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kamiversee · 23 days

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The F*ck List (semi-official) Breakdown.

The following was submitted by my lovely ☃️anon, & I needed to make this it’s own post given how long it is, my replies & clarifications are written in between this breakdown & theory (Ex: A/N > Etc.).

Here, you’ll find majority of details you may have missed & maybe even more to think about. Enjoy :)

(wc; 5.7k) (content; spoilers ofc)

holy shit Kami. i literally had to take the entire day to process everything. before anything else, i need you to know that you've created an absolute masterpiece. TFL was the first fic i ever cared to keep up with and it has set the bar impossibly high for any other writer out there. please take your time with TFL 2, i'm so excited to read your other work!! also a break sounds like it would be so good for your mind considering how long you've dedicated yourself to this story 😭😭😭 you're seriously impressive. heads up, i didn't proofread this at all bc i finished typing this at 4 am LMFAO so forgive me if it's all scrambled and makes no sense.

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A/N > Thank you for taking the time to write this breakdown, I seriously appreciate it so I wanted to take my time in responding to it & engaging with you :)

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now, on to the yap. i deadass cracked my knuckles before typing all this out.

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A/N > You’re so real for tht ngl

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i reread the entirety of TFL from chapter 1 and my brain is so melted from analyzing that i'll prob find more details tomorrow after i sleep on some theories 😭 BUT HOLY FUCK YOU REALLY WEREN'T KIDDING WHEN YOU SAID YOU WERE HINTING AT GOJO'S OBSESSION SINCE LITERALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER??? the fucking hint being that "Gojo's desire for you is so strong it's almost frightening." GIRLLLLLL 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

your foreshadowing and referencing is insane. idk if you intended a lot of it, but a lot of it caught my eye.

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A/N> I TOLD YOU GUYS IVE BEEN DOIN IT SINCE THE FIRST CHAPTER !! Okay not exactly but like there was a vibe I had from the first chapter & when I later came up with the twist & went back and saw that everything would connect perfectly ^.^

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chapter 7; the reader and Gojo have lighthearted banter about how the reader "started this" situation.

"I made a mistake." [reader]

"A good one."

"Bad one." You correct.

this was regarding a completely different situation but it baffled me how much it connects to the plot itself; the reader making the "mistake" of leaving her door open, and how it lead to months full of trauma and love. probably completely unintentional, but such a good detail.

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A/N > Very intentional btw, it’s supposed to be known that, in a sense, Gojo x reader is forbidden :)

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Choso's still staring at you intently, "What version of you would someone not like?"

The way he words his question only furthers that little feeling in your chest. It's almost as though he were implying that any and all versions of you would be acceptable in his eyes. - Chapter 16

THE WAY WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT CHOSO WOULD STICK BY US REGARDLESSSSSSSS AAAAAA WE'RE SO BLIND!!! i just hope this stays true to the sequel :')

"No, I wish you didn't have to hate me." He says, shutting his eyes again and sucking in a deep breath, "B-But... it's uh, It's okay. I can live with you hating me." - Chapter 21

AAAA WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!! WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS WAS FORESHADOWING OUR FUTURE WITHOUT GOJO 😭😭😭 how he can live with the idea of the reader hating him so long as she's happy with Choso, especially considering his later revelations of how twisted his actions were and how if you stuck with him, he'd view you differently. fuck.

You despise the fact that he loves you. To you, it's almost entitled for him to feel like he has that right. How dare he hold such a strong emotion for you? If he felt this way, why is he forcing you to sleep with people for him? It makes no sense.

Why would someone claim to love you and put you through so much?

If he's been in love with you all this time, why start the list in the first place? Why couldn't he have just tried to win your heart from the beginning? Why the list? Why the blackmail? You don't understand him. - Chapter 23

i'm crushed. we didn't understand because we didn't know that Sukuna was involved. that could mean a million other things. i have some far-fetched theories about this but hear me out later!!!

the entirety of chapter 23 had me fucking floored while i was rereading. THE FORESHADOWING WAS EVERYWHERE!!! EVERY FUCKING WHERE

"No sweetheart, Sukuna's an asshole but..." His expression flickers and his smile fades away. He swallows and then clears his throat, "I'm pretty sure he'll satisfy you just fine."

...

You narrow your eyes at him, "Are you sure?"

...

"Fuckin' positive," Gojo suddenly sounds pissed and you grow concerned. The arm around you gets a little tighter while he walks you through some crowds and you keep looking at the man confused.

There's a vein popping out along his jawline because of how hard he's gritting his teeth.

of course he's aggravated because he knows that Sukuna is the one behind the list in the first place 😭😭😭 I'M SORRY WE DOUBTED YOU SATORU, FUCKKKK

——FIFTEEN MINUTES. That was the exact amount of time it took you to seduce Sukuna. The act was way too easy. Actually, it was suspiciously easy.

BECAUSE HE FUCKING KNEW 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"What all did you plan on doing tonight aside from getting harassed by strangers?" Sukuna suddenly questions against your skin.

You ignore how close he is and the way his lips make you tense, turning your head to face forward. Chuckling at his last comment, "Same thing as everyone else here." You reply, slightly confused by his question.

"Bullshit," He utters, "Nobody dresses like this without the intent of gaining my attention," Sukuna claims while his hands slide back down along your body.

this 100% could be just him being cocky and Sukuna, but the recent reveal just makes this feel like an extra demeaning interaction. but of course, it's Sukuna.

chapter 24 is so fucking shady too with everything we know. i know you addressed some of these points already bc i brought them up in previous anon messages, but these things still had me paranoid;

the way Sukuna leaves us and tells the reader to go to his room after a certain amount of time (i know he could have just been tidying up real quick but everything about this man has me on edge)

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A/N> A lot of people are on edge about this but I’ll be honest, there’s nothing crazy that happens in between this time period. Not saying nothing happens but nothing crazy— it’ll be addressed later (in the next fic most likely)

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the way he's been consistently on the phone since the reader entered the room, which is shortly after she messaged Gojo saying that she'll be able to cross Sukuna off of this list by tonight which he wasn't happy with at all.

no seriously, he kept diverting his attention to something in the bathroom and then came out, still on his phone. maybe he's talking to literally anyone else but STILL I'M PARANOID

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A/N> This is to show the fact that Sukuna is a very socially active individual, & hints to the theory (I think you later state) that he has connections.

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this happens in chapter 25 but the way he keeps smiling while the reader kisses him is just so smug of him especially considering the original reason as to why the reader's even interacting with him

then the spicy chapters with Sukuna…

the foreshadowing that the lack of knowledge of Sukuna's reputation will come back to bite her in the ass; first with the knowledge that he is abusive, and then her finding out that he is the curator of the list, knowing the full details of her blackmail and even threatening her again.

WHO DID HE FUCKING FIGHT HELPPPPP MY MIND IS BOGGLING there's no way it's Gojo, right? they're both too unscathed in these next few chapters for there to have been a fight between the two of them.

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A/N > It’s not Gojo. 🙏

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THE FUCKING MOMENT WHERE HE CONTEMPLATED SOMETHING WITH THE PHONE IN HIS HAND??? I FUCKING KNEW IT. I FUCKING CALLED IT WAS SOMETHING SHADY AS HELL.

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A/N> The other Sukuna hint I was talking about is right before this moment btw, you’re welcome ;)

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then he has the audacity to hold his tongue right afterwards?? it's such a big hint towards the fact that he knew about the list from the beginning UGHHHHHHHH.

the way he tried to humor the reader about her "job" even though he was in on the whole thing. UGH. SUKUNA WHEN I GET YOU SUKUNA?? 👊👊👊👊 especially with that "whore" joke right afterwards. i can't stand him. i know that it's implied that he has a twisted view on women from having abusive women in his life (his mom and his ex who he punched) BUT STILL. he's so lucky he's fictional and hot.

the fact that we're able to pick up on the fact that it's a "crazy coincidence" that he continues the whore jokes UGHHHHH HE HAS BEEN PLAYING US FROM THE STAAAAAARTT

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna-

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

GIRL YOU WERE ALMOST THERE!!!! YOU ALMOST HAD IT!!!

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A/N > I love teasing in my narration by nearly spoiling things 😹

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seriously though, these chapters killed me. the official end obliterated my heart. it's so fucking bittersweet i want to scream at the top of a high building. the reader ends up happy and with someone she loves, which is fantastic for her. she deserves that after everything she went through. Choso treats her so, so well.

but Gojo. with the theories i have, i feel horrible. i was so harsh towards him as a die hard Choso girly but these endings changed me. i just hope i'm right.

the fact that his healing journey is harsher than ours makes this ending sting so much. he's healed, and you can see it with his demeanor from the call and the way he interacted with the reader.

we were always made aware of the way he looked at us such deep attachment. the initial gleam shows that he's happy to see us, but that he's not reliant on us for his happiness anymore. he's finding that on his own, and it's a grueling process for him. i wished the reader gave him a hug, but that would probably make me feel even worse.

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A/N> He gave her a lil side hug (with his arm over her shoulder) & was resting his head on hers at the end if that makes you feel any better 😅

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"Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start." i'm gonna throw up bro i'm so sad. i'm proud of his growth. his obsession was so, so strong but he always prioritized the reader's happiness over himself. i know that being self-sacrificial is so core to his personality but it doesn't make it suck any less. i'm devastated. i started blasting mitski in the car on my way to work after reading this.

i thought i was ready for the journal burning. i was so ready for this tie to be severed, for them to finally move on. but i failed to realize that it could ultimately mean a life without each other. it makes sense as to why, but it still sucks.

kami i need that poly ending before i cry my eyes out at 4 am rn. you know i can't handle angst, but bittersweet endings lowkey hurt me even more. i need all my babies to be happy. i desperately need it.

but that alt ending... fuck. in a horrible, sick, and twisted way, i'm relieved. i'm a Choso girly from the bottom of my heart but i can't let this Gojo go omfg. even if he shows up for one more chapter, i think i'll be alright. BUT IT BETTER NOT BE FOR DEATH KAMI!!!! I HAVE A FEW EXCERPTS THAT SUGGEST DEATH FLAGS BUT I AM SIMPLY NOT LOOKING AT THEM. DON'T DO THIS TO ME KAMIIIIIII. i need this boy to be frolicking in a field of flowers or something. my heart can't take this.

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A/N> I know I reference death a lot but that’s just to add a sense of how dramatic the characters are 🫶

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okay, time for my mind-fucky theory. pls bare with me. if it wasn't obvious by my last post, i'm 100% on board with the theory that Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo, which started this whole thing. but the thing that is getting me is how this all connects. i have some assumptions that could make sense, but there are a handful of gaps. here's my thought process;

Sukuna's blackmailing Gojo by using his obsession/love against him.

we are already familiar with the fact that Gojo has liked the reader for years. there was a chapter where Gojo mentioned that it started off as a "crush" but he was so oblivious to his own obsession up until the reader mentioned it to him. it's to the point that he didn't understand what was wrong with the idea of hurting people for the reader. who's to say that Sukuna didn't catch him in some sort of heinous act regarding the reader like stalking?

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A/N > You’re cooking with this one and I almost, almost had to go get the fire extinguisher :D

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Gojo didn't understand the difference between love and obsession until later on in the story. this would be consistent with the implication that Gojo just loved her so deeply that his morals were askew as we have yet to find out how far his love goes.

what if Sukuna caught him in the act of doing god knows what, and brought up the fact that if the reader found out about this, that she'd get super freaked out and would do everything she can to get away from him (considering probably barely knew each other, if at all, at this point). but why would Sukuna devise such a plan over a money bribe? well, Sukuna's already revealed to be wealthy, and maybe he was bored. the same line that Gojo kept repeating to the reader whenever she questioned him as to why he did it. what if Gojo asked Sukuna why he's blackmailing him, and he said the exact same thing; "I was bored." we see how much Sukuna mirrors Gojo's speech by calling the reader "sweetheart" often, what if Gojo did the same thing?

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A/N > Gojo & Sukuna do have a few parallels in this story & they will be addressed more in the sequel.

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we wondered in chapter 23 how Gojo reaches out to these men to ensure their debt is "paid," but considering how oblivious everyone else on the list is to Gojo owing them anything, it would make sense that he only reports to Sukuna as he is ordered to do so. but two things stumped me on this theory overall.

the reader said that she used to party a lot and get involved with boys before Gojo. if he was stalking her for so long, why did he wait so long to approach her?

what specifically would be the blackmail that Sukuna has on Gojo?

regarding the first point, it's been mentioned that Gojo has been "scared of women" and was shy when it came to approaching the reader. he knew of her for so long, but was able to constantly slip under her radar. considering how much of a pervert he is, it wouldn't have been surprising for him to sneak around and watch in on the reader hooking up with other guys. after all, these guys were probably complete strangers to him and all he cared about was you. remember how Gojo was basically able to tune out his own best friend, Suguru, when the reader was hooking up with him in their living room? it wouldn't be wild to assume that he was able to do the same for your other hookups as he spied on you.

to connect this with second point, what if Sukuna caught Gojo being a peeping tom on the reader during a party hook-up? while being so distracted in the act of spying, Sukuna spots him. the reader wouldn't be alright with the fact that someone who's barely an acquaintance (if that, depending on the time this occurred) to her has been perving around and watching her have sex without her consent. she would do anything to get away from Gojo, and of course that would crush him. Gojo tried to buy Sukuna's silence by any means necessary. so, Sukuna generated a list of people that he and Gojo mutually knew for the reader to fuck. the reasoning for it would be the fact that Gojo has to sit through the process of having the girl he likes fuck a bunch of guys besides him, and the fact that Gojo knew all these men would make it sting more. plus, he has a reputation for hookups. (chapter 8)

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A/N > You’re like RIGHT there with it and yet not there at the same time omg 😟

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but why would Gojo agree to this deal with Sukuna, and why would he also go with the method of blackmailing the reader? it's basically a guarantee that the reader would be scared away regardless. but again, we could recall that Shoko mentioned that he was too "scared of women" to approach the reader at first. this was his chance to finally approach her. plus, "once that video is gone, there is no excuse he'll have to be around you." (chapter 8)

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but the more i thought of this reasoning for the two points, the more bizarre it felt. so what if instead of Gojo being a peeping tom, it was Sukuna. we get so many hints that Sukuna has eyes and intel everywhere. we get an indirect implication of this when he called us out for rolling our eyes during our phone call with him. yes, it could be completely by chance, but it's still a great hint that he "sees everything" and "knows everything." we get an even bigger hint towards this in the alt ending when he directly references The F*ck List.

