it just because I'm in the mansion? Damn it." [Name] thought as she looked at the boy who was looking at her in an angry and discontented manner.

"Good morning to you too Damian."

"Answer my question."

"I was just looking at family photos, I already had breakfast." [Name] said as she turned her gaze back to the photograph, with that she also turned her gaze to one in particular.

"Oh, you mean MY family?" Some won't notice it, but she will, that little silent mockery.

She knew what that boy was trying to do, ever since he arrived a year ago he always tried to do the same thing, to have everything in his favor.

Trying to provoke her.

He had done it with Tim before, a few months after his arrival, and it seemed that now his new target was her.

But this time [Name] couldn't care less about that comment.

She was no longer a Wayne, [Name] already took that for granted the moment she left this mansion.

So why should she be affected by a comment from someone she doesn't care about?

Comment coming from someone who doesn't care about her well-being either. Again, does she have to care?

Obviously not.

"Yes Damian, YOUR family, come down now, your breakfast will get cold." [Name] could feel Damian's normally serious and emotionless expression falter at her response.

A faltered that no one would notice except Bruce, Alfred, or an adult.

A faltering she noticed, technically, she is an adult only she is trapped in the body of a fifteen year old girl.

Damian wanted to say more, but he just closed his mouth, giving her a look of contempt and annoyance.

[Name] felt that gaze leave her and then return all her attention to the photograph that caught her attention.

It wasn't a photograph as such, it was a kind of family tree.

Below each small photo was the name and birthday. In the case of the adopted children without parents, their birthday was the day they came to the mansion.

[Name] looked for his photo and realized that it was very outdated compared to the others.

This was her when she was around ten or eleven years old. Birthday: July 19th.

"Wait..." [Name] began to check the birthday dates of the family members.

Until she got to Tim's.

July 19th. Damn.

"No wonder there was so much silence, now it makes sense because no one remembered mine..." She thought as she touched Tim's photo to frown a little. "But that doesn't justify them in the slightest."

[Name] walked away from the family tree to return to her room. She had already lamented before, what would change if she continued to lament now?

Nothing.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, the silence from before had disappeared over time, just as the morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to night.

"This doesn't affect me, no, it doesn't affect me one bit." That kept repeating in my head like a broken record. But that statement stopped working when I heard them sing.

Their voices were not annoying, on the contrary, those voices were soft and happy.

Even Bruce's voice sounded soft, Haha, it feels strange.

It's been a while since I spoke to him, no, rather, it's been a while since I heard his voice.

He always listened to my voice, my shrill voice demanding his attention and support. That little voice that always wanders through my mind, But will never wander through his.

I'm not complaining, I'm convincing myself.

Convincing that shrill voice that this is not an opportunity, that it should not have hope that anything will change this time.

I don't want it to change, I like my future, where I work and my life before this.

I don't want to hold on to a past that I know, I want to hold on to my future which is not more uncertain.

I want my life, MY life. Not her life. Not anymore.

I just want—

*TOCK TOCK TOCK*

Three continuous knocks managed to get me out of my mind, I'm grateful for that, if I continued like this I wouldn't be able to sleep.

I get up from my bed to go to that attic door and open it. There he was, Alfred looking at me with a small smile.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, Miss."

"Don't worry, I couldn't sleep, did something happen?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, just a request from me." I raised my eyebrow curiously, it's not unusual for him to do this kind of thing, but I couldn't help but have a little deja vu.

"Could you accompany me to the kitchen?"

I stood still for a few moments, until I nodded in approval, Alfred moved to the side of the small staircase so I could pass.

Once done, we both began to walk side by side. my gaze wandered through the photographs again, and there was silence again, which was not surprising.

It was nighttime, but there was still a small light on in the kitchen when we finished going down the stairs.

With that light she was accompanied by a small cake along with a box wrapped in gift paper.

"Happy birthday, miss." Alfred said again as he approached the table where the cake was, the decorations from the old party (if there were any decorations) had disappeared.

I stared at the scene in front of me.

"This isn't the way I would have liked to celebrate your birthday, miss, but it's not an excuse not to celebrate it, don't you think?" Alfred looked at me, his smile never faltering even as I stood there staring at the scene, seemingly paralyzed.

"Thank you Alfred..." This time, his smile faltered for a few short seconds, perhaps it wasn't his smile, maybe it was his look or something else.

I didn't know what my expression was right now, but it must have been something new for him, maybe I'm wrong, but his gaze seemed slightly surprised and comprehension.

As if to say, "Since when could she make that expression?"

But that look changed as soon as I started to approach the box.

Being careful not to make any noise, I tore the paper open to open the box. I opened it, my look now one of slight surprise.

The box was not that big, but it was big enough to fit three items of clothing.

A long, wide skirt with cascading ruffles that give it a flowing and elegant effect.

Sheer fabric cape-like sleeves fasten to the arms with delicate flower-adorned bracelets, creating an ethereal and elegant effect that flows as you move.

Finally, A long white cloth that was soft to the touch. As I pulled out my things I looked at Alfred in confusion.

"This is a big thing for me, Alfred."

Alfred nodded "I know, miss." He carefully grabbed the white cloth, then folded it and put it back in the box, but not before looking for something else inside. "Some time ago you told me that you liked those dancers' dance outfits."

"That's why I decided to ask a friend for a favor and make these clothes." Alfred took out two fans from the same box, he opened one of them revealing that it was not an ordinary fan.

It was a fan that when extended was considerably large, in turn releasing a colorful silk fabric degrading in warm colors, like fire.

"Obviously, I couldn't forget about this." He handed them to me, I took them carefully, with precision and with a little difficulty I extended them both at the same time.

I stepped away from the table and Alfred to spin around a bit, admiring how the fabric circled around me as it spun, then stopped peacefully and elegantly when I did too.

Now I remember this Deja vu, the gift, the outfit and the fans, that outfit was the first one I wore for my first performance at eighteen, when I had just left the mansion.

"It's obviously not for your size because I don't think it's the right outfit for you yet, but once you grow up and still have dancing in mind, it will be perfect for you Miss [Name]." Alfred said as he approached me with the box in his arms.

"Does Dad know about this?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, miss, he doesn't know."

"Alfred..." I said in a scolding tone, which is ironic considering he's, technically, the adult here.

"I know what you're thinking, and let me tell you that money comes and goes, but this isn't going away for a long time." He placed the box in my arms, until now I had only seen his gaze falter once, but now it happened again.

Before I had thought it was a look of pity.

But now, I only see flashes of guilt. Why?

That guilt in his eyes did not reach his smile, which remained intact.

I let out a small sigh that was later accompanied by a smile.

Without warning he dropped the box along with the fans to hug him, I let my head settle under Alfred's chin, I could feel him smile.

Not that polite smile, a smile he formed because he wanted to.

"Thank you Alfred."

