#Dan is supervising her

[roses-and-revolutions]

Tell me, Superman, what is it that makes one man a hero and the other a villain? Is it his actions, his goals, or his ambitions? Nah! It's whoever stands on the winning side of history that gets to determine that...

Let's fight Big Blue.

OR!!!!

The DC universe is Amity Park's personal rage room and Casper High's senior year is going through it.

[honeyncherry]

we never tell - joe burrow

summary whatever’s happening between you and Joe was always a bad idea—too tempting, too reckless, too addictive to stop. tahoe just made it impossible to hide.

content 18+, smut, angst, fluff, alcohol, language, all of the warnings

DAY ONE

Well… even if something did go catastrophically wrong this week, at least no parents would be around to witness the fallout.

Your dad got pulled into covering a partner’s trial at the last minute, and your mom had used it as an excuse to spend the week with her friends in the city. The only reason that worked out so conveniently was because Jimmy and Robin had somehow scored a Hawaii trip—Robin’s sister bailed and handed off the all-inclusive package like some benevolent tropical fairy godmother.

Whose bright idea it was to leave a cabin full of twenty-somethings alone with a liquor cabinet older than all of you… unclear. But they insisted you’d be fine. Dan and Carrie were technically around to “supervise,” and you’d promised your parents no injuries, no disappearances, and definitely no tequila-fueled hospital visits—before boarding your flight to Reno.

After landing, Dominic made a beeline for the rental lot and immediately picked out the most expensive SUV available, high off the thrill of having full credit card access for the first time in years. He hadn’t been trusted with it since the infamous boy’s trip to the Keys, an event so chaotic you still get silenced anytime you try to bring it up.

So, in a shiny new Rover (probably not the smartest pick for mountain roads, but at least it had all-wheel drive), you shared a gas station breakfast and made fun of each other’s playlists the entire drive. He made sure to grab a pack of powdered donuts (stale, of course, but sacred tradition), and some hot chocolate (lukewarm, but still a must), before you started the final stretch.

The drive was calm. Almost idyllic in that blurry, half-sweet way that made you feel fourteen again. Your knees ached from being curled up too long, your stomach from the processed sugar crash—but still, it felt familiar. So much so in the way that made you feel like something good might happen if you let it.

And then you pulled into the driveway and the feeling started to fade.

The house looked the same as ever with its vaulted peaks framed in snow and warm golden windows flickering behind tall pine trees, all seeming a little too much like a frozen memory waiting for you to step back in. 

You hadn’t been here the past two winters. First it was a senior trip to Europe—bouncing between hostels, starting in Rome and ending in Paris. Then Arizona with your new college friends, chasing desert sunsets and overpriced concert tickets. You didn’t regret either trip. But pulling up now, in the cold breath of early evening, you realized just how much had changed. Or maybe it was just you.

And the Joe thing didn’t help. Whatever it was. Whatever you two were.

You’d kept in touch… sort of. A few texts, scattered across the month. Some flirtier than others. A couple photos exchanged during finals week. One very late FaceTime you both quietly ignored the next morning. You weren’t dating. You weren’t a thing. But something lived in the quiet between those conversations. 

And now, you were about to spend a full week under the same roof.

Dominic cut the engine, glancing over as you stare at the house like it might swallow you whole.

“You good?” he asks with a lopsided grin. “C’mon, it’s gonna be a good time.”

You nod, fixing a smile on your face like it might just hold everything together. The last thing you needed—what no one needed—was for you to get tangled up in your feelings. He pats your arm in that same brotherly way he always does, trying to play it cool even though you know he clocks every shift in your mood.

Shoving the last of your nerves down deep, you step out into the cold, zipping your coat up to your chin as the mountain air sinks its teeth in.

“Cincy?” a voice calls out from somewhere near the garage. “That really you?”

With a Busch Light already in hand and that same boyish swagger in his step you remembered a little too well, Connor strolls toward the car like it hasn’t been years. He looked good—windswept and red-cheeked from the cold, hair messily tucked under a backwards hat, ski jacket half-zipped like the cold didn’t bother him. He stops long enough to dap up your brother, slipping easily into small talk.

While they caught up, you move around to the backseat and pop open the door, reaching for your weekender bag. “Thought you ditched us for good,” the voice came again, closer this time, just behind your shoulder.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, and by the time you turn, Connor is already reaching past and grabbing your bag with one arm like it weighed nothing. His fingers brush yours in the process but he doesn’t pull away instantly. His gaze flicks across you, lingering just a second too long before his grin is tugged back into place.

“Still pack like you're running away,” he teases, hoisting the bag easily onto his shoulder. “What do you have in here, bricks?”

You roll your eyes but felt the heat creep up your neck anyway. Some things never change.

Connor has been a fixture in Tahoe since you were kids—his parents owned one of the ski resorts up the road, and he’d practically grown up on the slopes. Your brother met him at a little skiing workshop when they were both eight and declared him his best friend within twenty-four hours. From that moment on, Connor was everywhere. Sitting across from you at pizza nights, rigging up makeshift ski jumps in the backyard while you made snowmen, tagging along for movie nights and always calling dibs on the beanbag chair you liked first.

He was also the one who used to chuck snowballs at you during your ski lessons, making dumb faces from the lift while you wobbled your way down the bunny hill. And when you were younger—maybe eleven or twelve—that teasing turned into something else. Something you couldn’t name at the time, but you felt it every time he ruffled your hair or called you “kid.” Something fluttery and stupid and way too intense for someone who barely looked at you twice once the older girls from his school showed up.

You zip your coat a little higher and try to ignore the way he still makes your stomach flip.

“You coming in,” he asks while glancing back at you with a grin, “or just gonna freeze out here?”

Then, with a playful edge, “Unless you still do plan on running away.”

At that exact moment, Dominic passes by, rolling his eyes as he hoists a duffel over one shoulder. “Don’t encourage her,” he mutters to Connor, loud enough for both of you to hear. “She’s been one minor inconvenience away from bailing since we landed.”

Connor barks out a laugh, looking over his shoulder at you with a grin that only widened. “Noted,” he said, then winked. “Guess I better behave.”

You shook your head but your face was already warm and you hated that he could probably tell. Connor holds the door open and you mumble a quick thanks. The second you step inside, you’re instantly met with a flood of familiar faces.

Jamie and his fiancé, Emily, are curled up on the loveseat, waving with cheerful smiles. The last time you’d seen them was at the Fourth of July barbecue—one of those chaotic afternoons where you barely got more than a hug in before they were pulled away by someone bombarding them with questions about wedding plans.

By the fireplace sits Nate, another Tahoe local, and Caleb, whose family rents the place just down the mountain. Nate had become part of the group years ago after overhearing one of Dom, Joe, and Connor’s brilliant plans to sneak out and meet a group of out-of-towners. He tagged along, and somewhere in the chaos of the teens getting lost, they met Caleb—brother to one of the girls they were trying to find. 

Now, the five of them—Nate, Caleb, Dom, Connor, and Joe—are practically a package deal. Wherever one went, the others followed. Most of the time, anyway.

There’s always been a weird thing between Joe and Connor. Not outright fighting, but something just under the surface. A quiet competitiveness. Clipped comments. The occasional sideways glance that made everyone else fall awkwardly silent. No one ever explained it and no one dared ask—but the tension was always there.

You’d gotten used to it over the years, but that didn’t make it any less noticeable.

“We’re here! Nobody cry.” Dom shouts the moment you’re able to gather yourself.

“Speak for yourself. I’m already regretting this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving you off as he kicks snow off his boots. “You say that now, but give it two drinks and you’ll be sobbing about how much you missed me.”

“I never said I missed you.”

“That’s rude, considering I brought you here.”

“You brought me here because Mom made you.”

Dom gasps, “wow. Throw me under the bus in front of the boys.”

“Don’t worry,” Nate says from his spot. “She’s already doing great.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks warming as you shrug off your coat. The room was way too quiet with too many eyes looking your way.

“Okay but seriously,” Caleb adds, eyes flicking over you. “When did Dom’s little sister become an actual person?”

Dom turned so fast, you thought he might throw his bag at him. “Nope. Stop. Don’t even finish that sentence.”

Connor passes by then, beer still in hand, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You’re already losing control, bro.”

“Already regretting everything,” Dom sighs then jabs a finger at you. “Don’t even think about joining their side.”

You grin. “No promises.”

The group laughs, all descending into chaos as you reach to grab your bag from Connor, lugging it up the stairs.

Your room was exactly the same. Same patchy quilt. Same old Polaroids pinned to the corkboard, some faded beyond recognition, others showing unmistakable evidence of braces, bad bangs, and someone (likely one of the guys) photobombing in every other one.

You didn’t unpack so much as toss your things across the bed and pretend you felt fine. Voices could be heard faintly rising from below, laughs layered over old stories, the low thrum of a speaker someone connected to, the dull creak of floorboards that never stopped giving everyone away. For a moment, it felt like you’ve slipped back into something you’d aged out of. Like the walls were waiting to see who you were now, to figure out if you still fit. 

Right as you were considering whether anyone would notice if you just stayed up here for the rest of the night, you heard the front door open. And even from upstairs, even without seeing her, you knew.

By the time you (begrudgingly) made it halfway down the stairs, you could already feel the energy shift. Conversations hadn’t stopped, but they’d slowed—tilted in her direction. You see her first from the back, brushing snow from her coat sleeves with that same effortless grace that always made her seem way older than the rest of you even when she wasn’t. 

Bridget moved like she had somewhere more important to be and had just chosen to show up here anyway. Her dark hair was tucked into a sleek braid that rested against one shoulder and her gloves were shoved neatly into her pockets instead of tossed carelessly to the side like the others.

“Hey,” she says, gaze moving around the room like she was cataloging who made it this year and who didn’t. “Sorry I’m late. I came straight from practice.”

Of course she did.

Dom let out a low whistle from across the room. “Damn, look who finally decided we’re worth her time.”

Bridget rolls her eyes but her smirk gives her away. “I’m not the one who missed two years in a row.”

You step the rest of the way down, fighting the urge to bite back. Not that she said anything cruel—Bridget didn’t do cruel. She didn’t need to. Her silence said plenty. 

She’d never been unfriendly but there was something in the way she looked at you that always made you feel like she was waiting for you to grow into something you hadn’t quite become. She was all mountain air and early mornings and first-place medals.

You huff an exaggerated laugh, “nice to see you too, Bridget.” 

She doesn’t take the bait, instead giving a small, practiced smile alongside a nod that somehow still feels condescending even though it wasn’t. She wasn’t being cold. She wasn’t being anything, really. That was the thing about Bridget—she never needed to try hard to make her presence known. She was gracious, polite, perfectly warm in the right places, but always seemed to exist just slightly above the rest of the group. Not on purpose. Just naturally out of reach.

You use the moment to make your quiet exit from the edge of the living room, slipping past the group and heading towards the kitchen. You cross the floor to the counter, reaching for one of the unopened seltzers and cracking it open as you stand with your back to the chaos just beyond. The hum of the fridge kicks on. Someone laughs in the other room. You take a slow sip, breathing in through your nose, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all evening.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

​​The voice comes from just behind your shoulder, low and close enough that you jump—hard enough to almost spill your drink. You turn fast, already teetering between a laugh and a scowl.

“Jesus. People have got to stop doing that to me.”

Joe stands there, looking slightly amused, arms crossed like he’s been leaning there the whole time. And even though you’ve seen his name light up your phone more times than you could count, something about seeing him in person now made your heart stutter in your chest. 

It’s stupid how quickly it hits you.

He smiles, a little crooked. “Doing what?”

“Sneaking up on me,” you say, turning back toward the counter, fingers picking at the tab on your can. “Connor did it earlier and I nearly fell on my ass.”

You glance over your shoulder, expecting a laugh from him. Maybe a grin. What you don’t expect is the way his smile falters. It doesn’t come back. His jaw is tight, eyes a little harder than they were a second ago. Your gaze lingers longer than it should, then you turn away again, suddenly too aware of how exposed your back feels.

His footsteps don’t echo but you feel every one of them—the soft shift of the floorboards, the presence behind you pulling closer. You stay rooted where you are, frozen somewhere between wanting to say something and knowing better.

He stops behind you and you feel it before you process it. The shift in air. The slow pull of warmth at your back. The way your breath stutters like your body remembers this before your mind can catch up. His arm lifts above you, smooth and unhurried, and it’s not until it lowers again that you realize what he was reaching for.

A bottle of bourbon. Probably stashed from a past trip, maybe even the last one you skipped. His fingers curl around the neck, knuckles white against the dark glass, grip tight enough to draw your eyes without meaning to. The bottle hangs at his side as he lingers there, shoulders loose, weight tipped into one hip like he’s in no rush to go anywhere.

You feel him watching you.

His tongue clicks softly, the sound sharp in the quiet.

“Old habits die hard, huh.”

The words land behind you dryly. Almost bored. Like he’s amused with himself, or maybe with you. You turn your head again, slower, but just in time to catch the flick of his eyes as he rolls them.

And then he walks out, leaving you in the kitchen with the sting of all the things you didn’t get to say.

DAY TWO

If there’s such a thing as peace after tequila and half a bag of marshmallows, you’re pretty sure it looks something like this.

You’re not sure when the night started to blur. Maybe right after Dom and Caleb came barreling in from the garage, triumphantly holding up a dusty box of leftover fireworks like they’d just unearthed buried treasure. That part was actually kind of impressive. The problem, of course, was that no one could find a single lighter in the entire house. Dan (supposed chaperone) was storming through the kitchen like a man possessed, opening drawers, tossing aside old candles, muttering something like, “In a house that’s hosted teenagers and middle-aged moms for fifteen years, how the hell is there not a single lighter?” 

You’d finished your drink, still holding the empty can because it felt easier than figuring out how to escape unnoticed. Everyone was talking over each other, laughing too loud, spinning off into side quests about flammable household objects. You remember leaning against the wall, half-listening, half-hoping no one would pay attention when you finally slipped up the stairs silently.

Apparently, no one did.

It wasn’t the plan to end up skiing alongside Bridget. The group had naturally split on the last run and the two of you had found yourselves carving lazy paths through powdery snow. 

She could actually be kind of easy to talk to—when she was like this, anyway. You’d never had a problem with her. It was just that being around Bridget for too long felt like trying to keep up with someone who was always three steps ahead without ever looking back to see if you were still there.

Bridget coasts ahead a little, then drifts back to match your speed. She tilts her head like she’s considering something, and then says, “You’d like this guy I’ve been training with.”

You blink over at her. “Training?”

“Yeah, out in Utah. He’s been helping me with form drills. Super technical but like... laid-back about it. Kind of annoyingly perfect, honestly.” 

“Wait. Who is this?”

“This guy Max. Works up at Copper full time. He’s kind of a freak athlete.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

Bridget smiles. “He kind of is.” She slows and adds, “I almost wiped out last week trying to impress him. Took a jump I had no business touching.”

You laugh under your breath. The idea of Bridget trying to impress anyone didn’t quite compute. She was the one people chased after, not the other way around.

 “So is that a thing, or...?”

“What, me and Max?” She lets out a breath that was more of a laugh. “No. Definitely not. He’s, like, wildly older. And has a mullet.”

You grin. “That’s not necessarily a dealbreaker.”

“Maybe in the summer when I lose my standards.”

There was a second of quiet, just long enough for you to register the fact that she hadn’t mentioned Joe at all. Not that it was weird she hadn’t. But still. You’d spent the better part of your teenage years watching them share this unspoken bond. Joe and her always talked like they shared some secret competitive sport language that none of you quite understood. And even though neither of them were flirting, you’d spent years pretending not to notice how easily she made him laugh. How his shoulders relaxed around her in ways they didn’t around anyone else.

It had driven you a little insane.

You coast a bit further alongside her, snow brushing softly beneath your skis. It was impossible to not feel the question forming before she asked it.

“What about you? You seeing anyone?”

Your answer comes too fast.

“No.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That was definitive.”

“There’s just… not anyone. Not really.” You fix your gaze down as you say it. “No one important.”

Looking back down the slope, the others were already halfway into taking their skis off. It looks as if they’ve been waiting a minute or two, milling around near the trees, voices carrying faintly over the wind. You hadn’t realized how close you'd gotten.

The two of you glid the rest of the way down in silence, but right before you reach them, she nudges you with her elbow.

“No one important, huh?”

You don’t get the chance to answer—Dom turns toward you both with a smirk already forming.

“What’s that? Bridget talking about a boy?” He pops one ski off with the edge of the other and leans in like he’s ready to stir the pot. Caleb jumps in before you can deflect.

“Multiple boys,” he adds, eyebrows bouncing.

“I heard training with a guy and no one special,” Nate shares, which was absolutely not what had been said.

Bridget groans, stepping past them to unclip her bindings. “Jesus. You children are exhausting.”

“Max, was it?” Dom asks, twisting to look at her. “Can he come visit?”

“He has a mullet,” you say, deadpan, pulling your goggles off and resting them on your helmet.

That earns a full wave of groans and fake gags.

“Oh, so you are talking about guys,” Nate beams, pointing at you like he’s cracked a code.

Bridget doesn’t even blink as she peels off one glove. “I was talking about drills.”

“Same thing,” Nate mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Caleb to elbow him.

You’re unbuckling your helmet when Connor slides in beside you, catching just enough of the exchange to grin like he’d been listening the whole time.

“Wait, wait,” Connor says with a smirk. “You talking about guys too, Cincy?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, already starting toward the lodge with skis in hand. “Bridget was talking. I was listening.”

“Mmhmm,” Dom calls out. “That’s why your face is all red.”

“It’s the wind,” you sigh.

“Sure,” Joe says from in front, not looking at you. It’s the first thing he’s said since you got down the mountain, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to make a dig.

You shake your head, not sure when everything started feeling off. Racking your skis next to Dom’s, you’re the first one inside the lodge. The windows are fogged over with steam, coats hung heavy on every hook, air thick with the scent of chili and burnt coffee. Someone’s boots squeak on the tile behind you.

There’s already a short line at the café counter, but no one seems stressed. Connor waves to the girl behind the register like he’s here every weekend. Which, you guess, he kind of is.

“Put it on the family tab,” he grins, throwing an arm around Dom’s shoulders.

Dom grins, overjoyed. “Must be nice to be ski royalty.”

Caleb clutches his chest dramatically. “God, the burden of generational wealth.”

“All that inherited trauma,” Nate adds with a grin.

“Shut up,” Connor laughs, nudging you forward in line. “You want anything, Cincy?”

You grab a water and something light. You know you won’t finish it but that doesn’t really matter to you right now.

The group shuffles toward a long table in the middle of the room, benches lining either side. You’re just settling into a seat between Dom and Bridget when Connor slides in beside you, nudging Bridget over without a word. He leans forward, grinning at something Dan’s saying from down the line.

But it’s not Dan you’re looking at.

Your eyes flick up, maybe out of habit. Maybe instinct.

Joe’s the one sitting across from you—elbows planted lightly on the table, fingers brushing the edge of a napkin he hasn’t touched. His food sits untouched too. Forgotten, possibly. Or never wanted in the first place.

And he doesn’t flinch when your gaze catches his. Doesn’t look away or pretend he wasn’t already watching. He just stays there, fixed and silent in that nerving way that makes it hard to tell if he’s calm or coiled tight beneath it all.

Like a shadow cast too cleanly. Too perfectly still to be natural.

You try to hold it, but it’s too much. There’s something about the way he tilts his head at you that makes your stomach turn.

Your fingers twitch around the edge of your water bottle, and you drop your gaze before he can see the heat climbing up your neck. Pretend you’re focused on the plastic, on the food, on anything other than the feeling of being seen and measured and maybe a little bit punished.

You pick up your fork with jerky fingers, trying not to look obvious about how your throat’s too tight to even swallow.

“So,” Connor starts, nudging your elbow gently with his own. “How’s Cincy?”

You blink at him, still caught up in your own mind. “Cincy?”

He grins. “School. You still call it that, right? Or have you sold out and started calling it UC?”

A smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it. “Still Cincy.”

Dom’s already halfway through his sandwich, talking with his mouth full. “Only person I know who’s ever actually wanted to go to Cincinnati.”

“Since she was, like, ten,” Connor adds in, looking oddly proud he remembers.

“Because she’s a psycho,” Dom adds.

“That’s not news,” Bridget mutters.

“Hey,” you say, pointing your finger at her. “You’re the one trying to impress a guy with a mullet.”

“Oh my God, we’re still on this?” Bridget drops her head into her hands dramatically.

“You’re the one who brought him up,” Caleb points out, reaching across the table to steal a fry from Dan’s plate.

If this were a few years ago, you would’ve been a mess.

Connor sitting next to you, talking to you like this? It would’ve short-circuited your teenage brain. You would’ve been red in the face, barely able to breathe, too caught up in every shift of his eyes, every word.

He was golden back then. Untouchable. Everything.

Now you barely register the way his knee bumps yours beneath the table.

​​Because across the table, Joe is watching you like he sees everything. And no matter how hard you try not to, that’s where your attention keeps drifting.

Connor leans a little closer, voice low. “I’m serious though. You still like it?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“And classes are good? Professors not ruining your life yet?”

“Only two of them.”

He grins. “Name names. I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, about to say something back when Dan’s voice cuts in from further down the table.

“Hey,” he says, loud enough to pull everyone’s attention. “Do we wanna try to hit the far ridge after this? Or are we too lazy?”

“Too lazy,” Bridget answers immediately.

“I’m in,” Dom says, licking mayo off his thumb. “We’ve got like two hours of sun left.”

“I’m not hiking back,” Emily says, frowning. “Y’all can meet me at the lodge bar after.”

Carrie, from beside her, hums in agreement.

“Some team spirit,” Nate mutters. “What happened to unity?”