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A/N > Others have taken note of how Sukuna knew she rolled her eyes but trust me, that’s just to show that Sukuna knows the reader’s body language more than he’s let on & paid attention to her a lot during the time they were together.

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it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that he has some shady videos taken of people without his consent, some possibly acquired through other people (like how Gojo was revealed to have sent Sukuna the video of the reader from the first chapter). what if Gojo caught Sukuna with the video, threatened him to delete it, and Sukuna counterthreatened to have it be sent and posted everywhere. it would be highly ironic, but consistent with the way that Gojo and Sukuna practically mirror each other at times. the reasoning for the list choices would still be the same for this theory, too.

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my citations for these theories ☝️🤓

“You once asked me if I love you because I blackmailed you or if I blackmailed you because I love you and my answer is both,” Gojo confesses as he turns to meet your gaze, “Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start.” - Chapter 56

loved you from the start; his obsession has been consistent from the start (supports Gojo being a peeping tom theory) or he has always had a deep concern for you (supports him wanting to stop Sukuna from spreading blackmail of you instead).

“I’ve sacrificed everything for you, y’know.”

“How? What’s everything that you’ve sacrificed, hm?”

“You. I sacrificed the woman I love to make her happy.” Gojo admits, and of all he’s said thus far, that feels like the truest statement.

“I could’ve been happy with you.” You remind him.

He laughs, “Yeah well, I’m an idiot.”

You scoff, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yup.” - Chapter 56

is he an idiot for being a peeping pervert instead of just approaching you normally? maybe. how does this make her happy? she ends up finding love through Choso, through the list, through the blackmail.

But deleting the video means ... he has no more leverage over you and can't force you to help him with the hole he's dug for himself. - Chapter 8

the hole being the blackmail set against him by Sukuna.

Gojo's behind you cursing at himself for being unable to tell you the truth.

He's so scared that you'll never help him without the blackmail and, well, he has every right to be because you're pretty sure that if it weren't for those videos he has over your head, you wouldn't be doing any of this. - Chapter 9

the videos he's referencing is the original video from chapter 1 and the fake video he lied about with Suguru, but he can't tell the reader the truth because it's too twisted and risky (supports Gojo peeping tom theory).

He silences himself in thought. There are so many ways he could go about answering such a question but the possibilities of how you may react are endless. Plus, you're drunk and if he's going to admit or explain anything to you, it'll be while you're sober.

"Because..." Gojo's voice gets so quiet that you almost don't catch what he says, "...I don't have any other choice." - Chapter 21

if he didn't go through with his list, Sukuna would have went through with Gojo's blackmail, thus resulting in either you getting as far away from Gojo as soon as possible or Sukuna's video being sent around.

He let something slip abruptly, "W-Wish I c-could tell you everything, sweets..."

Your brows furrow at that.

Are you missing something here? - Chapter 22

YES GIRL!!!! SUKUNA'S BEHIND THE WHOLE LIST, HE'S BEHIND THE BLACKMAIL GIRLYPOP

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you." - Chapter 29

"I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you."

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..."

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly.

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?"

"You are."

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense."

"It won't." Gojo shrugs. - Chapter 29

🧍‍♀️

anything. even if it means putting your body, heart, mind, and career on the line. directly supports the theory that Sukuna initially had blackmail on the reader.

"We're the same, y'know..." He suddenly says, his voice breaking again, "We both want someone so terribly bad but our situations prohibit us from getting that person."

"You could've prevented all this though..."

Gojo sniffles and you feel a drop of wetness slide down his cheek and slip against your palm. The man was crying? Why? - Chapter 30

this whole time we've been told that Gojo and the reader share more similarities than the reader realizes. what Gojo is to the reader, the reader is to Choso. while Choso now knows of the men that the reader slept with, he doesn't know why. he doesn't know about you being blackmailed. you know that you had to sleep with these men. you don't know why. you didn't know it was because of Gojo being blackmailed.

"For loving me, Satoru. It's not a crime," You say, mocking a comment he made to you earlier, "You're allowed to love me. So, for that, and that only, I forgive you."

Those words healed so many more wounds in his heart than you realized. It was like that was all he ever needed to hear. If Gojo's mistake was loving you and that's what caused this, then you forgive him.

If in some twisted way, his feelings started the list, you forgive him.

COME ON NOW.

There’s so much going unspoken but the two of you knew what either was saying, you understood each other more than either of you realized. - Chapter 35

“Well,” Gojo sighs heavily and then draws your hands off his face, leaning down to you a bit, “Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made in exchange for one’s happiness.”

“Are you telling me that all this was for the greater good?” You quiz as you raise a curious brow.

“Something like that, yeah,” He shrugs. - Chapter 45

You tell him, “If I had one wish, it’d be that you did that from the beginning.”

Gojo opens his mouth to say something but then he swallows his words down. He nearly fucked up.

“All you had to do was talk to me,” Your shoulders raise into a shrug as you move a hand to the doorknob, “Things could’ve been different if you did.”

“Even if I’ve been obsessed with you since the beginning?” He questions and he’s stepping closer to you again. He can’t possibly wrap his head around that possibility-

You laugh a bit, “Especially if you were obsessed from the beginning,” You didn’t know it but that statement right there made the man feel as though his world was falling apart, loads of regret tumbling over him as he stares at you with wide eyes, “Satoru I think you forgot but, before all this started, aside from Shoko… I was lonely.”

Gojo’s throat goes dry and he fails to form a response to that, “I…”

“If you had just talked to me one time, and more than a hey or how are you,” The way your eyes soften, a slim sheer gloss of tears coating your gaze as you speak to him, “I would’ve fallen for you.”

He grits his teeth, “Don’t tell me that.”

“But it’s true.” You say.

And just like that, Gojo was crumbling all over again. If only you knew how much he regretted everything after hearing you say that. - Chapter 46

if he had just spoke to the reader before all of this, maybe she wouldn't have gone to those parties, hooked up with those people, and caused whatever kind of blackmail Sukuna had on Gojo (or on her).

He wishes he could take it all back, his feelings for you included. If only he could go back and stop himself from ever being curious about you. That’s what started it after all. Because, at the end of the day, Gojo knew who you were before you knew who he was— hell, even before Shoko knew who you were. - Chapter 53

then what is the timeline of his obsession starting? has it been before Gojo? could his blackmail have taken place even before Shoko introduced you two, adding to the weight of the threat that Sukuna held over Gojo's head (regarding the peeping tom theory).

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A/N > The timeline on Gojo’s interest, not obsession just yet, on the reader will be addressed in the sequel so this’ll be answered there <3

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but there were certain parts that stumped me and my theories so i have some weird reasonings around them;

It's selfish of him and seriously fucked up but, he's said it before and he'll say it over and over again-- you're all he has. He made promises to everyone on that list, promises of delivering a woman to them at some point, and of course, he couldn't convince anyone he knew to do such a thing.

So again, the situation with you just happened to be a coincidence.

The problem is that Gojo hates that it's you. He hates that you're the one he ended up doing this to. - Chapter 8

Gojo's known to be a silly guy so it could make sense that he actually did promise these guys hookups for reasons unrelated to his blackmail. after all, he does have a reputation for getting people hookups. the coincidence is that Sukuna now has dirt on Gojo and wants to toy with him. by making the reader sleep with them the guys he coincidentally owes hookups to, he fulfills his role/reputation and relieves his debt at the same time. two birds, one stone.

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A/N > As we later learn that some of the “debt” Satoru claimed to have isn’t real, we can also infer that his reputation & the promises he’s made to these men were done out of coincidence. Take Toji for example; tell me you can’t see an interaction between him & Gojo where Gojo gets a bad grade and wants to get it up so he taunts his professor with the idea of getting him a hookup & Toji would laugh it off considering Gojo’s reputation ;)

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another thing that stumped me is why Gojo got so worked up with the reader referring herself as a whore, and the connection to Sukuna. my delulu reasoning is that once Sukuna threatened Gojo with blackmail by either of the two theories/methods i mentioned, Sukuna casually referred to the reader as a whore. that caused a major fight between the two, possibly even getting physical (which can refer back to the implication that Gojo has hurt people for the reader).

the fight could have increased the tension and severity of the situation, so Sukuna decides to add Choso to the list knowing how easily attached Choso gets. in chapter 5, the reader and Gojo were discussing the list and Choso specifically. Gojo was even noted to be relieved when the reader had mentioned that they'll just have to hope that Choso doesn't get attached, as he obviously holds deep feelings for the reader. Sukuna knows that by going through with the blackmail with Choso involved, Gojo most likely will not end up with the reader if Choso get attached and the reader reciprocates those feelings.

also, the counterargument that Sukuna and Gojo are actually friends/allies in this situation just doesn't sit well with me. it would make for a crazy twist but it just feels too out of character for Gojo. but then again, how would Sukuna specifically know about The F*ck List? but idk, it just feels so wrong to me. maybe i have too much faith in Gojo lmfao. after all, he has consistently shown a great dislike towards the guy since chapter 23. but maybe it's my denial speaking. i really don't want to think of Satoru going through this whole arc only for it to reveal that he truly is a piece of shit. pls don't do this to my pookie my heart cannot handle it </3

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A/N > Remember, Gojo is a good actor & you go a long period of time in the book not realizing he’s not as much of a villain as he pretends to be 😉

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there's that moment after the reader fucked Sukuna that still messes with my brain. with my theories, my brain's thinking that he contemplated on collecting even more blackmail on the reader. for what reason? idk, to be an ass? to torment Gojo further and add more to his blackmail? but maybe he decided not to because he already has plenty of blackmail on the reader (if the theory of Sukuna having a video of her from way back then is true) and fucking her knowingly made Gojo pissed considering all the dirt Sukuna has.

so why can't Gojo tell her the truth now? why does he want to wait years in advance? maybe he's hoping that by that time, not only will you forget and not care about the situation overall, but maybe Sukuna will forget all about it as well. the chances of Sukuna holding on to the reader's blackmail for that long is slim and the reader would most likely be in a situation where she is completely separated from Sukuna depending on her job and living situation with Choso. the stakes are lower than if he were to reveal everything to you now, at a moment where your life is still so uncertain. it would go against his wish for you to end up happy.

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A/N > Maybe Gojo doesn’t tell her the truth because he can’t, just as he said 🌚 Perhaps he’s not allowed to yet. After all, why would Sukuna even tell the reader he made the list in the end? ^.^ Just some food for thought!

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regarding the future of TFL... fuck, bro. i have no fucking idea. i'm too caught up in the (presumed) past. i'm mourning fr. i love this fic sooooo fucking much. whenever you decide to pick up on the sequel, i will be there. if you choose to publish anything else in the meantime, i will be there. thanks for such a fun and memorable read, Kami. i'm excited to bookbind this soon 🤍🤍🤍 now, i need to watch blue lock to shove these feelings down.

yap fin (for now)

-☃️

A/N > I love you sosoosooooo much for this. These theories are like reading an entirely new fanfic sometimes except, I know all the answers & what’s going to happen next, which only makes me more excited ^.^ Thank you for taking the time to make this, thank you for reading, thank you for supporting, just, THANK YOU.

This right here is exactly what I write for; people like you :)

To the others reading this breakdown & theory, thank ☃️anon because she’s a damn godsend & ilhsm ^.^ (definitely showing favoritism rn, sorry not sorry, ily all I swear)

Edit; Since you’re watching Blue Lock, I can’t wait to bring my Shidou fanfic here because a lot of the drama in TFL has inspo from that fic, which I wrote first ^.^ & I could totally see you enjoying it because not only is it a childhood friends to lovers than enemies & back to lovers troupe BUT it also includes Itoshi Sae x reader which ofc, adds hella drama :))

P.S. It’s two am as I finally post this and omg sorry it took me a while, I wanted to answer other anons first before unpacking this badboy, again, tysm!!

#kamiversee!answers #kamiversee #the f*ck list #tfl!theories #tfl spoiler #tfl #k!ans: ☃️

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spider-stark · 8 months

Text

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.

Well, almost fruitless.

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work.

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.

He refused to withhold a lead from you.

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.

But trauma was a peculiar thing.

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him.

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.

It was new.

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.

“How so?”

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone.

“Columbia.” She spoke.

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.”

You frowned at her, confused.

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?”

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So, we’re splitting up?”

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.

That would never happen, of course.

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.

“It’s not that bad!�� She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.

But you weren’t done missing her.

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.

You wasted no time in looking away.

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!”

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.

It worked.

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.

It was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”

Please say no-

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.

”Great.”

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.”

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it.

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it!

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.

When did that change?

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.

“Peter?”

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”

Once again you were met with silence.

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it.

”y/n?”

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.

This wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.

It seemed best to do neither.

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.

There was no escaping him.

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job.

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?

No, of course not. It was impossible.

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.

That came with its own dangerous implications.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.

”Helen Stacy.”

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”

Your mouth curved into a smile.

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.

Almost—but not quite.

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.”

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning.

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

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ramhaiba · 1 month

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𝖧𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖵𝗈𝗐𝗌 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖬𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕩, 𝕀𝕟𝕠𝕞𝕟𝕚𝕒

No actual warning in this chapter- however MINOR DO NOT INTERACT SERIES TW: Violence, Sexual themes, major character death,tba

previous chapter

At least once a week, You, Nobara, and Yuuji meet up in your bedroom when everyone else in the manor is asleep. Yuuji likes to call these get-togethers the 'Anti-Zenin club meetings.' As expected, the main topic talked about during these 'club meetings' is either new information on the Zenin family or how your trials went. In some messed up way- scheming against a whole family late at night reminds you of the sleepovers you used to share with your friends when you were younger.

"I smell new jewelry. Is this from 'lover boy?' It's not so bad to look at" Nobara teased, her finger grazing the pendant on your necklace given by Megumi.

"He gave it to me on his birthday, it use to belong to his mom" you explained.

"So he gave you his late mother's necklace?" Nobara questioned, her glance bouncing off of you to Yuuji, giving him the most devious smile. "Looks like someone has a crush on Y/n, Kugisaki" Yuuji teased, covering his mischievous smile with his palm. "Careful Y/n, he might actually mean 'I do' at the wedding" Nobara added.

"Shut up- both of you" you huffed, cheeks burning with embarrassment, throwing a pillow at Nobara- only for her to catch it with the same delinquent smile.

