#Claws and Cubicles

[the-smut-analyst]

Fantasy Rom-Coms

The genre I never knew I needed. Until I found it.

Short 'n' sweet book rec post today (because I know I've been doing a lot of deep-dive analyses of late). I deserve a break. You deserve a break. So let's do it.

Here's my top three fantasy rom-com series at the moment!

Pick them up if you enjoy a bit of smutty fantasy and are in the mood to laugh.

1. Anything by Kimberly Lemming

I do not know if my tits were built for murder. I don't even think they were built with my back in mind.

Lemming is an auto-buy author for me. This woman is bloody hilarious. The humour is farcical and somewhat absurdist, which is my absolute favourite style. I grew up with the likes of Monty Python, The Mighty Boosh, and The Confessions of Georgia Nicholson - so Lemming's work is right up my alley.

Her character Alexis, the dirty-talking sword (yes, you read that correctly) is, in my mind, nothing short of comedic genius.

"Oh my god, chip my steal, you're so annoying," Alexis snapped. "Maybe if you fixed your attitude and took a bath once in a while, women would talk to you. You smell like old cheese and a mother's regret."

I know some reviewers have been thrown off my the modern vernacular in Lemming's work, due to its medieval-like fantasy setting. However, I think that is exactly what makes these books so good (and refreshing).

The love interests speak a bit more "ye oldy", while the female protagonists speak like we do. The result is something akin to what might happen if a modern romance reader were dropped into a smutty fantasy world. It's brilliant. For example:

"Every scratch," he whispered, his tone gentle and comforting. "Every bruise, I will pay back in fire and blood." I blinked. "Um... that is so sweet but so unnecessary."

I'd recommend reading Lemming's work in publication order, which is as follows (links included):

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon

Mistlefoe (novella - available with KU)

That Time I Got Drunk and Yeeted a Love Potion at a Werewolf

Two Scoops of Hellfire (novella - standalone - available with KU)

A Bump in Boohail (novella - available with KU)

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Human

2. Alphas of Nasila series by V.K. Ludwig

“If you ever see me running in heels, then you better run, too,” she says with a scoff. “What am I supposed to run away from, anyway?” “Me!” “Why? You got a chase kink or something?”

The best way I can think to describe this series is that it is Omegaverse satire. The pairings are alien males and human females, and the smut / romance includes all your fairly standard A/B/O tropes - with the exception of non-con. The consent is refreshingly solid here.

Book one of this series, Heat for Hire, was actually my entry into the Omegaverse. If you're unfamiliar with the genre, then this is a good place to start because the protagonist, Elli, is unfamiliar with how alpha/omega pairings work. So all the... ahem... knotting, heat cycles, etc. are explained via her first experience of them.

My skin prickles at the memory of Rhen’s growl. But only until I remember that I rubbed myself to orgasm on a civil servant.

However, book two, Knot for Nest is by far the best of the series, in my opinion. The chemistry between the two protagonists, Lucy and Tjor, is brilliant - and it's just a genuinely hilarious read. Lucy is a snarky, independent omega who absolutely knows how to play the big, bad alphas to her advantage.

Book three, Purr for Purchase, is a lot higher angst (and less comedic) than its predecessors. It wasn't really my cup of tea, but that's just because I'm not a huge fan of pregnancy in romance.

If you've tried the Omegaverse before but not enjoyed it because of the power imbalances or dub/non-con, then I'd still recommend this series. The Omega / Alpha dynamic is very much reserved for the bedroom and does not reflect how the couple interacts outside of it. This is particularly true of Lucy and Tjor. She might enjoy being "dominated" during sex, but she genuinely holds all the power in the relationship.

“Big, bad alpha, all calm and well-behaved between my thighs.”

The characters in each Alphas of Nasila book are interconnected and the events chronological. However, you do not necessarily have to read these books in order. If you're sceptical of the Omegaverse in general, start with book two. All these novels are available with KU.

3. Claws & Cubicles Series by Kate Prior

Some people really haven’t adjusted to life under the Dark Reign of Terror yet. Some things are different, but honestly it’s all cosmetic. Things aren’t that different from when we had a normal, living CEO.

This series is like The Office, but with monsters (and smut). The dry, relatable humour of a boring corporate job - but with non-human co-workers like orcs, the undead, etc - is genius.

The comedy definitely leans into that classic British deadpan / understatement style. Think IT Crowd, Faulty Towers, and After Life. I think anyone who's ever worked in an office will definitely be smirking and chuckling their way through this series.

“You could have just called me in. I’ve got skin.” I wonder if that last remark is rude or something. After all, he doesn’t really have skin, to my knowledge. I hope I don’t have to take an undead sensitivity training class now.

Book one, Live Laugh Lich, gets pretty kinky (the MMC has three... er... yes). The smut here isn't going to be for everyone. But I liked the humour so much that I didn't really mind if the intimate scenes weren't my cup of tea.

However book two, The Orc From the Office, holds a much broader appeal, I think. I adored this installment. I'd recommend pushing through and reading this, even if you had mixed feelings on book one. The orc MMC is a socially awkward cinnamon roll and I love him.

I wonder distantly if my health insurance covers being eviscerated by Orc cock.

Book three, The Gargoyle from General Management, left me a bit wanting in terms of the character development. However, the setting of everyone being away together on a company retreat was comedy gold.

All of the Claws & Cubicles books are available on KU.

That's all! I hope you enjoy the smutty rom-com fantasy recs!

This post includes affiliate links to help me create content. No pressure to use them! But if you do, I'll be very grateful :)

[pancakes-bookclub]

I just finished reading Love, Laugh, Lich by Kate Prior, and

Guuuuuuuys! I have thoughts.

The story is... Ok? I guess? Doesn't stand out, nor is it bad. It just exists.

Anatomy is interesting, but kinda standard for MonRom.

The world building got me curious, but it's a short book, so we don't really explore it!

And, as to plot... I honestly found it rather standard for a romance book. Sure, you can't go wrong with a good ol' Classic, adding in your own twists to fit the theme, but seriously? dating your CEO boss (who also happens to be a Lich)?

Lilly, our leading lady, is... Kinda... Meh? I don't think we even get a proper physical description of her? She exists, she's an overall good and helpful person, but she's also kinda passive in her story.

Sure, it's a 100 page book (more like a leaflet compared to the other books I read), and it's a decent story, but, Katey, please! Longer! I wanna know more about the world outside that office!

Funny bit, tho, is her friend.

Book 1 epilogue: "Oh, I could never do what you do!"

Book 2 (The Orc from the Office): she does exactly that.

Not a great book, but not bad either, I'll give it a... 7/10. I'm feeling generous. And I never read on Lichs before, so idk.

[readtilyoudie]

Being weird seems to have been the one thing that's really ended up working for me, anyway. And if there's a better way to express how deeply devoted and loving you feel towards someone than being weird in his general direction, well, then, I wouldn't know about it.

The Gargoyle from General Management (Claws & Cubicles, #3) by Kate Prior

[fisheito]

finally listening to the h-scene audio after 1.5 years on mute

yakumo: gasps and whimpers in the whiniest brokenest way me:

[pawbeanies]

i dont wanna be at workkkk i wanna go home and nap and be doggyyyy waaaaaaah WAAAAAAA

[strilondism]

oh my god wait. can we say calliope talking w dirk & giving him hints/explaining game mechanics is analogous to the information cal gave bro

[oukabarsburgblr]

Work Ethics [Age Gap AU]

FEATURING : DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

The new intern took a liking to you, it went unnoticed by you, his boss sadly. However, he would prove how deep his admiration was when the both of you were drunk, alone in the building with the exception of his hard cock.

age gap, bit dubcon. not much plot just sex, profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Hnngg- f-fuck stop! Wait wait I'm gonna-"

(m/n) clasped his hand over his whimpering mouth, his hips bucking up while a stronger grip clawed on his waist, urging him to lay still on the wooden desk. He was squirming, his pants gone and his briefs dangling on his left ankle.

Daisuke hummed as he proceeded to swallow (m/n)'s load of cum in his mouth. He was on his knees, his hands holding (m/n) down while giving the latter a blowjob. "Did I do good, sir?"

The (h/c) could only mewl, his dick flaccid and slobbered with spit as Daisuke stood and climbed over him. Their dynamic was interesting, to others if they had noticed. (m/n) was head of department for his sector and Daisuke Yuichi was the new intern they had received.

Well, he wasn't just an intern. He was one of the shareholder's son so all treated him like royalty once he stepped foot in the company. (m/n) didn't care, treating him like he was any normal intern and there was the obvious age gap between them.

A good six years apart with Daisuke still in university with an internship as part of his education programme. He could've been 20 or 21. So why was someone like him messing around with (m/n) who was at the end of his twenties?

Daisuke probed his fingers into (m/n)'s mouth who screamed and gagged around his thick digits, knuckles brushing against his palate and poking his uvula. He coughed with his mouth full and the ravenette kissed him on his cheek.

"Am I better than any of those geezers? Their old bodies couldn't ever pleasure you...at least up to my standards."

The ravenette took his fingers out of the (h/c)'s mouth and trailed lower, reaching his crotch and (m/n) gripped his wrist when Daisuke poked his virgin hole. "Y-You brat- I never fucking touched there- anhh!"

"Really? I'm glad. I would be pretty sad if someone else had slammed their dick in there instead of me. I was born a bit too late hm?" Daisuke shoved a finger inside, stretching his rim and pistoned against his twitching walls.

(m/n) spread his legs wider, his hips stuttering as he moaned more, his veins coursing with unknown pleasure. His button-up rustled against the frame of the desk, his desk to be exact. The (h/c) was Daisuke's superior, HR had reached out to him, asking him to take special care of the new intern and (m/n) was annoyed and ignored it to say the least.

He didn't realise how much the intern admired him, how black eyes adorned into his mannerisms, his body language, the way (m/n) carried himself as a person. Adoring gaze lingered on the (h/c) whenever the department had a meeting and (m/n) was presenting his slides upfront.

How the (h/c)'s blazer would hike up every time he lifted his arms, his pants hugging his tight ass with those two back pockets mocking Daisuke with how the ravenette had wished how much he was those fabric instead...

It was a planned dinner for their department, Daisuke however had forgotten his USB drive that had documents he needed to finish up for the night and (m/n) offered to follow him along, saying he himself needed to retrieve a few things.

And when (m/n) thought Daisuke was heading for his cubicle, he in his tipsy state did not realise the ravenette had followed him into his office and pounced on him.

"Do you feel the same way as me, Mr. (l/n)? Is that why you offered to take me back here?" Daisuke had drunk a lot, his mind was much more intoxicated than (m/n)'s after he had gotten hazed by his seniors. His dick was hard and being alone with his hot crush didn't make it any better.

"What the-? Daisuke, what do you think you're doing??" (m/n) yelled, attempting to push the younger man away as the latter started to pepper kisses all over his neck. "I'm making love to you, sir. My boss is such a cool person." He kissed his the complaining man's forehead. "And cool people should fuck together."

Maybe (m/n) should keep up with the times, trying to relate more to younger people who's almost a decade apart but he couldn't understand how Daisuke's loose mouth easily spat. It was good around his dick too.

He tried to resist, pushing against the younger's strong rock hard body but he instantly melted when Daisuke pulled his pants down and shoved his open mouth, swallowing his hard penis.

Now he was bent over his own messy desk, his shirt ripped and his ass being pulled back and forth against Daisuke's crotch. Their bodies were hot and wet squelches rang from where their skin connected together. Hands around his waist tightened, fingers digging into his abdomen and he was sure a bruise would appear tomorrow.

"Aanh anh angg!" He never thought he would cry like a girl, like a woman would whenever he would sleep with the opposite gender. "You sound so good, (m/n). Your ass is so fucking thick too." Daisuke whispered into his ear, his fat chest pressing against the (h/c)'s shoulder blades as he continued humping into his boss, pounding his dick into the older man's once virgined asshole.

"C-Calm down- mmffhh! Y-You're too deep- nggh!" Did young people had this amount of energy? Or maybe it was (m/n)'s age catching up to him since he was getting tired of Daisuke's never-ending bunny fuck with him.

He cried out when the ravenette came inside, complaining about the lack of condoms and Daisuke bit his nape in return, asking him to be a good boss and let the younger one do all the work. Although the ravenette was putting in overtime as he came inside the (h/c) for the fifth time that night, (m/n) only twice for a bitchy reason.

Fat tears slipped down his lower lashes, drooping down his (s/c) cheeks as he struggled with his restrained arms above his head, Daisuke tying his wrists with his own tie when (m/n) started to complain and wanted to switch.

He was back laying on his desk, his nipples getting twisted by Daisuke's fingers whose face was flushed pink, his eyes half-lidded gazing down at his naked boss who was tied up under him, his wet dick still deep inside his cum-filled anus.

(m/n)'s cock was also tied up, a thin felt string Daisuke had snatched, carefully roping it around his tip. The textile scratched against his sensitive cock but the pressure wasn't letting him burst, precum spilling all over his base, leaking onto his crotch and abdomen.

"W-Wanna cum- mmff! I wan cum too- angg!" (m/n) mumbled, his face flushed as he flinched when Daisuke pressed his cock deep, squirting more of his cum inside his already full ass.

His stomach felt queasy, the high taking his body, the remains of his attire was ripped to pieces earlier and he had been denied of his orgasm ever since he mentioned wanting to top.

"Really? Boss wants to cum? (m/n) wants some cum?" The (h/c) irked, feeling degraded by the smirking ravenette who was usually nice and polite, except he was drunk and fucking his ass at 1 AM in the office.

He hesitatingly nodded, his head fuzzy and his hole spilling semen, dripping down his desk and onto his carpeted floor. "I want to hear it from your mouth. Your really cute fucking mouth." Daisuke peered, his dark eyes open focusing on the whimpering man beneath him, his lips stretching into a smile.

"I want to cum. Let me cum. I can't just- mfff I wanna cummm-" (m/n) whined and he never thought a noise like that would come out of his mouth. Daisuke lightly sucked in his cheeks, collecting his saliva in the middle of his tongue and his fingers pried (m/n)'s open. He opened his mouth and extended his tongue down to (m/n)'s, letting his drool drip into the (h/c)'s mouth.

The (h/c) had confused noises slipping out of his throat as he was forced to swallow Daisuke's spit. "Angh angg ngghh-" He mewled, struggling with the continous saliva flowing into his mouth by the excited ravenette.

Daisuke stopped, feeling satisfied seeing the panting and slobbering (h/c) as he leaned down once again. "Kiss me." (m/n) mumbled, hazy and drowsy as Daisuke further edged him. "Kiss me and I'll pull it off." His finger pinched the edge of the string and (m/n) frowned, annoyed at this young man's bold behaviour.

"Anhh-" He propped himself up with his elbows, (m/n) sticking out his tongue to reach the ravenette who teased him by slowly inching away. But the (h/c) grabbed his jaw and slammed his mouth on his lips, his tongue sloppily pressing against Daisuke's.

The younger was definitely better at fucking but (m/n) had the upper hand in kissing. Daisuke melted, moaning in his mouth as he desperately hugged his boss close, his eyes rolling behind while his cock rubbed against his slipping hole.

(m/n) tilted his head, angling his lips as he slipped in his tongue into Daisuke's mouth, the latter teasingly pulled off the string and clenched his tip tight. The (h/c) hissed as he started to lap at his wet muscle, making out with the younger ravenette.

Their faces were flushed, alcohol still lingering in their system, especially Daisuke whose cheeks had a nice pink hue. (m/n)'s heart was beating in his chest, his cock was gripped by the ravenette twitched and threathened to burst as he bucked his hips up, wanting release.

"Mmff- angh! Call me Yuichi first- mmn!" (m/n) pulled away from the messy make-out, his lips slick with spit and he furrowed his eyebrows. "Yuichi?" "Daisuke is a family name. I'm the one up your ass moments ago, not my whole lineage. Unless-?"

His cheek was firmly slapped, (m/n) frowning annoyed his release denied as he jutted a finger in his face. "Behave." "...Yes, sir." Yuichi smirked, licking his lips. The slap wasn't strong, but it was enough to awaken the ravenette who started to jack him off.

The (h/c) gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut as he squirmed under the mercy of the ravenette who was estatic to see his boss submit under him. "Y-Yuichi..." (m/n) breathily spoke as he wrapped his arms around ravenette's ears.

Yuichi's cock immediately sprang up, his hands pulling the (h/c) off the table as he sat on a nearby ergonomic chair, (m/n) on his lap. The ravenette bit his neck, leaving a mark on the skin as he slammed (m/n) onto his cock, the latter yelping and instantly came.

Ropes of cum spilled from his tip, his eyes continued to dwell tears as he yelled at Yuichi for bouncing him on his cock while he was cumming, his orgasm rode out for so long, a good 20 seconds. His hole could barely fit anything, wet and slobbering. The rim was strained, being pounded by Yuichi's long cock for so long as (m/n) felt like he was going to cum again.

"Aanhh angg mmhh! Fuck fuck- khh mmnh!" Curses and whimpers spilled from his lips as he tightened around Yuichi, the latter pulling him into a kiss as he stilled himself balls deep inside the (h/c) while cumming for the nth time that night. (m/n) held onto the ravenette with his still restrained arms around neck as he squirted onto Yuichi's stomach, his watery cum coating his abs as the ravenette continued to face fuck his boss.

It was a blur after that, he wasn't sure where he ended up but he woke up in an unknown apartment, Yuichi hugging him while sleeping. The ravenette took him to his home, a very expensive home at that after their drunken affair and the younger one kept pestering the boss.

"You like me now, right sir? We can date outside the office." (m/n) rolled his eyes, whacking a document on Yuichi's forehead as he pulled the hands off that was tugging on his vest. "Finish the e-memo and I'll talk to you, Yuichi."

It may seem that the boss was still as cold towards the intern, but the fact that he's using his given name was a sign of endearment. Older men really had it different, huh?

Yuichi was ecstatic as he sneaked into (m/n)'s office whenever it was past closing hours, the latter having to stay back for numerous reasons. One of them to entertain his intern.

Although he never let Yuichi sleep with him in his office again, praying that the poor cleaner wouldn't ask who he had brought in during the late night a few days ago.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

i need to STOP putting daisuke in office settings...he's just perfect for it. a nepo baby taking a liking to u HAHAHHAHA ME WAN JADIKHHIGSAHJK; anywyas im so stressed out recently. but the worst part's over so i gotta suck it up argh.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A RESPONSE TO AN INBOX BUT I GOT HORNY SO I WROTE A DAMN FIC INSTEAD 😭😭

I wrote this in like two hours w sleep in between. Hence, the lack of like good stuff sorry.

comment for more!

Edit : i did not implement the dynamic a younger top and older bottom is supposed to have...forgive me. I wrote this at 3am. Expect a drabble soon

Taglist :

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #1

Handjobs // Temperature Play // Breast Worship (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Most of the time you’re a pretty relaxed lover. Logan asks you to do something and you acquiesce; a dalliance hidden behind the classroom door when the students are gone, something quick and dirty inside the dingy bathroom cubicle of your favourite bar, using handcuffs to keep one of you firmly in place so the other can spoil them. It’s worth it to see the look of lust which clouds his eyes in a dark storm, the way he takes control of your body and wrings every drop of pleasure he can from you.

Sometimes, though… sometimes you like to string him along a little. Eke it out. Make him beg. 

“Baby…” he groans, trying to buck his hips up and encourage your pace, “you’re killin’ me here.”

You grin from where you’re draped between his legs, slowly working your hand up and down his shaft, only your hand. A leisurely pace which lets you enjoy every emotion which flickers across his handsome face but drives him crazy with need.

“Go faster, c’mon. Or use your pretty little mouth. I’ll make it good for you after, you know I will, you know I take care of you…”

When you purse your lips he thinks he’s won… only for you to drop a kiss on the meat of his thigh instead of his throbbing cock. Logan groans and throws his head back onto the soft cotton pillow. A bead of pre forms at his slit and you grin as it drips a filthy, languid path down onto your knuckles. 

“Be a good boy for me Logan, I know you can,” you sigh, a fluttery little thing with the promise of pleasure if he obeys. 

You twist your hand just right, using the other to come up and cup his sac. Logan grips the sheets so hard that his claws come out.

You’ll make him come from this, you think, then sit on his face for a while. It’s nice to be the one in control.

taglist: @eupheme @stupid-little-birdie @notsosirius111 @mynamesstevenwithav @salted-snailz @zayn-210 @coocoocachewgotscrewed @macaronsnpasta @belilwen @just-a-beatlemaniac69

[hxzbinwrites]

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Ignorant In Love

(Lovestruck Part 2)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Violence, Vox being annoying

————

4:30am

Vox woke up, yelping as he sprung out of bed. Not a great decision for his sore back as his clawed hand immediately went to brace it. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, attempting to recall what got him in such a tizzy waking up

Right. Another dream.

Vox had been, haunted, by that humiliating event last week. Even more so that he finally realize how incredibly enamored he was with her.

His screen flushing red at this realization of his current situation, Vox decided to rise out of bed. What good was sulking going to do?

Since that day, (Y/n) hadn’t smiled once more at him. Oh how he craves it. Vox acts like he doesn’t care, but he’s aching for another fix. Another high of seeing that smile. He would do anything and everything just to experience that euphoria one last time, just one drop of it.

Getting dressed for the day, Vox was looking at his bow tie collection, seeking out one of his favorite ties before realizing it had been ruined from the coffee.

Frustrated, he grabbed a random one from the pile, not really thinking too much about it as he put it on.

He stomped out of his quarters, his heels dramatically clacking against the floor as he made his way to his office. It was far too early in the morning for anyone to be active, too late for Val to be doing work (at least IN the office, and not at the club), so the quite walk gave his ever-running mind more time to think

What the hell has gotten into him?! He’s a VEE, THE VEE. If anything, this is woman should be loosing sleep and foaming over him!

‘That’s what I like most though’, He thought to himself,’She’s real. She doesn’t tell me just what I want to hear, or cause problems for me, she’s just…her, and she simply does it best.’

His internal conflicts were brought to an end once he finally sat down in his chair. Cracking his sore, aching joints, before booting up his monitor system.

————

8:30am

(Y/n)‘s heels clacked against the tiled floors, making her way to her desk. Her desk was one of those circular desks that curved around the middle and touched both sides of the wall. There was a small door on the side that she could enter from, but it blended in seamlessly with the black desk, so it would be hard for someone who didn’t work here on a daily to find.

Once she entered her cubicle-like desk, she logged onto her monitor, clocking in. 8:30am sharp, as always. She began to work on her boss’s meetings, but her eye caught a certain one for today “errand.”

This caught her eye, as Vox always made her run errands during work hours. Mostly for coffee, but she’s ran to the convenience store in the lobby for strange things as well.

“Hmm” she mumbled, before printing off the schedule regardless and putting it in her folder for later at 10.

That was her routine, print off the original schedule for the day, present it to him at 10, and if edits are needed, she’d come back and re-arrange some things, and repeat the process until it was to his liking.

(Y/n)‘s hardest part of the job was the PR portion of it. Normally, it’s for the PR team, but they got sick of the Vees tantrums and the entire department up and quit. Now, (Y/n) handles Vox’s PR, Velvette’s assistant handles hers, and Vox handles Valentino’s himself.

Speaking of PR, she was in for a doozy today. Last Friday, when the coffee incident took place, apparently Vox said some…choice words…to the Radio Demon, and Alastor relayed that information back to his listeners on his radio show.

Sighing, (Y/n) began typing a public rebuttal, going for the “deny and victim blame” strategy, as Velvette called it.

‘Why does Vox have to act so…stupid’ (Y/n) thought, her stoic face staying steady as her fingers flew across the keyboard,’For someone so smart, he sure acts dumb. Maybe he should just be a model for Velvette instead, he’s sure got the looks for it, but he doesn’t have the social skills for a public viewpoint like this-‘

“(Y/N). MY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.” Vox yelled.

Her eyes flicker up from her monitor, which was now adorned with two clawed hands gripping the top of it. Vox was leaning over it, his tall, slender frame allowing his screened face to intrude (Y/n)’s personal space, but it’s not like that hasn’t been done the before the weekend.

Locking eyes, he saw the flick of emotion run through her, he almost for a moment let his anger go, almost. He could hear her mumbling those things about him. About how “stupid” he was, his “dumb actions….how “he’s got the looks”….never mind that last part.

“Sir..?” She said, her face immediately turning back cold. Ah, there it goes again, fleeting like time itself.

“Don’t sir me,” Vox said, shoving the monitor who knows where. He crawled on the desk towards (Y/n), before grabbing her chin, pulling her towards him. The force from his arm made it where she was on her feet, but she was now hovering over her chair. Vox cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes and he whispered towards her.

“I heard you mumbling about me over there. Insubordination will not be…tolerated, at this company. If you want to keep this job, and your soul, I suggest you meet me in my office.”

He let go of her chin, before sliding back off of her desk, and walking towards his office. Vox’s hands were clasped behind his back, as he glanced over his shoulder one last time to look if she was following him.

(Y/n) got up and started walking behind him, her face not giving away any emotion.

‘DAMN IT.’ He thought, his mood growing worse,’That whole little stunt was just to get a rise out of her. To get something!’

————

10:00am

Once they arrived in his office, the door slammed shut behind them. Vox’s electrical bolt from his fingertip locked the door, as he walked towards his chair, took a seat, and swiveled it around to see an unamused (Y/n) awaiting his words.

“So, (Y/n)” He started, his claws tapping against one another, “Would you like to repeat, word for word, what you were mumbling about me, or should I repeat it for you?”

“Okay, I asked myself why you acted so stupid. Your actions are ignorant and your social skills need heavy improvement.” (Y/n) said,”also, for your schedule today you have a meeting at-“

“No no no sugar.” Vox said, smirking as he crossed his legs,”Tell me everything you said.”

“I did” She lied, standing her ground.

“Ah, so Im not good enough to be a model anymore? That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to give you a show, but alas.” He sneered, trying to desperately to get a reaction out of her, but failing miserably.

“Ah, a shame indeed.” She said, deadpanned,”Now, todays schedule consists of one meeting with Valentino at 7:30pm and during your 3:30 slot all it says is ‘Errand’? Sir, I’m confused about that portion, don’t I normally run your errands..?”

Vox gritted his teeth, his hand now clenching the sides of his chair. This was getting ridiculous, no emotions out of this one. God, he should just pour an entire mountain of coffee on himself, muck up his PC and everything just to see her smile.

“I was originally planning to get my clothes back from the dry cleaners myself, but I see that as punishment enough for today. Do it and get out of my office.”

“A-Alright sir.” (Y/n) said. They locked eyes, and Vox immediately regretted pushing so far for a reaction. Her eyes showed hurt in them.

