#you know how when you make an oc you give them part of your soul or whatever? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlyswan · 2 years ago

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summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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corseque · 4 days ago

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Hi! I've been following you for ages for your great Solas takes and immaculate taste in sad men. I've been thinking about this because I have a Dragon Age Inquisitor who is an abomination, what do you think Solas would think about abominations/do you recall him ever talking about them? Both Anders/Justice and the more demonic unwilling variety.

Personally I would assume he'd be initially horrified because that might seem like a violation of consent for both parties, but after learning more about them he might grow more curious/respect actual unions a mage might have as an abomination. I am basically just workshopping an OC and hitting a wall and you're the local Solas sage, so... XO

Oh, that's so nice..

Solas is more chill with willing abominations than you might think. And he seems to know all about it already. In Jaws of Hakkon, in the quest called “In Exile” you meet a young mage named Sigrid Gulsdotten who had been willingly possessed by a friendly spirit in order to teach her magic. Which is what the Avvar do culturally to make mages safer.

Sigrid was getting old enough that it was time for her and the spirit to part ways, but she didn’t want to give it up because she didn’t want to lose the spirit as a friend/confidant. Solas has a surprising amount to say in Jaws of Hakkon in general about how the Avvar interact with and relate to spirits, and he talks a lot in this quest too. He is very gentle with her. Let me look up exactly what he says. When you find clues about the mage's failed ritual to part with her spirit, Solas says (a mage in your party always speaks here):

"Residual magic. Someone was casting a spell, and was interrupted. Or stopped."

"If a mage was performing a ritual to part with a spirit, she may have needed to replenish her strength."

Then later, when you talk to her, the conversation goes like this:

Sigrid: "I could not do it! I have no close companions in the hold! No kin! I cannot lose my only friend!"

Inquisitor: "You're friends with this… spirit?"

Sigrid: "It has taught me with patience and kindness since I was a child, frightened of the fire I could suddenly call down."

Solas: "A great comfort. But you are no longer a child."

Sigrid: "Some mages need the help of a god all their lives."

Solas: "Very well. Perhaps, however, ask yourself if it is help you need, or companionship."

Sigrid: "I do not wish to lose the one who loves me."

Here is a playthrough that has this dialogue:

youtube

At the end of the quest, if you recruit Sigrid for the Inquisition, Varric, Sera, Vivienne, Iron Bull and Cassandra have strong negative feelings about it, while Cole approves. Solas doesn't seem to approve or disapprove, as far as I can tell. He doesn't say anything, at least. When talking to the Shaman about this Avvar practice, you get this conversation:

Inquisitor: "You let spirits possess your mages on purpose?"

Shaman: "What better teacher than one woven from magic? The spirits in the hold have helped us in this way for hundreds of years. Once a mage masters their powers, their teacher departs, duty ended. Unless the mage is weak."

Inquisitor: "What happens to these "weak" mages?"

Shaman: "Their teachers stay with them and the other gods watch them both, so neither soul turns sick. If one does sicken, or the mage stands in risk of harming the hold… One day, they do not wake in their bed. It is very sad. It is what must be done."

Solas: "It is kinder than what happens in many mage Circles."

So Solas seems to understand the reality that abominations become corrupted more easily, and that it's probably best for abominations to separate willingly.

Solas offers to separate Lucanis and Spite, and says their forceful combination was "a crime against [them] both" so I can only assume that it's the willingness factor that he gets upset by, along with him always being upset at the thought of spirits becoming corrupted.

#Dragon Age #Solas #DA4 spoilers #kind of

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earthchica · 24 days ago

Text

Use Your Heart

terry richmond x black, fem! oc { amara hawthrone }

summary: after seven beautiful years together, building a life, and creating a family, the relationship comes to an end when Amara grows tired of waiting for Terry to propose.

warnings: ANGST, break up, mention of pregnancy, marriage, regret, past heartache, sad! terry, past relationship, original characters, twin daughters, words: 4k

note: this is my first OC fic, I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part.

{ playlist } use your heart by swv I get lonely by janet jackson my love lingers on by peter sivo band

Part 2

Terry Richmond and Amara Hawthrone have been together for seven beautiful years. They met as recruits for a secret agency named S.A.G.E.

The competitive tension between them was palpable, but as they collaborated on numerous missions, that rivalry blossomed into a deep and enduring love.

After three intense years as spy agents, they decided to take a long hiatus from work when they discovered they were expecting their first child togather.

Later, they learned they were having twins, two healthy baby girls. Fast-forward a few years, and Terry and Amara settled in the vibrant city of New Orleans.

Embracing the joys of parenthood and raising two beautiful four-year-old daughters. Their life seemed great, filled with happiness, laughter, and love.

However, Amara started to reflect on her life, and she longed for something she didn't think would happen. Amara was an outspoken woman; she always spoke her mind and told anyone how she felt.

Lately, she's questioned many things about her and Terry's love and relationship. She had to express her feelings, the burn inside her heart.

Amara's POV

I smiled happily, watching the twins take their afternoon nap peacefully and adorably. I closed the door and went to the living room to find Terry watching TV.

Terry smiled at me with warmth and sweetness. "Are they napping?" he asked, motioning for me to sit on the couch. I nodded and sat down next to him.

"Yeah, out like a light," I said with a smile. Terry nodded and turned his attention back to the TV, laughing. I followed his gaze, and "Living Single," our favorite show, was on.

I turned to my head to examine his face. "T, can I ask you something?" I asked. "You can ask me anything, baby?" Terry said, gently wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a warm smile.

"Do you love me?" I asked gently, reassuringly. Terry tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he focused intently on my eyes, searching in my expression.

"Yes, baby, I love you with all my heart and soul. I remind you how deeply I do every day, right?" he asked, waiting for my answer, and I said, "You do, Terry."

"And do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" I added another question. "Yes, yes, of course. What's going on?" Terry asked with concern.

"I'm just asking because it's been seven years of us being togather, and you haven't popped the question. How long are you gonna make me wait?" I asked, crossing my arms.

“Oh....I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Terry said, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’m dragging my feet. I got my reasons, you know?”

I crossed my arms tighter, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Reasons? What reasons, Terry? Seven, seven years of us being together, you never expressed your reasons."

I lifted myself from the couch and started to pace back and forth, my mind racing as I struggled to find the right words to protect his feelings but...

The room felt tense, and I could sense Terry’s concerned gaze. "You know you always talk about wanting more babies, but never once have you said you want to give me your last name?”

“Baby, look, I wanna get married, especially to you, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet?” Terry expressed straightforwardly, and my eye twitched a little.

“Not ready? What more do you need?” I shot back, my voice rising. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst. We love each other, and we are financially stable." I trailed off, taking a breath.

"...We have a house, and we're a family, and we've built a fucking life together. We're practically already husband and wife. Why can't we just make it official!"

Terry remains silent, simply listening. This lack of engagement truly frustrates me. I would prefer he share his thoughts or feelings rather than allow me to dominate the conversation.

"So what's stopping you, Terry? You act like the idea of getting married is some kind of weight you can’t handle. Just tell me the real reason. No excuses about needing time; time is running out,” I added.

“Look, I said, baby, I want to get married to you, but it just has to do with something in my past that's been-,” Terry starts with hesitation in his voice.

My heart jumped, and I sat beside them and touched his hand. His eyes hardened, fighting back and forth about whether to open up with me. "Terry, baby, whatever it is, you can trust-"

"No, just drop it!" Terry says, raising his voice. I removed my hand and stared at him, the hurt evident in my eyes and my voice shaking with emotion.

"Okay, then..."I said, getting up and moving towards our shared bedroom. Terry covered his face with his hands before getting up and making his way to her.

"I think we should take time apart. I can’t wait for you to decide if I’m worth being your wife when I've proven it, ” I said as I finished packing some clothes into a bag."

“Wait, what do you mean, time apart?” He stepped forward, desperation creeping into his tone. “I just mean what I said,” I replied, my tone not softening.

“Cause it feels like I’m the only one wanting something you don't want. And that’s not fair, Terry. You gotta figure it out whatever is haunting you.” I said, going to leave the bedroom, but he stopped me.

"I don’t want to lose you, Amara. I love you more than anything, and we can work through it; you're making an irrational decision right now," Terry said, desperation creeping into his voice.

“I'm not, Terry. You need to take some time to figure out your issues, which may mean being away from me for a bit,” I replied, my heart racing with sorrow and uncertainty.

Terry stepped closer, closing the distance between us, and pressed his forehead against mine. I felt his soft touch as the tears streamed down my cheeks, heavy with emotion.

He inhaled deeply, taking in my sweet, familiar scent that always made him feel safe. "Please, let’s talk this through, baby," he pleaded, his voice trembling with raw vulnerability.

I searched for the right words to respond, but no sound came out, leaving me in silence as I struggled to process everything. I walked out of the bedroom, the weight of my decision heavy on my shoulders.

Terry reached out, stopping me again before I could reach the twins' bedroom. He grasped my hand tightly, his fingers trembling against the warm, dark brown skin of my hand.

I looked into his greyish-blue eyes, which glistened with unshed tears and reflected a mix of desperation and sadness. His gaze searched my beautiful hazel-brown eyes.

Trying to find a spark of hope or a reason for me to reconsider. "Please!' Terry's voice quivered as he made one last heartfelt plea. Despite his earnest effort and the thick in the air, I knew I had to let go for now.

A few months later, I found myself in a stressful state that I had kept hidden for the twins' sake. This whole breakup was quite heart-aching.

I especially despised explaining the recent changes in our new living situation to my daughters. Sophie and Odette's curiosity was challenging, and I struggled to find the right words to comfort them.

Now that Terry and I are no longer together, I only communicate with him about the twins and establish effective co-parenting. I'm not the type of mother who prevents the children from seeing their father.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Terry had arrived to take the girls for the weekend and mentioned wanting to take them to the park for a picnic.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear what he said. "Do you want to come?" Terry asked with a hopeful smile. "Terry, no. I'm fine," I replied, shaking my head.

"You go and have fun with the girls. They miss you," I added with a small smile while handing him their stuff. "Right!" He nodded, taking the stuff out of my hands with a disappointed look.

I sighed, noticing his expression, but shook my head and went to get the girls. They ran out of the bedroom towards their daddy, and Terry knelt to greet them.

Their faces lit up like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Hey, there, my princesses!” he said, pulling them into a warm embrace. They giggled in delight, their little arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Daddy!” they squealed in unison, pulling away from the hug to look at his face. “Are we going to the park?” Odette asked with a tooth missing in her grin.

“Of course! yeah, and I've got the whole weekend planned out for us,” Terry replied, his smile infectious. “Mommy, are you coming too?” Sophie asked, looking at me as her voice was laced with hopefulness.

I stepped in to keep the atmosphere light, even if my heart felt heavy. “No, baby girl, Mommy’s got some stuff to do today,” I said, keeping a steady tone.

"Yeah...that means it’s all about three of us today! We’re gonna have a blast,” Terry said, caressing their twist-braid hairstyle. They giggled again, their joy bubbling.

“Mommy, are you sad?” Odette asked, her big hazel eyes wide with concern, and I knelt beside her, cupping her cheek and keeping my expression warm.

“No, Dotty, don't worry about me. You go have fun with your Daddy. I'm fine, I promise. Plus, I'm a call away if you need anything, okay?” I explained.

“Okay, Mommy!” they chirped, reassured. Terry gave me a gentle look; the tension between us was still palpable but softened by the girls’ laughter.

“Are you all ready to go?” he asked playfully, extending his hand towards them. They squealed with excitement and bounced on their toes as he led them outside.

I waved goodbye by the front door. “Have fun, you three! Don’t forget to take lots of pictures!” I said with a fake smile. “Will do!” Terry replied, shooting me a glance.

For the sake of the girls, we both put on brave faces, knowing that they deserved the best from their parents, even though we still had work to do in co-parenting.

With one final wave, they drove away. I closed the door behind me, walked to the couch, and sat down, staring into space until I bursted into tears.

It's been four months since the breakup, and I felt increasingly miserable as each day passed. I continued to hide my pain behind a fake smile.

My love for Terry had not changed; it remained unwavering. I had devoted seven years to that man, and I often wondered if I had been more patient; perhaps things wouldn't have turned out this way.

I found myself alone, cursing his name, feeling an intense wave of resentment as I reflected on how he never communicated his actual issues about getting married.

It seemed like he buried his fears deep inside, leaving me to guess this hesitation alone. I thought about the situation, considering the pros and cons.

On the positive side, Terry was undeniably a fantastic boyfriend. He was a loving, sweet, reliable, thoughtful, responsible, and faithful man.

Of course, he was an amazing and loving father to our kids. However, despite these admirable qualities, doubts crept into my mind, and his communication on this one thing frustrated me.

Yet, I often questioned whether ending our relationship was the right decision or if I had acted too impulsively. The more I pondered, the more I was drawn to the negative parts.

I took a moment to clear my mind, pushing away the swirling thoughts that occupied my head. Just then, my friend Aisha knocked on the door.

She stepped through the door with a warm smile, and her vibrant energy instantly filled the room. Her presence lifted my spirits and created a sense of comfort.

I opened up about what's been going on with me, the breakup, and Terry, and she was honest. "Look, I get it but you gotta let that man go, Amara. You know your worth."

I sighed, running a hand through my long, curly hair. "I know, I know. It's just hard. We spent seven years together, and the love is still there. I miss him, I miss us, I miss our family, And now…"

Aisha nodded, her expression softening. "You gotta focus on you and your daughters. Let him figure out his issues; if he really wanted you, he'd be fightin' to keep you, not out here doing whatever."

"Maybe...you're right," I said, a little fired up by her words. "But it just stings, you know? I keep thinkin' back to the good things, and I wonder if it was wrong to end it."

I added, "Like, what if he finds someone better? What if-?" I trailed off, not trying to finish that thought. Aisha grabbed my hand, looking straight into my eyes.

"Listen, ain't nobody better than you, Amara. You're a whole baddie; you have to believe that. I'm sure when Terry gets shit together and hopefully comes correct." Aisha said honestly.

"You deserve the whole package: the husband, the ring, and the last name. You are wifey material," she added. "You're right," I said, pulling myself together.

"I know. How about we put on some music, drink wine, and vibe?" she said, pulling a wine bottle from her bag and making me laugh for the first time in weeks.

Meanwhile, Terry settled into his parents' cozy living room, and giggles echoed off the walls. His twin daughters were sprawled on the floor.

Lost in a world of toys and laughter with their grandpa, who delighted in their antics. Terry leaned back on the couch, his mind heavy with thoughts of Amara.

Terry stared at a picture of the two of them; he missed her so much and knew he had messed up badly. His mother noticed the distant look in his eyes.

She paused her knitting and looked at her son, who was staring at his phone intensely. “Terry, are you alright, baby?” Terry took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.

“No, Ma. Things ain’t been easy since the breakup with Amara, I messed up.” He expressed, looking at her, “No, shit, son,” She started, her voice gentle but firm.

“You need to go talk to her and stop this foolishness. Tell her the truth, and stop letting the past weigh you down. It's not fair to Amara.” His mother said.

Terry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while glancing at Sophie and Odette, who giggled as their grandpa pretended to be a monster. “I know. I know I’m just….”

His mother set her knitting aside, leaning forward, her eyes sharp. “Terrance James Richmond, Look at me," he said, looking back at his mother with despair.

“You gotta talk to Amara, baby. Tell her about your past relationship with Leia; she deserves to know. You can’t just be sittin’ here all mopey when deep down, you know you gotta be honest with her.” She says.

Terry shifted uncomfortably, covering the scuffed beard he'd been growing with his hand.

"I know, Ma, but....you know my history with Leia left me hurt; it took me a long time to heal and trust again. I buried what she did deep in my mind. It’s just... complicated."

“Whether it’s complicated or not, you have to be honest with her. Amara deserves to hear the full truth, no matter how difficult it might be to share, baby,” his mother urged gently,

Her voice softened as she spoke, knowing how heavy the burden of secrets could be. She hoped Terry would understand the importance of transparency in his relationship with Amara.

“What Leia did to you, that’s more than just a scratch on your heart; it’s a deep wound, and holding onto it ain't help you move forward with Amara." His mother said.

She added, "You two have been together for seven years. That’s a long time, son. You can’t let your past ruin what could be something beautiful now.”

Terry sighed, glancing down at the floor. “I just...I don’t want her to see me as weak or broken. I don’t want her to think...." He trails off, trying to hold his emotions.

“Oh..baby boy,” his mother leaned closer, her voice taking on a bit of a comforting tone. “Amara ain't gonna see you as weak. If anything, she’s gonna respect you more for being real with her."

"You need to let her in. She deserves to know why you have been hesitant. You think she doesn’t see that somethin’ ain’t right? She’ll empathize with your fears once the truth is out.” His mother says.

Terry ran a hand over his face again, wiping the tears and contemplating her words. “You really think it could help? That it could change things?”

“I know it can, Terry. You gotta stop carrying that baggage alone. The hurt from Leia ain’t gonna disappear unless you deal with it. Talk to Amara about it, and share how it affected you....” his mother urged, her expression earnest and warm.

"She’s not just your girlfriend; she’s your wife. Let her be that for you. Put a ring on it, boy. it's been seven years, seven Terry. You have been holding onto that pain for long enough. So talk to her, baby. Just be honest and let it all out there.”

Terry sat there, processing his mother’s words, the weight of her advice sinking in. He wanted to be a better man, but the memories of Leia had been like chains holding him back.

“You’re right, Ma. I can’t let this keep me from Amara. She deserves more than that,” Terry said, and his mother nodded, a small smile breaking across her face.

“There you go, baby. It ain’t just about you anymore; it’s about your family, too. You gotta get out there and claim what’s yours.” His mother said, and he stood up and felt a spark of determination ignite.

“Open your heart and be straight with her. Let her know what you’ve been dragging around. It won’t be easy, but if you love her like I know you do, you’ll fight for her.”

He took a deep breath. “You're right, mama. I’m gonna do it. I’mma go see her.”

“Good. And don’t forget, you’re not weak in expressing your emotions or issues. You’re strong for bein’ vulnerable. That takes a real man.” She said with an encouraging smile.

“Thanks, Ma,” Terry said, giving her a genuine smile. “I appreciate you always keepin’ it real with me.”

“You know I’m always here for you, baby. Now go get my future daughter-in-law,” she encouraged, and he chuckled.

“You think you and Dad can watch the girls for me while I go?” he asked, his voice reassuring.

“Yeah, we've got 'em,” she replied, her eyes bright with understanding. "Thanks again, Ma,” Terry said with a smile, kissing her cheek.

“Of course, baby. Now go on,” she teased lightly, squeezing his hand as she released him. Terry breathed, gathering strength before leaving and hoping Amara would listen.

Terry headed out; he rehearsed what he would say. Once in his car, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing with the thought of confronting his fears.

Once Terry parked outside the house they once shared, a mix of nerves, hope, and determination bubbled inside him. He stepped out and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

As Terry stood at the front door, he felt the importance of their seven years' worth of memories and love crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

His heart raced, each beat echoing their shared joyful and painful moments. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he knocked lightly, the sound resonating in the stillness of the evening.

The door creaked open after what felt like an eternity, revealing Amara. Her wide eyes reflected surprise and hesitation as if she were unsure whether to welcome him in or shut the door.

"Terry?" she breathed, her voice trembling slightly with confusion and a hint of guardedness. It was clear she hadn’t expected to see him standing there without twins. What could he possibly want?

cliffhanger, sorry lol! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part.

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond x black female oc #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond fic #aaron pierre #terry richmond angst #terry richmond x black fem oc #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x black fem reader

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hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

Text

SMOKE, ii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 9.6k

summary: everything that begins prolongs and deepens.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: hobi is drunk, oc gets triggered and dissociates, throwing up, ptsd, covid and the pandemic, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, thigh humping, social anxiety.

note: so happy to bring part two of the smoke series to my babies. you were all looking forward to it so sm that i worked hard to give this to you. it's longer than the first part and from oc's pov. this might have just become my fav series ever. idk why, it just feels different. more profound. please, enjoy reading and let me know what you think. i want to hear your thoughts. <3

He walks as if he’s immersed in a prayer.

With his hands sunk in the pockets of his sweatpants and his head dipped low, the gray strands of his hair, which compliment resplendently his monochrome tracksuit, shade his eyes with more charcoal that one finds in his absent eyes. It’s the first thing I noticed about him—the way he seems to be so out of touch with reality, how deep he’s fallen through the cracks and the way he’s not one bit bothered by it.

Even the cloud that is suspended over his head is as gray as him. Hefty and sodden with the world’s rain and burdens that he broods over as he paces, unhurriedly. The room is jam-packed, filled with multitudes of people that make my skin crawl, but the way he appears to be pretending that he’s alone in the great spaciousness of the area is… uplifting.

I wish I could do the same.

But when I’m forced to be among souls that have more life than mine, I tend to overexert my non-existent social skills. Usually, it comes out in the form of my silent smile. Or, if the day is going well, I laugh and nod my head. Wait for the other person to continue talking so I’m no longer smothered in the awkwardness of the sudden airiness of wordlessness. And strangely, it works.

And I know why.

I’ve noticed people love to be listened to. To be fully conscious of the fact that the sentences they are uttering are being taken in, thought about and validated, either by that smile and that nod or by your own expansion on the matter. The latter is something I’ve more often than not had a problem with as I was born laconic.

I didn’t speak as a kid until very later on. Didn’t have many friends growing up—and my parents seldom talked to me, as young as they were. It was their first life; kids having a kid and they didn’t know what to do. It may be a psychological block, my tendency to listen rather than speak and engage in a conversation, but it’s not something I blame my parents for. It’s something I’m grateful to them in my heart for.

Had they been perfect and had I been perfect owing to that, I wouldn’t have the oneiric, yet earthy girlhood that created in me the confidence that is a sturdy mountain in me, unable to shatter or crumble. Being by myself, being in my head for the entire trajectory of my life nurtured its smoothness and strength. I’m not embarrassed that I’m unable to do something that is considered normal and perhaps… necessary in society. On the contrary, I take pride in it and I protect it.

And my dignity in me is as unchangeable, assertive and secure as the day fading into twilight, greeting me, beckoning me out.

It’s the only person—headless, mouthless, lungless—that doesn’t ask for words from me. When it takes me by the hand and drags me into its hues of pinks and blues, he doesn’t do it to expect something from me in return. The twilight does it just because. Just so I can breathe and refill my energy, my aloneness. Just so I can be knotted, devotedly, with my thoughts, dwell in them—dwell in my day and its ceaseless, eccentric events—without being under the obligation to share them with him or with anyone else.

I like walks. I like my own walks in the tiny forest behind my apartment that pervade with the dreamy meanings of life stories, often more of other people’s than mine. Where I don’t meet anyone or try to match my steps to theirs. I could never even imagine turning off my brain and my life, in front of groups of nearly twenty people.

But he’s done it and I can’t stop watching him.

Whenever I’m forced to sit in someone’s company, I engage with my attention. He doesn’t—and it’s so stirring.

Encouraging in the way it swirls my emotions because it incites me, almost, to get up on my feet and copy him, though somewhere far off, where no one would see me, so I’d get the hang of it first before I’d have the courage to do it in his fashion.