“It died with my motivation,” Emily shoots back, popping a fry in her mouth. “Bridget, you down?”

Bridget raises an eyebrow, considers. “If someone carries my poles.”

“I’ll carry your skis if you promise not to pass me next time,” Caleb says through a mouthful of sandwich. “My ego still hasn’t recovered.”

“You need to let that go,” Jamie chimes in. “It was one run.”

“One run too many,” Caleb mutters.

Connor’s shoulder brushes yours when he turns toward you again. His thigh presses against yours under the table, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He nods toward the others. “So, team far ridge?”

You give a soft shake of your head, fingers curling tighter around your water bottle as you lean back slightly. “I think I’m gonna skip it,” you say, voice just loud enough to carry across the table. “Got a bit of a headache.”

A few heads turn, mild concern flickering across their faces. “Probably from hanging out with us,” Nate says, tapping his temple like he’s discovered something. “We’re loud as hell.”

“That or altitude,” Jamie adds helpfully.

“Or the mullet talk,” Bridget mutters, and Connor snorts beside you. 

You smile politely, already reaching for your stuff. “I might just head back to the house for a bit.”

“You want a ride?” Connor asks, already shifting like he might stand.

“I have to head back anyway.”

Your head snaps up so fast it actually makes your vision blur for a second.

Joe’s voice cuts through the noise of the table so cleanly it leaves an echo. 

Oh God.

You pale instantly. You know it. Feel it. That slow, heavy drop in your stomach is like a missed step in the dark. Heat claws at your neck and then recedes just as fast, replaced by a tight, uncomfortable chill. 

“Team call,” he adds, not looking at anyone in particular.

Bullshit.

You don’t know how you know, but you know.

Dom jumps in to say, “Oh, that’s right. They moved it up for East Coast time.”

Joe stands, his chair scraping just slightly as he pushes it back. His eyes catch yours but he doesn’t say anything as he waits expectantly.

Your heart thuds once, too loud. You hesitate for a breath, then slowly stand too, ignoring the way your legs feel a little like water.

Dan looks up, already sliding his tray aside. “We’ll grab your skis for you guys.”

Jamie nods, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

Joe doesn’t say anything as he leads the way out.

The snow crunches beneath your boots in that slow, late-afternoon kind of hush, the parking lot half-shaded, frost settling heavier now that the sun’s started to dip. Dom’s Rover is exactly where they left it this morning, next to Connor’s Bronco—windows streaked with melt lines, black paint dulled under a fine dusting of powder. 

Joe tosses the keys in one hand, catches them in the other, then climbs into the driver’s seat without a word. You follow, tugging the passenger door shut with more force than necessary, the thunk of it feeling louder than it should.

The engine turns over. The heat kicks on. But neither of you speak.

You stare out the window, counting fence posts or pine trees or whatever flashes by fast enough to keep your thoughts from spiraling.

You're thankful the drive is short. And quiet. 

By the time he pulls into the driveway, you’re already reaching for the door handle. He hasn’t even shifted the car into park before you’re out, feet hitting the ground in one sharp step. Your hand fumbles with the passcode at the front door, thumb too cold and a little too shaky to press the numbers right on the first try. The keypad blinks red. You curse under your breath and try again.

You can hear his door close behind you.

God. You’d just wanted a few seconds of space with a clean escape. A quiet slip into the room, maybe the illusion of stillness long enough to breathe without the memory of his eyes on you. Watching. Unrelenting. Like he wanted you to choke on your silence.

The door beeps green. You grab the handle.

But then his hand wraps around your arm.

Low and close behind you, almost gentle: “Nuh uh.” The sound of it is soft, but it stops everything. Your pulse stutters. You freeze in place, body angled toward the stairs, one foot forward like you could still outrun this.

“I thought you had a call,” you say flatly, not bothering to mask the bitterness clinging to your throat.

Joe shakes his head once. “I lied.”

You turn slowly, chest tight. “Well, I have a hea—”

“No you don’t.” There’s a flicker in his jaw. He looks... tired. And tense. Like he’s been holding something back all day and it’s finally cracking through. “You were fine ten minutes ago,” he says. “And if it really was about a headache, you’d have gone with Connor.”

You blink. Heart picking up again. “That’s not—” He steps in before you can finish. Not touching, but close enough that the distance shrinks and your folded arms suddenly feel childish. Defensive. You drop them, and regret it instantly.

“I’m not trying to fight,” he murmurs, like it’s a line he’s rehearsed but still isn’t sure will work. “But I can’t do this fake shit.”

Your teeth find the inside of your cheek, holding down the rest. “Then what do you want, Joe?”

His eyes flash. There’s something angry there, but it’s not really at you. “I want to know what’s going on. With you. With Connor.”

You stare at him. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why does it feel like there is?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Shake your head once and look down. “There never has been. Never will be.”

His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but thinks better of it. “Okay,” he says, after a long pause. “Okay.”

“Why?” You finally glance up at him. “Are you seeing someone else?” ​​The question barely makes it out. It’s too thin, too careful, like it’s not supposed to be heard. But it is. And worse, it’s understood.

Joe doesn’t flinch, but you can see the answer in his eyes before he speaks. “No.”

It knocks something loose in your chest. “Oh.”

Small. Stupid. And way too late to hide the disappointment layered in it.

Joe exhales hard, like he’s been bracing for that exact reaction. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your jaw tightens. “I just—I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He moves again. Two steps this time. Barely a breath between you. “Say what you’re thinking,” he says. “Because I’m standing here trying not to lose my fucking mind, and you’re looking at me like I’m a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” you say too fast. It sounds like a correction, doesn’t come out the way you meant it.

“I just don’t get it,” you say finally. “We were fine the other week. Texting. Talking. And then last night in the kitchen... it felt like a switch flipped.”

“You were talking about Connor.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks down, then back at you, almost sheepish. “You’ve always liked him.”

Your mouth parts in disbelief. “Joe. That was years ago.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stare at him, stunned. And then, slowly, you blink again. A breath catches in your throat—and for the first time in hours, it isn’t from tension. “Oh my God,” you whisper, realization blooming too fast to contain. “You were jealous.”

Joe’s eyes snap to yours. “No—”

“Yes,” you laugh, breathy and stunned, almost too surprised to stop it. “You were.” He steps back like the sound stings, shaking his head, but it’s too late—you already see it. The crack in the armor. The flustered look. “You were jealous of Connor.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but the sentence crumbles before it’s finished, and the silence that follows says everything.

You watch him now with something softer beneath your expression, lips curving despite yourself. “That’s what this has been about?”

He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no, either. Just looks at you with that restless kind of guilt behind his eyes like maybe this whole time he thought you knew. And it’s worse somehow, that you didn’t.

His hand lets go of your arm for the first time since it was placed there and he runs it down his face. “Look,” he sighs, “can we just forget about this. Move on?”

You don’t say anything. Not because you’re angry—not anymore, but because you’re too tired to pretend it didn’t land a little sideways. The words are easy, clean, wrapped in that kind of practiced detachment people use when they’re trying to keep the water from rising any higher. 

Can we just move on. 

You know what he means. You know he’s not asking you to forget the last hour, or the way he treated you, or how much weight actions carried. He’s asking for a truce. For the part where this doesn’t spin out into something bigger than either of you can hold.

So you nod, almost imperceptibly. Just enough to let the tension drain without needing more than it already took.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” you say finally, softer now, your voice falling back into your chest where it feels safest. Your eyes flick up to his one last time, catching a shift in his stance like maybe he thought you’d say something else—invite him in, maybe.

But he doesn’t speak. He just nods once, and lets you go.

You head upstairs slowly, legs sore from the slope runs and muscles humming with a kind of tired that has nothing to do with skiing and everything to do with restraint. The stairs creak faintly under your weight, and when you get to your room, you close the door behind you without turning the light on.

The air inside is still, touched by the faint scent of the vanilla apricot lotion you’d used the night before and the eucalyptus from someone’s shampoo. You tug your base layers off one at a time—your fleece top, the long-sleeve thermal you’d worn beneath it, both damp around the cuffs and collar. The sports bra peels away last, cold against your skin from where it’s clung too long to your spine. You strip everything until you’re bare in the quiet, toes curling briefly against the wood floor as your body adjusts to the sudden chill.

You think, for a second, about the shower. You should rinse the sweat off your chest, the faint the smell of snow and fabric and old pine lodge air. But your legs ache, and the thought of standing makes your shoulders fold in on themselves.

So you don’t.

You pull on the first t-shirt you find at the top of your drawer, soft from too many washes, long enough to hang past the tops of your thighs—and crawl into bed without another thought. Your limbs fall limp against the mattress as you stretch out sideways, not even bothering to pull the comforter over you, the weight of the day collapsing all at once into your spine. Your cheek sinks into the pillow, the fabric still faintly cool from the draft near the window. You exhale through your nose, slow, and for the first time in hours, it doesn’t feel like something is sitting on your chest.

You’re just starting to drift, eyes still half-open, when you hear the soft creak of your door. No knock, just the low groan of the hinges and the sound of someone shifting their weight through the threshold. You don’t move or lift your head, you stay in that stillness like, maybe, if you breathe slow enough, the moment will tell you what it wants.

Then the bed dips behind you.

A hand, light and tentative, skims the curve of your thigh, just above the knee where your skin is bare. His fingers trail up slightly, barely there, before settling in place. You can feel the heat of his palm through the cotton of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” Joe asks, low. Not careful in a nervous way, but in a way that sounds like he means it. Like he knows you could still say no.

Your body reacts before your mouth does. You shift back slightly, enough for the warmth of him to press against the backs of your legs, for the weight of his hand to settle more firmly into your skin.

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s okay.”

You feel him nod against your shoulder, feel the way his breath fans against the back of your neck when he exhales. His hand doesn’t move again. It stays there, a quiet, steady anchor while the room fills with the hush of something finally letting go.

DAY THREE

At some point in the night, long after the air in your room had gone still, after the shadows had stretched across your walls and settled—something stirred you from sleep. You weren’t sure what pulled you from that heavy sleep. Maybe it was the way the temperature had dipped slightly, the faintest chill creeping beneath your blanket. Or maybe it was him.

You barely had time to register the warmth pressed into your side before you felt the first soft kiss pressed to the inside of your arm, just above the bend of your elbow. Another followed it, barely there, grazing the edge of your bicep, then trailing up toward your shoulder like he was mapping his way across skin he already knew by heart.

A third kiss landed just beneath the slope of your neck, lips brushing against your collarbone, then higher—along the side of your throat, against the curve of your jaw, right up to the corner of your mouth where he paused, hovering. You could feel the ghost of a smile on his lips, the quiet hesitation. “They’re pulling in now,” Joe murmured, the words warm against your skin.

You froze for half a second, piecing it together—headlights flashing against the walls, the distant crunch of tires over fresh snow. “Oh. You should probably go then,” you whispered so low the words almost got lost between you.

Joe exhaled a heavy breath against your skin like he hated the thought. His hand squeezed lightly at your thigh, and he stayed there just long enough to press one final kiss to the side of your mouth. Then the weight shifted, the bed lifted, and the room grew quiet again.

You didn’t fall back asleep right away.

You laid there, tucked into the same tangle of sheets, tracing the warmth he left behind. Eventually, sleep crept back in, heavier this time.

By the time you wake up again, the kitchen smells like cinnamon and coffee—warm and alive in that way only Tahoe mornings ever feel. You pad in quietly, still in socks and a fleece you pulled off the floor, sleeves shoved to your elbows, hair a mess. Your eyes sting from sleep, but the house is already wide awake. Chairs scrape. Music hums low from a speaker by the window. Half a stack of pancakes sits on a plate that’s definitely cooling, but no one’s claimed it yet.

Connor is the first to notice you. He glances up from the stove, spatula in hand, grinning like he hasn’t just cooked enough food for a small army. “There she is,” he says, raising his voice just enough to turn a few heads. “Thought we were gonna have to send search and rescue.”

You blink against the brightness of the kitchen and open the cabinet slowly. “For what, pancakes?”

“Rescuing you from your beauty sleep,” he fires back, somehow flipping a pancake with difficulty. “Though clearly you didn’t need it.”

That earns a chorus of “ooohs” from somewhere near the island. You smile against it, tucking your chin slightly as you reach for a mug, trying not to let your eyes flick too obviously toward Joe. Your fingers brush the handle of the coffee pot but Dom beats you to it, appearing out of nowhere to pour you a cup without asking.

“You’ve got like three minutes before Connor burns the last pancake out of spite,” he warns, handing you the mug.

“I’m letting them get crispy,” Connor calls defensively, already plating another with too much confidence. “Some of us have taste.”

“Or just ego problems,” Bridget murmurs, walking past with a plate and the world’s most casual eye-roll.

You slide into the stool beside Joe without even thinking, your leg brushing his beneath the table as you sit. He’s still in the same hoodie and sweats from last night, curls faintly dented from sleep. But he looks more present today. He works on peeling his clementine, knee not moving away from yours.

He’s not quite smiling, but close. His shoulders are more relaxed than they were yesterday, his eyes softer at the corners. You’re not the only one who notices.

“Okay, not to be weird,” Jamie says from across the counter, tilting his head like he’s squinting at a strange animal in a cage, “but you’ve been, like… shockingly normal today.”

Dom snorts. “That’s just cause no one’s brought up his fantasy team yet.”

Jamie keeps going, undeterred. “No, I mean mood-wise. You’re not giving cryptic rage goblin. It’s… unsettling. Like, should we be worried?”

Joe, still peeling a clementine with slow precision, doesn’t even glance up. “Guess I’m more in the vacation mood.”

Bridget lifts an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since the call.”

You sip your coffee to hide the way your lips want to tug into a smile.

Connor slides a pancake onto a plate with unnecessary ceremony. “This one’s yours. It’s shaped like a heart.”

You glance at the lopsided blob, head tilted. “Because you made it with love?”

“No,” he says, flashing a grin. “I just flipped it too soon.”

You smirk into your plate. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“I’m starting to think you’re ungrateful,” Connor says, mock wounded. “That’s fine. I’ll just save my next masterpiece for someone who appreciates culinary excellence.”

“Oh my God,” Bridget mutters. “It’s literally a pancake.”

Nate raises his hand. “Connor, I love your work. Got one that’s, you know… anatomically bold?”

“Already spoken for,” Connor says solemnly. “Joe called it first thing this morning.”

Joe just shakes his head, smiling into his clementine like he’s above it all—like his free hand isn’t slipping beneath the table to curl around your upper thigh, palm warm as it settles high, dangerously high, just shy of where you’d really feel it. His thumb strokes once, barely-there pressure against the soft skin inside your leg.

That he’s still able to touch you like this.

Still able to make you feel like this.

Still the one who does.

And he doesn’t need to look over to know you’ve gotten the message—clear as day, deep as the ache he already knows how to leave behind.

But of course he does.

That’s the whole point.

DAY FOUR

“Missed this,” Joe mumbles against your mouth, the words low and husky, nearly lost in the soft slide of his lips over yours. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you in close, his body warm and solid beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. You don’t even remember reaching for him—just the sleepy shock of waking up to the weight of his palm dragging slowly up your body, the dip of the mattress under his knee, his mouth on yours before your brain could even register the time.

It’s still dark outside. The kind of deep, pre-dawn quiet that blankets the entire house, where even the floorboards seem hesitant to creak. No one else is awake yet—not Dom, not Jamie, not any of the couples still tangled up in shared beds across the hall. The only sounds are the faint rustling of blankets and the rhythmic hush of your breath catching every time Joe kisses you a little deeper, a little more certain. He must’ve snuck in through the hallway door while the others were still sleeping. You think you heard it open once, maybe twenty minutes ago, but you’d rolled over, assuming it was the wind or someone heading to the bathroom. Not him. Not like this.

His hands are firmer now, sliding up beneath your oversized tee—his, left at the cabin from a few winters ago, worn and soft, the hem rising with every graze of his knuckles. He shifts closer, one leg wedging between yours as he guides you back into the pillows, his mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw. Then lower. Hot breath brushing your collarbone. The tip of his nose nudging against your neck like he’s trying to remember how it all felt last time.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs, voice just rough enough to make you shiver. You feel the words more than you hear them—right at your throat, where his tongue darts out to taste the spot just under your ear.

Your fingers twist in the back of his shirt. You should say something—ask what time it is, ask what he’s doing, ask if someone might hear—but your body reacts before your mind can form the words. Your hips arch into his, your leg wrapping around his waist to hold him there, to feel the heaviness of him pressing down. He groans softly at that, the sound barely contained, buried into the crook of your neck like he’s trying not to lose too much control this early.

“Locked the door,” he mutters, as if reading your mind, lips brushing your skin between each syllable. 

His fingers drift lower, teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts as he kisses his way down your chest—just soft grazes at first, until he pushes the shirt up high enough to find bare skin. His eyes flick up to meet yours then, even in the darkness, and you swear he can see everything. Every thought you’re trying to suppress, every ache that’s already started to bloom low in your stomach.

“Still so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Joe whispers, voice thick with that same need you remember from before—the kind that made you reckless last time. The kind that makes you reckless now.

And then his mouth is on you again, lower, slower, no space between his lips and your skin. And you don’t even care what time it is anymore.

His tongue moves in lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your ribs, pausing to suck lightly at the soft skin beneath your breast. He hums against you like he’s tasting something forbidden, something he’s missed dearly. Your breath stutters when his teeth graze your skin, enough to make you clench beneath him. His hand slides under the waistband of your sleep shorts, knuckles dragging up the inside of your thigh so slowly you feel it everywhere.

You gasp, hips twitching toward him, already too warm and too wound up to pretend this isn’t exactly what you wanted the second he walked in.

He glances up at you, fingers stilled just shy of your center. “You wet for me baby?” The question comes low but it’s not him teasing. He’s not smirking. He’s watching you like he’s starved.

“Yes,” you whisper, hand curling in the sheets beside you. “Joe—please.”

His mouth drops to your stomach, teeth skimming along the soft curve of it as his fingers finally touch where you need him. You suck in a breath when he brushes over your clit, gentle at first, like he’s reminding your body how to respond to him. But you remember. God, you remember. And your hips lift into his hand almost instinctively, thighs starting to tremble.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, slipping his hand lower. “It’s like you’ve just been waiting for me.”

You have.

Before you can say it, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down your legs in one motion, discarding them somewhere behind him. Then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open like he has every right to, like it’s muscle memory. He settles between them with that low, grounding exhale that lets you know he’s not in any rush.

When his mouth finally meets you, you almost cry out. His tongue is slow and deliberate, licking up the length of your folds before flattening against your clit. He hums again, content, and the vibrations make you whimper. Every flick is purposeful like he’s worshipping something. You try to stay still, try not to lose it so quickly—but he knows exactly what he’s doing.

One arm hooks under your thigh, holding you open as the other snakes up beneath you, palm lifting your hips off the bed so he can keep you right where he wants you. When your head tips back, mouth open in a silent moan, Joe groans into you and tightens his grip.

“Let me hear it,” he says, voice rough and muffled. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

“I missed you,” you whisper, breathless. “Missed this.”

That’s when he loses what little patience he was holding onto. His grip tightens. His mouth moves faster, more intense. And it only takes seconds before you’re unraveling for him, thighs clamping around his head as a sharp, staggering orgasm rips through you. You don’t even try to be quiet. He didn’t tell you to.

When it finally fades, you’re twitching against the mattress, breathing like you’ve just run a mile. Joe licks you once more, slow and possessive, before he pulls back, chin slick, eyes blown dark as he pushes himself up onto his knees.

But he doesn’t reach for you right away. Instead, he presses one large hand flat on your lower belly, right above where he was just inside you.

“Right here,” he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb strokes lazily over your skin. “Fuck, I’ve thought about this every night. Every time you sent some picture, every time you fucking called me like nothing was happening—this was what I wanted.”

“Joe…” you breathe, not sure what you’re asking for.

His hand stays there, firm against your belly. His other tugs his sweats low enough to free himself, cock already hard, flushed, aching. You look down at where he’s touching you like he’s imagining himself inside you already, feeling the outline of it before he’s even entered.

“You’re mine like this,” he murmurs. “You’ve always been. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

“I don’t wanna share you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw. “Don’t want anyone else to even think they’ve seen you like this.”

Your mouth falls open but no words come out. You can’t think. Not when his cock slides through your folds, teasing the entrance, already soaking in your release.

“I wanna feel myself right here,” he breathes, pressing down on your stomach again, just above your pelvis. “Wanna watch you take every inch, feel how deep I am while you fall apart for me.”

Finding it hard to form any words, you tilt your hips up into him, eyes half-lidded as you slide a hand to the back of his neck and pull him down to you. 

And he takes it. All of it.

The first thrust is slow, agonizing, his hand never leaving your belly. He watches you the whole time, eyes dark and locked on the place he’s disappearing into you, his breath catching when he feels your walls flutter tight around him. You let out a choked moan, back arching helplessly as he pushes deeper, deeper, until there’s nowhere left to go.

“God damn,” he groans, forehead falling to yours. “This pussy’s mine.”

You whimper at the filth of it, at the claim in his voice, at the way you know—deep down—it might actually be true.

He stills for a beat, thick and pulsing inside you, letting you feel the weight of him. The stretch. The heat. Your mouth falls open around a gasp, hips twitching involuntarily as your body tries to adjust. You’re full to the point of ache, dizzy from how careful he’s being. How much he’s giving you just by holding still.

But it’s when he leans back on his knees, still fully inside you, and plants one broad palm flat against your lower stomach—right over where he’s buried deep—that your whole body jolts.

“Right there,” he murmurs, pressing just a little, just enough to make you feel it. “Feel me, baby?”

You choke on a breath.

“Joe—oh my god.”