Vox couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his face contorted with many emotions. One side of him was over the moon, he made her show something! The other side was in immense regret, he didn’t want to hurt her, that was by far from the plan.

Once she left the office, he started throwing monitors again in frustration.

————

10:30am

(Y/n) didn’t even return to her desk, instead opting for a little stroll down to the convenience store down in the lobby. She picked up a drink and a candy bar to take back to her desk as a little pick me up

Well, she attempted to go back to her desk, she ended up just going to a secluded corner in the building, only adorned by a lonely bench, a plant, and a security camera in the hallway.

(Y/n) sat there on the bench, sighing from stress and she took a chunk of her candy bar.

Sitting there, she replayed the interaction in her mind once more. The way he was so, powerful, it made her cheeks dust pink, with equal parts admiration and humiliation as she smiled to herself, lowering her head. She softly chuckled before taking her wrapper of her snack and going to seek out a trash can.

Little did she know that Vox was watching her every move on his monitor, stalking every security camera that tipped off her motion. He was nearly short circuiting at her little smile. Vox noticed how her shoulders bounced as she chucked slightly. He really wished he could just call her into his office, but it was already time for her to pick up his dry cleaning. Sighing to himself, he adjusted his bow tie.

Out of his entire collection, he just had to pick the most irritating one out of all of them. It was entirely too tight and the material was so unpleasant.

Sighing, he just untied it and threw it on his desk, reveling a small sliver of his skin beneath it.

————

3:45pm

“I’m here to pick up Vox’s clothes.” (Y/n) said, making the worker scramble to go retrieve the Overlord’s clothes.

“H-Here you go ma’am! Do you mind checking to see if everything is in there? We don’t want to forget any article of our valuable costumer’s clothing!”

“Sure” She replied with her signature neutral expression, opening up the box of neatly folded clothes to see his entire wardrobe from that day, except something was missing…a key part of his ensemble.

“Ah, where is his bow tie?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? We had to return it to him, the fabric of it was too thin, it would’ve burnt up in the dryer.”

“Oh, well thank you.” (Y/n) said,”everything looks like it’s in order.”

“Have a good day!” The worker said, earning a nod from (Y/n) as she walked out of the dry cleaners.

‘He wore that bow tie often’ (Y/n) thought to herself,’ Maybe since I pissed him off earlier today, I can get him another to make it up to him.’

She strolled by the clothing district before entering the tailors shop, browsing the different selection of items for a while before the clerk cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I’m looking for a bow tie with a certain fabric to it. It’s rather thin, I need a replacement.”

“You? A replacement?” The man chuckled, looking over at her,”I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I dare say I don’t think you’re in the tax bracket to be purchasing that.”

“I’ll purchase what I please.” (Y/n) retorted, her dead eyes looking into the man’s cocky ones

“Oh really? And who is this for?”

“Vox.”

The man started howling in laughter,”YOU?! FOR THE TECH OVERLORD?? OH PLEASE I-“

(Y/n) briskly walked over and slammed the man’s head down on the table.

“Yes. I suggest you make it quick due to your little interruption.”

“And why should I?”

(Y/n) gripped him by the hair, making his eyes meet hers,”Vox is my boyfriend, and so help me I’ll let him tear you limb from limb just because I said pretty please, now fucking do it.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He said, as she let go of his hair, he scrambled to the back room to give her a lavish tie. Instead of the navy blue one he had previously, it was near black with bright blue strips adorning the sides of the fabric where it curved in on itself.

“Hmm, this will do.” (Y/n) said, snatching the box before walking away.

“W-Wait, aren’t you going to pay?”

“Pay? You should be dead where you stand for messing with me today. This is your pay.”

And with that, she walked out of the store, leaving the man shocked.

————

8:00pm

Walking into Vox’s office, (Y/n) looked around to see Vox nowhere in sight.

“Ah right,” (Y/n) muttered to herself, despite the fact that very action got her in a tight situation with her boss earlier that day,”Meeting with Valentino. I’ll just set his stuff down here.”

(Y/n) looked around once more, before setting his clothes neatly on the desk. Patting it down to remove it of any lint that couldn’t accrued on the bag, before setting the nicely wrapped gift atop of it, adorning it with a letter signed to him.

————

9:00pm

Vox groggily walked back into his office, after his “productive” meeting with Valentino on his public image. Not a word went to that moth’s head. One ear and out the freaking other.

He closed his eyes, plopping down unceremoniously into his chair, not even bothering for the brooding dramatics this time.

Rubbing his eyes, he really contemplated calling it quits early tonight. But alas, Vox never does, that’s the mantra of a workaholic.

His digital eyes fluttering open once more, he gazed upon the clothes neatly laid there for him. Smiling he looked at it before his smile turned into confusion. Why was there a box? Wrapped with a ribbon…?

He slowly and gently grabbed onto the small box, unwrapping it like an inpatient child on Christmas morning, only to reveal a new bow tie, the one he ached for the entire day.

This one was nicer though, how she scrounged up some money to “buy it”, he didn’t know, but he was eternally grateful.

His eye caught the letter that was now sitting beside where the box was, it fell off when Vox took the box. He held the envelope and slit the seal with his claw like a letter opener.

“Dear Vox,

I sincerely apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I just don’t really know how to process everything. I feel like you’d understand being mechanical and all, but I don’t know how to process emotion.

Normally, I feel nothing towards anyone, but there’s something weird going on. This strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you, and you specifically.

Feel free to ignore this, but here’s my number. Contact me if you are willing to help my predicament. Enjoy the gift regardless, you deserve it. Also, stop coming to work at 5 in the morning. You’re not sneaky, I see when you’ve clocked in on your schedule.

-(Y/n) (L/n)”

Vox was beaming, a pure genuine smile. He might be a lovestruck fool, but she’s ignorantly in love.

————

Word Count: 2,540

(Part 3?)

TAGLIST

@burningfishkidlamp

@koji-akeme

@callmechito

@neito327

@chocolat3pudding

@yellowsubiesdance

[harrygoeswest]

Secret Santa

At your yearly Secret Santa draw at work, you draw Harry's name.

Terms and conditions (TWs): a lot bit sweet and a little bit spicy. Penetration not included.