"But he did tell you it was possible for him to love you- romantically, right?" Yuuji questioned, his tone more serious than it was five minutes ago. "Yeah but he was weird about it- he said something about 'not knowing how to love someone the right way.' Whatever that means" you explained.

Yuuji took a moment to think of his words, debating in his mind if this were the right moment. "Maybe there is another way for these trials to stop" Yuuji uttered, his voice with a hint of embarrassment.

"Which is?" you asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Well...No one wants to hurt someone they're in love with right?" Yuuji confessed, his eyes glued to a wall, too nervous to look at your reaction.

"Excuse me- You're kidding- tell me you're kidding. Nobara, please tell Yuuji that he's crazy for thinking that I seduce the son of the Zenin family- so he may or may not spare me from tests, that I have been passing" you argued. To your disappointment, Nobara remained silence. "Don't tell me you agree-" you laughed in disbelief.

"You've only finished two out of ten tests, Y/n. I mean- what if you're biting off more than your chew?" Nobara explained. "What if he makes them even harder?" you argued.

"Why would he do that if he was in love with you" Nobara countered, slightly raising her voice.

"I know- I'm just worried. During my last trial- he was very adamant that I wouldn't want to be loved by him for some reason " you sighed, in defeat.

"Think about it this way, Y/n" Yuuji spoke up, walking over to you, sitting next to you on your bed, thighs almost touching.

"Wouldn't revenge on the Zenin family hurt Megumi even more if he came from the women he loved?" Yuuji suggested, his tone lingering in your ear. With that simple realization, all the fears inside your head formed into one solo thought,

You must find a way to make Megumi Fushiguro to fall in love with you.

---

It's been at least a week since you had a trial- or even seen Megumi. While you're grateful that you're not having to go through deadly tests, you're getting worried about whether he's scheming.

You feel much safer when you know what he's doing- rather than him being stuck in his room. You have no idea what's going on in his mind this past week... Well, it's not like you ever had a clue what goes on in his brain.

According to the servant's gossip, he's been coup up in his room, not allowing anyone to enter, daring to raise his voice if a servant even dares to step foot into his room to ask if he'd like tea. So this week has just been servants leaving his breakfast, lunch, and dinner on a spotless silver platter in front of his door.

You asked Maki if she had a clue on what was going on behind his doors.

"When Megumi likes this it's best to let him be. Besides, if it was really important he was smart enough to let me know" Maki sighed, crossing her arms.

You really tried to leave him alone, waiting for his phase to pass. But you're losing sleep at night, dreading if he's planning some sick trial.

It was the middle of the night, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hands clutching your blanket, your body exhausted but your mind refusing to sleep.

God- it's time to put an end to this madness.

You got up, not bothering to change out of your nightgown as you made your way to Megumi's bed chambers. You paused in front of his door, there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be upset with you.

But do you care? Eh- he's done worse.

Not bothering to knock, you slowly opened the door, a lingering creek sound from it, making you cringe. There you saw Megumi, instantly sitting up from his bed due to the noise, chest heaving, body sweaty, cheeks red, hair damp, the damp towel falling off his forehead.

"Oh- it's you" Megumi panted, his voice hoarse, falling back down on his bed.

"Get out" he mumbled, waving you off. "I'm only here to check up on you- I haven't seen you for a week. Are you unwell...I mean- you look ill" you questioned.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed, it's late" Megumi uttered before erupting into a coughing fit, causing you to rush towards him.

"You're not fine. You're burning up" you argued, laying the back of your hand on his forehead, only for him to swat away like an annoyed cat.

"It's nothing I can't handle, Y/n. Go back to your room" Megumi sighed. "What did you tell me before your birthday dinner... Oh right, 'I'm your fiancé. You can't hide these types of things from me.' So let me help you" you quoted, using Megumi's words against him, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"It would be a pain if you'd get sick as well, especially if it were my fault" Megumi mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he pulled his comforter tighter around him.

"Well, unlike you- I don't mind people helping me if I get sick, so I'll be fine" you replied.

"Now stay here, I'll make you some tea" you advised.

"It's not like I could got anywhere else to go" Megumi grumbled.

---

You helped Megumi sit up, carefully placing the white floral tea cup into his hands and then stepping away.

"ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ" he mumbled.

"What was that?" you teased

"Thank you, Y/n" Megumi huffed, blowing air to cool his tea. "Oh, it's nothing. I couldn't just let a person who's sick take care of themselves" you explained.

Yeah- but you also can't exactly pass a opportunity like this...not when you're desperately trying to get on his good side so you can get a 'get out of jail' card for that fucked up family tradition.

"I'm usually very capable of taking care of myself when I'm unwell. I guess this time is different because of I've been more stressed lately" Megumi confessed, reveling in the warmth of the cup filled with hot tea.

"You're capable of nursing yourself back to health? Is that because Zenins are 'oh so strong and powerful?" you teased. "I have experience, my sister- Tsumiki. She was often sick during most of our childhood" Megumi answered, tone strangely monotone for a person who confessed to having a sickly sister-acting as if it was normal situation to be in.

"I didn't know you had a sister like that" you commented, voice traced with pity. Megumi looked over at you, a subtle smile on his lips, "She's not dead, Y/n. She's not my biological sister either. She just came with the package when my dad decided to marry her mom. After they split, I don't really see her much. I heard from my old man that she's staying at an institution where they can monitor her health" Megumi explained.

"Sorry- you just made her sound...well dead" you replied.

Before Megumi could utter a word, a yawn released from your mouth, the lack of sleep from your anxieties finally catching up with you. "You're tired" he commented. "Yeah- I've been having some trouble sleeping lately. I should get back to bed now" you replied, getting up to walk towards the door.

"Don't," Megumi muttered, leaning over, holding your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, slight anxiety lingering in your voice,

"It's my fault you haven't been getting sleep. I should have personally assigned you a quieter room in the castle- "

"What are you trying to say here?" you questioned.

"You're not getting sleep because it's easier to hear the forest noises in your bedroom. Why else would you not be getting sleep? "Megumi explained, narrowing his eyes in confusion. You hesitated before replying to Megumi...because you can't exactly say

'Oh no- you're wrong. I haven't gotten any sleep because I thought you were planning this crazy death trap that would be probably hurt me in ways more painful than death. But yeah I guess I could hear an occasional wolf howl every other night.'

Because if you said that any sentimental in this conversation- even if it was little - would probably be destroyed. So instead, you said "I have- but it's no big deal. I'm getting use to it."

"If you can't sleep in your room, I rather you sleep in mine."

And with those simple words, your face boiled in embarrassment, mind being filled with every dirty thought imaginable. Megumi's face turned a sudden red as he took in realization on what his words have done to do.

"I'm not planning to have sex with you- Y/n. D-do you really think so low of me?" Megumi huffed, adverting his eyes from yours.

"Beside the Zenin family highly against sex before marriage. I get enough shit for being a bastard child" Megumi added, somewhat easing your concerns. "Swear " you uttered.

"Swear what?" Megumi questioned.

"Swear you're not going to touch me" you added, embarrassed at your own words. "Would you prefer if my hands were tied up while you sleep?" Megumi replied, sarcastically.

He turned to his side, "I swear, I will not lay a finger on you" he mumbled. You hesitated before turning off the gas lamp at his night table, slowly easing onto his bed, his back facing you. You didn't dare to fall asleep before he did, so you stay awake till you knew it were impossible for him to still be awake as well.

You heart almost stopped as you watched him turn in his sleep, his closed eyes scrunched as he shifted to face towards you.

Shamefully there was one thought that appeared in your head,

You could kill him right now by getting on top of him, wrapping your hands around his pretty throat and not go through the trials anymore. You could wake up Nobara and Yuuji and just run away-

But you're not a killer, Y/n. So you closed your eyes, and Megumi was right- his room was much quieter than your room, only taking a few minutes for your body to ease into a deep sleep.

You woke up, a strange warmness on your body, you tilted your head and there was Megumi, his chin resting on the top of your head, legs tangled with yours, arm laying around your waist, peacefully sleeping. Your mind instantly went into a internal panic,

God if Nobara or Yuuji was here they'd never let you live this down.

You slowly pulled yourself away from Megumi, thankful that he didn't wake up, only grumbling in his sleep. You tiptoed out of his room, carefully opening the door and slipping out.

You walked down the hall, trying to get back into your room to change out of your nightgown, only to be interrupted by a sudden force bumping into you, causing you to fall on your bottom. You looked up to see the culprit of your fall, a slightly messy dark hair, sleepy eyed boy in the same knight uniform as Yuuji.

"I am so sorry, are you okay?" the man asked, lending you his hand to help you stand up. You dusted your nightgown, "I'm alright" you replied.

The man took a good look at you, noticing the expensive material of your nightgown, "Yo-you're princess Y/n, right?" he asked, his voice stuttering as he realized the value of his mistake.

"That's correct" you laughed, amused by his behavior. "I-I'm so sorry, your majesty. I didn't mean to bump into you- you see I'm actually a new knight and I haven't exactly learned my way around the castle. So I got distracted and I wasn't looking-" The knight rambled on.

"It's okay, you're forgiven- uh... I'm sorry I don't know your name" you replied, slightly embarrassed at your realization. "Oh- it's Yuta."

"Yuta Okkotsu"

next chapter

#yandere x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jjk x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #prince megumi x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere megumi #yuta okkotsu

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 8 months

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On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Not me already have written this part the day after I posted the first one 🤭. I wanna add titles to the chapters but idk what I’d have them be, probably lyrics from songs I like lol. Once again, apologies now for If Miguel is ooc and if the terminology and sports talk is wrong. If you’re experienced in either sport and wanted to lmk if I got something wrong. If you want to be added to the taglist lmk too.

(Y/N)- Your name, (L/N)- Last name.

No warnings, Just Miguel and you interacting lol. Idk if this is consider filler but it’s meant to get the ball rolling lol.

Word count: 1.3k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the tide,

—

It’s been about a week since you’ve last ran into Miguel at the arena, surprisingly the figure skating team don’t run into the hockey team as much as you would think despite having to share a communal space on campus. Unfortunately, today was one of those days were you did run into them. You’ve arrived about 45 minutes early to practice, Logan nor coach Kavinsky were here yet. You were hoping to get some alone time on the ice before practice, but it had slipped your mind that today was Thursday, and on Thursdays the hockey team practiced before you rather then after like the rest of the week. As you dropped your gym back on the bench in the girl’s locker room, you were debating to whether you wanted to just wait at the arena till they were done, or walk back to your dorm. The only problem with the latter option is that the dorm buildings were all the way across campus, and by the time you finished the walk you’d have to turn around to walk back anyways.

So you stuck it up, and changed into your practice outfit, your skates in hand as you leave the locker room, deciding to keep your regular shoes on so you could at least get your stretching out of the way before your coach and partner came. You quickly went into one of the empty dance rooms that the arena had to do warm up stretches in, popping in your headphones to listen to your favorite song. After about 15 minutes you still had plenty of time before The Spiders got off the ice, you decided to just walk around the stadium. No destination in mind, just where ever your feet decided to carry you as your music continue to play in your ears. You can’t really say you were surprised to find yourself ending up in the main area with the ice rink, plopping yourself down in one of the front row seats as you let your brain go on autopilot.

You were too busy being lost in the music, you didn’t realize you were staring into space until you say a large tan hand appear in front of your face and began to snap its fingers, pulling you back into the moment.

“hellooo? Earth to ice princess.”

“Huh?” You shot up to sit straighter, blinking a bit as you take out your headphones, turning your head to look at the person who had just snapped you back into reality. “Look I know I’m attractive and all, but you don’t have to stare-“ Miguel begins, a cocky smirk on his face that you just wanted to smack off. One of his large hands going up to take off this helmet, his dark brown hair that was usually slicked back was now messy from the helmet, a thin coat of sweat covering his forehead. You cut him off, “ew, why would I be staring at you?” You question, your face slightly scrunched in distaste at the thought.

“You’ve been looking in my direction at the past 20 minutes.” He smirks as his teammates start to put away all their hockey equipment behind him, not paying attention to you both talk. You gave him a confused look before you realize why he might have been thinking that, “Oooooh-no-no I was just zoning out, I wasn’t staring at you on purpose.” You quickly explain, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck with your gloved hand, attempting to keep eye contact with the hockey player.

For a second, it looked like Miguel’s cocky exterior faltered, before coming back up. “Uh huh…sure.” He tone dripping with sarcasm as he drops his helmet onto a seat, then taking a seat next to you. His action caught you by surprise but you didn’t let it show, you also didn’t want to show the annoyance that filled your body from the taunting comment. “Why are you even here this early? Where is your little boyfriend?” He asked as turns his body towards you, resting the hand closest to you on his knee, his forearm that was further from you going to rest on his other knee. He was manspreading a bit, his eyes raking over your form slowly.

“Jesus why is it so warm in here all of a sudden? Usually I’m freezing my nonexistent balls off…” You thought as you shifted in your seat a bit, feeling the need to distract yourself, you start to change into your skates. “I wanted to get some time on the ice alone before practice but I forgot it was Thursday and- wait. Boyfriend?”

Miguel chuckled at your surprised reaction, turning his head away slightly, the hand that was resting on his knee came up to cover the smile that was creeping up on his face from your reaction. After a second or two he cleared his throat, his hand dropping back down to his knee as he turns to face you again with a neutral expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend, the one you skate with. What’s his name again? Lincoln? Liam?” Miguel knew his name, he just wanted to see if you’d correct him.

“Logan?”

Miguel tried his best not to scowl.

“Yeah, Logan-whatever-where’s he at?” He asked, he’s words come out annoyed and a bit rushed. “Well for one, he’s not my boyfriend, just my figure skating partner.” You start as you tilted your head to the side as you look at him, saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Now Miguel is trying his hardest not to let a huge shit eating grin spread across his lips. “And second, he’s probably on his way, he had a class today before practice-some science thing- I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders as you finish speaking.

Speaking of the devil, Logan and Coach Kavinsky appear through the front double door. “Ah! (Y/N), already here. Perfect! Let’s get straight into it.” She said with a smile as she seemingly ignore Miguel’s presence next to you, Logan stops next to you as you both took the guards off your skates, him shooting you a knowing look, his lips twitching up into small smirk as his eyes drift between you and Miguel. “I swear to God…if he brings this up later…” You start to think but a voice cut you off.