My stomach grumbles and I don’t know why the question of whether he’s eaten at all joins my contemplation before I think about Jungkook first or before I even talk myself into taking the action to get something to eat. As if he somehow hears my body and mind, he stops in his walk all of a sudden and grasps the bottle of Hennessy that he set down on the table, by which he previously sat when I came in and our eyes locked so deeply that it took my breath away.

I never thought I’d ever experience something like that. All my lonely girlhood, I read about it without ever expecting it to happen to me, nor longing for it. And it’s safe to say that none of them described it right.

It’s not tender and dream-like.

It’s a vacuum. A time-pulling force that sucks out your heart and leaves it hanging on the tip of your tongue for the other person to see.

And I hope Yoongi didn’t see it.

Because he wouldn’t see a flushed, unwrinkled and polished heart.

He would see a bruise.

A dotted, heavily breathing flesh speckled with unsightly yellows, reds and greens. A Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘The Night Café’ painting that is openly considered as ugly by even uglier society.

An inanimate object.

A gun—because whatever the eyes of society view as ugly or unright is a weapon against it.

Yellow for my hostile solitariness. Red for my distrust towards the majority of men. Green for the streak of my hair that Jungkook dyed because he desired it to be a symbol of our special connection; for Grookey and my connection to him.

His former struggle to fit in.

A trauma response, painted by Japanese hands into a form of a chunky monkey monster that I’ve grown naturally attached to—because how could I not when something I struggled with a lot in my childhood was put out there in the world so beautifully and gave me the hope I needed that I will fit in with, that people will accept me the way I am.

And the hope burst in my reality, in its own time.

All those colors, that make the painting that my heart is, are a gun for Yoongi, too. That is if I ever let him in.

It’s better if I keep it safe and hang around Jungkook like a kitten, keeping Yoongi’s safe in the process. Something that I never knew lived in me awakens from its slumber when I’m in his proximity, whenever our eyes lock in that depth and I don’t want it. I’d rather reject it and forget that it’s in me than provoke it to animatedness and get myself hurt in the end. Get him hurt.

Falling in love never has a positive result in my life and the only relationship I had—if I can even call it that—devastated me to the point that I can’t even look in the eyes of a man I find attractive.

Which is why I looked away, immediately, when our gaze deepened, because I knew that if I prolonged it for only two seconds more, my body would whisper to me that it’s inevitable and I’d believe it, succumb to it and beat at my heart until it stops feeling altogether.

Which is why I look away now, when Yoongi senses my staring and swivels his head in my direction. I pray, like him, that he didn’t see the movement of my neck twisting quickly to pay attention to whatever Jungkook’s saying next to me. And I flatten my lips when my curiosity about the contexts of his meditation seizes me, the weight of his gaze only strengthening it, silencing Jungkook’s voice like I silence my body in a worthless fight.

I crawl into myself, spellbound, where a picture of him grows in size. A house where I can walk and contemplate without being seen or noticed, and there I ponder.

A faint image of him rapping his lines flashes across the walls as if it was screened through a projector and I wonder if he was so preoccupied in his thoughts because of that. Jungkook told me it was their first performance in quite a while.

But my own take me elsewhere. My gut tells me it was something else and the image disappears into the white of the surface until only his lidded eyes remain and they gaze right back at me.

It’s like my consciousness is taunting me and it’s too much for me. I don’t feel my legs when I get up and take a walk.

I exit out of the house.

And I stride into the hall.

My heavy eyes, beguiled by my drowsiness, follow the pictures of Korean idols and western singers along the walls. For some reason, whatever it is in me, that has more energy than my body, searches for Yoongi’s eyes, but none of them are so lidded, so in tune with suaveness and geniality of his art, powdered in pinks and purples due to the love he carries in his heart for his fans. I must be looking wrong, or looking in the wrong direction, because it’s nonsensical that I can’t find a group this successful in this venue. They bring glory to this country—and I think only their faces should grace these bland walls and bring more light into this hall.

When I reach the end, I don’t find Yoongi.

I find Hobi.

So terribly low-spirited and pensive that my heart shifts in my chest. He sits on the ground with his knees pulled to his chin, his arms wrapped around them. He must’ve been watching me this whole time because when I meet his glossy eyes, he smiles, weakly, up at me.

Doesn’t ask me to sit. I do it on my own—out of an obligation that is pressing down on me, for turning around and walking away would be too awkward and I don’t want to deal with any stingy feelings of embarrassment that I know would haunt me later in bed.

I mirror his position, but I don’t lean against the wall.

I face him. Him and his delicate, easy on the eye countenance.

My bare toes nearly touch the side of his sneakers and it’s only now that I become aware of how cold the ground is. I shiver, eyeing his black furry jacket and the heads of his group members peeking out of the V of the zipper lining. Taehyung, hilariously, right in the middle and Jungkook, handsome and serious in his all black suit.

No Yoongi.

Hobi takes off his cap, placing it somewhere beside him beyond my sight, sighing distinctively, his stare fixed on a spot in front of him. It breaks when I prop my chin on the tops of my knees, something vague swimming, dazedly, across the enamel of his irises.

He can be a doll, with looks like that.

“Were you looking for someone there?” he croaks out, softly, clearing his throat, running a hand through his short, brown hair. His presence and the subduedness of his tone diminishes the pressure weighing down on me and I let out a muted breath of relief, my muscles relaxing.

When I first beheld him, I thought he was the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness. The fact that it seems I don’t have to force anything or fulfill any obligations is a lambent light my soul gravitates towards, fluttering and basking in the warmth and repose it offers to it. He gives me the hope that I could sit by him in complete, comfortable silence and he wouldn’t mind—he would appreciate it, not eager to change it. And for a brief second, before I answer his question, I muse on the pleasantness of gaining something you never expected—how precious it is and momentous.

It gives hope to life; meaning, beauty and gentleness, too.

“I was,” I say, and there’s no ounce of lie in my agreement, even though I won’t tell him who I was searching for.

Not even Jungkook. It’s my private sentiment. Something to keep me company from now on before I go to sleep.

And it’s safe in my mind, not so much in real life.

“It’s so sad we had to do it online, but it’s the only thing we could do, the only thing we could give them,” he sniffles, lets me see the thick lines of tears that flood the corners of his eyes, and my heart rotates, my emotions in tandem with it. He would give his fans everything if he could, including himself. The awareness of that downturns my mouth into a pout, feeling his pain with him. “I wrote them a message. I told them I loved them, but it still doesn’t feel enough, you know?”

Hobi sucks in a breath and hides his face in his palm and it’s not my mind’s command that lifts my hand and places it on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. It’s my heart’s, which splashes in the comfort zone Hobi created.

And my heart, most peculiarly, opens my mouth and speaks.

“They’re grateful that it was online. Everyone got to watch, that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

Hobi kneads his eyes, catching his tears before they could fall, dropping his hands. And when he sighs, deeply, I smell alcohol on his breath. Poor him, the wretched liquid most likely paints a more melodramatic, emotionally-charged picture in his brain, blurring the true face of reality. And if he’s anything like his members, he also hasn’t eaten, which allowed the liquor to cause havoc in his system.

But then, a panic flickers in me—a distant memory of what alcohol did to a certain past person in my life poisoning my mouth enough that I can’t swallow, a lump forming in my throat. The comfort goes sour and red lights flash in my nerve endings, my need to detach and isolate myself and get my body into a realm of safety ringing, deafeningly, in my ears.

My breath hitches and I pull my hand away from Hobi’s shoulder, my distrust reappearing, my knees shaking as I turn them in the other direction. My toes are icy cold and I flex them, trying to bring back some warmth, but alas—the iciness drags itself up my legs and my emotions glissade to a state of numbness, a thick mist of vague grayness obscuring my vision and my lungs tighten. I can’t breathe, I can’t feel my tongue, I can’t move my arms as painful tingles keep it in place around my stomach and—

A whistle. A raspy voice that calls out Hobi’s name.

And its repetition fades out, melts into the static that I hear.

And then hands. Soft hands that are fire itself, that stop my tingling. Delicate hands that pull me to my feet and take me somewhere.

A splash of cold water on my face. I gasp, my lungs heaving, my throat hoarse as if I was screaming. My hair sticks to my cheeks and then doesn’t, pushed over the crown of my head, tightly. Droplets run down the nape of my neck; my length clutched in a fist that’s not mine. Then, down my spine, soaking the back of my dress at my loins and I am flung into present times, the image of reality unfolding before me, the static tapering off.

Fluorescent lights that ache. Whiteness of tiles. Lidded eyes that used to be small but now are gaping and worried.

It’s not Jungkook.

It’s Yoongi.

My stomach jumps, my gag reflex triggered and I bend at the waist, clasping a hand over my mouth to stifle my vomit. But that delicate fist moves it away and my trauma spills out of me into the sink, where I am pushed towards.

My abdominal muscles clench and clench. Cold water trickles down my back, helping me awaken until I’m conscious of what is happening. The more my pain exits out of me, the more it dawns on me.

Jungkook isn’t here, an observer to my agony.

Yoongi is here, a participant that snagged me out of it.

A stranger that has come to know me, the entirety of me, and holds my hair as I empty it out.

Jungkook can’t know about this. He can’t know it’s happening again. I told him I healed from it, that it’s not haunting me again. Enough time has passed from my past relationship and I promised him that it wasn’t bad anymore.

But it came back to me in the forced quarantine and I don’t know why.

Yoongi washes my mouth once he sees I don’t retch my guts out anymore, heaving over the sink. And the gesture makes tears burn in the back of my eyes, burn like the heat of his hands.

My legs wobble, give out on me and I fall.

Not just onto the ground.

I fall for him, unable to stop it.

No one has washed my soiled mouth before. Not even Jungkook when I vomited in his toilet after we spent the night drinking at his place and I mixed my usual wine with a taste of whiskey that my ex-boyfriend used to love because I wanted to feel him after the breakup.

Jungkook didn’t even hold my hair back. He gave me his frog headband from one of the episodes he shot with his members and I laughed at the lip of his toilet. And when I felt better and Jungkook tore open a new package of toothbrushes, he played that episode for me. Saved me, essentially, because I laughed so hard that I forgot about Ji-hoon and I fell asleep with a weightless heart.

I’d watch it all throughout the quarantine every time it would come back to me. My realm of safety.

Yoongi has saved me, too, similarly, yet differently.

And I look at him as my heart thumps in my chest, tell him through the open windows of my eyes what he’s done for me. And when my chin wobbles, something in his softened expression breaks. Along with it, my fear of him splits and withers, leaving me bare and vulnerable.

I feared him because of that unnamed thing in me that began to long for him when he wouldn’t even give me a tendril of his attention. I feared him because of his aloofness, out of which wildflowers bloomed once his members left and he talked to me for the first time and I detected the exact same flowers growing long and strong along the ivory of my bones. My mouth smiled, even though I didn’t want it to, and my body reacted to him, to his sudden care when he ordered the staff to wait with me for Min-ji to come and get me. I became feverish, boiling hot, even, once he looked back at me and wished me happy birthday. And then rapped his heart’s tenderness and wretchedness on the stage.

I feared him because I knew I’d be his, eventually. And it wouldn’t matter if he’d never be mine.

The Yoongi I profoundly remember wearing a bulby teddy bear headband in that episode, which has become my coping mechanism. The same Yoongi that held my hair while I puked, washed my mouth and now holds me steady on my feet by gripping my shoulders.

And the process begins.

He sucks me into him, taking me—and I am slowly but surely becoming his.

But I don’t feel my stomach springing again. Neither do I feel a certain fear or panic quickening in me.

I feel relief. I feel solace. I feel as though I’m being lulled to sleep—as if he sat by my bed and read me a bedtime story, in a soft yellow light that doesn’t hurt the eyes while the moonlight watches and dreams.

None of us speaks. We peer into each other’s irises and I am spellbound. A garden that he locks up for the night, so no one comes in to vandalize it, when he curls a strayed, wet wisp of my hair behind my ear. His own hair is shading his eyes once again, but his eyes aren’t absent this time.

They’re present, intentional, and full of gentleness that I’ve never known from a man.

I sob.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” Yoongi whispers, and the secrecy in his tone gives me the private, sentimental notion that this is just between us—something that only he got to see and no one else will because he won’t let it. Gratefulness swathes my warm heart, pats lovingly my process of me becoming his, advancing it. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me. Did he do something?”

I take a difficult breath in. I should feel pressured to respond, my obligations descending upon my head, but I don’t. I take my time because I know he’ll want to know the cause of my dissociation and I’m not too sure if I’m capable of sharing that with him. The block is a rising pool of water and I can’t swim.

But then he tips my chin, the pad of his thumb in the center while his index keeps my head afloat. I feel myself being lifted into highs I’ve never got to see before, even though my toes stay on the tiles. And it’s all due to his touch. I can only let out little shivering breaths through my mouth, my tongue tied, my brows rounded. He reads it in my face, that something is wrong, but I don’t want to put the blame on Hobi; I don’t want him to think he hurt me. He didn’t do anything—it was me.

All me.

“Please,” he begs, the sound a mere hushed noise that travels through me and breaks me. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

His words change everything. The beginning of the night and its end, too.

And they change me.

My distrust towards men roots from my fear of them and hearing Yoongi beg me, out of the generosity of his heart, to not be afraid of him punctures a hole through my reclusive bubble, where only Jungkook is permitted to enter. Yoongi’s light shines through, a streak of newness and calmness enveloping the bubble in an opalescent glow, thick with smokiness, wispy and cloud-like as if he brought heaven itself into my life.

And I inhale that smoke, filled with soft tones of the rainbow, becoming it.

And all those colors bring words to the tip of my tongue.

“He didn’t do anything,” I whisper, and Yoongi flinches at my sudden response, his eyes deepening on mine. I soften at his reaction due to the simple fact that I’ve always been the one who flinched. It invites me to not stop there, like I normally would, but speak more. Scream at the top of my lungs. “That’s just who I am.”

His mouth parts and he sucks in a tiny breath, taken aback. A light of the same size flickers in his eyes for a split second and his thumb caresses my chin just once.

And I don’t stop there, either. It’s me who begs this time.

“Don’t tell Jungkook, please.”

And I gaze into a mirror of me when my plea floods his eyes with wetness and redness rushes to the surface of his cheeks. A layer of sweat glistens under the shade of his hair on his forehead and I catch a structure of sadness permanently coming to live in his features. The corners of his mouth round downwards and his eyes return to that smallness I met them in.

He takes his hands off of me and nods.

I mourn them. I mourn his touch.

“I won’t tell him,” he promises, still in that hushed tone. Relieved, I place my hands on my arms, where his have been to replace them, but it doesn’t feel the same. A yearning forms in me—for his hands, for his gentle touch that doesn’t have the traces of roughness that Ji-hoon’s did, and I wonder what waters I have to wade through in order to get it back. I find myself determined to do the unthinkable in order to sense the warm delicacy of that altar. “Do you want to go home?”

I want him to touch me at home with no one else around.

“Can you take me home?” I ask and it’s the bravest thing that ever came out of me. And the same stupefaction that I sense on my face stirs his features, zapping my stomach with electricity.

He holds out his hand. “Come.”

Every muscle in my body spasms and I do.

I take what he offers and, oddly, I don’t let go of it.

It doesn’t hit me what walls have been broken down in me until Yoongi places his red Jordans in front of my bare feet, white Nike socks into my hand and misunderstands my momentary shock for something else I’m too overwhelmed to decipher. He kneels before me and I hiccup at the sight, my cheeks blazing hot as he slides his warm palm down my ankle, prompting me silently to lift my foot.

And inwardly, inertly, I celebrate his touch—my body marred with gooseflesh.

He’s taken me to his dressing room. At first I thought he was changing out of his clothes or grabbing some necessary things he needed in order to get out of this place, but he only snatched his phone from his vanity and went, without a second thought, to his—I assumed—work closet to fetch out his shoes.

For me.

The same red Jordans he wore in the episode, the color of my cheeks.

My heart palpitates once he sets my foot on his knee and, wordlessly, plucks his socks from my hand. Unraveling them and bunching one as if he was putting them on a child, he slides my foot in it, raising the waistband as high as it can go before letting it snap and patting it to signal to me that he wants me to switch to the other one, where he does the same thing. Then, he guides them into his big sneakers, holding the tongue back for me.

The size of my foot barely covers half of the shoe.

I laugh, softly, through my nose.

“They’re huge,” I comment, still on whispering terms, and Yoongi smiles up at me, lopsidedly, screwing up the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“I’ll lace them up for you,” he whispers back, and my muscles spasm again. I believe it will be a regular occurrence throughout the rest of the night.

This would be the time my panic would set in and send out a message to my body to start running, giving me the vigor to do so. But I remain on my spot and what’s more—I smile back, without him seeing because his hands nimbly and tightly make a pretty bow on his sneakers, making sure my heels don’t slip out of them.

I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.

I’m in my bed, settled in a deep slumber, where a dream that’s too good to be true is manipulating my mind because there’s no way that a guy, well one of them, that used to be my comfort for such long months is on his knees for me, having broken down my walls so quickly and painlessly that I didn’t even take a moment to notice them crumbled and decaying at the bottom of me.

I didn’t go anywhere. Not to any concert, not certainly with my only best friend in the world.

I’m going to wake up soon and lament this dream, ponder my loneliness and go on with the rest of my day, living in this dream for some brief time before my body eventually forgets.

It’s happened before. It’s the face of my life.

I have no problem with it. It’s my fate.

“Your outfit looks way better with those shoes on,” Yoongi says, his attention fixed on my feet and I follow his gaze, extending my leg out of the slit of my dress and eyeing my long socks and the Jordans that go well with it, giving it a more casual look.

I wish I had a matching red purse.

Which reminds me that I left everything in the lounge room.

I wipe my palms down my dress, feverish. “I like it.”

I meet his face and blush, find him already smiling at me and I grin. A glint illuminates his dark pools, which makes me break the eye contact and play with my fingers—something I do to avert my mind from my shyness, but his stare is so potent that it magnetically lifts my eyes to interlock our gazes while my chin remains dipped.

And it’s him, this time, who resists.

He chuckles, awkwardly, and I bite my lip.

He tilts his head towards the exit and I follow him out. In the hall, he looks back at me, similarly like he did before he went on stage, and adrenaline rushes through my nerve endings. A particular obsession, that I know that I will think about a lot once I wake up from this dream, with it perches on the top of my heart like a little, gossamer bird, gray like his hair, beginning to tweet its subtle, but ethereal song.

“Can you walk okay?” he asks, and I’m so bowled over that I can only nod, flexing my warm toes at last in the spaciousness of the sneakers.

Who would’ve thought that the guy who barely gave me the time of the day would, ultimately, borrow me his shoes and ask me if I’m able to walk in them.

To say this is a crazy dream would be an understatement.

Yoongi clasps the closed side of the double doors to the lounge room and casts me a glance. “Wait here.”

I scrunch up my brows in confusion. I thought we’re saying goodbye to the rest of the members?

I dip my head inside. The boys are each preoccupied with something else. Jungkook is downing shots with Taehyung at the table. Jin is having a heated conversation over the phone, pacing the room like Yoongi did and shushing Jimin when he laughs a little too hard with Hobi resting his head on his lap, still as devastated as he was. They’re sprawled on the ground with their backs against the alcohol station—Jimin drinking another tall glass of his mojito. And Namjoon… he is sat alone on the couch scrolling through his phone as if he was on a break from babysitting all of these boys.

Yoongi goes unnoticed by all of them, bent at the waist as he drifts through them, looking for my things.

My heart constricts.

He picks up my heels by the straps near the couch and grabs my purse, walking over to Jungkook and tapping his shoulder. He swivels his head mid-shot and he sets it down on the table when I make out Yoongi saying to him that he’s taking me home. Jungkook’s mouth parts and bewilderment erupts in his features, his big and glossy eyes flicking to mine. Yoongi adds something and Jungkook, without another word spared, bolts to me.

But I notice Yoongi straightening up and looking displeased behind Jungkook’s back, his mouth pressed firmly and his head knocked back a little. My throat dries, his semblant possessiveness curling something stable in my sternum.

Run, I hear from within, despite all.

“You’re feeling sick? What did you eat before you came here?” Jungkook asks, pity rounding his eyes, and my brows furrow in confusion for a second before I realize that it’s a cover-up.

Yoongi’s actions silence that voice. His slow walk, too.

My throat dries even more, but for a different reason.

“Tteokbokki with lots of cheese. My hand slipped. You know what cheese does to me.” It’s borderline truth and I’m glad for it because I detest lying probably as much as I detest drunk men.

Jungkook laughs and I fake a smile, facing Yoongi who’s come to stand by the threshold behind Jungkook. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and I fixate on it in the momentary interlude of the conversation, his dimple popping in and out with each movement.

So cute.

“I’ll get my stuff, wait.” He goes to turn around, but faces the dead end that Yoongi is, who grips his shoulder.

“No need,” Yoongi mutters, that wrinkle deepening between his brows. “Stay here with Taehyung. I’ll get her home safely and I’ll be back.”

Jungkook looks back at me to see my reaction and I’m in awe how it’s the same motion, same gesture that Yoongi does, and yet it does nothing to me. I nod my head, curtly, and clutch my stomach, taking a step back as another heat wave washes over me and I can’t breathe.

I need a shower, my bed and my lavender diffuser.

Jungkook swivels back to Yoongi and rubs his shoulder and I catch him wince, silently. I wonder why, but then Jungkook whispers something into Yoongi’s ear that averts my attention from it and sparks my curiosity.

Yoongi only nods in response, avoiding my eyes.

Interesting.

Jungkook, then, turns to me.

“Text me when you get home. I hope you feel better. Rain check?”

I’d rather not, but I nod in the same fashion anyway.

Jungkook hugs me, tells me happy birthday one last time as he rubs my back. Tears blur my vision but I push them back, wishing to not contemplate the misery that my birthdays have become since the breakup.

But Yoongi sees them, mid-hug. And his bottom lip nearly juts out, his head tilting to the side, his arms crossed, that wrinkle between his brows. I blink them away, rapidly, even as I continue to look at him.

Jungkook lets go and lets Yoongi step through. I wave him goodbye and turn on my heel to see Yoongi waiting for me not that far down in the hall, my heels and Grookey on my purse swinging in his singular hand. I skip over to him and we walk the rest of the way to the exit door together.

With mismatched steps and itchy palms.

His displeasure turned into a pure disgruntlement once our lungs were graced with a strong hit of petrichor-tinged brisk air. It was still raining, but not as vehemently as an hour ago, the thunder silenced like the protesting voice within me.

However, Yoongi couldn’t control the weather just as easily. No matter how much he looked like he desired to. He seemed to be deeply uncomfortable by the rain and it ruffled my curiosity all over again, the simple question of why echoing down my being. His energy shifted—away from me as he wouldn’t spare me a glance, waiting for his chauffeur under the roof of the venue.

He wouldn’t talk to me. Not even in the car.

And the only time he spoke was when the driver wanted to drop me off at the spot, where he picked me up earlier. Yoongi told him off, ordering him to drive me all the way home, using a voice that tensed my muscles.

Strict and low, an outright growl that ricocheted in my mind for the rest of the drive.

It was safe to move through the rain; the raindrops pitter-pattered on the vehicle, creating a sedative sound that would mollify my disquiet if I wasn’t so bothered by the sudden change in his demeanor. I longed for his touch more than I did back in the venue, which is why I kept my hand flat on the empty middle seat between us, but he didn’t notice it, as absorbed as he was in his thoughts.