Word Count: 7,999

A/N: Hello hellooooo. Look at me posting a Christmas fic on the 1st December! I've been feeling very Christmassy this year so if I can get my shit together there will hopefully be another, totally unrelated, one in a couple of weeks time. Love you all, and thank you for always coming back when I decide to post something <3

~~~

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round.”

I look up over the top of my cubicle to the common area. Charles, the office manager, is standing on the coffee table—that is unlikely to hold his weight for much longer—with a plastic bowl in hand and a cheap Santa hat on his big bald head. It’s not even the end of November yet.

And yes, we do have to call him Charles. Not Charlie, because ‘adding one extra syllable is stupid and unnecessary for a nickname’.

“It’s that time of year,” he says, grinning like a buffoon.

Trying to shove down my sigh, I push away from my desk and wander around the other cubicles to where the rest of the team is congregating by Charles.

“Are we all here?” he asks impatiently.

We’re not a very big office—ten of us total, including our illustrious leader, and a supervisor.

Looking around, it seems the supervisor himself is the only one missing.

Izzy, my partner in crime in this corporate hellhole, nudges my hip with her own from beside me. I bump her back.

“Are we doing secret Santa?” she asks.

“Certainly looks like it,” I mumble, and start picking at my nails.

“Why are we only nine,” Charles muses, doing another head count. “Oh—Harry! Come on!”

“Sorry!” Harry, the missing supervisor, calls back from some hidden place in the office. 

“Time is money, mate!”

I rub a hand down my face, failing to hide my weariness.

A second later, a lanky frame hurries to join the group, wearing form-fitting pressed grey trousers and a black cable knit jumper. Something is different about him where he stands a head above the rest of us. Something I’m trying to hide my shock at.

“Oh my God, Harry—,” Izzy blurts, “where’s your hair?!”

The group titters with laughter at Izzy’s shrill horror. Even I let out a snort.

Indeed, Harry’s once voluminous curls have been shorn to a neat buzz cut. Annoyingly, while I never would have pegged him as a sexy bald, he wears it well. What I’m struggling with is why he’d choose to do it in winter.

“I’ve made a hairshirt out of it,” he deadpans.

From the practical cricket noises following his declaration, I’ll assume no one in our office knows what the fuck a hairshirt is.

hair shirt

in American English

NOUN

1. a garment of coarse haircloth, worn next to the skin as a penance by ascetics and penitents

2. self-imposed punishment, suffering, sacrifice, or penance

“It’s now hanging pride of place in my lounge.” Charles grins. “Anyway, we’re doing secret Santa for our Christmas meal this year, which is on the fifteenth of December. Times are tight, I know,” spoken like a man who has never known what it’s like to be clawing his way to payday to make ends meet, “so the cap is a tenner. It’s just a bit of fun, alright? Let’s go.”

He holds the bowl out, and one by one we pluck out a folded scrap of paper. I’m not last, which means there’s still a selection of three by the time I get there. I pick one at random, sure to hate whoever I get.

I know I won’t be lucky enough to draw Izzy again like I did last year, but I suppose as long as I don’t get Charles, I’ll be satisfied.

HARRY

Motherfucker.

I’ve already started moving back to my desk so I can’t feign innocence and try and swap the name. The second-worst name I could’ve drawn—that of the supervisor. And a more-than-occasional object of my affection.

Is it inappropriate to have a crush on your supervisor? Not really. I’m sure lots of women fancy their seniors in the workplace. I’m all for women in senior positions, but there is something inherently attractive about men in power—not including Donald Trump. Ew. Add to the fact that said man is already hot shit and (I’m talking about Harry again), well, it’s a lost cause. Never mind the fact that we were both asked to interview for the supervisor role when the last one left and I turned it down.

Harry and I used to be cubicle neighbours who shared coffee breaks and threw scrunched-up notes to one another over the wall. Once we had a cat GIF email chain going that spanned 134 emails over twelve days. Now he sits at the other side of the floor in a private office where the door is always closed and we don’t make coffee for each other anymore. We definitely don’t send endless cat GIFs to one another.

I add the slip of paper with his name on it between a document I’ve finished with, and stick the whole thing in the shredder.

~

Later that afternoon, around three o’clock—when I hit a motivational wall and have to take a walk around the office for a change of scenery—I’m standing at the photocopier scanning an abhorrent amount of paper. I really wish the people who worked here could learn to be a little greener.

“So, who’d you get?”

I look up from my scanning to find Harry leaning over the printer, looking boyish and handsome all at the same time. There’s a delighted little gleam in his pretty green eyes, and I have to wonder when I last saw him looking so… mischievous.

“Wouldn’t telling you defeat the entire purpose of a secret Santa?” I retort.

“Yeah, but this is me. I can’t keep secrets and I’m bursting to tell someone mine.”

“Please don’t tell me who you have, Harry. Not again.” Because he told me who he’d drawn last year and then Izzy also let slip who she had as well, and by the end of the day I’d worked out who everyone had. “Also, if you’re so rubbish at keeping secrets, I’m definitely not telling you.”

He pouts. “You’re no fun anymore.”

I try not to let it show how much that comment bothers me. Especially that it came from him. “Apparently not.”

“Is it me?”

“No.” I say as calmly as I can manage. Of course he’d choose himself first, and the name I happen to have picked out.

“Izzy again?”

“No.”

Harry then proceeds to list off every name in the office, to which I pointedly reply with no, each and every time.

“But I’ve said everyone’s names.”

“Exactly.”

He sighs. “Fine. Do you know what you’re going to get for yours?”

“No.” And it was a painful truth. A year ago, if I’d have picked Harry’s name out I would have been over the damn moon. Now, it feels awkward and weird to be buying for the good-looking supervisor who used to be my friend. “Do you?”

“I have a few ideas for mine.” He grins.

Lucky for some.

“Well, that’s good,” I answer noncommittally.

I start to move away from him, but I’m stopped by a hand around my elbow.

“Hey,” he coaxes, and I meet his frowny gaze. “You good?”

If this were my friend of a year ago, I’d tell him it’s Friday, I’m bored and want to go to the pub to start my weekend early. But because he’s my supervisor now and I don’t know where to draw the line, I decide to keep the line very low and say, “All fine. Just tired.”

His frown doesn’t ease when I make a poor attempt at a smile. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?”

Nope. “Yeah, of course.”

“Alright,” he releases my arm. “Well, if you’re really stuck on what to get your secret Santa person, you could look in the magazine I’ve left on your desk.”

I raise a brow at him and he grins again, all white teeth and dimples.

Ugh.

“Is it inappropriate?” I ask, feeling nervous.

He feigns offence. “Of course not, that would be very wrong.”

I narrow my gaze but start to move back to my desk again. “Yes, it would. But I appreciate the help.”

“Any time!”

In my cubicle I find a company magazine on my desk, tabbed two-thirds of the way back. The page opens to a website specifically for Secret Santa gifts. With a sigh, I follow the link and start mindlessly scrolling through the options. There’s everything from oversized mugs to slippers and swear socks, whiskey cubes to coffee table books, candles and incense to bath sets and body creams. I am not short on options.

None of this really feels appropriate for Harry.

Still, since I’m bored out of my mind and have nothing better to do, I waste a good thirty minutes more scrolling mindlessly. Even though I’m struggling to find something for Harry, I do manage to find a present for Izzy—bed socks with cats all over them—and for my mother—a Lazy Susan.

I’m about to give up my search for something fun for Harry and think I’ll just stop by the crafty beer place down the road from my flat—he said he liked a certain one once—when I spot it: The Holy Grail of Secret Santa gifts.

I don’t even hesitate, adding it to my online basket before I can talk myself out of it. It’s only a couple of quid, so I can get him something else as well.

I spend the rest of the day feeling oddly smug, and when five o’clock rolls around I snatch my things up and head straight for the shop that sells the craft ale Harry likes. Then I walk to the pub to meet Izzy.

~

Our office Christmas meal is held in a tapas restaurant around the corner from the building we work in a couple of weeks later. I’ve never particularly cared where we eat—I’ll always find something—but I do struggle to marry up Spanish cuisine with the festive period. Apparently the general consensus was that no one really wanted a traditional Christmas dinner because they’d be getting that on the 25th December. I’ve always just thought of it as a roast dinner on acid but what do I know?

Our dress code for this year is ugly Christmas jumpers, so our table is crowded with colleagues wearing everything from traditional 70s muted-tone cable knits to Charles at the head of the table in a bright red jumper with a light-up Christmas tree on it. I do have a little giggle every time I look at him. It’s awful.

I’m somewhere in the middle of the long banquet-style table, sandwiched between Izzy and Craig, the new guy in marketing. He only started on Monday, has spent the entire week looking like a startled otter, and is already dangerously close to crossing the line from tipsy to drunk. He doesn’t look old enough to be tipsy but I keep that to myself. I’ve been subtly adding more food to his plate anytime it looks close to empty and I don’t know if he genuinely hasn’t noticed or is too polite to say anything because he just keeps on hoovering it up. Also, the dangerous thing about tapas is you always think you’ve eaten more than you actually have, and end up hungry again when you get home. Or, I do, anyway.

“Are we all about finished?” Charles’s voice booms from the end of the table.

There’s ten of us here in all, so his volume also attracts the attention of every other patron in the restaurant.

As if we’re not raucous enough already.

A chorus of mumbled yeses echoes around the table.

Charles claps his hands together. “Excellent! Harry, bring the bag.”

Pink-cheeked, Harry manoeuvres his way out of his seat directly opposite me—I’ve been avoiding looking at him for most of the night in favour of Izzy—and locates the bag with everyone’s Secret Santa gifts inside.

When we got here, Charles was waiting by the door with a large gift bag—you know the ones children get on Christmas morning? This one’s got Peppa Pig on it, which was comical in itself—that we were promptly instructed to leave our gifts inside as subtly as possible. 

Harry places Peppa Pig on Charles’s chair and waits like a faithful servant for his next instructions.

The next five minutes are spent watching Harry flit up and down either side of our long table as he drops presents into laps, a true Christmas elf. 

“Nicely wrapped,” he comments as he places mine in front of me.

I pull a face while Izzy chuckles beside me, and inspect it for a moment. It’s two presents taped together—one tiny and solid, no bigger than a credit card. Hey, wouldn’t that be a nice gift. The other is bigger and heavier—a cubic box. I desperately want to shake it but it feels like it could be breakable.

Izzy just has one—short and cylindrical and, again, heavy. But it’s slightly smaller than mine. I don’t know why that makes me smug. Bigger doesn’t always mean better. In most circumstances anyway. I’m not sure anyone has ever said that about a penis.

“Alright everyone,” Charles barks when the last gift is given out, “start unwrapping.”

A little shiver runs down my spine.

Here’s the thing about me—I love getting presents. Whoever decides to marry me one day needs to be a giver, because I get a little thrill any time I open up a gift. I think I’m equally as generous, but this is exciting for me.

What’s not exciting is that attention keeps flicking around the table. I don’t like being the centre of attention. A hard line to balance. Basically, I’m sitting here slowly picking apart my gifts while trying to keep the joyous little smile my lips are itching to make off my face.

I open the big present first, which seems to be the opposite of what everyone else does. I’m also trying to be subtle about watching Harry open his gifts.

God, this is torture.

The big present evokes a barking laugh out of me.

It’s well-known in the office that I’m a lover of Tesco, in any form. Primarily a Big Tesco or a Tesco Meal Deal. The big gift is a mug that just says ‘Tesco Value Secret Santa Mug’ in the supermarket’s old branding.

“Nice,” I mumble. I’m grinning like an idiot. I genuinely love that mug.

“Someone knows you well,” Izzy says with a nudge. 

She’s already opened her gift—a candle that apparently smells like mashed potato.

It’s disgusting.

“Someone doesn’t know you at all,” I say, nodding at the glass jar with a cork lid in front of her.

“Or they know me well enough to know I hate these candles and find it funny,” she retorts.

I snicker and pick open the wrapping on my smaller gift. I tug it out from the opened end, and with every new inch revealed, my mouth opens a little further.

I look up at Harry, whose expression is the mirror image of mine.

“You are joking,” Izzy says, and follows it up with a loud cackle.

~

Approximately 1 Year Earlier…

“Are you sure you don’t have me for Secret Santa?” Harry asks, pouting at me around the edge of our cubicles.

“Yes, Harry, I’m sure.”

I picked Izzy this year, who is the best person I could’ve possibly got as my favourite work colleague. Harry is a very close second, but I’d never tell him that.

“But you know who does have me,” he says matter of factly.

I do. In an office of ten people, I have managed to work out exactly who has who, only because Izzy told me who she has, and Harry has already told me he picked out the woman in Human Resources. I’ve deduced from there everyone else’s picks, including that I must be Charles’s. I suppress a shudder at the thought of what he might give me.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I know what I want from them and I need you to subtly suggest it to them.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I mutter. “What is it?”

Harry rolls his chair around the cubicle partition, phone in hand. “Funny you should bring up Jesus, actually.”

He puts his phone on the desk in front of me, and at the same time he rests his chin on my shoulder.

He.

Rests.

His.

Chin.

On.

My.

Shoulder.

I try not to outwardly react to it, even though it’s setting off every single butterfly living in my stomach. I haven’t had sex in far too long if the simplest thing has me heating up this way

Christ.

Anyway, I finally look at Harry’s phone, and it makes me laugh.

Hysterically.

Honestly, I can’t stop.

I’m crying by the time I recover.

“Grow Your Own Jesus?” I sputter out, still tittering.

“Yeah!” He sits back and grins.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I kinda feel I’m lacking a little faith in my life.” He shrugs, but that toothy grin is still all there, along with his dimples and shiny green eyes.

How this man is single, I don’t know.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Just drop a hint for us, yeah?” He starts rolling away, but not before he drops me a little wink.

A wink.

I’m in so much trouble.

~

I stare at the ‘Grow Your Own Jesus’ in my hands, then at the matching one in Harry’s.

“You remembered?” Harry asks, clearly fighting a smile himself.

“So did you,” I accuse.

“Well, I just kind of hoped if you didn’t want yours that I could have it.”

I gasp and hold the small cardboard box to my chest. “No. He’s mine.”

“Wait,” Craig pipes in from beside me, “did you two get the same thing?”

“They got each other the same thing,” Izzy corrects. “The same weird thing.”

“It’s an inside joke—you wouldn’t get it.” Harry pretends to flip his now non-existent hair.

Izzy sticks her tongue out at him.

“I’m going to grow him in my Tesco mug,” I decide.

Harry quips, “At work, I hope.”

“Obviously. Pride of place on my desk.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he says proudly.

“And what about yours?”

“Oh,” Harry pats the box on the table, “he’s coming to bed with me.”

A laugh bubbles out of me.

“Ew.” Izzy’s nose wrinkles.

~

After dinner is settled, we head out of the restaurant and to a pub near Soho Square. A couple of people drop off and head home, but Craig is still soldiering on, bless him. He’s more stable when in motion than when stationary, and as soon as we find a group of tables together, we shove him in the corner.

Charles offers to buy a final round before he heads home for the night, and when Craig asks for another beer, I make sure Charles comes back with a non-alcoholic one.

“Why are you so protective over the new kid?” Harry asks as he sandwiches himself between me and another colleague.

“I’m not,” I retort. “I just don’t trust anyone else to look after him if he’s too plastered to get home by himself.”

“That still seems quite protective,” he argues.

“Well, put yourself in his shoes for a second. It’s your first real job, you’re young, you have one too many drinks on a night out with your new colleagues and you’re left to your own devices when everyone decides to call it a night. Maybe you take a walk along the river to sober up, and the next thing you know, you’re toppling over the wall and drowning in the Thames.”

We’re silent for a moment. Harry is just…staring at me, probably wondering where that came from. To be honest, so am I.

“That escalated quickly,” he says after a bit.

“But am I right?”

“I doubt it.”

“Ugh, go away.”

“I don’t want to go away.”

“Well, don’t ask stupid questions. We should be looking after him as the newbie. He won’t come back if we treat him like shit. You, as the supervisor, should recognise that.”

Harry lifts his hands in defence. “Alright. Point taken.”

“Are Mum and Dad fighting?” Craig asks loudly, sitting on the other side of Izzy now.

Izzy pats his arm. “I’ve heard Mum and Dad fight, Craigy-boy, and it doesn’t sound like this.”

“We’re not fighting,” I assure him, although I’m not sure how I feel about being referred to as Mum next to Harry’s Dad. “We’re having a discussion.”

“Sounds like you’re fighting,” Craig mutters and sinks further into the corner of the bench we’re crowded on.

 I take a sip of my drink just to keep my hands and mouth busy. Harry nudges me with his elbow, and when I meet his gaze he winks at me.

Winks.

At.

Me.

I’m not sure if the dreams that wink is sure to feature in will be welcomed, or if they’ll be nightmares.

Charles eventually calls it a night, with a shiver-inducing parting comment that he “needs to give his wife the good lovin’.” The rest of us thankfully don’t dissolve into chaos—I’m not drunk enough to be patient over making sure multiple people make it home alive and safe.

It’s only just gone midnight by the time I decide to call it quits. It seems no one else has been keeping an eye on Craig’s drinking habits, because the poor kid can barely stand or keep his eyes open.

“Alright, Craig, where’s home?” I ask as Izzy and I bundle his lanky frame into a particularly nice wool coat.

He mutters something inaudible and I let out an impatient sigh. “Say again?”

He repeats himself, and I think he says Lewisham. “Lewisham?” I clarify.

Craig nods.

“Couldn’t be a little closer, aye?” I grumble.

“You’re not taking him home, are you?” Harry asks, a little tug between his brow.

“I’m not leaving him by himself, H,” I remind him. “I wanted him to sober up and no one else listened, so yes, I’m going to make sure he gets home safe.”

“How? The tube is closed and the bus will take hours.”

“Well, I’ll just have to get an extortionate taxi and deal with it on Monday, won’t I?”

“Don’t you live in Tulse Hill?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Lewisham is farther out of the way than Tulse Hill.”

“Not really,” I argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft,” he insists. “By the time you manage to find a taxi willing to take you that far and actually get there, it’ll be close to two o’clock. And then you’ve got to get home from there. That’s pushing three in the morning. And while I admire your determination and independence and your incessant need to help the new kid, I am not willing to let you travel around London alone on a Friday night, whether you like it or not.”

We’re all quiet for a second—I actually think Craig is asleep on my shoulder now—and then Izzy very quietly whispers, “Damn.”

Sensing defeat, I release a pent up breath. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Harry concedes, “I’ll search for a taxi, shall I?”

“If you want,” I mutter.

We start walking, if only to find somewhere for Craig to sit down while he snoozes, and then say goodbye to Izzy, who’s boyfriend is waiting nearby to pick her up.

It’s cold and a little windy tonight. My cheeks feel frostbitten and my nose is painfully numb. I pull my woolly hat down lower to cover my ears and my scarf up higher to my nose, so all that’s visible is my eyes.

I catch Harry’s gaze, and he offers me a tentative smile. I smile back but I’m not sure if he can tell.

A taxi pulls up some minutes later, and we wake Craig up only so he can tell the driver his address. He falls straight back to sleep again, head pressed against the window.

I’m sandwiched in the middle back seat between the two men. Harry is somewhat bulkier than Craig. I can feel his thigh against mine. It’s warm, which is nice. I feel like I need the body heat.

The drive is relatively quiet, except Harry makes light conversation with the driver while I am also trying not to pass out on someone’s shoulder.

When we finally arrive at Craig’s house, the streets are eerily quiet. Harry makes me stay in the car while he wrangles Craig into his home. I move over into Craig’s vacated seat and watch out the window, a little entertained by the sight.

“Am I dropping you off somewhere else, love?” The taxi driver asks, breaking the quiet.

“Yes, it’s in Tulse Hill, is that okay?”

“No problem at all.”

“Do you know approximately how much it’ll be? And do you take card?”

“By the end of the journey, when I’ve dropped your friend off in Battersea, it’ll probably be over a hundred. But your mate has settled it already.”

“Wait, you’re taking Harry to Battersea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I thought Harry lived in Brixton. Battersea is an even longer journey.

I rub my tired eyes.

Harry slides back into the backseat and eyes the empty middle seat now I’ve moved over, but he doesn’t say anything.

“When did you move to Battersea?” I ask quietly once the car is moving again.

Harry clears his throat, “Few months ago.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

He turns a look on me that I can’t decipher, so I decide to let it go. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

We’re quiet again, and I decide this time around I hate the silence in the car. I hate that Harry and I don’t talk about our lives with each other anymore now that he’s in a more senior role. I hate that he doesn’t really feel like my friend anymore. And I especially hate that this is mostly my fault because I don’t know where the boundary line is.

I lean forward and ask the driver, “How long will it take to get from my house to Harry’s?”

I can feel Harry’s eyes on me but I ignore him.

“Another half an hour, probably?”

I can’t help it, I grind my teeth together as I slump back into my seat. I’ve been avoiding looking at the time, but I look now, and it’s nearly half-past two. 

My bones feel tired.

“It’s fine, you know,” Harry’s voice is like whiskey when he speaks, all low and honeyed.

“It’s not fine. You could be home and in bed by now.”

“So could you if you didn’t have the need to mother everyone.”

I don’t know what possesses me to do it—whether it’s the weariness or the level of alcohol in me—but I don’t retort with words.

I just stick my tongue out at him.

Harry laughs and shakes his head at me, turning that smile on his lap.

It’s that smile that forces me to say it, because no matter how much we bicker, I can never really be mad at him. “Why don’t you just stay at mine and go home in the morning when the tube is open again?”

His gaze snaps to me again. “Seriously?”

I don’t know where my confidence has come from. “Do you think I’d offer if I didn’t mean it?”

“But…your flat is tiny. Last I remember, you don’t even have a sofa.”

“I don’t,” I admit. “But I have a king bed. I can erect a pillow wall.”

He gives me a funny look. “I am not sober enough to listen to you use the word erect right now.”

I snort. “Seriously though. It’s so late and I’m tired and I don’t like this already, and for the sake of all our bank balances, just…just stay.”

He stares at me for a while. “I don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

I look at him, in his silly jumper and slacks and woolly hat. “I’ve got a big t-shirt I wear on my lazy days. You can borrow that.”

“How big?”

“Like, triple-XL.”

He purses his lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on, Harry. I’ll put it in the dryer real fast to warm it up, and I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

His mouth twitches again, nostrils flaring as he wards off another smile. “Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“Because you didn’t have to come out all this way with me and you did it anyway.”

“Of course I did, I’m not leaving you alone with a drunk kid and a taxi driver.” He glances at the driver. “No offence, mate.”

“None taken,” he replies.

“Is there still a charge if we cut the journey short?” I ask him.

“No, you’re on a meter. If it helps make your decision any easier, I’m going home straight after this job.”

“See!” I gesture at the poor bloke in the front who we’ve subjected to this torture. “Let the man go home to his family, Harry.”

I can see the driver’s shoulders shaking, but he never says a peep.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll stay at yours.”

“Good.”

Great.

Excellent.

Harry is staying the night at my place. 

In my bed.

I hope I didn’t leave the flat in a mess.

~

By the time we’re dropped off at my flat, I’m a practical zombie.

I let us inside, feet like lead, and Harry follows with just as much enthusiasm. Locking the door behind us, I dig through my drawers for the t-shirt I promised and toss it in the dryer for a few minutes. I clean my teeth, and then give Harry the t-shirt. While he changes in the bathroom, I quickly change into a matching festive jersey pyjama set. Feeling sexy is the last thing I’m trying to achieve. If anything, I just want to be warm—the flat is freezing.

Once changed, I set about making that pillow wall I promised.

When Harry emerges, I’m midway through taking my makeup off.

Looking at him, I can’t help but giggle.

“When you said you had a triple-XL t-shirt, I thought you just meant a plain one. Or, like, one with some generic wording on it. Not this,” he points at his chest.

I admire him in my pink t-shirt, which depicts Salem from Sabrina the Teenage Witch surrounded by cake and the words ‘I eat when I’m upset’. “I think pink suits you.”

Harry’s eyes narrow at me, and he moves around the bed to the side I’m not perched on. He studies my pillow wall for a while. “Do you think I’ve got the lurgy or something?”

“The lurgy?” I chortle. “No, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think it’s me we need to worry about being uncomfortable here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist with a grin as I finish the last of my makeup removal, “as long as you stay on your side of the wall.”

“I would also be fine. I don’t think we need the wall at all.”

“And why is that?” I ask, tossing my used wipes in the small bin next to my bed. I slip under the covers, and Harry, with his hairy, toned legs, does the same. It’s still weird seeing him with a buzz cut.

“Because it’s half an inch tall. You couldn’t stop an ant from getting over it.”

I gasp, and reach over to smack his arm. “How dare you. Ants can vertically climb.”

“Are you sure?” Harry retaliates by smacking me too, except he completely misses and ends up whacking my boob instead.

“Ow.”

He’s already pulled his hand away and is covering his mouth, eyes wide with shock. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be!” I hiss, rubbing the assaulted breast in question.

“I didn’t mean to. I was aiming for your arm.”

“Well, your aim is terrible.”

He rolls onto his side, giving me his best puppy dog eyes. “I really am sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am! But this does prove my point that the wall is useless,” he reasons.

“Fine.” I snatch the cushion at the top of the pile and toss it at the foot of the bed. “Collapse the wall if you must.”

He grins, all pretty and green-eyed, and tugs the next pillow down the row up underneath his head. “Much better.”

Sighing, I say, “Go to sleep, Harry.”

“Yes, boss.”

I shut my eyes, burrowing into the pillows, and wait for sleep to claim me.

And I wait. 

And I wait.

Unfortunately, I am far too aware of Harry’s presence beside me.

I’m thinking about the fact that he’s currently wearing my favourite t-shirt and the shameful part of me probably won’t wash it for ages. Maybe an even worse part of me will put it on as soon as he leaves my flat tomorrow.

Fuck this crush.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to let him stay here? In my bed? In my t-shirt?

I really hate myself sometimes.

“I can hear your brain whirring,” Harry says into the silent space between us.

“It worked overtime today, the fans are cooling down.”

He snickers, and then it’s quiet again. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asks after another minute.

I open my eyes to find him watching me. It’s a little unnerving but I can’t say I hate the attention. “A secret?”

“Yeah. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

I study his face in the dark room. “Okay.”

He wets his lips with his tongue first. “I gave my notice today.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“End of January.”

I can’t be sure, but I think I might be about to enter crisis mode. Harry is leaving. Harry, who I’ve seen almost every day for three years, is leaving.

I let him tell me about this new job—how it’s the same position but more money in a bigger company with better benefits.

For a second I don’t know what to say, but I eventually manage to come up with, “Well, congratulations, H. Sounds amazing.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Are you going to miss me?”

I pretend to think about it. “No, probably not.”

He gasps. “How rude.”

I giggle. “Of course I’m going to miss you.” Probably too fucking much. Like, crying into my cornflakes every morning for the foreseeable future. That much.

“Good. I’m gonna miss you, too.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I have missed you.”

I frown. “What do you mean? We see each other everyday.”

“It’s not the same, though.”

I know what he means, but I’m too much of a wimp to admit it. Or maybe I just want to hear it come out of his mouth, because it’s been swirling around my head for months and months. “How?”

“We used to go out together, you know, me and you and Izzy and her bloke. We had a good friendship going, right? And I think I kind of fucked that up by taking that supervisor role this year.”

“Yeah, but your career is your career, Harry. You did what was right for you.”

“Maybe, but I still hated knowing I’d drawn a line somewhere.”

Funny. I thought I was the one who’d drawn the line. “Well, we’re not going to see you at all now.”

He frowns. “Don’t say that. We can still have Friday night pub time.”

“I’m not sure, H,” my tone is teasing, “you’re joining the big boys now. You’re more important than we are, you’ll forget about us in a month.”

“Don’t,” he whines, throwing me that puppy look again. “I won’t.”

“Sure.”

“I’d never forget you.”

“I’m sure you say that to all your old work friends. Soon it’ll be new ones with new pubs to visit on a Friday night, and we’ll just be a minor blip in your career path.”

“Stop iiiiit,” Harry growls, and the next thing I know, he’s reaching across the divide we made and wrapping himself around my waist, his face in my neck.

I don’t know how to immediately react, stunted into stiff silence.

“You are not a blip,” he insists, squeezing me closer to him.

“You say that now,” I mutter.

“You’re not,” he snaps, then a second later asks, “Why aren’t you hugging me back?”

Tentatively, I loop my arms around his shoulders. I don’t know where to put my hands initially, but one ends up on the back of his neck and the other between his shoulder blades.

“Better,” he says, face still shoved into my neck.

We’re back to silence again for a moment, but my mind is racing. This is not how I expected to end my night at all. Not with a man in my bed and definitely not hugging said man. Who I’ve happened to fancy for far too long.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s a good thing that Harry is leaving. Maybe now I can take time to get over the stupid crush I have on him and start behaving like a normal woman in her late twenties, rather than the perpetually single saddo that I’ve become.

Yes. I’m determined to turn it into a positive.

There will be no crying into my cornflakes.

“This is nice,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah,” is all I can come up with.

“You’re very comfortable.”

Seriously? I want to roll my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to move.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. DON’T. PANIC. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah?”

I swear there’s something blaring in my head. “Sure.”

With that ringing endorsement, he snuggles closer and pulls me flush against his front.

This is fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing to worry about here. No siree.

Except, then, his hand finds the back of my thigh, and he pulls it over his. With a pat for good measure, he lets out a satisfied sigh.

“This might be the most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

Great. “That’s nice,” I squeak.

And it is nice, in a way.

It’s nice to be held in the embrace of another warm body.

It’s nice not to spend the night alone.

It’s nice to feel someone else’s breath on my neck that isn’t just my own reverberating back into my face from my pillow.

The tantric tickle of Harry’s fingers on the back of my legs is nice, too.

Really nice.

It’s so nice, in fact, that I…

I fall asleep.

~

I wake up plastered to Harry’s chest. Harry’s chest, that is still covered in my favourite t-shirt. God, that’s pleasing.

It’ll smell like him now.

#winning

I think I’m the first one to rise, which means I have the opportunity to sneak off and start breakfast, but then I feel a warm palm against the skin of my lower back, circling, and I realise I’m not the first over the finish line into consciousness. I also feel a slight chill against my sternum and I think one of the buttons on my pyjama shirt might have popped open, which means there’s definitely the potential for a peep at some boobage.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Harry’s voice sounds like gravel.

“Hi,” I choke out.

“Sleep well?”

I slept amazingly. Dare I say it’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Maybe even months.

Fuck it, it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.

But all I actually say is, “Yep. Did you?”

He hums, his hold on me tightening. “Like a baby.”

I like that far too much. “That’s good. How…did we get like this?”

“You on top of me?” He asks and gives me another squeeze. “No idea.”

“I am not on top of you.”

“You kind of are. But I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’re comfortable?”

“I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. It’s like when you have a cat on top of you—you don’t move the cat.”

I look up at him for the first time, then. He’s still sleepy-eyed, but he’s more awake than I am and he looks so soft, and so happy. “Do you need me to move, Harry?”

“Absolutely not.” He follows this comment up with a lazy grin that has my insides turning to mush. He’s always been a little bit infectious, like a good drug, and so I can’t help but smile back at him.

He lifts a hand to my face then, still holding my gaze, with his finger under my chin while he gingerly wipes his thumb in the corner of each of my eyes in turn. When I throw him a questioning look, he responds with a simple, “Eye goo.”

I want to be disgusted by that, but I’m not. Not in the slightest. If anything, it’s making this crush I was so determined to get rid of yesterday even worse. And, because I can’t help myself, I gingerly reach my hand up to his face and do the same thing, wiping the dried moisture from the corners of his eyes.

We stay like that, staring at each other with lingering touches on each other’s faces. I don’t know what we’re doing. I’m terrified and nervous and excited all at once.

My heart is telling me he’s into this the same way I am, but my head is telling me I’m overthinking it and it doesn’t mean anything.

Now, call me fucking crazy, but people who aren’t into each other don’t touch one another the way we are.

I tell my head to shut the fuck up.

Tipping my head back slightly, it causes Harry’s light grip to adjust, until his hand all but swallows my cheek.

He lowers his head, and I know, I just know I’m not imagining the pull between us anymore. My breathing becomes laboured, chest heaving with every inch his mouth gets closer to mine.