“Hey Cap!” One of the hockey players called out for Miguel’s attention, “We just finished packing up, you coming?” He asked as he skate to the edge of the rink, before getting out, a few of the other lingering players that were making sure all the equipment was all packed up doing the same. As soon as the other player was done speak to Miguel, he took off his helmet revealing (messy from the helmet and some sweat) light brown hair and brown eyes, his lower half of his face covered with a 5 o’ clock shadow and you noticed his nose was slightly croaked, probably him having broken it from a past game.

Miguel let out a heavy sigh, before turning towards the other player. “Yeah Parker, I’m going.” He grumbled as he brought his hand up to rub his face before giving you one more quick glance and getting up, leaving with the rest of who was left from his team, without another word. For some reason, that bothered you, causing your brows furrowed as your lips fall into a small frown.

“Rude…” you mumbled as you got up from your seat, Logan heard this and let out a small snort as he steps on to the ice. “Don’t overthink it (L/N), that’s just how he is.” Your partner tried to reassure you, you send him a small smile back and a quick nod of your head.

“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t overthink it.” You repeat his words, as you went to enter the rink as well, but it was a bit too late for that, because you already were overthink it.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel spiderverse #astv #astv spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #hockey au #figure skating au #miguel o’hara au #spiderman 2099 #Spiderman 2099 fanfic #on thin ice fanfic

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boo8008 · 7 months

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Three Months - Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Fem!Reader Chapter 02: Mince

Prologue | Chapter 01: Quadriller | Chapter 02: Mince

Series Summery: Its been one year since The Bear's soft open, and with everything running smoothly, Carmen's lost in his thoughts, until the final table of the night is seated.

Chapter Summery: After the minor introduction of you and Carmy, your about to prepare the first dinner post Covid and before Stevie and Michelle leave, one Carmen is also coming to. Only cooking dinner is not going as smoothly as you'd hoped.

Mince (v.) - to finely divide food into uniform pieces smaller than diced or chopped foods, prepared using a chef's knife or food processor

Word Count: ~3,865

My Notes bb: Hey….. How yall doin? Sorry this took so long to get out, work and life suddenly got busy and I didn't have time to write. I hurt my back though so it kinda forced me to write and crank this out. Hopefully its not as bad I as I still feel like it is but yea. Again sorry this took so long to get out. Hope you enjoy! (ps my therapist thinks this is a decent outlet though lol thanks Sandra)

2021 (December)

Carmen hardly ever came to dinner after those first few weeks, and Michelle said something about him working at Eleven Madison Park. While you were happy he head ended up at the high end restaurant, you knew he was working under one hell of an asshole. He seemed to be doing fine enough though. Granted, you would only catch small glimpses of him on nights when you stayed later than intended and he walked only into his room to sleep, with just a small mumbled ‘hi’ thrown your way. Eventually he managed to move out on his own and only came to dinner about once every two months when Michelle would insist on it.

Once covid hit though, you'd basically lost contact with him. Michelle even rarely managed to drag him into group facetime calls with you. They were mainly her or Stevie recounting their last two weeks of quarantine in a dramatic fashion and you and Carmen would be listening half heartedly. If Carmen was there, he seemed to just sit out on a fire escape in his building and smoke, thinking about other things. Everytime you picked up though, missing being around the two people you actually liked. You would use it as a little reprieve from writing yet another ‘easy recipes for quarantine’ article, or to have company while you organized and re-organised random spots throughout your apartment.

Mostly though you would use it to get away from the depressive thoughts of ‘what am I doing with my life?’ or ‘if something happened to me, only Michelle and Stevie would really know.’ you didn't realize how much you missed being around people until you couldn't anymore, just stuck with yourself and your cat in your apartment. You missed the mindless chatter from coworkers at your office and in person interviews with cranky chefs because they gave you more to think about than yourself. All you began to think about was how bad the piece you were working on was, even if your editor said it was great. You felt tired and tired of being tired. All you wanted was to have a nice dinner with Stevie and Michelle, and fuck even hearing from Carmen would be amazing even if it was another awkward conversation with someone you just barely knew.

In short covid sucked ass and made your already anxious brain even worse. Not to mentioned your sense of time became fucked and all of your normally scheduled daily things also hard to keep track of. While quarantine had somewhat ended, you all found yourselves too busy trying to get back into the groove of ‘normalcy’ and offices to have dinner again, canceling for meetings or being too tired. Leading to today, when after months of planning and rescheduling you had completely forgotten that dinner was not only being held at you place, but you were also cooking because Michelle and Stevie had nothing in their kitchen because they were leaving two weeks early to isolate before Christmas in Chicago, and to top it all off, Carmen was (for once) coming to dinner. You remembered only when Stevie sent you a text asking what time worked best to come over, and not wanting to cancel for the tenth time, you told them 7:00. So you left work early to run for the subway, then run to the grocers to get real food, and then ran home to start cooking.

Only cooking was not going as planned.

It was 6:30 and dinner was nowhere near done. It was like you had forgotten everything you knew about actually cooking, and you’re a food journalist for Christ's sake! This should have been something you could do fairly easy! You write about things like this all the time! Yet here you are, chicken suddenly burning in the oven from when you stepped away to check your recipe to make sure everything was going okay and you that were good to start the pasta. You quickly removed the now pucks from the oven and turned it off. You resolved to just sitting on the floor across from your oven and crying, thinking about where it all went wrong-not the dinner but everything. Quiet sobs racked your body as you sad down on your kitchen floor, forgetting about your phone and the fact your last text said “doors unlocked when you get here”.

Carmen didn’t want to go to dinner but knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from Michelle if he didn’t show up. And to be frank he wanted her to stop calling him a hermit too. So he grabbed his jacket after lunch service and headed home to shower and change, doing his best to not think of his shitty boss saying he was worthless for taking one evening off. He hadn't done that even during covid, constantly asking what the plan was or if the kitchen was open. He decided to head out early to your place sending a quick text and leaving. As he approached your door he could definitely smell burning, very unlike the pre-covid dinners you made. While not Michelin level, what you made were perfect home cooked and leftover meals to him. A nice change from his go to PB&Js with Doritos and a Coke. He checked his phone again making sure the apartment number was right and reread your last text again. He still knocked on the door before he opened it, out of habit.

“Yo its me,” Carmen called out, peeling off his jacket as he looked around the entryway of your small apartment. You jumped at the knock and stood up as the door opened, and as Carmen called out, you turned to face the sink in your kitchen.

“In here!” your voice was wobbly but you preyed he wouldn't notice. Carmen followed the sound and walked into the kitchen, seeing the blackened chicken on the stove and the mess of the rest of the kitchen.

“Jesus, the fuck did you try to cook?” he said it without thinking, and immediately you broke again. Crumbling in on yourself and to tired to try and hide it. Tears raining down your face and carmen short circuited, watching as you again sunk to the floor in a puddle.

“Shit fuck I-I’m sorry. Fuck! Wh-what can I do? What do you want me to do? Fuck sorry I-I’m bad at this.” he panics as he looks down at you crying. “Wh-want me to go? I-I can go- I should go. Shit, Sorry again.”

“S-s-stay?”

“What?” Carmen's pretty sure he heard wrong, after all he just caused you to meltdown from his social awkwardness.

“S-stay?” you say more clearly. You don't know why you ask it, let alone how it crawls out of your crying, shaking self. Its been so long sense you've been near someone else even a little close to you so maybe that's it. He stops for a minute looking down at you as you look up at him still crying. “Please?”

“... O-okay.”

He isn't sure why he stays, or why he sits down next to you while you cry, but he does. The apartment is quiet outside of you sniffles and the occasional sob but carmen stays put. Neither of you realize how much you've started leaning towards each other until your head is lightly lying on his shoulder. You’ve mostly stopped crying now but your face is still wet and your eyes are puffy.

He isn't sure what to say, with his mom asking if you were okay was off limits. It made everything worse. It lead to screaming and yelling and throwing things. He thinks about what someone normal, someone like Stevie, or Pete, or Natalie, what they would ask someone they hardly know if they saw them having a panic attack and decides to just do it, praying you’d be somewhat normal compared to his mother.

“You-you okay?” you'd almost forgot he was there, even if you were leaning on him, and sat up straighter, wiping your face.

“Yea, I’m-I’m sorry dinners ruined and for getting like that,” you say. Tears of embarrassment springing up at knowing that this (basically) stranger saw you cry.

“No no your fine-your cool,” he can feel panic rising again at making you cry again. “No no no offense but I-I was kinda in the mood for pizza anyways.” He's only partly lying, he wanted a home cooked meal but the pizza place he passed on his way here smelled greasy and amazing on his empty stomach.

“Are you sure? I still have the kitchen to clean and I just don't want you all to think that I don't care o-or anything that i-its our last dinner before you guys go back to Chicago for Christmas and I just-”

“Yea, your fine , its fine if we have pizza, I’ll text Michelle to grab it on their way over, they wont mind.”

“Okay…” you mumble, caving in on the choice of pizza and leaning your head back on the cabinet behind you. Carmens already pulling his phone out of his pocket when he spots the new texts from Stevie and Michelle on his lock screen.

Stevie: ‘Sorry gang, we dont think we can make it tonight, we still have a lot to pack 😕’

Michelle: ‘Yea I’m sorry i know its so close to dinner but maybe you two can get along without us????’

Michelle: ‘Sorry again lovelies xoxo 😘’

Michelle: ‘Dont be a dick carm 💛😘’

“Well fuck,” Carmen mumbled. He was now on his own to make conversation. “Looks like its just us for dinner. ‘Said they still have packing to do.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say. Of course the universe would have the only two people you could actually converse with busy on the one night you were meant to see them.

“Yea…” Carmen wasn't sure how to proceed. Does he leave cause the only bridge between you both isn't showing? Does he stay because he already committed to dinner? God he feels so awkward.

“Well we could still get pizza?” you ask. “I mean you came all this way so it kinda feels like a waste.”

“You sure?”

“Yea, I mean I still gotta clean the kitchen but theres a place around the corner thats amazing after crying,” you say with a bit of a laugh to help bring up the awkward mood.

“Let me help you and we can go?” he suggests, already rising to his feet and offering you a hand.

“Are you sure? I mean the chicken I think is welded on there at this point,” you say. As your taking his hand and he pulls you to stand from your floor, you see his forearms flex and your mind short circuits as you look probably a second longer than you need to at the muscles and veins there. Luckily he doesn't notice because he's already turning and grabbing the now cool baking sheet with the chicken on it.

“Yea it’ll go faster, I think I can get this off too,” Carmen quickly took charge of washing the bowls, cutting boards, and other kitchen utensils you had pulled out in your frenzy to cook dinner on time.

In nearly no time at all the kitchen was clean and the two of you had left for the pizza parlor a block away. While yes the cleaning was a little awkward, the noise of the city on the walk made making any conversation difficult, meaning neither of you had to talk or struggle to make conversation.

“Pepperoni good?” Carmen asked as the two of you stood awkwardly next to each other, both of your jackets zipped all the way up thanks to the near unbearable cold outside.

“Y-yea, they make bomb garlic knots too if you want some,” you responded, skimming over the menu even though you already knew what the plan was.

“C-cool, um,” Carmen looked around the small shop, there was just the counter and a cooler for drinks, no seating. The place reminded him of the beef, dingy, and not that healthy, but god damn was this about to be the best food he could ever get. “Did you want to go back to your place? Cause… cause there's no tables and stuff…” Carmen cringed at the awkward way the words came out.

“Yea if that's good with you?” you said taking a step forward, the two of you would look at each other before looking away, as if the tiled flooring was so interesting. You decided to take a page out of Stevie’s book, he was better with people than you were so you prayed the attempted joke would land. “I mean we could eat out in the cold if your more comfortable?” A smile pressed its way onto Carmen’s face and you considered that a victory.

“Yea no, I love eating outside when its about to snow,” he snickered. “Reminds me of home.” You both shifted closer as the people in front of you pushed pass you both to leave with their pizzas. As you both stepped up to the counter Carmen was faster than you in not only placing the order, a large peperoni with a side of garlic knots, but also whipping out his wallet and paying, you on the other hand had barely stumbled out a hello and barely started shifting your bag to get out your own wallet by the time he was done.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled as you both stepped off to the side to wait.

“Yea well, its cool I got the money,” Carmen added. You only partly doubted it, he worked at the highest rated restaurant in the world but also lived in New York so it kinda balanced out. You both distracted yourselves for a few minuets looking at your phones, you taking to a word search game and Carmen playing the fun game of ‘who is this and why do I have their number?’ with his contacts. It felt a little more relaxing compared to earlier, more like the same air you both got when Stevie and Michelle would leave the room at your normal dinners, not pressured to talk but liking the fact another person was next to you.

“Order 447!” you and carmen both jumped as the number was yelled through the small shop. Carmen stepped forward and took the box and bag from the worker, turning to you, where you grabbed the bag and began to head out before he got up the words to protest that he's got it.

Luckily the only awkward part of the walk back to your apartment was the elevator ride up. As you both stepped into your apartment you were both greeted by the loud yelling of your cat as she rounded the corner to yell at you for leaving for a whole 30 minuets.

“Yea yea your fine baby,” you told her as you took the pizza from Carmen. “You good with just sitting on the couch? I don't want to do anymore kitchen cleaning.”

“Heard,” Carmen carmen said as he took off his jacket. He was looking down at the feline weaving between his legs and bent down to let her sniff him so he could pet her, instead she smelt him and abruptly ran back deeper in the apartment and he smiled a little at the cat, following it with his eyes to you coming out of the kitchen with two cans of coke, paper plates, and paper towels. Something in him stirred at the mundane and domestic sight but he waved it off as more anxiety.

“Wait-shit-your not allergic to cats are you?” you asked panicked.

“N-no,” Carmen's voice broke a little as he said it and he cleared his throat. “No… My, um, my mom never let us have one when I was a kid, something about the furniture. I always wanted one though.” Why’d his voice break like that? Why’d he bring up his mom? Fuck now he's gonna have to explain everything.

“Cool-cool,” you were turning to head deeper into the apartment again and Carmen followed, getting a better look at the place now that he wasn't rushing to the kitchen. “That's Mince, cause when I got her she was tiny and I wasn't thinking ahead.” He took in the living room, a nice, small sectional couch with a blanket over the back was against one wall, and a tv with bookcases full of nick-nacks and heavy looking books with holiday lights around it. The center of the room had a buttery carpet and the coffee table with the pizza and garlic knots on it.