The only time he glanced at me was when the driver killed the engine at my apartment building. The rain softened enough that its song ended as well and I was filled with a yearning so great, knee-deep in my waters, that I whispered the first thing my heart thought of and I wasn’t afraid of it.

“Come upstairs with me.”

Yoongi unbuckled his seatbelt. Didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t give me my shoes, nor my purse. Carried them all the way up the stairs as the elevator was out of service. Walked them up in front of me, not behind me, checking in with me with silent looks every once in a while.

I blamed the five floors I had to climb for making my heart race, not those looks from the back.

I swore Grookey smiled at me the whole time.

Once inside, taking our shoes off felt so intimate that my cheeks burned. I poured us tall glasses of cold water that we finished in one go and that silence settled between us fully, a thick smoke, that I now sensed to be comfortable, wafting between us.

I told him I was going to take a shower and he nodded, solemnly. It took no longer than ten minutes and I didn’t let myself think, not even when I brushed my soapy palms on the places he touched and my yearning couldn’t help but grow.

I stood up in my waters, letting the stream take me wherever it felt disposed to bring me to.

And it brought me to open my bathroom door with a loud thud, indicating to him that he was allowed to come in. My skin was lustrous underneath my short black slip that did anything but cover my breasts with its lacy, heart-shaped neckline. My nipples kissed the fabric and grazed against it when I combed my wet hair and I blossomed into desperation, the longer I waited for him.

A violet wisteria tree.

A thing of violence—my arousal.

And he comes, cognizant of the sweetened fragrance that leads him to me. Stands in the doorway with softened eyes and a mouth that falls, nearly, agape when he regards my nightwear. I glance at him, sweeping a makeup wipe across my cheek for one last time before I reach for my night cream and smear it on.

Once I’m all done—clean, moisturized, and on the cusp of biting into my yearning—I face him with my body.

His eyes, tormented, fall to the sheer fabric across my breasts. And his first primal instinct is to unzip his jacket and put it around me.

“No.”

The word tumbles out of me before any thoughts could rush in and I perceive that it’s my yearning, the stream, that’s in control of me, not my brain.

I throw his jacket onto the floor.

His head knocks back like it did when Jungkook bolted towards me and he didn’t like it. The steam from my shower shields me like the smoke of silence that wafted between us and I step out of it, inching closer to him until I’m forced to look up at him.

Something of great depth looms in his eyes, darkening them, and I recognize that it’s a torturous fight. And he confirms it to me by clasping his hands behind his back.

But I don’t mourn it. I blaze up with anger so pivotal that I unclasp his hands, pressing myself against him.

He sighs, but lets me hold his hands. “Jungkook said no.”

So that’s the string of words that made him not reciprocate my gaze.

My anger thickens, taking my attention off the fact I’m touching him and he’s touching me at last and unraveling, wholly, in my seductiveness that I only feel in my aloneness and experience, for the first time in years, with a man.

I can do anything I please without being held back.

“Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?” I challenge, and Yoongi’s brows rise, his fingers flexing around my hands and lingering in that tightness. A code for me to decipher.

Does he want the same as I do?

Something about the way he’s peering down at me with his chin tilted teases my yearning and the unthinkable becomes thinkable.

Just like that.

“Are you not seeing him?” he asks, flexing his grip again and his thumb brushes along my long, manicured nails, playing with the tips. A sensual storm begins to wreak havoc in my stomach; I draw closer to him, breathe against his neck, ghosting my lips over that smooth skin.

His breath shivers and I feel myself dampen, a thunder sounding in me.

“Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?” I take that question to his ear and his chest shudders against mine, his heartbeat an accompanying song to the thunder.

I want it to be my lullaby as much as I want it to be my lifeline once I’m submerged in the lustfulness of my waters.

I untangle one of my hands from his and glimpse into his shadowed pools through my lashes in this close proximity. Before I can feel up the part of him that I yearn for, he clasps my wrist and yanks it away, putting it back into the original position—although now it’s him who grips my hand.

I hold him, he holds me.

Cold sweat drips down my spine and I curl my lips, regretting my actions. It was foolish of me to think he’d want me as much as I—

“Are you needy?”

I blink up at him, light opening in me—a momentary streak of sunlight in the middle of the storm. I’m flabbergasted for a moment and he misunderstands it again. Repeats the question, emphasizing my name.

A lightning strikes in me, smiting every negative emotion.

“What would you do if I said I was?”

Again, his brows twitch, the same light enfolding his irises and abiding there.

He lifts my hands and crosses them behind my back, pushing me flush against his thinly clothed body. I feel the top ridges of abdominal muscles against my breasts, my stiffened nipples rubbing against them and I bite back a whimper, caging my bottom lip between my lips. His nose dips under the wet strands of my hair and travels across my cheek until he finds his destination—my ear, leaving the ghost of his soft, warm mouth and breath in his wake.

He stalls the time, ruffling through the flowers of my wisteria tree, my arousal; disturbing the waters of my yearning.

I begin to quiver.

And Yoongi feels my tremor, squeezing me tighter against him. As if to still it.

“I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days,” he whispers in my ear, reminding me of our privacy, of our whispering terms—something that has become so intimate, something that’s ours. Another thunder rolls in me as my eyes whisk back into my head, a trickle of my arousal drenching the inner of my thighs. And I let out the sound persisting in me—a whine, muffled by the steadiness of the crook of his neck. He sighs, deeply, in response. “Is that what you want?”

I hum out my agreement, fixating on the dream his words paint, wanting mine to fade into it. I clench his hands so rigidly that our intertwinement convulses.

Yoongi withdraws, his mouth wet and agape at last. And it’s him who gazes down at me through his lashes that oscillate in the same rhythm as our hands.

He sucks in a breath. “You have to give me your words. No humming.”

But I’m captivated by that mouth of his, by its small fullness, faint pinkness and luminescence. And he knows this—I sense his observance of my engrossment as I trace the lines of his lips with my eyes.

And our interweaving is magnetic from both sides—the meeting of a wind and a wisteria blossom in a kiss.

Both heads lean in at the same time, wordless synchronization as I take his lips and he takes mine, sucking on them as time ceases to exist.

There’s no air in my lungs and there’s no air in his—his chest deathly still.

We capture time and move it to our terms as we shift our heads in effort to take more of us.

I devour his lips and he devours mine.

Left and right, left and right.

And I slip my tongue into his mouth, rolling the tip of the muscle against his. But he’s a tease—he pulls back just to take control of me, seizing my mouth in a closed kiss, slowing me down. He arches me, pins me against the shower screen and with the movement I get to feel the part of him I yearn for the most.

I drip onto the tiles.

His thigh, too, because he roots it between my legs.

Yoongi deepens the kiss, lingering there, and breaks it. Pulling away, yet dwelling in that closeness, a raw marrow of the world’s light swims past his eyes, through our enduring magnetic, moistened connection, and right into mine.

I feel whole.

Yoongi smiles, delicately. “No kissing, either. Words.”

But that magnetic connection drives my hips to move against his thigh and he moans, mutedly, while I sigh in pleasure, my waters roused and gratified. I tip my head back against the shower screen, the smooth material of his sweatpants causing euphoria to burst in my clit, and Yoongi’s eyes descend to my chin, his hands flexing mine.

And through that connection, I hear what his body said.

He wants to grip my chin and make me listen, but he needs my consent in order to do that.

He’s respectful enough that he won’t do what he pleases, won’t let his hands wander, no matter how much I’d die for them to do that. He lets them be incarcerated—in the place where I’ve put them and he won’t try to break free.

He wants me to open the cell because I have the key.

My orgasm threatens to explode.

And amidst the hot flashes and white dots shrinking my vision, he begs.

“Please, kitty.”

I come so hard that I lose my vision altogether.

I cry out.

My eyes roll back and forth, Yoongi a constant, stable dark figure through my lashes as I ride out my high, my chest shuddering against his in a motion that grazes my nipples, heightening my orgasm. My mouth emits myriads of whispered agreements and exaltations that have no end, concocted with moans that echo through the lessening steam all around.

Yoongi doesn’t let go of our clammy hands. He keeps them in a tight lock—holding me through it.

And when the high tapers off, he swears, hushedly.

He comes into full view; my vision clearing. He’s as pink as his lips, glowy and radiating as if he were the one who just orgasmed. The sight moves me, rippling my waters—and I might just work hard to give him the words he desires.

“That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night,” he comments, his low intonation rasping his voice, teasing me, overstimulating me. “You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.”

I blush and I beam. In the middle of my high, I never know what gushes out of my mouth, but I’m aware of the freedom that surges through me. Having it validated uplifts my seductiveness and confidence and I struggle, purposefully, against his hold.

I want to wade further through these waters.

But Yoongi seems to stop me.

He draws in and maps out my freedom with the lower half of his face. His nose and his chin nudge mine, his lips tracing the corner of my mouth before rising up the peak towards my cupid’s bow. There, he presses a validating, tender kiss.

One that makes my knees weak.

“You know what to do,” he murmurs, sinking his words into my mouth and I swallow them, kissing him back. The smacking sound of our liplocks prolongs my neediness, despite the fact I just received my release.

No more distraction.

“Lick me.”

He stalls the time again. Raises his knee, brushing his drenched thigh against my sensitive clit, daring me.

I shudder.

Yoongi squashes me against him, fully, letting me feel the hardness of him as a reward.

I mewl.

“Where?”

That solidness of his causes my mind to spin; I say the first thing I think of.

“My neck.”

He dives in, licking a stripe across my throbbing vein before he sucks on the skin right beside it. The world shuts out as I roll my eyes back, moaning into the steam and arching myself further into him, yearning to glide into him, into the whole firmness of him. And when he begins to nibble, I make small rocking motions on his thigh, enough to stimulate me, drench me and make me needier, but not enough to get me off.

And Yoongi senses well when it’s too much for me.

“Where else?” he asks against my jaw, mouthing it, his breath ragged, and I lose myself in my arousal.

“My nipple.”

He dips to that lacy fabric on the left side, wafts that hardened breath over my stiffened nub. He flicks it with his tongue and I cry out, my wetness creating a trail on his thigh that sloshes when I ride it, adding to my madness. Yoongi wraps his puffy lips around that adorned peak, sucking it as his tongue, slowly and controlledly, continues to flick it.

I exhale in staccato moans, broken—but whole.

“Where else?” He swirls the muscle around it, taking it inside his mouth one last time.

“My thigh.”

He kneels without losing the hold over our interlocked hands. And when he whimpers against my inner thigh, I realize I molded him into the image of me.

He’s as needy as me.

Needy for me.

“So pretty,” he hushes, dragging his tongue along the ivory stretch marks scattered there, collecting the stickiness of me, grunting. Plants open-mouthed kisses as far as our interweaving lets him.

The taste of me doesn’t let him stay there for long.

I open my legs for him.

He glances up at me, eyes large and glittery. “Where else?”

The last place ventures out of me with ease. “My clit. Please.”

He growls. “Good. Spread your legs more for me.”

I do as he says, the fabric lifting with the movement and revealing all of me to him. Shiny and wet, needy and desperate. He pulls down on our hands so I arch out more, and I lean the nape of my neck against the screen. He studies me, with those softened eyes of his and the glitter in them flickering. With a lopsided smile that he allows me to see, for he gives me a feral look before he leans in and attaches his mouth to my swollen clit, placing that open-mouthed kiss of his there, moving his tongue from side to side.

And moans aren’t enough; I need to speak.

My pleasured body begs me.

“Yes, yes, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums, eyes in a trance on mine, validating my words. He sucks on my clit with a certain intensity that I’m not used to and I yelp, trembling, my noises growing in volume and I can’t hear myself, only his validating hums and growls that settle deep within me. He doesn’t focus on just one part of me—he collects my wetness, submerging the tip of his tongue inside my heat, fucking me there, before he returns to my clit and spoils it with nimble, fast flicks and and fervent, zealous sucks that make me praise him so loudly that his hands begin to tremble along with me.

And they must cramp, too, because he lets go all of a sudden.

Sinks my fingers into the fluffiness of his gray hair—and I am elated.

His strands, silky and soft, sift through my fingers and I caress them, holding him to me as what he does can only be described as making love—and I break, I break so disastrously and splendidly that I know I won’t be able to recognize myself in the mirror after he’s done with me.

I revel in it.

And I want more.

As if hearing me, Yoongi slides my leg over his left shoulder. His dark pink mouth drips and twists in a faint discomfort and I lift my knee, not wishing to hurt him—the two and two connecting in my brain that he must’ve undergone some kind of injury that he’s still recovering from. But he tugs my leg back down and pushes my hips towards his face more and I stumble, stuttering out giggles that dissolve into his and he lifts me over his good shoulder and throws me down onto my bed, immediately bending me in half.

All breath loosens from me.

He spreads my legs and pins them back to my shoulders. I concentrate on the firm grip he has around the back of my knees and I die, the blood-tingling feeling of his hands on me coaxing my liquid arousal out of me. And he watches the little rivulet follow the curves of my flesh, licking his lips—as if he didn’t already get a taste of me; as if his chin wasn’t dripping with the residue of me.

Yoongi glimpses at me.

“You really want this?”

It’s a question that makes me roll my eyes in annoyance. I’ve moved way past desperation that I can’t wait any longer and I bounce in his hold—just to catch him humming and smirking.

My breath hitches in my throat.

He becomes someone completely different when he smirks. A more vulgar, masculine and playful version of himself; beyond attractive. I bounce again just to please him and see that smirk deepen and he does it, bites his lip dangerously slowly.

I need him.

“I need you inside me.”

Those are indecent words that I never thought I’d ever be saying to a guy I just met, but if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s him. He washed puke off my mouth. The concept of time doesn’t exist in our shared, dreamy realm. We’ve shifted beyond it—outran it and my words mock it.

But Yoongi doesn’t see it the way I do.

“You’re not getting it tonight.”

I trail my fingers up his forearms that bulge with the strength he uses to pin my knees back. It doesn’t pain me that he’s not giving it to me because the more he smirks, the more I perceive that this is a chase.

One I’m willing to play.

“What am I getting from you then?” I purr, basking in the sultriness I radiate. I’ve missed my seductiveness and I fall into obsession with the way I share it with him, with the way it affects him.

He thinks about it, stalling the time again, and I pat his cheek with my big toe—a gesture that makes a swarm of giggles come out of him like butterflies that flutter all over me.

I grin, my fever rising.

This is fun.

Sweat coats him in sheen and I was wrong earlier. Hobi isn’t the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness.

Yoongi is, when he laughs like the world isn’t unmerciful.

He lets go of one of my legs, but I keep it in the same position. He uses the same hand to grip the back of my neck and pull me towards him, kissing me indelicately.

Vulgarly.

Offensively.

And I moan, brattily, into his mouth, dragging him over me. He allows me, allows me to feel his hard manhood against the place where I need him the most and I grind, I grind like my life depends on it, my moans evolving into whines when his grunts deepen and he squeezes his eyes shut, our lips longing for each other, sailing on the almost bruised, swollen surface.

He fucks into me just once and pulls away.

“I can’t,” he whispers, but kisses me with chasteness that I taste for the first time. “I’m sorry, kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.”

He occupies a castle that isn’t built out of just physical pain. I may have thought the chase was conjured by his knowing better, but there is a more profound reason behind it. An image of the way he paced around the lounge room after the show flares across my vision and I bow to his decision, internally. I respect his emotional pain without demanding to know its story—enough that I sit up and clutch his right shoulder, the good one.

“You don’t have to,” I say, lowly, covering myself by tugging the fabric of the slip down over myself, but he yanks my hand away and flicks the fabric upwards, giving me a look.

“Let me eat you out.” His stare softens, the whites blinding. “I want to forget, please.”

I don’t ask what, knowing how difficult it is to talk about a pain so enormous that it stops you from going after what you yearn for. And the way I lie back down is more of an expression of my chasmic respect than it is out of a selfish desire. And the way I spread my legs for him and pin them to my shoulders with my own hands, like he did, is the declaration of my ultimate submission to him and all the small particles that make him him.

Pain or no pain, he’s the apotheosis of my entire being when he sinks his finger inside me and finds me locked, finds me forlorn. And once he opens me, stretches me and soaks me like a flower singing to God, he becomes the epitome, the core of all of my obsessions.

And I’m going to take care of him.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

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0strawberrysorbet0 · 8 months ago

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𝐴 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟

𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑏𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

This is a series so if you'd like to be tagged simply just comment!

I AM SO SORRY WITH HOW LONG THIS TOOK I'VE BEEN SO BUSY ಥ_ಥ

The big boss himself is gonna arrive very soon (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

Part three ← Part four → Part five

Summary: As Charlie and Vaggie are in Heaven they attend the meeting and Charlie finds out more about the boy, along with a sweet girl called Emily.

Warnings- shit, grammar and spelling mistakes, Adam mentioned, idk what else, everyone is slightly oc

There she was again, in heaven. But this time accompanied by her girlfriend for support.

Her girlfriend seemed so uncomfortable, I mean don't get her wrong she was super nervous as well Vaggie was sweating, fidgeting and awkward. Not like the hard tough girl she usually was.

It was beautiful, bright and shiny, just like her father's old bedtime stories. The whole place practically sparkled, and she was greeted by two of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen, Sera and Emily. Emily was much more bubbly than Sera so she quickly caught the blonde's attention.

To say Emily was beautiful was an understatement, her hair was soft and blended from a crisp white into a greyish blue, she had soft freckles scattered across her face which glowed a bright white, her eyes were as blue as the ocean and her wings... Were all angels this beautiful? This angelic?

They had walked around almost everywhere, Charlie just couldn't help herself from talking, I mean she was talking to an angel. A real angel. Not a fallen one like her father.

As they talked she couldn't help but notice Emily staring at an angel, he looked beautiful... blonde hair and lilac eyes. That's when it hit her... He was the angel she met after her first meeting with Adam.

"(M/N)!! Look!! It's 𝙩𝙝𝙚 princess of hell" Emily shouted and waved, (M/N) smiled at Emily and walked over "Pleasure to meet you, again.. My name is (M/N), son of Archangel Micheal, which makes us cousins" he said, placing his hand out.

Emily tilted her head "again? What does that mean? You've seen a demon before 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦!? "Doesn't matter Emi I'll tell you later"

Charlie paused before growing a massive grin. "You're my cousin? I have a cousin. Oh my god!! That's so cool!"

(M/N) didn't match her energy, instead just giving a soft smile. "Well, you should take her to the council I suppose... Good luck"

He was already taking a step before Emily tugged the boy's sleeve "C'mon you can do better than that! This is your cousin! Be nicer"

The blonde grumbled before holding out his hand, it started to glow a yellowish colour before it cleared, leaving only a small pendant in his hand, it was a golden shade and had a duck carved into it.

Charlie let out a gasp "Woah... " she admired the small pendant "Take it. For good luck. They're supposed to symbolize protection, good luck and fortune after all".

Emily softly laughed at his comment "(M/N) really likes ducks"

The boy's face turned a hot cherry colour, blending with the patches on his cheeks "Hey only a little"

"Did you make this?" Charlie asked, waving the necklace in her girlfriend's face to show it off. "Ah. No, my father gave me it, but I want you to have it"

Charlie smiled before grabbing him in a tight hug, squeezing the boy's soul out.

He did remind Charlie of her father, his hair was styled in a way she had seen her father wear before, the patches of pink on his cheeks, yet he was taller, Maybe this is similar to what her father looked like before he was banished.

And other than the looks he also liked ducks? Her father had been obsessed with them since he made them on earth, making so many figures and rubber versions.

"Well, we should go! Come on princess! Bye (N/N)!

(Nickname in case you don't know!)

Emily walked Charlie to the meeting, (M/N) decided to sit and watch this shit show.

As it started the energy was tense, to say the least.

The angels sitting in the courtroom stared at her menacingly. She felt like a sheep in a Wolf's enclosure during feeding time. Emily was sat next to Sera who had a stoic expression, Emily was the complete opposite, with a toothy smile that was filled with nervousness and a thumbs up.

This would be great. Right?

"Objection!! Lame and unoriginal!" Adam had shouted the minute Charlie opened her mouth.

The meeting was really quite boring to (M/N), what did take his interest was when she mentioned some of the demons rehabilitating, a porn star? (M/N) couldn't really understand how he was improving, all the clips were of him taking drugs and drinking.

Well, it did improve slightly. The spider demon did a few food things but that was it.

Everything was normal until they started singing, and Adam blurted out something that he shouldn't have.

At that point (M/N) had joined Emily where she was flying.

"Wait! What are you saying?! let me get this straight, you go down there and kill those poor souls?"

(I'm skipping this song because I'm not writing it all out)

In the end, the court decided that demons couldn't be redeemed, he could see the heartbreak in Emily's eyes as Adam celebrated. (M/N) draped his arm over the smaller girl.

"I-I can't believe it.. " she said, now sitting in her room with him, he nodded in response as he poured tea into a china cup for her.

"I can't believe Sera allows it! It's awful! We must put a stop to it!" She said, hitting the armrests on her chair with her fists, making a soft thump.

He stopped pouring the hot liquid and stared at her, bewildered. "What? Emi what on earth would we do" he chuckled

"I'm serious! Your father is Michael! He'll help us!"

"Emily I can't just bother my father like that, you know he's busy" he said softly, handing her the cup and she sipped it.

"Cmon.. Please... Just try? For me? Pleaseeeeeee!" She begged, hands together in a praying position "And you still haven't told me what you meant by seeing Charlie again!"

He sighed softly "fine, I shall talk to him but I cannot guarantee anything. But what I meant was my father sent my down the the Angel base in hell to collect paperwork and she was leaving a meeting with Adam. That's all"

"Oh.. But thank you!" She placed her tea down fastly and hugged him tight.

He grunted before chuckling "okay okay!"

He was dying inside, how would he get his father to listen to him about this? How could he even bring it up. But he had to, Emily was his only friend, he needed to pay her back for everything she had done for him.

Tag list - @demstarno @kenny-619 @bunbunboysworld @lovedesperatevampire @stealing-kneecaps @paastaboi @1yyyan @enjisthings @type-ink @kiiannnn @cicithemess @lisoong @that-levi-kenma-kinnie

#a hidden star #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel Charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vaggie #sera hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel Emily #fanfic #fanfiction #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #male!reader #hazbin hotel x male reader

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hxney-lemcn · 3 months ago

Note

not a request:

hear to spread idia shroud brainrot:

buying matching hoodies so you can match and giggle evilly at the fact you match. You other nrc npcs cannot even understand the coolness of being twinsies with idia. also if your oc is yuusona, why not just permanently move to inighyde? technically nobody is using that vice dorm head room right? also they have WIFI which I know ramshackle DO NOT.

Talking in inside jokes and pouting when nobody else gets it and muttering "well IDIA would've thought it was funny! >:T"

Slowly but surely moving into his room and your closets are mashed together. Buying shirts in his size so you can both wear them. matching key chains. Ortho referring to you as his "big sibling".

YES!

I already buy clothes a little too big cus comfy, so who'd bat an eye when you just wear another oversized shirt/hoodie? (Idia but that's cus he's trying not to externally freakout). Not to mention all the long nights where you try to pull an all nighter and ultimately fail. You're basically already living with him at this point. If anything, its weird if you spend a night alone.