Alfred returned my hug shortly after by stroking my head.

"You're welcome, miss."

As he hugged me, I felt a strange sensation, a gaze that pierced my body and soul. A gaze that I decided to ignore, for now, I just wanted to feel like a part of my past, it was good.

NOTES: I'M REALLY SORRY FOR THE LATENESS, god, I think this is the first time I've had so much trouble with a character's age/timeline. But hey, here you go, eat and ask questions my children.

Because I will be more than happy to answer them💋💋.

And also, any ideas or advice to start the masterlist?

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist

#batfam x neglected reader #batfamily x neglected reader #negligent batfam #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily x reader #platonic batfam x reader #batfam dc #x reader

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jackiepackiee · 2 months ago

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Telemachus x Apollo! Blessed Reader

Chapter seven

This chapter takes place during chapter six… Yay! More Apollo!

So this is a reader heavy chapter, sorry if it’s too specific to relate to, but we get some more backstory!

Masterlist

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Unbeknownst to either of you, Telemachus wasn’t the only one who was wide awake that night.

And neither were the Gods, always busy in their dance of mortal affairs.

You lay in bed, eyes tracing over the ceiling tiles that seem to grow shadows in the dim light. Ithaca resting in a soothing silence under the stars. Leaving you to be what feels like all alone, body heavy on the soft material of the bed beneath you.

If you could help it, you’d be floating somewhere in space. Weightless, unattached, and bearable. Instead of feeling the dark blanket of night press down on your chest. Leaving your breaths more shallow than you had wished for, on a practiced pattern of in and out that came less naturally than you hoped.

It’s a different kind of stillness that one feels when they don’t know ‘how to feel.’ Stuck, unmovable in place in time that only ticks back and forth.

Back to memories that you had once cherished. Times when you felt the same way you do now. The same way you feel with him.

Ticking forward to the tugging in your chest that not even music could capture.

Then back again, to a place in your mind that refused to let go of the past.

It was said to be love then, but with how everything turned out, how could this be anything similar.

Before you could reason the past with the events of the future, the moon seemed to glow brighter as a familiar figure sat at the edge of your bed.

“Apollo? What are you doing here?” You called, voice level without the shock that most had when they saw a God. You had gotten used to his presence by now, and didn’t even have to lift your head to recognize him.

Instead, you left yourself to rest on the pillows.

He looked around your room, leaning against the wall next to the bed as he focused on the instrument laying at your desk.

“You haven’t touched your lyre in two days.” He claimed, voice less joyful than he usually was. Lacking his teasing tone.

As he spoke, you fell further into your pillows. “I guess not…” Humming out, he could hear the tiredness in your voice.

Deciding to not let you waste away in your bed for a sleepless night, he spoke again. “And it’s been two days since your lesson with the prince.” With that, his usual teasing attitude was back.

You, however, were not in the mood for the teasing. Good intentions or not. “Two days is two days, more has happened than just that.” As you talked, you turned to face the wall next to the bed. Now laying on your side as your mind tried not to drift to the prince and his smile…

Apollo’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts.

“Let’s see. You’ve had about five lessons with him now.” He stood up, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Each lesson you’ve gotten closer and closer…” He trailed off, strumming the lyre once to let out a divine note.

“Quit it.” You whined, closing your eyes to try and rid yourself of the image that Telemachus held in your mind.

The god just continued to fiddle with items on your desk, sitting on the wood and looking at your back facing him. “During your fourth he even let you see his bedroom to show you his collection of stories of mythical beasts!” He mentioned, tossing up one of your pens and catching it as a form of distraction.

You shrunk further into yourself, shoulders reaching to almost hide yourself from the words you didn’t want to hear. “Seriously Apollo, enough.” Grabbing one of your pillows, you tried, and failed, to get comfortable. Squirming at the bed you were far too restless to be in.

He just tilted his head and stood up off the desk, picking up your lyre and inspecting it. “Oh come on, get out of bed, it’s not like you’re tired. You’re going to lose all your talent if you don’t play any music.” He said in a lighthearted tone, smiling despite your facing away.

Opposing his cheerful demeanor, you leaned further into the bed before huffing and sitting up. Too uncomfortable to sit still. “Good, then I’ll be let go of my job.” Your attitude wasn’t entirely intentional, but after days of discord it wasn’t easy to hide.

Silence took over the both of you, with Apollo placing down the lyre and watching you. Sitting on the bed, you took account of each breath in and out, trying to relax.

He wasn’t oblivious to how you felt, but he couldn’t read your every thought.

Soon, he spoke again, breaking the silence. “Did something happen?” He asked, voice more gentle than it was when you had late night talks.

You leaned further into your bed frame, letting your shoulders lose their tension and breathing out a breath from the bottom of your chest. “No. Nothing happened.” You let your head lull back, looking back up at the ceiling.

Apollo crossed his arms, leaning back against the desk. “Obviously it did. Don’t lie to me.” He ordered, but quickly toned down his commanding nature when he saw the puffiness in your eyes now obvious from the moonlight on your skin.

“Look, I just don’t think I should be his teacher.” You responded, looking directly at the god who stood before you. Expression more exhausted than either of you wished to admit.

Not knowing how to handle your life, especially in this way, without being completely unhelpful, he did what he knew.

A small joke came out, fully intended to brighten your demeanor, even if he knew it wouldn’t work. “Is he that bad of a lyre player?” But not even a small smile tugged at your lips, or a shine in your eyes.

Just a huff of a response. “Don’t be rude.”

He frowned, running a hand through his light hair in thought before finally going for a more comforting approach.

“Sorry, sorry…” He hummed. “What’s wrong? Be honest.” He said softly, finally allowing you to let your walls down just the slightest bit.

“He’s a prince, Apollo. I’m not a princess.” You admitted, sounding more dejected than most mortals he’d ever met. Eyes not leaving the ceiling as you tried not to just let the silence take over your mind.

“He doesn’t seem to care about that, and I surely don’t.” He offered, trying to be genuine with what he saw. He couldn’t read the boy's mind, but the way he saw him look at you was proof enough that he thought highly of you.

You sighed, running your hands over your face and down your jaw to massage at your tense neck, blinking away the sting in your eyes.

Nothing there but memories from those places you’d lived, and the people you loved. All past.

“I just can’t go chasing anything again. Not ever.” You claimed, letting your arms go limp in your lap.

Apollo tried to interject your thoughts of defeat. “I know, but-“ Instead, you cut off his attempt at savior.

“I don’t want to have this conversation.” Tiredly, you fully laid down in bed and tucked the blanket up and over your shoulders.

He walked closer to the window, getting ready to leave. But before, he turned around one last time. “Hey, it’s something you’ll have to bring up eventually.” He said.

You just turned to your side, curling further into your bed.

“Not. Now.” You said, sniffling in the cold night air.