Your hands scramble to hold onto something—his wrist, the sheets, your own thighs—because the sensation is unlike anything else. It’s too much. His cock thick and throbbing inside you, his palm heavy on your belly, eyes dark as they watch the way your face falls apart under him.

He groans when he sees it. Like the sight alone might ruin him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, breathless and wrecked. “You feel that? That’s how deep I am.”

Your thighs try to close around him instinctively, too overwhelmed, too full, but he slides his hand down to your hips and pins you open again, shaking his head like he’s not done showing you.

“No, lemme have it. Been thinking about this every night, don’t get to run now,” the way his voice dips on the word now nearly makes you cry out again. “You let that stupid fuck talk to you like I’m not the one that gets to have you like this.”

He thrusts once, slow but hard, his hand never leaving your stomach, his thumb grazing across your skin again like he’s trying to brand you there. You cry out, hips twitching, back arching up off the bed.

“I can feel you—”

“I know you can.” He leans forward then, catching your face in his free hand, brushing his nose against yours. “No one else gets this.”

Another thrust—deeper, meaner, sending you gasping into his mouth.

“You feel so good,” you pant, barely able to form the words.

His lips part over yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. Mouth hovering over yours, breathing with you, losing it with you.

“You were made for me,” he whispers, drunk on it now. “Your body fuckin’ knows me. Look at you.”

Your eyes flutter open just in time to catch him looking down between you both, still pressing into your stomach while his cock rocks slow, devastating circles inside you.

And that’s what breaks you.

The orgasm rushes in without warning—hot and overwhelming and pulsing through every part of you. Your body locks down around him, helpless under the weight of his touch and his words and the filthy possessiveness still dripping off his voice.

“Jesus—there you go. Let me feel it, baby. That’s my girl.”

You cry out, clutching at him, every muscle tight and trembling as he fucks you through it. He drops his head to your shoulder, groaning against your neck as your release milks him, his rhythm stuttering.

“Fuck—” he chokes out. You wrap your legs around him tighter, nails digging into his back. He shudders, thrusts a final time, and then you feel it. His whole body tense above you as he spills inside with a low, broken groan.

When it’s over, he collapses half on top of you, chest heaving, skin damp. But his hand doesn’t leave your stomach. If anything, he presses a little harder, still circling with his thumb as if trying to feel it all settle.

“You should see how you look like this,” he murmurs into your neck. “Might lose my mind.”

You don’t answer because you’re still floating. Body limp, your legs spread open and shaking, your mouth parted like you forgot how to close it.

And he’s still inside you, holding you like the whole fucking house doesn’t exist beyond this bed.

The memory lingers longer than it should. Even after he’s gone you’re still floating somewhere between sleep and whatever this is.

When you finally peel yourself out of bed, the world outside your window is already blinding white, heavy with fresh snow. Just from one look you already know what the plan is for today.

It’s always been the same, ever since you were little—after a big storm, nobody needed to say anything. You’d all spill outside, wrapped in lumpy coats and mismatched mittens, throwing yourselves into the snow like it was your only job. Even the parents used to join in back then, when you were all still toddlers, chasing each other through the drifts, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Somewhere downstairs, the familiar thud of boots and shouts of laughter echo through the walls, pulling you back into the day whether you’re ready for it or not. You layer up slowly, thick socks and leggings and your warmest jacket, hiding Joe’s hoodie from this morning underneath because it's a secret you can’t quite part with yet. 

The cold hits you the second you step outside, biting at your nose and cheeks as you stumble down the front steps into chaos. Old toboggans scatter across the slope like wreckage from a lost battle. Shouts and laughter tear through the freezing air, ricocheting off the trees. 

Dom’s halfway down the hill already, somehow managing to sled backward while pumping his fists in the air like an idiot. Emily wipes out spectacularly near the bottom, her body flipping into the powder with a high-pitched scream, and Caleb’s patrolling the top with an armful of snowballs, throwing them indiscriminately at anyone who looks too happy.

You barely have a second to take it all in before a snowball whizzes past your head.

"Incoming!" Nate hollers, already loading up another.

You duck instinctively, laughing, and when you straighten up again, Joe’s there.

He’s tugging his gloves on tighter, cheeks red from the cold, a ridiculous wool hat jammed over his messy hair. He steps up beside you and nudges your shoulder with his own, "you're late."

You barely have a second to take it all in before one of Caleb’s missiles whizzes past your head, startling you into a squeaky laugh.

"Incoming!" Nate hollers, already loading up another.

You duck instinctively, heart pounding from the surprise and the cold, and when you straighten up again, Joe’s there. Tugging his gloves on tighter, cheeks flushed deep pink from the cold, a ridiculous wool hat jammed low over his messy hair. He steps up beside you without a word, bumping your shoulder with his like you’re already mid-conversation.

"You're late," he says, voice thick with that gravelly sleep-laced tone that makes your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes, burying your smile in your scarf. "Slept in."

Joe just huffs a small laugh under his breath and starts down the hill. You watch him for half a second too long before forcing yourself to follow.

By the time you’re flying down the hill for the third—or maybe fourth—time, your gloves are soaked straight through, your cheeks are numb, and your ribs ache from laughing so hard you can barely breathe. The air feels even more frigid every time you trek back uphill, boots slipping on slick patches of churned-up snow, but nobody’s slowing down. Everyone's too busy throwing themselves onto sleds like kids, shrieking and tumbling and crashing with reckless abandon. Somewhere behind you, Dom’s yelling about how he “beat the course record," even though there’s absolutely no course. Emily and Carrie are rolling around in the snow near the bottom, cackling so hard you can hear them from halfway up.

You’re halfway through adjusting your scarf when Joe’s hand brushes yours, fingers grazing yours through the gloves in a touch that could be called an accident—if he wasn’t looking at you like that. Like the world could crash and burn around you, and he still wouldn’t look away. You blink hard, dragging your gaze down to your boots, pretending to kick the packed snow off, pretending your heart isn’t trying to beat a hole through your ribs.

You barely catch your breath before Connor jogs up beside you, cocky grin flashing bright as ever, “We’re going doubles," he announces. "Me and you, Cincy. Let’s show these amateurs how it’s done."

You open your mouth to object, something about not wanting to end up concussed, but he’s already grabbing your hand and dragging you up toward the ridge, laughing like this is all so easy. Like nothing’s changed.

You go along, heart pounding, casting one quick look over your shoulder where Joe still stands a few steps back. His face gives away nothing, but the way his gloved hands flex once at his sides says enough.

Connor shouts something about steering as you settle awkwardly behind him, barely managing to hook your arms around his waist before he kicks off. 

The sled shoots forward with a violent lurch, snow spraying up around you as you barrel down the hill at a reckless speed. Your laughter bubbles out of you unrestrained, half-pure joy, half-desperate adrenaline as you cling to the sides and try not to tip into the nearest drift.

When you finally crash into a snowbank at the bottom, you can barely breathe, your lungs burning from the laughter and the cold. Connor flops onto his back beside you, both of you wheezing and shaking snow out of your sleeves. You push yourself up, brushing powder from your leggings, your fingers still tingling from the ride.

You dust the snow off your leggings, still catching your breath, and when you glance toward the slope, Joe’s still there, standing a little ways up, watching you with a look you can’t quite read. Before you can even think deeper into it, Nate tackles him from behind, knocking him into the snow with a triumphant yell that has the whole hill erupting into laughter.

You force yourself to laugh with them, letting Connor haul you to your feet, heart still hammering painfully against your ribs.

The afternoon drifts in slower after that, like the mountain itself is exhaling.

The sun dips lower behind the peaks, bleeding gold and pink into the snow-covered world. The cold sharpens, biting harder at exposed skin, and boots start dragging heavier across the churned-up slope. You huddle into your jacket, arms wrapped tight across your chest, but you don’t think it’s the temperature making you shiver anymore.

Someone starts another half-assed snowball war, shrieks and shouts fill the air as bodies dive behind sleds and trees and piles of snow, everyone too exhausted to aim properly, too happy to care.

You’re mid-sprint, trying to dodge a flying iceball from Dominic, when a hand closes around your wrist and yanks you down behind a flipped sled. You land in a heap, boots tangling, Joe’s chest bumping against yours with a solid thud.

You gasp a breathless laugh, and so does he, both of you frozen there in the shadow of the sled, breath fogging between you. His hand lingers at your wrist, thumb brushing absently against the curve of your hand. You don’t pull away. You don’t even think about it.

"Told you," he murmurs, voice low and warm in your ear, "you’d be better off staying with me." Your mouth opens automatically, some sarcastic reply ready to fly—but the words die somewhere in your throat, because just over his shoulder, you see Bridget.

Sitting cross-legged on a snowbank, arms looped around her knees, watching. Not the hill, not at the chaos—at you.

At you and Joe.

Your stomach plunges so fast it makes you dizzy.

Joe must feel it, the way your body stiffens, feels the sudden snap of the moment because moves without hesitating, his body angling slightly to shield you from view, his hand squeezing yours once before standing.

You let him, not daring to look back at Bridget again.

Joe’s tugging you gently to your feet just a second later. You dust the snow from your jacket, trying to gather yourself, heart still rattling somewhere too high in your chest. "You good?" he asks, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry. His eyes skim your face, reading it way too easily.

You force a small laugh, tucking your chin into your scarf like it’ll hide anything he might see. "Yeah," you lie, slipping into the smile you’ve worn a thousand times before. "Just cold."

Joe watches you for another second like he doesn’t quite buy it, but then his mouth tilts into a lazy smile. He leans in, crowding your space just enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear when he whispers, "Keep your door unlocked tonight, yeah?"

DAY FIVE

The next morning passes in a kind of lazy sort of cozy haze, the whole house moving slower after the endless chaos of the last few days. Even Bridget decided to spend the day recovering at her own home. When you finally drag yourself out of bed, the kitchen’s a mess of platters of cinnamon rolls, mugs of coffee, and people slumped in chairs still wearing pajama pants.

Nobody seems in a rush to do anything, which honestly feels kind of perfect.

By late morning, a few of you pile into cars and head down to the frozen lake to skate, bundled up and carrying thermoses of hot chocolate and clunky old rental skates. It’s nothing like sledding yesterday—more scerne and less tumultuous. You skate in crooked loops with Emily and Carrie for a while, occasionally glancing across the rink to catch Joe tripping over his own skates and laughing like a little kid. He catches your eye once or twice and your stomach does that stupid swoop it’s been doing more and more lately.

Connor sticks close too, always finding ways to drift near you. It should feel simple. It should feel normal. But you catch Joe watching again once or twice, that same unreadable look flashing across his face before he turns away. Each time it happens, it leaves you feeling strange and unsettled in ways you can’t quite explain.

The rest of the afternoon is spent back at the cabin, sprawled out in front of the fire (because someone did eventually find a lighter), half the group napping, the others playing old board games someone found buried in a closet. 

You let yourself get pulled into a game of Monopoly, losing spectacularly to Dan within the first hour, and you spend the rest of the time curled into the corner of the couch, pretending not to notice the way Joe’s socked foot occasionally bumps yours under the blanket.

Further into the night you end up retreating to your room not long after Dan and Carrie disappear upstairs, Emily and Jamie trailing close behind them with lazy goodnights. The house is quieter now, the only real noise coming from the living room where Dom, Caleb, Nate, and Connor have planted themselves on the couches, arguing loudly over which video game to start next.

Joe stays downstairs with them, slouched low in one of the armchairs, a half-empty beer bottle dangling lazily from his fingers. You try not to pay too much attention as you pass through the kitchen, stacking a few stray mugs from this morning into the sink, pretending not to notice the way his eyes follow you across the room.

It’s only when you reach the bottom of the stairs, turning to glance back over your shoulder one last time, that you catch him sinking lower into his hoodie, tugging it up to hide the stupid, suggestive grin threatening to give him away completely. You bite down on a smile of your own, heat sparking low in your stomach as you turn quickly and slip upstairs before you can make it any worse.

You end up lying across your bed, room dimly lit, with a book in hand, trying to read like you promised yourself you would over break. Your legs are tucked under the blanket, your hair still a little damp from your quick shower, the air cool and crisp against your skin. You’re just starting to sink into the quiet, starting to believe you might actually get a few pages in, when you hear the faintest creak of the floorboard just outside your door. 

Joe slips inside your room earlier than expected, earlier than he promised. He closes the door behind him, ensuring to lock it before he turns back to you with his hair sticking up in messy, reckless tufts. The second your eyes meet, the little smile you tried so hard to bury earlier comes rushing back to the surface.

"Hi," you whisper, voice barely a breath.

Joe smiles back and reaches for the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up and over his head in one smooth pull. His hair sticks up in staticy tufts afterward, cheeks flushed, eyes already darkening in that way that makes your stomach flip.

You barely have time to react before he’s on you, closing the space between you in two long strides. His hands find your hips easily, and his mouth is slanting over yours, tasting, teasing, like he’s got all the time in the world. 

Your fingers find his t-shirt instinctively, clutching at the soft fabric just to have something to anchor yourself to, and when he deepens the kiss, you barely notice yourself shifting closer until he’s pulling you straight into his lap.

His thighs bracket yours, wide beneath you, and his hands slip under the hem of your cami to find your waist, splaying wide like he wants to touch as much of you as he can at once. You kiss him harder, your chest brushing his with every ragged breath. When you try to pull back to catch your breath, Joe chases you, one hand sliding up your back, the other cradling your jaw, keeping you right where he wants you.

"Uh-uh," he murmurs against your mouth, the sound rough, almost pleading. His fingers press a little firmer, dragging you closer again. "Come back."

You laugh, breathless against him, a little overwhelmed in the best way—and then you push lightly at his chest, guiding him back until he lets you tip him onto the mattress without resistance. Joe falls back with a low grunt, head hitting your pillow, one arm lazily splayed out above his head, the other reaching for you without hesitation. His shirt rides up slightly with the movement, exposing a sliver of warm, toned skin that makes your mouth go dry.

There’s no hesitation as you swing your leg over him, straddling his hips, the look on his face enough to steal the last bit of air from your lungs. "Where you goin', huh?" he teases, voice low and lazy, but there’s a heat in his eyes that sharpens when you start crawling down the length of his body.

You settle between his knees, palms dragging up the strong lines of his thighs, your breath catching at the way he’s looking at you. Joe’s chest rises sharply, his jaw clenching once as your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants, and slowly, start to work them down. "You sure about this, baby?"

You just look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat, feeling the nervous excitement ripple through you in a way that somehow only makes you braver. And when you nod Joe lets out a broken, desperate noise that makes you feel like you could set the whole goddamn cabin on fire.

Joe’s hips lift slightly, almost like he can’t help it when you tug his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing him with a soft hiss of breath. His cock slaps up against his stomach, thick and flushed and already leaking precum, and you swear you feel yourself clench just at the sight of him.

Still perched on his lap, you lean back just enough to drag your fingers lightly down the center of his chest, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch. Joe watches you like he’s starving, blue eyes nearly black with how blown out his pupils are.

He props himself up on his elbows, breath catching audibly when you press your mouth against the sensitive head of his cock, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the underside. "Jesus—fuck," he groans, hips twitching forward before he catches himself.

You hum softly, pleased, and wrap your hand around the base, stroking him lazily as you lick and tease and explore. You don’t rush, wanting him to feel every second of it. Joe lets out a wrecked sound and sinks back onto the bed completely, one hand dragging through his hair, the other blindly reaching for your shoulder, gripping lightly like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

When you finally sink your mouth properly down on him, taking as much as you can in one slow glide, Joe’s hand tightens. "Fuck, baby," he pants, his voice so raw it sends a fresh jolt of arousal straight through you. "Just like that. Don’t stop."

You don’t plan to. You build a rhythm, steady and deep, hollowing your cheeks and working your hand where your mouth can’t reach. Joe’s hips start to move without thinking, small, helpless thrusts you know he’s trying to control but can’t, not when you swirl your tongue on the way back up and suck gently at the tip.

"God, you’re gonna kill me," he rasps, the words punching out of him in a broken laugh.

You pull off for half a second, smirking against his skin. "Maybe."

Joe groans like you’ve physically hurt him, a laugh breaking through, but it dissolves quickly into a shudder when you take him deep again, until you feel the head of his cock brush the back of your throat. He bucks once, hard enough that you gag slightly, but you don't pull away, steadying yourself to let him feel it, let him hear the desperate, slick sounds filling the room.

"Shit—oh my god—fuck, baby, you’re—" Joe cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, hand fisting the sheets now, his thighs shaking under your palms. "You’re gonna make me—" You hum again, needy, encouraging, and that’s all it takes. Joe falls apart with a choked groan, thick ropes of cum spilling into your mouth, his hips jerking once, twice, before he forces himself still. You keep stroking him through it until he finally slumps back against the mattress, panting like he just ran a marathon.

You wipe at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, chest still rising and falling with the effort of everything you just did for him, and when you glance up—he’s already watching you like he’s starving all over again.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips and before you can process it, he’s sitting up, reaching for you. His hands find your waist easily, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and before you can even think about protesting, he’s placing you back into his lap, settling you so you’re straddling him.

You let out a soft, surprised sound, laughing under your breath as your hands come up to his shoulders. "Joe," you murmur, pressing your forehead lightly to his. "This was supposed to be about you."

Joe shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up as he slides one big hand up the length of your thigh, over your hip, settling dangerously close to where you’re already soaking through your panties. "This is about me," he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You’re only wearing your little cami and panties yet the heat radiating off of him makes you feel practically bare. Your heart’s racing so fast you can barely hear yourself think, but none of it matters because Joe’s pulling you into another kiss—deep, possessive, and so full of something heavier that it nearly knocks you breathless.

You feel it immediately—the way he’s already hardening against you again, the warmth and thickness of himself insistent under the thin material separating you. Joe groans into your mouth when your hips rock down against his, the friction shooting straight through both of you. His hands drag down your back, gripping your ass firmly, pulling you tighter against him until you can’t move without feeling him everywhere.

And then, with almost no warning, you feel him tug the crotch of your panties to the side, rough and desperate, exposing you just enough—and before you can even gasp properly, he’s sliding into you in one slow, searing thrust.

Your breath catches violently in your chest.

The stretch is deep and overwhelming, the sudden fullness making your whole body tighten, but Joe’s there—his hands steady on your hips, his forehead pressing to yours, his mouth brushing your cheekbone like he’s trying to tether you through it.

"Fuck," he pants against your skin, voice cracked open with feeling. "God, you feel—"

You can’t answer. You can’t even breathe. You just move with him, rocking your hips slowly, clumsily at first, finding the rhythm together.

It’s soft. And rough.

Messy and urgent.

Kisses at the edge of bruising, hands everywhere at once, Joe’s mouth finding your throat, your collarbone, your jaw, like he can’t decide which part of you he needs more. And then, when your nails rake lightly up the back of his neck and his hips stutter hard into yours, he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck, voice ragged against your skin. "I’ve always thought about this," he confesses hoarsely, like the words rip themselves free before he can catch them. "Always."

You barely manage a nod, your fingers tangling tighter in the hair at the base of his neck. "Me too," you whisper, so quietly it feels like a secret.

But Joe shakes his head slightly, the movement brushing his mouth against the side of your throat. "No, baby," he breathes. "Since before Thanksgiving."

You choke on a gasp, the sound swallowed by the overwhelming grind of his hips into yours, the drag of his cock hitting places inside you that make the whole world go fuzzy at the edges.

The words hang between you—too big, too fragile to touch again right now—and neither of you tries to. Instead, Joe kisses you again like he’s trying to apologize for all the time you wasted, like he’s trying to promise something without saying it out loud.

You cling to him, rocking into each other harder now, faster, chasing the high you both know is coming. Your forehead presses to his, your breathing tangled, the filthy, wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.

It hits you first—your orgasm sweeping up out of nowhere, sharp and searing, making your thighs clamp around his hips, your nails dig into his skin. Joe follows right after, a grunt ripping from his throat as he thrusts deep one last time, pulsing hot and thick inside you, his whole body going rigid underneath yours.

Slowly, carefully, Joe shifts his hands, still moving like he doesn’t quite want to let go yet. He glances down, and you feel the way his body tenses slightly when he sees his release already starting to slip out of you, slick and glistening between your thighs.

Joe mutters something low under his breath and then he reaches down, gently tugging your panties back into place. He covers you carefully, dragging the soft fabric up and over your sensitive skin—and then his palm presses firm against you, right over where you’re already soaked through, holding you there like he needs to feel it.

You jolt slightly at the pressure, hips twitching instinctively into his touch, and a shaky little sound slips out of you before you can catch it. Joe just hushes you softly, brushing his nose along your jaw, his hand staying there for a long, heavy moment like he’s trying to sear the memory into both your bodies.

When he finally moves it away he does it by pulling you tighter into his lap, wrapping both arms around you and burying his face against your neck, breathing you in like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

The room is warm and quiet, the only sound the slow, even drag of your breathing against each other. Joe’s fingers trace lazy, absentminded patterns on the small of your back, and you let your eyes flutter closed, soaking in the grounding weight of him under you, around you.

You don’t know how much time passes—minutes, maybe more—before Joe finally speaks, asking, "What were you reading?" 

You lift your head slightly, blinking down at him. It takes a second to remember, and then you glance over at the rumpled comforter where your book lies half-buried. "Pride and Prejudice," you say, your voice soft from how close you are.

Joe hums, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember. "That’s the one where... they fall in love but like, hate each other the whole time, right?"

You snort, laughing into his chest. "Kind of," you grin, pulling back just enough to see his face. "They misunderstand each other a lot. Prejudice and pride getting in the way and all that. It’s actually a lot sweeter than it sounds."

Joe smiles too, "I dunno," he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Sounds like our group trips."