Y'all would have so many inside jokes its not even funny. Online slang that none chronically online people wouldn't get so you have to awkwardly find an alternative when people just give you that blank stare. (You furiously text Idia after about it and he makes fun of them to help you feel a bit better).

It'd be funny that after sharing clothes and a bed, it only comes crashing down how much you care for him when you get matching keychains. It's so small, but at the same time it means everything for Idia. It's like a part of him will always be with you and vice versa. Matching hoodies just actually kills him cus it's more obvious (or it would be if he went outside).

Nail in the coffin is Ortho. He'd totally see you as a bigger sibling and Idia can feel his soul leave his body when Ortho calls you that. (It just makes everything 100x more real for him. Also gets his hopes up when you don't mind Ortho calling you that.)

#this is why he appeals to me sm #like the other characters have something big #whether it be them being a prince #business owner #or celebrity #(ik Idia is on track to run STYX and is filthy rich but he doesn't act it okay0 #Idia is just kinda chill #idk #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst wonderland x reader #idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #idia shroud #x reader

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undersprite · 3 months ago

Text

2024 Comic Contest Results

Before we get started, I would like to extend a personal thank you to everyone who created an entry for the contest this year. Although we only got four entries this year, those four entries' dedication to telling stories that are novel and interesting for this community to enjoy is worthy of commendation in itself. For a while, I was scared we wouldn't even get enough entries to fill the podium; thanks to your efforts, this has not come to pass.

Since we have very few entries this time around, I'll be providing a link to each comic, with accompanying scores and excerpts from reviews. Now, catch the results under the cut:

Runner-Up: "The Undertale Game Comic" by FutureGamer25

(Average score: 15.5/50)

"As the submitter says, this was made in a day. I can’t be too hard on this out of principle..." - Soufon

"[...it] succeeded at making me laugh multiple times, thanks in no small part to how it deliberately wields nothing looking like it fits together." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"You know, honestly for being made in less than a day and being posted 5 minutes before the deadline, I gotta give you a lot of credit for that. I don’t even think I could have made that in a day [...]" - Mufeet

"The freaking car and the ending got me a good chuckle. I'll give you that. I congratulate you for tossing your coin." - Subna

3rd: "Frisk Visits the Store and Nothing Happens" by Trooper3

(Average score: 34/50)

"I thought Sans and ESPECIALLY Papyrus were super funny [...] I think we’ve finally reached a point where the skele-bros are just consistently characterized properly now, and I love to see it." - Mufeet

"The FunMart[TM] makes an earnest effort to capture the feeling of exploring an area in an actual Toby Fox game, and [...] captures at least a bit of that shine." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"I honestly like your idea, is funny and it works perfectly to show these OCs of yours in this format. I wish there was more content to see about them, I wish to know them [...]" - Subna

"As light as it is, I like having this kind of slice of life look into UT’s world, the comedy focus helping to make the comic feel more breezy than insubstantial." - Soufon

2nd: "Undertale: Pushing On" by Mouse

(Average score: 34.75/50)

"Of all the entries we got, this is the only one that really felt like it captured the essence of telling a story as if it were still part of a game—something I have sorely missed." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

"Great story and great teaching from it. Can add up greatly to UNDERTALE’s world and...tbh I’d LOVE to play a full game with Alvia." - Subna

"[...] I like having who [Gerson] is in UT be because of Alvia’s actions, like how the orange soul kid is framed as responsible for the bunny family in Snowdin’s success - having all the soul humans impact the underground like that helps all of them feel real to UT’s world[...]" -Soufon

"I was captivated from beginning to end, and god, the ending [...] it actually made me a bit teary-eyed." - Mufeet

1st: "Knock Knock" by StarlightShores and ToMoChao

(Average score: 47/50)

"I was not expecting something like this out of this contest. Knock Knock is a substantial storyline, not a peek into an adventure, or a silly reprieve." - Soufon

"Even if it’s pretty lengthy, it keeps you engaged, to know where this is all going, all the way to the end." - Subna

"Flowey and Sans pair-ups are so rare, but when done it is ALWAYS such a fun time. They both play off each other so well, and it is no exception in this comic, especially towards the end where they start to bond over dealing with the loss of someone important to them." - Mufeet

"You created a story going on a thousand panels where, while reading it, my attention never flagged [...] You created a webcomic the Undertale fanbase will, if there’s any justice left around here, be obsessed with for years to come. It’s art, I’m afraid." - CHAOS_FANTAZY

Our full score card for the event can be seen here. The full reviews will be available in the Discord server on request.

With regards to prizes: the judge whom was contributing to our prize pool has begun college for the year, and unfortunately they were unable to set aside the money they had originally promised for the cash prize. The illustration prize is still available; winners, please reach out to fmsdraws on Discord to claim your prize.

And that leaves me...with this blog.

I'd like to write up a proper postmortem for this experience, but that can come in another week or two. For now, please enjoy the comics and celebrate the victors!

#undertale #deltarune #undertale au #deltarune au #undertale sprite comic contest #undersprite #results

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 year ago

Text

BTS fic recs: November 2023

I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post to let them know that they’re appreciated 💜 And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | 💜 (*) | Dec (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, personal favorites = 💯.

Namjoon

⭐Friend or Fuck by @joonsmagicshop [8K] // knj x f.reader // f2l // 🥵

📝 A drunken night leads to a good morning.

🗨️ I really liked this 🥺 Namjoon was just so sweet, caring and gentle with OC. Really loved it 👏🏾 but why, oh why did Jungkook have to cockblock them 😂 I wanted the smut alright! The build up was so good, I was slightly frustrated with the ending 🙈 yes I’m a slut for smut okay 🙈 I’m hoping for a part two ✌🏾🙏🏾💜

⭐Emotions of the Soul 💯by @oddinary4bts [36.6K] // knj x f.reader // idol!au, childhood/teenage lovers to s2l2l // 🥵🌩️🥰

📝 When Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

🗨️ This is another masterpiece from Ella! She is incredible at writing idol!au’s that just feels so goddamn natural and real 👏 The way Namjoon is written is just perfection and OC with her struggles, and they are goddamn human, yes – and that’s one of the beautiful parts in it!!! 😭I also reminded me of my own teenage breakup (gosh I was stupid back then, but not because of the breakup lol 😂). Anyway, please go and read it! As with everything Ella write, this is another to add to my favorites 💜

Seokjin

Nothing this month 😞

Yoongi

⭐Workaholic 💯by @hobiwonder [10K] // myg x f.reader // “‘strangers” to lovers (I don’t want to spoil!) // 🥵😂🥰

📝 Yoongi needs to relax and Hoseok has many tricks up his sleeve to make him. None of them Yoongi thought included hiring a hooker to pay him a visit one stormy night.

🗨️ Wow okay, this was so freaking great! Like, what??? Incredible! A masterpiece! I really really loved it 🥺 everything was so fucking good, their chemistry, the tense build up ugh, so fucking good! 💯 ✨

⭐Little bit of your Heart by @yoongiofmine [wordcount loading…] // myg x f.reader, jjk x f.reader // exes!au, fwb!au // 🥵

📝 You had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with Min Yoongi. You knew you and Yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything Yoongi couldn’t. Will Jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten Yoongi enough to do something about it?

🗨️ Yes here we go a new series from Ella! ✨ Yoongi already seems so done with Jungkook and they have barely spoken 😂 looking forward to how that develops 🤭

⭐What the Moon Saw + Stolen Tides 💯by @violetsiren90 // myg x f.reader // non-idol!au, f2l // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 In the words of the great Stevie Nicks, "Time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I'm getting older too."

🗨️ This is just so fucking beautiful. Everything. About. It. Period. 😭 It is emotional, it is young love, and it is tender and loving - like, Yoongi is just so sweet. Their timing sucks, but thankfully Violet wrote a beautiful drabble to give the couple a lovely ending! 💜 Truly, please go read it, it is so good I was crying and felt so good after, it’s sweet – OKAY I’M SOFT I know.

Hoseok

⭐Flight 18 💯by @noona-la-la-la [9.5K] // jhs x f. reader // flight!au, idol!au // 🥵😂

📝 Korean Air Flight 18 leaves daily from Los Angeles traveling to Seoul. You’ve taken this flight before, but this time you’ve got an irritating passenger in the neighboring seat. Little did you know that he would end up giving you the ride of your life.

🗨️ This was just really really amazing; utterly funny (like I was laughing at certain points), so much sexual tension that evolves into satisfying smut 😗

Jimin

⭐The Airport Couple: P[ass]anger from Hell + Drabble 💯by @dovechim & @jimlingss [8K] // pjm x f.reader // e2l, frequent traveler jimin x tsa agent reader // 😂😂😂🥰

📝 As a TSA agent, you expect your job to be relatively easy, most passengers these days follow the rules to the T in order to avoid prolonging their custom checks. But not a certain Park Jimin, who seems to have a problem understanding what 100ml is, or the very simple fact that gadgets must be taken out of the bag, and bomb jokes are strictly off limits. Frequent traveller Park Jimin is your nemesis, but darn is he a cute one.

🗨️ This is just so fucking hilarious, don’t get me started. I laughed from beginning to end 😂 And it’s still as good as I remember, if not even better??? Like ✨ I’ve highlighted a few of my favorite parts from the fic. I don’t want to give too much away, but these lines are just so damn hilarious! Please go read it, it’s one of my faves 💯

⭐The Airport Couple: Park Jimin’s Cock[pit] 💯by @jimlingss & @dovechim [12K] // pjm x f.reader // pilot!au, bf2l, coworkers!au // 😂🥰🥵

📝 Talk about Angry Birds, and most people would immediately think of the mobile game app. But within your circle of friends, it stands for something else. It’s synonymous with Park Jimin, one of the most talented pilots from your batch who also just happens to have anger issues, or in other words, air rage. He is your best friend, but when you get teamed up with him as his co-pilot, you can only pray that things don’t go south… literally.

🗨️ I remember reading this a few years ago, and I loved it then and I still do ✨ It is incredibly funny, has good banter and dialogue to match. The chemistry between reader and Jimin is just priceless, their friendship is just pure giggles 🥹 It’s also fluffy and will tug on your heartstrings in the best way possible. Just really, really good and definitely also one of my all-time favorites 💯💜

⭐Flowers & Sex by @7deadlysinsfics [4.5K] // pjm x f.reader // fwb, f2l au, pwp // 🥰🥵🌩️

📝 You’re in need of a warm body and a good fuck. who better than your friend park jimin?

🗨️ Just really cute 🥺 Hoseok (readers ex in this) is a douche though, like why did she have to go back to him ugh 🥴 but I like how the story developed and reader realized her feelings after she took her ex back. Loved Jimin and how he gave her flowers 💐 he was so fucking cute 🥺🌸

⭐Heaven with You by @acc3ssdenied [4.7K] // pjm x f.reader // friends to ??? // 🥵

📝 All good things happen after 2 am - at least, that was what you believed. Whoever thought it was a good idea for a group of twelve young adults to play drunk truth or dare obviously agreed with you.

🗨️ Oh this was some filthy smut 🥵 And that kiss with Taehyung was downright slutty – a really good pwp 🥵

⭐Have some Respect by @chim-chimmie [4.2K] // pjm x f.reader // school/college!au, teacher!jimin // 🥵

📝 Your teacher Park Jimin has had enough of you disrespecting him, so he taught you a little lesson.

🗨️ Okay, okay, I know the teacher x student dynamic is a touchy subject, and not always well executed, but hear me out, alright. This was so freaking sinful, like my soul needs to take a shower now??? 🥵

⭐Rush by @bangtanfanfiction [4K] // pjm x f.reader // idol!jimin // 🥵🥰

📝 After not seeing your boyfriend for several weeks, his latest performance definitely made something in you snap. And at a award show of all things.

🗨️ A good pwp with smut that is 🔥

⭐How Long? by @jiminniethemarshmallow [4K] // pjm x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰

📝 No summary!

🗨️ I also remember reading this a few years ago and it’s still so fucking hot and filthy 🥵

⭐Turbulence by @yminie [9.3K] // pjm x f.reader // flight!au // 🥵🥰

📝 On your first flight the cute boy next to you helps to sooth your nerves, and on the second flight he soothes something else.

🗨️ Gosh, I remember reading this a few years back and I’ve actually read it multiple times, it’s just so incredible 👏🏾 the smut is freaking hot, and Jimin is just 🤯 well, he’s being a sweet fluffball, but then a smexy God 🥵 like wtf! The duality is insane! One of my favorites and I’m looking forward to rereading part two ✨💜

⭐Accelerate by @yminie [8.9K] // pjm x f.reader // flight!au // 🥵🥰

📝 Jimin comes to retrieve his jacket on the condition that you then accompany him for dinner, and you can bet he satiates every hunger.

🗨️ I haven’t re-read this yet – but I remember I loved it 💜(I’ll insert my rec here when I have read it again).

Taehyung

Nothing this month 😞

Jungkook

⭐Love à Trois [series; ongoing] by @letjungcoook7 [13.1K] // jjk x f.reader x pjm // slice of life, f2l+s2l, roommates!au, college!au, love triangle // 🥵🌩️

📝 You and Jimin secretly have feelings for each other, you both realize your dream of studying at the same college and sharing an apartment, but when financial issues start to arise, you have to seek a third roommate. and guess who fate sends your way? Jungkook, the same guy who took your virginity back in high school.

🗨️ This is really good! There’s two chapters up so far and they are really good! It’s so interesting to see the love triangle unfold. Really enjoyed this 🌸 It’s just getting better and better ✨ I really loved the backstory of how both Jimin and OC realized they had feelings for each other 🥺 so good and really looking forward to the next chapter 😍

⭐Sweet Obsession by @letjungcoook7 [2.5K] // jjk x f.reader // established relationship, plussize!reader // 🥵🥰

📝 When a coworker starts to show interest in you, your boyfriend becomes jealous.

🗨️ Whaaaaaaaat 🥹This was so incredibly sweet and tender! As a plus-sized curvy girl, this was such a good and lovely read 💖 Another banger from Lua💜

⭐The Wedding Planners 💯by @gukyi [28K] // jjk x f.reader // e2l, wedding!au // 😂🥰🌩️🥵

📝 Jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding.

🗨️ I also remember reading this a few years ago and it was just a very funny and pleasant reread 💜 What I love about this is one, is definitely the slow-burn and the enemies to lovers aspect too. The banter between reader and Jungkook is just so priceless and reading how their relationship slowly unfolds and develops through the months of the wedding planning was just everything 💯 Hoseok and Yoongi’s personality in this also makes this fic truly amazing.

⭐Fragment of the Past (1)(2)(3) [series; completed] 💯by @ctrlsht [28.1K] // jjk x f.reader // patient!jk x psychiatrist!reader // 🌩️😈👻🥵

📝 You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

🗨️ Another first for me, with the thriller vibes and damn it delivers on that! It’s really, really good 👏 Pacing is really good and how we see more and more of Jungkook’s disturbing traits is just brilliant ✨If you want my full review of it, you can find it here (it does contain spoilers though!). And I really think you shouldn’t spoil it! Just go read it if you’re into the darker stuff, because my heart was racing so damn fast! This is the best thriller yandere au I’ve read to date 💜

⭐Lost on You by @letjungcoook7 [2.1K] // jjk x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵

📝 You're just so obsessed with your boyfriend. you would do anything for him.

🗨️ Ehm excuse me Lua, mirror sex???? 🥵 Fucking hell that was a hot one, like I almost feel like I need to take a shower 😂 another banger from you! And the dirty talking too, aish 🥵 💖

OMG November has truly been an exceptional month! There was my 30th birthday of course, and then I received so my love for my series ‘friendcation’ that I was crying with all the beautiful words and reviews I got 😭 I am so thankful for every one of you, whether you interact with my fic recs or my own – thank you! 💜

Borahae 💜

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blueflipflops · 4 months ago

Text

Another incorrect quotes for my OC as Aizen fic before I post the final chapter!

Part 1

...

Aizen & Shinji @ each other: Asshole cat behavior🫵

....

Gin, about Aizen: Remember when he was mad at you and served you an assortment of funeral food?

Shinji: Yeah that was highly petty.

...

Random Rukon citizen: May Soumu-sama protect you, traveller!

Aizen, THE 'Soumu-sama', in disguise: let's fucking hope he does :)

...

Aizen @ a Division Meeting: —and if you have any suggestions, anything at all, please feel free to put them in the suggestion box!

Momo: Aizen thats a trash can.

Aizen: Sure is!

Shinji: No no he might be onto somethin-

...

Aizen: I can explain.

Shinji: Can you?

Aizen: If you give me 30 seconds to think of a lie—

...

*Division 5 Trio, doing paperwork and drinking sake at Shinji's office*

Aizen, suddenly: just once in my life I want to get up without experiencing the seven stages of grief.

Shinji: There are only five stages.

Momo: We're here for yo—

Gin, sneaked in to eat snacks: whats the extra two stages?

Aizen: Denial 2 and Astral Projection.

...

Shinji: *traps a spider under a cup*

Aizen: *appears and sets down two more identical cups *

Shinji: no wait–

Aizen: *starts shuffling the cups*

Shinji: NO

...

Aizen: Lying is not just a hobby. Its a national sport and I'm in the olympics with Kisuke and Shinji, the other two-faced bitches in this town.

...

Shinji: who? Sousuke? He's not evil. He just has a shitty personality. Which is almost the same.

...

Aizen, giving advice to his juniors: if you guys are ever thinking of suicide, don't do it. The Soul King doesn't want you to. The Soul King wants to kill you himself in his own special way

...

*In Canon Meets AU*

AU!Fifth Division, hearing about Evil!Canon!Aizen: Oh soul king… its the nicotine withdrawals isn't it? Its worse than we thought…

...

Shinji: Keep this shit up and I'll confiscate your cigarettes.

Aizen: *gasp* You wouldn't.

Shinji: Go ahead. Try me.

...

Aizen @ Canon! Shinji threatening to kill him: Huh… that was kinda… hot…

Shinji: what?

Aizen: Nothing

Canon!Shinji: what?

Aizen, full on blushing: NOTHING! LEAVE ME ALONE!!

...

Aizen: I think I would've thrived working and making one of those escape rooms thing

Aizen: that or I'd get too into my role that I'd get arrested for actual kidnapping and murder.

Aizen: ah. Well. That is, if I get caught. :)

...

Shinji: Remember that time when you planned an elaborate mystery game for the Fifth for 'Division Team Building Weekend'?

Aizen: Yes. It was painful to watch them miss simple clues and riddles. They've been doing this job for who knows how long, the least they could do is improve their observational skills.

...

Aizen: Do you mind if I light a smoke inside?

Shinji: Yes, I do mind.

Aizen: Shame... *lighting up a cig anyway*

...

Aizen: I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my mother.

Shinji: Literally, the more I learn about yer mother the more concerned I get.

...

It's me boy, im the ao3 inside your brain. Go read my Bleach fic, boy

#final chapter is still in editing tho #honestly the reason it took so long is because im writing a new wip #Service With A Grimace AU #aizen sosuke #hirako shinji #gin ichimaru #momo hinamori #bleach #incorrect quotes #ao3 #bleach fic

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mikaela-the-slut-expert · 1 year ago

Note

*knocks the door* Hello there! 💙 I hope you're doing great, because an idea came to my head again!)))

I apologize in advance, because my post will be long and it will be about my OC and his city, so the request will only be at the end. And here's the idea...

I was thinking of a story where my OC would finally be able to feel helpless again and learn to appreciate more that Hualian is around, and at the same time learn to ask for help. A old and basic idea came to mind, BUT... I like it. My OC, a demon and the god of Quiet death, manages his city as your OC and Hua Cheng do. Only for me his city at first looks like a large dark forest with lights of blue flame and animals whose fur is highlighted.. You know, like in Avatar, if you've watched it, or in Skyrim, there are such animals in one of the missions (google the "skyrim vale deer" and that's it)). And then the main part of the city is hidden under the arches of a cave in a huge mountain, where plants and tree grow thanks to magic. And plants highlighted too. It looks like an elven town in the Lord of the Rings, only in Chinese style. A very quiet place where demons and souls come to seek peace, a life they might not have had before death.

The main palace in black and blue tones, dark wood, elegance, expensive, but not fancy things around... HUGE collections of fans and poisons...

And of course, a temple for Xie Lian... It is not big, but extremely cozy, quiet, almost personal, as if the person who created the temple did not show how much he is ready to give to his god, but rather is ready to give extremely little, but no less valuable... His own heart...

So, near the city, an unknown creature began to rage in the village and my OC went to deal with it. Alone. Because, why not actually. Nobody wants to put loved ones' lives in danger, even if they are much stronger than you. And he defeated this creature... But he was cursed and turned into a child. Like... A newborn baby... (If you are not comfortable with children, then you can make him a kitten, small, white fur, frightened eyes and trembling from any rustle)

And just imagine, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are worried that their beloved has disappeared, and then snakes come to them (pets of my OC, you can change it to birds if you feel comfortable) and bring them their beloved under a curse...

And I wonder how you see Hualian care and how they will remove the curse from their beloved reader X))

Cursed headcanons

Hua Cheng x M!reader x Xie Lian

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorryyyyyyyy 😭🙏 I was taking a small break from writing so plz don't get impatient with me guys. However he's I love that so much? Like the detail? The settings? The animals? I love it wtf? You are I fear. Anyways I hope you like this and I hope it makes you for the long wait😭

And I really, really, really hope you don't mind that I wrote him as a toddler 🫠🙏🖤

Also you said like, how your OC was giving his heart? So I used ashes instead.

Also I rlly am not liking my writing rn so I'm rlly sorry if the quality is awful

____________________________________

When Hua Cheng and Xie Lian saw you again they did not expect to see you as a toddler. As in a little boy. As in not your normal form. . .

You were all supposed to meet up at Puqi shrine, just to hang out, cuddle. You know normal lover stuff.

It seems you didn't make it peacefully, in fact it doesn't even look like you remember them.

Your snakes had apparently led the way.

They knew it was you because of the snakes of course. Also not just any little boy would be okay with snakes roaming over his arms, and neck

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian take you inside and start doting on you immediately

They've found nothing out. You don't remember them, or what happened

Sigh

Xie Lian is worried, initially he doesn't know how to fix it. They don't know anything so how can they fix it?

Hua Cheng is worried but more so angry. Who did this? Was it a heavenly official or maybe a ghost? Whoever it was he'll track them down and take care of them for you

The important part is getting you back to normal first though

Xie Lian asks Ling Wen about what curses it may be

Hua Cheng is trying to think if this might be like the time he turned into a kid too but they crossed that out

At the end of the day they come up with. . . Nothing. Yet.

Xie Lian decides for the three of you that maybe rest is what you all need

So that night in bed a toddler lies between the two of them.

You look comfortable in their arms so at least you aren't crying from fear

Hua Cheng was very happy when you were not scared of him.

The next day Xie Lian and Hua Cheng decide something different.

They know you were at your abode so maybe the problem happened there?

Soooo that's where they go, of course with your snake's help, seeing as you don't remember anything

The whole time you're either in Xie Lian's arms or clinging to Hua Cheng's legs.

They're actually having fun with this whole, you being a toddler thing. Not forever though.

All of you get to your city with no problems. . .