He just sighed, before giving you one goodbye.

“Fair enough… Get some sleep, kid.”

Leaving you with your thoughts of the past and the prince.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist - @dog-and-cat-person230 @m-carriaga2021 @blessedbyahuntress @cleawritesstuff @b4ts1e @permanently-nothere

@kaguraaaa @rockyeatrock @keikeiluvyou @hijinkxy @doodle-with-rhy @barrythestrawberry041 @dazedemery @sunshinewhosketches @bafb1tch @lethby

@pjopinkk @nishayuro @moonlitenvyillust @emmy6999 @theyumeeighth @plushiesssforcrying @mh4r-squared @biscuit-sa @sofiafantasies @reapersan @starstarmoon-not-anon @woo-verse

#telemachus epic the musical #telemachus epic #telemachus x reader #telemachus #epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #epic #epic odysseus #epic the musical

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bratscave · 6 months ago

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IN ANOTHER LIFE !

summary. falling in love with an old! driver, who's name was james while you were still in college was one thing — but finding out that he was wolverine after his death and meeting another version of him, was another.

includes/warnings. chapter two yay :), lots of flashbacks (omg they were so in love it hurts so bad), sex implied / lightly described once, she finds out about his death :/, laura!

Logan, as you knew him back then, liked to take walks with you. He just knocked on your door, hands stuffed into his jacket pocket, stayed silent and waited for you to gather your stuff to go outside. Didn't really talk much during it either, he'd rather listen to you, always.

And when you reached out for his hand, he didn't say anything, just let you. You'd sit down on bench and talk about the current drama going on with your friends and he'd smoke a cig and nod along. It wasn't much but it was comfortable.

You liked looking at sunsets, the pastels when it was late noon, various shades of yellow, orange and red. He wasn't the type of man who admired sunsets — at least, not before you.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, but at some point, Logan had started staying the night. It was never planned — he’d just show up after dark, looking more worn out than usual, and before you knew it, he was in your bed, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

One of those nights, you were lying in bed, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His hand was in your hair, his fingers lazily combing through the strands as you traced patterns on his skin with your fingertips.

“Tell me something,” you said softly, your voice barely breaking the quiet. “Something I don’t know about you.”

Logan was silent for a long moment, his hand stilling in your hair. You could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles tightened beneath your touch.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he muttered, his voice rough, like it hurt to say the words.

You lifted your head, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. His face was in shadow, but you could still see the hard lines of his jaw, the weight he carried. “I know,” you whispered, your heart aching for him. “But I want to.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “You don’t wanna know,” he said quietly. “Trust me.”

You frowned, but you didn’t push. You never did.

Instead, you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing against the scruff of his beard. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

And you stayed true to your words, you didn't go anywhere. You stayed waiting for him, waiting for him when you found a small sticky note saying 'I'll be gone for a little while. Don't worry bout me.' in his usual gruff writing. And you stayed waiting for him, a week and a half, ten days.

And you had hope, fucking hope that it was going to be James, or well as you later found out- logan, behind the door, when it rang at midnight.

Instead you were greeted by a girl, no older then thirteen.

Logan used to like kissing you good night, always came around if he drove by your apartment complax while on his shift because you 'needed to go to bed, well kissed'

Logan used to like having his hand on your thigh when he was driving, he'd rub small circles and patterns over the clothed skin. Sometimes, when you were rambling about something, he’d squeeze it gently, like it was his way of saying he was listening, even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Logan used to wake up before you, his heavy, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to wake you but couldn’t help himself from touching you. If you stirred, he’d mutter something gruff under his breath —“go back to sleep, kid”—but there was no missing the warmth in his voice, the tenderness in the way he pulled you closer.

Logan used to make love to you like it was a slow burn, always taking his time, even when he was in a hurry. He’d kiss you deeply, rough hands holding your hips in place as he moved, like he wanted to savor every second. Afterward, you’d lie tangled together in the sheets, your fingers tracing the lines of his body, and he’d grunt something sinful under his breath.

Logan used to bring you coffee on mornings when he had nowhere else to be. He didn’t say much, just handed you the cup with that same gruff expression, watching as you sipped it, his eyes softer than usual. When you’d smile and say thanks, he’d shrug it off like it was no big deal, but you knew better. It was his way of saying he cared.

Logan used to call you late at night, usually after a long shift. His voice would be rough, heavy with exhaustion, but he’d still ask about your day. “Tell me somethin’ good,” he’d mutter, like the sound of your voice was the only thing keeping him grounded. Sometimes, he’d fall asleep with the phone still in his hand, the steady sound of his breathing a quiet comfort on the other end of the line.

"Logan is dead."

The girl's voice got you out of your trance as you looked down to meet her eyes, she had very intense ones, what was such a young child doing out late at night? But you don't question just brush her remark of, "Sorry, I don't know a Logan."

"He said you might say that. I need to tell you something."

You spend the whole night on the coach, the same coach where you and.. logan, shared your first kiss and more. Is now the same coach you sit on and find out that he died. That he was some sort of hero, that he had tried changing his identity.

You cry, ugly ugly tears. A shit ton of them. You try your damn best not to, in front of the kid, laura as you now knew it, but you couldn't keep it in. Logan didn't like it when you cried, said it wouldn't get you nowhere, but rested his hand on your back, going up, down, up, down in the same pattern over n' over again to calm you down, in quiet support no matter what it was.

Now your back was cold.

Time moved like it always does — quickly, harshly, without much care for your grief. Before you knew it, months, years had passed. Laura didn’t leave, and you never asked her to. She stayed, silently adjusting to your small apartment and even smaller routines. You weren’t exactly maternal, but something about her—something in the way she’d sit quietly on the edge of the couch, watching those old cartoons Logan always scoffed at: made you feel less lonely.

She didn’t talk much at first. But you understood. Words weren’t always necessary, and you’d never been one to push someone to speak when they weren’t ready. You learned to share the silence, learned that she needed space just like you did.

Life was different now. You’d finished what you set out to do —graduated, finally became the professional you always wanted to be. Journalism, like you’d always dreamed of, except the joy wasn’t there, not the way it used to be. The thrill of chasing stories and deadlines had dulled, the passion that once fueled you replaced by a quiet, steady determination. You wrote because it was what you were good at. Because it paid the bills. Because it gave Laura stability.

And she needed that. More than anyone, she needed a steady life—a soft place to land, to heal, even if neither of you said it out loud.

Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of her sitting at the table, head bent over some math homework, you’d see pieces of him in her. The same furrowed brows when she was deep in thought. The quiet way she watched the world, always alert but never speaking too much.

You missed him. It never got easier, not really. When it got really bad, you’d sit in the small kitchen, nursing a drink and staring out the window. You could almost imagine him coming through the door, smelling faintly of motor oil and cigarettes, grumbling about something while he kicked off his boots.