When our mouths meet I’m dizzy, but I hold onto the shred of sanity I have left, if only to enjoy the moment while it’s here.

It’s exploratory at first—a simple taste of one another. Harry’s mouth is soft and gentle. He takes his time, like he’s learning me. His hands are doing the same thing, cautiously roaming my face, my arms and my back.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, because I want to touch him everywhere. Start with his chest, and for the first time ever I wish for the absence of my damn t-shirt on him. Move to his arms just to trace the definition of his muscles and the lines of his strong veins.

He’s so…delicious. Always has been, hair or no. And the permission to touch him in any capacity has me feeling drunk. I feel more out of sorts now than I did last night.

Harry’s grip moves to the back of my legs, and he drags me over his body so that I’m straddling him.

The new position has trepidation rendering my limbs frozen, and I have to force myself to move, to keep touching him. I can feel his length between my legs—not completely hard but certainly working its way there.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks against my lips, voice hushed but still loud in the quiet room. His hands dance over my hips and thighs, like he wants to touch other places but is worried of crossing that line.

“Yes,” I breathe in answer. 

He resumes his ministrations, becoming braver now with the use of his mouth, and in turn I do too.

My hands finally slip underneath the cotton t-shirt to feel the taut skin of his abdomen, fingertips following every dip and curve. In return, Harry slides his up my shirt, taking the weight of my breasts in his hands.

“They’re so soft,” he comments, and for some reason I like that so much that I kiss him deeper.

Our tongues are involved now, licking and nipping and tasting the other where we can.

“I want to take your shirt off,” I admit.

“You mean your shirt?” He teases, and moves into a sitting position with absolutely no effort.

“Both,” I tell him.

He grins, kissing me again while I ease the cotton up his body, until we have to break apart so I can remove it completely. 

Harry’s body is…perfect. I knew it would be—toned lines, masculine, pronounced muscles. I want to lick it.

I’m kissing him again, if only to stop myself from lapping at his golden skin.

I’m kissing the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—ever known.

I can feel him toying with the buttons on my pyjama top, slowly coaxing each one free. When the last one is done, he slips the garment over my shoulders until we’re in matching states of undress. His large hands cup my boobs, thumbs rubbing against my nipples.

A sharp bolt of pleasure zips through me, straight to the pulsing core between my legs. With an involuntary rock of my hips, I moan into his mouth.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, “did you like that?”

I can only nod, and then whine when he does it again. Helpless to the taste of him, I loop my arms around his neck. Our bodies are flush together, tongues tangled, and my centre is lined up right over his cock. His cock that is now fully hard.

I start rocking my hips in a rhythm if only to find some friction for the need growing in my lower belly.

Harry’s grip moves from my tits to my arse, squeezing tightly and encouraging my movements. “If you keep doing that I’m going to embarrass myself and make a mess in my boxers, but I don’t want you to stop.”

“Please don’t make me stop,” I beg.

“You better not stop.”

So I don’t. I keep rocking, keep kissing, keep touching.

Every roll of my hips is ecstasy and I can feel the bubble growing inside me, pushing to the surface. The heat in my body expands, not just inside me but across my back and my arms and my chest. I haven’t had any physical contact for a while, and the intimacy of this, with Harry, is setting off every single one of my nerve endings.

“I want to see you come,” he tells me.

I grip the back of Harry’s neck, and for the first time since we started kissing, he moves his mouth. He kisses my cheek, then my neck, my throat, my chest, and then he finally pulls my nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking while squeezing my breast, and, well…

I go off.

My orgasm crests in the least subtle manner—loud and hard. My core is pulsing and my legs are shaking. My body is on fire—in fact, I’m sure I can feel a bead of sweat dripping between my cleavage.

Harry’s mouth is on mine again, warm and wet and sultry, and I cling to him like I’ve got nothing else in the world.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry whispers against my lips.

My face flushes, as if I’m not already burning up, but I still manage to say, “So are you.”

He kisses me hard but chaste. “I’ve wanted to see you like that for a while.”

“Like what?” I ask, still panting.

“Undone. By me, specifically.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “What?”

He laughs, and his thumb strokes my cheek, “I’ve always thought you’re sexy as fuck.”

“No you haven’t.”

“I bloody have,” he insists. “I thought you knew that.”

I scoff. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. Now, I’m pretty sure I was promised breakfast?”

I give him a questioning look. “But what about…you?” I ask, and throw a pointed look at the space where our crotches meet.

“I don't believe in transactional pleasure,” he tells me, then kisses me again. “I just hope we can do this again.”

“What, sleepover?”

He laughs. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But I was also hoping there might be some dating involved.”

I gawk at him. “You want to date me?”

“Indefinitely.”

Well, shit.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentyNine

Steve strokes Eddie’s back slowly, firmly, trying to work out the last of his shivers. He’d downed the hot milk pretty much in one go and then clambered straight onto Steve to snuggle on the couch. The first record off the stack is playing, Led Zeppelin.

By the time the final strains of Stairway to Heaven fade out, Eddie feels much more settled under Steve’s hands, his breathing slow and even, his body more relaxed, “want me to flip it?”

Eddie shakes his head, hair tickling Steve’s chin, “no, again?”

“You like that huh?”

Eddie nods, shifting so Steve can stand and swing the needle back out to start the record again.

“You want to talk about it?” Steve asks as they're getting into bed. He’s pretty sure Eddie now knows all the words to Stairway to Heaven.

“The shower?” Steve nods, “I was...in the tank. For little bit. I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, like that’s all there is to it.

“And you feel okay again now?”

“Yeah...just...tired,” Eddie gives Steve a smile, but it looks kind of sad to Steve.

The turbulent grey sky flashes red, but there’s no thunder. It’s silent here, but for the creak of wood under Steve’s feet. He lets them carry him forward, the mirror reflection on the lake almost blending with the sky in the distance, the horizon a confusion of swirling clouds.

The dock ends, Steve’s toes wriggling on the edge, he stares at his left foot; lets all five toes curl over the edge of the rough wood. His eyes are drawn to movement, emerging from the reflection of the sky, coalescing from the swirls and flashes of red; a face. Eddie’s pale face.

It takes a moment for him to break the surface tension of the water, it clings for a second, like a film before it breaks and flows away. Steve doesn’t startle, it’s just Eddie. He looks...more Eddie though, somehow. His eyes bigger, darker, like they take up half his face. Cheekbones too sharp, black hair slicked back by the water, accenting the...odd shape of his head.

Long pale fingers break the surface of the water, black curved claws trail across the top of Steve’s foot, the cold wet grip tightening on Steve’s ankle.

Steve takes a deep slow breath, unable to look away from Eddie’s eyes and the red flashes reflected in their dark depths.

Steve’s ready when Eddie yanks.

Steve thrashes when he wakes up, just for a second. He never hit the water in his dream, but he drags in a deep desperate breath anyway. He feels for Eddie, but finds nothing. Stretching further, he confirms the bed is empty. Empty and cold.

Steve gets up, socked feet quiet on the floor boards. He walks through the cabin, flicking on a couple of lights as he goes. There’s not exactly much to look at, the cabin only really has the bedroom, the bathroom, and the lounge and kitchen open together. Eddie isn’t anywhere obvious. Steve tries the door; it’s locked, and the key still dangles there, confirming Eddie must still be inside somewhere.

“Eddie?” Nothing.

Steve walks back through, this time really looking, checking the other side of the couch, behind the counter, inside of the shower cubicle. The only place left is the little coat cupboard where he found the rotary sweeper.

Eddie is there, curled up as small as he can. He’s twisted into an odd position, like he’s trying to do something he used to do when he had a tail. He full body twitches as the door opens, “Eddie?”

Big eyes blink up at Steve as he crouches, half crawling into the cupboard on his hands and knees, he rubs Eddie’s shoulder, “you okay?”

Eddie nods then, untangling himself and throwing himself into Steve’s lap. Steve goes with it, sitting back on his haunches. Eddie’s breath comes in a huge shudder, his chest hitching under Steve’s hands. Steve’s pretty sure he’s crying, “it’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve comforts him, “I had a bad dream, did you? You want to come back to bed?”

They stand together, Eddie saying “I dreamed about the Upside Down,” as he sniffles and wipes his snotty nose with his wrist.

“Oh. Is that why you were hiding?”

“Yes,” Eddie’s frowning in the lamplight as he climbs back into bed, “got...confused. I was still there.”

“Well, you’re not, you’re here with me, okay?”

“I know I...dreamed about the tank. I think I remember something. Something about the man.”

“The man who’s looking for you?” Steve’s heart feels like it’s creeping up his throat with the horror of it all.

Eddie nods slowly, “yes I think...I think he touched me.”

“Touched you...how?” Steve tries to stay calm, forcing himself not to just to any conclusions about what Eddie means, unable to completely extinguish the possibilities of the...pain Eddie had been put through. They never talk about this, Steve’s never asked and Eddie’s never tried to speak about it. Steve has always kind of assumed that Eddie never dwells on it, and maybe that’s wrong.

Steve’s asked before about other things, if Eddie misses his tail or if Eddie ever thinks much about The Upside Down, but Eddie’s never responded with anything much more than a shrug and a smile, telling Steve he doesn’t think about it very much. That along with the fact that El has told Steve that Eddie’s thoughts are very immediate and in the present...well, Steve’s always figured it isn’t a worry.

Maybe it is.

Eddie frowns, thinking, before slowly lifting a hand and rubbing gently at the top of Steve’s arm to demonstrate.

“That’s all he did?”

Eddie nods, “the other’s...I was...stuck, on a table.” Eddie holds his own wrist tight to demonstrate, “the other people...needles. Take blood, I think.”

“Oh.”

“I think...I think he tell me ‘sorry?”

Eddie looks up at Steve again, a question in his eyes, but Steve has no idea what to make of it.

“Trex,” Eddie sounds out carefully, frowning.

“T Rex,” Steve corrects.

It makes Eddie’s frown deepen, “no small letters?”

Steve holds the record, “yeah, it’s...a stylistic choice, I guess.”

“Good record?”

Steve frowns at the track list on the back, “I mean, ‘Ride a White Swan’ is pretty cool?”

“I like it,” he takes the record back, turning it to hold it up to show Steve the picture on the front, “me and you,” he grins.

“Oh, so you get to be Marc Bolan and I’m...whoever that dude is.”

“This is my hair,” Eddie points and, yeah, alright, Steve hasn’t got an argument because Eddie is right, Steve shakes his head as Eddie puts the record under his arm, along with his new Led Zep record; he was insistent on getting his own copy of ‘Four Symbols’ to take home with them, “all done.”

Eddie kind of has his mouth open a little as he approaches the register, and Steve has to nudge him so that he stops staring up at the girls very pointy, very green, Mohawk. She’s got a fair few piercings, and her arms are littered with tattoos.

“Cool choice,” the girl behind the counter tells Eddie, bringing his attention back down, “you into Lord of the rings?”

“Lord of the rings?” Eddie asks, carefully counting out the right notes, Steve half watching to make sure he’s okay.

“Yeah, it’s a book. Both of these records were influenced by it, kind of. I think the guy who wrote it actually spoke to Led Zep guys and like, encouraged them or whatever. Kind of long though, maybe start with The Hobbit?”

“The Hobbit at the library?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know man, probably?”

“Nice...hair,” Eddie frowns back up at it, but he’s also smiling a little. He’s kind of wide eyed, and it reminds Steve of when he was trying to parse out the tree-in-the-house conundrum at Christmas. Confused awe.

But that also reminds Steve of Eddie getting sick, and sicker, and then everything that came after.

“Thanks man, love your nails. They’re metal.”

“Metal,” Eddie nods.

“You in town long?”

Eddie shrugs, “maybe?”

“No plans huh? That’s cool. A free spirit,” she leans on the counter, resting her chin on her hand and blinking up at Eddie, “well, you should definitely stop by the bar on Friday, it’s the only one in town, you can’t miss it. There’s live music, we could get a drink?”

“Beer?” Eddie asks, and Steve knows that tone.

She smiles at him, “sure thing sweetheart, whatever you like-”

“So, Eddie, lets go to the library?” Steve cuts her off, moving forward to stand just a little too close to Eddie. She looks between them, standing straight again, she frowns but doesn’t say anything when Eddie easily ignores her for Steve, “don’t forget your records.”

“Stevie love?” Eddie asks on their way to find the library.

The town’s bigger than Hawkins, but everything is pretty well signposted, Steve figures because of all the tourists. “Yeah?”

“She had...things.”

Steve looks over real fast, then back at the road, to see Eddie kind of playing with the middle bit of his nose, “yeah, piercings. They’re made of metal, they do it with a big needle.”

“And the pictures? On her arms?”

“Tattoos. They do that with a needle too, and ink. They’re permanent, they stay forever.”

Eddie nods, humming, then frowning, “do I like it?”

Steve laughs, “I don’t know, do you?”

“Do you?”

“Maybe, on other people? I mean, yeah, you see some really cool tattoos and...I did kind of think about getting my ear pierced maybe, but I never did it. Don’t think I want to.”

“Ear?” Eddie questions, tugging on his own, “ohhh,” he says, clearly putting something together, “like Birdie and Nancy? But...more bigger?”

“Yup.”

Eddie nods, “maybe.”

Steve smiles again, “sure, whatever you want. It’ll hurt though.”

Eddie shrugs, “it goes away.”

They’re silent for a short time, Steve following the signs to the library, “Stevie, she was going to...tell something? But you...not?”

Eddie doesn’t quite have the words, “I interrupted her yeah I was...well, I was rude. On purpose.”

“Why?”

“She was flirting with you Eds, she was going to ask you out.”

“I...oh,” then he grins big, “she likes me? I’m her sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I mean, probably.”

“Not like Stevie likes me.”

“No, but she would have, given half the chance.”

Eddie’s frowning again now, “you mean...sex?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie cogitates on this while Steve parks the car up outside the library. He’s frowning his working something out frown.

“If not tell people about us...then why...why tell no?”

“Well...you mean how do you say no, if someone asks you out?”

“Yes. How. How to say no?”

“Well...I mean. You could just say no, you know? Thank you, but no. Or you could say you’re...flattered?”

“Flattered called?”

“Oh it’s...it’s like…Okay, so you know I like you?” Eddie nods, “do you like that, that I like you?”

Eddie grins big, “yeah. That the best.”

Steve grins back, “right...so...if someone else likes you, that’s flattering, you know? They think you’re cool or you look hot or whatever.”

“So I can say...no thank you. Flattered. But no thank you?”

“Yeah. You can.”

Eddies goes to get out of the car, but then turns back, “you...say that? Thank you, but no thank you?”

“Yeah, yeah baby, of course. It’s just me and you, yeah?”

“Me and you,” Eddie repeats, nodding.

Eddie goes to get out of the car again, but Steve stops him, grabbing his arm. “Eddie...if you’re ever...not happy. You have to tell me, right? I mean we kind of live together already and you can’t really tell people about...you know, you. It would be kind of hard for you to date anyone else-”

“Not want anyone else-”

“No. No I know, but that’s what I mean...if something is ever, ever wrong, you have to tell me, understand? If I ever do anything to upset you, you have to promise to tell me okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and then, very suspiciously, looks at his own knees for a moment, frowning, before he goes to get out of the car.

Steve’s heart sinks so low, guilt ready to consume him. He’s already doing something to upset Eddie, “wait. Wait wait wait. What was that?”

“Stevie...sometimes with the gum.”

“Gum?” Steve asks, perplexed.

Eddie nods. “Pop. Pop pop. All the time. Pop.”

“Oh,” Steve sits back again, relieved, “kind of thought it might be something more serious than that. Anything else?”

“No,” Eddie grins big, then frowns, “yes. The milk, very small, but back in the fridge. Why?”

“Okay I’ll...not pop gum so much. And I’ll...not do that with the milk. Anything else?”

“No,” Eddie says, smiling, “pretty sure.”

“Ow,” Steve says, pulling his leg back to rub at it, “jeez your toe nails are long.”

Eddie wriggles around, lifting his leg. He quickly realizes he can’t lift his leg far enough to look at his foot with the comforter in the way, so Steve sits up, reaching under the covers for Eddie’s toes, “long?”

“Yeah...we haven’t cut them yet, right? Why have they suddenly started growing?” The sun is up enough to shine through the blinds, so Steve figures it’s not too early.

“Stevie...do I have stubble?”

Steve lies down again, reaching to rub Eddie’s cheek, “huh, yeah, a little.”

“Rough,” Eddie tells him with a disgruntled wrinkle of his nose.

“Well...I guess we can teach you to shave today, hows that? I wonder why this is all starting up now.”

“I can do it, I see you do it many times now,” Eddie tells him, taking the can of shaving foam, “I know it tastes horrible, so not in mouth.”

“How...how do you know it tastes horrible?” Steve watches as Eddie does a pretty good job of spreading the shaving foam over his face.

“I...do,” Eddie answers vague and evasive.

“Eddie...did you try and eat the shaving foam?”

“No. Maybe.” Eddie unsheathes the razor, “carefully, sharp,” he tells himself quietly.

“Why…?”

“Think like whizzy cream,” Eddie admits sheepishly.

Steve snorts a laugh, “okay, go with the grain so like...downwards, yeah?”

Eddie nods, leaning close to the mirror.

“Okay, don’t cut them too short, just take off a little bit at a time.”

“Little,” Eddie is sitting on the toilet lid, one knee bent, thigh against his chest as he squints down at the clippers and his toes.

He startles when a slither of nail flies off.

“It’s okay, we can get the sweeper after.”

Part ThirtyOne

[elikajinnie]

You Know You Should Not Have Survived That, Right? | Ghostface!Heeseung x fem!reader Part 3

Part 3 of 4

P: Ghostface!Heeseung X Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, stalking, obsessive/ possessive behaviour, blood/injury, violence, graphic descriptions, attempted murder, murder, kidnapping, mature themes, PLOTWISTS, IDOL CAMEOS!! i kinda went crazy with this...

Wordcount: 25.5k

Synopsis: In a quiet town where the shadows of the past seem to linger, you finally feel a sense of safety after surviving the horrors of Ghostface years ago. However, that peace is shattered when mysterious disappearances begin. One by one, people vanish without a trace, their fates linked to the haunting legacy of Ghostface, which begins to resurface. The past is not buried; it’s clawing its way back to haunt you.

a/n: this was way more complicated to write.. it was supposed to be dropped yesterday for Heeseungs bday! but i saw terrifer 3 so a setback! :/

REMEMBER!; This is purely fictional and just for fun. I do not wish any harm upon any characters.

please read part 1 & 2 first . playlist

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Heeseung turned sharply after you slipped away, his heart racing as he faced Taehyung. The sight of his friend, bloodied and hurt, only fueled the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. Taehyung let out a twisted laugh, his voice taunting. “I was one step ahead of you…” With a soft urgency, Heeseung leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Stay with me, angel…” His eyes, usually warm, now burned with a fierce determination. He stood up, the tension crackling around him, and strode toward Taehyung. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Heeseung pulled him to his feet with a fierce grip. “Hey! Hey! Let go!” Taehyung shouted, struggling against Heeseung’s hold, but his resistance was futile. Without a word, Heeseung dragged Taehyung toward the edge of the forest, the shadows growing deeper around them. When they reached a secluded spot, Heeseung released Taehyung, sending him sprawling onto the forest floor. Heeseung produced a knife, its blade glinting in the faint light as he twirled it effortlessly in his hand. “You will pay for what you did to Y/N…” Heeseung’s voice was low and steady, each word laced with a chilling promise. Taehyung's bravado crumbled as fear crept into his eyes, realizing the gravity of the situation.

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A woman sat alone in an empty office building, idly filing her nails while chatting on the phone. The monotony of the task at hand contrasted with the lively conversation she was having. "Yes, I know, it's completely crazy how she did that!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief.

As she glanced up, the ceiling light above her cubicle flickered ominously. Wrinkling her nose, she looked down at her nails, scrutinizing them before setting the nail file aside on her desk. "Yes, I know, Nayeon… I will," she continued, nodding along to the conversation.

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from somewhere in the darkened office. Her head whipped around, her body tensing as she froze in place. She was supposed to be alone, finishing up some last-minute documents. "Soo-ah?" Nayeon's voice crackled through the phone. "I'll call you back, Nayeon," Soo-ah said hastily, ending the call and standing up to peer over her cubicle wall.

The only illumination came from the flickering ceiling light above her and the glow of her computer screen. "Hello? Is somebody there?" she called out, her voice quivering slightly. Silence greeted her, making the emptiness of the office feel even more oppressive. She sat back down, trying to focus on her computer, but another loud thud broke her concentration.

Her nerves frayed, Soo-ah glanced at the clock on her computer screen. It read 2:15 a.m.—far too late for anyone else to be in the office. Rising again, she cautiously peeked around the corner of her cubicle, just in time to see a dark figure woosh past. Gasping, she jerked back in surprise and hurriedly ducked under her desk, clutching her phone tightly.

The silence was suffocating as she waited, heart pounding in her chest. Gathering her courage, she was about to peek out from under the desk when the light above her suddenly cracked. Sparks flew down, showering her in a brief, terrifying burst of light before plunging her into darkness. She gasped, the darkness closing in around her.

With a resolve borne of sheer fear, Soo-ah slowly crawled out from under her desk. She needed to get out of the office, away from whatever was lurking in the shadows. She moved cautiously, making her way in the opposite direction from where she had seen the shadow. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her eyes darted around, straining to see through the darkness.

Soo-ah crawled to the end of the aisle and rounded the corner, facing the large window that overlooked the city. The faint glow of the streetlights outside barely illuminated the dark office, offering her a sliver of visibility. She sat for a moment, catching her breath, before carefully standing up and peeking over the cubicles. Seeing nothing, she continued to crawl, her goal set on reaching the elevator or the stairs.

She halted when she reached what she thought was a wall. But it wasn't a wall. Looking up, her eyes widened in horror as she saw a person standing in front of her. The figure wore a white twisted mask, holding a hunting knife that gleamed menacingly in the dim light. "Fuck," Soo-ah whispered, panic lacing her voice.

The masked figure swung the knife at her, slashing her shoulder. Pain erupted from the wound, and she screamed, bolting upright and running. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Soo-ah repeated frantically, grabbing objects from desks and throwing them behind her, trying to slow down her pursuer. But the person continued their relentless chase, their footsteps echoing in the empty office.

She glanced back, only to crash into something solid. Turning quickly, she looked up and gasped. Another person, identical to the first, stood before her, their mask twisted into a wide, mocking smirk. Terror gripped her heart as she realized there were two of them. "There's two of you!?" she said fearfully, her voice barely more than a whimper.

The figure in front of her lunged, stabbing her in the stomach. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, the pain too intense for sound to escape. The knife was pulled out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her phone sliding from her grasp. The screen lit up, showing Nayeon trying to call her back, the name on the screen a cruel reminder of the normalcy she had just moments ago.

Soo-ah lay helplessly on the cold floor, her vision blurring as she looked up at the two killers who stood over her. They tilted their heads in unison, a chilling and unnatural movement. "Nighty-night," one of them said in a deep, mocking tone before he plunged the knife into her again.

Darkness consumed her vision as the pain faded, leaving only the cold embrace of death. The last thing she saw was the white masks, their twisted expressions permanently etched into her mind as her body grew cold.

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You sit in the corner of a bustling café, fingers tapping away at your keyboard, half-listening to the faint hum of chatter around you through your noise-cancelling headphones. People come and go, ordering their coffees, catching up with friends, but you remain focused, immersed in your work. It’s your usual routine—tune everything out, lose yourself in the flow, and get things done.

After what feels like hours, you decide to take a break, leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms. Pulling up a news site, you scroll absentmindedly until a headline catches your eye: "Another Disappearance Shakes Local Office: Young Woman Missing After Late-Night Shift." Your stomach sinks.

Clicking on the article, you quickly skim through the details. A young woman had vanished after 12 a.m. on Tuesday, leaving nothing but a pool of blood and her phone behind. Your frown deepens as you take in the chilling words.

“God dammit…” you mutter under your breath, rubbing your eyes in frustration. This was the third disappearance this month.

You sit there for a moment, staring blankly at the screen. The café noise fades into the background as your thoughts linger on the article. Three disappearances in one month. It didn’t make sense—people vanishing without a trace, no clear leads, only fear spreading like wildfire.

You chew the inside of your cheek, thinking about the woman’s last moments, about the blood, the phone left behind. But the more you think about it, the more your chest tightens, an anxious buzz settling in the back of your mind. There’s no use dwelling on it, you tell yourself. Nothing you can do from here.

Shaking your head, you push the thoughts aside and turn back to your laptop. The work needs to get done, and you’re already behind schedule. You place your fingers back on the keyboard, forcing yourself to focus, typing slowly at first, then gradually picking up speed as you sink back into the rhythm.

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When you get home, the soft meow of Ddongsik greets you as he weaves between your legs, rubbing his head affectionately against you. You smile down at him, bending to give him a gentle scratch behind his ears. "Hello, sweetie," you say, your voice soft as you stroke his fur.

After slipping off your shoes and shrugging out of your jacket, you walk into the living room and find Heeseung lounging on the couch, controller in hand, eyes fixed on the TV screen. He glances over his shoulder at you and grins. "Welcome home!"

You walk over to him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thanks," you murmur, before heading toward the bedroom. Heeseung chuckles softly, already turning back to his game as you make your way to take a much-needed shower.

After your shower, the warmth from the water leaves you feeling relaxed, and you slip into your most comfortable clothes—a loose t-shirt and soft sweatpants. Padding back into the living room, you find Heeseung still on the couch, focused on his game but looking peaceful. You settle beside him, tucking your legs under you, and lean your head against his shoulder.

He pauses the game and turns to you with a smile, sensing you have something on your mind. "Feeling better?" he asks, shifting slightly to make room for you to get comfortable.

"Yeah, much better," you say, giving him a soft smile before your expression turns more serious. "I was reading about something earlier at the café… there’s been another disappearance."

Heeseung frowns, his brow furrowing in concern as he processes your words. "Another one? Like the ones from before?"

You nod. "Yeah, same situation. A young woman. She was working late, disappeared past midnight. They found blood and her phone, but nothing else." Your voice lowers as the weight of it settles between you.

Heeseung goes quiet, his gaze shifting from the TV to the floor as he grows thoughtful. His thumb taps lightly on the controller in his hand, but his mind is clearly elsewhere now.

"That’s… weird," he mutters after a pause.

In the days that follow, you begin to notice a shift in Heeseung. He becomes more thoughtful, his usual easygoing nature clouded with something heavier. It starts small—he’d sit quietly for longer stretches, his mind elsewhere even when the two of you were just relaxing or watching TV. But soon, it becomes more noticeable. He starts glancing over his shoulder more often, even when you’re just walking around the neighborhood or running errands together.

At first, it’s subtle. A quick look behind when you’re out at night, his hand lingering protectively on your back as you pass through crowded areas. But as the days pass, you can see it’s more than just casual caution. Heeseung becomes more guarded, eyes scanning the environment a little too often, his expression thoughtful, sometimes even distant.

You think about asking him what’s on his mind, but you know him too well. Heeseung’s the kind of person who will speak up when he’s ready. So, you don’t push. You give him space, knowing that whatever is weighing on him, he’ll reveal it in his own time.

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You were deep into your work at the office, the soft clattering of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation filling the room. As you focused on your screen, a hand appeared beside you holding a water bottle. You blinked and looked up to see Taehyun standing there, his usual calm expression on his face.

“Here,” he said simply, handing it to you.

You smiled, appreciating the small gesture. “Thanks, Taehyun.”

He nodded and walked off without another word, heading back to his desk. You watched him go for a moment before turning your attention to the water bottle. Just as you were about to open it, you were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey!”

You looked up to see Yuna grinning at you, her energy as bright as ever. She leaned against your desk, eyes sparkling with her usual curiosity. “Got a minute? I’ve got something juicy to tell you.”

You laughed, setting the water bottle aside for the moment. “Of course, what’s up?”

Yuna leaned in closer, clearly excited to share whatever gossip she’d picked up.

After Yuna finished her lively story, you shared a few laughs and exchanged some light banter before she finally headed back to her own desk. Smiling to yourself, you turned back to your work, diving into the tasks at hand. Hours passed, the afternoon dragging on in its usual way, and soon enough, the office was beginning to wind down.

As you started wrapping up for the day, collecting your things and shutting down your computer, something tugged at the back of your mind. You glanced at your desk, suddenly remembering the water bottle Taehyun had given you earlier. You hadn’t even taken a sip.

But when you looked for it, your brow furrowed—it wasn’t there. The bottle wasn’t in the spot where you had placed it after Yuna interrupted you. You scanned your desk, thinking you might’ve absentmindedly moved it somewhere, but it was nowhere to be found.

That strange feeling from earlier crept back in. You distinctly remembered putting it down, so where had it gone? You stood still for a moment, eyes lingering on the empty space where the bottle had been, the office now much quieter as people filtered out for the day.

It left an uneasy feeling, but you shook it off, telling yourself it was nothing. Maybe someone had mistaken it for theirs or a coworker tidied it up. Still, as you packed your bag and headed for the door, that unsettling thought remained, lingering in the back of your mind.

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The woman walked quickly, her heels clicking against the pavement in a steady rhythm as she made her way home from work. The street was dimly lit, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp casting long shadows, but she paid no mind to the darkness. Her eyes were focused on her phone, fingers scrolling through messages, completely absorbed.

A van passed by on the road, its engine humming as it drove past. She barely looked up, not thinking twice about it. But that was her mistake.

She didn’t notice when the van made a sudden U-turn at the end of the road. Didn’t hear how its engine softened as it slowed down behind her, the tires barely making a sound. She didn’t see the figure that slipped out of the side door, silent and quick, their footsteps blending with her own until it was too late.

The first thing she felt was the sharp pain as a knife plunged into her back, cutting off her breath in an instant. She opened her mouth to scream, but a rough hand clamped over it, muffling the sound before it could escape. Her eyes widened in terror, her phone slipping from her grasp, clattering to the ground as the van rolled up beside her.

The door slid open, and with terrifying efficiency, she was dragged off the sidewalk and thrown into the back of the van. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing down the empty street as the van sped off, its taillights disappearing into the night.

All that remained on the dark, quiet road was her phone, lying facedown on the pavement, and a small pool of blood where she had been moments before.

The woman lay crumpled in the back of the van, her body trembling in shock as waves of pain radiated from the wound in her back. She tried to speak, to cry out, but only weak, choked sounds escaped her lips. Her throat felt tight, her voice too strained to form words. Her vision blurred, the dim interior of the van spinning as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

Through the haze, she saw them—the figures in the front of the van. The one driving wore a hood, their face hidden from view, but it was the other figure that made her heart pound in terror. Sitting across from her, they wore a white mask, plain and expressionless, but somehow more terrifying because of it. Their eyes were dark, void of any warmth as they stared down at her, watching her with a cold, eerie stillness.

The van rocked as it sped through the streets, the sound of the tires muffled by her own shallow breaths. She tried to move, to fight, but her limbs felt heavy, numb from the blood loss. Panic surged through her, but it was no match for the growing darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision.

“Time to sleep,” the masked figure said, their voice deep and twisted, each word dragging through the air like a final sentence.

The woman’s eyelids fluttered, her body losing the last of its strength. The world grew darker, her senses slipping away as the van continued its grim journey through the night. The last thing she saw before her consciousness faded was the haunting, lifeless gaze of the mask staring down at her, waiting for her to succumb to the darkness.

And then everything went black.

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As the days passed, the city grew more anxious. More women started to disappear, but the cases were erratic, with no clear pattern. There was no obvious timeline, no predictable interval between abductions. Some weeks passed in silence, giving a false sense of calm, only for another disappearance to send shockwaves through the city again.