“Make yourself at home,” you added. You’d never felt more aware of your actions than now, as Carmen looked at more of your space with posters and pictures around it and you were just trying to tell yourself to act normal. He took in the dining table with four perfectly mismatched chairs that was tucked into a corner on the other side of the wall from the kitchen. Mince catches his attention from the couch, batting at his hand from her spot on the arm rest. He again goes to pet her only for her to skip off and run to the opposite end where you are. Carmen finally takes a seat on the couch, the two of you as far as you could be. You both dig into the pizza and Carmen can’t help but think about how good it is.

“Fuck,” he groaned. It definitely compensates for the shitty morning he had and the rollercoaster of emotions he felt around you.

“Right?” you said through a smile. You were turning on the tv and poking around for something to watch.

“‘S so fucking good,” he said through another bite. “Chicago is still better though.” he mumbled.

“Fuck off,” you finally settled on Bobs Burgers that you left off on. You both ate in a mostly comfortable silence, focusing on the show and avoiding looking at each other. Once you felt you were full you settled back into the couch, and glanced at carmen sitting in your space, he had made himself more comfortable, and he looked nice there, leaned up against the arm of the couch with one arm draped over the back of the couch fiddling with a part of the blanket and his legs spread wide. You shifted your focus back to the television not wanting to make it more weird.

“So… did you finish packing already?” you settled on conversation to distract you from the thought of crawling into his lap. “For Chicago I mean.”

“Oh um,” Carmen was a little startled by the sudden conversation, but fuck it you already cried in front of him today, it was his turn to share. “N-no I’m just staying here, rather not watch my mom drive the car through a wall and my brother fight my uncle again.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Steve had told you some of what happened that Christmas, mainly summarized as a big blowout of a fight between Michelle’s cousin Mikey and her kinda-uncle Lee, and her aunt Donna driving her car through the living room. God why'd you bring this up? He probably didn't want to talk about it. “Did you have any plans then?” Please let this be a decent change of topic you think.

“Just work, go home, smoke and eat, sleep, just like the last two years,” he says with a sigh. “Wh-What about you?”

“No, I was just gonna stay in and watch some movies.” Carmen answers with an affirming ‘hm’, not wanting to overstep and ask more questions. Even with the both of you wanting to talk more, neither of you know how to go from here. You turn you attention back to the television as Carmen turns his head a little to quietly observe you.

Curled up in the corner of the couch in a cozy, old, and ratty sweatshirt with some leggings and fuzzy holiday grippy socks, hair down, and face still a little puffy from the winter air and your tears, but still beautiful in the darkening light of your apartment, mundanely so. Not a supermodel ripped from the cover of vogue, or an unobtainable influencer with hair and makeup perfectly placed for pictures. You look like you belong there. You look real. Cozy and warm on your couch with the lights from the streets down below hitting you just so. Home he thinks, before quickly turning his attention back to the tv. Its not like he’d ever have a shot with you anyways, he’s always too busy, or too angry, or too much of an asshole in general. Where’d all of those thoughts even come from? He hardly ever felt at home with anyone, especially outside of the kitchen.

As the show plays on the two of you get lost in it and enjoying the act of being alone together, occasionally steeling glances at each other. You find yourself kind of liking being with him, not necessarily talking or interacting but the feeling of another person in the same room as you feels nice. Carmen won't say it but he's enjoying himself too. The show and coziness of your apartment make him feel relaxed more than his barren dingy apartment ever could, and the abundance of stuff artfully placed helps give him something to look at and think on rather than get lost in his anxiety and self doubt. Why does she have a Halloween decoration out its December…right? He thinks. Your both trying to think on how to ask for what you want but you beat him too it. Probably because you grew up with Steve and his weird ball of encouragement always on your side.

“Did you want to hang out? On Christmas I mean,” you finally get the courage to ask. Phew, not that bad.

“I mean I-I don't want to intrude,” Carmen starts. “Plus I have work the next day.”

“You could sleepover? If-if you want,” you prepose. “We can still smoke, eat, and sleep if you want. All the traditions you enjoy, a-and I don’t think I’m far from the line you need?”

You definitely aren't. In fact your apartment is somehow on a faster route to work than his own. The only reason you know is because of the Bake It Nice pop up bakery Eleven Madison Park does once a month that you always try to make time for. Carmen thinks on it for a second, and your sure he's looking for a way to let you down nicely.

“You sure your okay with me leaving at 5:00 in the morning?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” you say with a smile, and something in Carmen stirs. “Plus I can pass the fuck out again when you leave anyways.” he smiles at that, still unsure what feeling he's having right now, but he likes it.

“Okay,” he says and you both return you attention back to the show smiling like children. Your legs a little more outstretched towards carmen and his body begging to sink further into your couch. Relaxing to the feeling of you.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #jeremy allen white

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drpepperbloodlinewrites · 20 days

Text

: A Drop of Blood .

This was based on various Creepypasta AU's I saw, more specifically @crushedsweets and @necroromantics, and I decided "yo, that's fucking AWESOME- what if I made my own AU??"

BUT BEFORE READING MY INTERP, READ THEIRS BECAUSE BOTH OF THEM ARE FUCKING AWESOME WORKS OF ART !!

So, erm... anyway!

Hopefully, you guys end up fucking with it and I don't end up getting jumped in the comments or something lmao. That'd be a real woe-is-me situation, amirite??

Synopsis: A disease that never leaves once it gets ahold of you, a being so cold it makes you want to cry around it. An entity unforgiving with so much influence and so many pawns, where do they all lie in between it?

General Content Warning: darker versions of characters (whoopsie daisy), implied manipulation/gore/cannibalism- darker topics all around concerning characters. Depression/ Suicide heavily went into detail in Anneliese’s (OC) section.

Notes: I just wanted to generally post my interpretation/ The AU I made/ follow, it’s still a WIP, but I sincerely do hope you guys enjoy what I have so far. When I say relationships I don’t necessarily mean romantic, it can be platonic, etc. Besides, NOBODY ends up getting together in my AU simply because I do not want them to, lol. (Outside of Jane and her wife, Mary, ofc.)

And YES, we're posting this in chapters because this is already up to 15 pages long on Google Docs and I don't want to scare you guys away with my yap sessions. 😭😭

And YES, I added OC's- WHO'S STOPPING ME?! I CAN BE SHAMELESS IF I WANT TO ON MY BLOG! (Don't worry- if you aren't too keen on OC's, all their information is at the /very/ end, and you don't need to read it if you don't want to for the general gist of my AU/Interp.)

All of the Creepypastas/Proxies in this blog belong to their original creator, I am just adding my own take on the character/ HC's onto them and am NOT trying to endorse these characters as my own. This is all an AU I made with my spin-off of these characters who've been plaguing my mind since 2014ish. The only characters that belong to me are my own OC's.

If any Creepypasta creator pm's me and wants me to get rid of my interp of their character I will gladly do so, as the creator's wants/ boundaries outweigh my silly little AU.

Date Posted: O4.1O.24

Date Updated: OO.OO.OO, (bound to change)

Chapters;

O1. The Operator

O2. The “Hosts”/ Proxies

O3. The “Influenced”/ Creepypastas

O4. Zalgo/ The Zalgoids (WIP, aka not touched on at all because I don't know where they fit into the plot/timeline yet.)

O5. Relationships

O6. OC's and their link-ins into the story

O7. Headcanons (sue me)

O1. The Operator

The Operator is a being like a disease located all around the inner depths of the woods- he doesn’t have a form (more on that later) and can infect people to work like mindless zombies underneath him due to him slowly gnawing/ eating at their brain like a parasite. He doesn’t /ever/ step outside of the inner woods, so therefore he relies on “hosts” (proxies in my interpretation) to wander outside the inner woods/ outside in general.

He chews away and eats at their brains until they don't know what life was like until they started working for him, memories disappearing day by day as you're only forced to move on and go forward and try not to focus on how you can barely remember to do simple tasks outside of killing.

He doesn't have a form since he's a disease, a parasite that causes you to slowly have avid hallucinations of him- but it's not actually him, just something your mind came up with to explain what's happening to you.

And just like any disease, there are stages to the “Operator Sickness.” (There's no name for the disease he gives you, so that's what Brian and Tim came up with and everyone stuck by considering they were the first of the group to be "influenced", nonetheless "hosts".)

You cannot contract the sickness out of nowhere/ just because you’re in the woods. The Operator doesn’t go for just run-of-the-mill people, who usually target those who are already emotionally vulnerable and already feeling homicidal. He does not target anyone else because he deems them as useless for his cause.

1- static begins to form around electronics in your house, occasionally you might see some shadows move in the corners of your vision and feel a slight loss of appetite over time, but nothing too extreme.

2- you start to not want to eat at all, paranoia slowly begins to seep into your being as you /swear/ your electronics are whispering something to you among the static. It’s bad, but not terrible to the point you’ve completely snapped, although your sanity is slowly deteriorating day by day. You begin to have nosebleeds occasionally, but not too frequent to the point it’s concerning.

3- you’re more snappy, you begin to hear voices in your head urging you to kill- paranoia has taken complete control over your life and you begin to see hints of /HIM/ forming among the static in your electronics. You begin to form hallucinations and swear to see/HIM/ despite there being nothing there. Nosebleeds and vomiting up blood are occasional, but not frequent in this stage. You also begin to have avid nightmares about The Operator, which are so vivid they can’t help but feel real.

4- nosebleeds and vomiting up blood nearly happen every single day, you see /HIM/ everywhere you go, in every corner of a room you’re in. The voices are speaking to you nearly every second of the day, you don’t want to eat but when you finally do you vomit it all up again. You hear /HIM/ speaking to you, motioning you to the woods, and urging you to “give in to your desires” of harming the people you love. There’s no going back once you reach this point, and if you don’t harm yourself or others- you’re going to be quick to go. He doesn’t mind killing those who are useless to him or provide him no gain, after all.

He is not kind, he is not a parental unit or a father figure to his “hosts” or “influenced”, he just sees them as people he can use for his benefit. He does not care about them or share empathy/ sympathy with them- he is a looming threat to anyone who dares to enter his woods, and more specifically his “hosts” since he influences them/ has more influence over them. At will he can psychologically target them/ torture them, breaking their mind into shreds as he forces them to /remember/ their past, only to make them forget, only for them to remember- a grueling process that can make anyone go mad. And the worst thing is, he can do it whenever and how long he pleases- never backing off until he feels that they’re sufficiently tortured, to make it a “lesson” out of all things if his “hosts” or anyone under his influence dare to go against him.

He talks in whispers, in a calm collected tone throughout your mind- but with cool intentions, a looming threat in every word he speaks which subconsciously influences you to hold fear to him, to feel the need to comply unless you wish to end up with a fate worse than death.

In my interpretation, my “hosts” have either completely forgotten about their past, (Toby and Kate), or remember it- but not by much other than big events that happened. (Eyeless Jack, Tim/Masky, and Brian/Hoodie.) He’s a parasite that eats away at your brain and takes your memories with him in the process of doing so, he slowly deteriorates his “host’s” and “influenced” brains over time until they’re nothing but a shell of the person they once were.

As I briefly mentioned earlier, he does not have a physical form due to being a parasite. He is more a hallucination caused by the psychological damage he does to those he affects, he does exist- but just not on a physical plane of thought and more so a psychological parasite that harms those it gets into contact with. Because of that + your deteriorating sanity, it's easy for him to make you hallucinate what he is + what he looks like even if he doesn't exist.

i.e. The Operator will be a good distance between Toby and him, and to the public eye, he doesn’t exist. But Toby will be talking to what he thinks to be The Operator in a psychologically tormented state causing him to have avid hallucinations, but nobody will be there.

The Operator does exist, but kind of hides away and doesn't go out to check on those he's tormenting unless he direly /needs/ to. (i.e. if Masky and Toby keep on messing up a very dire mission The Operator placed them under, then he goes out of his way to see them.)

Because of this, he doesn't really have a form or stick to one- usually busy on the move to try and infect as many people as possible.

Subpoint A: The Background

The Operator has been rumored to exist for hundreds of thousands of centuries, no one really knowing the origin for such an entity who can break those it comes into contact with- and those who were able to come into contact with it merely lost their memories of the interaction or didn't live to tell the tale.

Rumor has it that The Operator began in Latin America in Brazil, in 1897- found luring small children from their parents into the woods for them to never be seen again. But then it got more morbid, twisted, even as children came back from the woods never looking the same- not remembering anything at all about them and their parents, or the topics they were taught in school. They wouldn't smile about their favorite toy like they used to, instead they'd stare with a nonchalant face and would shrug their shoulders before going back to aimlessly staring at the woods.

Parents obviously got concerned and began to take their children to the doctor, where the only guess to do at the time was a lobotomy in a feeble attempt to "fix" the child.

Nothing would change and their child would only be /slightly/ altered, causing parents to grow steadily enraged and paranoid- all this was taken to a point where REDACTED and REDACTED led a rally to march into the woods and take down whatever had been harming their children.

REDACTED left with 12 men, all of them being fathers and marched into the woods- never to be seen again, one of the fathers being the only one to come out from the voyage nearing a whole month later.

He looked /terrified/, and paranoid and was seen to be acting erratic- covered in blood and insisting on things that weren't there, scaring away anybody who got too close. He ended up being thrown into the mental ward, and REDACTED took it upon themself to find the remaining men.

REDACTED left in the early morning and wouldn't come back until noon, bloodied and holding on by a thread- grabbing their notebook and drawing a simple stick figure with no face before dying shortly after.

And that's when the rumor began- that anyone who dared to get too close or too in-depth into the woods was like walking into death, and anybody who dared to do so would die.

Subpoint B: The Location

Rosswood Park is where The Operator is usually located, nobody knows why or how- but assumption is because the people of Brazil became so aware of him he couldn't infect anymore people, he had to go somewhere else to find new victims who hadn't even heard of him.

So what better then in North America in Alabama, in a park nobody would suspects an old parasite to be residing.

In a park where nobody from a movie-in-the-making could even assume something was wrong.

(OH YEAH, DIRECT LINK IN INTO MARBLE HORNETS BABY- WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPINESS?! 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️)

He's a parasite that could roam between woods at will, especially the inner depths- but he just generally prefers RossWood Park because there's always a bunch of prey there waiting to be infected, and also because he generally has the most amount of "influence" there with all of his "hosts"/ "influenced" there.

If he's not seen in Alabama, he's usually seen in Maine for their looming forests that stretch out miles long.