You laugh again, curling further into his embrace. "You remember that one snow day when we were kids?" he says after a while, sounding almost like he’s thinking out loud. "The year it snowed like, two feet overnight?"

You smile against his chest, the memory surfacing easily. "Yeah. Dom tried to build that giant igloo and it almost collapsed on him."

Joe chuckles, his hand smoothing up your spine. "Not that. Before that. You—" He pulls back a little to look at you, a soft grin tugging at his mouth. "You got nailed right in the face with a snowball."

You groan, dropping your head dramatically against his shoulder. "Oh my god, yes. Right in the nose. I thought I was dying."

"You were," Joe laughs, the sound low and fond. "You looked like a horror movie. Blood everywhere. Dom freaked out, Jamie made it worse somehow—and me and Dan ended up carrying you back up to the house."

You lift your head just enough to give him a skeptical look. "You were laughing the whole time," you accuse.

Joe’s smile tilts crookedly again, but then he shrugs, and something flickers behind his eyes—something quieter. "I was," he admits. "But I was actually scared shitless."

"You were?"

He nods, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist . “Yeah," he says, voice softer now. "You were so little. And you were just... lying there, crying, not even fighting Dom about it. I didn’t know if you broke something. I don’t know." He laughs under his breath, like he’s laughing at himself now. "I just remember thinking, like... I couldn’t fix it. And I hated that."

You stare at him, the warmth blooming in your chest almost too much to hold.

"I didn’t know that," you say, your voice thinner than you mean for it to be.

Joe just shrugs again, looking a little sheepish now. "I didn’t want you to."

You nuzzle into his neck instinctively, breathing him in, and for a little while, neither of you says anything else. You stay there, talking about nothing and everything—the worst injuries you ever had, the dumbest dares Dominic ever made you do, the time you tried to snowboard and nearly dislocated your shoulder.

Joe laughs so hard he almost falls backward when you remind him about it, his head tilting back, his whole body shaking under you. You think you could stay like this forever. You know you can’t.

The moment’s too good, too easy. It can’t last.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, after your second yawn (one you can’t even pretend to hide), Joe catches it, a soft laugh rumbling low in his chest.

You shift a little on his lap, snuggling closer, but mumble against his shoulder, "M’getting tired."

It’s not even a suggestion but Joe hears it for what it is anyway. He squeezes your thigh gently like he’s reluctant to let go. "Alright," he says quietly, "I’ll let you get some sleep."

You press your forehead against his for a second longer, breathing him in, trying not to make it a big deal even though it feels like one. Joe shifts carefully beneath you, helping you settle back onto the bed. His hands linger at your waist for a moment longer before he finally pushes up.

You stay curled up against the pillows, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he crouches to grab his clothes, tugging them back on.

Then he crosses back to the bed, leaning in, one knee pressing into the mattress. He kisses your forehead so light and careful it barely even counts as a kiss at all. "Goodnight, baby," he whispers against your skin.

You whisper it back without even thinking. "Night, Joey."

You let him go, having no idea that the second Joe eases your door closed behind him—hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, that wide, dorky smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth—he turns.

He turns and locks eyes with Connor, fresh out of the bathroom. Frozen, stunned, eyes narrowed slightly. Was it out of confusion? Jealousy?

Joe doesn’t stay long enough to find out. He just turns down the hall, disappearing into his own room without a word.

And you, tucked safe in oblivion inside your room, don’t see any of it.

DAY SIX

By the time you all pile into the hot tub this evening—drinks in hand, cheeks already pink from the cold and the cocktails—the whole day feels like one long, lazy laugh. Someone’s set up the same trusty speaker on the porch, muffled music carrying over the snow. Steam curls off the surface of the water into the night air, stars barely visible through the haze.

You wedge yourself between Dom and the edge of the tub, tucking your knees in close as you nurse your drink and try not to slide too much on the slick plastic seats. Joe’s stretched out across from you, arms slung wide along the back ledge of the tub like he owns the damn thing, his shoulders loose, head tipped lazily toward the sky, a tipsy smirk tugging at his mouth.

Bridget, next to him, bumps her leg against his accidentally, though he barely seems to notice. You, however, notice everything—including the way Bridget’s gaze slides briefly to you when it happens, something unreadable flickering across her face.

You drag your drink to your mouth and smile into it, playing dumb.

Dom’s mid-story about Caleb eating shit on the hill earlier, hamming it up with wild hand gestures and half-wrong details, and you’re laughing too hard to care when Connor practically spills his beer trying to one-up the chaos. His arm bumps yours with every exaggerated point he makes, and you just grin and shake your head.

It’s sloppy, harmless fun. Caleb's shouting half-formed jokes over the music, Bridget’s laughing into the rim of her drink, Dom’s slapping the surface of the water dramatically every time he gets worked up. At one point, Connor, still ragging it on, tries to reenact Caleb’s crash by standing half out of the tub to mimic the tumble. The drunk boy nearly busts his ass slipping on the slick plastic, sending another tidal wave of water over the edge. Everyone roars laughing, even Joe, who tips his head back against the ledge and watches it all unfold.

Your drink is sliding dangerously in your hand from laughing so hard, and when you look back across the tub to find your balance, your gaze catches Joe’s.

The second your eyes meet, something inside you stumbles; because without a word, without even a twitch of effort, Joe shifts spreading his legs a little wider beneath the surface, tilting his head slightly, his smirk curving into something darker. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he’s been waiting for you to pay closer attention.

Heat rushes up your neck before you can stop it, your drink stalling halfway to your mouth. You should look away—someone could see—but your body forgets how to listen. You’re caught, helpless, your lips parting slightly in reflex when his gaze dips lower, the lazy weight of it making your skin prickle. 

Time sort of thins around you for a second, the outside noise fading into nothing except for the low churn of water between. You swear he’s about to smirk wider, about to pull you under completely, when his eyes flick past you.

You blink out of the trance, following his glance over your shoulder—and feel the pit drop straight out of your stomach. Connor’s still next to you, but he’s not paying attention to the chaos Caleb’s causing across the tub, not even half-listening to Dom’s drunken rapport. His focus is pinned on you. On Joe. His face is loose with alcohol but his eyes are sharp, mouth set in a way that feels wrong, almost territorial, like he’s just realizing something he can’t figure out how to name yet. 

You don’t know what to do, pinned there awkwardly between the weight of Connor’s staring and the buzz still ringing in your chest from Joe’s. You flick your eyes back on instinct—and find Joe looking at you again, already smirking, already dragging his tongue lazily over his bottom lip before rolling his eyes, all dry, unimpressed, like the whole thing isn’t even worth acknowledging.

You don’t get a chance to wonder what it all means before Dom slaps a hand over his mouth and lets out a strangled groan. "Ohhh no. No no no—bad—"

You jolt forward instinctively, half-rising out of the water, your drink sloshing dangerously onto the deck. 

"I’ve got it, Dom, come on—"

"No," he croaks out desperately, waving you off with both hands. "No, stay—you do not wanna see this."

Bridget’s already climbing after him, shaking her head with a grin as she loops an arm through his and hauls him toward the house. "You’re disgusting," she chirps, steadying him as they stumble toward the door.

Connor, suddenly snapped out of his own trance, drunkenly slaps Caleb’s shoulder as they go crashing in after them, shouting something about needing to "witness the carnage."

You barely have time to catch your breath before the water stirs behind you. You glance forward just in time to see Joe rising from where he’d been lounging, the movement languid, water dripping down the ridges of his chest and arms as steam curls up around him like smoke. His hair is damp and wild, sticking to his forehead, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he’s already decided exactly how this is going to go.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest as he prowls toward you, his body cutting through the steam, casual but predatory, like he’s stalking something he knows already belongs to him. Without a word, he reaches out and plucks the drink from your hand, his fingers grazing yours briefly, then sets it carefully on the ledge behind you. His touch, his gaze, his entire presence pins you to where you sit, and even though you know you should say something, should break the spell, you can’t seem to make yourself move.

Joe’s hand slides easily under the water, fingers tracing a slow path up your shin, your knee, the sensitive inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. You squirm instinctively, breath catching in your throat, but you don't pull away—you can’t—and that’s all the encouragement he needs. His other hand finds your waist, steadying you, guiding you closer to where he wants you, his touch firm and possessive in a way that makes your blood simmer.

"Joe, someone could—" you whisper, the words barely making it out, half a warning, half a plea. Joe doesn’t pay much mind as he leans in closer, brushing his mouth against your ear in a way that makes your whole body tense with anticipation.

"I’ll be the lookout," he murmurs, like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You barely have time to react before he’s kissing you like he’s got nowhere else in the world he needs to be. His lips press against yours with an intensity that steals every rational thought from your head, pulling you deeper, drawing you into him like gravity. His hand slips up your back under the water, dragging you closer until you’re practically molded against his chest, heat and need swirling dizzyingly between you.

You can feel the smirk tugging at his mouth when you gasp against him, feel the low hum of satisfaction rumbling through his chest when his other hand slips beneath the band of your bikini top, teasing, kneading, driving you out of your mind. His mouth trails down the line of your jaw to your throat, open-mouthed kisses marking a slow, devastating path along your skin. You tilt your head back instinctively, granting him better access, your body arching into every brush, every scrape, every insistent pull of his hands.

It’s almost too easy to lose yourself in it. In him. In the way every part of you seems to fit against him like you were made for this. You can feel him hard and heavy against your hip, the water sloshing quietly around you, the world narrowing to nothing but the desperate beat of your own heart.

So caught up in it all, you barely notice the moment he goes still.

At first, it’s just a pause, hesitation so small you could almost miss it, but the sudden tightness in the way his hands grip your hips gives him away. His mouth freezes against your throat. His whole body tenses.

And as quick as it happened, he continues on his path, except this time he’s rougher. Hungrier. His teeth scrape harsher against your throat, his hands dragging you into him like he's staking a claim, like he doesn't care who sees. His mouth finds yours again, rougher now, desperate in a way that makes your mind fuzzy.

Something’s wrong.

Breathless, you force your eyes open and turn your head blinking against the steam—and that’s when you see it. Through the glass door, barely visible through the fog, Connor stands frozen, his expression hollow, his eyes locked on you.

Panic invades your mind and you jerk instinctively, but Joe’s hand tightens around your waist, holding you against him like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter who’s watching. 

"Joe," you whisper, your voice cracking on his name as your hands press lightly against his chest.

"It’s fine," he drags his mouth back to your jaw. You freeze for a second, overwhelmed by the heat of him, the pull of him, the way your body almost believes him even when your head is screaming otherwise.

But then the brutal reality of it all comes rushing back in.

"No—Joe," you breathe, quieter this time, shaking your head as your hands push against his chest again, firmer now but still not enough to move him—just enough to make him realize you're serious. "Stop."

Joe finally pulls back, his hands falling stiffly to his sides, but not before a laugh slips out of him. A sharp, bitter sound that slices through the heavy air between you.

It stings worse than anything else could have.

You blink hard against the burn rising in your throat and shove at him again, water sloshing up against the edges of the hot tub. It’s a desperate attempt to ease the unbearable pressure between you, a push you know won’t move him—he’s a solid wall of heat and muscle and frustration.

When you meet his eyes, you nearly flinch. There’s something simmering there, a little hard and angry. A little hurt. Something that makes you shrink back as the cold night air gnaws at your wet skin.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" you hiss. Even though there’s no one around anymore, it still feels like if you talk too loud, the whole house will hear.

Joe scoffs immediately and drags a wet hand through his already messy hair, stepping back from you like he can’t believe you’re the one asking. "What do you mean, what was I thinking?"

You stare at him, chest tight. "Joe, you can’t just—" You break off, throwing your hand toward the house, toward the dark shape of the sliding door. Toward the invisible imprint of Connor’s stunned face, still burned behind your eyelids. "He saw us. Connor saw us."

Joe snorts like he can’t even entertain your panic. "So what?" he fires back, voice growing louder, harsher. "What, you scared he’s gonna tell someone?"

You gape at him, stunned. "Are you serious right now? He’s drunk, Joe. You’re lucky if he’s not already running around telling everyone!"

Joe laughs another harsh sound that you feel all the way down your spine, and something twists so violently in your gut you have to physically brace your hand against the side of the hot tub to stay upright. "Yeah," he mutters under his breath, "you’re real mad it was him, huh?"

Your heart stutters like it’s tripping over itself. "What?"

"You heard me," Joe says, stepping closer again, chest rising and falling fast. "You’re mad it was him that saw. Not anyone else. Connor."

The accusation hits you like a slap, and you blink hard. Not from sadness, but fury. "That’s not—it’s not about him," you snap, forcing the words out before they get stuck. "It’s about you almost blowing everything. For what, Joe?"

Joe tips his head back with yet another disbelieving laugh. His hands brace on his hips like he’s physically trying to hold himself together. "Yeah. Sure," he bites out, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I’m the selfish one. Meanwhile you’ve been sitting here the whole fucking trip—acting like he doesn’t fucking matter to you."

You open your mouth to fire back, but nothing comes out. You’re rattled by the way he says it as if it’s been rotting inside him all week. "What are you even talking about?" 

"You know exactly what I’m talking about. You treat this like it’s some dirty fucking secret."

"Joe, that's not—" But he cuts you off, his voice sharp, words tumbling out like he can't stop them anymore.

"You’re so worried about what everyone else thinks. What, you just settling for me? Next best thing?"

The world tilts, his insult cutting deeper than you want to admit. "Joe," you emphasize, fighting for calm even though you can feel yourself unraveling, "where the hell is this coming from?"

But he’s already spiraled, far past rationalizing. "I mean, fuck. I see the way you still look at him."

"I don’t," you fight back immediately, stepping toward him. "I told you before—there’s nothing there. Nothing!"

Joe lets out a short, cold sound that sounds like it physically hurts him. "Yeah? You sure about that?" His mouth pulls into a twisted smirk, like he’s daring you to lie to his face again.

Exhausted, you throw your hands up. "Why are you twisting this into something it’s not? You’re mad because someone saw us—and you're blaming me for it."

Joe shakes his head like he pities you. "Mad? Blaming you?" he echoes. 

But then his voice sharpens even more, the real crack slipping through. "Y’know, actually, who even said this was a secret anyways?" Joe snaps. "Cause it sure as hell wasn’t me. Never once remember saying that. In fact—" he laughs, steel eyes pinning you in place, "you’re the one who ran off the first time. Remember?"

The air leaves your lungs so fast it feels like whiplash. You just stare at him, furious and wounded and so goddamn tired, the heat behind your eyes blurring your vision. "You’re so full of shit," you whisper, the words splintering in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the air crackling between you, so thick you could drown in it. Joe's chest heaves, and you can see the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"You think I’m settling?" you snap suddenly, emotion boiling over. "You think this has been some second choice bullshit for me?"

Joe doesn’t answer you. "You’re the one who never asked me to stay," you pause, needing to catch your breath. "That night—you let me walk away like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean shit beyond a quick fuck to you."

Something new crosses Joe’s face then but it’s gone almost as fast as it comes. He scoffs harshly, backing up a step like he needs the distance.

"You think I didn’t want you to stay?" he mutters sourly. "Maybe I was too busy fucking reeling over the fact that I finally got you."

The words hit harder than anything else could have. You freeze, the cold forgotten, the sting of biting wind on your skin meaningless compared to the ache splitting open somewhere inside your chest. Your hands tremble at your sides, the air burning in your lungs, but you can’t move, you can’t even think past the way he said it.

Finally got you.

Joe turns without another word, shoulders tight with something new you can't decipher, and makes his way to the house. His footsteps leave heavy, wet imprints across the slick deck, each one louder than it should be like they’re hammering into your skull.

You barely register the way he grabs the handle, yanks the sliding door open so violently it rattles on its track. The door slams shut behind him with a sharp, brutal crack that cuts through the night like a gunshot. It echoes once, then fades into the deafening silence.

DAY SEVEN

The kitchen is packed wall-to-wall, the music loud enough to rattle the floorboards, and you’re already some drinks deep, still painfully aware of yourself. You linger near the island with a couple of local girls you know well enough, but mostly, your attention keeps drifting—scanning the room before you even realize you’re doing it. 

The house had felt heavier this morning, like even the walls knew something was brewing.

Jamie and Emily, Dan and Carrie, had been the smart ones—ducking out early, treating themselves to a night at Connor’s family’s resort hotel down the road. You couldn't even blame them. If you could’ve rented a new life for the night, you would have.

The rest of the group spent the day nursing hangovers in various stages of death. Caleb hadn’t moved from the couch. Nate kept pestering him however he could. Connor vanished upstairs with a Gatorade and a hood pulled over his head. You took the opportunity to vanish too, holed up in your room under too many blankets, replaying last night in your head until the edges blurred.

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next thing you knew, Dom was kicking your door open, proudly announcing he'd invited “some friends” over. Which, translated from Dominic-speak, meant a full-blown rager by ten o’clock.

You hadn’t wanted to come down but somewhere deep inside you, you’d convinced yourself that if you looked better, felt put together, maybe the rest would follow. So you pulled on your best jeans, a black top that hugged just enough without trying too hard, tamed your hair, and put on just enough makeup to feel like a disguise for the night.

About an hour ago you caught sight of Joe for the first time since last night hovering around the beer pong table, a little tispy already. His sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, his drink tucked lazily in one hand, the other tossing a ping-pong ball back and forth between his fingers. He looked good. Too good.

The kind of good that made you painfully overthink for reasons you didn’t want to examine.

His cheeks were pink from the alcohol or maybe the cold, his hair a little messy, that cocky smile flashing every time Dom missed a shot. He looked...happy. Relaxed in a way that made your stomach twist up because you weren’t sure if you felt relief or jealousy.

Relief that he seemed okay, jealousy that he seemed okay without you.

You almost went to him, almost closed the distance without thinking, driven by some desperate, aching need to fix it, to fix everything. The words were already clawing their way up, the apology you hadn't even figured out yet ready to spill out. But before you could take a single step Leah spotted you from across the room. Her face lit up and within seconds her hand was wrapping around your arm, tugging you into a conversation you weren’t ready for.

She was so excited to see you, so eager to catch up, that it caught you completely off guard. By the time you glanced back over your shoulder—

Joe was gone.

And just like that, you’re stuck with the last people you intend to be around. You try your best to stay engaged as Leah and a few other girls from town chatter around you, but it’s a losing battle. You sip your drink idly, your eyes slipping over the crowd without any real direction, drifting through clusters of bodies and bursts of laughter, searching for a head of messy blonde 

You pretend to be present, but your mind’s already wandered too far. You barely register the music thumping low from the speakers, the sharp scent of jungle juice pungent in the air—because that’s when you see him.

Not Joe.

Connor.

He’s across the room near the fireplace, sitting on the arm of the couch and nursing a drink while laughing at something the girl next to him says. You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes catch on to him anyway. Maybe out of old habit.

Connor glances up, mid-laugh, and his gaze snags immediately on yours. You look down fast, heart thudding and heat rushing to your cheeks. You stare hard at your drink like it holds the secrets to life itself, willing yourself to act normal.

After a few seconds, you peek up again—just a quick, cowardly glance to see if he’s still looking. He is. Of course he is.

He’s not just looking, he’s already pushing off the chair and patting one of his friends lightly on the back, flashing some easy excuse you can’t hear but can imagine. His drink dangles from his hand as he starts making his way through the crowd toward you.

Every instinct screams at you to move, to slip deeper into the crowd and pretend you didn't notice—but it’s like your feet are cemented to the spot, the noise of the party dulling around the edges as you watch him weave closer. You force yourself to look normal, to laugh at something one of the girls beside you says even though you don’t hear a word of it. 

Your stomach flips sickly when you catch him closing the distance, the crowd parting naturally for him because he belongs here.

When he finally reaches you, he tips his head slightly, a silent suggestion you feel before you even register it. His mouth lifts at the corners, a ghost of a smile that might’ve fooled you once, back when you were younger and still thought you knew him inside and out.

You hesitate long enough for the cool condensation of your drink to seep against your tightened knuckles, long enough for the pounding of the music and the rush of your own pulse to blur together in your ears. Still, somehow, you manage to nod, forcing your body to move even as every part of you braces for whatever comes next. He leads you away from the music and the crowd down a dim, narrow hallway where the air feels colder and thinner and the noise from the party fades into something faint and far away.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until he stops a few feet ahead of you, framed in the soft spill of light from the main room and blocking half the hallway. Connor’s figure cuts sharp against the dimness, all restless tension and unsettled energy, the kind of posture that makes it impossible to tell if he’s about to laugh or pick a fight. 

His fingers tap an uneven, distracted rhythm against the side of his plastic cup, and your eyes catch on the movement without meaning to, tracing the jittery beat like it might give you some clue about what he’s thinking. You force yourself to meet his gaze, lifting your chin even though it feels heavy, your shoulders stiff, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter until it feels like you can barely stand upright against it.

Connor’s the one who breaks first, his gaze dropping to your cup, a half-smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth like he can’t help himself. "You're a brave soldier for drinking that.” 

You huff under your breath, tilting the drink between your fingers just to have something to look at besides him. "Needed something strong," you mutter.

You feel him watching you like he's waiting for you to say more, like he’s measuring every second of hesitation that passes between your words. The weight of it prickles at the back of your neck but you keep your eyes down until his voice cuts through again, quieter now, less certain. "I haven’t said anything.”

You blink, caught off guard for a second longer than you should be, before lifting your gaze and giving a quick, sharp nod. The movement is jerky with all the words you don’t trust yourself to say.

"I know," you tell him, keeping your voice as even as you can even though you can feel your throat tightening. "I’d already know if you had."

His mouth presses into a tighter line, something complicated flickering in his expression. "I'm not going to, either.” Somehow that simple promise cuts even deeper, lodging inside you as something between gratitude and guilt. 