But he never did. And you told yourself you’d learn to live with that.

Well, apperantly life had other plans for you, besides drowning in misery.

It had been late — too late for visitors. The kind of hour where the streets outside your apartment were dark and empty, the faint hum of city life muted through the window. You were pouring yourself another cup of tea, trying to wind down from a long day at work. Laura was in her room, tucked away, buried under her blankets as usual.

A knock came at the door.

It startled you; mostly because no one ever came by this late. You set your mug down and padded across the floor, wondering if maybe Laura had ordered something again, some late-night doordash she hadn’t mentioned.

You opened the door. And froze.

The world felt like it tilted sideways for a moment, because there he was. Logan. He looked different, rougher in a way, a little younger than you’d ever seen him. But those eyes, those same dark, stormy eyes — they were unmistakable.

His voice was rougher, too, when he spoke, like it had been scraped against gravel.

“Wade told me I could find you here.”

#.🎀⋆ logan! thoughts #logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan smut #logan howlet smut

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morbethgames · 10 months ago

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NEW UPDATE IS OUT!

I’M FREE! FREEEEEE! 32 MOSTLY UNIQUE VARIATIONS OF INTIMATE SCENES DONE!

Clears throat

So, like stated above, the update is out! I’ll leave a list of patch notes, but this is majorly a bigger one for Alzarez and Lance romancers. The Lance extra story “Movie and Dessert” is being released with this update. You will need to replay the game. I’m sorry about that. BUT it’s because I added in new variables to the train scene so that stuff said there could possibly be brought up in this new scene! Reactivity, yay!

Along with that, you’ll get to read Alvarez’s flashback scene which is the actual end of Chapter 4. Along with a lot of little goodies. All in all, there was about… 44k-45k words added into this update? 40k of them are entirely optional and only happen if you choose to hang out with Lance after Alvarez’s flashback scene scene.

Not gonna lie, 1 variation in I was confident it would take two weeks. 8 variations in I was a bit tired but still energized to get this scene done. 16 variations in I had to step away for a couple of days to not let my brain melt. By the time I hit mid-twenties in variation for this scene, I was finding myself thinking that it just. wasn’t. worth it.

I have no idea if I’ll make the other intimate scenes this branching. It was honestly a lot of work. Like, a lot, it it was so fatiguing after a while, but I knew I had to get it done. IT’s also the reason I paused my patreon this month, because it wouldn’t be fair to charge people for something that they’re not getting early as promised in the rewards. This took way longer than I thought, so I wanted to just release it to everyone at once.

I do hope you guys enjoy it, and without further ado, here are the patch notes for this update.

Stay Brilliant, -Vi

Patch Notes:

“Movie and Dessert” Lance Extra Scene is finished.

Alvarez Flashback scene is finished.

Added a Text Box Investigation Tab in the Stats Screen.

You are now able to toggle between Text Box Investigations and regular choice script gameplay for TBI sequences.

You can now view the Text Box Investigation tutorial at any time via the stats screen.

Removed the Text Box Investigation Tutorial from chapter 4.

Added an option in the beginning of the game to Fade To Black during intimate scenes.

You can now pick asexual and aromantic as separate options, and they are not tied to each other.

Grammar edits and fixes (thank you to all who report them).

🛡️Patreon | Forum Page | Demo Link🛡️

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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To the mf who had my house before me, if you see me on the street, turn around and run the other way. Because if I see you, know that it’s going to be on sight. Who even puts tile like that?? Anyways, I'm kind of sick, so that's why I've been kind of inactive.

But good news (ish) I got me a house! Yay! Let’s hope I can keep it. To celebrate, y’all can have this! And a few chapters! So technically this is a chapter update post?

——

Danny’s most favorite thing to do with Alfred Pennyworth is groundskeeping. While he might not be Sam, Danny could still appreciate the serenity and beauty of nature.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Master Danny, please refrain from using explicit language.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I got stabbed.”

“Oh dear. Will you be needing a bandage?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I think…” Danny hummed, peering closer at the reddish brown thorns sprouting from the ground. “That might be the rose bush?”

Alfred paused his snipping, turning around and coming closer to inspect the plant. “How peculiar. It seems to have grown a branch beneath the soil.”

In unison, Danny and Alfred lifted their heads to look at the rose bush, innocuously sitting three yards away.

“Huh. Weird.”

“Indeed.”

The door to one of Bruce Wayne’s many gardens, all opulently gothic to hide their vigilante disturbances, opened. The hinges swung without a single creak, as Alfred the butler always carried WD-40 on his person and a squeaky hinge in this mansion was an affront to his professionalism.

"Hey, guys! Whatcha doing?" Duke greeted, followed by Jason.

"Gardening! You wanna help?"

"Nah, I'm a Gothamite, not Poison Ivy, man. I don't do grass." Duke replied, plopping down on one of the lawn chairs with his drink. "But I can totally give you moral support... from over here."

Danny snorted. "What about you, Jason?"

Jason shrugged. "Sure, what are we doing?"

"There's a rose bush that grew all the way over here."

"Woah, crazy."

"Indeed, Master Jason. I shall go get the shovels."

"Okay, Alfie," Jason absently agreed, focused on finding where else the rose bush had grown to. "You wanna keep the bush, right?"

"That would be preferable."

"Duke, can't-" Jason paused, throwing a quick look at Danny before visibly changing tracks. "Can't you get us some drinks?"

"Kitchen's right over there, Jason." Duke pointedly leaned back and took a sip.

Danny piped up. "I'll get it! What did you want, Jason?"

----

Two hours later, covered in all manners of dirt and blades of grass, Jason and Danny sat back to survey the messed up garden.

"You sure we can't hire Ivy to move the plant somewhere?"

"She'd just make it worse," Jason grumbled.

"You guys can do it!" Duke cheered, scrolling through his phone and cherry picking the most hilarious pictures of Jason and Danny to send to the group chat. He chose the selfie, where he was grinning into the camera as Jason fell on his ass as Danny pulled up a long section of thorns.

Duke gets nailed in the face with two clumps of grass from his disgruntled brothers.

"I believe it is time for a shower." Alfred Pennyworth smiled, content. Days like these made him glad that his grandchildren found their way back.

#dcxdp #fic update #jason todd #batman #alfred pennyworth #duke thomas #the signal #red hood #danny phantom #the groupchat is just embarrassing pics and the fam roasting the shit out of eachother

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damneddamsy · 3 months ago

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second sight | cregan stark x fem!oc (bonus ii)

a/n: I'm back on this bonus feature, a special episode of the Stark-fluff, I'm giving you deleted scenes! Yay! So these did not make the cut for the chapters I wrote, they were either repetitive or just meh, but I did work on them so I thought you'd all love a glimpse :)

SCENE #1 (part i) - I DON'T TRUST YOU

Winterfell had grown colder since her arrival.