Except when they get to the "city" it's a cave.

At first Hua Cheng is debating to tie your snakes together by the tails but Xie Lian calms him down.

Then they both panic because suddenly you're missing.

The little you ran into the cave!

They give chase and then suddenly are wowed when they see your city.

It was hiding in the cave the whole time. Huh, no wonder.

They also find you petting some strange deer with highlighted fur, like literally glowing.

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng have never seen something like this before, they've never had the chance to see your city.

You're always too embarrassed to let them in

They quickly pick you up and Hua Cheng keeps you in his arms this time.

After admiring the city they follow the snakes again.

This time they've been led to a temple.

Who knows what's going through those snake's minds but apparently they're giving your lovers a whole tour

Because the next stop was a temple.

It's not gaudy but not out of shape either. It's elegant, definitely meant for a well loved god or goddess

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng find out who it's for when they see Xie Lian's statue in the temple.

They look around a bit, surprised there aren't many offerings at all. But they notice why when they look at statue Xie Lian's hair.

A hair pin

It's the only thing that isn't a part of the statue, it's not the same material or anything. So what is it then?

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian carefully look at it. After a few minutes Hua Cheng confirms that the hair pin is made of ashes.

Your ashes.

A hairpin, in Xie Lian's hair, you gifted, your ashes

Oh my

Xie Lian is flustered and puts it back where it was. Hua Cheng is smiling at toddler you

You don't know what's going on just yet but they know what a hairpin means

Once they're done appreciating all the fine details you've made for Xie Lian they're led away once again.

Finally to the spot where you were cursed

Xie Lian guess by the dead creatures carcass you must have been cursed by it.

This won't be a hard curse to get rid of, just destroy the creatures body and get rid of the ashes. Then you should turn back to normal.

So Xie Lian hopes.

Hua Cheng does all of it though he wouldn't dare let Xie Lian touch something so dirty. He places you in the safety of Xie Lian's arms so he can do so

After that's all gotten rid of, toddler you poofs and turns big again

They catch you up to speed pretty quickly, then you get ganged up on by kisses and teasing.

They want to see more of your city before you guys leave

____________________________________

Bro

I'm so sorry if it's bad

just tell me in the comments I might try writing something better. I love you guys 🥰🖤

#tgcf #tgcf headcanon #hualian #hualian x reader #hua cheng x reader #tgcf x male reader #xie lian x reader #tgcf hua cheng #tgcf hualian #tgcf xie lian

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thishazbinamistake · 1 year ago

Note

Howdy!

I am here to talk about Viv's horrible character designs.

From an animator perspective, they suck.

Here's why

1. The characters have way too much detail

For animation, more lines equal more work. You're going to be drawing them over and over, and it just creates more stress and work for the animators.

For example, I took one of the most egregious designs in HB (Beelzebub) and simplified it to be animation friendly.

(Can't send it here but I'll probably make a post about it or something.)

2. There's too much of 1 color

WHY IS THERE SO MUCH RED??

Especially since they're in a primarily red background, they don't stand out AT ALL.

Like how am I supposed to see them if they blend in to the background??

3. I have no idea what half of them are supposed to be

Charlie is based off a doll?

Alastor is based off of a deer?

Katie Killjoy is based off of a praying mantis?

Angel Dust is based off of a spider?

Beelzebub is supposed to be well... Beelzebub?

When designing characters, they need to be clear on what they're supposed to be! And no, explaining it on Twitter does not count.

4. The animation reference sheets are garbage

No wonder there's so much animation errors. There's no facial expression sheets, lip sync guide, nothing. It's just a 4 angle turnaround sheet where the character is in complex poses all the time.

If you Google Lackadaisy's animation reference sheets and then look at HB's, it's like night and day.

I'm more than willing to send some examples (along with the edit I did) if you want

So yeah, what are your thoughts?

These are all great points! I think you summed up the main problems very well, but I'll elaborate on each of them. I'm no expert at character design or animation by any means, but I'll do my best to explain my points!

First of all, like you said, the character designs are way too complicated. Anyone who knows even the slightest amount about animation knows you want to simplify and streamline your designs as much as possible to make it easier on the animators. Vivzie is way too obsessed with her Deviantart OC lookin'-ass character designs to actually do this, even though it would seriously help to make the animation process way faster and easier. Beelzebub is seriously the best (or worst?) example of this.

I feel so bad for the poor souls who had to animate this. There are just way too many moving parts here, from her multiple arms, her wings, her markings, to her freaking lava lamp hair and tail?? It's just awful. And so many of Viv's designs suffer this problem, I could go on and on.

Like, I think it actually is a nice looking design, as a still image. Maybe not for the demon Beelzebub, but as a general furry OC, I think she's cute. But that's beside the point. I would love to see your redesign of her!

Next, the RED. So, most of the characters we see in Helluva Boss are red-skinned imps, which has been a common depiction of demons for centuries. One big problem I have is that there's little contrast in these designs. Let's look at our three main imps.

Aside from some white and yellow highlights, they're all mostly red and black. Their color palettes aren't distinct in the slightest! And, I mean, come on. Red accessories against what's almost the exact same shade of red skin? Really? It just doesn't look good. A little contrast here and there goes a long way, like... maybe make Moxxie's bowtie blue? Or Blitz's pendant green? I don't know, anything to help each character stand out, and help give them more visual intrigue.

It doesn't help that most of the backgrounds are primarily shades of red, too. Here's a few screenshots I found that really show this problem.

Look at all that fucking red. Like you said, there's such little color variation that the characters blend into the background. Now, to be fair, I did specifically choose these screenshots because I think they really highlight the problem, but this really is what so much of the show looks like. Granted, we do have a bit more variety in the different rings of Hell, each with their own main color, but this is still too much red, considering how much the color comprises the main characters' designs.

Next, like you said, Vivzie is really bad at making characters actually look like the things they're supposed to look like. Let's take Alastor as an example!

Oh boy! More red and black. So, Alastor here is supposed to be a deer. What's the first physical characteristic that comes to mind when you think of a deer?

Yeah, those big, impressive antlers! So... where are his? Oh, they're those tiny little forks on his head that are almost entirely obscured by his stupid emo hair. Like, come on! Giving him bigger antlers would have made him look so much cooler and more intimidating, and it would have been a great focal point for his design! It's such a missed opportunity. (I know he has bigger antlers in his scarier "demon" form, but you still could have made these a little more impressive.) And don't even get me started on those ears... they look more like fox ears or something. Like you said, a good design shouldn't need to be explained through supplementary material. We should be able to tell what a character is supposed to be just from looking at them!

Another great example is Angel Dust, who, despite being a spider, lacks so many distinct features we associate with spiders! He only has six legs instead of eight, he doesn't have pedipalps or chelicerae, and he also lacks that big old spider booty, which I think is such a missed opportunity, considering he is supposed to be in the sex industry. He isn't even remotely shaped like a spider, he looks more like a fuzzy stick bug or something.

Part of me feels like Viv is too afraid to make her characters look unique, so she just goes with the same, skinny humanoid design for just about everything. It's such a shame, because I really do think she is a talented artist who can make some really interesting designs. But then again, she also gave us Beelzebub, so... maybe not.

As for the reference sheets, maybe I wasn't looking hard enough but I couldn't find any official ones for the main characters, so if you could send those my way I would appreciate it! Though it honestly wouldn't surprise me if they were bad. I did look up Lackadaisy's and found them pretty easily and...

This is so freaking comprehensive and detailed, it's incredible! Look at all those poses and facial expressions!

Comparing Vivzie's works to Tracy's feels kind of unfair, since Tracy has been working on Lackadaisy for 17 years, and it really shows. This is leaps and bounds above Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel in quality. Rocky's design is tight; it's detailed, but not overly complicated. There isn't an obnoxious overuse of highly saturated colors, and there's such nice contrast between his fur, his eyes, suit, and tie, making his design very nice to look at. You can also tell so much about his personality and the world he lives in just from his appearance. It's such a good design, and Rocky is just one example from Lackadaisy! All of Tracy's designs are memorable and stand out from one another, unlike so many of Vivzie's characters, whose designs honestly feel interchangable.

So much thought and care has gone into Lackadaisy, and I seriously cannot wait for the full series, as well as all the other amazing indie animated series that have been coming out recently. It's sad that Helluva Boss is seen as the pinnacle of indie animation, when there are so many other series out there that are just.. better! Lackadaisy, obviously, but we've also got Digital Circus, Murder Drones, Monkey Wrench, and so many others that deserve way more appreciation than what Helluva Boss receives. And that's just from an art direction standpoint, we aren't even talking about writing. That's a whole other can of worms.

All of that being said, it's obvious that a ton of love and hard work went into Helluva Boss, and I hold absolutely nothing against the animators and artists at Spindlehorse. These poor design choices are a hallmark of Vivzie's art style, and they're simply working with what they've got. There is such wasted potential here because it feels like Vivzie is too afraid to step outside her comfort zone and design something that isn't a brightly colored, sharp-toothed twink, or skinny anthro wolf girl.

Anyways, that about wraps up my thoughts. Thanks for the ask, this was fun to delve into! And again, I'd be very interested in seeing you post your redesigns! 👀

#hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #long post

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skyfallslayer · 6 months ago

Text

Should We Stay or Should We Go? || Chapter Four

-A ST Rewrite Feat. Steve Harrington x Henderson!OFC-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🎲Summary: Refusing to believe that the kids are dead, Joyce tries to connect with her son and Steph. The boys give Eleven a makeover in order to connect with their loved ones. Hopper turns up his detective game. Steve has a slight breakdown, while Nancy and Jonathan form an unlikely alliance.

🎲Pairings: Will x Platonic!OFC; Dustin x Sister!OC; Slow burn! Steve x Henderson!OFC (Ex-bestfriends to Lovers); Slow burn! Byler

🎲Rating: Teen-Mature

🎲Word Count: 13,951

🎲Date: 7/4/24

🎲Warnings: Angst; Heavy Language & Dialogue; References To Broken Friendship; Mental Strain/Breaking Down; Talks of Mental Health Issues; Bullying of All Kinds; Physical Fighting; Lying; "Death"; Crying; Talks of Corpses; Heavy Alcohol Consumption; Unwanted Touching; Suggestive Dialogue; One Comment About Being A Pedo; The Byers Family's Mental Strain; Hopper Being a Great Cop & A Total Mess; Dustin Being a Gangster & A Total Mess; Jessica & Charles Harrington's A+ Parenting; Steve's 'Asshole Era'; Steve's Emotional Damage. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(And let me know if I missed anything)

🎲A/N: Happy 4th, everyone! What a better way to celebrate then with an angsty fic? Heads up, this does contain less of us being in the Upside Down, and there's a reference to Hopper's childhood with Joyce and Claudia. There's also a bit of a mystery surrounding Steph and Dustin's father, so keep that part buried in your mind for future chapters. Also... there's a bit of a cameo in here I think everyone will enjoy :)

Nancy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The view of the quarry on the TV made her feel sick. She wants to change the station but she can’t – none of her family can’t because the news is so shocking. It wasn’t until her little brother came home, tears streaming down his face and running into their mother’s arms for comfort, that she realized it was all real.

After a few minutes of gathering her strength, she manages to slip into the kitchen to grab the phone, dialing a number close to heart. She wipes the corner of her eyes, trying to put up a good front before the call. She has to be the strong one here, especially since–

Then the other lined beeps followed by a voice that says,

[ ‘Sorry, the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later, or leave a message after the tone, and hang up when you’re finished.’ ]

“Shit.” She whispers, and waits for the beep again. “Steve, it’s Nancy, it’s…” She sighs. “Listen, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Just give me a call back, please.”

She hangs up, taking a moment to think. Whether he admits or not, she knows he still cares in some way for Stephanie. And he’s not going to be in the best state if he’s seen the news.

Not even thinking twice about this sudden thought, Nancy grabs her car keys out of the bowl, ignoring when her parents asked her a question and leaves out the front door.

She just has to know if he’s okay.

That’s it.

That’s all she needs to know and do.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Will was… mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted. Heavy on the latter. They thought they were finally doing well, they thought they were finally going to get an answer –a way to get back– but every time they tried, they get back to square one.

The beast that had no face, its growls could send shivers down their spines and curse their souls, kept finding them. But how? It had no eyes, no nose, no ears, just a mouth hidden its folds; How could such a thing keep finding them? And that voice…

The voice was new. And for some reason it scared him more than the beast.

// I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING. //

I know what you’re doing.

What does that mean? Could the monster actually speak? Was someone else in this place with them? Did someone or something not want to escape? What is it? What is the answer? What can they do?

He doesn’t know who slowed down first, but they eventually stopped somewhere in the trees. Will was taking in the cold, dirty air, a tickle was blooming in his throat while doing so. He felt like he was on the verge of getting sick, probably the temperatures doing, but didn’t want to express his concerns. They had other problems to worry about.

“What are we going to do?” He asked, unaware of the older girl’s swaying moments and gaze going distant. “Do we go back? Do we try another place? But that’ll probably be a waste right? But can really go back with that–”

“I’m s-sorry…” She whispers that it turned into a small pant. It was enough for him to turn around and question:

“Why?” He manages to spill out before her body drops like a stack of dominos. “Stephanie!!” He lunged forward, his tiny body was only good enough to cradle her head. “No… No…”

He starts ripping everything on her away, the shotgun, her backpack, and holding her sleeping head in her lap. He knew this would have happened sometime soon, especially when she admitted earlier that she hasn’t slept since getting stuck here, too worried about his safety rather than her own, and now look where that’s gotten her.

“Steph… come on. W-Wake up. Pl-Please…” Will pleads, lightly tapping her cheek. “Come on. You can’t do this to me now… w-why is this happening n-now?!”

Stranded in the woods, a monster lurking somewhere in the dark.

What was a twelve year old boy going to be able to do? It’s not like he can carry her and all their belongings somewhere, right?

He couldn’t help but start crying, like a child scared of the creature under his bed, and started holding the teenager close like she was his lifeline.

“♪ C-Come o-on and l-let me know ♪” He whispers, face pressed against hers. “♪ Sh-Should I-I stay or should I g-go? Should I-I stay or should I go now? If I g-go th-there will be trouble. If I stay it will be double– ♪”

He sobs, shaking. “St-Stephanie…”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Telling a family about their loved one was never easy, especially since the deceased were from families he knew personally growing up. He still spoke carefully though after him and his men looked around the house just in case they missed something. He spoke softly, not wanting to hurt her anymore than she probably is.

“A trooper found something in the, uh… water that’s at the Quarry. Our working theory right now is that Stephanie… crashed her car, and they... made their way over the Quarry and, uh… accidentally fell in. The earth must have given way.” Hopper explains, but he can tell she’s not listening (at least not fully). “Joyce? Joyce? Do you understand what I’m saying?

“N-No…” She trembles, in denial. “Whoever you found… is not my boy. It’s not Will.”

“Joyce.” He says, reaching out to touch her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

“No, you don’t understand. I talked to him… a half hour ago.” She sniffles, and tries to remember every detail. “He was... He was here. He was... He was talking with these.” She gestures to the lights. “Him and Stephanie. Th-They both were here.”

“Talking?” Hopper asked, his composure breaking. It was like looking in the mirror for him. He remembers the denial, the pain of losing a child of his own.

“Uh-huh. One blink for yes, two for no. And... And, uh…” She then points to the alphabet wall. “And then I made this so they could talk to me. ‘Cause they were hiding… from that... that thing.”

“The thing that came out of the wall? The thing that chased you?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Mom, come on, please.” Jonathan begs, heart breaking for his own mother. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“No, maybe they’re… It’s after them!” She snaps, grabbing onto her son for his support, both physically and emotionally. “They’re in danger. We have to find Them! We—”

“What exactly was this thing? It was some kind of animal, you said?” Hopper asked, as she shook her head.

“Uh, no, it was… It was almost... human, but it wasn’t. It… It had these long arms and... it didn’t have a face.”

“It didn’t have a face?” His gaze meets the teenager’s, and he silently tells him to leave. Jonathan does, running off somewhere to cry himself. “Joyce–”

“It didn’t have a face…”

“Joyce, listen to me.” He helps her sit down on the couch, and he kneels before her. “Listen to me.” He starts getting teary eyed too. “After Sarah… I saw her, too. And I heard her. I didn’t know what was real. And then I figured out that it was in my mind. And I had to pack all that away. Otherwise, I was gonna fall down a hole… that I couldn’t get out of.”

“No, you’re... you’re talking about grief.” She shakes her head again. “This is different.”

“I’m just saying that you–”

“No, I-I know what y-you’re saying, Hop. I sw-swear to you, I-I know what I saw. And I’m n-not crazy.”

“I’m not saying that you’re crazy.”

“N-No... You are. And I understand, but… God, I…” She sobs. “I need you to believe me. Please.” She then whispers, “Please.”

“Listen…” He takes her hands into his own. “I think you should go down to the morgue tomorrow and see him for yourself. It’ll give you the answers that you need. But tonight–”

“Oh, God…”

“-I want you to try to get some sleep, if you can.”

“Sl-Sleep?” She asks him, and he nods. She couldn’t comprehend this, couldn’t understand why he won’t believe her. She thought she could trust him, they’ve known each other through thick and thin and he’s just going to forget about all that? That’s…

That’s bullshit.

She shakes her head, pushing his hands away. “I’m not crazy. I know what I saw. And no one, I mean NO ONE, is going to change my mind.”

Hopper’s expression deepens. “Joyce–”

“Get out of my house.” She spats, and leaves the room.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The black BMW pulled onto Cornwallis Road and drove towards the destination he still has in the back of his head. The radio was up, a song that was setting the mood, or matching it more likely.

[ ♪ If you leave me now

You’ll take away the biggest part of me

Ooh, no, baby, please don’t go ♪ ]

His hands regripped the wheel, trying not to cry again.

[ ♪ And if you leave me now

You’ll take away the very heart of me

Ooh, no, baby, please don’t go

Ooh, girl, I just want you to stay ♪ ]

He starts to slow, parking off to the side, a curb across the street where he needed to be.

[ ♪ A love like ours is love that’s hard to find

How could we let it slip away? ♪ ]

He saw the lights were on, he saw her brother’s bike in the grass and her mother’s car in the driveway. He knows they’re both home, but did they know the news like he did?

[ ♪ We’ve come too far to leave it all behind

How could we end it all this way?

When tomorrow comes and we;ll both regret

The things we said today ♪ ]

Steve swallows, debating whether or not he should go up there. Will Stephanie’s mom remember him at all? Will her little brother Dustin tackle him as soon as he remembers their history? But despite their shaky past, he still owes the family his condolences, right?

But just as he was about to get out of the car, he perked up at the sound of sirens coming down the road, and could see the blue and red lights flashing in the night sky.

Huh. Maybe they didn’t know. Yet even after the swarm arrived in front of the Henderson home, Steve couldn’t help but stay and wait.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Claudia was hysterical, probably more than Joyce was; Yet, she was also more accepting about their theory. Hopper repeated it again, the mother was sitting down with her youngest on the couch. “A trooper found something in the water that’s at the Quarry. Our working theory right now is that Stephanie crashed her car, and they made their way over the Quarry and, uh… accidentally fell in. The earth must have given way.”

Claudia sobbed into her handkerchief. “Oh, my poor baby. Poor Will.”

“I’m so sorry.” He frowns, his face softens again too. “I know this is going to sound hard, but can you come down to–”

“That’s bullshit.” Dustin interrupted, finally speaking. His face was still puffy and his eyes were red. From being a complete mess earlier, he now looks like he was full of rage.

Hopper blinks, confused. “What?”

“That’s a bullshit theory!” He yells, jolting up.

“Dustin!” Claudia scolds.

“What? It is!” He points to himself. “M-My sister is smarter than that! Will’s smarter than that! It doesn’t matter if they were being chased, they wouldn’t have fallen into the Quarry!”

“Dustin!” She says again, and then looks at the other adult. “Chief, I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.” Hopper replies, accepting the apology. Now it was his turn to look at the kid, treading water carefully. “Look, Son–”

“Don’t call me that!” Dustin says, shaking his head.

“Kid–”

“Then where’s the shotgun?!” He replies, making Hopper’s heart sink (He didn’t even think about that). “Huh? You found their bodies, then where’s the gun? And why did they take the gun in the first place? What made them run off the road? Who was chasing them? You aren’t answering any of the obvious fucking questions–”

“Dustin!” Claudia yells, grabbing her son by his wrist. “Show some respect.”

“Fuck, respect.” Dustin pulls himself free. “He ain’t doing his job.” And then he storms out of the room, his mother calling out his name and apologizing once again.

“No, don’t be.” Hopper reassures. “He just lost his only sister. I understand.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. What were we saying before he interrupted?”

“Just, in the morning, if you can, come down to the morgue to verify Stephanie’s body. I’ll already be there with Joyce and her son.”

“O-Okay. I can do that.” She takes a shaky breath. “Hopper?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you… for trying to bring her home these past few days.”

His eyes widened slightly, not really expecting that kind of reaction. He was honestly stunned and felt like a failure again. “Claudia–”

“No. Don’t.” She takes his hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “I’ve known you since middle school, I know how your mind thinks sometimes. So please don’t feel guilty. I know you were giving it your all to find these kids. Even though… I-It was… a t-terrible outcome, you still found my daughter. You still brought her home.” Another squeeze. “So thank you. James.”

Hopper was speechless, ending up just giving her a nod and a promise to see her tomorrow. As he steps outside, he swallows the urge to start crying again.

“You going to be okay, Chief?” Callahan asked, meeting him halfway down the driveway.

“I’ll be fine.” Hopper replies, a half-lie. “I just need to…” He trails off when he sees a certain someone across the way. What is he doing here?

Callahan follows his gaze, confused. “Hey, isn’t that the Harrington boy?”

“Wrap everything up. I’ll meet you at the station.” Hopper leaves him behind and starts walking towards his target.

“I was going to pay my condolences but I saw you guys pull in.” Steve says, leaving against the driver door with a sad expression.

“Kind of creepy for someone who says they aren’t friends anymore.” Hopper pokes, hands on his hips – all business again.

“Just because we’re not friends, doesn’t mean I’m an asshole. I mean, this house was practically my second home growing up.” It kind of hurts to say that. He looks down, can’t even look the man in the eye while asking this question, “So is it true?”

“Yeah.” Hopper says, sadly. “It is. I… saw the bodies myself.”

Steve shifted his weight around, his chest feeling tight. “Do…” What is it even saying? “Do they look real?”

The police chief reverted back to the same look he was giving Joyce earlier, slight pity but also disbelief. “For Christ’s Sake. Not you too.” What was with all this in denial? “Look, son, I–”

“Are you going to be there at the morgue?”

Well that was a weird question. “Yes. I will be.” Hopper pauses. “Why?”

Steve shifted again, this time looking the adult in the eye. “‘Cause… there’s probably going to be something on… her body that her family’s not going to be able to explain. It’s…” He sighs. What am I even doing? She’s… gone. The Chief saw her body. This is all real it’s–

“Son?” Hopper said, getting a hum. “Continue? What do you mean about her family not going to be able to explain?”

He swallows, and stands straighter. “When we were kids, there was a… a bit of an accident, something we weren’t supposed to do, so we kept it a secret from our parents. However, it left us with a scar each.” He rolls up his sleeve, showing a huge pink gash on his left bicep. “Hers is on her left shoulder, close to her neck. I just thought when her mother sees her body you can explain the situation to her.”