"A drop of blood .

A twinge of thyme .

A charcoal feather .

A circle with an X .

And a sin to confess ,

All these lead us to an eternal abyss .

No eyes, always watching .

Can't run, can't hide, and can't scream,

Or else It'll take you . "

LAST WORDS OF REDACTED, DIED ON DECEMBER 15TH, 1897.

#creepypasta #slenderverse #creepypasta fandom #slenderman #Vladi-WritesStuff #marble hornets

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aceofstars16 · 6 months

Text

Here we go! I finished the cover the same day I finished the rough draft of the fic, and now I edited the next chapter and posted it!

You can read the whole thing on AO3!

But I will also include the next chapter under the cut here in case you don't want to use AO3 (though I don't have the energy to find the previous chapters on here, there are links to the tumblr posts on AO3 though!)

Chapter 8 - Old Food and Old Friends

Tensions rise as Ford realizes he may need help in fixing the time machine.

Darkness. It was everywhere, sticking to everything. Ford could feel it, clinging to him, trying to suffocate him, to pull him under. And it was succeeding. Laughter echoed around him, laughter that he had heard for weeks on end, mocking him for his stupidity.

“Just leave me alone for one minute!” He screamed, knowing it wouldn’t do anything, but unable to face the suffocating darkness anymore.

“Fine. I can make it on my own! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!”

The darkness vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by the light of a lamp, sitting on a desk that Ford hadn’t seen in ages. Tires screeched outside of the closed curtains. Curtains he had closed only a few moments ago, or at least – that’s what his mind told him. In reality, it had been years ago, but dreams had a way of making everything seem real again.

Glancing down at the pamphlet in his hands, Ford let out a sigh, desperately wanting to throw it in the corner of the room for all the good it did him. That dream was gone, ruined by a brother who couldn’t let go of a childish fantasy that hadn’t been a possibility for ages.

Ruining lives, that’s what Stan did.

The thought came out of nowhere. It was almost in line with his own feelings, his own thoughts and emotions. But something about it wasn’t quite right.

Stan only cares about his own dreams; he never wanted you to succeed.

Anger rushed through Ford at the thought, but he couldn’t figure out if he was mad at himself for thinking it, or at Stan or…at something else. That unsettling feeling. He knew it, but his brain seemed to be failing him, as if something was stopping him from identifying it.

You can’t trust Stan. You can’t trust anyone.

Fiddleford leaving, townsfolk starring at him. Something about their eyes sent a chill down his spine.

You are the only one you can rely on, everyone else will fail you.

Right…that’s what he had learned. If he ever wanted to succeed, he could only trust himself. He had to do it himself, had to fix it. No matter how hard it was, not matter how lonely…

That’s right. Besides, you don’t need anyone. You are strong enough on your own.

“You are going to change the world one day.”

Pa was looking at him. It was the last time Ford had ever seen him, at some celebration that must not have been very important because every inch of the background was blurry.

“I…”

“You’ll make me proud. You’ll be someone. You’ll change the world.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s back. He didn’t know why, but something felt…wrong.

Then it was gone and Pa nodded and walked away.

One blink, and he was back in reality, staring at the ceiling of his cabin in Gravity Falls. He was shivering, and his head was throbbing, he didn’t feel sick, just…off.

Coffee, that’s what he needed. Caffeine always helped clear his head. Did he have any coffee left? Only one way to find out.

Sit up, swing his legs over the edge of the bed. That’s what he told himself to do, but his limbs didn’t respond, not because of exhaustion, but because something was keeping him there.

Panic overcame him and he started pulling, trying to yank his hands free. His muddled brain was still half in the dream, still feeling like something was there, just out of sight.

Bill.

The thought washed over him and his brain slowly recalled the last time he had been conscious, and the agreement he had come to with Stan. Tie him up. Right. But now he was stuck, and despite rationalizing that he must not have done anything since he was still tied up, the anxiety that had sparked a moment ago grew at the inability to move.

Turning his head as much as he could, another flash of anxiety hit him when he didn’t see Stan anywhere?

“Stanley?”

No response.

Oh gosh, what if Bill had taken over…what if…

“Stanley?!?”

“Huh, what?”

A second later, Stan was stumbling to his feet, looking around quickly, as if ready for a fight.

“Were…were you sleeping???” Ford stared at Stan with his uncovered eye, his worry being replaced by annoyance. After everything Ford had said, Stan had slept?

“Uh, just closed my eyes for a bit that’s all,” Stand said, his shoulders relaxing a little as he looked at Ford, but he almost immediately looked away again.

“You were supposed to be keeping an eye out on things!” Ford couldn’t help the outburst. He had trusted Stan and what did he go and do? Sleep.

“I was! And nothing happened, okay?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You haven’t moved an inch.” Anger flashed in Stan’s eyes for a moment, but almost immediately fizzled out. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to go check on the kids even though nothing happened to them because you didn’t move.”

“Wait.”

“What? I told you-”

“I’m still tied up…” Ford said, trying to move his hand as if to prove that he was stuck and needed some help if he wanted to do anything.

“Oh…right.”

It only took a few minutes - minutes of complete silence aside from Stan mumbling under his breath as he struggled with one of the knots - but soon, Ford was able to move freely again.

Rubbing his wrists, which were slightly scuffed up from the ropes, he let out a breath, knowing he should thank Stan, but when he looked up, his brother had already left. Okay then…guess no thank you was needed. Or Stan just really didn’t want to be around Ford.

The back of Ford’s neck prickled as his dream came back to him. It was Bill, that was the only explanation. He was messing with him. But glancing at the ropes, he felt doubt creeping into his mind. Stan had come, he had tied Ford up, but he also didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation. Of Bill and his plans. Not that Ford had been able to explain too much but deep down, he couldn’t help but wonder…could he really trust his brother?

------

Stan shut the door, not fazed by the loud banging it created. Who cared if Ford got mad? Stan hadn’t done anything wrong; nothing had happened. But the words that his brother – or really the creature controlling him – had spoken rang in his mind. Why had Ford sent him the post card?

Shaking his head, Stan pushed the thought away. Considering Ford’s reaction upon waking, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk to Stan. And Stan wasn’t in the mood to talk to him either. He’d rather talk to his other family members. Which, to be honest, he was still trying to wrap his head around, but it did make some sense seeing as Mabel had been so keen to stay with him and trust him so quickly.

As he walked into the living room, he saw the kids. They were talking quietly and Stan ignored the memories that popped into his mind of him and Ford as kids. They had shared everything with each other back then, back when they trusted each other. But not anymore. Those kids were long gone.

“Stan!”

Mabel grinned at him and Stan couldn’t hold back a smile. “Hey, kiddo.” He glanced at Dipper - the brother that she had tried so hard to find again - and ignored the pang of hurt that came with knowing Ford had never searched for him like Mabel had for her brother.

“How’s Ford?” Dipper asked.

“I’m fine.”

Stan opened his mouth, only to be cut off when his brother walked into the room. Despite not wanting to, Stan found himself glancing at him, but Ford didn’t return the gaze, he just walked to the table where they had left the time machine, plopping down some tools before fiddling around with it. He still looked tired, but at least he wasn’t a second away from collapsing anymore.

Letting out a breath, Stan caught sight of Mabel looking at him questioningly, but he just smiled. “How’d you sleep, kiddo?”

Mabel glanced at Dipper, who was watching Ford cautiously. “Good.”

“Glad to have your brother back, huh?”

“Yeah…how are you and Ford-” She started, but Stan cut her off before she could finish her question.

“Hey, you know what, I’m kind of hungry. Want to help me rummage up some food?” Stan grinned and started heading out of the room.

A moment later, Mabel was next to him, grabbing his hand to lead him despite him knowing where the kitchen was - though he supposed she didn't know he had been there last night. “It’s this way, but there isn’t much food. Me and Dipper could only find some crackers last night.”

“I’m sure we can find something.” Stan said, hoping it was true. At this point, he was starving - the handful of crackers he ate last night had barely been a snack, let alone a filling meal. And while sleep had helped a little with his exhaustion, he knew food would help even more.

They rummaged around in the kitchen for a while, but Mabel was right, there wasn’t any food left, at least not anything edible. Why didn’t Ford have any food? Sure, he definitely wasn’t in his right mind, but it was still concerning.

“Ew.” Mabel made a face as she sniffed a pack of cheese in the fridge.

Stan chuckled, more to cover over his unease than out of amusement. “Yeah…I’m thinking a trip to the store is in order.”

“What about the snow?”

Frowning, Stan walked to the window. Snow was covering most of the sill, but he could see outside. “I think it’s calmed down some. It should be safe enough to drive.”

“Maybe we can all go to the store! A family outing!”

This time, the laugh that escaped Stan’s mouth was genuine. Mabel sure had a way of bringing excitement and joy to any situation, even one as…confusing as theirs. And Stan was grateful for it. “Yeah, maybe so.”

------

Dipper was vaguely aware of Mabel and Stan leaving the room, but he didn’t follow. Sure, Ford said he was fine and he did seem a little more coherent than before but after the encounter with Bill…

Shaking his head, Dipper focused on what Ford was doing. He was using some small tools to try to fit the time machine back together. If anyone could fix it, the author could…well, at least if he was at the top of his game.

“Ford?”

For a moment, Dipper thought he hadn’t heard him, but then Ford sighed, though he didn’t look away from his project. “Yes?”

“You look uh…”

Ford glanced at him for a second, and Dipper suddenly felt embarrassed, but he was curious about what had happened last night.

“It looks like you slept, but you told me that when you did, Bill would…”

Waving with his hand, Ford focused back on the measuring tape. “He didn’t. Stan tied me up, so Bill didn’t do anything.” For a moment, Ford’s eyes narrowed and he muttered under his breath, but Dipper still heard it. “At least I don’t think he did.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Dipper scooted slightly away from Ford and unfortunately Ford looked up right as he did. For a split second, Dipper saw guilt cross his face, but then it vanished.

“Apparently Stan fell asleep at some point too.” Ford’s gaze hardened as he returned focus on his work before muttering to himself again. “But I suppose if something had happened, I wouldn’t have still been tied up when I awoke.”

Dipper frowned. Ford and Stan’s relationship seemed…strained, to say the least. And sure, Stan from the future wasn’t always the most trustworthy guy, but…he didn’t seem too bad. And this 80s Stan seemed fine too. So why was Ford so cold towards him? Sure, he had been brash with Dipper at first but Stan was his brother, not only that but his twin.

“Ford?”

Ford didn’t look up from his work. “I need to focus, if I want to fix this.” His voice had an edge to it, which immediately set off Dipper’s anxiety.

“Oh…right…” Dipper fiddled with his hands, not wanting to anger Ford further. But after a few moments, curiosity got the better of him. “Are you mad at Stan?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ford took a deep breath, then opened them again before continuing his work. Despite expecting it, Dipper was still disappointed. He had so many questions about what had happened to create the future he knew, but if he didn’t know anything about the past, he wouldn’t be able to answer them.

“Yes.”

Dipper sat up straight at the word. Ford still wasn’t looking at him, but the frustration on his face was evident.

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Ford muttered.

“But he’s here. Wait, why is he here?” Dipper was hit with the realization that he didn’t know how Stan had even known how to get to Gravity Falls. Unless he lived here too, but from Ford’s interactions with him, that seemed unlikely.

“Because I asked him to come… Gah!”

Dipper jumped as Ford threw his screwdriver on the table. “Wh-”

“This blasted thing doesn’t make sense. If I had some blueprints, I might be able to figure it out. But this machinery is too complex even for me.” Ford glared at the time machine.

Dread grew in the pit of Dipper’s stomach. “You…you can’t fix it?”

For a moment, Ford was quiet, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he straightened up, only to deflate again. “I…don’t think I can…but…I might know someone who…could help.”

“Really?” For a moment, Dipper was confused, then he remembered the journal and he straightened up. “Wait, your assistant? He’s good with machines, right?”

Ford glanced at him and sighed. “Yes, I just…have to find him.”

“You don’t know where he is?” The hope that had grown in Dipper’s chest deflated.

“I…have a few ideas...I just hope he’ll actually talk to me this time.”

------

“Absolutely not.” Ford frowned at Mabel and Stan, who had just asked about going into town together to get food.

Mabel felt disappointment worming its way into her chest, but she pushed it back. “Why not? It’ll be fun!”

Ford stared at her for a moment, as if she was some kind of puzzle. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not going to leave the por-my house without supervision.”

“What, you don’t have a lock?” Stan grumbled.

The glare that Ford shot at Stan was painful to look at, despite it not even being directed at her. “I’m not leaving my work for anyth-one to mess with.”

“You mean the big thing in the basement?” Mabel asked, which she regretted as Ford shot her a suspicious look.

“How do you-?”

“Dipper told me.”

Ford glanced at Dipper who looked at him sheepishly. Sighing, Ford shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t want to leave the house unsupervised.”

“Okay, fine, then I can just go with the kids and-” Stan started but Ford quickly held up his hand.

“Unfortunately, I need to go into town myself.”

“Why? Don’t trust us to get the right food?” Stan countered.

For a moment, Ford just glared at Stan, and Mabel hated how icy his look was.

“No, I have to find someone if we want a chance at fixing the time machine and I’m the only one who knows him. And where to find him.”

Stan made a dismissive sound, but before he could say anything, Mabel piped in, not wanting Stan to get even more annoyed. “How about we split up!”

Everyone turned to look at her and Mabel gave her biggest grin. “Me and Dipper can go with Ford and Stan can stay to watch things.”

Mabel tried her best not to be disappointed when she saw the deep frown that grew on Ford’s face.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I should just go into town myself and-”

“Oh yeah, it’s not like you’re seriously sleep deprived or anything,” Stan muttered.

“Well, if you-”

“Hold up!” Dipper raised his voice, and Mabel had a feeling that he wasn’t a huge fan of the brothers arguing either. “Why can’t me and Mabel go with Ford while Stan stays here to watch the house?”

A grin grew on Mabel’s face and she gave Dipper a thumbs up at his support of her plan. As much as she hated the idea of leaving Stan, she couldn’t help but feel excited to have some quality time with Dipper and maybe figure out what was going on between Stan and Ford.

“I suppose it could work but...I’m still not a fan of it…” Ford glanced at Stan for a moment, and unfortunately Stan saw it.

“What, you don’t think I can sit in a house?” Stan deadpanned.

Clutching his hands behind his back, Ford’s gaze flickered away from Stan. “No, it’s not that it’s just…there are things that you don’t understand, and if anything went wrong…”

“You don’t trust me.” It was an accusation, but Mabel didn’t miss the hurt that crossed Stan’s face.

“I didn’t…look we’re wasting time. I’ll just go into town.” Ford glanced at Mabel. “You can come if you’d like, but Dipper has more experience with supernatural occurrences so he should stay here in case anything…happens.”

Stan opened his mouth, probably about to argue some point, but Mabel quickly jumped in. “Sounds good to me!” In reality, she would rather Dipper go with her or she stay with Stan, but she was tired of the arguing and it wasn’t the worst solution.

“Are you sure, Mabel?” Stan asked, glancing at his brother with uncertainty.

Dipper was looking at her in concern too, but she just grinned and looked at Ford. “Yup! It’ll be fun!”

For a moment, Ford just stared at her, then sighed. “Alright then, we should get going.” He held out his hand towards Stan.

For a moment, Stan looked confused, then understanding crossed his face and he sighed, reluctantly pulling out his keys. “You better not crash her Ford; I know your luck with cars. And with that eyepatch you’re bound to be even worse.”

Grabbing the keys, Ford let out a huff. “I still know how to drive, Stanley. And I can still see. Come along, Mabel.”

Mabel gave her brother and grunkle a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him. We’ll be back soon!” Then she headed after the author. Sure, she didn’t really know him, and he did seem a little…cold, but it would totally be fine! It was just an opportunity to get to know Ford. And maybe, just maybe, she could get him to tell her what was going on between him and Stan so she could help fix it.

#trapped in the past #timtrapped au #timestuck au #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #pines family #aceo writes things #(was that a tag i used? i do not remember it's been so long...)#aceo draws things

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softshrimpy · 9 months

Text

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 10: Accusations and Heartache

Summary: Working at the Weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

Two chapters in one day? A treat...a hurt-filled treat... BUT A TREAT. Also the icon @misssmephisto really just about wrote this chapter so pls give her all the love and thanks. She has the sexiest brain🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402 @the-bagel24 @eveymay @kimiinou @muffintopxs @h-doodles @bbykens @lilfartbox1 @bigolgay @winterfireblond

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 9

Cross Posted on AO3 here

HTWAHP Masterlist

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Larissa had been working nonstop since the night of the Rave’n. Eugene had been admitted to the hospital shortly after Yoko had burst through the office doors. He was barely alive when they found him and had been stuck in a coma since. The doctors were able to stitch his wounds but whether he’d pull through was still unknown. You could tell she was stressed out, you honestly would’ve been way worse if you were in her situation.

You hadn’t seen her much in the last two days, she was almost always holed up in her office either on the phone, stuck in meetings or answering emails. You still brought her her morning coffee, but where before she would chat with you and give you a sweet little kiss, now she at best acknowledges you with an apologetic smile and more often was so busy she would barely notice you were there.

Her actions hurt more than you were willing to admit to yourself. You knew you weren’t the reason for her late nights and cold shoulder but a large nagging part of your brain couldn’t help but carry some guilt with your inability to help her.

But tonight would be different. After stewing in your emotions all morning, you decided on one way you could help. You left straight after your shift at the Weathervane to pick up ingredients and then rushed home to start cooking. You thought making her a nice, home-cooked dinner could help, she definitely needed a break and she probably hadn’t eaten very well in the last few days.

You managed to get everything ready in record time, packed it into a container and set off to Larissa’s. You knew she was stuck in a meeting until late tonight so you had plenty of time to get to her quarters and set everything up.

Everything was looking great. You had set up a cute little candle-lit dinner, complete with Larissa’s favourite wine and a fancy store-bought dessert. You somehow timed it so well that just as you were finishing up you heard Larissa enter her office. You check everything over once again and then peek your head through the door to her office.

She’s sitting at her desk, frowning at something on her laptop. She looks exhausted, more exhausted than you’ve ever seen her. Her shoulders are so tense they look like they may snap and the bags under her eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. She definitely needs a break.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.” You smile, stepping into the room.

“Hm? Oh hello, darling.” She says, barely glancing away from the screen.

“So uh, I know you’re busy and all but I thought maybe we could have a quick dinner? I’ve got everything ready and-“

“I can’t darling. This work really is urgent.” She interrupts.

“I-I know. It’s just, well we haven’t spent any time together recently and I’m sure you could use something to eat-“ you try.

She sighs, and you flinch at the sound.

“I-I just think you could use a break-“

“I don’t have time for that! These monster attacks are getting worse and the sheriff is breathing down my neck because he’s convinced it’s one of my students! So, no, I cannot waste my time on a silly little dinner.” She yells.

“I-I just…” you mumble, “I just wanted to help.”

“Well, you’re not helping! You can’t fix everything and your presence sure as hell hasn’t been making anything easier around here,” she continued, rubbing her eyes.

You took a step backwards, holding your breath for a moment and counting backwards in an effort to calm yourself. A trick you’d learned growing up after your parents had expressed their distaste for your anger one too many times.

“Larissa, I don’t understand. I thought-I’ve just been trying to make things easier for you. I never meant-“ You explained, trying t figure out what it was you had done.

Slamming her laptop shut, Larissa stood. She was deathly quiet before uttering the words “First, you distract me from my duties as Headmistress leading to not one but two separate attacks on my students whilst they were under my watch-“

“Larissa what-“ you stutter, retreating back towards the main office doors as her daunting figure draws closer.

“Secondly, you play this stupid game with my emotions blinding me to the truth of your actions. And then-“ she laughs “you try and distract me from the evidence with a silly dinner! I bet you’re just looking for an opportunity to see the evidence of your involvement and destroy this school from the inside out.”

You still at her words, your heart stopping in your chest. You don’t know where this is coming from and can feel yourself getting angrier. You glared up at her, clenching your shaking fists and promptly losing your shit.

“What the fuck Larissa?! You’re not making any fucking sense. I mean- What- why would I try to ‘destroy evidence’? And in what fucking universe am I involved in the attacks? I care about the kids here, I care about you! So, I don’t understand where you get off on taking everything I’ve done for you and turning it into some fucked up, cruel joke- but this is- Why the fuck would you think that??” you yell.

A beat passed, the two of you staring intently at each other.

“Why?” She questions, her voice neutral and calm. “Because you’re the Hyde. And it’s all part of your sick little game. I don’t know who your master is or if you’re the one in control but I don’t care. The nightmares of blood and destruction, the exhaustion, your funny little ‘medication’” her voice began to rise. “All clear signs, all of them. And you thought planting them as some innocent little suggestion would make me look past them but not anymore. I will never, ever allow you back into this school, on these grounds ever again, you vile beast.” Spitting the final word with disgust, Larissa turned, her heels clicking on the wooden floor as she returned to her desk.

“I’ll take your silence as an omission. Now get out, run back to your master Hyde, the sheriff will be here any moment.” She sneers, leaning back on her desk to glare at you.

Without realising it tears were running down your face, your whole body visibly shaking as you tried and begged yourself to hold it together.

“I didn’t-“ you sniffle, trying and failing miserably at holding in your tears. “I love you.”

Her face twitches at that, you can barely see through the pools in your eyes. She lifts her head, staring directly into your eyes, nothing but hatred and a deep sadness being held in her blue orbs.

“Get out.” She murmurs.

“But Larissa please I-“

“Just go!” She yells, slamming her hand on her desk.

You flinch at the noise before running from her office. Any tiny pieces of your heart that hadn’t shattered at the beginning of her rant are now very much in tiny shards. Your chest feels tight and you honestly have no idea where you’re going. You just know she doesn’t want you there, she thinks you’re some killer monster thing. She hates you.

You’re running as fast as you can, not even vaguely aware of your surroundings. You can feel branches scratch your face and the crunch of dying leaves beneath your feet, the smell of dirt and a storm yet to come surround you. Eventually you trip, falling to your knees in the middle of the woods outside Nevermore. Your entire body shakes as you sob, burying your face in your hands as you cry and cry and cry. Everything hurts. And nothing makes sense.

You just wanted to help, you wanted to make her happy.

Everything felt numb. The forest around you seemed to have stilled in your honour, exhausted and worn out from the winds that had been battering its leaves. It was dark and cold but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, simply stuck as time moved around you and the atmosphere of the woods consumed you.

You didn’t know how long it had been, not that you cared either. You’d left your phone on Larissa’s table ready to play some smooth, warming jazz by an artist you’d found called Miss D. She had the perfect voice, deep and romantic, exactly the tone you’d wanted to set for dinner. Your eyes burn at the thought, with no tears left to cry all that was created was a stinging pain.

As your brain accepted the soreness around your eyes, you slowly become aware of the way your hands and body ache after your run through the woods. It was too dark to see the true damage but you knew you’d be feeling the result for the next few days. The weight of everything sat on your chest, grief buried in your bones making your whole body feel heavy and immobile.

How could she think that of you?

Consumed in your thoughts, knees buried in the earth below you, you failed to hear your name being called. The voice grew more desperate, louder as you slowly turned your head in the direction of the disturbance.

Marylin? What’s she doing here? She shouldn’t be out here…didn’t all of the attacks happen in the woods? You really should warn her or something…

Your body didn’t seem to give a damn, aching inside and out, as you attempted to stand and make your way over to the fuzzy image of Marylin before you. If it weren’t for her boots and hair, you don’t think your brain would have seen her in the dark of the night.

You dug your fingernails into the trunk of a nearby tree, trying to use it as leverage to pull yourself up. The moon began to emerge from the clouds above casting an eerie shadow across the clearing around you.

Wait a second…why is Marylin moving so weirdly? She seems panicked, terrified even… Why is she waving at you like that?

Her fuzzy outline becomes clearer as the moonlight strikes her frame.

She looks like she’s shouting. What is she-?

Oh.

You felt it before you saw it. If you had been a bit more aware you’d have heard the loud snapping of twigs from behind you followed by a low growl. If only you’d been more aware you would have heard the ear-piercing cry of no leave her lips.

But you didn’t.

Your head lolled down, your eyes finally focusing. Five massive claws were buried through your stomach as a burning, blinding pain consumed your senses.

Well that certainly wasn’t good

You feel your body get lifted before being thrown across the clearing you had been in, slamming against a tree. You fall into a crumpled heap at the base of it, your body twisted at an unnatural angle. Someone was screaming, it almost shocks you when you realize it’s you. You can vaguely hear angry, panicked yelling somewhere around you, but things are blurring together quite rapidly.

You’re going to die.

You realize this as you lay there. Finally, your brain is shutting down. You chuckle morbidly at the thought, the sound more akin to a gurgle as warm blood spills out of your mouth like some fucked up comedic skit. Your fingers that once clung to the cold, living dirt now gently lay upon the warm wound that was going to end you.

As the darkness of the forest consumed your vision, you thought you’d started to hear Larissa, her delicate voice whispering words you couldn’t make out. Your fingers twitch as you remembered the soft fur of your family cat, her small paws making the dough on your stomach. People of your past swept across your vision as the buzz of Larissa’s voice permeated your brain.

And then there was silence. There was just you and the night sky.

Until a muddied red thing enters your vision.

Marylin is still here, she needs to run, she’s in danger, you should warn her…

Your eyes roll towards her, her face entering your vision as she leans over you. Her features are somehow both fuzzy and clear, making you want to close your eyes and rest for a bit. Her lips were moving, but you can’t make out a single word she could be saying. Her face leaves your vision, her red boots re-entering it. The colour reminds you of Larissa’s lipstick.

You hope she knows you love her.

#larissa weems x reader #htwahp #larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader

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nctstar · 10 months

Text

hurry, i'm worried

labyrinth | ch. 1

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

pairing: hyuckren x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: mystery-thriller, horror, angst

warnings: profanity (use of the f word), mental illness (some allusions to s/h, please don't read if sensitive), mentions of medications and psychiatry, polyamory, police, mild mention of sexual activity (minors proceed with caution)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also don't condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. I'm not a mental health expert and don't claim to be at all, if you are struggling please find some resources to help yourself or dm me for support <3

a/n: ahhh it's finally here! the series I've been wanting to write for SO LONG. I hope you enjoy the first chapter because I got this random burst of inspiration yesterday and wrote it all and I'm so happy with the set up! hopefully as it progresses it becomes spookier and creepier and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this already <3 lav out p.s. can you tell I love my mystery-thriller movies and kdramas hahah (send me recs!!)

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

You wake with a gasp, shooting up in your bed, blood rushing upwards and dampening your hearing with a blunt drone. You groaned at the jolts of pain in your temples, your cold hands caressing the supple skin as you squeezed your eyes shut. 8:09am.

“Renjun-ah?” Your voice came out a lot harsher than you expected, but there was nothing you could change about it as you watched your boyfriend’s petite frame walk into your shared room, his soft, nimble fingers tying the buttons on his wrist.

“Yeah?” He barely looked at you. His attention was divided, long lashes flicking up and down his wrists, and you realised with a sick nausea that you were starting to become annoying.

You swallowed, throat dry and eyes burning with tiredness. “Um, nothing. Just wanted to check if you had left already.” It took everything in you not to mention the dream, the song, but you knew how he would react. As if like clockwork, he had the same reaction every single time.

“You just miss him, _. That’s why you keep having these dreams. Take your meds, and get some rest today, okay?”

You were sick and tired of hearing the same line every single day, almost as much as you were tired of having the same dreams. If there was something worse than being stuck in this insane loop of same same same, it was not having Renjun the way you always did.

But could you complain? Ever since…well, you were only a shell of the person you were before. You were bitter, grating, much like the shots of expresso you had once downed with your lover, squealing ‘Oh! That’s so strong!’ much to the disgust of the haughty young waiter watching from the corner. You felt your chest tighten with a tender nostalgia as Renjun walked over to peck you on the forehead, his lips as fleeting as that memory passing through your brain.

Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?

“Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?” You smiled, gritting your teeth at the irritation of his newfound predictability. Falling into this routine of stark distance and hospital-grade perfection. You were truly and utterly sick of it.

You counted to 383…no, 384. Three hundred and eighty…(I don’t know what I should eat today)…Three hundred and eighty-one...(Renjun’s probably sat at his desk by now…)…Three hundred and eighty-two…(…wonder if he’s thinking of me…)…Three hundred and eighty-three…(…is he eating well? What if he gets sick from all the takeout?)…Three hundred and eighty-four.

You dragged yourself out of bed, looking at the date glaring back at you from your bedside alarm clock. August 6th, 2022.

Three hundred and eighty-four days since Haechan had gone missing.

∞

“We should have studied French properly instead of just-“

“Oh, our French sessions were pretty fun,” Renjun raised his eyebrows while Haechan smirked at you suggestively, swiftly followed by you giving him a playful kick under the table to shut him up. “She’s pretty damn good.”

“Gross, Haechan. We’re on vacation in a nice place. You should have left your shameless thoughts at home.”

“Hmm, but we are in the city of love, aren’t we?” Haechan outstretched his arms like a comical cartoon character, making you and Renjun both look down in embarrassment, Renjun cursing softly under his breath. You watched a young Timothee-Chalamet looking waiter side-eye the three of you in the corner and your cheeks grew warmer. Yet, you didn’t really care. He was right. You were in the city of love with the only two men you had ever loved in your entire life. What was so wrong about that?

“Waiter!” Haechan yelled out, raising his hand like he was a primary school student in class, and both you and Renjun lunged out to make him stop being so loud. “Hyuck, oh my god, everyone’s looking.”

“Yes?” It was almost a blessing the waiter had come regardless of your collective bickering, and Renjun went first, speaking in perfect French. “We’d like number 3, please.”

“All three of you?” He frowned through his glasses, peering through the lens like he would look at spectacles at a freak show. You suddenly felt self-conscious, but Haechan started leaning over towards Renjun, acting like the waiter wasn’t even there. “What was that? What did you say? Number 3? I don’t want that one. Tell him I want number 4.”

“The young man over there will have number 4, please. And for me and my girlfriend, number 3.” You swallowed a smile at the way Renjun exasperatedly acknowledged Haechan, and the way Haechan looked just as confused as before. Once the waiter stepped away, you smacked Haechan’s thigh playfully. “You’re so embarrassing!”

“Am I embarrassing, or do you just wanna impress mister oui oui baguette over there?”

“Haechan!” You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you were oogling him. Tsk, tsk.” He should his head exaggeratedly and added. “You have the hottest guy sitting next to you and you’re just gonna eyeball him?”

“Leave _ alone, Haechan.” Renjun was now peering at the menu, squinting intensely. The soft morning sun illuminated his body, giving him a tender glow and making your heart feel warm with affection. He shook his head to the side to move his fringe away from his eyes. “Baby, I think I might have ordered you a shot of expresso. Do you want to change it?”

“Huh? No, that’s okay, honey.”

“Are you sure?” You felt Haechan’s breath on your shoulder, and you rolled your eyes, pulling his arm closer to your side as you looked up at him. “Yes, I’m sure. I can handle it.” The smell of dark coffee from the kitchen mixed with Haechan’s natural musk and your light perfume, and you breathed in deeply.

Haechan’s chest vibrated as he chuckled. “I’m keen to see this.” In front of you, Renjun smiled at the table, a mix of love and playfulness, and you scoffed. “I-It’ll be fine. It will taste good. I will drink it all!” You fake-slammed the table in front of you with your fist as both men started giggling slowly.

∞

You remembered the memory fondly as you watched the milk swirl and dissolve into the brown instant coffee mix. Too tired (lazy) to use the coffee maker, you settle on a bland concoction of going-to-expire-today lukewarm milk and instant coffee powder that’s at least 2 years old for your everyday morning fix. Taking a sip, you sighed. Yep, just as disgusting as ever.

You flopped down on the couch, turning on the TV at the same time, like a trained reflex. The rain outside poured heavy and relentless, just the right amount of ambient noise to send you right back into your slumber. But you stayed awake. You couldn’t be sleeping all day again. It just wouldn’t be…right.

Turning on an old favourite show, Gilmore Girls, you let it play as you opened your laptop. The battery reader on the bottom right corner shone nice and bright. 0%.

Of course. You groaned out loud, cursing underneath your breath. Of course, the day you felt the tiniest twinge of motivation to do something, your laptop was dead. Getting up from the couch, you felt a warm-hot liquid pour all over your pajama bottoms.

“Ah! Fuck!” You swore out loud, watching the coffee stain your crotch and drip onto the skin of your thighs. Clutching your laptop to your chest, you ran back into you and Renjun’s shared room.

You stared at his pajamas on the shelf, neatly packed and folded, as if he was so ready to move on. You looked to your side of the bed, messy as ever, the oldest bra you ever owned strewn across the covers.

How embarrassing.

You felt a mixture of anger, first at Renjun, then at yourself. Stupid fucking perfect Renjun with his crisp ironed clothes and his tidy side of the bed and his take care of yourself, honeys. Gosh, I hate him. As you said these in your head, hot, frustrated tears poured down your cheeks and dripped onto your collarbones. I fucking hate that man. I fucking hate myself.

You didn’t know how long you were standing there, but after a while, you rubbed the rest of the rolling tears off your face and walked out of the room. You plugged in your laptop, walked to the kitchen for some paper towels and half-heartedly wiped down the almost-dried coffee (if you could even call it that) on the couch, took off your soaked pajama pants and lay on your side, facing the TV. You watched Lorelai and her mother fight for what seemed like hours, you watched Lorelai cry on the shoulder of some hunk of a man who very clearly loved her, and then you felt yourself slip into a sad, restless slumber as the credits rolled.

∞

You woke at the sound of your phone buzzing next to your ear.

You blinked once, then twice. Then you closed your eyes and opened them again.

There was no way.

my teddy

i’m coming home

What the actual fuck.

You grabbed at your phone, fumbling, shaking. You dialled Haechan’s number – once, twice, three times. It was going through. It was going through.

“Renjun!”

“What’s up, honey? Are you alright?”

You sobbed uncontrollably into the phone, the screen now wet with tears.

“Shhh, I’ll be there soon, okay? Please don’t hurt yourself again. Thank you for calling me. I’ll be there, baby, in just a few minutes. I love you so much. I’m coming.”

“No…n-no…” You rubbed your nose, hating the way it squeaked. “No, Renjun, it’s about H-Haechan.” Silence on the other side, as if you had said a bad word. “He’s coming home.”

You could feel the gears in Renjun’s head clicking, choosing his next words wisely. “Let’s talk about it when I get back, okay?”

“Renjun, no, you don’t fucking get it. He’s coming back. My baby’s coming back…”

“Honey…”

“Don’t fucking call me that! Fuck you!” You shouted into the phone, you had no idea why. You were trembling with a mixture of anger and sudden fear.

“Okay.” You heard Renjun’s voice tremble on the other line, the sounds of the rain louder now, pitter-pattering over the line. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

“So will Haechan.” You said, before ending the call.

∞

“Please, please, don’t tell her.”

Those words haunted Renjun every single day he thought about Haechan. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. No, now was not the time to think about that. He kept side-glancing at the time on the dashboard, as if minutes would pass without his permission. The windshields scraped the glass with a jarring squeak everytime it moved, the rain pouring as strong as ever. He prayed silently for there to be no traffic on the main road he was about to turn into, not wanting to leave you home alone for another second.

His heart ached, thinking of the phone call, the bad signal in his car breaking up your cries. His eyes welled up with tears, but he quickly blinked them away, not wanting to get distracted. I need to get home right now.

Luckily, traffic moved at a steady pace, it not quite being rush hour yet, and he was pulling up to the driveway quicker than usual. He needed to remain calm and composed for you. He knew you didn’t mean any of it, and that you were having one of your episodes. He tried to think about what your psychiatrist had said, but his brain felt so heavy, like a burning lump of coal, black smoke shrouding any helpful thought he was trying to have. Dammit. I just need to go inside.

“_?” Not wanting to spook you, he started speaking from outside as he typed in the code for your shared apartment. “It’s me, Renjun, baby.” He paused slightly, wondering if he should wait for you to open the door. You clearly needed some space. Maybe he was imposing too much. Maybe you felt intruded, not in control. Maybe he should let you do small things like open the do-

“Renjun?”

At first it didn’t register, but as Renjun slowly turned around, his heart started pounding louder and louder in his chest and his legs felt like jelly. He knew what – or who – he was expecting to see, but the sight of him still threw him against the apartment door with a gasp.

There was no way.

“Oh my god. It’s really you.”

Renjun didn’t know what to say for once. Always the easy talker, known for making awkward situations normal, always known to have something smart to say. Nothing. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, immobile, weighed down with the weight of a thousand stones.

“Renjun. It’s me.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Renjun. He felt like a ghost for a split second, like his arms weren’t quite there. But then he smelt it. That faint smell of his best friends’ cologne he had used since their university days, back when they would go out for dinner after long days. Back before they had even met you.

Renjun inhaled sharply as the realisation hit him, his arms feeling more and more solid around his frame. “It’s really you. She wasn’t…but how did she…” Snapping out of his daze, the two men parted and Renjun thought about you.

Haechan called out first. “_! I’m home!”

∞

“So, you say you received a text message from Lee Haechan today before he came home?”

“Yes, yes. Here.” Your lit up screen illuminated the face of the officer, speckles of his stubble becoming visible. “Right.” He frowned, before handing your phone back to you, the charm jingling as he did. The tips of your fingers slightly touched his as you took your phone back, still staring at him with more questions than answers strewn across your features.

His chair made a high-pitched creak as he leaned back. “So, we have questioned him, as well as your, well…” The officer looked uncomfortable, almost squeamish, you reckoned at the thought of you having seduced not one, but two men in your lifetime.

“Yes, Renjun.” You spared him the misery. He nodded.

“Yes, and his story lines up with yours in terms of the disappearance. Lee Haechan, however, is saying that he cannot disclose where he was this entire time, because he just does not remember anything. We will continue to investigate his whereabouts for the past year. We have tried tracking his phone already, and we actually found its location.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, in your apartment.”

“Our apartment?” You were confused, and a weird feeling started brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“No, miss. At your apartment.”

“You mean the one I share with Renjun.”

The officer looked at you wordlessly, before flicking through the papers in his hands and passing one across the table to you.

You looked at it in utter disbelief. “W…what…”

“It was strange to us too. You didn’t mention to us that you had an apartment. Yet, we were able to find this under your name. We asked the owner, and she said you had indeed bought this four years ago. In person, too.”

“No way,” you breathed, your eyes as big as saucers. “Four years…” You would have been fresh out of high school, just about to enter university. You remembered being penniless then, having cut off your parents and working bizarre jobs just to get by. There was no way you would have even been able to afford an apartment. And the most important part was, if you had indeed done that, you would have remembered. Despite everything that had happened, and parts of your memory being faded due to the stress of the past year, there was no way you would have forgotten something so big as an apartment.

You sighed out loud, resting your head in both hands. You kept having those weird dreams…it always felt like, maybe they were…like…lost memories?

“I think my memory is just bad,” you chuckled uneasily, letting the officer ease back into the chair, some of his worry lifting off his shoulders. “That probably was me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He drawled out the words, as if he didn’t really mean them. “We just wanted to inform you before we applied for the warrant because we’re going to search it.”

“Right.” Somehow, even though you had found out about this apartment 2 minutes ago, hearing that it was going to be searched made you feel kind of violated. The fluorescent white light started to feel hot against the skin of your face, and you were becoming aware of the stretch of time you had been here. Your leg started to jump, one of your many restless tics.

“Can I come?”

“Hmm?” The officer looked confused.

“Like, when you search. Can I come?”

He made a sorry kind of smile with his mouth and shook his head. You felt stupid for even asking, but the feelings dissipated when you watched the officer look increasingly uncomfortable, suddenly avoiding eye contact with you as if he was scared of you.

“So,” you leaned in, and watched as he cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “What does this mean? So, someone sent a text message using Haechan’s phone the day he came back. He said it wasn’t him, and now his phone is at my apartment?”

The officer gave you a blank stare, and all of a sudden, it all clicked.

“No, I-“

“Look, miss. We need to consider all possibilities. And your boyfriend told us that you’re…struggling with your mental health and currently on anti-psychotics…”

You gaped at him, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth. “You think that’s supposed to make me uncomfortable? Yes, I’m batshit off the walls crazy, sir, thanks for acknowledging it. But I’m just not that kind of crazy to send myself a text from my missing boyfriend to soothe myself, I do know that.”

“That’s not what we’re- okay, look. Personally, I think it’s probably, like, a hack or something.” You recognised his ability to go off script, no matter how much he fought it, and you appreciated it, just a little bit. “We just wanted to check all the possibilities. We’ll be checking the footage around the apartment and finding out if anyone’s been coming and going, and we will search for the phone and check its usage.”

You nodded sharply. “Okay.”

The door opened, and a younger looking man inaudibly signalled at the officer in front of you. “That’s all for tonight. You are free to leave. Let us know if there are any updates, and we’ll do the same.”

∞

“So, what did they talk about with you guys?”

Renjun was slowly starting to come out of the shocked state he had been in for the past few hours as you nuzzled deeper into Hyuck’s warm body in the backseat of the car, the rain still roaring on outside.

“It was weird. They asked me about an apartment I own.”

“An apartment?” Renjun sounded curious, but you were distracted by the feel of Haechan’s slightly dry lips on your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly. “Haechan…”

“Let’s just forget about this for now. I missed you so much.” He pressed his lips against you, the kiss resounding in your skull.

“I missed you too.” You wanted to cry, laugh, scream. Everything was pouring out of you all at once, slow and viscous like thick honey on bread. “So much. You have no idea.”

“Yeah.” Renjun’s voice was silent. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

That night, your bed for two was a bed for three. Warm and safe, smelling like three instead of two. You were finally home. The dinner you three shared for the first time in over a year was quiet, all of you overwhelmed by the new familiarity that was now your new normal. Or old normal. It was all a bit strange. But it just felt so…right.

For once you drifted off to sleep naturally, not crying, or needing your pills or something to watch to distract yourself. It was like Haechan’s arrival repaired you, piece by piece, with nothing left over or loose from the reconstruction.

Everything felt right until the next morning, when you woke up to no Haechan next you, and you felt an insidious wave of anxiety waft over you, threatening to paralyse you. But then you heard chatter from the kitchen.

“She likes it like that now. Extra chilli. Make sure you don’t burn it.”

“Yes, ahjussi.” The unmistakeable nasal tone of your lover’s voice calmed you, and you were convinced you weren’t dreaming this time. This was real. Haechan came home.

You rolled over in bed and checked your phone. Old habits die hard.

Chills ran through your body.

my teddy

don’t worry. i’m staying inside.

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