It wasn’t just the weather. The halls felt different—quieter, more shadowed, the cold biting sharper than it had in years past. Since the day Claere had stepped across Winterfell’s threshold as his bride, whispers followed her, as persistent as the wind that howled through the keep.

Cregan Stark sat at the head of the long table in the Great Hall, a ledger spread open before him. The flicker of torchlight danced across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. His supper, a hearty stew that had long gone cold, sat untouched beside him. But it wasn’t hunger gnawing at him tonight.

His thoughts were tangled, circling back to the same place: Claere.

She unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain, though he prided himself on reason and instinct. She moved through Winterfell as though she were of another world—her silvery hair catching the light in a way that seemed otherworldly, her violet eyes drifting to things no one else seemed to notice. Her habits baffled the household. She barely ate, spoke sparingly, and often vanished for hours into the grey skies on her mighty dragon. The servants whispered of seeing her wander the halls at night, murmuring to herself in a language older than the North.

Cregan had witnessed it himself: her wandering, barefoot, as if in a trance, her lips forming soft, lilting words that left him uneasy. There was something haunting about her, something unknowable. Even the dogs kept their distance, tails tucked low when she passed.

He tried to dismiss the gnawing whispers as nonsense. Claere was a young woman far from home, a stranger in the harsh, unyielding North, navigating customs as cold and unrelenting as its winters. Of course, she would struggle. Of course, she would seem strange.

And yet, the stories clung to him like frost on iron.

The Valyrian witch, they called her. The true queen of pale fire and blood magic. Beautiful, yes, but unnatural—a creature of strange songs and sleepless nights. Whispers filled the keep, spoken in low tones by bannermen and servants alike. They said her kind preferred the taste of human flesh to that of beast, that her gifts were double-edged: capable of charm and destruction in equal measure.

Cregan had never been one to indulge superstition. The North demanded practicality, not folly. But Claere...

Her harp’s strange, haunting melodies still lingered in his mind, dissonant and otherworldly. Her violet eyes, too large, too sharp, seemed to see into places no mortal gaze should reach. She walked the halls of Winterfell in silence, barefoot and unflinching, her expression distant as if caught in a dream—or a curse.

With her, the line between myth and reality blurred in ways he hated.

A sharp echo of boots on stone pulled him from his brooding. He looked up from the ledger to see two figures approaching the long table, their movements halting and uncertain. A man and a woman, wrapped in wool cloaks patched from many winters past, their faces pale and taut with worry.

“My lord,” the man began, his voice trembling as he bowed low. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his cloak, twisting the frayed fabric nervously. “Forgive the intrusion, but we... we need your help.”

Cregan closed the ledger with deliberate slowness, the thud of its binding echoing in the chamber. He stood, his dark brows knitting together. “Help?”

“Our children,” the woman blurted, her voice cracking as she clutched her husband’s arm. “They’ve not returned from the woods. They went out hours ago. They were with...”

She faltered, her throat tightening around the name.

“With?” Cregan prompted, his voice cold and edged with steel.

“With the princess,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the floor.

The name landed like an axe stroke.

“Claere?” The word came sharp, almost incredulous, but the knot in his chest tightened.

“They were curious about her, my lord,” the man added hastily. “About that dragon. My lady, she told them stories, and... well, they followed her.” His voice grew quieter. “We thought they’d be back before long, but they haven’t. It’s... it’s nearly sundown.”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the narrow window, where the last streaks of sunlight bled orange into the encroaching dark. The North woods were no place for small children, not with wolves and worse lurking in the shadows.

“How old are they?” he asked, his tone clipped, his jaw tightening further.

“Six and four,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “Their names are Jonnel and Betha. Please, Lord Stark. Please bring my pups back to me.”

Her words cracked with desperation, the kind only a mother could summon. But Cregan barely heard her. His mind was already racing, drawn inexorably back to Claere.

Her strange, sleepless eyes. Her murmured words to herself, were too soft to catch yet unsettling in their rhythm. The echoes of the harp still rang faintly in his mind, haunting and cold.

The rumours clawed at him like unseen hands. Could she truly have harmed the children? The image of her, pale and otherworldly, the fire casting strange shadows across her sharp features, surfaced unbidden. He thought of the dragon she claimed was hers, a beast as enigmatic as its mistress.

No. He shook his head as if to dislodge the thought. It was ridiculous. It had to be. But still...

“Ready the horses,” he said, at last, his voice a low growl.

The woman sobbed with relief as her husband bowed low. Cregan turned away without another word, fastening his cloak and striding toward the courtyard. His men fell in behind him, ready to patrol, their silence speaking to the gravity of the task ahead.

As they mounted, he cast one last glance toward the keep. Somewhere within its ancient stones, she was likely unaware of the turmoil she’d caused—or worse, unbothered by it.

He spurred his horse forward, his thoughts darker than the woods they now entered. Whatever they found out there, he knew this much: Claere was not a woman to be trusted.

The woods swallowed the last light of day, the shadows deepening to a near impenetrable black. The only sounds were the crunch of hooves on frosted leaves and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. Cregan rode at the head of the patrol, Ice strapped across his back, its weight a constant reminder of duty.

The trees closed in around them, gnarled branches clawing at the sky, and the cold bit sharper here, as if the forest itself sought to repel them. His men called out the children’s names—Jonnel, Betha—voices ringing out into the empty expanse. But none dared call for her.

His breath misted as his thoughts churned. The bloodied image of Claere from his imagination melded uncomfortably with reality. The rumours whispered in Winterfell grew louder in his mind. He gripped the reins tighter.

“Lord Stark!”

The shout snapped his attention forward. One of the men pointed, and there she was, emerging from the underbrush like some ghostly specter. Claere.

Her hands were slick with blood, crimson streaking her pale fingers and arms, as though freshly painted. Her skirts, once pristine, were smeared with mud and more blood, dark streaks dragged haphazardly across the fabric as if she’d wiped her hands there in haste. Her feet were bare, toes red and raw against the frostbitten earth, and her hair had fallen from its usual bindings, wild tendrils framing her gaunt, hollow face.

Cregan halted his horse so abruptly it reared off the track, and he dismounted in a single swift motion. Ice sang as he drew it, the great blade gleaming even in the dim light.

He approached his wife slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

Claere’s head lifted at the sound of his boots crunching against the frost. Her violet eyes, tired and strange, met his. She took a hesitant step forward, but he raised the blade. Wordlessly.

Her steps faltered. She blinked, and though her expression remained still, her hands trembled, her fingers twitching at her sides. Slowly, she stepped back, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"My lord," she said, her voice hollow, as if the words were spoken from a great distance.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The stories screamed in his mind—the Valyrian witch, blood and fire, the maneater, the beautiful demon.

“The children?” His voice was low, hard, edged with suspicion.