The only common thread was chilling—each victim was a woman, alone. Whether she was walking home late at night or working past midnight in a dimly lit office building, it didn’t matter. The circumstances were always eerily similar: they vanished without a trace, leaving behind only blood and personal belongings, often a phone, as the sole evidence of their existence.

The media frenzy heightened with each report, but the police were left grasping at straws. Investigators found no obvious connection between the women—different ages, professions, and even locations around the city. Some worked in busy corporate buildings; others in small, isolated offices. Some vanished in residential areas; others in deserted industrial streets.

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The parking lot was nearly deserted, the fluorescent lights casting a dim, eerie glow over the rows of empty cars. It was close to 10 p.m., and the only sound in the air was the faint hum of the lights above and the soft click of the woman’s heels as she made her way across the pavement. Her phone was pressed to her ear as she chatted absently, trying to ignore the creeping sense of unease that always came with walking alone this late.

She spotted her car in the distance and quickened her pace, feeling a little more at ease as she got closer. But then she heard it—something subtle, like the shuffle of footsteps, just far enough away to make her pause.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice sharp in the quiet, her eyes scanning the shadows. Nothing moved. Silence.

She stood still for a moment, her heart thudding in her chest as she strained to listen, but no one answered. Probably just her imagination, she thought. With a nervous chuckle, she shook her head and returned to her conversation.

“Sorry, I thought I heard something,” she muttered into the phone, distracted, as she approached her car.

Then, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. Confused, she pulled it away from her ear to glance at the screen. The caller ID was unknown. With a sigh, she hung up her previous call and answered the new one.

"Hello?" she said cautiously, her voice tentative as she looked around, the dark parking lot suddenly feeling more menacing.

A low, twisted voice crackled through the line, sending a chill down her spine. "What are you doing all alone out there?" the voice asked.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat as her breath caught in her throat. "Who is this?" she demanded, but the voice didn’t answer her question.

"Do you like horror movies?" the voice continued, ignoring her. There was a sickening playfulness to the tone, like whoever was on the other end was enjoying this far too much.

"No," she replied sharply, her fingers tightening around her phone as she reached her car. "I don’t."

There was a soft laugh on the other end of the line. "What do you know about Ghostface?"

She blinked, confusion and fear mixing in her mind. "Ghostface? He’s… some infamous killer from a small town," she said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. "He disappeared without a trace. No one knows what happened to him."

"Mmm, that’s right," the voice crooned, as if amused by her answer. There was a brief pause before the voice grew darker, more sinister.

Her pulse quickened, and every instinct screamed at her to end the call. Without a word, she hung up and shoved her phone into her pocket. The conversation left her skin crawling, and she fumbled for her keys, desperate to get into the safety of her car.

As she searched, she caught a glimpse of something in her rearview mirror. Her blood ran cold. Behind her, standing just a few feet away, was a figure dressed in all black, a white Ghostface mask gleaming under the parking lot lights.

The figure held a knife.

A scream tore from her throat as she spun around, instinctively swinging her purse at the masked attacker. The bag collided with him, causing him to stumble back for a brief moment. But that was all she needed.

She turned and bolted, her heels clicking rapidly against the pavement as she ran, her heart racing in pure terror. Behind her, she could hear the sound of his footsteps pounding against the ground, growing louder as he gave chase.

The parking lot seemed to stretch out forever, each car she passed a blur as she sprinted for her life, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t dare look back. All she could focus on was finding a way out, away from the masked figure who seemed determined to end her night in blood.

The woman's heart pounded in her chest, her legs burning as she sprinted across the parking lot. But the heels she wore slowed her down, each step feeling more precarious as she stumbled forward, desperate to escape. Behind her, the sound of heavy footsteps grew louder, closing the distance faster than she could manage.

Before she could make it far, a powerful hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward with brutal force. She screamed, but the sound barely had time to escape her lips before a sharp, searing pain tore through her chest. The knife plunged deep, and she cried out in agony, collapsing to the ground as she clutched the wound, blood spilling between her fingers.

The masked figure stood over her, head tilted in a chilling, almost curious manner as she gasped for breath, her vision blurring from the pain. For a moment, he simply watched her, as if savoring her suffering. Then, without a word, he raised the knife again and brought it down into her back. The second blow silenced her screams, her body going limp as her life faded away, leaving her lying motionless on the cold pavement.

Just then, another figure appeared from behind a row of parked cars. This one also wore a Ghostface mask, his dark clothes blending into the shadows. He approached casually, his posture relaxed as he observed the scene before him.

"You suck at talking to them," the first Ghostface said, glancing over his shoulder at the newcomer. There was irritation in his voice, as if critiquing a performance.

"Well, I'm not one for small talk, really," the second one replied, shrugging. He stopped beside the body, peering down at the lifeless woman. "Never been my thing."

The first Ghostface scoffed, wiping his knife clean on the woman's coat. "Maybe stick to the killing then."

"Yeah, yeah," the second one muttered. "Now help me with the body before someone shows up."

They both crouched down, working quickly and efficiently, lifting the woman’s lifeless form and dragging her to a nearby van parked in the shadows. With practiced ease, they hoisted her into the back, her bloodied body thudding onto the floor of the vehicle. The second Ghostface closed the door with a heavy slam, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of witnesses.

Before climbing into the van, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the pavement, where it landed with a dull thud, lying abandoned just like the others.

The first Ghostface slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as the second one jumped in beside him. The van rumbled to life, its headlights cutting through the darkness as it pulled away from the scene, disappearing into the night, leaving behind nothing but the woman’s phone and a fresh pool of blood.

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The atmosphere at work had shifted drastically over the past few weeks. Tension hung thick in the air, particularly among the women. The recent string of disappearances—women being abducted either on their way home or in their workplaces—had cast a dark cloud over everyone’s minds. Every news report felt like a weight added to the growing fear that no one was truly safe.

Today, the office buzzed with anxiety. Groups of women were clustered together, their voices low but agitated as they discussed the recent events. You, Yuna and Karina sat at your usual spot in the break area, watching as more and more people abandoned their desks to join the conversations. The women spoke in hushed tones, but their words carried across the room—snippets of fear and frustration, all centered around the same dark subject.

Your supervisor, Mr. Park, stood at the front of the office, trying to regain control of the room. He raised his hands, attempting to get everyone’s attention, but it was clear that the unease had reached a tipping point. No one was listening.

“Everyone, please, calm down,” Mr. Park urged, his voice strained but failing to cut through the chatter. “We’ve implemented more security measures—no one should be here late alone, and we’ve hired additional guards to patrol the area. We’re doing everything we can—”

One of the women, clearly fed up, interrupted him. “It’s not enough! These disappearances aren’t happening somewhere far away—they’re here, in this city, and it feels like we could be next!”

A ripple of agreement spread across the room. Another woman spoke up, her voice shaking. “What if it happens to one of us? None of these women thought they’d be the next victim either, but look where they are now.”

You exchanged a glance with Yuna, who had been sitting quietly beside you, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced with a pensive expression. She leaned in, her voice low as she whispered, “This is getting out of hand. It’s like every woman here is on edge, and I can’t really blame them.”

You nodded in agreement, your own unease matching the growing paranoia in the room. “No one feels safe anymore. The stories get worse every time we hear about them.”

Just then, another woman’s voice rang out from across the room. “What about walking to the parking lot? What if something happens there? They say one of the women was attacked near her car!”

Mr. Park sighed, visibly struggling to maintain control of the situation. “I assure you, we’re doing everything in our power to make sure that won’t happen here. Please, stick together, don’t leave alone at night—”

But his words fell flat. The fear was palpable, and it was clear that no amount of reassurance could quell it.

Karina leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think it could happen to someone here? Like, someone we know?”

The thought sent a chill through you, but you kept your voice steady. “I don’t know. I really hope not, but it feels like no one is safe anymore.”

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, listening to the growing unrest around you. The women at the office were scared, and rightfully so. Every conversation seemed to circle back to the same grim topic—how quickly things could spiral out of control, and how anyone could be the next victim.

And as much as you wanted to stay calm, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the pit of your stomach, wondering if you or someone close to you might be next.

As the chatter continued, the tension in the room only seemed to escalate. The atmosphere was thick with anxiety, and every woman appeared to be looking for a way to feel safe again. Just then, one voice cut through the rising din.

"Wait a minute, isn't she the one who had that encounter with Ghostface?" A woman named Lisa turned to you, her eyes wide with both concern and curiosity. "I mean, she literally survived attacks from both the original Ghostface and the second one. If anyone is a target, it’s her!"

The room went silent, and all eyes turned to you. A knot formed in your stomach as the realization of their scrutiny sank in. The stories of your past encounters had become a source of both intrigue and fear among your colleagues, but you never wanted to be in the spotlight for that reason.

“Yeah, I mean, you must know how to protect yourself, right?” another woman chimed in, her tone almost pleading. “What tips do you have for us? We could really use some advice.”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, the pressure of their expectations weighing heavily on you. "I-I don’t think there’s much I can share,” you stammered, waving your hands in a dismissive gesture. “That was… different. You can’t really prepare for something like that.”

"But you survived," Lisa pressed, a hint of desperation in her voice. “You must have some kind of insight or strategy we could use. What should we do if we find ourselves in a similar situation?”

Their expressions were a mixture of fear and expectation, and it made you tense. "I know it’s scary right now," you continued, “but we have the police. That’s something, right? They’re there to help.”

"But what if they're not enough?" another woman interjected, anxiety spilling over in her voice. “What if something happens anyway? We need to be proactive!”

You could see the panic spreading, and your heart ached for them, but you didn’t know how to ease their fears. “Just remember to stay in groups and use the buddy system. If you see anything suspicious, report it immediately. We all have to look out for one another.”

The discussions turned to more practical solutions, but the sense of unease lingered in the air like a heavy fog. You couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite the reassurances, the threat was all too real.

As the conversations resumed around you, you felt a shiver run down your spine, wondering just how long it would be before the next headline flashed across the news, echoing the fears that were now a part of your everyday life.

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As the days turned into weeks, an unexpected shift swept through the city. The disappearances that had gripped the community with fear suddenly stopped altogether. News outlets began to report fewer stories about the incidents, and slowly but surely, the police patrols that had been so prevalent in the area dwindled.

With the pressure lifting and the atmosphere around the office becoming lighter, a collective sigh of relief spread among the women in your workplace. Conversations that had once been laced with fear shifted to lighter topics—plans for summer vacations, new projects, and even office gossip.

You couldn’t deny the sense of relief that washed over you as well, but in the back of your mind, a small part of you remained cautious, wondering if this was truly over.

With the return of some normalcy, you decided to take a day off, feeling the weight of the past few weeks finally beginning to lift. Taehyun had been instrumental in helping you settle into the city, always supportive and there when you needed it. He had helped you find your job and offered guidance through those chaotic initial weeks. You had come to trust him, and the prospect of spending some quality time together felt like just what you needed.

The sun shone brightly as you met Taehyun at a local café. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and chatter as people enjoyed their day out. You settled at a table outside, soaking in the warmth and the sounds of the bustling city.

“Hey, it’s good to see you!” Taehyun smiled as he approached, his easygoing demeanor instantly putting you at ease. He wore a casual outfit that suited him well, and his presence was always a comfort.

“Thanks for meeting up with me,” you said, returning his smile as he took a seat across from you. “I felt like I needed a break from everything, you know?”

“I get that,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “It’s been a rough few weeks for everyone. I’m glad to see things calming down, even if it feels a bit too quiet.”

You agreed, grateful for the shift in the atmosphere but still wary. “Yeah, I hope it stays this way.”

As you chatted over coffee, sharing stories about your work and catching up on life, you felt a sense of normalcy returning. Taehyun made you laugh, effortlessly drawing you out of your worries and fears, reminding you of the good moments in life.

“Honestly, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, leaning in slightly, “how are you doing with everything? I know the past few weeks have been tough on you.”

You hesitated, considering his question carefully. “I mean, I’m okay, I think. The disappearances… they shook me up, but now that they’ve stopped, it feels like we can finally breathe again. I just hope that it’s really over.”

Taehyun nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s understandable to feel that way. But you’ve been really strong through all of it. I admire how you handled everything.”

His compliment warmed you, and you felt a little of the tension inside you ease. “Thanks, Taehyun. I couldn’t have gotten through it without support from people like you—and Heeseung.”

“Speaking of Heeseung,” Taehyun said, changing the topic, “how are things going with him?”

A smile spread across your face at the mention of Heeseung. “He’s wonderful. We’ve been trying to make time for each other amidst everything.”

“That’s good to hear,” Taehyun replied, a genuine smile on his face. “You deserve to have that support. You both do.”

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You were focused on your work when Taehyun appeared at your desk, looking flustered. "Hey, have you seen Sullyeon?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You shook your head. "No, I haven’t."

"Aw man," he sighed, holding up a small stack of papers. "I have to go out for lunch, and she was supposed to print these for me…"

Without thinking, you spoke up. "I can do that if you want."

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt a twinge of regret. You had been looking forward to your lunch with Heeseung, and now you risked being late. But seeing the defeated look on Taehyun's face had pushed you to offer help before you could fully process it.

His face brightened instantly. "You would be saving my ass," he said with a grateful grin, handing you the papers. "I owe you!" he called over his shoulder as he hurried off.

You sighed as you gathered the papers and made your way to the printer. You weren’t thrilled about cutting into your time, but it was too late to back out now.

You sighed again as the printer began spitting out the documents, the faint hum filling the otherwise quiet hallway. While you waited, your thoughts drifted to Heeseung and the lunch date you were already running late for. A part of you regretted offering to help Taehyun, but there was no turning back now.

A sudden, faint noise from behind made you pause. You turned to look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on the door to the emergency staircase at the far end of the hallway. The sound was so soft, it could have easily been dismissed—perhaps just the building settling or a draft—but something about it tugged at your attention.

You tilted your head, trying to listen more carefully. For a moment, everything was still. Shrugging it off, you turned back to the printer, watching as the papers slowly emerged. But then, there was another noise, slightly louder this time, like something shifting behind the door.

Your brow furrowed as you glanced back again. "Hello?" you called, your voice breaking the silence.

No response.

The hallway was unusually quiet. Most of your coworkers had already gone for lunch, and the floor felt almost abandoned. Hesitation bubbled up inside you, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you moved away from the printer and approached the door to the emergency staircase.

The handle felt cold as you pushed it open, revealing the dark, echoing space of the stairwell. "Hello?" you called again, your voice bouncing off the concrete walls and disappearing into the distance.

Still no answer.

You were about to close the door and dismiss it as your imagination playing tricks when something fell with a soft thud near your feet. The sudden sound made you jump, your heart skipping a beat. You stared down, eyes widening as you saw a single pink heel lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Your breath caught in your throat. It took you a second to recognize the shoe—it was Sullyeon’s favorite pair. She wore them nearly every day. Your mind raced as you looked up the stairwell, then back at the hallway behind you. Sparse with people, eerily quiet.

Unease began to creep in, but concern for Sullyeon overtook it. You took a tentative step forward, picking up the heel. It felt cold in your hand.

"Sullyeon?" you called, voice more urgent this time as you started climbing the stairs, your heart beating a little faster now. The door to the hallway clicked shut behind you, sealing you inside the stairwell with the echo of your footsteps.

Each step upward seemed to amplify the unsettling stillness, and the further you climbed, the more your worry deepened. "Sullyeon?" you called again, but only the hollow sound of your own voice answered back.

Something was wrong. You could feel it tightening in your chest, a sense of foreboding that lingered as you continued up the stairwell, clutching Sullyeon’s heel in your hand.

You reached the top of the stairs, pushing open the door to the floor still under construction. The dim lighting barely illuminated the area, where plastic barrier sheets hung loosely from the ceiling, separating piles of materials and scattered tools. Dust filled the air, and the eerie silence only deepened your unease. You pulled back one of the sheets, squinting to peer through the space.

"Sullyeon? Are you here?" Your voice echoed faintly as you moved between the barriers, stepping carefully around the debris.

No answer.

The unsettling quiet pressed in on you as you navigated through the room, your breath growing shallow with every step. Something was wrong. Deep down, you knew it.

"Sullyeon?" you called again, a little louder this time, your voice cracking slightly. You pulled back another sheet of plastic and froze in place.

Your heart dropped.

There, on the cold floor, lay Sullyeon, her body twisted in a pool of blood. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. Her eyes, wide with fear and pain, locked onto yours. She gasped, trying to speak, but the words came out as painful whimpers.

"Sullyeon!" you screamed, rushing to her side. You knelt beside her, hands trembling as you applied pressure to the wound in her stomach. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and slick. "Stay with me! Stay with me, Sullyeon!" you cried, panic rising in your chest as you desperately tried to keep her conscious.

But Sullyeon’s hands feebly pushed against you, weakly trying to move your hands away. "What are you doing?!" you asked in disbelief, your eyes wide with confusion as you tried to help her. Then you noticed she was pointing, trembling, at something behind you. Her eyes filled with pure terror.

"He… he…" she choked out, barely able to speak.

You barely had time to turn before a sharp punch landed on your face, sending you reeling backward. Pain exploded in your jaw as you clutched your face, stumbling to regain your balance. Your vision blurred for a moment, but when it cleared, you found yourself staring into the mask—that mask.

Ghostface.

Your heart pounded, terror gripping you as you took in the sight of the iconic white mask. But this wasn’t Heeseung. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this wasn’t him. You’d watched him bury the mask and knife, leaving that life behind for good.

This was someone else. Someone who had taken up the mantle of Ghostface, using it to spread terror once again. And you were sure this was the person responsible for all the disappearances.

"You…" you spat, your voice trembling with fury and fear. The figure in the mask tilted their head, the sharp glint of a knife catching the dim light as they stepped over Sullyeon, moving toward you with slow, deliberate menace.

Before the masked figure could get any closer, Sullyeon, in a final act of bravery, kicked out weakly, tripping the attacker. They stumbled forward, crashing to the floor with a grunt.

"Run!" Sullyeon screamed, her voice filled with agony.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You scrambled to your feet, your heart racing as you bolted toward the exit, barely dodging the swipe of the knife aimed at your legs. The sound of Ghostface rising behind you sent a chill down your spine, but you kept running, your only focus on escaping the nightmare.

You threw yourself against the door at the top of the stairs, your entire body slamming into it with force. The door flew open, but just as you began to make your descent down the stairwell, a heavy weight crashed into you from behind. You screamed as you tumbled forward, the force of Ghostface’s body slamming into yours sending you both rolling down the stairs in a chaotic mess of limbs and pain.

Your body collided painfully with each step, the hard edges bruising your arms and legs as you tried to orient yourself. When you reached the bottom, dizzy and aching, you scrambled, trying to wiggle away. Ghostface, equally disoriented from the fall, lunged for you, his gloved hand reaching out. You screamed, kicking out with all the strength you had left, your foot connecting squarely with his face.

He let out a shout, clutching his mask as he reeled back, giving you just enough time to scramble to your feet. You ran, your heart pounding wildly as adrenaline took over.

You knew going to your desk and calling the police would take too much time. You needed to get out of the building, to get someone’s attention.

As you sprinted down the stairs, panic pulsed through your veins, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind you, Ghostface had gotten up from where you’d both tumbled down the steps. From the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over the edge, his gaze locking onto your retreating figure. His fist slammed into the metal railing in frustration, a loud clang echoing through the stairwell. The anger radiated off him as he leaned down, snatching up the knife he had dropped during the fall.

Without missing a beat, he started running after you, the sound of his boots pounding against the stairs growing louder with every step.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you flew down the remaining stairs, pushing yourself to run faster than you ever had in your life. Bursting through the door to the lobby, you ran toward the receptionist’s desk, your voice raw with terror. "Please, help! The killer—he’s after me! He’s in the building!"

The receptionist looked up, her face pale with fear as she took in your blood-streaked hands and panicked expression. She fumbled for the phone, her fingers shaking, but you knew every second counted.

You collapsed into a chair in the lobby, still shaking when the police arrived. Heeseung appeared beside you soon after, his eyes wide with horror when he saw you sitting there, bloodied and terrified. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his protective grip never faltering. You buried your face into his chest, your body trembling as you tried to steady your breath.

The police searched the building, but when they returned, the news wasn’t good.

"Look, miss," one of the officers began, his expression grim as he knelt beside you. "We searched everything, but the only thing we found was some blood and Miss Sullyeon’s phone." He held up a clear evidence bag, the bloodied phone lying inside. "The killer isn’t in the building anymore."

You sighed heavily, feeling a weight settle in your chest. Heeseung tensed beside you, his jaw clenched in frustration. "That clearly means the killer knows the area," he muttered darkly, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the ground.

"Clearly," the officer agreed, sounding just as defeated. "Look, if it’s alright with you, we’d like you to come back to the station to fill out your statement. Is that okay?"

You nodded, exhausted. Heeseung helped you to your feet, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist as the two of you followed the officers to their car.

Sitting in the back of the police car, Heeseung looked deeply unsettled. His hand found yours, squeezing gently as if to reassure you, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere. "I’m sorry, angel. I should have been there," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt.

"It’s not your fault, Heeseung," you whispered, leaning into him. "Don’t beat yourself up over something you couldn’t have known would happen today."

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "I know… but this is all my fault." His voice cracked slightly, and his thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, his other hand softly tracing the bruise forming on your cheek.

You understood what he meant. It wasn’t about today. He was blaming himself for everything—the murders, the start of everything. Ghostface had started with him, and now it was continuing, spreading like a dark shadow over both of your lives.

You had fallen in love with a felon, a criminal, a murderer. He had buried the mask, but the legacy had been reborn, and now you were yet again in the midst of it.

The trilogy had begun.

You arrived at the police station, the air heavy with tension. Heeseung was more on edge than usual, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the room warily. You knew he wasn’t fond of police stations—it was no secret why. His past left a bitter taste every time you were around law enforcement, and you could feel the weight of his discomfort radiating beside you.

Inside, the officers seemed to pick up on his energy too. As you both sat down at a desk, you noticed how one officer, who was meant to take your statement, hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously toward Heeseung. His presence, usually calm and collected around you, now felt almost threatening to others, though unintentionally. You reached out and placed a hand on his, squeezing it softly, a silent reminder that you were in this together.

"Is it okay if Heeseung stays while I give my statement?" you asked, though it came out more like a gentle command.

The officer, clearly a little intimidated by Heeseung's stoic demeanor, nodded quickly, fumbling with his notepad. "Y-yeah, of course. No problem."

Heeseung settled back in the chair next to you, though you could feel the tension in his muscles. His fingers gently drummed on the armrest, his gaze flickering toward every movement around the station. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a silent gesture of reassurance—but you could tell he was simmering under the surface.

The officer glanced at Heeseung briefly, then quickly looked away. You could tell he was intimidated, not just by Heeseung's physical presence but by the silent weight he carried with him.

The officer cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling out a notepad. “Alright, ma’am, let’s go over everything. Please tell us what happened with the… attacker.” He hesitated at the word “Ghostface,” as if saying it out loud might somehow conjure the horror you’d just escaped from.

You nodded, leaning forward slightly, your hand still intertwined with Heeseung’s for support. “It all happened so fast,” you began, voice still shaky. “I was printing papers when I heard a noise coming from the emergency stairwell. I went to check it out, and I found Sullyeon. She was hurt—stabbed.”

The officer scribbled down your words but kept glancing nervously at Heeseung, who remained silent, his eyes sharp and observant. You continued, describing every detail you could remember about the attack, your voice faltering slightly as you relived the terror. “Then... he came after me. He was wearing a Ghostface mask, like the one from the murders back in my hometown. I... I don’t know who he was, but he attacked me, and I barely got away.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched as you spoke, his hand tightening around yours as though trying to shield you from the memory. His tension was palpable, and the officer, clearly uneasy, fumbled a bit with his notes. “And, uh, the suspect... Did you notice anything specific about him? His height, build, any details?”

You tried to focus, but Heeseung's tension made it hard to stay calm. “He was under six feet tall, a bit shorter. He moved fast, and... he didn’t say anything, just chased me. I didn’t get a good look at anything other than the mask and the knife.”

The officer nodded, scribbling down the details while casting a wary glance at Heeseung. “Alright, we’ll take this information and do our best to track him down. We’ll also be investigating Sullyeon’s disappearance.”

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The drive home was heavy with silence. Heeseung’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he focused on the road. He hadn't said a word since leaving the station, and the tension between you grew with every passing minute. You knew this silence well—it wasn’t anger, but something deeper. Heeseung was in his head, wrestling with thoughts he never liked to voice.

When you finally reached home, the familiar creak of the front door seemed to echo in the quiet night. Heeseung held the door open for you, his eyes dark with something unreadable. As you stepped inside, he finally spoke, his voice soft yet strained. “You should go wash up.”

You nodded, sensing that he wasn’t quite ready to talk yet. After everything, you needed the hot water to clear your mind, to wash away the remnants of the day—the blood, the fear, the lingering image of Ghostface in your head. You could feel Heeseung’s eyes on you as you walked to the bathroom, his silent presence heavy with worry.

Once you had showered and changed into clean clothes, you found him sitting on the couch in the living room, staring out the window. The dim light cast long shadows across his face, making him look even more lost in thought. You approached cautiously, sitting down beside him, your presence breaking through his reverie.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of everything that had happened, everything that lingered in your past, seemed to hang in the air. Finally, Heeseung broke the silence, his voice quiet but filled with something raw.

“I’ve always feared this would happen,” he began, his eyes still fixed on the window, as if looking anywhere but at you. “That someone… someone would pick up where I left off. I always knew it was possible.”

You stayed silent, listening, feeling the tension radiating off him.

“For years, I tried to put it behind me, tried to forget what I did as Ghostface. I thought burying it, moving away, starting over—it would all be enough. But these disappearances… I’ve been looking into them on my own, trying to piece it together. They’re not random. They’re murders. And now, they’ve come for you.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he finally turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and fear. “I’ve been researching, trying to find patterns, but… it’s always the same. Young women, alone, just like you were today. And the one thing I’ve always feared… it’s happening. I’m losing you, and I don’t know what to do.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the tension in his grip. Heeseung’s eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane. Without you… I don’t know who I’d be.”

The intensity of his words hit you hard. You knew Heeseung struggled with his past, but hearing him voice it like this, raw and unfiltered, shook you. He had always been your rock, the one who seemed steady despite everything. But now, sitting here, you realized how deeply afraid he was—afraid of the person he used to be, and afraid of losing the one thing that gave him stability: you.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “We’ll get through this together. We’ve faced worse, remember?”

Heeseung closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time you’re out there, every time you’re alone… It kills me. And today… I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“It’s not your fault, Heeseung,” you reassured him. “You couldn’t have known. But I’m still here, and we’re going to figure this out.”

His grip tightened around your hand, and for the first time that night, he let out a deep sigh, leaning his head against yours. “I’m so scared, angel,” he whispered. “I’m scared of what’s coming. But I’m more scared of losing you.”

Heeseung's breath warmed your skin as he leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in that fragile moment, suspended in the heaviness of your fears and unspoken worries.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised softly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was tentative at first, a mixture of fear and longing. It felt as if you were both trying to hold onto something precious, something that could slip away at any moment. But as you kissed him back, the weight of the world lifted, if only for a moment.

His hands cradled your face, fingers tangling in your hair, grounding you both. You melted into the kiss, your heart racing as the intensity of your connection deepened. It was more than just a kiss; it was a vow, a silent promise to protect each other against the shadows of your past.

As you pulled back slightly, your foreheads still touching, you could see the storm of emotions swirling in Heeseung’s eyes—fear, love, and determination. “I need you to promise me something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you replied, your heart aching for him, for the vulnerability he laid bare.

“If anything happens… if I can’t protect you…” he paused, his gaze intense. “You need to fight. You need to survive. I don’t care what it takes. Just keep running. Promise me that.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his request. “I promise, Heeseung. I’ll fight. I won’t let him take me.”

A flicker of relief passed through his eyes, and he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if sealing the promise between you. The fear still lingered, a shadow that clung to your hearts, but in that moment, you felt invincible together. Whatever Ghostface represented—whatever legacy of terror threatened to reclaim you—you would confront it head-on, side by side.