His blue eyes rake over the scar, thinking. “You said it was a scar?” Hopper asked, getting a nod. “You know scars tend to fade over some time.”

“I know. But hers was much deeper than mine.” Steve pulls his sleeve back down. “If mine’s still here, I’m pretty sure hers is too.”

He takes a minute to process this. “Okay.” This was still leaving a weird feeling in his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He has to, but how the fuck is he going to explain the still secretive accident to Claudia? He sighs. “Aren’t you going in?”

Steve shook his head. “Probably not.” His sad eyes fell on the house. “How distraught are they?”

“Her mother’s a mess, but is accepting, can’t say the same thing for her brother. If looks could kill, he would have.”

“Gotcha. I’ll just…” He swallows, eyes starting to sting again. “Say my condolences at the funeral.” Steve opens his door up, not making eye contact with the adult. “‘Night, Chief.”

“Hey.” Hopper says, stopping the door from being closed. But as soon as their gazes locked, his brain went to a halt. What else could he say? “Nevermind. Get home safe, ‘Kay?”

The teenager nods, letting his door be closed before pulling away. Hopper’s not sure why but…

He feels like he’s missing something here.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dustin was curled up in a ball on his bed. He was hugging a pillow tightly, tears quietly rolling down his face. He didn’t think he had anymore tears left in him, but they just kept on coming.

His sister is dead.

If he didn’t see her body himself, he wouldn’t believe it.

No more nights of bothering her to watch some cheesy movies.

No more waking up fighting over the bathroom and eating breakfast together.

No more friendly, stupid banters about cryptids.

No more listening to her about customers driving her up the wall.

No more could he slip under the covers with her when a nightmare overtakes him.

No more could he wait by the front door for her so they could go to school.

No more of… anything. It was just him and his mother now. Just him and his mother to make ends meet.

He choked on the memories, gripping the pillow tighter. “Phanie…”

The sound of static makes him jolt upright. Heart skipping a beat, he realizes it was coming from his bag. He groans, a mixture of frustration and sadness. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone right now, not even his friends. He just wanted to grieve in peace until at least morning.

He wiggles his walkie talkie out, pulling the antenna all the way up and pressing the button. “Look, guys, please leave me alone. I don’t want to talk right now. Okay?”

He lets go of the button, waiting for a reply that was nothing more than static came, followed by–

[ ♪–on and let me know ♪ ]

He drops the walkie like it was made of fire and practically jumps a few feet back. The static was loud, but you couldn’t miss that voice. That voice coming from the speaker sounded a lot like–

[ ♪ Should I stay or should I go?

Should I stay or should I go now?

If I go there will be trouble

If I stay it will be double– ♪ ]

He heard a sob, and a whisper of,

[ St-Stephanie… ]

Dustin’s eyes widened with realization. There’s no way he could miss that. He almost felt like crying again.

“...W-Will?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Nancy’s knuckles knocked on the door thrice, before trying the doorbell. She crossed her arms when the wind blew harder, wishing she had enough time to grab a sweater or something before she left. She tries the door again after silence, this time the door springs open. She’s met with a woman who was taller than her, dark locks a complete mess, face flushed red.

She batted her eyes at the girl while clinging to the door. “May I help you?”

“Uh… is, uh, St-Steve home?” Nancy asked, trying to keep her gaze up high on the woman that was clearly wearing just a bra and panties.

“Steven?” She hissed, defensively. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m… Nancy, his girlfriend.” She recognizes the voice. “I think we spoke on the phone–”

“OH! NANCY! Yes! The Wheeler, girl. Yes, I remember. Awe…” Jessica Harrington reached up and pinched her cheek. “You’re just as adorable as I imagine.”

“Um, t-thanks. Uh–” Nancy wouldn’t be lying if she wasn’t already feeling uncomfortable. “Is this a bad time? I can come back–”

“No, no, no. Never. Never, dearie.” She said, practically dragging the teenager inside. “Come in, Steven should be back any minute now.” She shuts the door, head turning in another direction. “Charles, are your pants on? Our son’s girlfriend is here.” She smiles. “So how did you two meet? Are you in the same class?”

“Um–”

“So you’re our son’s lover?” Charles Harrington slurred out as he came literally stumbling into the hallway. Face as red as a tomato, hair disheveled and missing his shirt. “I never understand why Steven decided to hide you. You seem so nice.”

“Uh, thank– thank you.” Nancy said, hiding the urge to scrunch up her nose at his alcoholic breath. “Look, if he isn’t here, I’ll catch him in the morning–”

“Nonsense. You should stay.” Jessica urges. “It’ll be nice to get to know you.”

“Yes. Please–” His hand comes up to the girl’s shoulder. “Come sit with us.”

Nancy, this time, visibly shuddered. “I–”

“Get your hand off her, Dad.” Steve’s voice echoed out as he entered through the back door. His face seemed calm, but nobody could miss the fear in his eyes and the anger that was making his hands into fists.

“Steve?”

“Steven!” His mother exclaimed, all bubbly. “We were just getting to know your girlfriend.”

Steve gets between them, pulling Nancy close and away. “Mom, please, put a robe on. Dad, a shirt.”

“Yeah, son.” His father said, his hand coming around and grabbing a firm hold of the front of his child’s sweater. “How come we weren’t informed about this news, hmm? How could you do this to me and your mother?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Steve’s face, as he started pushing his girlfriend towards the door subtly. “Um, well, Dad–”

“You better have a good explanation.”

“Yeah, Steven.” Jessica said, her hand finding his forearm. “What gives?”

“‘Cause we-we’ve only been dating for a week.” Steve spits out the lie.

Nancy flashes him a look of confusion. “A week?”

“Yeah.” He gives a look now, hoping she gets it. “A week, Nancy.” He then sees the realization in her eyes.

“Yes.” She smiles and chuckles. “Well, it’s a week and a half, actually..”

“Oh, you and your technicality.” He smiles too, hand reaching back to the door knob. “That’s what won me over in math class. Uh, Listen, Mom, Dad, uh, we’ll have to plan a proper dinner out so you get to know Nancy. Okay?”

“Sure she doesn’t want to stay over for a bit?” His mother asked, with a look he didn’t like. “We don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t. But it is a school night, and it’s late. We also got uh, uh, a huge test tomorrow. So we should get some rest, you know?”

She frowns. “Awe. Okay. We can definitely plan a date.”

“Perfect! We can talk about it later, uh–” Steve opens the door and manages to get out his parents’ holds. “Just going to walk her back to her car.”

“Like a proper gentleman.” She smiles again, and gaze trails to the Wheeler. “You definitely scored with my son.”

“Oh, for sure. I agree.” Nancy said, getting forced outside.

“Be right back.” Steve replies, stepping out too and shutting the door.

“Steve– Hey!” He grabs her hands and strings her along quickly; She felt like they were sprinting down the driveway. “Steve?” She tests out his name as he takes a look back at his house before picking up the speed. “Steve! Talk to me! What is–”

“Don’t come to my house.” He blurts out the moment they are in front of her car.

She blinks. “What?”

“Don’t…” He exhales. “Don’t come to my house. At least at night. ‘Cause my parents like to… party, or…” He groans. “Actually, don’t come to my house alone. When my parents are here, make sure you only come when I’m there or I’m with you, alright? Do you understand?”

No, she certainly does not. “Steve, what do you mean? Why don’t you–”

“Did my mom say anything?”

Another blink. “What?”

“Did my dad do anything? Like… h-how uncomfortable were you? B-Be honest, Nance.”

“Steve, I don’t…” She trails off when she finally sees him whole. He seemed so… distraught. And she knows it’s probably not just about the sour news of Stephanie. For some reason, he’s scared of her going into his house. “Steve.” She tries again, softer. “What’s going on? Are your parents hur–”

“Why are you here, Nancy?”

She frowns, worriedly. “I was just wondering if you heard the news?”

Steve looks down at his feet. “About Will and Stephanie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “I-I heard…”

Nancy gently cups his face. She could see the corner of his eyes were red and irritated. Crying. Steve must have been crying. “Are you okay?”

Steve stayed quiet, building up the courage to speak – to make it sound confident. “Yeah. I’m fine. It just… caught me off guard.”

“You sure? You can talk to me. I’m not going to–”

“How’s your brother?”

She bites her lip. “Mike’s… really upset. I mean who wouldn’t be when it’s your friend.”

Steve hums. “Maybe you should go back. Check in on him.”

“But, Steve–”

“I appreciate you coming over and making sure that I’m okay.” A bittersweet look blooms on his face. “Really. Your compassion is one of the things I love about you. But I think you should go home to your family. They’re probably wondering where you’re at.”

She shakes her head. “Steve–”

“As for my parents, forget about tonight. I’ll… I promise I’ll explain them to you one day, but for now, just forget you ever met them. Okay?”

She gave in, not wanting to argue. “Okay.”

“Thanks.” He gives her a quick kiss, and pulls away. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night…” Her blue eyes trail him as he heads inside, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Was he going to be alright? Should she call someone? Should she–

A twinge snapped behind her.

She turns around, the sound coming from the woods. She squinted and took a small step – a shadow moved across the bushes – tall, lanky… no face– What?

She heard the shadow shift around again, and then swore she heard a growl coming from it. Paling instantly, Nancy took small steps back towards her car, feeling around for the handle. Once she grasps it she gets in, hands tightly on the steering wheel. Swallowing, she takes one look back over her shoulder, the shadow to have disappeared into the beyond.

Death.

Disappearances.

A thing with no face.

What the hell is happening to Hawkins?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help himself! He knows what he heard, he knows that was Will. He couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, his mind in overdrive on what and why and how this was even possible. But sometime in the night, an idea hit him hard.

The next morning, he made sure his mother was okay, and fit enough to go to the morgue. She already told him the night before that he should stay home, playing the kid card on him. Usually, he would have been upset at this statement, but this time he decided it was time to hold his tongue. As soon as Dustin saw the car leave, he wastes no time to pop open his walkie talkie antenna, tuning into a certain channel.

“Lucas, do you copy?” He said, waiting. He was met with static, but he just knows his friend is nearby and listening (His friends are never far away from their source of communication). “Lucas, come on, I know you’re there! This is urgent.”

Nothing.

“I’m serious. I’m not gonna stop until you answer.”

Nothing again.

“Lucas. Lucas! Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas–”

[ ‘Go away, Dustin. I’m not in the mood, all right? Over and out.’ ]

“No, not ‘out’. I’m not messing around, okay?” He starts pacing around his living room. “This is about Will and my sister. Over.”

[ ‘What about them? You mean about their funeral? Over.’ ]

“No, not their funeral. Fuck their funeral!”

[ ‘W-What?’ ]

“Just get over to my place, stat. And tell Mike to bring Eleven too.”

[ ‘Eleven? Why? She’s the reason–’ ]

“JUST DO IT! OKAY!” He yells, face red, open hand in a fist. “Over and out!”

[ ‘Dustin–’ ]

Dustin pushes the antenna down and shuts the device off. He knows Lucas will listen, even if he thinks he’s lost his mind, he’ll still listen. His eyes fall on a family picture on one of the side tables, his heart skipping a beat.

“Don’t worry, guys. We’re going to find you no matter where you are.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, down at the Coroner’s office, Hopper waited impatiently for… what? Half an hour now? He sighs. “What’s taking so long?”

“Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.” The receptionist, Patty said, upset as well.

Hopper perks up at this news. “Without Gary?” That doesn’t make sense. “Where’s Gary?”

“Well, I thought you knew. Those men from State, they... they sent Gary home last night.”

“So who did the autopsy?”

“Someone from State.”

Someone from State? I mean, the crime scene made sense, but the autopsy? Why would they send someone to an autopsy? On two kids no less? He wanted to ask more questions, but that’s when the oldest child of the Byers’ family came out looking sick to his stomach.

Hopper can tell he was trying to hold it all together the best he could. Poor kid.

“How’s your mom doing?” He asked, after a while of silence.

Jonathan sniffled, head still hanging low. “I don’t know.” He whispers.

“How long’s this stuff been going on? With the lights and, uh… Will and the thing in the wall?”

“Since the first phone call, I guess.” A sob. “You know, she’s had anxiety problems… in the past. But this… I don’t know.” He exhales shakily. “I’m worried it could be…” He shakes his head. “Ugh, I don’t know. She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. My mom… she’s tough.”

“Yeah, she is.” Hopper said, getting a chuckle out of the kid. He then placed a firm hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey. She is.”

That got Jonathan to cheer up for just a second before it crashed down again. Joyce came storming out, the coroner following behind with a clipboard asking her to sign; Which she’s flat out refusing.

“I don’t know what you think that thing is in there, but that is not my son!” She shouted, waving him off.

“Joyce, wait a second.” Hopper said, standing.

“No!” She snapped, and hustled out the door, Jonathan following right behind. As soon as she leaves, it was like a chain reaction, because Claudia just arrived.

She already had a hand covering her mouth at the sight of seeing Joyce. “I-I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Hey, hey–” Hopper comes over reassuringly. “Hey, Claudia. It’s okay. I know it’s hard, but it is necessary.” He sees her closing her eyes to steady herself. “Would you like me to come in?” She nods. “‘Kay. Let’s go. Come on.”

He walks her to the back, telling the coroner who they’re here for, and was left waiting for him to get the body.

“I don’t know how to thank you, James. You’ve always seemed to help my family when we’re in a rut.” Claudia said, trying to hold it together.

“Just doing my job.” He replies, with a warm smile.

“Still.” She looks up at him fondly. “I don’t think I appreciated you enough when you helped put Walter away.”

Walter. He remembers her shitty husband very clearly.

He nods. “Well, if it wasn’t for that anonymous tip, I wouldn’t have been able to have done that.”

She hums. “Yes, the tip.” She sighs. “I wonder who has the guts to do that.”

Yeah, he always wondered who the tipper was too.

“You ready, Ma’am?” The coroner asked, after wheeling on the table.

Claudia nods, her hands squeezing together. “Yes.” She inhales. “Show me.”

He does so, and she holds back the urge to cry again upon seeing her daughter’s body. She couldn’t help but wonder why God would take such a beautiful girl.

“Oh, god… that’s her.” She mutters, biting her lip.

As Hopper was able to keep his composure, he was suddenly hit with a memory like a speeding truck. He almost completely forgot about what the Steve Harrington kid told him last night.

“When we were kids, there was a… a bit of an accident, something we weren’t supposed to do, so we kept it a secret from our parents. However, it left us with a scar each.” He rolls up his sleeve, showing a huge pink gash on his left bicep. “Hers is on her left shoulder, close to her neck. I just thought when her mother sees her body you can explain the situation to her.”

The scar. Of course! How could he forget? His lips tugged into a frown, and began with, “Claudia, there’s…”

Wait a minute.

His gaze went straight for where the boy told him the scar would be but there was…

Nothing.

He blinked and looked on the other shoulder just to be sure but there was nothing either. If Steve’s scarred, then hers should have been, right?

“Chief?” Claudia said, pulling him out of his trance. “Did you say something?”

His eyes glance at her and then back at the body before shaking his head. “No.” Then back at her. “Never mind.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Steve was late to school the first time in a while. His clothes looked a bit sloppy, his hair did too, and he was practically dragging his backpack on the floor with only its handle. He had managed to avoid the girlfriend talk this morning with his parents since they were both hungover and still in bed. He’s not really sure how he’ll handle it later (If they actually remember Nancy that is).

He took his time moving through the halls, trying to straighten up his posture, to put up somewhat of a nice expression. What would Tommy and Carol say? Would they belittle him? Ignore him? Pretend that the death of a school student didn’t exist? And what about Nancy? Will she say anything? Will she ignore him too?

He frowns, the intercom buzzing above.

// Attention students, there will be an assembly to honor Stephanie Henderson in the gymnasium 10am. Do not go to second period. Classes shall resume afterwards. //

An assembly? For Stephanie? How many people will actually go? How many people would actually be respectful? She wasn’t exactly miss popular.

He shakes his head. Don’t even think that, Harrington. It’ll be fine. It’ll be…

He trails off as soon as he rounded the corner. He didn’t need super sight to know what it was. For some reason instead of leaping towards it like he should be, he was slow, sick by the sight. Someone, probably more than one, had vandalized her locker. Someone had spray painted, egged, beat the living hell out of it with either a bat or a crowbar, all because she was what? The weird girl? The girl who was nerdy? The girl who likes stuff only guys like? The girl who’s vocabulary is like a sailor?

The girl who doesn’t fit in unless it’s with the “freaks”?

With disgust, Steve pulled off the missing poster of her. Someone had scribbled horns, covered the eyes, and called her a freak in bright red. How could someone with a heart do this to the one of the kindest girls he’s ever met?

He crushed the paper in his hand, before opening up the locker, some belonging falling out. He sighs, dropping his bag before deciding to tidy this up. Maybe he should bring her family her things so they don’t have to see this mess?

“Hey, shouldn’t you be in class?” A teacher, Mrs. Trebecky said, hands on her hips.

Steve glances over at her, his look telling it all. “I’m just trying to clean it up.” Her eyes trail over, finally seeing what he was talking about. Yet he didn’t care if he got scolded or got detention for skipping class, this was more important. But to his surprise, there was a key suddenly dangling in his face.

“There’s a storage closet around the corner. Use whatever you need.” She replies, and he takes it. “I have to prepare the gym for the assembly, but if you need something else, feel free to come get me.”

Steve clenches the key close as she leaves, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. At least she wasn’t mad.

He starts walking to where she said it was, only to spot another odd sighting. There was a boy (who looked oddly familiar to him) leaning against the wall right by the door – the same door that was actually opened. Raising an eyebrow and slowing his pace, he didn’t know what to think or even say before the boy saw him coming. It was like a match had been lit under his feet, the boy jerked up so quickly, and threw the door open even wider.

“We’ve been spotted! We gotta go!” He shouted and took off.

Steve then watched as two other teenagers came running out, faster than anyone on the football team. What the hell is that all about?

But he chose to ignore it, opening the door fully, nearly clashing with some else that was left behind in the group. The person seemed startled to see him, taking a small step back and growing a bit paler. It didn’t take the King of highschool to realize who this is – the person with brown curls tucked back in small ponytail, with a wardrobe that reminded him of Stephanie – The person was know another than:

Eddie Munson.

Well now he knows why he looks scared. Steve nearly cringes and cusses at himself out loud for what he’s done in the past. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Instead, he kept his blank expression and started moving around him. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Munson.” He replies, looking over all the cleaning supplies on the shelf.

“It’s…” Eddie begins, still tense, but confused by how simple and nice Steve sounded. “Fine. Um… Wh-What brings you here? N-Need something?”

“Relax, I’m not here to cause any trouble.” Man, how many people has he hurt with his new personality? “I was going to clean up a vandalized locker.”

Eddie perks up, even more confused. “The Henderson girl’s locker?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… surprising.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Steve frowns, sparing a glance. That’s when he notices he’s holding a few sponges and a bucket. “Oh. Were… were you going to clean?”

“Um–” Eddie breaks his gaze. “M-Me and my boys saw it on our way in, thought we would clean it up. Hope I don’t get in trouble for picking the lock.” He ends with a quiet, nervous chuckle which honestly fueled the other boy’s guilt.

“Is that so?”

“Well… W-we do know what it’s like to have our lockers destroyed by the… ‘perfectionists’.”

Perfectionists, fuck. Steve swallows and mentally strangles himself. What have I done?

He exhales quietly, and starts gathering things. “You should go.”

Eddie’s distant gaze snapped right back at him. “What?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Steve says, not looking at him. “I know you’ve been trying to graduate.”

“How–”

“Go.” Steve pressures. “Don’t…” Why was this so hard? “Don’t fall behind. Especially in Kaminsky’s class. He’s a hardass if you don’t listen and study.”

Eddie was speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe it was coming from the legend of the school himself (Guess there was a first time for everything, right?) “You sure? Doesn’t… Doesn’t the King of Hawkins High want to keep his good grades up?”

“I don’t care anymore.” Steve replies quickly, surprising the other teen again, but it was the truth. He could care less about all this right now. “Frankly, I didn’t want to even be here today, so…”

He didn’t say anymore, instead he tried holding whatever he could in his arms. Silently, and luckily he noticed it in the corner of his eye, he saw Munson holding up the bucket as an offer. He takes it and thanks him. He loads it up and makes his way to leave, but stops in the doorway.

“You know she liked your band.” Steve blurts out, getting another puzzled stare. “Uh, Fia, she– wait.” Fia. He almost forgot about his little nickname for her. It makes his stomach roll into knots as he tries again. “S-Sorry, Stephanie… really liked your band. She went to your show a few years back. Uh, the Lover’s Lake one. She is– w-was definitely a metal head.”

That seemed to surprise him a lot, because Eddie actually perks up with joy this time. There even was a smile tugging on his lips.

“She’s seen Corroded Coffin?” He asked, intrigued.

“Yeah. She really liked that opening song of yours.”

“‘To Love a Monster’?”

Steve nods, still remembering that day so clearly, still remembering the day he showed her the tickets. “She sang it for weeks afterwards. It was… funny. Cute– Awesome! It was awesome.”

Eddie gave him another look, one he couldn’t quite place. “That’s… amazing. I never knew that. Most of our fans are just people from our neighbourhoods.”

“Yeah.” He nods again, feeling his eye starting to sting. “Just thought I’d let you know that since you… offered to clean up her locker.” He swallows once more, and he tries to leave, but his conscience gets the best of him. It’s now or never, Harrington.

Looking like a kicked puppy, he faces him again. “I’m sorry.” Steve says, honestly. “I’m really, really sorry for everything I’ve done. I know I haven’t been the most pleasant with you and your– your bandmates, and I realize that I’m an asshole. A real fucking asshole, so– um…” He didn’t have to forgive him, he just wanted to get it out there. “I don’t need forgiveness, but at least accept it.”

Steve didn’t even wait for his answer, didn’t wait for a change on his face, and just left to finish what needed to be done.

Meanwhile, Eddie watches him leave just as his friends come running back, worriedness on their features.

“What did he do? Do we need to report him?” Gareth asked, scaredly.

“No, he…” Eddie still couldn’t believe the last few minutes even happened. “He apologized.” He looks over at them. “For being a dick.”

“What?”

“And then he said that Henderson girl went to our Lover’s Lake concert a few years back.” That response got his friends muttering amongst themselves.

“She did?”

“How would Harrington know that, though? All our tickets are limited.” Jeff asked.

“Unless…”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “They were friends.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dustin snuck his friends in from the back, immediately rambling last night’s situation. Of course he got looks of concern, and sentences of reassurance before he shook them all off and showed them. They sat around on his bedroom floor, fiddling with the walkie. It was faint, and it certainly wasn’t the song he heard last night, but he could tell by the mumbling words that it was in fact Will.

“We keep losing the signal, but you heard it, right?” Dustin said, looking between them.

“Yeah, I heard a baby.” Lucas said, looking at his friend like he had three heads.

Dustin looks offended. “A baby?”

He rolls his eyes. “Dustin, you obviously tapped into a baby monitor. It’s probably one of your neighbours.”

“Uh, did that sound like a baby to you? That was Will!”