Claere did not flinch. She turned her head, glancing westward. “The brook by the tall trees,” she said, her voice faint and uneven. “I only tried—”

But he didn’t wait for more. He sheathed Ice and strode past her, his pace swift and resolute. His men followed, their torches bobbing behind him like fleeting will-o’-the-wisps.

The landmark came quickly, the brook glinting faintly in the moonlight, its surface not yet frozen over. At its edge stood a towering tree with roots gnarled and exposed, reaching toward the stream like claws. Beneath its shelter, he saw them.

Jonnel and Betha.

The children were huddled together beneath a cloak far too large for them, their small feet tucked into the softness. Claere’s cloak. The fire before them sputtered weakly, the last of its life fed by scraps of leather—her shoes again, he realized, sacrificed to the flames.

For a moment, he simply stared, the scene pressing on him. The children were unharmed. Warm. Protected.

The men moved quickly, retrieving the little ones, murmuring reassurances as they wrapped them in blankets. Cregan didn’t follow. His gaze remained on the remnants of the fire, on the makeshift items strewn about—the cloak she’d offered, the shoes she’d burned.

When he turned back toward the woods, he saw her standing at a distance, her shoulders hunched as if against the cold. Her hands hung limply at her sides, stained red but empty. She did not meet his eyes, staring instead at the children being carried away.

The suspicion that had burned so fiercely in his chest faltered. He looked at her again—not the witch, not the monster, but the woman who had given what little she had to keep two helpless children safe. The moment stretched, and he felt something stir—an unease that wasn’t borne of mistrust, but of something far heavier. Guilt.

Yet still, the concern lingered. The blood on her hands, the strange air about her—it was all too much. Too foreign. Too other.

He shook it off and turned away, climbing into his saddle. The ride back to Winterfell would be long, and the questions clinging to his thoughts longer still.

“The horses, my lord,” one of his men called, gesturing toward the horses. An extra one.

“Leave her one,” Cregan commanded. “Let her do as she pleases.”

He cast one last glance over his shoulder. She had taken to kneeling by the brook, a silent figure against the shadowed woods. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if she was praying—to whom, or for what, he could not say.

And then he rode on, the ghost of her presence trailing after him like a haunting he could not outrun.

Cregan leaned against the cold stone of the ramparts, the weight of the night pressing down on him. Below, the gates of Winterfell stood sturdy and silent, the soft glow of torches marking the perimeter. His breath came in slow, heavy puffs, mingling with the frost of the air. He told himself he wasn’t waiting, and yet his eyes lingered on the road leading from the woods, scanning for the faintest silhouette of a rider.

Her bloodied hands plagued him. He shook his head, frustration knotting his chest. What had he done? In his anger, his doubt, he had left her. The memory of her kneeling by the brook, her skirts muddied, her face hollow with exhaustion, burned itself into his thoughts.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a gloved hand through his hair.

The sound of hooves on stone broke the quiet, and his heart stuttered. He leaned forward, eager, catching sight of a figure dismounting in the courtyard below. It was her—already within the keep. She hadn’t taken the horse he’d left; she’d come through Winter Town. Barefoot, frostbitten, her steps faltering but determined.

By the time Cregan reached her chamber, the air was thick with the sharp tang of herbs and damp wool. The door was slightly ajar, and a faint orange glow spilled out into the dim corridor. He paused, his hand resting against the rough wood, listening to the muffled movements within.

She was there, alone, perched on a low stool by the hearth. Her head was bowed, a curtain of silver hair falling across her face, her shoulders trembling as she worked. The basin at her feet was darkened with blood, the water tinged red and nearly frozen again. Her hands moved in slow, mechanical strokes, dabbing a cloth over the angry cuts on her fingers. Her frostbitten toes rested in the frigid water, the skin cracked and raw, as though she didn’t feel the sting of the cold.

It was the lack of reaction that unnerved him. She worked as if her body were something apart from herself, her expression distant, eerily calm, even serene.

“Claere,” he said, his voice rough, filling the silence.

She didn’t stir. Her focus remained locked on her hands, wiping at the blood as if she could somehow erase it from sight.

“Claere,” he said again, louder this time.

Her head lifted slowly, her eyes meeting his with a hollow detachment.

The sight of her—pale, bloodied, and so utterly calm—set his teeth on edge. Anger sparked in him, but it was an anger born of fear, of guilt, of not understanding sooner. He stepped inside, the door groaning on its hinges behind him.

“Stop,” he ordered, his tone sharper than he intended.

Her gaze flicked down to her hands, and for the first time, there was a flicker of awareness in her expression. Slowly, she lowered the cloth, her fingers trembling.

He crossed the room in two long strides, calling for the maester with a bark that echoed down the hall.

When Maester Kennet arrived moments later, his face tightened at the sight of her. “Lady Stark,” he said gently, kneeling beside her. “Please, allow me.”

Cregan stood back, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on her every movement. She didn’t resist as Kennet worked, applying oils and wrapping her hands with strips of linen soaked in pungent herbs. Even as the maester’s careful fingers pressed against the frostbitten flesh, she barely flinched. Her stillness was unsettling as if she had resigned herself to pain—or worse, as if she didn’t feel it at all.

“She’ll heal,” Kennet said when he finished, rising to face Cregan. “But the cold has taken its toll. She must stay warm, my lord.”

Cregan nodded curtly. “Thank you, maester.”

The room fell silent once more, save for the crackling of the fire. Claere remained where she was, her hands now neatly bandaged, her feet swaddled in cloth. She seemed smaller somehow, sitting there in the flickering light, her head bowed as though waiting for something she knew would not come.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, her voice low and steady, though her gaze dropped to the basin at her feet. The words were measured, devoid of plea or softness. “It was never my intention to cause their parents grief. I misjudged the woods, the snow. The children swore they knew the way to the shrubs I needed.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the bloodied water, then back to her frostbitten toes. “They did their best.”

Cregan’s gut twisted at the sight of her—the bruised, bloodied hands, the faint tremor in her slender frame. But her tone, her words—they struck something raw in him. There was no defense, no demand for his apology. Just quiet truth, sharp and unadorned.

His grip on his emotions slipped. He’d pointed a sword at her throat, doubted her every action, accused her in his heart of monstrous things. She had borne it all without protest and still managed to save two children who weren’t hers to protect. And she had nearly frozen herself to do it.

He swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” he said at last, the words low and stiff, clawing their way out of his chest.

Her head lifted at the sound, her silver hair falling from her face. Her violet eyes found his, and for a moment, the room seemed colder. She studied him in silence as if trying to see past his words, past his name and title, straight to the marrow of the man.

“You doubted me.” Her voice was soft, but it carried a bite—a blade, not dulled by anger, but honed by a quiet certainty. It wasn’t an accusation; it didn’t need to be.