Heeseung pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from everything that lurked in the darkness outside. You could feel the tremors of anxiety still present in his body.

You began to rub his back gently, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his spine. With each stroke, you whispered sweet reassurances, reminding him that you were there and that everything would be okay.

Slowly, you felt his body begin to relax beneath your touch. His breath steadied, the tension in his shoulders easing as he melted against you, burying his head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, and you could feel the weight of the world lift just a little. Heeseung sighed softly, and in that moment, you knew you had reached him.

Before you both realized it, the exhaustion and stress from the day began to take their toll. The adrenaline that had coursed through your veins was fading, leaving a heavy fog of fatigue in its wake. Heeseung shifted slightly, pulling you onto his lap, and instinctively, you nestled closer, your head resting against his shoulder. He began placing soft, lingering kisses on your neck and shoulder, each touch igniting a sense of safety that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. With every kiss, you felt your eyelids grow heavier, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you into a tranquil state.

In Heeseung’s arms, you felt safe. The chaos of the day faded into the background as you succumbed to the comforting warmth that enveloped you. Your breaths became slower and steadier, and before you knew it, you drifted off into a deep sleep, completely surrendering to the solace of the moment.

“Always so sweet… so precious…” Heeseung murmured, knowing you were asleep. He could always tell by your body language—the way you relaxed against him, how your breathing changed when you finally surrendered to sleep. It reminded him of the time when you had first collapsed in his arms, utterly exhausted and vulnerable. Back then, he had revealed his dark secret, the truth that he was Ghostface, and yet you had still chosen him.

As you slept, Heeseung gently pulled back, carefully rearranging you so that you lay fully against his chest. He laid back on the couch, cradling you against him as he reveled in the moment. He played with your hair, his fingers weaving through the strands, each stroke a reminder—one that you were there, how he would always keep you close.

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Returning to work after a few days of leave felt like stepping into a spotlight you didn’t want to be under. After the attack, you had been on the frontlines of the news, plastered across every screen and newspaper. Now, as you walked into the office, everyone’s eyes followed you. People whispered and pointed, their murmurs barely concealed. It took you back to when you had first survived the original Ghostface years ago—the trauma, the constant attention, the feeling of being both a survivor and a spectacle. Back then, you’d learned that Heeseung had been Ghostface.

After waking up in the hospital, Taehyung had disappeared, and Heeseung never wanted to tell you what really happened after you fainted that night.

That dark chapter of your life had been followed by relentless media attention, to the point that you and Heeseung had spent years living in the secluded hut he had taken you to, just to escape. Slowly, the public interest in your story had faded into just another horrific event in the world’s ever-growing archive. When you returned to public life, there were still whispers, occasional stares from people who recognized your face. But it was manageable. You’d gotten used to it.

Now, though, it felt like history was repeating itself. Seeing your colleagues point, hearing the quiet exchanges behind your back, it all left you feeling a mix of guilt and hopelessness. Why was it always you? Why did the specter of Ghostface still loom over your life, even when you thought you had moved on?

You sat down at your desk and sighed deeply, putting your head down on the cool surface in an attempt to shut out the world. The weight of everything pressed down on you.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun’s voice broke through the fog of your thoughts, and you groaned softly, not ready for conversation.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, lifting your head slightly to look at him. "I mean, I'll survive… I guess."

Taehyun’s expression was filled with guilt, his usual easygoing nature replaced by something far more solemn. “Yeah, listen… I just wanted to say sorry. If I had just printed those papers myself, this might not have happened.”

The remorse in his voice was palpable, but you shook your head. “It’s totally okay, Taehyun. Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault,” you insisted, trying to sound more certain than you felt.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding, though you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. "Still… I should’ve been more aware."

You smiled weakly, trying to reassure him despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “Really, it’s not on you.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of Taehyun's guilt as he sat beside you, shoulders hunched, concern etched on his face. "Really, Taehyun, it’s not your fault," you said gently, though a part of you wished none of this had ever happened. "There’s no way you could have known."

He hesitated, still uneasy. "But I feel like if I hadn’t asked you to print those papers, none of this—"

You interrupted, your voice softer now. "Taehyun, you can’t blame yourself. These things… they just happen. It’s like fate or something, always pulling me back into this nightmare." You gave him a small, tired smile, but your words carried a weight you couldn’t fully mask.

Taehyun shifted closer, concern deepening. "But are you really okay? I mean… facing all this again…"

You exhaled shakily, your defenses slipping as the exhaustion of everything you’d been through clawed at you. "Honestly? I’m tired, Taehyun. I thought it was over. Years ago, I saw that white mask for the last time, or at least I thought I did. And now… it’s happening all over again. I don’t know why it always has to be me."

His eyes softened with understanding, and without saying anything, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. It wasn’t a solution, but in that moment, his presence was enough. "You’re strong," he said quietly, "I know you are. But you don’t have to go through this alone."

The simple statement was enough to make your chest tighten with gratitude. "Thank you, Taehyun," you murmured, leaning into the support he offered, even if just for a brief moment.

After Taehyun left, you sat at your desk, trying to focus, but it was hard to shake the weight of everything that had happened. The office chatter around you felt distant until you heard familiar voices.

Yuna and Karina walked up, both wearing expressions of concern. Yuna was the first to speak. "Hey, how are you holding up?"

You forced a small smile, not wanting to get into it again. "I just… I want to forget for a while, you know?"

They exchanged a look, understanding immediately. Karina offered softly, "We get it. How about you come over to my place after work? Just relax, maybe watch something that isn’t terrifying for once."

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah, that sounds good. I could use the distraction."

As they turned to leave, your boss suddenly appeared. Yuna and Karina gave you a quick nod before walking off. Your boss approached carefully, his expression serious yet empathetic.

"I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about everything that happened," he started, his voice low. "If you need more time off, don’t hesitate. You’ve been through a lot."

You appreciated the gesture, but you shook your head. "Thanks, but I can’t. I need the money."

He nodded in understanding, clearly wishing he could offer more, but respecting your decision. "If you change your mind, just let me know."

When work finally ended, you gathered your things, feeling the exhaustion of the day pressing down on you. As you walked through the office, your steps slowed when you passed by Sullyeon’s desk. It had been turned into a small memorial, with flowers, messages, and her picture resting in the center.

You stood there, staring at her smiling face. She didn’t deserve this. The guilt twisted inside of you, your mind filled with haunting questions. If only you could have helped her sooner… would she still be here now?

A quiet sigh escaped your lips, your heart heavy as you tore your eyes away and headed out of the building.

After leaving the building, you were greeted by Yuna and Karina waiting by the car. They both smiled warmly, offering you a much-needed sense of normalcy. The drive to Karina’s house was filled with light chatter, helping to ease some of the tension that had been building inside you all day.

On the way, you shot a quick text to Heeseung, letting him know where you were. He replied almost immediately: Keep your location on.

You sighed softly but responded with a simple Okay, understanding his concern. Heeseung never liked being left in the dark, especially now.

Once you arrived at Karina’s house, the three of you settled in the cozy living room. You sat on the couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows, with a bottle of wine passed between you. Karina picked a random rom-com movie for background noise, but none of you were really paying attention. The conversation flowed easily, and for a little while, it almost felt like nothing was wrong. The laughter, the jokes, the comfort of being with friends—it was soothing, like a balm for your frayed nerves.

But even in that moment, you couldn’t fully shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It was subtle, a creeping sensation of being watched. Your eyes kept darting to the windows, trying to catch something—anything—out of the ordinary. But, every time you looked, there was nothing. Just darkness, an empty street with no signs of life. Yet, your instincts, honed by past encounters, told you something was off. You stood up, interrupting the conversation briefly as you moved toward the windows.

Karina raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking something," you replied quietly, already pulling the curtains closed. You walked from window to window, making sure they were all locked, double-checking the doors, and even ensuring the alarm system was armed. Karina and Yuna didn’t say anything. They knew about your heightened sense of security after everything you had been through. They understood.

Once you finished, you paused in the kitchen, your hand resting on the counter as you peered out one last time through the small window facing the street. Everything looked normal—no movement, no shadows, no sign of anyone lurking. Yet, that feeling in your gut wouldn’t leave.

You sighed, drawing the curtains shut before heading back to the living room. When you returned, Karina gave you a reassuring smile as you sat back down between them.

"Everything okay?" Yuna asked, concern lacing her voice.

"Yeah," you nodded, trying to push away the lingering tension. "Everything’s fine."

After a long evening, you and Yuna finally decided to head home. You both hugged Karina goodbye, thanking her for the night. As Karina stepped back into her doorway, she paused for a moment and looked down the street.

“I didn’t know the Jeons got a van,” she muttered under her breath before closing the door.

You caught the comment, something about it tugging at you. As you looked in the direction she had been staring, you noticed a black van parked a block away. It seemed like an ordinary van, nothing special about it at first glance. But a familiar knot of unease formed in your stomach. Your instincts, sharpened by past experiences, flared up.

"Come on!" Yuna’s voice broke through your thoughts, her hand gently tugging your arm. You let out a breath, nodding as you followed her onto the street. You pushed the feeling away for now. Maybe it was nothing.

Yuna spotted her boyfriend’s car waiting nearby and waved goodbye before getting in. You did the same, waving to her as she left, and then turned to find Heeseung’s car parked a little farther down. The sight of him waiting for you eased the tension in your chest.

You slipped into the passenger seat, the familiar warmth of Heeseung making you feel safe again. "Had fun, angel?" he asked with a soft smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours as he started the engine.

“Yeah,” you replied, managing a smile back at him. The black van lingered in your mind for a moment longer, but as Heeseung drove and the two of you started talking, the knot of tension slowly began to fade. You felt lighter, recounting your evening to him, and his steady presence grounded you as he responded with gentle laughter and comments.

When you both arrived home, Heeseung parked the car, and the two of you made your way to the front door, hand in hand. The cool night air seemed to melt away as soon as you stepped inside the warmth of your home. The moment the door closed behind you, Heeseung wasted no time. He turned toward you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed soft kisses along your forehead, your cheeks, and down your neck.

“Hee—stop,” you giggled, trying to gently push him away, though your heart fluttered at the affectionate attention.

He didn’t budge, his lips trailing down your shoulder now as he held you tightly in his arms. “You left me alone all afternoon… without my beautiful, perfect girlfriend,” he murmured against your skin.

You laughed, squirming a little in his grip but not really wanting to get away. “I wasn’t even gone that long.”

Heeseung grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you with that playful glint in his eyes. “Too long for me,” he teased, his hands tracing along your waist as he leaned in to kiss you again. “I’ve been going crazy without you.”

You tried to protest, but your laughter only seemed to egg him on as he leaned in closer, pressing more kisses wherever he could reach. His warm breath tickled your skin, making you giggle uncontrollably, and it wasn’t long before you gave in, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, still laughing, but the smile on your face said otherwise.

“And you love it,” he smirked, finally pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You and Heeseung were walking hand in hand through the mall, enjoying the leisurely day together. Earlier that morning, when you mentioned wanting to go shopping, Heeseung had simply grabbed his keys, ready to take you wherever you wanted. Now, here he was, holding your shopping bags with his usual laid-back demeanor, though his eyes occasionally darted around the mall, taking in the surroundings.

“I need to go to the bathroom, wait here, I’ll be right back,” you told him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading toward the restroom. Heeseung smiled softly at your kiss, his gaze following you for a moment before he sat down on a nearby bench to wait.

After finishing in the restroom, you walked out, checking your phone as you stepped into the main hall—only to accidentally bump into someone. “Oh, I’m sorry!” you quickly apologized, looking up at the man you’d crashed into.

The guy was surprisingly handsome, and what caught you off guard was just how similar he looked to Heeseung. “It’s quite alright. I should have been paying attention,” he said with an easy smile.

You smiled back politely. “No harm done.”

As you turned to walk away, a look of recognition dawned on his face. “Wait, aren’t you that chick who survived those killers a few years back? Y/N, right?” he asked, his tone a little too casual for the heavy topic he brought up.

You stiffened slightly but nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Man, that’s wild! I remember seeing it all over the news, and then when your face popped up again recently, I was shocked!” he continued, oblivious to your discomfort. “That’s crazy, I can’t even imagine—”

“Yeah, it was… a lot,” you mumbled, trying to make your exit, but he kept walking with you, throwing out more questions.

That’s when you spotted Heeseung, who had already noticed you from across the hall. His face lit up at first, but the moment he saw the guy beside you, his expression turned serious, his body language shifting into something far more protective.

Heeseung stood up from the bench, striding toward you with purpose, his eyes never leaving the stranger by your side. When he reached you, he immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The gesture was both possessive and protective.

“Is this your boyfriend?” the guy asked, glancing between you and Heeseung.

You could feel how tense Heeseung was against you, the low growls in his throat barely audible, but enough to send a message. “Yeah, listen, it was nice meeting you,” you started, trying to defuse the situation, but before you could finish, Heeseung pulled you with him, effectively ending the conversation.

“And that means we’re done here,” you said firmly over your shoulder, matching Heeseung’s pace as he led you away from the guy.

“Okay, bye!” the man called after you, but the tone in his voice felt forced, as if the friendly façade was slipping.

As you and Heeseung walked away, you glanced back for a second, only to see the guy standing there, staring after you both. His smile had disappeared, replaced by something unreadable before he turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about him.

Very off.

As you continued walking through the mall with Heeseung, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that crept over you. Something felt off. The buzz of the crowd around you seemed distant, your mind hyper-focused on the unsettling energy lingering in the air. You glanced at Heeseung, hoping it was just your imagination, but his sharp eyes were scanning the surroundings more frequently than before.

“Do you feel that?” you asked quietly, your voice low so only Heeseung could hear. You didn’t want to draw attention, but the tension in your chest was becoming unbearable.

Heeseung didn’t need to ask what you meant. He nodded, his jaw tightening as his hand around yours gripped a little firmer. “Yeah, I feel it,” he muttered, his eyes flicking toward the corners of the mall, searching for something—or someone—out of place. His body language shifted, becoming more alert, his protective instincts fully kicked in.

Without needing to say another word, the two of you picked up the pace, your steps quickening as you both began to move in sync, making your way toward the exit in a quiet rush. Every few seconds, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see something lurking just out of sight.

Heeseung was on edge too, his gaze constantly darting to the entrances and exits around you, always aware. His body was tense, as though he was ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. That same eerie sensation, the one that had haunted you for years, had returned—a feeling that something or someone was watching you.

When you finally reached the exit, relief washed over you momentarily as you stepped into the open air of the parking lot. The world outside felt quieter, but the anxiety hadn’t left you. The two of you made a beeline for the car, and once you were safely inside, Heeseung wasted no time starting the engine.

As you and Heeseung sped away from the mall, miles of road stretched between you and the unsettling encounter. The tension slowly began to lift inside the car, but a lingering unease remained. Heeseung's hand never left yours, his grip reassuring as the city passed by in a blur.

Back at the mall, a man walked out of the main entrance, his face set in a calm, emotionless mask. His steps were steady, deliberate. He paused just outside the doors, scanning the parking lot before slipping his hands into his pockets and walking forward.

A few steps later, another figure appeared, almost out of nowhere, falling into step beside him. The second man moved with a quiet confidence, his face equally unreadable. Without a word, the two of them began walking in sync, their movements perfectly matched.

They walked as if they had done this many times before, their presence barely noticeable to the crowd bustling around them. The pair exchanged no words, no glances—just an eerie, silent understanding that hung between them.

Something was coming, something dark, and it was creeping closer with every step they took.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

The next morning, you arrived at work with a heavy heart, the events of the past few days weighing on you like a lead blanket. The first thing you did was place the flowers you had bought that morning by Sullyeon’s desk. A burst of color against the stark reality of the empty space, they were a tribute to her memory, a reminder of the life she once had. You sighed deeply, allowing yourself a moment to remember her before turning away to your own desk.

The morning passed smoothly enough, a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your mind. Heeseung even stopped by with lunch, his smile brightening your day. He leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, a gesture that momentarily made everything feel normal again. But just as he left, your phone rang, breaking the calm.

An unknown caller.

You froze, your stomach twisting in knots. The office was relatively quiet, a few coworkers dozing at their desks, lost in dreams. A chill ran down your spine as you accepted the call.

“Hello?” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Miss me?” came a deep, familiar voice, sending a jolt of recognition through you. The last time you heard it, it had haunted your nightmares.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to block it out. “Not at all,” you replied, your heart racing.

“Awww, that’s not very nice. After all, I have missed you!” The tone was teasing, mocking.

“Cut the bullshit. I know this isn’t you. You are dead,” you said, your anger rising.

“Correct. It isn’t me. Seems like you knew more than you let on to the press. Naughty,” he said, the malice dripping from his words.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you demanded, your grip tightening around your phone.

“What I want? Well, it varies,” he replied, his voice smooth and sinister.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“You’ll eventually see… for now, I just wanted to talk.”

You were about to stand up when he added, “If you alert anyone, I will kill Sullyeon.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What…?”

Just then, a notification pinged on your phone. You glanced down, your heart dropping as you saw a picture: Sullyeon, tied to a chair, bruised and bloodied, fear etched across her face.

You gasped, bringing the phone back to your ear. “Sullyeon’s alive?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Yes! Why don’t you say hello?” he said, and you heard the rustling on the other end before Sullyeon’s familiar voice broke through, desperate and terrified. “Help! Please help me! I don’t want to die!”

Panic surged through you. “Get it?” he asked, a sickening satisfaction in his tone. You nodded, remembering he couldn’t see you. “Yes,” you managed to say, your heart racing.

“Good. Now be good and leave the building. Go to the parking lot,” he instructed.

“Why?” you asked, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Because we want to say hello.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving you staring at your phone in horror. You were frozen, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. Fear, guilt, and a desperate need to save Sullyeon flooded your thoughts. You had to make a choice—stay safe and keep quiet, or risk everything for her.

Then the words echoed in your mind: we.

He had said we.

There was more than one.

Panic gripped you as the reality set in. This was not just a game of cat and mouse; this was a calculated attack with multiple players involved. You carefully stood up, your heart pounding as you grabbed your bag, and started making your way toward the parking lot.

Just as you stepped outside, you spotted Yuna and Karina getting out of Karina’s car. Relief washed over you momentarily, but it was quickly replaced by dread when you realized the danger they were in.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Yuna called, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Just… lunch,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“But lunch just ended?” Karina said, raising an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into her voice.

You were about to come up with another excuse when your blood ran cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure in a black cloak and mask stealthily approaching from behind Yuna and Karina.

“Watch out!” you screamed, your voice breaking with urgency. But it was too late.

In an instant, you watched in horror as the knife in Ghostface's hand plunged into Karina’s back. She let out a muffled scream, her body crumpling to the ground.

Yuna spun around, wide-eyed and terrified, but before she could scream, another ghostface appeared from behind her, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

Two Ghostfaces. You had been right.

All you could do was watch in horror as Karina collapsed, blood pooling around her, and Yuna stood frozen, a knife pressed against her throat.

“This was unscripted… we didn’t foresee that you two would show up,” the Ghostface who had stabbed Karina said, his voice dripping with amusement. He then turned to you, “Come here.”

Your heart raced as you felt a surge of desperation. “No, no, no,” you stammered, instinctively clutching your stomach.

“Come now, or I’ll kill dear Yuna here,” the second Ghostface threatened, his grip tightening on her.

You swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “If I come… will you leave Yuna and Karina alone?” you asked, your voice shaky yet firm.

The two masked figures exchanged a glance before nodding in agreement. “Yes,” one of them finally said, his tone deceptively calm.

Taking a shaky breath, you began to move toward them, each step feeling like a lead weight on your chest. The first Ghostface didn’t appreciate how slow you were walking; he reached out and grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you toward a black van parked nearby.

The same black van you kept seeing.

Your mind raced as he yanked open the door and grabbed something from inside. Before you could react, he swung the back of a gun against your head, and everything went black as you were knocked out cold and thrown into the van.

“Hurry up,” he called, his voice cold and commanding. He cocked the gun as he climbed into the driver’s seat, eyes scanning the parking lot as he prepared to drive away.

The second Ghostface quickly threw Yuna onto the ground beside Karina’s limp body. He climbed into the van, slamming the door behind him as the van peeled out of the parking lot.

“You assholes!! Murderers! Kidnappers!” Yuna screamed, scrambling to Karina’s side. Desperately, she fumbled for her phone, trying to call for help.

Laying still, your unconscious body sprawled on the cold, hard floor of the van, the second Ghostface took advantage of your vulnerable state. He rummaged through the shadows of the cramped interior, his movements swift and practiced. Pulling out a length of rope, he began tying your wrists together, the coarse fibers digging into your skin as he secured the knots tightly.

“Make sure they’re tight; she is too slippery,” the first Ghostface said, his voice commanding.

“I know, I know,” the second one replied, a hint of irritation in his tone. He expertly bound your legs, ensuring there was no chance of escape. Your body, limp and unresisting, was easily maneuverable under his hands. The pressure was overwhelming, but you remained unconscious, unable to register the sensation of the ropes digging into your flesh.

With your limbs secured, the second Ghostface reached for a sack, pulling it over your head and plunging you into darkness.

After a moment, the second Ghostface grabbed your bag from the floor of the van, rifling through its contents with an air of urgency. He pulled out your phone, the screen illuminating the dim space as he turned it over in his hands.

“Remember the code?” the first Ghostface asked.

“Of course I do,” the other replied confidently. He quickly unlocked the device, navigating through your apps with ease.

As he located the location settings, he turned off your tracking feature, ensuring that no one would be able to trace you. With a swift motion, he then powered down your phone entirely, the screen fading to black.

“Perfect,” he said, tossing the phone back into the bag before tossing it aside.

The two of them exchanged glances, a sense of satisfaction washing over them as they finished their preparations.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

The news of your disappearance spread like wildfire, igniting panic and despair in the hearts of those who cared about you. Your family was in shambles, frantically calling and messaging anyone who might have seen you. Your colleagues whispered anxiously in hushed tones, casting worried glances at each other. Your friends, were desperately trying to get the police to take action.

But amid the chaos, Heeseung was a tempest of emotion, sitting in the living room of your shared space. The once-cozy area was now a wreck, furniture overturned and scattered belongings reflecting the turmoil raging within him. He felt like a caged animal, raw anger boiling beneath the surface.

Ddongsik, was safe at Sunoo’s house, and for that, Heeseung was grateful, but the emptiness of the space only amplified his sense of isolation.

He had promised to protect you, to keep you safe from the horrors of the past that had once haunted your lives. And now? Now he felt like a failure. The weight of that failure pressed heavily on his chest, making each breath feel like a struggle. He could hear the echo of his own heartbeat, a relentless reminder that time was slipping away.

His mind raced as he stood up, clenching his fists at his sides. He needed a plan—he couldn’t just sit idly by while you were out there, in danger. There was only one thing to do.

He made his way to the mess on the floor, searching for his phone. As he picked it up, his gaze hardened with determination. He opened his contacts, scrolling until he found the name he needed. Pressing the phone to his ear, he breathed heavily, willing the other person to pick up.

“Pick up,” he muttered under his breath, anxiety coiling tightly in his stomach.

Finally, the call connected. “Get ready. I need you,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. There was no time for niceties or explanations; he ended the call almost as quickly as it began.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Heeseung turned and stormed out of the house, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He jumped into his car, the engine roaring to life as he gripped the wheel with fierce determination. He had somewhere to visit before he came for you.

As he drove off, the night swallowed him in darkness, but a single flame of resolve burned brightly within him. He would not fail you again.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

The hospital room was heavy with tension, the sterile smell of antiseptic mingling with the palpable anxiety that hung in the air. Karina lay unconscious in the bed, her face pale and peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded her. She was hooked up to various machines, beeping rhythmically, a constant reminder of the fragility of life.

In one corner of the room, Yuna and Taehyun stood, their voices raised as they argued over what to do about your whereabouts.

“What do you mean we can’t just wait? We need to go to the police again!” Yuna insisted, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears threatening to spill over as she glanced at her friend lying in the hospital bed. “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best!”

Taehyun ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. “And what do you think will happen if we go to the police again? They’ll just brush us off! We need to figure this out ourselves!” His voice was laced with desperation, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Figure it out how, Taehyun? By yelling at each other? By making each other feel worse?” Yuna shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “We need to be doing something productive, not arguing!”

Before Taehyun could respond, the door swung open, and a couple of nurses entered, their expressions a mix of professionalism and concern. The tension in the room was so thick that it felt like they had walked into a minefield.

“Excuse me, but we can’t have this kind of arguing in here,” one of the nurses said firmly, glancing at Karina and then back at Yuna and Taehyun. “You need to keep your voices down. This is a hospital, and your friend needs to rest.”

Yuna and Taehyun exchanged glances, both realizing that their emotions were getting the better of them. They took a step back, the heat of the moment cooling as they recognized the seriousness of the situation.

“Sorry,” Yuna mumbled, looking down at the floor, shame creeping in as she felt the weight of her worry for Karina.

Taehyun nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “We’re just… worried about her,” he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The nurses moved around the room, checking Karina’s vitals, their movements efficient and calm. One of them smiled reassuringly at Yuna and Taehyun. “We’re doing everything we can for her. She’s a fighter, and she’s in good hands. Just try to stay calm, okay?”

As the nurses continued their work, Yuna took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “We need to think of a plan,” she said, her voice quieter now but still filled with determination. “We can’t let this go on. We have to find Y/N.”

Taehyun's gaze drifted back to Karina, lying unconscious and fragile in her hospital bed. “I know we need a plan, but right now… all we can do is hope that Y/N is still alive.” he finally said, his voice low but steady.

Yuna bit her lip, fighting back tears as she nodded slowly. “I know,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I just… I can’t shake this feeling that something terrible is happening to her. What if they…”

“Stop,” Taehyun interjected, shaking his head. “We can’t think like that. We have to believe she’s okay. We have to believe she’s out there fighting to come back to us.”

Yuna sniffed, tears spilling over her cheeks. “But what if she’s not? What if she’s… trapped or worse?” Her voice broke, the fear spilling out.

“I can’t even entertain that thought,” Taehyun replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Y/N is strong. She’s faced Ghostface before. She’s survived this kind of nightmare. She’s still fighting, I know it. We just have to keep hoping and… and doing whatever we can to help.”

Yuna wiped her tears away, her expression a mixture of sadness and determination. “You’re right."

“Let’s figure out what we can do next,” Taehyun said, his tone resolute. “We need to reach out to everyone who might have seen something or knows something. There’s got to be a lead somewhere.”

Yuna nodded, taking a deep breath as she composed herself. “Okay."

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the lingering fog of unconsciousness. The pain in the back of your head throbbed like a drum, making it difficult to focus. Panic began to rise within you as you realized you couldn’t move. Your wrists and ankles were bound tightly, the ropes biting into your skin as you struggled against them.

The darkness enveloped you, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through a broken window, casting eerie shadows across the room. You shivered, the chill seeping into your clothes, which were inadequate for the cold air. Your heart raced as you caught a whiff of something metallic and unsettling—a stark contrast to the musty scent of the space. Looking down, you noticed the floor beneath you was stained with dry blood, and the realization made your stomach churn.

Desperate to understand your surroundings, you turned your head, scanning the dimly lit room. That’s when you saw her. Your heart dropped. Sullyeon was lying just a few feet away from you, unconscious and vulnerable. Fear gripped you as you tried to call out to her, but your voice was muffled by the gag that restrained you. Panic coursed through your veins as you wriggled in a futile attempt to free yourself.

“Sullyeon!” you managed to whimper, hoping that somehow your voice would penetrate the haze of her unconsciousness. You struggled to get closer, but the ropes held you firmly in place. You could see the bruises forming on her skin, the remnants of whatever violence had occurred before you both ended up here.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the rising tide of fear. You needed to wake her up; she needed to know she wasn’t alone. You tried again, making sounds that were half whimpers, half grunts, but she remained unresponsive.

“Please, Sullyeon,” you begged silently, your eyes darting around the room for anything that could help. There had to be a way out of this nightmare.

As you shifted slightly, trying to get her attention, the memories of the phone call flooded back—Ghostface, the threats, the urgency. A cold dread settled in your stomach. You couldn’t let despair take hold. You had to stay strong, for both of you.

With a sudden determination, you began to rock your body back and forth, hoping to dislodge the ropes binding you. If you could just get free, you could help Sullyeon and find a way out of this place.

With a sudden jolt, your efforts to rock the chair back and forth became too intense. The chair tipped over, sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard floor. A sharp pain shot through your side, and you groaned, the impact making your head spin.