“Dustin…”

“Lucas, you don’t understand. He spoke last night. Words! He was singing that weird song he loves. And he even said my sister’s name.”

“Oh, well, if the of you heard your sister’s name, then I guess–”

“Are you sure you’re on the right channel?” Mike asked, genuinely invested in this.

A small smile blooms on Dustin’s face. Finally! At least someone believed him. “I don’t think it’s about that. I think, somehow, I was channeling him.”

“Like... like Professor X.”

He nods eagerly. “Yeah.”

“Are you actually believing this crap?” Lucas asked, staring at Mike like he was the weird one here.

“I don’t know, I mean… Do you remember when Will fell off his bike and broke his finger? He sounded a lot like that.”

“Oh, my god.” Lucas groans “Did you guys not see what I saw? They pulled Will’s body out of the water. They pulled Stephanie’s body out of the water too. They’re dead!”

“Well, maybe it’s their ghost. Maybe they’re haunting us.” Mike replies.

“It’s not their ghost.” Dustin said, shaking his head.

“So how do you know that?” Lucas pushes.

“I just do!”

“Then what was in that water?”

“I don’t know!” Dustin shoots to his feet. “All I know is Will is alive. Will is alive! If he’s alive, then there’s a good chance Stephanie is too. They’re out there somewhere. All we have to do is find them. And I know for fact…” He points at Eleven. “She’s the key.” He frowns, and looks her way (Guilt on his face). “I’m sorry for how I reacted last night. I swear I wasn’t mad at you, just the situation. But I know you’re really our only shot at finding them. Please forgive me.”

It took a second, but Eleven nods and smiles with understanding, lifting the weight of the boy’s shoulders.

“Well…” Mike begins, stopping him from handing over the walkie. “If you want her to somehow channel them, this isn’t gonna work. We need to get El to a stronger radio. Like, Mr. Clarke’s Heathkit ham shack.”

Dustin perks up. “That’ll totally work!”

“The Heathkit’s at school.” Lucas butts in. “There is no way we’re gonna get the weirdo in there without anyone noticing. I mean…” He gestures. “Look at her.”

But the Henderson brushed him off. “Don’t worry about that. I have an idea.” And then they busted into his sister’s room. “You might have to roll up the pant legs and/or sleeves, but Phanie’s stuff should be able to fit you just fine.”

“Uh, no offense to Stephanie–” Lucas begins, watching him rummage through his sister’s drawers. “But she’s not exactly the definition of girly-girl.”

“So? Look, we just want to get El inside the school. Mike, go to my mom’s room and grab some of her makeup. Lucas, head to the basement, I think we might have some wigs left over from a couple Halloweens. Go!”

They scatter, and Dustin continues grabbing what he can and lays it out on the bed. “Here.” He tells the girl. “Try a couple outfits on. See what fits.”

El takes a moment to look at them, mesmerized. “Pretty?” She asks, puzzled.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “We’re going to make you look pretty. Or at least prettier.”

She bats an eye. “Prettier?”

“Yeah. They say, ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. Just because someone doesn’t think you’re pretty, doesn’t mean everyone else does.” It seemed to get her spirits up just as the other boys arrived with the stuff.

“Got the makeup.” Mike said, holding the pile in his arms.

“And I found a wig. Hopefully this works.” Lucas says, holding it up.

“Perfect.” Dustin gives the thumbs up. “Let’s do light on the makeup, and let’s put a braid in the wig.” After their tasks, the boys waited outside the door for her to change.

“Is that really the best wig you could have found?” Mike said, after a few moments of silence.

“What’s wrong with the wig?” Lucas asked, offended.

“Don’t you remember? That was the wig Steph used to dress up as a clown.”

“It��s not that orange, Mike.” Dustin said, Lucas agreeing.

“It’s orange.”

“Dude, come on–”

The door opens, and El steps out to reveal the outfit she picked. It happened to be a Mötley Crüe band tee that was tucked into some jeans, a red and black plaid button up as a jacket and some converse; Her wig was in a neat braid and was accompanied with a headband.

“Wow.” Mike said, staring.

“It’s like my sister has a prodigy.” Dustin said, grinning. “Grunge girl, 2.0.”

“How do you feel?”

Eleven looks herself up and down before smiling at herself. “Pretty.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was pretty awkward to sit outside the cafeteria doors waiting to be called in and questioned by police. Nancy was the first to be called in, the first to have a parent actually show up to observe. It felt weird, and she could feel her mother’s eyes watching her closely.

“This argument you and Barbara had? What exactly was it about?” Powell asked, after reading over his notes.

Nancy gives a half-shrug. “It wasn’t really an argument. Barb just wanted to leave. I didn’t, so, I… I told her to just go home.”

“Then what?”

“Then I went upstairs to put on some dry clothes.”

“And the next day, you went back and…” Callahan reads over his notes too. “Saw a bear, you’re thinking?

“I don’t know what it was, but… I think…” She frowns. “I think maybe it took Barb. You need to check behind Steve’s house—

“We did. There’s nothing there. There’s no sign of a bear.”

“And no car.” Powell adds.

She blinks, confused. “What?”

“Look.” Callahan sighs. “We figured that Barbara came back last night and then she took off, went somewhere else. Has she ever talked to you about running off? Leaving town, maybe?”

“No. No, Barb wouldn’t do that, ever.” Nancy assures.

“She wasn’t maybe upset about the fact that you were spending time with this boy?” Powell glances down again. “Uh, Steve Harrington?

“What? No!”

“Maybe she was jealous because she saw you go up to Steve’s room?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“Steve and me, we’re... we’re just friends. We... we just talked.”

“Just talked?” Callahan gives her a look.

She bites the inside of her cheek. “Yeah. Just talked.” She wanted to say something else until the door opened, showing off to another officer.

“Hey–” He said, thumb jerking over his shoulder. “The Hagan and Perkins kids, they’re parents aren’t coming, they refuse for us to talk to their kids. Harrington’s parents said they’re too busy with work to come, but have given us permission to talk to their son.”

Powell sighs, looking over his partner who shrugged. “Alright. Send them home. Except Harrington, have him come in. You–” He looks at Nancy. “You’re dismissed.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“So, Gary, tell me about these troopers that brought in the kids.” Hopper asked, after settling Hawkins local coroner down. He told him to come down to the station, offering him a cup of joe as he tries to get a few things straightened out. He still finds this whole… State taking over everything is a bit odd.

“It was about six of ’em, I’d say.” Gary replies, with a nod.

“They’re all Staties?”

“Yes, sir. Never seen that many troopers come with two bodies before.”

“They told you that they were gonna take care of the autopsy, huh?”

“Yeah. Claimed jurisdiction. Kicked me out. Well, it all seemed a bit over the top to me, considering…” He looked a bit nervous about this.

“Considering what?” Hopper asked, suspicious.

“Considering this was Will Byers and Stephanie Henderson and not John F. Kennedy.”

So this wasn’t just weird to me? Great. His eyes catch something on the tv, making him stand up. “Thanks for stopping by, Gary.”

“Sure thing.”

Hopper tunes everything else out as he turns up the volume, listening as a state trooper talks to the reporter about the incident.

< -let the people know that, uh, the troopers are on duty and you should be safe, because we think this is just an isolated incident. >

< State trooper David O’Bannon, thank you so much for your help. >

< Thank you, sir. >

O’Bannon. Gary. Staties. Hawkins Lab. Hopper’s frown deepens. What does this all mean?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

And that’s when Jim came up with another question that he needed to answer. Something that’s been nagging him since yesterday. So that’s how he found himself at Hawkins High School. He had to swerve around the teens leaving the gymnasium from Stephanie’s assembly, and just hoped that his guys were still in the cafeteria questioning some suspects. Well… hopefully the one he really wanted to talk to was still there.

“Oh, hey Chief.” Callahan calls out, just as Hopper bursts through the doors.

Hopper’s gaze trails to the teen in questioning – and thank god it was the person he was looking for. With a serious look he storms over, completely ignoring everything and everyone else.

“We just got done with–”

“I need you to give me the room for a second.” Hopper blurts out, the two officers staring. “Now.” Callahan and Powell waste no time to get up and leave, the whole place growing silent immediately.

Steve glances between the door and the police Chief, confused. “Is there a problem?”

Without saying anything, Hopper reaches over and lifts Steve’s left arm sleeve, seeing the scar again. Blinking, and kicking his senses into high gear, the teenager pulls his arm away – the officer looking like he was scared.

“Dude, what the fu–”

“How long ago was that?” Hopper asks, practically fidgeting in his seat.

“I’m sorry?”

“How long ago did you get the scar?”

“Um, I…” Steve pauses to think. When did he get it? “Three… three years ago? Maybe longer?”

“And you said both your injuries were deep? Especially Stephanie’s?”

“Yeah.” He nods, suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Hopper suddenly is overcome with worriedness, causing him to look around and lowers his voice. “Listen to what I’m about to say, ‘cause I’m only going to say it once. Understood?” He waits for the teenager to nod again before going. “Good.”

He takes a deep breath. “Look, her mother’s a mess, hysterical. And her brother is just… angry. I want to ask them stuff, but I think it’ll be an emotionally… fusing answer. They’re not going to be able to give me something basic. So what I’m trying to say is, I don’t care what happened between the two of you, but be honest. How well did you know this girl?”

And Steve, of course, doesn’t lie (he too wants to know what the hell’s going on). “Pretty well, I like to think. I mean we were tied at the hip since the age of five. We never really went anywhere without each other.” He frowns, scared. “You’re kind of making me nervous. What’s going on?”

Hopper looks around again, getting closer. “Just answer my questions. How likely was it for Stephanie to pick up Will that night when she saw him stranded?”

“Highly.” Steve says, truthfully. “She loves her brother’s friends.”

“How likely was it for her to protect him from whatever was chasing them?”

“Highly. That’s the kind of person she is. Putting herself before others.”

With each answer, Hopper’s heart picks up. “How likely was it for her to take a weapon if she felt like she was in danger?”

“She’s not exactly a violent person, but… if she was in danger, she’s smart enough to arm herself.”

“How much is she familiar with the woods around here?”

“Only certain areas she really knows like the back of her hand.”

“What about the Quarry?”

“The Quarry?” Steve said, fond memories coming in. “That used to be our spot when we were kids. We know the ends and out of it pretty well.”

Now Hopper feels destroyed. He was half expecting this answer but still. It wasn’t easy to accept. “So… hypothetically speaking, if she was being chased in the direction of the Quarry, how likely would she have fallen in?”

Steve gets taken aback, his heart sinking. “Unlikely. She always knew where she was going.” He was oblivious to the way the Chief suddenly looked. “So it wasn’t the news making a theory? Stephanie and Will actually fell into the Quarry?”

“Fuck.” Hopper says, standing up and starts leaving.

Steve gets up as well, following. “I still don’t understand what’s–”

“Listen to me–” He stops the teen in his place, pointing, and spitting his next sentence out like venom. “This conversation never happened. Understood?”

Steve just nods, scared to talk back as the Police Chief finally left with the answer he was worried about – while Harrington was also left with a question that was now answered.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Okay, remember, if anyone sees us, look sad.” Mike says, as they entered the school. Right on cue, someone came on the PA, which is the perfect cover up for them.

// Attention students, there will be an assembly to honor Will Byers in the gymnasium now. Do not go to fourth period. //

“It’s locked.”

“What?” Lucas said, brushing by Mike to try the door.

“Hey, do you think you can open it? With your powers?” Dustin asked, hopefully. But before anything could be resolved, their teacher just so happened to appear around the corner.

“Boys?” Mr. Clarke said, startling them. “Assembly’s about to start.”

“We know. We’re just, you know…” Mike trails over, pretending to be sad.

“Upset.” Lucas finishes.

“Y-Yeah, d-definitely upset.” Dustin adds.

“We need some alone time.”

“To cry.”

“Yeah, listen… I get it. I do. I know how hard this is, but let’s just be there for Will, huh? And then…” Mr. Clarke fishes his keys out of his pocket, tossing them over. “The Heathkit is all yours for the rest of the day. What do you say?” The boys smiled and nodded eagerly. “I don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name?”

El’s eyes widened, and stutters, “Eleven–”

“Eleanor!” Mike corrects. “She’s my, uh–”

“Cousin.” Lucas says.

“Second cousin.” Dustin blurts out.

“She’s here for Will and Stephanie’s funeral.” Mike finishes.

Mr. Clarke frowns, bittersweetly. “Ah, well, welcome to Hawkins Middle, Eleanor. I wish you were here under better circumstances.”

“Thank you.” She says.

“Uh, where are you from exactly?”

“Bad place–”

“Sweden!” Dustin shouts.

“I have a lot of Swedish family.” Mike explains.

“She hates it there.”

“Cold!” Lucas adds, smiling nervously.

“Subzero.”

Mr. Clarke nods, deciding to just go along with this. “Shall we?”

“Yep!” They said, running along.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“You lied to the police!” Karen snapped at her daughter as they entered the house.

“I didn’t lie!” Nancy shouted back, about to head for her room.

“How naive do you think I am!? You and Steve were just talking?”

The teenager gritted her teeth, stopping on the stairs. “We did just talk! Okay? I found out Steve used to know Dustin’s sister, and we talked about it! Is that what you want to know? Huh? It doesn’t matter!”

“It does matter!” Her mother shouts back.

“No!” Nancy scoffs. “It is all bullshit! It has nothing to do with Barb and she’s missing. And something terrible happened to her. I know it. I know it! And no one is listening to me!” She storms off towards her room, her mother shouting her name repeatedly. “Just leave me alone!”

And then her door slams shut.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Listening to the principal speak, the boys realized he probably was the only one who actually cares. The rest of the school, the students, looked like they were completely lost and not interested in listening to this.

“Look at these fakers.” Mike mutters, irritated.

“They probably didn’t even know his name till today.” Lucas scoffed.

The boys continued to survey the area, they heard the two school bullies laughing. Troy and James were laughing and mocking what the principal was saying about their friend Will, completely berating him. The Boys glared, all while Eleven put two and two together.

“Mouth breather.” She says, remembering what Mike told her who was responsible for the gash on his chin.

He was actually surprised she remembered, and continued to try to ignore their laughing. But when assembly finally ended, Mike couldn’t hold back his anger any more.

“Hey! Hey! Hey, Troy! You... you think this is funny?”

Troy stopped and scoffed. “What’d you say, Wheeler?”

“I-I saw you guys laughing over there.” Mike said, oblivious to the audience he was getting. “And I think that’s a real messed up thing to do.”

“Didn’t you listen to the counselor, Wheeler?” James said, smiling. “Grief shows itself in funny ways.”

Mike balled his hands into fists, and ready to snap; Just as Dustin steps up to the plate.

“What did I say yesterday? You keep my sister’s and Will’s name out of your mouths.” He replies.

“So what, Henderson?” Troy shrugged. “Besides, what’s there to be sad about, anyway? Will’s in fairyland now, right? Flying around with all the other little fairies. All happy and gay– and your sister… well… I didn’t take her to be a pedo for your little friend.”

Dustin’s face morphed into one of a killer. “You–”

“Asshole!” Mike shouted, and shoved their bully to the floor. Immediately, their audiences gasp in shock.

Troy groaned, and stood up, charging up his fist. “You’re dead, Wheeler! Dead!”

But before he could release it, his whole body froze. Everyone stared in confusion, even Troy didn’t know what was going on. Then…

A student started laughing.

“Dude, Troy peed himself.”

And the giggles broke out because everyone’s eyes were on his pants. Sure enough, there was a stain appearing and running down his pant leg.

“Holy shit!” Dustin said, his gaze looking back to El. She flashes the boys a cocky look before wiping the blood from her nose.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” The principal shouted as he entered the room.

“Shit! Let’s go!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan was surprised to see her at the Funeral home, interrupting his shopping (Although, seeing all these coffins and trying to find one for his little brother, maybe it was best to take a break). To his disbelief, she asked him to see his collection of photos from Steve’s backyard.

Of course, now he was nervous. Did she change her mind about protecting him the other day? Was she going to rat him out to the police after all? But instead, she carefully looked through them, until she found one he took of Barb.

“That’s it.” Nancy said, putting on the weird distorted blur behind her friend. “W-What is that?”

He takes it from her hands, studying it hard. “It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn’t using the wide angle.” He frowns, uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s weird.

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone else out there?”

“No. And she was there one second and then, um… gone. I figured she bolted.”

She sighs. “The cops think that she ran away. But they don’t know Barb. And I went back to Steve’s… and I thought I… saw something. Some… weird man or… I don’t know what it was.” She glances over at him, realizing what she was doing. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. I... I shouldn’t have come here today. I’m…” She grabs her purse and stands up. “I’m so sorry.”

Jonathan right there and then decided to bite the bullet. His mind wandered back to when the police came over to tell him and his mother what happened to Will. “What’d he look like?

She stops a few steps away, turning around. “What?”

“This man you saw in the woods. What’d he look like?”

“I don’t know.” She knows she is going to sound crazy when she tells him this. “It was almost like he… he didn’t have–”

“Didn’t have a face?”

Nancy stares at him, a bit freaked out. “How did you know that?”

Jonathan suddenly shakes his head, running a hand through his locks. “Shit…”

“What?”

“Shit.” He stands up, guilt on his face. “I think I fucked up.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

None of this made sense.

Steve had parked his car off the road and had walked a path he knew like the back of his hand. He found himself soon standing above the Quarry, a view of where the crime scene had happened. It was still tapped off and there were two cop cars still sitting there, observing. He frowns, and his brain starts going into overdrive.

None of this made sense.

She crashes her car not far from the boy’s house, they both run and somehow end up with a shotgun. But the police are saying they ended up in the Quarry, probably being chased but…

It doesn’t make any sense. The Byers house does face the road that takes you to the Quarry, but there’s no logical way that they would follow the road like that. If the theory was true, and they did run back to the house, they would more likely would have run through the front door, and out the back if someone was chasing them; Which means–

They would have ended up going into the woods, not the direction of the Quarry. And you wouldn’t make that harsh right turn unless the chaser was making you do that. No…

If someone was chasing you, the human reaction is to keep running straight until you find somewhere or someone safe.

And if they did get pulled in the direction, there’s no way they would have just fallen in. Steph knows that place too well, and even though they were driven to the edge, wouldn’t the smart thing to do is use the shotgun on your chaser?

His mind wanders back to the conversation with the police chief. He seemed so spooked after he told him the truth. And what was the worried reaction after looking at his scar again? Unless…

Did… Steve nearly choked on the thought. Did her body not have the scar?

But if it didn’t have the scar then…

He gasps.

“Do…” What is it even saying? “Do they look real?”

The police chief reverted back to the same look he was giving Joyce earlier, slight pity but also disbelief. “For Christ’s Sake. Not you too.”

Not you too? What does that even mean? Did Stephanie’s mother have doubts too? Did Will’s mother have doubts? Was he really doubting the whole situation from the beginning as well?

But his mind kept going back to Hopper and him just an hour ago.

“I still don’t understand what’s–”

“Listen to me–” He stops the teen in his place, pointing, and spitting his next sentence out like venom. “This conversation never happened. Understood?”

Oh, god.

Steve couldn’t even believe what he was considering doing next.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hopper sat in street clothes at a bar, a shit eating grin on his face, a cigarette in hand, and he was keeping a close eye on the man sitting next to him who was currently watching a football game on the tv. He chuckles, getting the bartender’s attention.

“Another, please. And another for my, uh, friend here.”

“Oh, thanks, man. Appreciate it.” The guy, a Statie, named David said.

“Yeah, that’s all right. I’m, uh... I’m celebrating. My daughter, she won the spelling bee today.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Hopper said, chuckling. “‘Odontalgia’. That was the word. You know what it means?” He gets a ‘no’ for an answer. “It’s a fancy name for a toothache.” His grin grows. “Yeah, she’s smart. She’s real smart. Don’t know where she gets it from. I’ve been tryin’ to figure that out for years.”

“Your daughter, she got a name?”

Hopper’s brain short circuited for a second. “What?”

“Your daughter? What’s her name?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sarah. Her name’s Sarah.”

David grabs his bottle and holds it up. “To Sarah.” He said, and they clink their glasses. The police chief finally had the hook in place.

Hopper takes a sip, and turns up his acting skills. “I recognize you. Are you famous or somethin’?”

“Uh, you might have seen me on TV, I, uh... I found those kids.”

Gotcha, asshole. Hopper nods. “So, you on that case or what?”

“I just saw the kids on patrol, you know? Dumb luck.”

“So that Quarry, that’s, uh… that’s state-run, where they found those kids, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Hopper starts laughing quietly. “Yeah, well, that’s funny. ’Cause, you know, I know for a fact that it’s run by the Sattler Company. Frank Sattler? Decent guy, still got a couple operational quarries up in Roane.

David starts looking preoccupied. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.” He starts glaring. “So why are you lying to me, man?”

“What’s your problem, bud?” David snaps.

“I don’t have a problem. I’m just a concerned citizen.”

“Yeah? Well, stick your nose someplace else. Those kids are dead. End of story.” He stands up and throws some money on the counter. “Thanks for ruining the game, dick.”

Hopper shakes his head, almost pitying the guy. If only he had just been honest and open with him, he wouldn’t have to get his ass beaten.

Kind of like right now.

He had dragged the man behind the building, striking him multiple times to bruise his cheeks, and open wounds under his eyes and nose.

“Okay…” Hopper pins him to the wall. “Let’s try this one more time.” He grabs the man by the chin, squeezing. “Who told you to be out there? What were you doing out there?” He watched for an answer, and when he wasn’t getting any, he dialed back his fist.

“I don’t know!” David shouts. “I don’t know. They… they just told me to call it in and not let anybody get too close.

“Get close to what?!”

“The bodies.”

The bodies? Why? Hopper huffs and squeezes tighter. “Who do you work for? The NSA? Hawkins Lab?” He catches David’s gaze falling behind him and looks, spotting a black car in the distance. “Who is that?”

“You’re gonna get us both killed.”

“Who is that? Hey! Hey!” Hopper takes off, pulling out his gun. But to no avail, the car was already off. And so was the Statie in question. He looked around, gripping his hair. “Fuck…”

What the fuck is going on?!

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Will didn’t know what to do. Stephanie had passed out, and is still passed out after all this time. He had a blanket draped over her, and propped her head up against her backpack. He didn’t know if she was coming down with something either or not because the temperature was making his hands feel numb even with the gloves on.

What can he do? The only thought that crossed his mind was going back to his house and trying to contact his mother. But the problem with that is, is he’ll have to leave Steph behind. There’s no way he can carry her back, no way he can drag her back either without collapsing himself, and then what? The monster comes and gets them while they’re unconscious?

Heck, no!

But… that means the first option is the only logical way to do this.

Will decides to lighten his load, only taking the shotgun with him and scrambles to find something to write on. He still had his school notebook in his bag and wrote a quick message on one of the pages.

WENT TO GET HELP.

Then he placed it right next to her head. He hopes she doesn’t freak out too badly before and after reading the note, and hopes when they do reconnect she won’t scold him (She’ll probably will, but he can have hopes).

He looks down at her one more time before retracing his steps back home.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Come on.” Mike ushered them inside the room, closing it shut and showing El where to sit by the radio.

“Now what?” Dustin asked, almost nervously.

“She’ll find them. Right, El?”