“I…” He hesitated, the truth a jagged stone lodged in his throat. The weight of what he’d assumed, of how he’d treated her, was unbearable now, standing here in this room with her bruised feet in freezing water and her bandaged hands still trembling. “I was wrong, princess.”

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he thought he saw the flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or pity. But it was gone too quickly to name.

“Even the lord of Winterfell,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet irony, “can be wrong.”

He stiffened at the words, but not from anger. They weren’t spoken to wound. There was no malice in her tone, just an acknowledgment of the raw, human truth that he’d been so slow to see.

Her gaze dropped again to her hands, now wrapped tightly with linen soaked in oils and herbs. She flexed her fingers experimentally, as though testing the pain, but her expression barely changed. Only her lips moved, faintly, a breath too soft for him to hear.

Cregan watched her with a churn in his chest he couldn’t name. She was still too strange, too foreign, her pale beauty both otherworldly and unsettling. But there was something else now, something gnawing at the edges of his certainty.

“You burned your shoes,” he said suddenly, his voice sharper than he intended.

She glanced at him, startled, as though she’d forgotten he was still there. “The fire wouldn’t hold in the snow,” she replied simply. “Leather burns slower than wood.”

“And the cloak?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sewn with wool and lined with my blood,” she said, showing him her wounded palms. “It was all I had left to keep them warm.” She shrugged faintly as if such a thing were obvious.

His chest tightened. She’d used her own blood to insulate the children, to keep them warm while she bore the frost herself. He thought of the sight of her in the woods, barefoot in the snow, her skirts smeared with blood. How quickly he had drawn his blade. How sure he had been that she was a monster.

And here she was, undoing every dark thought he’d clung to with a calmness that only made him feel smaller.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt hollow as it left his mouth.

Her brows furrowed, as though the question confused her. “Because they were cold,” she said simply, tilting her head. “And I was not.”

There was no answer to that. No apology would be enough. He stared at her, his chest heavy with something unfamiliar. Guilt, shame, and something else—a growing awareness that this woman, this strange, pale figure who unsettled him so deeply, had a strength that defied the stories whispered behind her back.

As the silence stretched between them, she turned her gaze back to the water. Her fingers brushed the surface, red streaks curling like smoke in the fading warmth. “The children,” she said, breaking the quiet. “They are safe?”

“Aye,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She nodded once, her expression unreadable. “Good,” she said softly, as if that were the only thing that mattered.

[ I have no idea why I rejected this scene, I think I didn't explain it as well or just did not have enough evidence to support Cregan's mistrust, the description wasn't up to par, it was just all over the place, so I wrote it off. ]

SCENE #2 (part ii) - SOAP AND BUBBLES

Winterfell was meaner than Claere had imagined—colder than the stories ever told. The air seemed to gnaw at her, the chill seeping beneath layers of fur and silk. But it wasn’t just the weather; it was the people, the customs, their lives. Northern life was unyielding, hard as the ironwood trees that dotted the wolfswood. Mercy was a luxury the North could not afford.

Claere had begun to learn the harsh ways of her new home. She spent long hours pouring over maps in the solar, her fingers tracing the paths of rivers and trade routes. She watched with quiet vigilance, absorbing everything—how the men spoke of war and how disputes were resolved swiftly and without sentiment. She’d even resorted to mingling with the maids and stewards, overhearing their fierce remarks about her. It stung, but she endured, knowing that respect was earned here, never freely given.

Cregan noticed. He always noticed.

At first, it was the odd tilt of her head when someone spoke, the way her clothes turned to more cloaks and furs, darker shades of his own colours rather than Targaryen colours, how her lips pressed together in thought. Then it was her diligence—how she’d taken to studying the Stark family ledgers without complaint, or how she lingered longer in the courtyards, her eyes sharp and observant of the children playing. She was... different. Strange, yes. Vigilant, certainly. But hers was a quiet resilience, the kind that never stopped intriguing him.

On his fortnightly ride to White Harbor, the thought of her lingered, as it often did these days. He tried to focus on the tasks at hand—the long lists of goods to inspect, the tallies to confirm—but her image crept into the quiet moments between. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the soft cadence of her voice when she spoke of the godswood, her quiet intensity as she studied maps in the flickering firelight.

Winterfell’s larders were vast and well-stocked, but White Harbor offered treasures the North could not produce—southern goods that reminded him of her, a woman so different from the hard, unyielding stone around them.

He moved among the crates of grain, smoked fish, and wool with the practised eye of a Stark lord. Each decision he made carried the weight of his house, and his men knew better than to question his scrutiny. But when he came upon the crates of southern wares, he paused.

“What else do you have from Dorne?” he asked the merchant, his tone sharp with interest.

The man looked at him, startled, before recovering. “Fruits, spices—cinnamon, saffron, dried lemons. They fetch a high price, my lord.”

“Bring more next time,” Cregan said, his voice brooking no argument. “Fresh, if you can manage it. And anything else of quality from the capital—items meant for royals.”

The merchant nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord. Is there anything specific you seek?”

Cregan paused, considering. “Vegetarian fare,” he said at last. “Dried herbs, cheeses, and anything light. She...” He stopped himself, feeling the weight of his men’s curious gazes. “The Lady of Winterfell has particular tastes,” he finished curtly.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. As the goods were sorted, his gaze wandered to another stall nearby, smaller but filled with curiosities from Essos—glass beads, bolts of silk, carved wooden idols. But when he saw the little bar of soap, nestled between silks, it stopped him in his tracks. It was a lovely thing, carved with intricate patterns and scented like lilies. He turned it over in his palm, imagining her expression if he gifted it to her.

“She’ll think you’re courting her,” one of his men teased, his grin wide.

“Then let her think it,” Cregan replied gruffly, tucking the soap into his saddlebag.

When he rode back to Winterfell, the cold biting at his cheeks, the thought of her remained a quiet warmth in his chest. The blood oranges, dates, and soap nestled in his saddlebag felt like small tokens, yet they carried a significance he didn’t yet have the words to express.

In his mind, he pictured her as she might look when she found the soap—a small, private smile tugging at her lips, the kind that made the world outside Winterfell feel momentarily distant. It was a thought that stayed with him, warming him far more than the furs on his back.

He left the gift in her chambers that evening, no note, no ceremony. The next day, he knew she had found it. The scent of lilies wove its way through Winterfell like a secret, light and intoxicating. It clung to the cold stone, a defiance of the North’s austerity.

By the time he passed her chambers that evening, the fragrance was stronger, laced with warmth from the hearthfire within. Her door hung ajar, as it often did—a small defiance she had taken to after remarking how Winterfell’s doors seemed designed to shut out the world. Cregan paused, his hand brushing the uneven wood of the doorframe. The hinges needed mending, he noted absently, his eyes narrowing.

He meant to pull it closed. He meant to walk away. But the faint sound of water—soft, sloshing and rhythmic—stilled his hand. His instincts told him to leave, to respect her privacy. But a flicker of motion within drew his gaze like a lodestone.

Just one glance. One little peek.

Gods, this was hell. The hearthlight gilded her bare shoulders, turning her skin to honeyed gold. Steam curled lazily around her, softening the stark edges of the chamber. Her hair, a tumble of silver silk, was piled atop her head, loose strands clinging to the damp nape of her neck. She moved with an unhurried grace, her back to him, the soap he had gifted her sliding over her skin.

Cregan went immobilized, his breath caught in his throat. The soap’s lather trailed down her shoulder, gleaming against her bare arm before vanishing into the water. Her movements were deliberate, sensual without intent, a quiet intimacy that made his pulse pound. He drank in the curve of her back, the subtle lines of her ribs, the delve of her spine, the elegant slope of her neck.

She was a sight to rival the old gods themselves.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as heat flared low in his stomach, an ache sharp and sudden. She was so different here, stripped of the Northern chill and her careful composure. She was soft. Vulnerable. A creature of fire and moonlight, wholly unguarded in her private sanctuary.

For a man of the North, accustomed to restraint, this was dangerous ground. He gripped the doorframe, his knuckles whitening as he struggled against the urge to step inside, to close the door behind him, to join her—

“Lord Stark.”

The voice shattered the spell. He turned sharply, his shoulders stiff, to find one of her handmaidens standing behind him. Her gaze flickered to the open door, her expression caught between curiosity and amusement.

“The hinges,” he said gruffly, his voice lower than usual. “They need mending.”

She arched a brow, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Lady Stark prefers it that way, m'lord. She likes the air.”

Cregan forced a curt nod, stepping back and away from the door, away from the golden light and the intoxicating scent of lilies. “See to it,” he muttered, his tone clipped.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode toward his chambers, his steps heavy and deliberate. Once inside, he pushed the door shut with more force than necessary and leaned against it, dragging a hand down his face.

The scent still clung to him, subtle yet maddening. His hands trembled as he pressed his palms to his eyes, willing the image of her—bathed in firelight, her skin glistening, her form so achingly bare—to fade. But it didn’t. It stayed with him, carved into his mind, an unshakable temptation.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, sinking into the nearest chair. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath, and for the first time in years, Cregan Stark felt truly undone.

She was a storm he hadn’t anticipated, and she was far more dangerous than the winter winds ever could be.

[ I love how i deleted so many horny Cregan scenes, like I have two more of him just being a simp for his wife. lmao we love a pathetic lovey-dovey king ]

SCENE #3 (part iv) - BOW SHOOT

When Cregan sought her out to share the latest developments, he found her in the courtyard, not with her harp nor wandering the keep, but standing alone by the practice yard. She was a pale figure against the rough-hewn timber and frost-covered ground, a giant bow in her hands. Her eyes narrowed in quiet concentration as she drew the string back, the soft morning light catching the strands of silver in her hair.

Cregan paused by the stockades, his brow furrowing in curiosity. She was an unusual sight here, out of place among the cracked leather targets and straw dummies. Yet there was a determination in her stance, something raw and deliberate, even as the arrow she released flew wide, thudding into the frozen ground with an audible lack of grace.

She frowned, her lips tightening, but said nothing as she adjusted her grip and notched another arrow.

“Planning to shoot your way out of trouble now, princess?” Cregan called, his voice carrying over the yard. Though the words were light, his eyes lingered on her, taking in her unflinching focus.

Claere’s head turned slightly, her gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments. There was no smile, no coy remark—just that same steady resolve. “The bow was left by the yard,” she said, her tone as cool as the frost beneath their boots.

He approached, boots crunching against the frozen dirt. “And you thought to pick it up?”

“I thought to try,” she replied, not looking at him this time. Her fingers trembled slightly as she drew the string back again.

The release was awkward, the arrow wobbling and veering far from the target. Cregan sighed and stepped closer, his presence casting a long shadow over her. “A bow’s no use if you don’t know how to wield it,” he said, his tone softer now, but still tinged with amusement.

When the second shot went wide, he couldn’t help but smirk. “A bow’s no use to someone who doesn’t know how to wield it,” he said, stopping just short of her.

Her grip on the bow tightened, and for a moment, he thought she might argue. But instead, she turned her head, her gaze meeting his with that same unsettling calm. “Then show me,” she said simply.

The words hit him like a challenge, quiet but loaded with meaning. Without a word, he stepped behind her, closing the space between them until his chest was nearly flush against her back. The sharp scent of pine and leather clung to him, and she stiffened, though not out of fear.

“Here,” he murmured, his voice low as his hands came to rest on her shoulders. He adjusted her stance, his touch firm but careful, like a sculptor shaping something fragile. “Relax. You can’t shoot if you’re this tense.”

She inhaled sharply, her body responding instinctively to his nearness. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, sliding down her arms to guide her.

“You’re stiff as stone,” he chided softly, his hands sliding to her arms, steering them gently. “Let go of some of that pride. A bow doesn’t care for it.”

She inhaled sharply, her gaze fixed on the target ahead. But all she could feel was him—solid, steady, and far too close. His fingers brushed hers, calloused and warm, as he helped her notch another arrow.

“Draw slowly,” he instructed, his hot breaths against her cheek. “Feel the tension. Don’t fight it.”

Her pulse thundered as she drew the string back, the bow creaking under the strain. His hands moved over hers, steadying her grip. She could feel the rhythm of his breaths, deep and even, and unconsciously, she matched it.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, closer. She swore she felt the faintest graze of his lips against the shell of her ear, though it could have been the ghost of her imagination. “Focus. You’re not thinking about the target.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as the bowstring thrummed under the tension. Her fingers felt too cold, her cheeks too warm, and his hands too solid, too sure as they held her steady.

“Let go, love,” he whispered, and it wasn’t just an instruction. It was a command, a promise, a challenge.

She released the string, the arrow slicing through the air. It struck the edge of the target—not perfect, but far better than before. A breathless laugh escaped her lips, surprising even herself.

“A fine attempt,” Cregan said, his voice laced with approval. But he didn’t step away. His hands lingered on hers, the rough calluses brushing against her softer skin, his touch deliberate, deliberate enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“And if I miss?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her head tilting slightly to glance at him over her shoulder. The movement brought her lips close—too close—to his.

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. Slowly, his fingers slid along the inside of her wrist, his touch featherlight, tracing the delicate veins beneath her skin.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he said.

The silence that followed was thick; charged. For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them—their breath mingling in the cold air, the tension crackling like the belly of a beast.

And then he stepped back, the absence of his warmth a jarring contrast to the heat still lingering on her skin.

“Try again,” he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burned with something unspoken.

She turned back to the target, her movements steady, though her heart was anything but. When she drew the string again, she couldn’t help but feel his gaze on her—not just watching but waiting.

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