You nod again, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders just enough to breathe. "Thank you.”

For a moment it feels like maybe that’s it. Like maybe you can walk away from this with the fragile threads of your dignity still intact. But then Connor moves, just a fraction closer, enough that you feel a warning bell ringing low and dull in your gut. 

"Look," his voice is firm, no more hesitations softening the edges. "I'm not telling you what to do. It’s none of my business." You can hear the ‘but’ coming before he even says it, can feel the way his body tightens with the effort of holding it back, and still, you stand there, bracing for impact like a fool.

"But your brother is gonna lose his shit," Connor says, and the words land exactly where they’re meant to, digging in deep. 

You straighten your spine, meeting his eyes without flinching this time. Anger sparks under your skin, not because he's wrong, but because you are so fucking tired of everyone acting like your life is some delicate thing they have to protect from yourself. "Sure. But, my brother does not dictate my life," you hope to God your voice cold and clear, canceling out room for any questions. "And neither do you, Connor."

Connor’s mouth tightens, his expression shifting into something colder, something that almost dares you to take it back. For a second you think he might. That he might just shrug and let it drop, let you keep whatever scraps of pride you have left. But then he says it, aimed right where he knows it will hurt the most. "So what, Joe does?"

Your stomach twists sharply, a sickening coil that makes your knees threaten to give out. Heat flashes behind your eyes, anger and embarrassment tangling so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. "Go screw yourself," you snap before you can think better of it. Your hand tightens so hard around your cup you’re amazed the plastic doesn’t splinter in your grip.

Before you can shove past him, before you can storm away and leave the wreckage in your wake, a sharp click cuts through the hallway.

Your head turns instinctively toward the sound, your heart stuttering in your chest as the guest suite door swings open. Joe stumbles out into the hallway, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, and for a moment, you forget everything. You forget Connor still standing there, forget the words you just flung like knives, forget how cold the house feels away from the party. You see him, and he sees you. 

His gaze locks onto yours across the hallway, and it’s like a tether snaps taut between you, pulling something urgent inside your chest. There’s a flash in his expression—something that looks dangerously close to regret, or guilt, or maybe something worse—and it roots you to the floor more effectively than any conversation with Connor previously could. 

You’ve been looking for him all night. Not for some confrontation, not for some dramatic outburst, just for a chance. A singular conversation to fix what had frayed without either of you wanting it to. And standing there, staring at him, you let yourself believe for the briefest, stupidest moment that this is what that could be. That maybe he’s been looking too. That maybe he’s just as lost as you are.

You hold onto it like a fool, that tiny, stubborn flicker of hope, even when every logical part of you knows better. You let it bloom reckless and bright and a little bit desperate in your chest, let it wrap around your heart and pull you up onto your toes like maybe if you just reached far enough, you'd find your way back to him.

But then Bridget stumbles out after him, her fingers fumbling clumsily. She mutters something under her breath, a slurred curse you barely catch, too busy with the button on her pants to notice the way everything just fell apart. She doesn't see you. She doesn't see Connor. She doesn’t see anything except her own drunken struggle, and somehow, that’s what makes it worse. That’s what drives the knife in clean.

[jollyhaunt]

i feel like herbert is a better baker when it comes between dan and meg. he's precise with it when following instructions, but testing things out, it's a hit or miss entirely. meg and dan would cook together when possible and i feel like meg would be better (i think it was said she's a great cook in the novel too?)

however, dan is just as notorious for god awful college snacks one would conjure up during exam week with 81 hours without sleep. like god awful concoctions that taste better when you think you're smelling numbers kind of state. herbert's is just as bad but like . refined in a way. like you look at it and never would have thought of that, but you're gen curious to try but ultimately cannot stomach it

[shalomniscient]

hiii i have a request 🥹🥹 if possible, could you write a comfort fic with himeko or kafka and reader? reader who has trouble sleeping or has been exhausted from missions, going straight to himeko's room after returning to the astral express and just melting into her arms. or, reader who hasn't seen kafka in a while and just really misses her, needs her to put her mind at ease, so kafka drops by the express unexpectedly and spends the night taking care of reader. can be either sfw or nsfw, I dont mind either 🥹

omg this is so cute! i’ll do both ;)

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS || hsr x reader

cw. nudity

notes. dunno why i felt the need to mention this but this fic operates on established relationship between reader/character, just fyi :)

HIMEKO

Trailblazing was never going to be easy. You knew this, and you accepted it. To walk the path of Akivili was to lend a helping hand to whosoever needed it. And you do enjoy it—the feeling of making a change in the vast universe, shoulder to shoulder with companions that you would give your life for, and who would do the same for you. You wouldn’t give up your spot on the Astral Express for the world.

But you are only human, at the end of the day.

You’ve been taking back-to-back missions recently, and it’s slowly taking its toll on you. As a more experienced Nameless with many years under your belt, your assistance is slightly more prized over the younger crew—not to say they were incapable. Dan Heng and March alone made a terrifying duo, which was only exacerbated when Stelle joined the mix. But at the end of the day, they’re still a little green and wet behind the ears, so any of the harder jobs tend to fall to you or Welt. And with Welt supervising them on the Luofu, that just left you.

Your footsteps are heavy as you drag yourself back onto the Express. There’s a rip in your jacket from where a Mara-struck soldier tried to slash at you, and several small cuts all over your fingers from the cutting wind of the Disciples. The Luofu had commissioned your blade to quell the number of Mara-struck still roaming around, but for every six you strike down, another dozen seem to take their place.

You sigh as you flop onto one of the many couches on the Express, letting your weapon clatter onto the ground. You’re sore, tired, and aching—all you want to do now is sink into your pillows and sleep, but you have to clean up first. You shut your eyes with another weary noise, deciding to rest up a little before heading to your cabin. Or, shared cabin, rather.

A gentle tap on your shoulder stirs you from your brief rest. You crack your eyes open, and are met with a gentle, golden gaze—it’s Himeko. She’s foregone her usual attire, instead dressed in simple nightwear now, a blanket around her shoulders.

“Hey,” you rasp out. “Were you about to go to bed?”

She shakes her head, smiling softly. “No, I was waiting for you.”

“Ah. Sorry, I must’ve kept you up for a while then.”

“It’s alright,” Himeko says, picking up your weapon off the ground, and placing it inside one of the secure compartments beneath the seats. “I was working on some designs, anyway.”

Then she rises back up, and reaches out to cup your face. Her thumb brushes over your cheek, and you lean into the touch. Then she pulls away, and you nearly whine in protest, before she extends the same hand to you. “Come. Let me care of you tonight.”

You take her hand without hesitation, your fingers slotting perfectly in between hers. You let her lead you to your shared cabin, near the back of the train cart. The door slides open with a small hiss, and the scent of warm, freshly brewed coffee fills your lungs. It’s a comforting, distinctly Himeko scent that you feel some of the tension in your shoulders bleed out.

Her fingers work deftly as they undo the buttons of your clothes, and she frowns when she notices the rip in your jacket.

“I got a little sloppy,” you explain weakly, with a tired grin. Himeko rolls her eyes, but folds it neatly and sets it on the edge of the bed, no doubt to be repaired by the next day.

“As long as you’re unharmed,” she murmurs, working on your shirt now. Your hands rest on her hips as she divests you of the rest of your clothes, until you’re in nothing but your underwear. “The bath is ready. I’ll be there soon.”

You nod, and drag your exhausted limbs to the bath. You strip fully, and then sink into the warm, bubbly water, audibly groaning as the heat from the bath seeps into your aching muscles. The small cuts along your hands sting a little, but you know Himeko must’ve mixed in some antiseptic to ensure no infections take root.

Himeko walks in a little later, and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, smiling as she takes in your relaxed appearance. She brushes some hair out of your eyes, then reaches over for the shampoo and conditioner, tucked away in another small, secure compartment. The Express is littered with them, so things can be stored safely and not make a mess of the train during jumps.

You feel like dissolving when Himeko starts to wash your hair, expert fingers massaging your scalp wonderfully. Her hands--hands that fix, hands that mend--travel from the base of your neck up to the back of your skull, then along your temples, before repeating over again. It's incredible, the way she can put you back together so easily. She chuckles when she notes your reaction.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?”

You can only manage a wordless grunt in response, feeling like you’re in an entirely different plane of existence right now. Time blurs as Himeko washes out the shampoo and works in the conditioner, before washing that out too and leaving your hair thoroughly clean and smelling like fresh roses—the same scent as hers.

You almost don’t want to leave the warmth of the tub, but Himeko coaxes you out anyway. She offers you a towel and a bathrobe, and leaves you to dry yourself off for a while. You wring out your hair, then dress yourself in a comfy pair of silk nightclothes. When you step out of the washroom, Himeko is waiting for you on the bed, her legs already tucked beneath the covers. On her lap is her laptop as she types away, no doubt finishing up on her many engineering designs.

You practically dive into bed, snuggling under the sheets and pressing close to your lover. She’s warm as always, thanks to her Pathstrider ability being of the Fire type. Himeko hums to herself, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as you bury yourself in her side, uncaring for the dampness of your hair. She reaches over to the bedside table, and with a click, switches of the main room lights, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp next to the bed.

You chance a glance up at her, even as drowsiness nips at your heels. The gentle golden glow of the lamp makes her look divine, enhanced by the fiery red of her hair. There is an affection in her eyes you know is reserved only for you as she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Rest, now,” she says, her words a caress against your skin. “You deserve it, my love.”

“I love you,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut as sleep finally claims you. It’s easy to oblige the request, safe and sound in her arms like this. These moments make you wish that dawn—or the Express’s approximation of a circadian rhythm—would never come, and you could linger in the embrace of your beloved for eternity. The last thing you hear before you drift off is Himeko’s soothing voice, almost lullaby-like, and you can hear her smile.

“I love you too, dearest one.”

KAFKA

For the nth time that night, you wake up to the sight of your bedroom ceiling.

You sigh and twist in your bed, turning to check the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table. It’s 1am in the morning, and you still can’t sleep.

You don’t really know the root of your recent bouts of insomnia. Maybe it was the workload? But Himeko has given you several days off already. Maybe it was the stress of having to manage the younger Astral Express members, but Welt shoulders that burden most of the time. Could it be Pom Pom then? You shake your head at that—the conductor was usually the one stressing, not being the cause of stress.

Then maybe… maybe it’s because you miss her.

Kafka, your secret lover.

You miss the presence of her next to you in your bed, and the steady, powerful beat of her heart under your ear as you rest your head on her chest. Miss the elegant cadence of her breathing and the feel of her hand in yours.

You sigh again. You know she’d laugh if she ever knew about your silly longing. I mean, you volunteered for this infiltration mission; you knew what you were signing up for. But still, it’s funny—you miss that about her too. Her laugh.

You reach for your phone, resting on the bed. During your last… rendezvous with Kafka she had the foresight—or maybe Elio did, who knows—to give you an encrypted number to contact her with.

Only in case of emergencies, doll, she had crooned, as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Use it wisely.

Your finger hovers over the number. Does this even qualify as an emergency? It’s just a few sleepless nights. Kafka probably has more important things to do, executing Elio’s endless number of scripts and whatnot. In the end, you shut off your phone and throw your head back on the pillows, ready to resign yourself to another long night—

—when your phone suddenly buzzes with urgency.

You jerk in surprise, brows furrowing as you pick it back up. Who could be calling at this hour? You squint in the darkness as you read the caller ID, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It’s the emergency number.

You fumble to answer, quickly sitting up and pressing the phone to your ear, making sure to cover your mouth and the reciever. The rest of the Express definitely wouldn’t be able to hear you, but you always feel some sort of lingering paranoia, sneaking around like this with Kafka.

“Hello?”

“Hey, doll,” a familiar, smooth voice says, and your heart flutters. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Kafka,” you breathe out, not bothering to hide the relief in your tone. Kafka chuckles on the other end.

“That’s me,” she hums. “You answered pretty quickly. Were you not sleeping?”

You hesitate for a moment, but decide to come clean. “No. I… haven’t been sleeping well, recently.”

Kafka is silent for a few seconds. “I see,” she says, and something in her voice shifts, imperceptible to the average person. But you aren’t an average person, not to Kafka. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Just a little insomnia. Nothing to worry about." The other end goes quiet, so you decide to change the topic. "Why'd you call? Isn't this for emergencies only? Are you in trouble?"

"You worried?" she chuckles, and you can see her smirk in your mind's eye. "I'm alright, doll. And as for emergencies... well, I missed you. Isn't that an emergency?"

It's such a Kafka-esque answer, but it pulls a breathless little laugh from you all the same. "Ugh, you..."

"Me," she affirms on the other end with a snicker. There is small, comfortable silence between you, before she speaks again. "Listen, doll, I've gotta go. But don't worry your pretty little head--you'll sleep perfectly well tonight. I'll make sure of it."

You blink, confused at her words. But before you can question it, Kafka hangs up the call, leaving you both confused and a little disappointed. Usually she'd say goodbye and throw in those three special words, though not this time, apparently. You wonder what she means as you shut your phone off again, and lie back onto your pillows. You close your eyes, and try to do as she says.

You're not sure how much time passes, but it doesn't work, predictably. You groan in frustration, just about ready to get up when a lithe hand slips over your mouth.

You jerk in surprise, one hand flying reflexively to the knife you keep beneath your pillow, the other gripping your assailant's wrist. You swing the knife in an arc, only for it to be caught and restrained by thin, pink, familiar ropes. They glow ever so slightly, illuminating a familiar face, that has your mouth falling open under the hand.

"Good to see your reflexes haven't dulled," Kafka teases, nimbly prying the knife out of your hands and letting it clatter onto the floor. She then removes the hand over your mouth, and releases your wrist from the strings.

"Kafka," you whisper, your hand moving to cup her cheek, your thumb tracing the ridges of her face, "are you real?"

She leans into your touch, that signature smirk tugging on her painted lips. She's really here, solid and tangible beneath your fingers. "You could consider me a dream, if you'd like."

"How did you even get in here?" you ask, not taking your eyes off her for a moment as she shrugs off her coat and begins undoing the buttons of her shirt. Kafka offers you a smug grin at that, pulling a little device from her pocket.

"Custom-made IPC teleportation beacon," she answers with a wink. "Jailbroken courtesy of Silver Wolf, of course."

You make a mental note to buy Silver Wolf the next battlepass in that game of hers. Kafka sets the device on the bedside table, now dressed in only her undergarments. You swallow as you take in the expanse of her milky skin, firm abdomen and muscled thighs, all while Kafka raids the clothing storage beneath your bed for something to sleep in like she's been on the Express this whole while. She eventually settles for one of your old t-shirts, which drapes over her frame in such a sinfully delectable way that you'd pounce on her if you weren't so damn tired.

"Move over," she orders, pulling her hair out of its usual ponytail, and letting it cascade down her shoulders and back. Kafka has always been beautiful--but like this... you would not have been able to distinguish her from Idrila the Beauty themself. You wonder if that makes you her knight. You shuffle to the side of the bed, and Kafka slips under the sheets next to you. Strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, close enough that you can rest your ear against her chest, and hear the soothing lullaby of her heartbeat. Immediately you start to feel drowsy, and Kafka chuckles.

"You really missed me, didn't you, doll?" she muses, carding her fingers through your hair gently. "I'm here now, my dear. Sleep, alright?"

Your eyes flutter shut almost instantly. It's funny, how she doesn't even have to use her Spirit Whisper on you to get you to obey. Maybe love itself is enough of a whisper to your soul, or maybe you've always been weak for her. But oddly enough, you don't find yourself minding all that much if that's the case. You don't mind much of anything when it comes to her. Though you don't ponder for very long as you snuggle closer against her warmth, your arms winding tight around her waist. She'll be gone by morning, you know that. She has to. But for now, this is enough, secure in this haven that is her embrace, and you let yourself drift off into slumber.

(The next morning, nothing remains of her--you may have truly considered her a dream, were it not for the imprint of her form on your bed, and a tiny note on your bedside table, undoubtedly written in her hand.

All it says is i love you.

And for the both of you, that's all it needs to say.)

[callmecrazy4u2]

HSR Version: Your Yandere Likes you in his colors..Aventurine, Ratio, More to come

Anonymous gifts at your door pile up. Who do you choose?

"Don't protest dear these clothes look wonderful on you darling"

A Cheshire cat he smiles satisfied he had dressed you in his colors to claim you.

Aventurine- green gold teal- Possessive! Peacock!Yandere

Aventurine is sure to shower his love with clothes in a Jewelike tone that matches his eyes and his own flamboyant attire. The first his gloves he slips off or perhaps his coat seeing you pathetic thing shaking in the cold.

Aventurine laughs off any protests "You look cold my dear and you pull off those colors quite well"

Pehrs he'll take it further and wrap you in his coat only to give you one like his own later as he enjoyed seeing you in his quite a lot. His mind drifts to other scenarios you might be in his clothes for....

A signature feather caught up in a headband. For a party a speakeasy-style "Sweetie just loosen up lets enjoy the parties in penaconys" as with wink escort to 90s bar in Penacony for some swing dancing.

Lastly, the Gift that binds you as his: A large jeweled necklace a mimicry of his own Aventurine stonearound your neck. The right noose for the stone of trickery to hang on your pretty neck to stake his claim.

owl mask pin - Dr. Ratio - blue gold - Always right taskmaster teacher

For better or worse you managed to reach the standard of the intellgentisua guild and your proctor why Dr. Ratio whos sharp eye always seemed to watch you in class analyzing your every move.

Dr.Ratio would start out simple maybe a owl bookmark to "keep you reading to avoid falling into ignorance and idiocy" his eyes on you as a new member of the intelligencia guild tasked to mentor you.

To supervise your effort though with your clumsiness he wonders how you had tripped into the elite group. Eventually, upon watching you he believes your hard work can make up for any lack of talent.

Dr. Ratio just wanted to teach you to do it right and "You need the right materials to succeed" Dr. Ratio says as you press upon you another a expensive gift a ink well owl feather pen. Though unaware of the value if you break it he can find some way for you to make it up to him.....

"Congratulations somehow you passed the intellgenstia's passed rigous exam" Dr. Ratio drawls earning your a rare smile from him

Dr.Ratio pins the ceremonial owl pin on your robe similar to his "As every graduate has" he calmly tells you.

secretly Yandere!Dr Ratio just wanted you to match clothing

Dr. Ratio leans in to pin the medal he instructs you to see him later for extra lessons....

More concepts to come

Gift - HSR guy- color theme- type of yandere

lion choker -Jing Yuan - smothering delusional yandere

sword hairpin- blade- dangerous yandere

dragon bracelet -dan heng/danfeng- protective yandere

dove ring- Sunday- controlling yandere

-singer at a show on stage fall for robin rival while staking her out and capture her in work contract to sing only for him

[jymwahuwu]

ramblings navigation (xianzhou)

These are a collection of my replies, ramblings, and thirsts content. Some were not individually warned because were just shared within the blog at the time. Here's a lot of DARK CONTENT, including but not limited to:

yandere, non-con/dub-con, harassment, breaking into reader's home, coercion, abuse of power, forced pregnancy, etc.

Please note that these may be very short / sweet / too dark. Be careful not to get triggered.

Jing Yuan:

yan!jing yuan who takes… provocative pictures of himself to send to reader, but the caption is just so wholesome

what if we exit Xianzhou luofu to lets say another Xianzhou ship

yandere! jing yuan is actually tolerant

What if darling was a hybrid or something (Lion,leopard, something related to his pet)

Jing Yuan is definitely lucid as a yandere but acts like he isn't

Jing Yuan’s requirements for a good wife

Taking a nap with Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan appreciates your obedience

what would happen if Jing Yuan's hologram and your hologram fuck?

jing yuan celebrates your birthday

jing yuan keeps harassing you even if you change your phone number

praise him for being handsome and beautiful

will jing yuan allow you to visit your relatives?

what if darling was a hybrid or something (Lion,leopard, something related to his pet)

need Jing Yuan to sit down and tell me what he expects from me

Why does Jing Yuan want darling who likes to do housework, when there are servants in the general's mansion?

you need jing yuan to be your "fake boyfriend" to avoid the harasser

big data partner matching service

Jing Yuan with a darling who’s in charge of a civilization

what if Jing Yuan wronged darling in the past

If we are stubborn and talk back often, Jing Yuan has a "special response"

jing yuan and darling who don’t care if he is yandere

obsessed jing yuan x idol reader + additional descriptions

CW: yandere, non-con, kidnapping, recordings without permission

Use debt to stop some of Jing Yuan’s clingy behaviors

Jing Yuan may have posted your missing person notices all over the streets of Xianzhou

taking advantage of the fact that you don't understand the Xianzhou language and characters

how unethical and inappropriate it may be to fall in love with a short-lived species

jingrenheng trio & unconventional darlings that might suit them

Darling refuses Jing Yuan because she already had a lover

yandere hsr men and their low self-esteem darling (Jing Yuan, Dan Feng, Blade, Dan Heng)

Jing Yuan found you holding a cat cake

Jing Yuan is the type of man that will fuck us in the living room sofa and then proceed to bring us back to the bedroom while still inside us

series (living with jing yuan):

jing yuan eats ice cream with us in summer

jing yuan can put us on his shoulders

general is choosing beautiful flowers for us at the florist

jing yuan supervises you to complete jing yuan x you fanfic creation

series (harassment):

jing yuan masturbates to you while you sleep

about underwear

jing yuan slowly molests a beta darling

jing yuan does something shameless and sweet and we just can’t do anything about it

jing yuan fantasizing over reader eating a popsicle

received dick photo from jing yuan

series (thirsts about updated plot):

darling from Interastral Peace Corporation was forced to serve jing yuan

CW: dub-con, abuse of power

lustful heliobu possessed you

Blade / Yingxing:

blade’s duality

quietly create a pair of "couple swords"

jingrenheng trio & unconventional darlings that might suit them

teasing Yingxing for being an old man

Jing Yuan "stole" Yingxing's apprentice

yandere hsr men and their low self-esteem darling (Jing Yuan, Dan Feng, Blade, Dan Heng)

Dan Heng:

want him to tie you up and humiliate

dan heng wants you to help keep warm

yandere Dan Heng noticing that his darling started to refuse eating for her freedom

Dan Heng use his tail to express more love language

traditional darling hopes that dan heng can follow traditional etiquette and hold a wedding

yandere hsr men and their low self-esteem darling (Jing Yuan, Dan Feng, Blade, Dan Heng)

mating season for vidyadhara has returned

Dan Feng:

yandere!Dan Heng and isekai!immortal!hydra!human form!reader

Dan Feng wants you to wear more conservative clothes

about phoenix

Dan Feng and his moon rabbit darling

Dan Feng taming/disciplining a 'savage' draconic darling

jingrenheng trio & unconventional darlings that might suit them

Multiple characters:

What if reader who's "causal" clothes are revealing?

you are dan feng’s immortal concubine (dan feng, jing yuan and ying xing share you together)

genshin darling transported to hsr universe

crossdressing!reader in the military

CW: yandere, non-con, sexist, forced pregnancy, war (mentioned but not described), (implied) gangbang

The impact of blade, jing yuan and dan feng on your social life

their kinks

genshin! darling has tight clothes to wear

dan feng and jing yuan’s parenting style

yandere hsr men and their low self-esteem darling (Jing Yuan, Dan Feng, Blade, Dan Heng)

Dan Feng and his poor little Vidyadhara!Darling that became his "test subject" for copulation experiments

[dannyphantom1234]

Reborn as Dan Phantom.