El nods and closes her eyes as Mike starts turning the radio on. Almost immediately she locked onto something, a muffled voice coming through. The boys, minus Lucas, perked up at this with joy.

“She’s doing it.” Dustin said, smiling.

“She’s finding them!” Mike says, nearly jumping with joy.

“This is crazy.”

“Calm down. She just closed her eyes.” Lucas said, and right on cue, almost a way of telling him not to underestimate her, the light above them shattered and went out.

The boys gasped and huddled closer. Then that’s when they heard something else come through other than static. There was the sound of something banging. Banging on what? They couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“What is that?” Dustin asked, confused, but they continued to listen for anything else.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“COME ON! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Joyce was blasting her youngest favorite song, hoping to get some communication again. She practically begged whatever higher force there was to get her to talk to her son again.

“COME ON! WILL, STEPHANIE! I NEED ONE OF YOU–”

Then the banging came.

She immediately stops the music, listening. She slowly walks over to the wall where she saw the faceless thing last night, and puts her ear to it.

|| Mom? ||

She gasps, hands pressing against the wall like she could grab him. “Will?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| M-Mom? ||

The boys took a step back in shock.

They heard him.

They actually heard him.

“No freaking way!” Lucas said, and everyone began shouting his name.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| Mom... ||

“Will!” Joyce yells, her heart hurting at the sound of her baby boy crying.

|| Please… ||

“Will! Will!” She starts banging on the wall, and clawing at the wall paper.

|| Mom!!!! ||

“Will! I’m here! I’m here!” She manages to snag the corner of the paper and begins peeling it off. “Oh, God…”

|| Mom!!!! ||

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will!” Mike shouts.

“Will, it’s us! Are you there?” Lucas says, getting closer to the radio.

“Can you hear us? We’re here!” Dustin asks, getting close too. They can hear him, even if it’s a bit distorted, so why can’t he hear them? “Will? Hello?! Will!”

|| H-Hel-lo? M-Mom? ||

“Why can’t he hear us?” Lucas asked, worriedly.

“I don’t know!” Mike yells, scared. “Will!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Baby…” Joyce cries as the wallpaper came down, and revealed a weird color bubble on her wall. She wasn’t even going to question it when she finally saw movement behind it.

|| Mom?! ||

“Oh, God. Will!” She could cry. “Oh, thank God. Baby… Will…”

|| Mom… ||

She could hear something growling from the other side, and could barely make out her son’s scared face.

|| Mom, it’s coming! ||

“Tell me where you are!” Joyce said, banging on the bubble. “How do I get to you?!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The boys stared, completely afraid for their friend because he sounded like he was going to break at any moment. And that weird growling wasn’t helping the situation either. Where the heck was he?

|| I-It’s like ho-home, but it’s s-so dark… It’s so da-rk and empty. An–d-d it’s cold! A-And Step-hanie’s passed out! ||

Mike gasps and looks at Dustin. “She is with him.”

“Jesus…” The Henderson said, covering his mouth with his hand.

|| I do-n’t kn-know what t-to do! Mo-m? M-m-mom! ||

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Listen to me!” Joyce said, with all the might of her voice. “I swear I’m gonna get to you, okay? But right now, I need you to hide. I need you to get Stephanie and hide!”

|| Mom, please! ||

“No, no, listen! Listen, I…” Her heart skips a beat when the growling gets louder. “I will find you both, but you have to run now! Run! Run!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Then the radio bursts up into flames, immediately setting off the fire alarms. Dustin kicked himself in high gear, running over to the extinguisher and pulling the pin.

“El, are you okay?” Mike asked, after the fire was put out. But the young girl stared at him, and you can clearly tell she wasn’t here. “Can you move?”

“Shit! Blood, Mike!” Lucas points out, as the red liquid gushes out of her nose immensely.

“Jeez! Help her up!”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“And you’re…” Nancy questions as he watches him fiddle around with the machine in the room engulfed in red light.

“Brightening. Enlarging.” He explains.

“Did your mom say anything else? Like, um, where it might have gone to, or…”

“No, just that it came out of the wall.” Jonathan sighs as he finishes with the machine before carefully placing the photo into the water.

“How long does this take?”

“Not long.”

She nods, fiddling with her hand. “Have you been… doing this a while?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Photography?” She clarifies, and he shrugs.

“Yeah.” He gives her a nervous look. “I guess I’d rather observe people than, you know… Talk to them. I know. It’s weird.”

“No!” She shakes her head.

“No, it is.” He chuckles, and grins. “It’s just, sometimes… people don’t really say what they’re really thinking. But you capture the right moment… it says more.”

“What was I saying?” Nancy asked, a smile creeping up in her face.

“What?”

“When you took my picture.”

He frowns. “I shouldn’t have taken that.” He looks away. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry. It’s just–”

“That’s it.” She said, getting his attention. “That’s what I saw.”

Jonathan gasps quietly at the sight of it, a disgusting, tall figure that didn’t have a face. “My mom… I thought she was crazy ’cause she said… that’s not Will’s body. That he’s alive.”

“And if he’s alive–”

“Then Barbara.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Steve couldn’t believe he even had this thought, but he finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the Coroner’s office. He sat there with the engine off, rethinking everything.

“Oh my god…” His forehead touched the steering wheel. “What am I doing?” But he gets out anyway, heading inside and turning on his charm to hide his nerves. “Hello, Ma’am!”

Patty pulls the phone away from her ear. “Hey, uh, can I help you?”

“Oh, uh, my brother, I think he left something behind. I‘m sure it’s still on the seat. If you don’t mind me looking, that is.”

“Oh, well…”

“Please?” He begs, and shows her the doe eyes. Well, they worked because she told him he can go ahead. “Thank you. I’ll just be a minute.”

And now it was now or never.

Steve strolls through the hallway, spotting, to his surprise, a cop sitting on a chair by the door he needed to get in (Guess he’ll question this situation later). “Hey, I love that book.” He says, the cop springing to his feet “It’s a nasty mutt.”

“Hey, you can’t be back here.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just got off the line with uh… you know.”

“Know what?”

“You…” Smacks lips. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

And that’s when Steve decks him the side of the head, before sending another punch to the jaw that renders him unconscious. He still can’t believe what he’s doing, even after snatching the keys from the guy’s belt. He looks around worriedly as he unlocks the door to head inside. His nerves were being shot through the roof as he arrived at the freezers, and with a shaky hand he started opening the doors up, reading the name tags that were tied on the deceased’s toes.

When he found Stephanie’s he nearly vomited. And when he finally pulled back the sheet he nearly fainted.

Ever since their friendship ended the only time he’s only ever seen her was when they would pass by each other in school, and that wasn’t very often. But this…

This is different. This is sick. This is violating.

It hurt to see how pale she was, those bright blue eyes of her closed, her brown locks brushed back from her face.

He swallows and looks away. What the fuck am I doing?

He takes a deep breath, and pulls the sheet back more, stopping before it shows off her chest. He still had the courtesy to not see her naked, not like this anyhow. It wouldn’t be right. But when he finally took the rest of her in, his heart got stuck in his throat.

The scar… on her shoulder was…

Non-existent.

That doesn’t… what? Steve knows this isn’t right. He remembers the incident so clearly, he remembers the scar they both promise to hide from their families. So if he had his still, then where was hers? Is this what was spooking the police chief?

Now it made sense why Hopper was asking those questions to him. He must have seen Stephanie’s body without the scar and wanted to ask how long ago it was.

Now it all made sense.

Steve, without even realizing, had reached down to touch the spot where the scar should be. His brown orbs widened at the touch. For being a deceased body it was–

Completely dry.

Now, he might not be the most book smart person despite keeping his grades up for his parents sake, but even he remembers his science teacher explaining the stages of a dead body. Something about the body puffing up and releasing fluids. So why is it dry? And secondly, if Steph’s mother showed up for the autopsy, then where’s the incision marks?

“Do…” What is it even saying? “Do they look real?”

Steve shuts his eyes again, another shaky breath as he takes out his knife from his back pocket, flicking it open. He has to know, he has to know if his doubts are real. He starts by putting the tip on her shoulder, before stopping.

But what if he’s wrong? What if this is really her?

He groaned, every kind of emotion was coming through. What if I’m wrong and I just butchered my first friend?

He sighs. Well…

He’s not going to know until he tries.

“Fuck.” He whispers, before digging the tip into her shoulder. Cringing at the sound of the skin breaking. He continues until he gets to the end of the collarbone, and puts the knife aside.

It was the moment of truth as he slowly digs his hand into the cut, half expecting for his hand to touch bone or get drenched in a vein but…

Steve might as well be as pale as this corpse as soon as touched something that shouldn’t be in there. Scaredly, he pulled the substance out.

It was cotton. Stuffing that was used in pillows or children’s toys.

He didn’t know whether to be happy he was right, or upset that he was. He still almost couldn’t believe it.

“What the fuck?” He manages to say before he hears the door behind him open wider. Out of instinct, he grabs his knife and spins around, expecting the receptionist or even that cop he knocked out to be there, but not him.

Jim Hopper was staring back at him, out of uniform and looking surprised to see him here too (That’s probably why his gun was out). Both of them didn’t say anything, and the adult’s eyes shifted to the table behind him. Jim hustles over, Steve sidestepping quickly – I mean he’s caught red handed anyway.

And that’s when Jim saw what Steve saw.

That’s when they both realized…

Something’s going on.

-Taglist is Open-

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smoooothoperator · 1 month ago

Text

Die With A Smile

05: Golden

Bucky Barnes x mutant!OC (Astrid Rowan)

HYDRA victims, found family, "strangers" to lovers, emotional scars, first love

Masterlist

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water

The days blurred together in a way I hadn’t expected.

I had no explanation for it, but it felt like my days began and ended with him. The connection between us was undeniable, as if our souls were linked together in a way that couldn’t be explained by logic.

Every morning, I make my way to the small house by the water where Bucky rested. The village children would call out as I passed through, and sometimes, I stopped to give them small gifts Shuri sent with me: toys for them, bright fabrics for the women and treats I picked up in the market before heading there.

Once I arrived at the small house made of stone, I stepped inside and checked on him, as if something might have changed overnight. But he was always the same: his chest raised up and down with every breath he took, his eyes still closed without any sign of opening soon.

I always sit by his side and hold his hand, feeling the warmth in his skin, that tiny reassurance that he was still alive.

The mornings often stretched into hours of silence. At the start, it felt almost heavy, making me feel anxious and uncomfortable. But I started taking Okoye’s advice, using that time to ground myself.

I sit outside by the lake and close my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun on my face ease away my worries. I focus on my breathing, reaching deep within, searching for the roots of the power that seemed to flicker just beneath my skin, waiting for the moment to finally come alive.

And mixed in that deep sea of power, I could feel the connection between me and Bucky, like a thin thread. It was quiet, soft, and yet alive, tickling my whole body whenever I tried to reach that thread.

Today, the water before me shimmered, reflecting the light of the sunrise. I sat on the edge of the dock, with my legs folded beneath me and the palms of my hands resting on my knees. My eyes were closed as I felt the sun’s rays warm on my skin, and the world around me felt distant, like I was stepping somewhere far away from this place, making me go deep into it.

Then, the whisper of laughter pulled me back to the surface. I opened my eyes, turning to see a small group of the village children standing a few feet away, watching me with those wide, curious eyes.

“Hi” I smiled, waving my hand slowly.

One of the girls stepped forward, her dark hair bouncing in tiny braids that framed her face.

“Miss Astrid” she said shyly, making me smile and nod. “Your hair… It's like the sun!”

I blinked, a little taken aback by the compliment, but they only nodded in agreement. Another child, a little boy, took a step to the front, looking at me with a wide smile.

“Yes! It’s so pretty! Like... like a golden light” his small fingers reached up as if to touch, but then he hesitated, lowering his hand bashfully. "You are like a lion! With golden hair"

Their adoration made me laugh softly. All my life, my hair has been something simple. The people from HYDRA always ordered me to tie it, making sure it wouldn't disturb me whenever I fought. But to these kids, it was something they admired.

“Can we… Can we make braids on it?” the little girl asked, her expression hopeful and bright. “I know how. My mama taught me.”

It took me a moment to process her words, but when I did, a gentle warmth filled my chest. I hadn’t expected them to want to come that close to me. Ever since part of my past had returned in fractured pieces, I felt like a stranger to myself. Part of me was worried that the kids could sense the shadows from my past, that they could see me the way I sometimes felt I truly was.

But here they are, looking at me like I was someone worthy of their time, of their trust.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat, I gave them a small nod, watching how the smiles of their faces got wider, clapping excitedly and coming closer to me.

“Of course” I said, my voice soft with gratitude. “I would love that.”

They giggled, each one of them surrounding me without disturbing my meditation, sitting on the ground next to me. Gently, they began weaving small braids into my hair. I could feel their tiny fingers tugging at strands, braiding them with skill and care, and I let them do it while my focus drifted back to the previous state of peace.

I let myself sink into the quiet again, my eyes closed as I tried to clear my thoughts. The world around me faded to a soft hum and I could hear more clearly everything that surrounded me: the sound of the wind through the trees, the hypnotic dance of the waves of the water hitting against the shore, the birds and animals that live around us; and I let it guide me as I reached for that space inside myself, the one where everything used to be a storm and now looks like a peaceful sea.

And, beneath all of it, I felt something else, something deeper. It was as if I was in tune with the earth itself, with the water, with something older, deeper than I had ever understood.

I didn’t try to force it, just let it happen, flow through me and hit me like a welcoming hug.

My hands moved from my lap, now with both palms looking at the water, and with each breath, I felt the presence of it responding to me. I took a long breath, feeling a soft tingling sensation through my hands, and I allowed the connection to flow through me, imagining the lake’s coolness moving with my breath. The tingling grew stronger, and suddenly, I felt the energy of the water curling between my fingers.

I opened my eyes, and there it was: a thin stream of water, floating and swirling softly just above my palms. I barely breathed, not wanting to break the delicate thread of connection. The children paused in their work, their hands stilling in my hair as they watched in awe.

I didn’t stop. The water moved, wrapping itself around my arm like an extension of me. I felt any resilience, no effort in it. It was as if the water and I had come to an understanding, a quiet agreement. It moved as I willed it, curling and twisting with the softest of movements.

“You did it!” one of the girls whispered, awe in her voice. “Miss Astrid, you moved the water!”

The children reached out their hands, laughing as they tried to touch the floating water, their fingers brushing against it, and tiny droplets splashed over them, making them giggle even more. I guided the water to spiral around them, feeling it respond to my intention, moving like a gentle stream wrapping us all in its embrace.

fire

The night air was cool as I made my way back to the small house near the lake to be with him some minutes before going back to the place. The stars blinked above my head, their light shining across the dark sky like tiny diamonds.

I had spent the day practicing my control over the water, drawing strength from the gentle rhythm of the lake. It felt like progress, but it also left me drained, both physically and emotionally, making me feel incredibly tired and weak.

The village was alive with a soft hum of voices and laughter as I neared to go to Bucky’s house, the kind of warmth that came with the community. I expected to walk past unnoticed, as I usually did every night at this hour, but instead, I found a small group of villagers standing just beyond the central bonfire. Their faces lit up when they saw me.

“Astrid!” one of the women called, her voice warm and inviting. “Join us tonight. It’s not good to spend all your time alone.”

I blinked, shocked by her kindness. The idea of sitting down with so many people, of being welcomed into their circle, was as foreign to me as my powers had been just weeks ago. But before I could think of an excuse, the children ran towards me, grabbing my hands and pushing me toward the bonfire with relentless enthusiasm.

“Come, Astrid! You can’t say no,” one of them said, smiling ear to ear.

I gave in with a soft smile, letting them lead me. The bonfire’s warm light flickered across their eager faces as they pulled me to a seat on the ground near the fire, handing me a wooden plate piled high with food. I hesitated, my fingers tracing the edges of the plate, but their excitement was contagious. It had been so long since anyone had offered me such a simple act of kindness.

“Thank you” I murmured, looking up at the circle of faces around me.

The meal began with chatter and laughter, their stories spilling out in an easy rhythm, weaving between bites of food and sips of a sweet dizzy drink they insisted I had to try. I listened more than I spoke, their warmth filling the spaces I have been too afraid to acknowledge in myself.

It wasn’t long before the children started their antics again. One of the boys leaned forward, his eyes shining with curiosity and excitement.

“Miss Astrid” he said, his voice full of awe. “Make the fire dance, please”

“T-The fire?” I asked, caught off guard.

“Yes!” another exclaimed, bouncing on her knees. “We’ve seen you make the water dance, and Shuri told us you can control fire too!”

The others nodded eagerly, their faces alight with anticipation. I hesitated, glancing toward the adults, but they only smiled and nodded softly, some of them nudging the children playfully. It was clear that Shuri was involved in this too, and somehow I felt so grateful for that.

“I…” I mumbled, looking down at my hands.

Fire had always been the most aggressive part of me, a force that burned as much as it warmed. I was hesitant to practice, afraid of losing control and making damage impossible to reverse. And now that I don’t have the control HYDRA had over me, it wasn’t as easy as it was before.

But their faces were so full of hope, so full of encouragement. I felt something different in me, a need to try, to be the person they saw and believed I was. I set my plate aside and shifted to sit closer to the fire, the warmth licking against my skin like an old, wild friend.

“Alright” I said softly. “I’ll try.”

I looked down at my hands. They were steady now, but I remembered how they used to tremble with the power of it, with the loss of control. The fire had been the most violent part of me, and it had felt like an extension of my anger, my fear, my pain. I wasn’t that person anymore.

But maybe that was the point.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, trying to find the calm I discovered in the water. My breath filled my lungs, slow and deep, and I exhaled, releasing the weight of my fear.

The heat tickled my palms as I lifted my hands. Memories surged, flashes of flames consuming everything in their path, the rush of power that had once felt intoxicating and terrible. My fingers flexed involuntarily, and for a moment, the fire in front of me flared as if answering my call.

My heart raced. It felt wild, feral, like it could slip from my grasp and burn everything around me. Panic rose, old and familiar.

What if I couldn’t control it? What if I hurt someone? What if the fire consumed me as it had before? What if I burn this village?

I opened my eyes, focusing on the flames. They danced nervously, pulsing in response to my wavering emotions. Slowly, I steadied my breath, forcing myself to meet the fire’s energy with calm, not fear.

“It’s not anger” one of the kids that were close to me whispered, barely audible over the crackle.

I smiled weakly and softened my focus, letting the flames flow towards me. At first, it was hesitant, like a wild creature testing my intentions. Then it grew fearless, stretching out in a golden string that moved around my fingers. The heat was no longer biting or painful, it was warm, almost like a hug.

It wasn’t wild anymore. It wasn’t chaos. It was a dance indeed, and I was its partner.

The children gasped as the fire moved around my hands, spiraling up my arms in ribbons of golden light. I lifted my hands, and the flames followed, twisting and spinning like threads of molten gold. They didn’t feel wild or dangerous anymore. They felt alive, responsive, waiting for my command.

I moved my fingers, and the fire danced. It moved through the air, casting shifting shadows over the villager’s faces. The children clapped and cheered, their excitement breaking through the quiet concentration that had filled me. I smiled to myself, sensing how light the fire felt now, how it moved in harmony with me.

For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of it.

heal

The morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains of the small house by the lake, warming the wooden floor beneath me. I sat on the floor in the center of the room, with my hands resting on my knees as I focused on my breathing. Each inhale brought calm, and each exhale allowed me to sink deeper into the sea of power, feeling closer to the elements I began to connect with.

Water vibrated gently in the bowl beside me, reflecting the soft light of the sun in rippling patterns. Fire flickered in a controlled, steady flame atop a small lantern.

This place has become my sanctuary. It was quiet here, away from the joyful life of the village. Only the steady rhythm of the lake and the chirping of the birds made me company as I meditated. And then there was him. Bucky.

I looked over the bed where he was laying, watching how his chest moved with the deep breaths he took. I wonder if he knows that I am here, that I am safe from HYDRA. Does he have the same dreams I have, remembering our missions when we were trapped?

Suddenly, a sharp scream broke the calm.

I stood up immediately, my heart pounding as the distant cries of children reached my ears. Without hesitation, I pushed open the door and stepped outside, searching with my eyes where that scream came from. A small group of children were near the trees at the edge of the lake.

“Help! Miss Astrid, please!” one of the boys yelled, waving his arms toward me.

I ran toward them, my bare feet kicking up soft earth and fallen leaves. When I reached the group, my gaze fell on Zola, one of the girls that likes to braid my hair, sitting on the ground with tears streaming down her face, looking at her dirty hands that had small cuts and at her knees covered in blood.

“What happened?” I asked, kneeling in front of her, looking at her friends.

“She fell” one of the older boys explained, his face pale with worry. “We were climbing, and she slipped.”

The wounds weren't deep,just small cuts over her hands and her knees, and the sight of it was enough to make the other children panic. I swallowed thickly and placed a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing it softly.

“It’s going to be okay” I said softly, meeting her wide, tearful eyes. “I’ll help you.”

The lake was only a few steps away, and my connection to it had grown stronger over the past weeks. I stretched out a hand toward the shore, and with a flick of my wrist, a stream of water rose from its surface, flowing toward me in a graceful stream.

The children gasped, their fear momentarily replaced by awe as I guided the water above the Zola’s wounds. Slowly, I let it move over the injury, washing away the blood and revealing the raw edges of the cuts beneath.

Then, something shifted.

As my hands moved over the wound, a warmth spread through my palms, different from the heat of fire. The water glowed faintly with a pale blue light as it settled over her knees and palms. Zola gasped, her sobs fading into quiet sniffles as the light pulsed gently.

I felt it then: a pull deep in me, an instinct I hadn’t known I possessed. My hands moved without thought, guiding the water as it began to knit the torn skin together. The glow intensified for a moment before fading, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin where the cuts were.

The children stared in stunned silence, their mouths agape. Zola blinked down at her knees and palms, then back up at me.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Relief and amazement washed over me in equal measure. I healed her. Somehow, the water had become more than a tool.

“Thank you, Miss Astrid” all of the kids said, hugging me tightly before running away with giggles.

My hands trembled as I stood, my mind racing with possibilities. If I healed her, maybe I could heal him.

I turned and sprinted back towards the house, the children’s voices fading behind me. When I entered, I moved straight to his bed, his form still and quiet as ever. My chest tightened as I approached, the memory of his voice from my dreams echoing in my mind.

You know how to fix me. I’m ready.

Kneeling beside him, I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingers. I closed my eyes and let the stillness take over, searching for that same warmth I felt by the lake. The water from the bowl on the floor came to me, responding to my call, but this time it didn’t flow. It floated, glowing faintly as I guided it toward him.

“Come back” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please.”

The water pulsed, its light growing stronger as it floated on his chest. I focused all my energy on the connection between us, on that thread that had tied us together even when our memories had been torn apart. Minutes passed, and sweat beaded on my brow, but still, he didn’t move.

“Wake up, soldat” I begged, my voice breaking from the tiredness. “Come on”

For a moment, nothing happened. My heart sank, doubt creeping in. But then, his chest rose sharply, and his body jerked as he gasped for air. His eyes flew open, wide and wild, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, they met mine.

Blue eyes meeting blue eyes.

“Soldat?”I whispered. “B-Bucky?”

His gaze softened, confusion giving way to recognition.

“Aetheris?”

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