In a frantic effort, you managed to pull the gag from your mouth, feeling the coarse fabric scrape against your lips. The taste of the cloth was metallic, and you spat it out, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. You took a moment to steady yourself, but before you could formulate a plan, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

As you looked up, your heart sank.

Two figures loomed over you, their silhouettes barely illuminated by the faint light filtering through the broken window. Instinctively, you narrowed your eyes, fueled by anger and a desperate need for escape.

“Look who’s awake!” one of them exclaimed, a mocking cheerfulness in his voice that sent a chill down your spine. You could feel the smirk behind the ghostly mask.

“Sorry for the mess, it’s a rent,” the other one chimed in, a tone of faux apology lacing his words.

“We got it for free!” the first one added, a laugh bubbling up from beneath the mask.

You felt your stomach churn as the harsh reality of your situation settled in. They had been joking about this—about the chaos and pain they were causing. You glared at them, the fire of your hatred burning in your chest.

Now that you were up close, you noticed the details you had missed before. The lean Ghostface wore a mask that seemed almost sad, its eyes downturned, as if it were mourning something. The other Ghostface, however, wore a bloodied mask, the crimson streaks an unsettling contrast against the white surface. Each mask told a story of violence and despair, one of them hiding behind a facade of sorrow while the other relished in the brutality.

“Let me go!” you spat, your voice hoarse and filled with venom. “You think this is funny?”

The taller one chuckled, leaning closer to you. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s not about the laughter. It’s about the thrill. And you… you’re the main event.”

The sad one stepped forward, a strange glimmer of something almost empathetic flickering behind the sad mask. “We didn’t want to hurt you, but you know how it is. This is just business.”

“Business?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re monsters!”

“Monsters?” the bloodied one echoed, tilting his head. “That’s rich coming from you. You think you’re the victim here?"

Your heart raced as they loomed over you, their words slicing through the air like a knife. “What do you want from me?” you demanded, determination mingling with fear.

“Oh, we want you to play,” the bloodied Ghostface said with a sinister smile. “A little game of cat and mouse. And you, my dear, are the mouse.”

Before you could respond, they both lunged forward, grabbing you by the arms and hauling you back to your feet, forcing you to stand despite the pain shooting through your body.

“Welcome to the show,” the sad-masked Ghostface said, his tone almost playful, sending another wave of dread through you. “You see, you’re not the only one who’s been through something traumatic. It’s your turn to entertain us.”

You felt your stomach drop as the implications of his words settled in. This wasn’t just about you; it was a twisted game for their enjoyment, and you were the unwilling participant.

“Let Sullyeon go!” you shouted, your voice ringing with desperation. “She hasn’t done anything!”

The bloodied mask ghostface stepped closer, his tone mocking. “Oh, but we’ve got plans for her too. Just sit tight. The fun is about to begin.”

They began to drag you toward the grimey window the room, and you searched for a way out. You knew you had to think fast. The stakes had never been higher, and your survival depended on your wits and strength.

You glanced around the dimly lit room, searching for anything you could use to your advantage. The moonlight streamed in through the broken window, illuminating the remnants of what looked like a former living space—a few scattered pieces of furniture, a shattered mirror, and remnants of something that looked like a previous struggle.

You felt the blood drain from your face as the bloodied-masked Ghostface dragged Sullyeon’s unconscious body across the forest floor. “No, no, no!” you gasped, panic surging through you. You struggled against the ropes binding you to the chair, but it was no use.

The view sent chills down your spine—the back of the abandoned house opened up to a dense forest, but it was the graveyard that made your heart drop. Rows of crooked tombstones jutted out of the ground, silhouetted against the night sky.

“Front row tickets!” the sad-masked Ghostface chuckled darkly, leaning against you. You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but your words caught in your throat as you watched the bloodied-masked one throw Sullyeon to the forest floor like a discarded rag doll.

“Leave her alone!” you shouted, voice trembling as he cut the ropes binding her legs, leaving her wrists tied. The next moment, he doused her with a bucket of cold water, and you watched in horror as she sputtered awake, confusion flashing across her face. In a panic, she bolted upright, and ran.

“Run! Sullyeon, run!” you screamed, your voice hoarse with fear, but it fell on deaf ears. The bloodied mask Ghostface waited a moment, a sinister grin etched on his mask, before he took off after her, his movements smooth.

You felt helpless, chained to the chair as you watched Sullyeon sprint into the night, desperation fueling her flight. But he was faster, and as you screamed for her to escape, your heart sank further with each agonizing second.

“No! Sullyeon!” you screamed, desperate to reach her, but the ropes only dug deeper into your wrists as you struggled against your restraints. “Leave her alone! We had a deal!”

But your cries fell on deaf ears as the bloodied-masked Ghostface swiftly caught up to her. You watched in horror as he plunged the knife into her back. “No!” you screamed again, but the sound only echoed back at you in the empty night.

Sullyeon collapsed onto the graveyard floor, her body going limp. “Sullyeon!” you cried, tears streaming down your face as the ghostface loomed over her. He dragged her lifeless form toward a freshly dug grave, and you felt your heart shatter as he threw her down into the dark hole.

“No! You assholes! You liars!” you screamed, the weight of the loss crushing down on you. “You promised!”

The sad-masked Ghostface dragged you away from the window, and you thrashed against his grip. “Easy there, sweetcheeks,” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “We used her as an example for you. For now, we won’t hurt you, but only if you behave.”

He pulled the gag back over your mouth, tying it tightly around your head as you glared defiantly at him, tears blurring your vision. “Now stay put,” he said, patting your cheek as if you were a pet. You watched him retreat, the door clicking shut behind him.

You screamed and cursed through the gag, frustration boiling over, but the futility of your situation crashed over you like a wave. Hours felt like days as you lay there in the darkness, staring up at the moon through the window, shivering from the chill that seeped into your bones.

It was too late. You had failed to save Sullyeon, and the weight of that reality hung heavy in the air, suffocating you with despair.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

As you sat in the chair, tied and gagged, you found yourself slipping in and out of sleep, the exhaustion taking its toll on your body. The pain in your wrists from the rough ropes and the ache in your head from the earlier blow pulsed rhythmically with each breath. Each time you closed your eyes, darkness enveloped you, bringing a brief respite from your grim reality, but it never lasted long before the cold or hunger stirred you back to consciousness.

When the sun finally crested the horizon, its light streamed through the broken window, casting soft beams across the room. You groaned, your voice muffled against the gag, as you blinked against the brightness, still feeling the remnants of your nightmares. Alone. The room felt empty, a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed your life just days ago.

Hours dragged on, and the sunlight slowly faded, giving way to a dimming sky. You had no sense of time, but the shadows creeping along the walls told you the sun had sunk low, and with it, your hope flickered like a dying flame. Your stomach grumbled painfully, a reminder of your hunger that gnawed at you, sharper with each passing moment. You wished for water, for anything to quell the parched feeling in your throat.

As the house settled into quiet, an eerie stillness enveloped you. The only sounds were the creaking of the old structure and the rustle of the wind outside. You wondered if you were alone most of the time in this desolate place. Was there no one watching over you? Or were they simply waiting for the right moment to return?

Your heart raced as you listened intently for any sounds in the house. The stillness was unnerving, and after what felt like an eternity of waiting, you slowly began nudging the chair you were tied to, grunting with the effort. You strained against the ropes, desperate for freedom, and with a sudden shift, the chair tipped over, sending you crashing to the floor. A small voice of victory escaped your lips as you fell, exhilaration flooding through you.

You quickly quieted down, ears straining for any response, but silence enveloped you. Cautiously, you looked around the room and your gaze fell on a shard of broken glass scattered on the floor. You didn’t know if it was from the window or a mirror, but it didn’t matter. It was your only chance.

With shaky hands, you grabbed the glass, carefully positioning it against the ropes binding your wrists. You began to saw back and forth, your heart pounding as you focused on freeing yourself. Time became a blur, each agonizing second stretching out as you desperately worked at the ropes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you felt the tightness give way enough to slip your hands free. You quickly pulled the gag from your mouth, relief flooding over you as you gasped in the stale air, smacking your dry lips.

No time to celebrate. You grabbed the glass again, using it to cut the ropes around your legs before standing unsteadily. The hunger and exhaustion fought against you, but adrenaline propelled you forward as you made your way to the door. You pulled down the handle and pushed it open, peeking out into the empty hallway.

Cautiously, you tiptoed down the corridor, heart racing, until you heard a front door slam shut. Panic gripped you as the voices of the two Ghostfaces echoed through the house. You quickly scanned your surroundings and spotted a half-open door nearby. You slipped inside, barely breathing as you listened.

You glanced around the room, taking in the dimly lit space before your eyes landed on an open window. Freedom lay just outside.

You climbed out of the window, carefully navigating the shards of glass that crunched underfoot as you made your way onto the roof of the veranda. The cool night air hit your face, a stark contrast to the stifling darkness inside. Just as you steadied yourself, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, making your heart race. You ducked down, pressing your body against the sloped roof, praying they wouldn’t see you.

Voices erupted from inside, panic lacing their words. “She’s gone!” one shouted, the urgency in his tone sending chills down your spine. “Where did she go?” another replied, their frantic footsteps pounding against the floor. “He’s gonna kill us!”

You knew you had to keep moving, and carefully, you made your way to the edge of the roof. Peeking over, you assessed the ground below; it was a good drop, but you didn’t have time to think about it.

Suddenly, you saw the sad-masked Ghostface poking his head out of the window, his finger pointing directly at you. “There she is!” he yelled, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

In a panic, you leaped off the roof, hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through your legs, but you didn’t stop to assess the damage. You forced yourself to your feet and sprinted away from the house, the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Get her!” you heard behind you. “She’s running!” the voice filled with a twisted excitement.

You sprinted past the graveyard, heart pounding as you raced into the thick embrace of the forest. Branches whipped at your face and legs, but you didn’t stop. You had to keep moving, had to put distance between you and the twisted faces of your captors.

You had to escape. You had to survive.

You pushed deeper into the forest, branches clawing at your arms and legs as you ran. The dense canopy overhead blocked out most of the moonlight, casting the woods into a near-complete darkness that was both disorienting and comforting. You had a good head start, but you could still hear their footsteps crashing through the underbrush behind you. The sounds grew louder, closer, and dread pooled in your stomach.

The forest was a double-edged sword; the thick trees and foliage offered you cover but also limited your visibility and speed. You had to be careful not to trip over roots or lose your bearings. Every time you heard a twig snap or a branch break, panic surged through you. They were hunting you, and every moment counted.

You darted around a massive oak tree, momentarily hidden from view, and pressed your back against its rough bark, trying to catch your breath. You could hear them yelling to each other, their voices echoing through the trees, frustration evident in their shouts. “She went this way!” one called, his tone filled with a mix of anger and eagerness.

You took a moment to listen, heart racing, hoping that they would miss you. The darkness felt heavy around you, and you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You had to think strategically. If they were coming from behind, then you needed to move laterally—find a way to confuse them.

As you carefully peeked around the tree, you spotted a narrow path weaving through the underbrush, leading deeper into the forest. Taking a deep breath, you made a decision. You would have to take the risk.

You slipped away from the tree and sprinted down the path, forcing your legs to keep moving despite the exhaustion that was beginning to creep in. You could hear the muffled sounds of their pursuit behind you, but the dense trees began to obscure their voices.

You focused on the path ahead, your heart pounding in your ears, urging you to go faster. The moonlight broke through the canopy occasionally, illuminating your way and giving you just enough light to navigate the twists and turns of the forest.

You pushed yourself, heart racing, as you dodged branches and ducked under low-hanging limbs. You didn’t know where the path led, but it had to be better than staying in the open. You needed to find a place to hide—somewhere they couldn’t reach you.

In the distance, you heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps growing closer, but you were determined not to let them catch you. You had to survive. You would fight for your life.

You were pushing yourself to keep moving, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart raced as you tried to look behind you, desperate to gauge how close they were. That was the exact moment your foot caught on a root hidden beneath the leaves. You tumbled forward, unable to regain your balance, and fell down a steep ravine, the world spinning as you plummeted.

The impact was jarring. You groaned in pain, your wrist twisting awkwardly beneath you as you landed hard on the rocky ground. Pain shot through your arm, and you instinctively clutched at it, biting back a scream. Panic surged as you glanced up, the sound of your pursuer's footsteps growing louder.

Peering through the dim light, you caught sight of the sad-masked Ghostface peering over the edge of the ravine, a sinister smile painted on his mask. "I found you," he said, his voice dripping with a twisted satisfaction.

Fear washed over you, igniting a primal instinct to survive. You screamed, the sound echoing in the hollow of the ravine, before you scrambled to your feet, pain radiating from your wrist but ignoring it in the rush of adrenaline. You could hear him chuckling above, but you didn’t have time to think about that.

You ran again, the ground uneven beneath your feet, struggling to navigate the rocks and brush. The ravine was deeper than you had thought, and as you ran, your breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation laced with desperation. The darkness felt suffocating, but you forced yourself to focus on finding a way out.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, their rhythm growing closer. “You can’t escape!” the sad-masked Ghostface taunted, his voice mocking. You didn’t dare look back; you just ran, hoping that the terrain would slow him down.

Just ahead, you spotted a narrow path leading up the opposite side of the ravine. It was steep, but it was your only chance. You pushed yourself harder, legs burning as you climbed, using the rocks and roots for leverage. You had to get to the top before he reached you.

With every ounce of strength, you finally reached the edge, pulling yourself up and scrambling onto solid ground. You turned to look back, panting heavily, heart racing. The sad-masked Ghostface stood at the edge of the ravine, frustration evident in his stance, but he was still trying to find a way down.

You took a moment to catch your breath, scanning your surroundings for any potential escape routes. You needed to keep moving. You had to stay one step ahead.

You would find a way out. You had to.

You ducked behind a thick tree, heart pounding in your chest as you leaned against the rough bark. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you peeked around the trunk, scanning for any sign of the sad-masked Ghostface. Relief flooded over you when you saw that he was no longer at the top of the ravine. It seemed for a moment that you had escaped.

The forest around you was eerily quiet, a stillness that felt both comforting and unsettling. You laid your head back against the tree, allowing yourself a moment to breathe. Your wrist throbbed painfully, a reminder of your fall, but the fear of being caught kept you from fully assessing the damage.

As you gathered your thoughts and tried to prepare for your next move, you heard nothing—no footsteps, no voices, nothing. The silence wrapped around you like a shroud, and you began to consider moving again, to find a safer place to hide.

Just as you were about to step out from behind the tree, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You glanced up, and to your horror, two figures emerged from behind the trees directly in front of you. Both Ghostfaces stepped into view, their masks eerily expressionless but the glint of malice in their eyes unmistakable.

“How?” you shouted, your voice shaking with disbelief and fear. You hadn’t heard them approaching at all.

The two of them exchanged glances, a silent communication that sent dread pooling in your stomach. Before you could react, they lunged at you simultaneously. Panic surged through you, and you ducked to the side just in time to avoid the first swipe of a knife.

You stumbled backward, your heart racing as you searched for a way to escape. You darted to the left, narrowly avoiding a second strike, but you felt a sharp tug at your shirt as one of them grabbed you. You twisted in their grip, desperate to break free, but the other Ghostface was closing in fast.

“Get away from me!” you shouted, adrenaline fueling your struggle as you fought against the grip tightening around your arms.

Just as you thought you might break free, you caught a glimpse of the knife glinting in the moonlight. The sight sent a wave of terror through you, and you kicked out with all your strength, managing to break free from the hold of one of them. You turned to run, the fear propelling you forward as you dashed into the dense underbrush.

Branches whipped against your arms and legs, but you pressed on, knowing you couldn’t stop. The sounds of their pursuit echoed behind you, taunts mixing with the rustling of leaves and snapping twigs as they followed closely. The forest felt alive, every sound amplifying the danger that lurked in the shadows.

“Keep running!” one of them shouted, laughter tinged with malice. “You’re just making this more fun!”

You knew you had to find a way to outsmart them, to lose them in the twisting paths of the forest. You pushed your aching body to its limits, desperation giving you strength as you darted through the trees, your only thought to survive.

You pushed yourself through the underbrush, every instinct screaming at you to keep moving. The adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your senses as you spotted a thick bush up ahead. You dove behind it just as you heard the crunch of leaves behind you.

“They’re getting slower,” you muttered under your breath, your heart racing. You knew that if you could just outsmart them for a moment, you might buy yourself some time.

As they drew nearer, you grabbed a handful of small stones scattered on the ground and hurled them toward the right, creating a loud clatter. Instantly, the two Ghostfaces turned their attention in that direction. Seizing the moment, you dashed to the left, weaving through the trees and thick underbrush.

“Split up!” you heard one of them shout, and you felt a surge of hope. If they were separated, you could evade them more easily.

But as you ducked under branches and maneuvered around roots, you could hear them regaining their ground. The forest felt like a maze, and you used every trick you could think of to keep them at bay. You grabbed a low-hanging branch and swung it toward one of them as he approached, hitting him hard enough to knock him off balance. He stumbled back, but the other was still closing in fast.

“Get her!” he shouted, lunging at you with the knife. You barely dodged his swipe, feeling the cold air rush past as the blade narrowly missed you.

You picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at him, hitting his shoulder. “Hey! Watch where you’re throwing that!” He cursed, and that moment of surprise was enough to buy you a few precious seconds. You dashed deeper into the woods, panting heavily, but you could hear the two of them coordinating their chase.

But as the chase continued, you could feel your strength waning. Each time you narrowly avoided their attacks, they managed to graze you, leaving cuts on your arms and torso. Your shirt soaked through with blood, but you pressed on, driven by the need to survive.

Eventually, you reached a clearing with a thick tree trunk at its center. Thinking quickly, you ducked behind it, hoping they would run past you. The moment they did, you bolted from your hiding spot, adrenaline pushing you forward once more.

But just as you thought you might escape, you turned to see the other Ghostface emerge from the other side of the clearing, blocking your path. Panic surged through you as you realized you were surrounded.

“Gotcha!” one of them laughed, and before you could react, they lunged at you. You fought back with everything you had, kicking and screaming as you tried to break free. But their combined strength overwhelmed you.

They tackled you to the ground, pinning you down. You struggled, but it was no use; they were too strong, and exhaustion was creeping in fast. As they restrained you, you felt the sharp prick of a knife close to your throat, and your body froze in fear.

“Stop moving, or we’ll make this much worse,” the bloodied Ghostface warned, his voice low and dangerous.

With one final effort, you tried to twist away, but it only earned you a sharp jab to the side. Pain shot through you, and the world began to spin.

“Just relax,” the sad-masked Ghostface said, his tone almost mocking as he tightened his grip. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

You were outnumbered and outmatched. The last thing you saw was the glint of a knife above you before everything faded to black as they knocked you out cold.

When you regained consciousness, it was in a haze. You met with the dim light filtering through the broken windows of the living room. The room was eerily quiet except for the sound of your labored breathing and the faint creaks of the old house settling around you.

The cold floor beneath you sent shivers through your body. You tried to move, but the ropes binding your wrists and ankles were tight, digging into your skin with each futile attempt to wriggle free. Panic rose within you as you recalled the last moments of your freedom before they had caught you again.

As your vision cleared, you spotted the two Ghostfaces nearby, their masks glinting ominously in the low light. The sad-masked one leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while the other one paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“Not letting you out of our sight,” the sad-masked one said, a sinister grin hidden behind the mask.

“No glass now to cut yourself loose,” the other added, his voice low and mocking.

You glared at them, anger bubbling beneath your fear. “You won’t get away with this!” you spat, your voice hoarse and weak.

The pacing Ghostface stopped and turned to you, tilting his head as if considering your words. “Oh, but we already have,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’re all ours now."

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. You had no idea how much time had passed since your abduction or if anyone was even searching for you anymore. You felt utterly alone, but you couldn’t let them see your fear.

“I won’t give up,” you replied defiantly, though your voice quivered.

The sad-masked Ghostface chuckled softly. “That’s the spirit! But you might want to reconsider your chances. It’s just the two of us now, and we’re not afraid to make it more… interesting.”

You swallowed hard, feeling dread wash over you as they exchanged glances, their twisted excitement palpable. Desperation clawed at your insides. You needed to think of a way out, to use whatever time you had before they decided to make good on their threats.

The room felt stifling, the ropes around your limbs a constant reminder of your captivity. You started to shift your wrists, trying to find any weakness in the bonds. If you could just loosen them enough, maybe you could break free.

As you moved, the sad-masked Ghostface stepped closer, watching you intently. “What’s the matter? Trying to escape? You really think you can get away from us?”

You froze, your heart racing as he crouched down beside you, his mask mere inches from your face. “You should know by now that we always win.”

You locked eyes with him, steeling yourself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm you. “We’ll see about that,” you challenged, even as the weight of your reality pressed heavily upon you.

The pacing Ghostface resumed his movements, and as you carefully continued to twist your wrists, you felt the slightest give in the ropes. Hope ignited within you. You just had to buy time until you could get loose.

The tension in the room escalated as the two Ghostfaces began to argue amongst themselves. The bloodied masked one was clearly furious, his voice low and threatening as he paced back and forth. The sad-masked one stood there, arms crossed, seemingly unfazed by his partner’s anger.

When they turned their attention back to you, and the sad-masked one approached, tilting his head with a curious yet predatory look. “Let’s play a little game, shall we?” he said, leaning closer. “Tell us about the first Ghostface. Is he alive? Do you know where he is?”

You stared back defiantly, refusing to answer. His questions felt like bait, and you wouldn’t take it.

Frustrated, the bloodied Ghostface stepped in, his tone turning accusatory. “What about the second Ghostface? Taehyung! What happened to him?”

Your heart dropped at the mention of his name, shock coursing through you. You had never expected to hear about Taehyung from them, and the sudden realization that they knew about him sent your mind racing.

“What do you know about him?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, instinctively defensive.

“Doesn’t matter,” the bloodied Ghostface growled, moving closer. “What matters is what you know. So, are you going to tell us, or are we going to have to make this… unpleasant?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “They’re both gone,” you shouted defiantly, your voice echoing off the walls. “You’ll never find them!”

Both Ghostfaces stilled at your words, exchanging a glance that sent a shiver down your spine. You could see the anger and frustration brewing between them, and you knew you had struck a nerve.

“You think you can play games with us?” the bloodied one hissed, stepping even closer. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

The sad-masked one smirked, the corners of his mask curling upward. “Seems like you’re not going to cooperate, which means we have to resort to other methods.”

You steeled yourself, fully aware of the implications. “Go ahead. I’m not afraid of you,” you retorted, even though a part of you trembled at the thought of what they might do.

They exchanged another glance, and you could see their minds working. You had no idea what they had in store, but you were prepared to fight back against whatever twisted game they intended to play.

The bloodied Ghostface turned to you, his tone low and menacing. “You may think you’re tough, but we have ways to get the truth out of you. You’ll regret not talking soon enough.”

As they stepped back, you braced yourself.

As the two Ghostfaces approached with their knives glinting ominously, your breath hitched in fear. Your heart raced, and your mind instinctively went to Heeseung. Was he safe? Was he even looking for you? You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable pain.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump followed by grunts of pain. You heard bodies crashing to the floor, but felt no pain. Cautiously, you opened your eyes—and gasped.

Standing before you was another Ghostface. His mask was dirtied, the cloak torn and stained. In his hand, he held a heavy plank, which he had clearly used to knock out the other two. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing.

"You…" you started, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Without a word, the Ghostface dropped the plank and, with deliberate movements, pulled the dirty mask up just enough to reveal his face. Your heart skipped a beat.

It was Heeseung.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took in the sight of him—your Heeseung, standing there in front of you, having just saved you. “How?” you whispered, barely able to find your voice, overwhelmed with relief and shock.

Heeseung’s expression was intense but softened as he pulled the mask back down over his face. "Sorry I didn’t get here sooner," he said quietly, immediately kneeling beside you. He picked up one of the knives from the ground and quickly began cutting through the binds around your wrists. "It was harder than I thought to track you down."

As soon as your hands were free, he gave you the other knife. You stood up, your legs trembling as the reality of your rescue sank in. And then, without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close as your tears of happiness flowed freely.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you cried into his shoulder, your voice muffled by the cloak he still wore.

“I promised I’d protect you, didn’t I?” Heeseung whispered, his grip tightening as if he’d never let go. You could feel the weight of his words—he had come for you, just like he said he would.

The two Ghostfaces stirred, groaning in pain, they struggled to stand upright. The bloodied-masked one wiped his hands on his cloak and pointed at Heeseung, his voice rough. "You! Who the hell are you?"

Heeseung straightened up, his presence commanding and cold. He held the knife tightly, his stance shifting as he met their eyes. "I understand you two were looking for me?" His voice dropped, deep and dangerous, the same chilling tone you recognized from the past—the voice he’d used back when he first called you, before everything had changed. Before he’d fallen in love with you. Before he had planned to kill you.

You couldn’t help but shiver, the memories flooding back.

The sad-masked Ghostface tilted his head, his voice laced with confusion and awe. "You… you're him?"

Heeseung took a step forward, eyes narrowing behind the mask. "I’m the original."

At those words, the two Ghostfaces exchanged quick, shocked glances, the realization hitting them hard. Their curiosity quickly spiraled into a barrage of questions.

"What happened to you?" the sad-masked one asked, his voice trembling with a mix of admiration and fear. "Why did you vanish?"

"Why are you back now?" the bloodied one chimed in, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. "And where is Taehyung? The second Ghostface?"

The room was tense, the weight of their questions hanging in the air. Heeseung's eyes darkened, his grip on the knife tightening as he stared them down. There was no trace of the loving partner you knew in this moment—this was the cold, ruthless version of him they were dealing with.

"I had my reasons for disappearing," Heeseung said, his voice steady, calculated. "But trust me when I say—you're making the same mistakes we did. And as for Taehyung…" Heeseung’s gaze flickered, a flash of something unreadable crossing his features. "He’s gone. Permanently."

The silence in the room was deafening as the two Ghostfaces processed his words, shifting uneasily. They had no idea what they were truly up against now.

The two Ghostfaces exchanged glances, clearly unsettled by Heeseung’s words. The bloodied-masked one shifted his stance, gripping his knife tighter, but there was hesitation now. "Gone? What do you mean he's gone?" His voice was laced with frustration and confusion.

Heeseung’s gaze was unrelenting, his calm demeanor only making the tension thicker. "Taehyung made a choice. One that cost him his life." His voice was low, deliberate, sending a shiver through you. He glanced at you for a brief moment, his expression softening, before returning his cold stare to the two Ghostfaces.

"You're lying," the sad-masked one spat, taking a step forward. "He wouldn’t just die. You did something to him, didn't you?"

Heeseung remained motionless, the knife in his hand glinting under the dim light. "It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you two are playing a game you can’t win."

The bloodied Ghostface’s grip on his knife wavered slightly as he processed Heeseung’s words. Heeseung’s presence was overpowering, and you could see the doubt creeping into their movements. They had wanted to emulate the original, to bring back the fear and chaos, but now they were standing face to face with the source of it all. And they weren’t prepared.

"You think you can just walk in here and take over?" the bloodied Ghostface sneered, trying to regain some control. "We’ve planned this for years. We’re not going to let you ruin it!"

Heeseung stepped forward, his knife raising slightly, his voice dark and taunting. "Ruin it? You’ve already ruined yourselves. The moment you decided to come after her"—he motioned toward you—"you sealed your fate."

Before they could react, Heeseung lunged forward with a precision that was terrifying to watch. His knife sliced through the air, and the bloodied Ghostface barely managed to dodge the strike, stumbling backward. The sad-masked one, too slow to react, was left vulnerable. Heeseung’s movements were fluid, quick, and within moments, he had knocked the sad-masked one to the ground with a powerful kick.

You stood frozen, gripping the knife he had given you, your heart pounding. Heeseung was a different person now—cold, relentless, and efficient. You had always known he had this side, but seeing it again, now, reminded you of the past when he wasn’t your savior, but your enemy.

The bloodied Ghostface rushed at Heeseung, but Heeseung sidestepped with ease, slashing his knife across the Ghostface’s arm. A scream of pain filled the room as the bloodied Ghostface dropped his weapon, clutching his bleeding arm.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Heeseung muttered, his voice filled with contempt. "You’re nothing but cheap copies."

Heeseung’s knife pressed against the sad-masked one’s throat as he pinned him to the ground. The bloodied one, still holding his arm, looked on in desperation, knowing he was outmatched.

"Please," the sad-masked Ghostface whimpered, his voice shaking. "We were just trying to continue what you started."

Heeseung looked down at him, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. For a moment, you wondered if he’d show mercy.

"You never understood," Heeseung said coldly. "This was never about continuing. It was always about ending."

The bloodied Ghostface, desperate and enraged, let out a roar as he lunged at Heeseung from behind. Heeseung, quick and unphased, sidestepped and grabbed the bloodied one's arm, twisting it sharply before flipping him over his shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor with a painful thud. The bloodied one groaned, clutching his side, but his sudden attack gave the sad-masked one just enough time to back away and regroup with him.

The two Ghostfaces stood together now, breathing heavily, shaken but determined. Heeseung's cold eyes followed their every move, his grip on the knife unwavering. He pointed it at them, the air thick with tension. "Who even are you?" Heeseung demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"We are the remnant of the past," they both said in unison, their voices hollow behind the masks.