A fan of the show is reborn as Dan, the evil version of Danny just as he was created— but what no one knew was a fangirl had taken over the body and knew just what to do to help her family that would suffer what she just went through unless she did something to help. So— she creeped towards Clockwork, stole the time medallion, went to the timeline of the original, and immediately took over as big brother figure to help these poor children from suffering the future they would have to endure alone without adult supervision.

She— now he— didn’t care for gender, and just wanted to help and protect his new(ish) family from bad people. What he didn’t know was he was also thrown alongside the dc universe, which was an awesome discovery on his part later on.

Dan— or Dante— as he wished to be called, came to the group with sorrow in his heart as he explained what would happen in the future if Danny cheated on his test, not that it was anyone’s fault but fates. He explained how no one was at fault and it could all be avoided if he could help it.

He took over the ghost fights, and had a long talk with Clockwork about what would happen and his real purpose for being there.

His original timeline was obviously erased, and the only reason he survived was because of the medallion, so later he had to go through ghost magic and make himself his own person, gained a whole butt load of tattoos intertwined with ghost time magic and becomes the next king of the infinite realms after defeating the old guy easily after seeing him beat up his little bro.

Dante became king instead of Danny and took over all the overloaded paperwork along the way.

What he didn’t know, was that he would be summoned because of his status. He really thought the fan fictions were just exaggerating what would happen if he was ever given the position and power. Well, it was all true from what he read.

(I’m making this a Dante/King Phantom x Jason Todd/Red Hood).

He made an actual legal identity for himself with the help of Technus and Tucker, who became better pals after they set aside the fact that they attacked each other at some point or another.

Danny became a little brother to him, Jazz became his little sister who likes to treat him as if he were still Danny at times, and Danielle became his daughter.

Dante legally adopted Dani after they got his papers in order, and made her an identity as well. Elle was much younger than he remembered, but then again, she was deaged recently and just came back into contact with the group, who couldn’t take care of her because they were still children as well.

Vlad was still a little evil but leveled out after a huge diabolical involving Maddie, their so called mother.

Madeline Fenton had thought her son and daughter conspired with the ghosts and attacked them in their own home, Danny was greatly injured with multiple blast wounds and Jazz suffered a concussion while trying to push him out of the target zones.

Jack had football tackled Madeline and the rest was history.

Vlad had fallen out of love with her after seeing what she did to her own children, and instead got his head out of his butt and realized he was in love with Jack all along.

Jack divorced Madeline, took custody of his kids and decided they should move, all while Vlad made plans to take down GIW with Team Phantom.

Jack and Vlad met him and decided to emotionally adopt Dante as well in their messed up family.

Dante got a job as a mechanic and started his own business in Gotham. Very cliche from all the fanfics he read in his past life but he wanted to do something he knew and loved. He loved fixing things and his side job as the king of the infinite realms was basically being like a father to ghost children while scolding those who thought it was a good idea to attack innocent mortals.

He mainly spent his time raising Danielle. Giving her everything she deserves and making her happy now that his family was safe.

He was randomly summoned by the Justice League who were ready to full on attack him until they saw him reading to his child, not realizing he was summoned until someone cleared their throat. He was literally in his own little bubble, reading his two year old daughter a storybook while holding her against his chest as he floated above the ground, laid back in a relaxed position.

How it would go:

I looked up from the book after feeling a sudden shift in my surroundings, seeing multiple very brightly dressed people in front of me. I glared, shifting completely into my ghost king form while holding my daughter close to my chest. The storybook I was reading had disappeared into a pocket dimension for later, as I had to deal with this madness.

“Who in their right minds would summon the Ghost King? I literally burnt all those summoning books to ash.” I grumbled, and looked down to see Elle had slightly woken up at the sound of my deep voice.

“Dada?” She mumbled, rubbing her right eye as she sat up from my chest.

“It’s alright, Elle,” I rumbled, kissing her forehead as she plopped back down to take her nap again at my reassurance. “We can finish reading time later today.” I murmured to her as she went back to snoozing.

“What do you want, mortals?” I asked nonchalantly.

“Why does the ghost king have a child? And how in the hell are you not attacking us as the books state?” Zatanna asked, looking on at me in shock.

“You willingly want to be attacked after summoning me? That’s idiotic. “ I state, looking bored with their conversation. I still held Elle close, not answering their questions about my child just yet.

“No, a bloody idiot summoned you just as we defeated him as a last defense!” Constantine spat out, looking hysterical.

“Well, sorry to break the news, coward, but the last king was defeated by me after trying to take over the world, he is now locked away in forever sleep until we can find a way to get rid of him completely.” I explained to the coward looking at me in shock on the ground, bruises across his face and the usual weird looking villain costume on him.

I looked around for a quick second before stopping at the Batfam. Who were all here in a more relaxed formation seeing a child in my arms. My favorite fandom family in my last life.

I looked them over before spotting the Red Hood, my celebrity crush I had on him was no secret to my family, but they had no room to judge for themselves.

His aura admitted contaminated ectoplasm, and I knew I had to heal him sometime in the future.

“May I ask what your goals are? And who is this child?” Superman spoke up after a moment of digesting my information about my new position.

“I protect both living and the undead. I don’t have a world ending goal in mind, just to raise my daughter and give her the life she deserves.” I said, looking down at my daughter with a small smile that would be unnoticeable to most.

I looked back up to see the large group had softened at my words and I was about to ask a question about Red Hood, when my daughter suddenly decided this was taking too long and too much noise for her to take a nap.

“Dada! Where puppy?” She demanded answers, smacking the side of my face with her chubby hands, as I floated there, unmoving with an emotionless face towards the group.

“Cujo is with the twerp, remember? He will come by later for playtime.” I answered, which was slightly muffled as she squished my cheeks together and smiled at me happily.

“Dada! Fishh—“ she squealed out, looking happy with herself as she giggled at my face.

“You gremlin—“ I muttered out, tickling her sides as she squeaked, her flying out of my arms and turning into her young ghost form, looking ready to play.

“Playtime?” She asked, bouncing a little in the air, clapping her hands a little.

“Not yet, blob ghost. We need to head back home for snack time.” I explained, crossing my arms as she pouted, my arm muscles bulged a bit as I crossed them, and I still always forget the fact that I’m taller than most, alongside bigger. In my past life, I was a stick of a girl that had spaghetti arms, much different for sure.

Her pouting turned into the famous puppy eyes, and I turned back to the group to avoid them, only to see amused faces all around.

“Do you guys need anything before we head back? I’m sure you don’t want to deal with a Princess tantrum.” I rumbled out, looking on in disinterest as Elle decided to hug the side of my face like an octopus. She probably still had the puppy eyes on.

“You have an adorable daughter!” Princess Diana exclaimed soon after I was finished speaking. “How old is she?” She asked, looking at me curiously as I lowered myself to the ground, Elle now floating behind my head as she played with my low ponytail.

“She is now two years old.” I answered, swiftly nabbing Elle from behind me while reaching the back of my head. I lowered my arms to see I had her upside down now, her hanging like a sack of potatoes as she giggled.

“Dada!” Elle exclaimed, waving her arms around her in glee as she looked up at me.

“You don’t feel like a ghost completely… neither does she, what are you exactly?” Constantine asked, waving his hand at me in confusion.

“I don’t know if I can trust you with that information, Constantine.” I growled a little, glaring at him as he stepped forward while Elle hid behind me.

“Hey now! Let’s calm down, no one needs to start anything!” Nightwing stepped in front of the glaring Constantine who looked more and more like a bug the longer I looked at him.

“There isn’t anything to start, really. His soul is in shreds at the moment, not very powerful compared to my kind anyway.” I stated, crossing my arms once again as Elle peaked out from over my shoulder.

“Now, I need to speak with a Mr. Red Hood.” I said, looking on at the Batfam who tensed at my words.

“Why?” Batman growled out, stepping in front of the confused Red Hood.

“To heal him, of course.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I heard sounds of confusion from everyone else.

“His ectoplasm is very corrupted. He has the ghost flu, in which case makes my kind very moody and in need of pure ectoplasm to filter it and his emotions.” I briefly explained, unpinching my nose as I looked up from the ground. Willing my headache away for now.

“So his pit madness is basically the ghost flu?” Red Robin murmurs out hysterically, almost giggling in disbelief.

“Yes, I have heard of his haunt, Crime Alley, that being under his protection, I have never stepped foot on his property because I didn’t want to seem like a threat to a sick person who can’t control themselves completely with such a sickness.” I explained myself a bit nervously, rubbing the back of my neck a little with my right hand as Elle now sat on my left shoulder, swinging her legs.

“Wow, the ghost king is a dork…” I heard Spoiler mutter to Orphan, who nodded in agreement.

I huffed, crossing my arms and floated once again. “I can come back another time. I just wished to help a little. My doctor can probably fix him quicker than I, but I know what to do as I have studied under him for more than over a year now.” I informed them.

“So the pit madness can go away…?” Red Hood asked, stepping from around Batman to speak to me clearly.

“I’m unsure of what this “Pit Madness” is, but yes, I can heal you and make sure you properly get the help you need from your emotional roller coaster sickness.” I said, looking down at him as he took a few more steps to me, his family following behind him.

“Well, when can you fix me?” He asked, his voice modifier cutting all emotions from his voice, but I can clearly feel his emotions bursting from his almost formed core. It seems this sickness had stopped him from forming his core completely and left him sick for many years.

I could feel his hope, his rage and especially his bursts of want for some reason.

“I can fix you right now, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted privacy or not. It’s very…. Intimate. I can take you somewhere private if you would like?” I rumbled out, the burst of want came out more clearly, and I could tell Red Hood was clearly not expecting that word choice.

“Take me anytime—“ I could clearly hear his muttered out answer behind his helmet with my enhanced hearing, but I don’t know if I was supposed to hear that.

“Nope! Little Wing— you are not going with the ghost king—“ Nightwing suddenly yelled out, the whites of his mask bigger as Spoiler, Red Robin, and Signal burst into loud laughter. Batman sighed loudly in disappointment. Robin just “Tt” and sighed alongside his father, looking like a mini bat. Orphan just smiled at me.

“By intimate, I mean having a look at your soul, I will essentially have to take a closer look at that and cure you.” I fixed my words, making it seem as if I didn’t hear anything and I could feel a little disappointment coming from Red Hood but he nodded at my explanation.

[drunkgremlin]

Guys, I've found a treasure! Had to register on the site but it was worth it!

DAN KRALL: These are concepts I did for Gremlins when they get fed after midnight. There were physical descriptions of them in the script, so I just did a quick rough of what they might look like. The finals ended up changing a lot from these and being really, really great.

DAN KRALL: This is a super-rough concept I did for Claw, who was the evil leader Gremlin of this series. I had an idea where she’s kind of all about asymmetry; one eye is squinty and she was supposed to have a limp and drag her claws. I think a lot of that stuff didn’t actually end up happening, but her general design came through. I really liked the way she came out.

DAN KRALL: These are some poses – somebody else did have the Claw character, we would send these as part of the character design packet.

TARA RUEPING: These are early-on concept art. We first started out with rough drawings like this to get the inspiration of how the characters were written. We really leaned into what was written, we embraced those names, so that’s why Noggin has a huge noggin, Claw has massive claws… I think embracing that’s very true to the Gremlins IP, with the character Stripe in the original film.

DAN KRALL: This is from the pitch deck, but when the god that was involved in the story was still the brother Fuxi, before we switched to Nüwa. This is at the end of the series after everything’s all wrapped up, and Fuxi is escorting all the Gremlins back to the valley, and Grandpa is hitching a ride because he’s always wanted to see the Valley of Jade.

TARA: Gizmo being Gizmo, we wanted to make sure that we were true to his design, how he was in the films. So we looked at a lot of photographs and how he was portrayed in the films with the mouth shape, the pattern of his fur, the shape of his ear. Of course it’s a stylised version of Gizmo, but we wanted to make sure that we were very true to Gizmo’s design.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Young Justice 1998 AU where everything's the same but Grant Emerson joined YJ instead of the Titans

He's recruited by Secret, after his story is among those that she hears from Red Tornado when she first comes to the cave.

She finds Grant on the run from the law (basically where he is when he's recruited in Titans 1999) and scares away his would-be captors.

Tim will later do some hacking and erase Grant's criminal record.

He's instrumental in destroying the DEO "orphanage" and plays a part in the intended bombing incident at the church.

He and Bart have some unresolved issues, much to the rest of the group's confusion, and initally spend a lot of time snarking at each other. Cissie doesn't know what this is about, but she's protective of Bart, so she and Grant don't initially get along either.

Grant and Kon, meanwhile, hit it off and bond over the commonalities of their backgrounds. So Kon is kind of stuck in the middle with two friends who have beef with each other, and it can be awkward.

Grant gets along well with Secret too. They both have mysterious origins tied to labs and a lot of angst, and they're comfortable around each other because his explosive powers aren't any danger to her.

He gets along well enough with Cassie (who is too distracted by her crush on Kon and friendship with Cissie to notice him much) and has a variable relationship with Tim, whom he's a bit too similar to in some ways (they're both anxiously analytical) and whose authority he sometimes resents.

He doesn't have a parent or official guardian to represent him at the parent/teacher conference, so Martian Manhunter, who of course is among the JLA when they come to interrogate YJ, steps in as his primary genetic "father." Having two telepaths at the initial "parent/teacher conference" creates some complications.

During the campout, he would prefer to take "dare" but knows the dangers of this for him and reluctantly takes "truth" instead. Tim asks him...something, I don't know what. Maybe his greatest fear.

When asked if he would give up being a superhero, his immediate answer is yes. His powers are a burden, and he hasn't had a moment's peace since they manifested.

Having nowhere else to go, he lives at the cave (and later the former hotel headquarters), along with Secret. They end up keeping each other company most of the time when the others aren't around.

He joins Tim and Bart in their search for Secret when she is recaptured by the DEO and is very adamant about coming to her rescue. The destruction to Mt. Rushmore is his accidental doing, provoked by Match-as-Kon.

His presence on the team adds to the media's vitriol against Young Justice--this team harbors multiple criminals, including the archer who almost killed a man and the boy who destroyed Atlanta and has been sowing further destruction ever since his running from justice!

Dan Dunbar is one of Grant's most vocal critics, comparing the boy's out-of-hand explosions unfavorably to the more contained and controlled methods that he and TNT used to use. Unlike this delinquent Damage, Dyna-Mite was supervised, which of course made all the difference.

Grant's experience in Secret's abyss is of course traumatizing. He can't help thinking back to that time that mysterious man in his dreams suggested that he might not live a long time.

It turns out that he has at least some degree of immunity to Empress's mind control powers, possibly because of his latent telepathic powers.

He's the only one on the team to suspect that something's off when Kon is replaced with Match, but he isn't sure enough to report his suspicion to anyone.

During Sins of Youth, he conflicts with most of his teammates about the need for a cure for their aging up since he finds he prefers the control and confidence that came with his new adulthood. The main question of his arc in this event is whether it's right to take a permanent shortcut to growing up instead of living through every moment of a difficult adolescence.

As in Titans 1999, Grant has to appear at his uncle's arraignment and returns distraught. But here he doesn't have Roy to get involved. Instead, Kon and Bart try to cheer him up by taking him to do something recreational (possibly camping, as in the original version of this story) while Young Justice is taking their post-Sins of Youth break. A late-night conversation ends up on the topic of fathers: Kon never had one (unless you count Westfield, which he doesn't), Bart never knew his (and hasn't realized yet that Max is his father-figure), and Grant...lets it slip how his foster father treated him.

Kon, who can relate, reacts with alarm. Bart, who has experience addressing this sort of thing, knows what to do: tell trusted adults and get his friend help. So after a very emotional conversation, they bring Grant back to Red Tornado and possibly the JLA and report the incident. Consequently, Grant takes a temporary leave of absence.

Even though he's not on the team for a while, the narrative sticks with him, even if it's only checking in on him now and then. He is traveling, concentrating on his civilian identity--but his powers are hard to escape, they're constantly developing, and he finds out at some point that the JLA have put some kind of covert supervision on him in case of accidents, like they don't trust him to maintain control. He finds this insulting.

Meanwhile, while the others are having adventures at the Olympics and in space etc., they're dealing with his absence. Kon is left with some feelings that he's not ready to process (what happened to Grant isn't so different from what has happened to him--was he abused too? by Knockout? by even his beloved, recently deceased Tana? if so, what does he do with that?). Bart was just finally starting to recover his old friendship with Grant, and now he's gone. Secret is saddened to lose him, and this will contribute to her grief when Tim and Bart leave much later.

When war breaks out and it's all hands on deck, Grant rejoins the team in #35, and everyone is thrilled to see each other again...but then it's decided by the authorities that Grant won't work with YJ. His skills are too useful to be wasted on rescue ops, and besides, he's too dangerous to be rescuing anybody--what if he accidentally explodes at the wrong moment?

Grant's teammates are indignant (particularly Kon, who is angry that he wasn't also considered too useful for anything but fighting), especially when Grant agrees without a fuss to take a combat role without them.

And Grant really would rather be with his friends, but his feelings of being more comfortable in a warzone because he considers himself a weapon are returning. He parts with the team on less pleasant terms and ends up working with the JSA/a version of the Freedom Fighters. He starts to wonder whether he really wants to return to YJ or if he "should" be on the JSA permanently out of obligation to his father's legacy.

So he's not there for the Apokolips incident but feels pretty guilty about not being there for the others when he hears what happened.

In this continuity, Cassie talks Grant (not Ray, who is with the Titans!) into officially rejoining full-time in order to lure Bart back to the team. Grant accepts, albeit with some confliction about what he really wants to do with his life.

Secret seems to be avoiding him now. Kon, who is still trying to ignore the issues that Grant's leave brought up for him, doesn't seem comfortable around him either. Anita doesn't have a lot of patience for him. That leaves him mostly with Slo-bo.

In the World Without Young Justice scenario, he was never subject to experimentation but grew up raised by his biological parents. He either never developed powers or has much more restrained and easily controlled powers, so he never became Damage. Unlike with his teammates, Grant Pratt leads a stable, appealing life, and it's hard for Impulse to convince him to join him as Damage.

Grant runs for team leader, citing his excellent leadership skills as an adult. Cassie is still the one elected, of course.

He saves Anita and Tim from the explosion in the hut in which Anita's father dies; he absorbs the energy and deflects it before it can properly explode.

Considering how the media has treated him in the past, he's not sold on the idea of being on a reality show, and there's some conflict over this. Maybe he threatens to leave again and reveals that the JSA or the Freedom Fighters have made him offers to join them.

He refuses when Greta asks him to help break her father out of prison. Accidentally letting his uncle out of prison that one time caused nothing but trouble and guilt, and he's never doing that again.

There's some major cathartic incident late in the series that addresses his struggling to figure out what he wants out of life and his insecurities about relationships with the team. Things probably get messy, but the series ends with him still committed to the team and confident in his friendships and active in trying to talk Secret down. He's considering finding a long-term mentor and cutting back on hero work to concentrate on his education (he's missed a lot of high school and needs to get a diploma or GED before he can go on to studying biology or physics in college) and on his personal life (building civilian relationships! trying to connect with his genetic relatives and his "brother"! trying to lead as normal a life as possible!).

After the events of Graduation Day, he declines to join the new Titans team with most of the others, and that's when the Freedom Fighters get him, and it goes from there.

[starsandtulips]

astral express food headcanons. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

characters⟡ stelle, march 7th, welt, himeko, dan heng, (mentioned) pom pom

relationships⟡ stelle/march

~ welt is a really good cook but only for spicy dishes, he is an okay cook otherwise

~ related to the one above, welt LOVES spicy food, the spicier the better

~ stelle also really enjoys spicy food and have entered her and welt into spicy eating competitions before (they won)

~ march cannot tolerate spicy food at all, she prefers cold, refreshing meals

~ so after stelle eats spicy food, she doesn't get to kiss march for a while

~ neither march or stelle can cook very well but as long as someone is supervising them they won't burn the kitchen down

~ himeko's coffee looks just like motor oil, himeko has accidentally drunk motor oil thinking it was her coffee before, she will never tell anyone else

~ himeko can only cook breakfast foods, she makes a mean pancake

~ dan heng is surprisingly a great cook despite growing up in prison, he however gets out of cooking most of the time so only pom pom knows

[timeoutsoup]

DP x JW

Adoption AU

I have two ideas for Iosef and his goons did break into John’s house.

The first is John does get hit by the baseball bat and Daisy gets hurt but lives. The car gets stolen and then John takes him and the kids to the Continental. They would be in suits to match their dad.

John gets his car back kills some people but mostly just scares the shit out of Iosef and his father. John also finds Dog and brings him for the kids.

This is also where Danny, Dan and Elli haunt the Continental.

The second idea is that the kids wake up before John. Uninvited people have entered their haunt. Danny is the first to wake up, then Dan and finally Elli.

Elli would be the distraction as her brother knock out the intruders, tie them up, and put them in the basement. Dan would have fun scaring the thugs.

Danny would be the one to wake up their dad and try to explain the situation with Dan and Elli giving commentary.

Iosef and his goons would be in so much trouble and poor Viggo would have to retrieve his idiot son. As punishment for Iosef he has to baby sit (supervised by John) the three feral gremlins.

They would 100% torment him.

[boyslit-moving]

HSR Cooking Headcanons!

found a big document of these i never finished but i think they're fun. doesn't include everyone but a vast majority of Belobog+Luofu characters

Trailblazer - not so great with a stove. Pom-Pom has PTSD flashbacks when they offer to help prepare meals and the Trailblazer is thusly shooed from the premises. they're used to foraging snacks and treasures in the trash anyway

March 7th - ADHD disaster. she can whip up desserts mostly but the kitchen looks like a tornado happened afterwards and she'll rope someone into helping

Dan Heng - this boy grew up in a prison and then spent his adult life on the run from his murderous ex, when did he have time to learn to cook? naw, if he's not on the Express it's takeout and fast food for this poor meow meow

Pom-Pom - the esteemed head chef of the Astral Express. they are the ruler of their kitchen and no recipe is beyond their grasp. you might wonder how they can reach the counters and grip utensils when they are so small and bunny-like but Pom-Pom is very good at what they do, so you don't have to worry at all!

Welt Yang - he's an ok cook, like many dads, but he's got a tendency to lean on parental shortcuts like frozen French fries or chicken nuggets (not that anyone ever complains about this)

Himeko - she's best left to her coffee brewing, let's just put it that way.

Kafka - also a disaster, but she has little interest in cooking for herself. this is also the reason the trailblazer can't cook - she wasn't able to teach them

Silver Wolf - no interest in cooking beyond TV meals or reheating leftovers. takeout, gamer supps and snackies take priority 

Blade - somewhere in his muddied floodwaters of memory there's the capability to cook, but it comes and goes and the pain in his hands make it difficult to grip utensils and other implements with the fine motor movements required to chop and whisk and flip. He used to cook for his husband occasionally despite Dan Feng having a personal chef as high elder

Gepard - he does his best… things like breakfast eggs, toast, sausage, noodles, these are easy to accomplish. anything too fancy is a step too far. he's really too busy to practice.

Serval - generally competent. she had to learn to feed herself after getting kicked out of the architects and staying on her own. she's adventurous, always trying new flavor combinations and changing recipes for fun

Lynx - a true outdoorswoman, knows how to forage and trap game and cooks a mean stew. it's unconventional fare, though, and not to everyone's sensibilities. 

Pela - a good cook. sticks to the recipes religiously, and very good at baking because of her precision

Natasha - "knows" how to cook but while she's great at the chemistry behind making medicines, food takes a backseat. grin and bear it if she asks you to try something she made, you don't want to make her sad. she tried really hard for you after all.

Hook - isn't allowed to cook without supervision but she makes an enthusiastic sous chef! helps Dad make dinner and sets a lovely table

Seele - abysmal but I can see her being interested in improving in order to cook something nice for Bronya. when asked why she's suddenly interested in learning, however, the lady doth protest too much. you don't question it further though because you don't want her to make you a knuckle sandwich.

Sampo - unfortunately my own biases cloud my judgement here because I love a man that can cook. but Sampo does seem like the sort of guy who operates on comedy law and that's something I am familiar with. option 1: he closes the door to the kitchen and refuses anyone's help. there's an unholy racket, a cloud of black smoke, some coughing, a Wilhelm scream, and then a few bars of whistling. when he emerges, it's with a pristine plate of gorgeously prepared braised meat and carmelized vegetables with delicate garnish. option 2: he puts on a bit of a show. it's like that cooking porn anime, and onlookers find they have to look away periodically or loosen a tie to keep themselves in check. finally, when he lifts the lid over the plate… the censorship committee has ordered it pixelated so it can still air in the same time slot. (both of these scenarios happen within the same week)

Bronya - she's too busy! she's always working or training or sleeping. luckily, Seele is hard at work learning to cook for her wife hard-working friend

Qingque - Maybe instant noodles, maybe the Xianzhou equivalent of box Mac and cheese. Otherwise she's patronizing the food spots in Aurum Alley and getting takeout ordered to her desk so she can be seen working through lunch (she's not actually working tho)

Fu Xuan - she makes a mean pot of tea but she's so busy she has no time to cook. She subscribes to box meals (like Hello Fresh, etc) so she can feel like she's not surviving on takeout and restaurant meals. She definitely has Girl Breakfast and Girl Lunch though (her favorite bubble tea and two cups of extra sugary tea for that afternoon pick-me-up, respectively) which is not great. Watch out for gastritis, sis.

Jing Yuan - he's got dad grilling vibes but I can't see this man seriously cooking. at best there'll be weaponized incompetence before he's shooed out of the kitchen, chuckling. since he's the general however I have to assume he has a personal chef. 

Yanqing - tried to cut vegetables with his swords once and was summarily banned from every kitchen

Jingliu - I'm not even sure she eats anymore. Doesn't she just feed off of ambient malice or something

Luka - Mr. Meat Boy knows his way around a grill and a campfire, but try to sully it with vegetables and you're getting the biggest glare he can muster. A boxer can't live on meat alone, and considering you're nihility path, do we think a vegetable may cause less despair?

Guinaifen - does this girl live somewhere? Like in an apartment or something? She seems to be always out and about, busy streaming or performing or meeting friends to do either of the previous. She probably eats like Qingque does, grabbing something from the Alley whenever her tummy grumbles, but otherwise we are on 👏 the 👏 go !

Topaz - this girl is BUSY busy, she's ordering Grubhubs and Doordashes and having her order from the caf delivered by drone bot while she works through lunch. likes big meetings in the conference rooms though, because there's usually pastries and coffee

Aventurine - much like the other hardworking folks, he ends up with a lot of Space Doordashed lunches and late-work dinners. He attempts recipes from internet videos sometimes, for fun and the love of the trend. He doesn't super know what he's doing but it always turns out marvellously.

Ratio - Few things are outside Dr. Veritas Ratio's wheelhouse, and because a healthy diet is required to maintain a healthy body and mind, he's well versed in cooking techniques and healthy eating. Occasionally will stoop to making something less healthy like french toast to spoil Aventurine with.

Ruan Mei - In my head she's got the 'tism that makes her dislike all but like 2 or 3 textures, and those textures are generally desserts she's learned to make for herself - smooth puddings and pastes, soft dough. I suppose the Lifeform Oven isn't technically cooking, however…

Mme.  Herta - [Automatic Reply] I'm busy. The cafeteria is open for this purpose. [This user cannot be replied to.]

Asta - there's a reason Arlan makes fried rice so well 🙃

[kiskivmiske]

Tw: body horror-ish

•••••|Pyrrhia exploration logs|••••••

Entry 006

Day ПОШЛИ К ЧËРТУ!

Мы сдохнем тут, но по крайней мере я могу сделать это

[IMAGE_DELETED_BY_USER]

End entry

Entry 007

Day 5

I apologize on behalf of Egor Efimovich who used Ivy's pocketscan to take a picture of... certain body parts to offend the head office. They confirmed that there are no plans on picking us up and the ship will depart soon. So he's reasonably upset by that.

Anyway

Head office told us why exactly they are scadoodling away. So, you know these islands on the tail on the continent? Some aren't a geological formation! Ded Egor compared them to "whale fish" from Russian folklore. A massive fish (or whale, idk) that had an entire city on its back.

In the sea, there's a massive creature that is so big it can't be fully submerged and some of the parts sticking out of the water had formed not just algae or moss layer, but wooded islands with an entire ecosystem on them! The creature itself should be around four hundred kilometers long! For reference: if it drinks water in Tokyo Bay, its tail will be hanging off the other side into the Sea of Japan. Stas almost lost his mind realizing that's more than from his hometown to Ekaterinburg.

This is a print they sent us. I wish I could unsee this, but oh well

Luckily, it's immobilized due to its size, so it won't be going anywhere. And it's a sea serpent of sorts. Eel like creature with glowing stripes. People thought those are luminescent bacteria blooms. Sike! It's a 400 000 meter long [AUTOMATICALLY_TAGGED_AS_INAPPROPRIATE]sea dragon. Not a normal snake, you can see the horns. I should've amputated my tongue when I had the chance!

This thing is far away so I'm not worried that much. But if there are more similar creatures, that's gonna suck worse than space vacuum. First a sea serpent, then what? Motherloving Shendu walks into our camp? (Watch Jackie Chan Adventures, educate yourself. That is, if you still have access to the ark and tv. Guys made fun of me for liking 00s cartoons and told me to touch grass. Jokes on them. I, unlike them, WILL be touching grass in the next few decades. And they will drift in space on their stupid ship!)

The ark sent another portion of stuff along with the print. Now we have inflatable devices: boats, supboards, two mattresses and floating tents (good, we need an extra plan in case of a flood); ten barrels of rice... Look, rice is a part of our local diet, I like rice, Zira and Rus like rice, Ivy likes their plov. But not to the point of eating rice or buckwheat every single day! Oh, speaking of which, also ten barrels of buckwheat (barf!), a pile of old clothes and a bit of stationery. Now, I do realize they're going that not out of generosity, but are just... dumping trash.

Our cat, I named him Tohru (watch Jackie Chan Adventures, educate yoursef, the hell is "dragon maid", Stanislav? I have more than enough dragons in my life already) is working to pay his bills. By morning, he brought fifteen bugfish AND a severed vampire's proboscis. (Should've named him Van Helsing, but oh well) This cat is a bloody menace. I remind you, vampires are as big as a wolf. We should keep him under supervision to avoid overhunting. Next thing you know, it will fish out that giant island serpent.

Stanislav's bark machine, however, only gives us sleepless nights. It barks and barks at the woods all the time. Even at day, when we can't see there's nothing wrong! Egor thinks about making a dinamo machine to make use of husky's energy. A dog sized hamster wheel. It's still an idea, cuz he's busy building the treehouse. Guys finished a base platform, so, even if there's flash flood, we can at least get on the higher ground.

Ivy's condition has worsened. Damaged skin is peeling off and she apparently got some local bacteria on it. I didn't think about that when submerging her in local water. Its microbiome is different from earth's. Dan is getting better though. He helps Nazira cook bugfish soup. (It's blue, by the way)

Ivy herself is awake, but has a fever and doesn't get up. She either plays with pets or tells kids stories. But most of the time she's sleeping.

When I helped Egor making a fence, I heard her screaming bloody murder. I ran into the hospital tent and saw black and white figure sitting on top of her. I thought something happened to the kitty, but then I came closer and instead of

This I saw this thing

After having a mild heart attack, I assumed this creature is some sort of brood parasite, that mimics supposed babies of the species. (Could as well be an adult pretending to be an offspring for food and protection) And probably thought a cat is actually a human infant.

It is very similar to Earth cephalopods, except it doesn't have a beak. Instead, it has several rows of teeth down its throat on cartilaginous plates. And much like octopi, it can change color and texture of its body. We gave it food and left it for a while in a closed tent. It relaxed and unwrapped itself into a much more bearable state. It slithers across the floor and eats cat food. It doesn't seem hostile and we consider keeping it.

Remember, don't ever change the way you are.

I'm serious. Don't.

I can't afford enough therapy, especially on a planet without therapists.

It reminds me of a pokemon, so I'mma call this particular nest mimic Ditto. Alternative suggested nicknames included Roomba, Blobby and Olga Vladimirovna. (Egor said the mimic has gelatinous consistency of his chemistry teacher.)

On worse news, we have neighbors. Keith said his imaginary friend saw a group of "evil black people" on the edge of the forest. I clarified, asking if they were like uncle Dan.

"No, uncle Dan's skin is brown. Those people were black like coal with pale spots around their eyes and mouths. They also had shells on them and sticks that make fire."

I think he means those people were wearing balaclavas or some sort of masks. And "shells" could be bulletproof vests. Fire sticks are definitely guns. Some troops? There's a chance they could be willing to work together. But there's also a big chance of them attacking us for resources, if they also were abandoned. And the second one considerably outweighed the first.

I asked why these people were evil.

Keith: "You made him (his friend) sad." (pause) "They killed his mom and hurt him."

I didn't know what to do with this information for a while. This could just be Keith's imagination. But in the evening I was taking out the trash and my hand felt something very hard and heavy in a pile of bandages. And what do you think.

It was a deformed bullet.

End entry

[kr-han]

Fall, When I Fall for You

A 4351 words worth of fic of Cobra and Akari slowly falling written by Khairunnisa Han

Canon Divergence, Post-Canon with a whole lot of new original characters, to which are The Hasegawas

Previous Chapter

Fall, When I Fall for You

Those beautiful, yellow and brown leaves fell down to the ground, some were flying by the wind. It was slowly getting colder, as it was closer to winter—but not yet. Days still went like usual, nothing major happened since the downfall of Kuryu Group. Safe to say, SWORD Area had become a safe place—or some sort like that since little conflicts still very much happened here and there.

Cobra was still going with his day like any other day, sitting down in the gas station while supervising his employees. They, Sannoh, hadn’t had a chance to ride again—not this fall. They have to wait, at least until spring. It would be boring and he was already dying from the boredom.

Sometimes, his mind wandered around and somehow, he ended up thinking about that one particular girl in red. Ever since that day, he never saw her around again. Such a shame, he thought, he wanted to see her with her oversized bike again. But she never came until summer ended, and from her social media, he could tell her schedule was packed.

It was strange, since he only saw her that day, but he thought about her almost every single day. Perhaps, because of her red hair in the heat of summer, he remembered her. Silly, he thought every time her and her red hair popped out in his mind. Her cocky smile reappeared again and he smiled like a silly teenager that ended up making him want to punch his own face.

He went to ITOKAN again once his shift ended, almost like a routine. There, he found the same faces again. He raised his hand, enough to greet everyone before taking a seat in his designated seat at the corner. “Naomi, the usual drink,” he said casually—he didn’t have to say it since Naomi remembered already, but he did.

“Eh? What’s wrong with you?” she asked as she brought him the drink in a red cup. The way Naomi phrased it made everyone tilt their head to Cobra almost immediately. Sure, he got a frown on his forehead, a telltale sign that something was wrong—or so they thought.

Dan, out of everyone else dashed towards Cobra. “We got someone to beat again, huh?” he asked as he rolled his sleeve. He was ready, everyone was ready to beat someone up. “So, who’s messing with us, Cobra?” he asked again, but got no answer.

He wasn’t talkative, but he never let a question unanswered. Something was really wrong, the other Sannoh’s guys thought. But Naomi snapped Cobra out of his mind when she swatted his head with a tray. “Idiot. Answer when you’re asked!” she scolded him. Perhaps, she was the only one who should scold Cobra.

“That’s hurt!” Cobra snarled, but Naomi just shrugged as she went back behind the bar. He scanned the guys in ITOKAN, only to find curious eyes waiting for him to tell them something—anything. “Well, I kinda think of someone,” he started, and his voice was lower than usual. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it, and he had to do it because somehow, they were demanding him to.

Cobra wasn’t a kind of man who talked about someone, moreover with the hint of longing in his voice. Unless, he talked about Inoki-san. But that wasn’t the problem because, here, Cobra was trying to be open about what happened with him. Perhaps, they really needed to beat someone up since it has been a while for them.

“This girl—”

“GIRL!?” everyone shouted, didn’t even let Cobra finish his words. No one guessed that Cobra would talk about a girl, ever. “Damn, you have interest in a girl? For real?” Yamato chimed in, he was as bewilder as the others. “A fucking girl?” he repeated, as if mocking Cobra.

Noboru chuckled softly, initially before he waved, trying to calm everyone down. “Come on, guys. Listen to him first,” he said. Naomi nodded, agreeing with him. “Cobra, you can go on.”

Uncomfortable wasn’t the right word to describe something within his ribcage; perhaps, it was nervous. “So, yeah, I’ve been thinking of this girl almost every day. I don’t know what’s interesting about her. But she got red hair, cool piercings, and her bike—well, I think she could do better than that.”

“Oh, is it about that girl you talked about, like, weeks ago?” Noboru asked, and Cobra nodded almost immediately. Noboru nodded as well, knowing that he may have heard about it some weeks ago. He expected it to be interesting.

But not interesting enough for Yamato, because he scowled. “Wait. You talk to Noboru but not to me? Why? Are you trying to exclude me?” he accused, pointing his finger to Cobra.

“Shut up, Idiot! Listen!” Naomi, again, scolded.

Yamato rolled his eyes as he said, “Okay. Okay. I’ll shut the fuck up. I just don’t appreciate not being included before okay. I mean, I think we’re friends?” It looked like he was whining about it, but couldn’t say much after being scolded. Not that he wanted to stop Cobra from talking either.

As Cobra continued talking, Naomi scoffed, followed by Noboru’s soft chuckles. Meanwhile the other was confused with both Naomi and Noboru’s reaction. Not Tettsu, though. “Oh, you got a crush on her, eh?” Tettsu teased the leader as he pulled a mischievous smirk.

“Huh? No fucking way,” Cobra replied. He tried to brush it off. It couldn’t be true, could it? He didn’t know someone would develop a crush from just short encounters. Not to mention that he never saw her anymore since that day. That sounded bizarre in any way possible.

Despite his insistence, no one took it. “Cobra-san, your face is red,” Chiharu pointed out, making Cobra gasped and buried his face down in his palms. They all immediately knew, Cobra was overwhelmed and his crush was likely true.

Dotonbori Area was still lively as ever, it was packed with tourists from all over the world. Amongst them, there was this girl with a pack of takoyaki in her hand. “Ojou,” a middle-aged man called out on her, walking behind her with a concerned look. “We need to go back to the mansion. It’s already late,” he insisted.

The girl chuckled, completely ignoring the man’s plea. “Sugiyama, no need to hurry,” she said as she kept going. Of course, she wouldn’t be done with just a pack of takoyaki in the midst of Dotonbori. “I rarely come here, let me go around and spend some money Jiji gave me,” she added.

Granted, Sugiyama, the man, couldn’t do anything other than walking behind her to make sure she was safe. It was his job and had been his job for a few years. Meanwhile, she just walked around and chose from other tenants to buy. At the end, she ended up with several packets of food. But finally, she was back inside the car.

“Sugiyama, you want taiyaki?” she asked, ready to give him some of hers. But Sugiyama politely refused and she went back enjoying her snacks while Sugiyama drove the car for her. “Do you think Gramps would give me work again? Like, going back to that Kuryu area, for example,” she started mumbling.

“Maybe,” he answered. “We’re late, Ojou. I’m afraid Big Boss would be mad,” he added. They were running late, yet she was indulging herself freely. Sugiyama sighed as he saw her from the rear view mirror. “Ojou—”

Akari, the girl, was intentionally being careless. She was already known for her bad reputation amongst the core members of the family and she didn’t mind at all. “I hear you,” she replied curtly. “I don’t care about them. I only need a reason to be back there,” she said, shrugging.

“I know, Ojou.” Akari’s indifference towards her own family was widely known, at least within them. He understood that greatly, yet also didn’t understand why Akari didn’t cut the ties with them or why the main family didn’t disown her. She had a strange relationship with her family.

The Hasegawas had ruled Kansai Region’s underworld businesses for decades, and they were one of the richest families in Japan known for their hotel chain. Hasegawa Akari was one of their descendants, yet she wasn’t set to inherit the business even though she was the first born in her generation. Hence, she paved her own way as a photographer and yet was still lowkey involved in the family’s business if necessary. She was known for being a nuisance since her young age.

Talking about the family business, all of it was still under the head of the family, Hasegawa Tatsuhiro. They had that hotel business mainly as a cover for their other businesses and it was under Tatsuhiro’s son in law, Hasegawa Hideto—yes, he was married to the family. Meanwhile, the underworld business was under Tatsuhiro’s one and only son, Tendou. They maintained the business well and already decided the heir and that was Tendou’s son, hence Akari wanted nothing to do with it.

Despite that, in the current timeline, she was the only adult of their generation. With her underage cousins, she had no choice other than being involved at least until her cousins were old enough to take care of it themselves. It was just a matter of time until Akari could be free and live her own life without being tied down to the family. No one really knew how their relationship works, except the adult core members of the family.

The car was slowly driving into the large mansion, Hasegawa’s main house. She immediately went inside, barging in the middle of the dinner. Everyone was there as she was the only one living outside. “Maido!” she greeted as she took a seat, grinning like an idiot. They were looking at her as if she was a ghost.

No one seemed pleased to see her there, except for her two young cousins. But they had to be silent for some reason. She stayed until the dinner was over and the underages went back to their room. “You’re late,” Tatsuhiro hissed. “At least you could dress like a lady,” he added, showing a clear distance.

“Cut the crap,” she snarled, as if she had no respect for her elders. Instead of looking at Tatsuhiro, she looked at Tendou instead. “Otchan, you got a job for me?” she asked right to the point. “Come on, y’all only calling me here because I have to do something, right? What is it now? I don’t mind killing, anyway.”

That was right, she hardly visited the main house if it wasn’t for the job. However, this wasn’t the reason they had called her to come. They were looking at each other, resulting in Hideto clearing his throat to assert his presence in the room. “How’s Tokyo, Sweetie?” he asked, trying to be as soft as he could.

She raised an eyebrow as she realized it wasn’t about the job at all. “Well, yeah, it’s just a city,” she answered. “Really, cut the crap and tell me what the fuck is going on? It’s not about a job, is it?” Akari was agitated, looking like she disliked being there with her family. “I can’t spend my time more than this. I have another job, remember?”

“Ricchan,” her mom, Chihiro, called softly. Her hand reached her daughter’s, holding it as her other hand caressed it. “Listen carefully, okay? We were talking about your future. You’re already at the age to settle down. It’s time for you to be back to the family, settle down, and build a family.”

Hell, she was here, expecting a job so she could meet that one specific guy, but fate had another thing in store. “Really?” That was all she could muster after her mom’s explanation. Her family didn’t spare her any confusion and immediately shoveled a thick document right under her nose. “What the fuck is this?” she freaked out.

Who doesn’t? She wasn’t here not for this and as she opened the folder and her eyes widened; she freaked even more. There, she could see a bunch of men’s personal data which made her look at everyone in disbelief. She, rightfully, shook her head. This wasn’t what she wanted.

“What the fuck?” she repeated as she scanned through the documents. “How the fuck did you guys get their … dick size?” she asked, baffled beyond measure. “Name, date of birth, weight, and height are fair enough. But … the fuck? I don’t want to know how big their dicks are?” It made her physically ill to see that.

The adults were silent, they looked at each other with shame on their faces. How dare they? She thought as she looked at them. “Well….” her uncle, Tendou, broke the silence. “We thought that would matter for youngsters like you,” he said, and that was their reason. “We’re old, we don’t know what you’re into since you’re not here.”

Akari buried her face in her palms, she wanted to scream. “Are you fucking serious?” she asked again as herself slowly drowned in embarrassment they caused. They had no clue, so did her, and she was at a loss on what she had to say or do or whatever. “Listen, I don’t need this, okay?”

“But if you end up alone with no husband? No child? No nothing?” her aunt, Saki, chimed in. Everyone nodded in agreement and Akari almost wanted to slap herself out of it. The fact that they all agree was baffling, but it didn’t surprise her somehow. Akari expected it, yet it still very much baffles her.

She needed to come out with a reason, just to get out of it as quickly. “Well, actually, I have someone in mind,” she blurted. She didn’t. No one and nothing flashed in her mind, except that one girl with brown hair who, arguably, makes the best omurice on Earth and that one blonde guy at the gas station—or her bodyguard, whatever.

Instead of brushing it off, her family looked at her expectantly. Their eyes already tell her who this someone she talked about and she regretted it almost instantly. “You know what? Fuck you. No more talking about settling down or whatever. Everything is up to me whether you like it or not, I don’t fucking care. Now fuck off!” she doubled down and left the room feeling embarrassed.

Shit, she should’ve just walked away and ignored them. But here she was, regretting the way she handled things. She knew very well she was always hot headed and words came faster than thought, but she made the same mistakes over and over. It would be the matter of time, either they forced her into arranged marriage with a spoiled brat or she had to find her own boyfriend. Sure, because they would never accept her swing both ways.

Fall almost ended, there weren’t so many leaves to fall down anymore, and now Akari found herself back in Tokyo. But she couldn’t just stay in her studio with nothing to do, nor could she escape from Sugiyama. That man would always put an eye on her just because her grandfather told and paid him to. If only he could leave her alone, or … she could just leave without him knowing.

Being 23 and still playing escape wasn’t something she would casually expect. But it was also something she had expected since she was born as a Hasegawa. It had been a while since the last runaway, but here she was, inside the car she stole from Sugiyama and just drove all the way down the road mindlessly. She wasn’t sure where she would end up.

Years ago, she escaped from the men her grandfather sent to pick her up from school and at this very moment, she ran away from their Tokyo house. Dawn broke as she drove down the road and she didn’t stop until it was the place she remembered from months ago, Hino Gas Station. It was still closed and she looked at it from her window. “Well, here I am again,” she muttered under her breath.

She just sat there, waiting until people started filling up the street and some employee finally opened the gas station. But she didn’t spot him anywhere—there was only a middle aged man among the employees in uniforms, supposedly his father. Her eyebrow raised, then she let out a sigh before a shrug. Perhaps, she needed to walk a few blocks away just to get to that specific diner.

Reluctantly, she went out of the car, stepping her feet outside as she realized something was off. A single sweater and a pair of shorts wouldn’t suffice in this cold weather. It is what it is, she sighed again as she started walking away from her car, hoping that a little walk would warm her body up. Guess it wasn’t and it started to feel cold yet she couldn’t just stop, maybe if she spotted a clothes shop, she would stop and buy something from there.

But a hand reached her shoulder, pulling her back as if they wanted to strike her or something. She grabbed their wrist, stopping their movements as she took something from her pocket—a small pocket knife. “HOW DARE—” her words hung in the air as she realized who they were, albeit her knife was already pointing at them.

“Whoa,” they—he stepped back and raised his hands. “Chill. It’s me,” he said. There he was, the guy she had been looking for that made her unintentionally drive herself down here, far away from Tokyo. “Sorry, though. Never meant to startle you,” he added.

She put down her knife and put it back inside her pocket. “It’s hard to be a woman, sometimes—all times. Sorry,” she said. It was an awkward silence under the cold breeze, a sign that winter was almost here to catch up with them. “Wanna catch up?” she asked, still very much awkward.

He didn’t know why they were acting so awkward, perhaps because he had been expecting her to be here for months. But why would she be awkward as well? He didn’t want to ask her that. “Well, yeah,” he replied and they continued to walk, somehow he knew they would walk to ITOKAN for a reason or two. “You seem cold, though.”

“I am. Winter is coming, isn’t it?” she replied. “Know where I can buy some clothes?” she asked as the awkwardness started to wear off. It started to feel like a reunion, even though it was only the second time they met.

“Indeed, it’s coming.” He walked alongside her. Should he offer her his scarf? Perhaps, no—not now since it would be a little too awkward. “Let me escort you there,” he said, showing her the way to the nearest shop available. He couldn’t help but pity her shaking legs.

 It was such a relief for her, and for him, after she dressed up right for the weather. “So, sorry, what’s your name again?” she asked. “I feel like I forgot your name, lowkey. Anaconda?” Her head tilted as the question flew out. “I’m not good with names,” she added.

Déjà vu, he thought, since he felt like he heard the same question before. “Cobra,” he replied shortly after. “Please do remember that, Hasegawa,” he added, to which Akari answered with a nod. “Are you here for Kuryu again?” he asked, couldn’t help it. As much as he was infatuated by her, he didn’t want Kuryu to make a move again, not in his watch.

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Just because,” she answered. “There’s a lot to unpack, actually. But in short, I was busy—well, I am always busy, then the main house called me. I thought they would give some odd jobs or whatever but all hell broke loose—don’t want to talk about it, though. It pissed me off and I ran away, somehow, here I am. How about you?”

The story didn’t add up and Cobra was unsure what happened to her. Whatever, it didn’t matter at all. What mattered was she was here and he could finally talk to her, no matter how nonsensical it may sound. “Nothing much,” he replied. “As long as Kuryu doesn’t make any movement and none of us get into trouble, we’re just chilling and doing whatever we do. We got jobs, after all.”

They walked into ITOKAN with a few pairs of eyes looking at them with curiosity. It was Cobra, walking in with a girl. The Cobra, walking in with a girl. “Is that the girl?” some people whispered to one another, curious yet they didn’t want to spoil their leader’s mood. “She’s … small,” and the whispers continued.

“So, I guess, your real surname is Hino, eh?” she asked as they sat, again at the corner with Cobra on his designated seat and Akari right next to him. The question met with a nod; his real name wasn’t a secret, but perhaps not everyone knew it since he had been Cobra for so long. “And your given name, if I may know?” she continued.

Since it wasn’t a secret, he just shrugged and said, “Junpei.”

“Basic,” she reacted with a slight chuckle, to which Cobra only smiled—and it baffled the rest of the people in the diner. “Well, who am I to judge? My name is pretty basic as well,” she replied. There’s a lot of Akaris in Japan, for sure, as well as Hasegawas. But Hasegawa Akari? She was the one and only he knows.

The conversation wasn’t as awkward as before, yet they didn’t have much to say since their life wasn’t something extraordinary and Akari didn’t want to speak openly about her family situation, neither did Cobra. In the meantime, though, they put an order to Naomi and Cobra introduced her to other Sannoh guys who are present.

But since Cobra hardly talked to girls, they were all in ITOKAN, no exception. “Stand up,” Yamato said out of nowhere—this is the same girl who hit on Naomi and somehow made him jealous. Akari shrugged and stood up, it wasn’t a great deal or so she thought. Except, it was since Yamato frowned. “How tall are you?”

“Usually, around 159 cm. But I actually only 154 cm,” she revealed, showing her thick platform shoes. “Not so tall, I know,” she added. Somehow, she could see everyone trying their best not to burst into laughter as they were all towering over her. She scowled, it wasn’t fun when everyone thought your height was funny.

 Yamato scoffed and asked, “What are you? A small bean?” He laughed over his own question, as well as the others. “I’ll call you An, then,” he added as he played a smirk on his face, to which annoyed Akari very much. The nickname wasn’t nice either, at least for her.

“Yamato-san, please have mercy on her,” Chiharu chimed in, still very much trying to hold on his laughter. The other nodded, agreeing, albeit still laughing as if it was the funniest thing on Earth. Men are weird.

“What the fuck!? Have you never seen anyone short before? So funny, huh?” she huffed, putting her hands on her hips. It didn’t look opposing to them, since she was definitely the shortest person they had ever seen. “And what the fuck with An? Fucking An? Bean? I’m not that short!” she retorted, fuming.

Dan gave her a pat on the shoulder, as if giving her reassurance—he didn’t. “You’re that short, I’m sorry,” she said.

“In fact, you’re the shortest person I have ever seen,” Tettsu added. “And you know what? I think An perfectly suits you,” he added.

The statement left Akari’s jaws dropped as she glared at them one by one. “The fuck with you all!? Men are fucking weird. This is why I don’t fuck with men because you’re just a bunch of animals. What the fuck?!” she rambled, sighing, glaring, and shaking her head. “Cobra, what the fuck with your friend?” she asked, and she soon took it back. “Whatever! You’re also a man. Your name is fucking weird and your friends are also weird. Fuck you all!”

Cobra laughed, which was quite rare, but having Akari in ITOKAN somehow felt nice. They hardly got girls around other than Naomi and Ichigo girls, this was such a good little change. There was a nudge on his side from Noboru, who took the seat after Akari stood up. “You really like her, huh?” he teased.

He knew it—Noboru just knew it from Cobra’s gaze. “I guess so,” he murmured under his breath. “It’s been a long time since I like a girl and she’s just there, for some reason,” he revealed. “I want to know more about her,” he added.

“Right,” Noboru replied. He looked at Cobra and Akari back and forth; Akari was still bickering with mainly Yamato and Cobra was just looking at him, with a smile plastered on his face. “Ask her for a date,” he suggested. “It would be worth it, I promise.”

His head tilted, looking at Noboru with a puzzled look—as if it was a weird thing to suggest. “But I told you, she’s like … princess,” he said. “Do you think she wants to go with someone like me?” he asked. “She might as well already have a boyfriend. I mean, look at her.”

This was Cobra, someone who didn’t panic even when Kuryu kidnapped him, yet he was panicking because of a girl. Funny. “If you never try, you’ll never know. Try it first. Either she accepts or rejects you, I’ll have your back,” he offered.

“Yeah.” Cobra nodded, it wasn’t a bad deal. It was rather good and he knew he would regret it if he never asked her out. “Maybe this Christmas,” he said. “Might as well go to Tokyo to see illumination,” he murmured, in which Noboru gave him a pat on the shoulder for reassurance. “I’ll try to ask her out.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↳˗ˏˋNotesˊˎ˗ ↴

Never have I ever thought of writing this long, but I did. It has been posted before on AO3 and I, somehow, forget to upload it here. But better late than never.

See you in another adventure!

Find me on another platform as well! X main acc (I talk A LOT bout HiLO, you won't get bored) X writing acc (well, mostly in Bahasa Indonesia, so not necessary) X yume acc (archive for Akari!) AO3

[signor-signor]

4th Anniversary of The Eye on the Galaxy

Released four years ago on Christmas Day, this is the one fan fiction of which I’ve become rather proud. Not only does it transition nicely between Season 2 and the still-sitting-on-the-shelf-because-the-higher-ups-assumed-nobody-was-interested-in-more-episodes Season 3, but it gives many side characters a chance to shine, even those who haven’t spoken since Season 1. I already have a background made for it. I’ll get around to making a visual for the shorts… eventually.

Just to recap, here are the shorts, their summaries, and the featured interviewees. The ones in bold were seen in The End of the Galaxy while the ones italicized remain unclear. Whoever has an asterisk (*) may be hidden in the crowd even though we cannot see them.

1. The Rulers - Andy learns about the leaders of their own people and their concerns.

King Bingleborp

The King of Flendar + the Flendarians

The King of Sherblorg 7

Beeza + the Ballzerians

Queen Zeeba (the queen from The Axe)

Prince Cashmere + the Baa-hallans

Dracor + Demurra + their guards

Destructor + his subjects (partial)

2. The Elderly - Andy speaks to some of the galaxy’s resident senior citizens.

Stella Starbella + Mittens

The lost and found guy

Trudi Traveler + her clones

The slug boss + his two custodians

Papa Doom + his gargoyle assistants

Ms. Myrtle via Eye Drone and telephone

3. The Teammates - Andy gets the scoop from various groups and troops.

Badlands Dan + his gang

Oink* + the Motorhogs

The blue and red ants

The Insurgent Generals (General Outrage, Brainz, Wild Card*, Clipper) plus a phone call from Robomechabotasquad

4. The Youth - Andy chats with some children, teens, tots, and the supervising parents.

Melodie + Angela + David + Jamie and Hank

Olive + her mother

The three slug grandkids

The rock lady + her babies

Huckleberry Knucklehead + his parents*

Camera father + camera mother + smartphone son

Teen leader + weasly teen* + obvious teen

Dracor and Demurra’s triplets

5. The Gutsy - Andy talks with the tenacious and converses with the courageous.

Ripov

Thrax + 3 cohorts + 1 other cohort*

Harvax + Stok

The slug nephew

Ryder via Eye Drone.

6. The Reformed - Andy finds out what’s next for the ex-villains/ex-tyrants.

Destructor + his subjects (continued)

Major Threat

The Black Cube + Tracy

Something the So-and-So (picked, but not started), as well as a postcard from Westley and the half-torn photo strip from The Bot

7. The Business Folks - Andy gathers information on changes in the workplace.

The Blarpee’s cashier

Okeydokian diner manager + Michelle

Apple head and lemon head bartender

Landlord + fast food manager

Garbage collector

Dr. Scrivellix (the dentist)

Clancy Shmancy + Nancy Shmancy + construction workers* + waiter

Plumber

MOGA curator

Weasel (owner of Weasel’s Watering Hole)

Okeydokian director 1

Okeydokian director 2

Hat shop owner

Locksmith

8. The Mysterious - Andy asks some extraordinary individuals how they’ll get home.

Neckbeard

5 lords of illumination (I like to think one of them had a Bloo mask on.)

Fortune teller

Mooplexians

High Gnee council + Gluteus/Todd + the buttler

Celestial star being via Eye Drone plus a brief appearance of the intergalactic guru by a holographic smoke effect

9. The Creatures - Andy has questions for the critters who sought refuge on the planetoid.

The rabbit (The Good Deed)

The pit monster (The Birthday Boy)

The fire lion (The Little Guy) - assists Andy in the next ten lines

Monster dog (The Stray)

Hoarder scorpion (The Epic Quest…)

Tigrex of Nil (The Epic Quest)

Electric birds (The Liar)

Frankenstein monster (The Heebie Jeebies)

Squills (The Wanders)

Hufflerumples (The Good Deed)

Diurnal animals (including those from The Breakfast)

Nocturnal animals (The Night)

Frederick (The Rider)

Mother and child (The Egg) via Eye Drone

Gracknore (The Good Deed) via Eye Drone

Tagathorian animals (The Enemies) via Eye Drone

Buster (The Ball) via Eye Drone

Giant worm (The Hat) via Eye Drone, which promptly gets eaten

10. The So-and-So - Andy brings an eager, but unsure, guest to his desk.

Something the So-and-So (two blips to suggest time passage)

11. The Rest - Andy speeds through the interviews with the remaining refugees.

Cluckons

Hogs (The Good Deed)

Bobbles (The Party Animal)

Zetuons (The Catastrophe)

Flankarians (The Cool Guy)

Tiki beings (The Liar)

Bunny-like beings (The Show Stopper)

Mr. Brittle + Mrs. Brittle (The Rider)

Ornament beings (The Gift)

Balloon man

Dragor the Distractible

Princess Galactia

Princess Veronicron + Jim the Neon Knight

Gelatinous Bob animatronic + Joey Protozoa animatronic + drummer animatronic

Fleeblebort* + Marsha + the two hillbilly families

Flower-headed birds (The Good Deed)

35 screens featuring distinctive incidentals from previous episodes (The Fugitives, The Box, The Nice Guy, The Time Bomb, The Helper, etc.), including the furry slug man (from The Toddler and The Night Out)

Cloaked refugees

Brad Starlight + Remora (The Hot Shot) (I did spot about one or two other ladies from that episode in a crowd close up)

Chad

Hooded refugees

Surprise appearance by Wander and Sylvia, both of whom lead the Skullship (with Hater and Peepers inside) to crash into Andy’s desk

So there you have it.

Of course, I’ve yet to know exactly who would be on the formerly secret planet and climb aboard the Star Nomad. That’s why I wish to share this information with Craig McCracken himself and gather anything that only he and the crew would know. In case you haven’t guessed by now, he has an account on Bluesky. As long as the fandom thrives, we’ll learn something new about WOY in the future. What could be more exciting?

And with that, happy holidays!

[Link to the shorts]

[jymwahuwu]

I said I'm not interested in AU but this is what popped into my head… HSR retro AU. No more space technology.

Basically you are a college student 🙈🙈🙈 Depending on whether you are an extrovert or an introvert, you may go shopping and play with your friends during the holidays, have a party, or stay comfortably at home listening to music with MP3 and cassette tapes, or reading novels on the subway.

You use a bulky computer to click on the Windows XP system, and spend hours downloading music and opening chat software. Your MSN friends list is as follows:

Jing Yuan:

Your mysterious neighbor is much older than you. You have never understood what the Xianzhou Alliance is. It is said that he kept a lion named Mimi in the yard, but every time you passed by, you thought it was just a cute cat. He'll stuff you with sweets and prepare you milk and afternoon tea, giving you advice. Well, he can also write ancient poetry. You shamelessly gave this old man your homework.

(You lie on his lap and sleep, breathing quietly.)

Aventurine & Ratio:

These two live together, are also your neighbors, professors, friends... You are not sure what their relationship is, but they quarrel every day. Aventurine is a high-level executive in IPC. Every time you visit a department store, you will whisper in your heart that this is also an IPC. He takes the bill in your mailbox every month and pays it off, very weird. His car is the most talked about in the community.

Ratio is your college professor...he is very strict about grades and academic performance. You cursed him one time and he heard you and he took you back to the office for an OTK spanking...unfortunately, it was legal. You have since become his target in class...

Sunday & Robin:

They still have halos and wings, share the same MSN account, and even the same pager. They have no privacy from each other. They are well-known brothers and sisters of the Xipe Church. They are very popular and eye-catching, attracting people's attention wherever they go. So if you are an introvert, the difference is even more pronounced haha. But both of them will approach you, in the name of kindness, with a look of concern on their face. Robin picks out clothes for you and lends you homework to copy. In return, you agree to go to church on the weekend… and help her sell cookies at the church charity sale.

Sunday provides insight into your life and schedule in the name of "for your own good". You don't know why you wrote your schedule in a notebook for him… He shows up in front of your house and listens to music with you (using the same MP3 player). You share with him a few things you learned in the sex education class, and he says that he has signed the commitment card (you: ? what is this). Promise to remain chaste until marriage… That card has an inexplicable printed pattern, with a photo of a couple holding hands, leaving you speechless. But you don’t know why you signed this commitment card under his supervision…

Dan Heng:

Your nerdy college classmate, with dragon horns (don't ask me why). He reminds you of class and exam times and lends you notes, leaving you with the last piece of cake. You always tease him until he blushes and gets angry.

Dan Feng:

Dan Heng's brother. He seems to be very traditional. You haven't seen him much and you only added him as an MSN friend.

Blade:

The mysterious old man. He seems to have a grudge against Dan Feng and Dan Heng. One time you were playing cards with Yanqing and Dan Heng. He suddenly broke into the yard, said something incomprehensible and then started fighting with Dan Feng. This scared you to death. Kafka appeared to stop him. You added Kafka friends to avoid being attacked by Blade.

Kafka:

The mysterious woman who can control Blade. You don't know who she is, but she seems to know you well and be gentle to you.

Silver Wolf:

Your college classmate has designed several computer games and won many awards at a young age, and occasionally plays cards with you. For some reason, she is very close to Blade and Kafka.