Without another word, the two Ghostfaces charged at Heeseung again, this time in perfect sync, a relentless force determined to bring him down. They swung their knives with wild fury, but Heeseung was faster, dodging and countering with sharp, calculated movements. Each clash of metal rang out in the room, the echoes of their battle filling the dark space.

Heeseung deflected their attacks, his focus unbreakable. He managed to slice across the sad-masked one’s arm, drawing blood, but the other seized the moment and slashed at Heeseung’s side. He grunted, taking the hit but not faltering, spinning around with a quick kick that sent the bloodied one stumbling back.

"You’re just like the others," Heeseung muttered through gritted teeth, his breathing heavy but controlled. "Thinking you can survive this. But you won’t."

The sad-masked Ghostface, now visibly injured, glanced at his partner. They were clearly weakening, their moves becoming sloppy. But they weren’t giving up. They circled Heeseung again, trying to flank him from both sides.

Heeseung shifted his stance, readying himself. This was far from over.

You watched, heart racing, knowing the stakes. Heeseung wasn’t just fighting for himself—he was fighting for you.

Suddenly the sad-masked Ghostface made a beeline for you, you bolted, your legs carrying you as fast as they could into a nearby kitchen. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out the fear, but only barely. You looked around wildly for anything to defend yourself with, your heart pounding. Before you could react, he tackled you from behind, slamming you into the cold kitchen tiles.

He raised his knife high, ready to bring it down on you. In desperation, you gripped your own knife tightly and thrust it upward, piercing his stomach. He shouted in pain, his strike going wild and stabbing your shoulder instead. A scream ripped from your throat as he yanked the blade out, preparing to stab you again.

Just as he was about to deliver the final blow, something—or someone—grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak and hurled him off you. Gasping in shock, you looked up and saw a figure standing above you. Unlike the others, this Ghostface wore a black mask instead of the iconic white.

"Hey, Y/N! Long time no see!" the voice was almost cheery, and you blinked in confusion.

“Huh?” you muttered, dazed and unsure of what was happening.

Before you could even process, the sad-masked Ghostface charged again, but the black-masked figure reacted instantly, delivering a brutal kick followed by a series of punches that sent the sad-masked assailant flying out of the kitchen.

Heeseung rushed in just then, his eyes frantic as he saw you on the floor, bloodied but alive. "Let's go! Let's go!" he yelled, grabbing you under one arm, while the black-masked Ghostface took your other side. They practically carried you as you all ran toward the front door, only to find it blocked by the bloodied Ghostface, his knife gleaming in the dim light.

"Upstairs!" Heeseung barked, and the three of you rushed up the staircase, racing into a room at the end of the hall. Slamming the door shut behind you, they quickly barricaded it with anything they could find, their movements fast and desperate.

"I have a plan!" the black-masked Ghostface said, catching his breath.

"What’s your plan?" Heeseung asked, still on high alert.

"It involves fire," the black-masked figure answered, nonchalantly as if this was an everyday conversation.

"What?" Heeseung shot back, clearly not expecting that answer.

"Can someone tell me what's happening?!" you shouted, the frustration and confusion finally boiling over. None of this made any sense. Your shoulder throbbed, and you were bleeding, cornered in a strange house with two people you were barely keeping up with.

Both Heeseung and the black-masked figure turned to you. The black-masked figure tilted his head before casually pulling the mask up.

"Jake?!" you exclaimed, your jaw dropping.

"Heya!" Jake grinned, far too cheerful for the situation.

"You're Ghostface too?!" You were more shocked than angry, your mind barely able to wrap around the revelation. Jake, your friend—now in the same mask that had haunted you—was standing there like this was just a reunion.

Heeseung, shaking his head, sighed and looked over at Jake. "So… fire?"

Jake shrugged. "Yeah, I think burning this place down should work. It’ll take care of those two, right?"

Heeseung frowned, glancing at you before looking back at Jake. "You're serious about this?"

"Dead serious," Jake said, his eyes darkening a bit, the lightness in his tone shifting.

The door rattled violently as the pounding from the other side intensified. You, Heeseung, and Jake all stiffened, your hearts racing as the room filled with tension. Without warning, the door was kicked open, crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. Two Ghostfaces stormed into the room—one with the bloodied mask and the other with the sad mask. But now, the fight was even. Heeseung and Jake, still wearing their masks, leaped into action.

Chaos erupted instantly.

You stood frozen for a moment, watching as four Ghostfaces, indistinguishable in the frenzy of movement, attacked and dodged each other with precision and fury. Knives clashed, bodies collided, and the room became a whirlwind of violence. The sound of grunts, thuds, and the sharp swish of blades cutting through the air overwhelmed your senses.

Jake, with a sudden burst of energy, lunged at the sad-masked Ghostface, driving him into the wall. The two struggled, their knives clashing as they wrestled for control. Heeseung, on the other side, faced off against the bloodied Ghostface, their movements fast and brutal. You could hear the sound of blades slicing through fabric, followed by the occasional grunt of pain as both sides took hits.

You felt utterly helpless. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pressed yourself against the farthest wall, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty. Every instinct told you to run, but there was nowhere to go. The only exit was blocked by the chaos unfolding in front of you.

At one point, Heeseung was thrown back, his knife skidding across the floor and stopping near your feet. You gasped, crouching down to grab it, your hands trembling and threw it back to him. As you stood up, you saw Jake take a punch to the gut, causing him to stagger back, his grip on his own knife loosening.

You wanted to help, to do something—anything—but the intensity of the fight made it clear that stepping in could cost you your life. You clutched your knife tightly, your fingers white-knuckled, but your feet refused to move. The sight of the four Ghostfaces, each donning their masks as they fought in a blur of black robes and flashing blades, left you feeling paralyzed with fear.

The sad-masked Ghostface managed to push Jake to the ground and swung his knife down, but Jake rolled out of the way just in time, delivering a swift kick that knocked his attacker back. Heeseung, meanwhile, grappled with the bloodied one, both of them trading blows and slashes, their masks stained with sweat and fury.

The room became smaller with each passing second, the violent dance of the Ghostfaces making it hard to breathe. You clutched your chest, unsure how much longer this battle would last, or if any of you would make it out alive.

A loud crash snapped you back to reality as one of the Ghostfaces—Jake, you realized—was thrown against a dresser, causing it to splinter under the force. The sad-masked Ghostface was relentless, advancing toward Jake with his knife raised, ready to strike again. Heeseung, locked in his own fight, couldn’t break free to help. You were the only one who could stop it.

Your heart pounded as you looked down at the knife in your hand. Could you do it? Could you actually fight back?

With a shaky breath, you took a step forward, ready to make a choice.

As the sad-masked Ghostface raised his knife to strike Jake, your body moved before your mind could catch up. You lunged forward, gripping the knife. Your legs felt weak, and your heart hammered in your chest, but you knew you had to act.

With a scream, you plunged the knife into the side of the sad-masked Ghostface just as his arm came down to strike Jake. The blade sliced into him, and he let out a guttural gasp, his body freezing in place. He staggered back, his knife slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor as he looked down at the wound you had inflicted.

Jake quickly scrambled to his feet, panting, his eyes wide as he took in what had just happened. "Y/N!" he gasped, momentarily shocked by your actions.

The sad-masked Ghostface stumbled back, clutching his side, blood seeping through his robes. His masked face turned toward you, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Before you could react, Heeseung, who had just disarmed the bloodied Ghostface, surged forward, his knife flashing as he delivered a brutal slash across the sad-masked Ghostface's chest. The man collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain, his mask tilted to one side as he struggled to breathe.

You stood there, panting, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you realized what you had done. You had attacked him. You had saved Jake.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The bloodied Ghostface, seeing his partner fall, let out a roar of rage and lunged toward you with reckless fury. Heeseung was there in an instant, blocking his path and shoving him back. The two clashed violently, their movements fast and deadly.

Jake, now on his feet and regaining his composure, grabbed his knife and moved to help Heeseung. Together, they forced the bloodied Ghostface into a corner, their attacks coordinated and relentless. Heeseung landed a powerful punch to the masked figure’s jaw, causing the bloodied Ghostface to stumble.

As the dust settled from the chaotic struggle, Jake and Heeseung wasted no time in pulling the masks off the defeated Ghostfaces. Your breath caught in your throat as their faces were revealed.

The sad-masked Ghostface was none other than the guy you and Heeseung had encountered at the mall—the one who had been so strangely charming yet oddly unsettling.

But it was the second figure that sent shockwaves through your system. Kim Ji Woong, Taehyung’s little brother. You stared, wide-eyed, as the reality of the situation sank in.

“What?” you managed to say, disbelief threading through your voice.

They exchanged tense glances before sad-masked Ghostface stepped forward, a faint smirk crossing his lips. “Myung Jaehyun, pleasure to make an acquaintance,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. He turned to Heeseung, the smile fading. “Your dear stepbrother Heeseung,” he added.

You felt your heart drop as Heeseung’s eyes widened in shock. “Step… brother?” he echoed, the weight of the revelation crashing over him like a tidal wave. He gently pulled off his own mask, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger.

Jaehyun looked down, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Mom… remarried,” he explained, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions.

Ji Woong, not willing to let the moment linger, huffed in frustration. “Yes, yes, such a nice brotherly reunion… yet you!” he spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Heeseung. “You killed my brother!”

Heeseung’s expression hardened, his voice devoid of warmth. “Your brother deserved it,” he stated flatly, and the tension in the room skyrocketed.

In an instant, Ji Woong lunged at Heeseung, rage fueling his movements. Heeseung retaliated, the two engaging in a brutal struggle.

“Hey!” Jake shouted, springing into action as he jumped to intercept Ji Woong. The chaos erupted once more, fists flying and bodies colliding. Jaehyun followed suit, rushing at Jake with an intensity that mirrored his companion's fury.

“Y/N! Run!” Jake called out, urgency lacing his voice.

You didn’t hesitate. The instinct to survive kicked in, and you sprinted past the tangled bodies, darting down the stairs and bursting through the door. The cool night air hit your face, but you didn’t stop. You ran, heart pounding, adrenaline fueling your escape as you fled the house.

The sounds of fighting echoed behind you as Jake and Heeseung fought off Ji Woong and Jaehyun. You didn't stop to look back, your body moving on pure instinct as you burst through the front door of the house, desperate to escape the chaos.

The cold night air hit you like a wave as you sprinted across the yard, your feet crunching on the dry leaves.

Behind you, you could hear faint shouts—distant, but still there. It was hard to tell if it was Heeseung or Jake calling out, or the others trying to chase after you. Either way, you kept running.

You stumbled over the uneven forest floor, your mind racing. How had it come to this? Jaehyun, Heeseung’s stepbrother? Ji Woong, Taehyung’s brother? None of it made sense. The weight of it all—of how intertwined everything was—made your head spin.

You stumbled onto the road, your legs shaky from exhaustion, past a gate that hung half-open along the overgrown driveway. The forest loomed around you, thick and oppressive, stretching for miles with no signs of civilization in sight.

Tiredness weighed heavily on your limbs, and before you knew it, you collapsed in the middle of the road. The cool asphalt felt comforting against your skin, but fear crept in as you lay there. Just as you were about to succumb to the darkness of fatigue, two headlights pierced the night, growing brighter as the vehicle approached.

You scrambled to your feet, waving your arms frantically. “Help!” you shouted, desperation clawing at your throat. The car came to a screeching halt, and the door swung open.

“Help me!” you cried, relief flooding your senses as you recognized the figure stepping out of the car. “Taehyun! Please, you gotta help me!” You rushed forward, grasping his hand tightly, your heart racing with hope.

But the words that left his mouth sent a chill racing down your spine.

“Oh, Y/N… if only there was someone that could help you now,” he said, his tone dripping with something sinister. Confusion washed over you, and before you could process anythingl, a sharp pain struck the side of your head.

Everything went black.

In an instant, the world faded away, leaving you engulfed in darkness. Your last conscious thought was of Heeseung and Jake.

Part 4 coming soon

Feel free to reblog and like <3

[readtilyoudie]

I barely relax on my days off. I mean, how does anyone relax in late-stage evil empiricism? You work all week, then maybe get a couple of chores and enough laundry done on the weekends to survive another few days. I’m always trying to out-work the system, like if I can just get up early enough I’ll somehow find a secret stash of hours to use, instead of just stealing sleep from my body.

The Orc from the Office (Claws & Cubicles, #2) by Kate Prior

[loggiepj]

lizzie

Summary: just an angsty one shot story 😂✌🏳️‍🌈

"TOM SAID she had been using Rooney to gain more credits to her work, always insisting to come along Rooney when she's in film productions, pretending she was only supporting her then girlfriend just so she could give her scripts to producers. And she did this while cheating on her behind her back."

You bit your lip to stop yourself from bursting into tears, hand on your chest, slipping to your collarbone then up to your neck as you willed yourself to breathe.

"That's awful," you heard Lizzie's beautiful voice slurring through the confines of the comfort room, through the door of the cubicle you were trapped in. "I can't believe she could do such a thing. She was so sweet and all, I thought . . . I thought—"

"Oh, we thought so too, Liz," another person chimed in, "but don't be easily fooled. I heard Rooney's lawyer will be filing a case against her sometime soon."

Your other hand went to embrace yourself, clutching against the side of your sweater as you might lose it.

"It was a risk on the producer's part to still include her in this film," said another, "knowing her reputation."

In the following silence, you could hear Elizabeth's sigh. "God, I wouldn't have known."

It was complete torture, having to listen through it all, having to witness how someone you had grown close to in the past few weeks could crush you down in an instant. Five minutes and thirty seven seconds, to be exact.

As if the gods above had acknowledged you had suffered enough, they eventually left the comfort room and began discussing about the next scenes as they walked through the door.

When you heard the door shut close, you broke down. The kind of cry where you seemed to be running out of air to breathe, as if you had been clawing your insides until there's nothing left. You didn't think it was possible to cry for someone like this. You felt like a kid, but you couldn't wail louder since anyone could just walk into the toilet.

The gossips you had endured during highschool, about you being gay, had nothing in comparison to what just happened. Especially the one who was involved was someone special to you. And it felt worse coming from her. To think that Lizzie would actually believe them, believe the rumors circulating about you. To think that she could be different from others. But you'd thought wrong.

It all started with Rooney. She was an actress you fell in love with when you got to work with her and Tom in Carol movie. You had been together with Rooney for almost six years. And yet for one simple action, a drunk crewmate kissing you on the lips inside the producer's room, mistaking you as his girlfriend, Rooney threw everything.

It was all one big misunderstanding. One night, you were just making love. The next, you weren't allowed to enter the penthouse you were both staying, considering Rooney owned that unit and you gave up yours when you moved in with her.

Her sister, Kate, the ever merciful one, contacted you afterwards the sudden eviction, saying that she would try to persuade Rooney to be at least forgiving to let you stay for the meantime while you were looking for another place to live.

But that didn't happen. After that incident, rumors of you cheating started to spread around in the industry, some were exaggerated to give that appeal. And no one trusted you anymore, that you would only use people to your own benefit.

If you weren't only friends with the director of the current film you were working with, you wouldn't have any project.

And then you met Elizabeth Olsen.

You can call me Lizzie, by the way, was what she said when the two of you first talked.

Lizzie had a very distinctive and elegant appearance. She had fair skin, light brown hair, and expressive eyes that were usually a striking green. She was almost an inch taller than you, but if she wore heels, you'd always look up to her whenever the two of you were talking.

You knew her from her massive role as Wanda Maximoff in Marvel Universe films, and you even used to idolize her as someone who's good in everything, no matter what genre the film she was in.

And you both just instantly clicked, like you were made for each other. You could talk to her for hours and hours through the production days, either before the filming would start, during breaks or at the end of the day. She would also share everything to you, with enthusiasm to your mutual interests, as if you were long-time friends. She looked at you without judgment, making you wonder if she knew about the rumors, the one thing that could destroy this newfound promising relationship. Knowing Lizzie wasn't into social media and stuff was what kept you asleep most nights.

You had even asked her to a date that weekend and you both enjoyed it to the fact that she almost invited you inside her nearby apartment when you gave her a ride home. There was this kind of feeling you feel whenever she was around, sometimes butterflies, sometimes longing.

But everything crumbled down when a newcomer saw the two of you flirting with each other.

YOU SPLASHED some cold water into your face as you prepared yourself to face the outside world, hoping it wasn't that obvious that you were just crying seconds ago.

When you went back to the studio to get some work done, you saw Lizzie on one corner practicing some lines with her co-star.

Maybe you were only overthinking it. Maybe she would see you through, talk to you about it, listen to your side of the story. But when you approached them, they only went silent.

"Hey," you greeted, trying to diminish any awkwardness.

"Hi Y/n," Lizzie replied with a smile, "we're just quickly rehearsing for the next scene."

"Oh, okay, sorry to bother you both," you said, "I'll just talk to you later then."

She only smiled back as she went back to her script. You would have just let it go if it weren't for the fact that she would always choose to talk to you.

LATER was no different as you went to knock against the door of her trailer upon hearing Lizzie's laughter inside. Abruptly, the laughters died, and you swore you could hear shushing. When her friend opened the door the second time you knocked, said friend only told you Lizzie wasn't in there even when you knew she was.

THROUGH the days that followed, it was slowly sinking in that maybe they got her too. That Lizzie believed them too.

You tried to give Lizzie the benefit of the doubt. That maybe she was only busy, knowing the most critical scenes were being shot. But you had probably sent her a lot of messages to which Lizzie had only replied words fewer and bland as compared to the older ones she had sent you.

WHEN you tried to approach Lizzie during one of the breaks, surprising her with your favorite cheesecake she said she liked, she thanked you rather hurriedly.

"Thanks, Y/n," she said. "You shouldn't have."

"It's fine," you said back, brushing her off as she tried to return the box to you. "I was in the area earlier when I passed by the store, and I remembered you wanting to eat another slice of it."

What was redness that you used to see adorned on Lizzie's cheeks, was inexistent as she hesitantly accepted the gift. You could tell she was sporting a smile you had seen her do whenever she was uncomfortable during interviews.

It gave you the kick to stop whatever this was you were doing. You then decided not to torture her anymore with how forward you were. It was clear she didn't want anything to do with you. That you were just mere friends in passing. That that date was only that. Nothing more.

"Lizzie!" someone called her from afar, apparently saving her from this awkward interaction. Saving you both.

"Shoot, sorry, Y/n," she said with an apologetic smile. "I have to leave, but thank you again for this. You're too sweet for this world."

You forced a huge smile her way. "Yeah, no worries. See you later."

BUT YOU had avoided her later. You had avoided them. And through the days that followed, you began distancing yourself from the cast and crew, knowing now what they had been talking behind your back. You just went to the studio to help work with the script then went back straight home. No more small talks in the hallway as you passed by them, occasionally wearing a hoodie over your face, wishing it was Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility.

At nights, you stared at the photos of the two of you together during production and even that one dinner date you had at a private restaurant, wondering how two individuals went from these to complete strangers.

You couldn't help but wonder if Lizzie has missed you at all. But when you glanced at her from a distance whenever you couldn't avoid not coming to the studio, laughing and making vlog with her co-stars and makeup artists, you could feel she was glad she dodged a bullet that was you. That she almost went out with someone like you, someone who couldn't be trusted.

You had even stopped eating your favorite cheesecake, knowing it would only remind you of her. Lesson learned. Never suggest your favorites to anyone.

THAT was when you started hanging out with Emma Watson, whom you had gotten closer as you were part of her writing crew in another film you were working for.

She had well defined cheekbones and chocolate brown eyes. But what stood out the most was her English accent. Sometimes, you just wanted to listen to her talk all day.

Emma already knew the rumors about you, and called them bullshit. Maybe it was the British in her, but she told you she didn't care about anyone's past other than first impressions. Besides, if she weren't a fan of your works, she wouldn't have given a chance to know you.

When she revealed to you she liked girls too, you grew more comfortable around her.

You also started to make friends with the other film's crew, and maybe that was what you needed, what you were missing. You no longer felt sad or lonely whenever you were around them. And having to fit two jobs in a day, it felt different having something to look forward to whenever you finished working for Lizzie's film. Good kind of different.

"WAIT, you're already leaving? Are you not going with us?" your director friend asked the moment he saw you packing things up, preparing to leave.

"What do you mean?"

"Liz invited the whole cast and crew for a housewarming party at her new house," he replied.

You had no idea but who were you to receive first invitation from her in the first place. You were a nobody.

"Oh I . . . I actually am needed to get this edit reviewed," you said, easily making up an excuse. Although technically, it wasn't a lie.

"That's a bummer. I was pretty sure Liz said to invite you too." He sighed. "Well, don't work yourself too hard, Y/n."

You only smiled back as you left, staying out of sight from others, keeping distance away from the lobby where you could see the whole cast chatting as they waited for the car service to get to Lizzie's house. And for a brief moment, you caught sight of the woman who once captured your heart, broke it and left to rot. Elizabeth looked so beautiful and fresh even after a day's production, and she was wearing that jacket she stole from you that very first day.

"HAVE you ever loved someone?"

You had been staring at your notifications, watching for what seemed like hours at Lizzie's messages asking where you were and why you weren't at her housewarming party.

You didn't even noticed Emma had asked you a question until she nudged your shoulder.

"Sorry, what?" you asked, slipping your phone into your pocket.

"I asked if you've ever loved someone? Any lovers? Girlfriends? Boyfriend? Flings?" she asked teasingly, "It's just I haven't seen you around with anyone."

"I mean, you've heard the rumors—"

"Fuck all the rumors, I'm not blind, Y/n," Emma interrupted. "You're actually gorgeous. It could cause a scandal."

Avoiding the girl's gaze, you laughed at her. "What are you suggesting?"

There was complete silence, making you look back at Emma deep in thoughts.

"What do you say about you becoming my girlfriend?"

"What?"

"It's just for PR stuff and all," she reasoned. "And for promoting this movie."

"Promoting? They'd hate you. They'd hate me more."

"At least, it would be a distraction from the public. I haven't actually come out as gay but I've provided signs, yet people just turn a blind eye. And this will help confirm my sexuality. If they hated me for dating the rumored you, they'd hate me less for being gay."

You fell silent as you thought about it.

"My PR manager will pay you, of course. You're saving up for a house, right? I want to help you."

Then she looked at her hands on her lap, nervous. "Besides, you're the only one I felt comfortable doing this with." She then glanced back at you. "So . . . Are you with me?"

WHEN you started going out with Emma publicly, the photos of you together holding hands in public immediately spread through the news and gossip channels. You started to become famous, more on the bad side though, of how you were only using Emma again for your selfish reasons and how stupid Emma was for dating you.

At least, there were only a few articles about how disappointed they were Emma turned out to be gay. People were more disappointed she was dating a parasite.

IT WAS almost a month after when you received a missed call from your ex girlfriend Rooney. And she had called you multiple times until you blocked her number. And when she figured out you blocked her, she sent you numerous emails.

Emma was with you as you anxiously worked through the next scene's script.

"You okay?" Emma asked, her hand on your shoulder made you jump on your seat. "Sorry."

"It's okay," you managed to reply.

"What are you worrying about?"

You hesitated, frown growing deeper. "It's just . . . I think my ex girlfriend will finally end my career."

"How?"

"She's going to file a case against me," you said, almost in tears.

"Is that what you think she's going to do?" She chuckled softly.

"What are you giggling about? It's not funny."

"Sorry," she went on still laughing, "but you have to see this."

Apparently, Rooney had posted a public apology addressed to you, clearing you out, redeeming your image, and admitting it was her jealousy that ended your relationship, that she was willing to destroy her career in exchange for yours. And that she wanted so badly to talk to you if you'd only let her.

It felt like a relief as you saw the ones who reposted the post, as you read the comments from people defending you and supporting you, that Emma was a better choice than Rooney. It felt like the weight of the world was taken off your shoulder.

Emma then wrapped her arms around you as you sobbed into her chest. And she only let you.

Some weeks later, Emma asked you out on a date. A real date, saying she was willing to try. Maybe it was Rooney's post that made her trust you. Maybe she was just scared. But you also wanted to try it with her.

Rooney eventually stopped contacting you. The damage has already been done. One day, you may be able to forgive her. But never to forget.

MAYBE the public apology was what made Lizzie finally approached you during the last few days in the production. She brought you a gift, the cheesecake that used to be your favorite. Now, you didn't like how too sweet it was, wanting nothing more than to savor Cornish pasty introduced by your girlfriend Emma.

"Hey, Y/n," she greeted. "I . . . I brought you this."

"Thank you, Lizzie," you said, accepting with haste.

There was awkward silence as she placed her hands inside the pockets of her jeans. "Last day, huh? You want to go for sushi later? My treat."

And maybe it really was the public post Rooney made that made her finally talk to you, as if she was still the same person she was the first time you met. And as if you were still interested in her as you were months ago.

"Sorry, I have to meet Em for dinner tonight," you said, smiling apologetically.

"It's fine, it's fine," she said, brushing you off with a forced chuckle. "So, it's true you two are dating, huh?"

You nodded, avoiding the brunette's gaze. "Yeah, it is."

"She doesn't know how lucky she is."

You paused, wondering why you were no longer feeling any butterflies in your stomach whenever she was around. "I'm the lucky one, actually. Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"G-Goodnight, Y/n."

Like you said, the damage was already done.

[comatosebunny09]

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is. 

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one. 

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint. 

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is. 

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.   

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears. 

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.” 

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye. 

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.” 

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.  

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window. 

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.” 

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite. 

“Says who?” 

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder. 

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship. 

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?” 

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?” 

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space. 

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell. 

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.             

<< part 1

[ghostlysoaps]

Emergency First Aid

He finds Ghost in the bathroom, needle and thread in crimson-stained hands. 

White porcelain muddled with grime and blood, smeared across the cubicle glass. A bottle of something see-through sitting on the lip of the tub – the label near illegible by the fingerprints wrapped around it. Every detail pointing towards it being a scene from some B-list horror flick. Except it can't be. Because Johnny’s nails dig into the palms of his hands and pain has no presence in dreams.

Ghost's skin is almost as pale as the cradle he sits in. Johnny can see the stark blue of his veins through the fragile skin of his wrists. A far more flattering colour on him than red, it's why he pretends he doesn’t know where his favourite henley ended up.

"Get out of my fucking room, Soap."

Johnny nods and then proceeds further into the room, careful to avoid the droplets of blood staining the tiles in a fucked-up breadcrumb trail.

Ghost levels him with an unamused glare, a non-verbal "go away," ringing louder than if he'd said it outright. 

He ignores that too.

The stitching is neither crude nor neat when he leans in for a closer look. Serviceable. Bound to scar. It might have regardless, medical ain't miracle workers, but it might, might have left a thinner mark.

"Soap?"

Ghost's eyes are brown as jasper, doe-wide, extruding exhaustion and warmth – in spite of how much effort he puts into burying that bleeding heart of his. They track Johnny’s progress warily. Glides over him when he wraps his own fingers around the bottle, fingers a good half-inch shorter than the red stains already there. Johnny knows all this despite not looking. Because they've been here before. Too often for his liking. 

He sets about cleaning the tacky trails of blood from Ghost’s skin. 

"Johnny?"

Why are his hands shaking? They're not supposed to do that he doesn't think.

"It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

His tongue unsticks from where it lies dead and heavy in his mouth. "I fuckin' know. 'M not blind."

Warm, calloused hands envelop his own. They stop him from digging deeper welts into his own skin. Massages gently until Johnny, against his will, unclenches and unfolds like a flowering bloom at the first hint of sunlight.

"This won't be what kills me–"

"Haud yer wheesht! Whit this shoddy excuse fer sutures anything's–"

"–because I've no intention of leaving you yet," Ghost– Simon continues, as if Johnny hadn't interrupted him at all. "I've clawed myself back from the edge of hell more times than I care to count." He knocks their heads together, one hand moving to thread fingers though Johnny’s hair. "It's much easier now that I have something to come back to."

Johnny takes a moment to process and sift through the wreckage those words leave behind.

"Take yer damn mask off an' say tha' to my face," he growls.

And Simon doesn't hesitate for a second. He peels the mask off, his second skin, as if it's easier than breathing. As if Johnny’s words were the decree of a higher power he's helpless to obey. Scarred skin and chapped lips and dark circles blending into greasepaint greets him – a sight no longer unfamiliar, but a privilege to behold nonetheless. 

"I-" is as far as Simon comes before Johnny is surging forward to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses him like something feral and starved. As if he could crawl into Simon's mouth if he tried hard enough. Push through muscle, bone and sinew to make space for himself in the hollow of his ribcage.

He doesn't like the anger with which he devours him – the ever-present companion snarling in his chest – but he needs him to understand. Thinks that if he tries hard enough Simon might taste the words lodged firmly behind his molars. I can't stand to lose you. It scares me to the point of losing my breath. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

For all his rage, for all the fiery passion with which he lashes out, in the end it all stems from fear.

"Could've at least gone to medical, ye absolute weapon," he bites out, one hand stressing over the skin right beneath Simon's wound.

"Couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching me," Simon murmurs, catching Johnny’s wrist the moment he goes to pull away as if burnt. "'S better now. I'd have told you to fuck off proper if I didn't–" he cuts himself off, the tips of his ears going pink.

Johnny fills in the blanks, eyes falling shut for the fraction of a second.

"Dinnae deep down wan' me to be here."

Simon shrugs.

Johnny exhales, leans forward and rests his forehead to Simon's shoulder, kisses him sweetly right after.

"Let me help you."

"Please." 

He's glad to be looking at Simon now because Simon, whenever Ghost has fled his visage, is an open book. And the way he's looking at Johnny? It's as if he'd taken every soft, sweet thing Johnny feels for him and is reflecting it right back.

With another steadying breath, Johnny gets to work. Gauze and adhesive tape, as quick as he dares so as to not prolong the pain. And when he's done he brushes his lips over the white bandaging, looking up through his lashes when the simple gesture of affection causes Simon's breath to hitch. Keeps to his knees despite the ache in them.

"You come to me next time," Johnny says, a plea more so than the demand he'd hoped for.

Simon reaches for him, cups his stubbled cheek in hand, thumb rubbing in broad strokes across a near imperceptible scar there – his next words ringing with the gravity of church bells and promises spoken within. 

"Alright, Johnny."

---

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps