#The chapter is called all over the place. because he is all over the place. and things are all over the place <me explaining my designs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloggerspam · 2 days ago

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I'm going to try and update tomorrow and tuesday too, but im going to be actively moving again those days so I can't promise anything.

(then again, the executives arent functioning and no doubt I will be taking many many breaks....)

also im sorry for the chapters after this--sooooo sorry.

also also--thanks to @lokiitama and @crypticfen val and wes are Danny's exes in this AU.

===

"You're off your game, Fenton!" Wes jeers from the sidelines.

Danny, in the middle of throwing a punch, yells back "Keep talking and you'll be next, Weston!"

"Typical," Val grunts, kicking at Danny's side heavily. "Weston picking up my sloppy seconds as usual."

"I resent that!" Danny and Wes yell at the same time.

"We speak not of the before times." Danny huffs as he dodges another hit.

"Fuck you," Wes calls over as Val tries to sweep Danny with a low kick spin. "You're the reason he swore off women and came to me in the first place!"

"You mean me and Sam set the Bar for women, because let's face it Weston—" Val flips away from Danny's grip after Danny jumps over Val's leg and lunges in to grab her. "You're easy."

"Are you slut shaming me??" Wes shrieks incredulously, "We're dating!! What does that make you??"

"Bored." Val grits out once Danny gets in a good punch to her gut. "And too lazy for the dating scene."

"Hi, hello—" Danny grabs Val finally, tossing her effortlessly onto the matted floor. He braces himself on his knees, looking at Val where she pants spread eagle and watching Wes come over to them with water bottles. "Can we not??"

"Fine." Val and Wes say in unison. Wes sits himself beside where Val's head is, and she scooches herself up so that her head is pillowed on his lap.

Danny feels a pang in his throat. He's jealous, not of Val or of Wes, those ships have long since sailed though he still loves them dearly even if they aren't that close anymore.

He's jealous of the intimacy they have. The closeness.

He sighs and he plops himself down, bringing his knees up to rest his chin on after he takes long swigs of his water.

"Alright Fenton." Val breaks the silence, sitting up to drink her own water and leaning against Wes like it's second nature. "Spit it out."

"Spit what out?" Danny pouts. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You've got that..." Wes makes a vague gesture that means absolutely nothing to Danny, "look about you."

"The stupid one." Val continues, "where you overthink shit."

Danny huffs, capping off his water bottle and hugging his knees in closer. "I know you have a group chat with Sam and Tucker, the one where you guys talk about me when you're worried."

"Danny's 3 evil exes and Tuck." Wes nods, as if he's ever even watched Scott Pilgrim. He hasn't, by the way—Tuck and Danny keep trying to get him to but he refuses simply because he likes being an asshole. "What about it?"

"Don't tell me—is this about Red Hood?" Val smirks, capping her own bottle and tossing it away. Wes and Danny watch it roll towards their bags. "Did he ask you out? Did you kiss him? Did you let him fu—"

"Val!" Danny hisses, looking around. There's no-one around, of course. They're in one of the gyms he's conjured up at Pariah's Keep, and he's ordered the servants away during his time with his old friends.

It's become Danny's Keep, but he wants to put off any kingly duties as far away as he can. The only reason he has the gym here instead of at his lair is simply because he wanted to keep things relatively small over there—and the Observants begged him to use the Keep somehow.

People with Eyeballs for their heads should not have tear glands, is all Danny's saying.

"Oh please." Val scoff. "It's not like you're some wilting flower—Sam told me all about what you guys were up to when—"

"Val!" Danny injects a little of Phantom's voice into it, shutting her up when the Keep rattles. It's true, Danny's no prude, but that's different. It doesn't exactly please Danny whenever his escapades are talked about amongst his exes, but he supposes he's somewhat at fault for staying friends with them.

It's not truly a problem, it's just…weird. Severely weird. Val and Tucker are pretty free with that kind of thing, and Wes and Sam simply do not care one way or another.

Danny doesn't mind it, and has no problem talking about sex in an abstract way—but not when it's him, not when his friends know who he's sleeping with.

Not when it's Danny, and especially not when it's Phantom—not that any of his exes ever really explored Phantom all that much.

Val mimes zipping her lips, raising her hands up in surrender as Wes sighs heavily. "You know it embarrasses him, so why would you push?"

"It only embarrasses him when it's about a crush." Val waves off, "It never bothered him when he was single with no prospects."

"Just because you're right," Wes jabs Val in the side, "doesn't mean it makes you any more pleasant to be around. This is almost a surefire way to make him clam up."

Wes gestures over to Danny, who has indeed clammed up. He bites his lip, feeling a flush cover his face.

"Look, I'm sorry okay?" Val gentles her voice, tapping her shoe against Danny's. "You know I was just teasing. C'mon. There must be a reason you're coming to us instead of the wonder duo. What is it?"

Danny groans. "It is about Red Hood. And yes, there's a reason I came to you guys."

"Well, go on then." Wes smiles crookedly. Abstractly, Danny remembers this smile being the one that got them together in college. "Spill, space case."

"I couldn't ask Sam or Tuck because our boundaries are a little…loose." Danny hesitantly starts, which causes both of his friends to snort loudly.

"You're lucky neither of us were the jealous type." Val agrees, draping an arm around Wes' shoulders. Wes, ever the nice boyfriend, slouches so it is easier for his shorter girlfriend to do so. "But you've outgrown it a bit, haven't you?"

"Yes…" Danny sighs, "But—I just. I just couldn't remember what was normal or not."

"You're dancing around the subject." Wes says calmly, coaxing. "Tell us what happened from the beginning."

"Red Hood has been…trying to get closer to Phantom." Danny runs his hands through his hair, back and forth to soothe himself. "Tuck called it a stray cat thing. Long story short, he's been…I don't know, testing boundaries."

"Stray cat thing?" Val scrunches her nose cutely.

"Like sitting next to it, but not making eye contact?" Wes hums, thinking. "Uhm, and treats right?"

"Yeah." Danny huffs. "It made me realize I—Phantom keeps a sort of…bubble? Around everyone."

"It's about six feet, give or take." Val nods, which causes Danny to blink. She explains. "Ever since you accidentally got Tucker sick, you keep your distance in Phantom form."

"All of us knew," Wes picks up, "That's why we wear long sleeves and, well, you know—the capes."

"Jazz said pointing it out would make it worse." Val finishes, gesticulating with her hands. "We were trying to figure out some kind of solution, but we're all so scattered and busy—Tucker's kind of mad you never visit him even though you're in Gotham a lot for missions you know?"

Danny feels like tearing up, and both of them clearly can tell so they drag him over and the three of them relocate to lean against the gym wall. Danny sits snugly between them, half tempting him to transform just to siphon their warmth.

He doesn't, for obvious reasons.

"So he's trying to get closer to you by treating you like a stray cat." Wes finally breaks the silence, leaning his hand atop Danny's. "what happened after that?"

"He's been summoning me a lot, to ask questions about Realms culture." Danny fiddles with Val's fingers, with Wes', just for something to do. "A couple days ago, I went over and he—I guess he got back from a particularly rough patrol."

"He was injured?" Val guesses, to which Danny nods.

"I patched him up, and we talked. It was nice." Danny smiles, oblivious to his friends' gazes as he gets lost in the memory. "He…his magic, it makes him like me but opposite I think."

Wes hums, encouraging as Val murmurs a low "uh huh?"

"So I asked him and somehow he—" Danny scrunches up, letting go of their hands to cover his face as it burns. "He uhm, asked if we could hold hands, so we did. And—he realized we could help each other so we—cuddled."

A long silence falls over them, making Danny squirm. His friends squeeze in closer, as if to comfort, or simply to prevent him from escaping due to sheer embarrassment.

He continues, if only so the silence doesn't throttle him, whispering. "He…kissed my hand, and then his brother tumbled through the window and I ran away."

Another second, before the gym echoes with loud, bursting laughter.

Danny curls up even further, even has his friends try to uncurl him.

It's no use, Danny is stronger than both of them combined even if they weren't weak from laughter.

Danny briefly wonders if Hood did something to him, if perhaps the All-Caste magic is contagious and that's why Danny feels like he might burn to a crisp under the flush of his embarrassment.

"You're a mess over a kiss on the back of your hand??" Val breathes through her loud guffaws.

"Gods," Wes chuckles, lifting a hand to push back his hair. "What are we, in Bridgerton?"

"No, no—" Val snorts, "Hood's a regular Darcy, ain't he?"

That sets off another bout of breathless laughter.

"Are we done?" Danny deadpans, hands dropping as his embarrassment quickly drains into deadpan exhaustion. Which, he supposes, was probably the point.

"Yeah, Lizzie." Val grins, bumping her head against his. "We're done."

"So what's the problem anyway?" Wes asks, wiping a tear away and smiling widely, "Clearly he's interested, and the mishap with his brother aside, you…were…"

Wes stares at Danny, whose cheeks start to burn again. Wes jolts up, trying to make eye contact with Danny, but he shuts his eyes tight as he bites his lips.

This prompts Val to jerk away too, and he can feel their gazes burning on him. It is decidedly less pleasant than when Hood does it.

"Danny—" Val pleads, now a little distraught, "You ran away because you were caught in flagrante, Jane Austen style right? Right?"

Danny stays silent, shoulders hunching up. He wishes he could be anywhere but here.

"Danny you can't be serious." Wes slowly enunciates each and every word, words going sharp when Danny tries to cover his face again. Wes and Val each grab a hand to prevent him. "Danny—did you call us over because you don't know how you feel about Red Hood??"

Danny winces. His friends groan as they slump back into the wall.

"I don't know what's normal anymore!" Danny cries, looking at his friends desperately. "I'm friends with all my exes, my one platonic soulmate helped me figure out I was bi, we all cuddle!"

Wes and Val each look like they have something to say to that, but Danny's on a roll now.

"We hold hands." Danny stresses, jerking up said hands and shaking them in their respective faces. "I've seen both of you naked and you're dating each other now and we hold hands and the worst part is it's not weird."

Danny proper worked up now so he jumps up, pacing back and forth across the gym floor—always disturbingly shiney from how many times the servants clean the damn place even though they barely use it twice a month.

"Hood is attractive, sure, but I've always been susceptible to pretty people and on the whole it doesn't actually mean much because, like, Kwan was nice and handsome and even though there were times when he got real close and my heart stuttered I didn't actually like him romantically." Danny gesticulates, trying to convey his scattered thoughts. "And Phantom is touch starved. I vaguely knew about it but I'm a procrastinator and it turns out, the deadline for figuring that kind of thing out passed two days ago, when I was on the verge of exploding just from him holding my hand."

"We get along, and have nice conversations when he's in a conversational kind of mood, but until recently we were just colleagues, maybe, at a push, sort of friends." Danny stops, breathing heavy. He buries his face into his heads, groaning. "Red Hood treats me really well, sure. And maybe, maybe I can believe he's attracted to Phantom. But how do I know if I like him when it could be any number of things?!"

"Red Hood has fire magic and, I cannot stress this enough: Phantom is touch starved." He twirls around putting his hands out helplessly towards his friends, as if presenting these two options to them physically. "Jazz would have my hide if I went into this recklessly and…and possibly hurt Hood's feelings—he's already traumatized, has a boat load of trust and abandonment issues, and don't even get me started on his family problems."

Danny crouches down, hugging himself and feeling like he's going to cry, possibly throw up. "We don't even know each other's secret identities, and I'm not in the business of demanding anything but Hood is a Bat. Those guys can never leave well enough alone, and I don't want to resent him if he finds out and won't reveal himself in return. I don't think I will, considering the whole thing with Huntress, but I am also the guy who became evil in another timeline so what do I actually know?!"

Another silence threatens to chew Danny up, but luckily Val bulldozes through it.

"Wow. I thought maybe you tuned her out when she lectured you," Val starts, amazed and breathless, "But you really listen when Jazz talks to you about all that psychoanalysis stuff huh."

Danny, for lack of anything else to do, rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Obviously."

"I think." Wes cuts in, when Val has the gleam in her eye that precludes a tussle. "this could be an easy fix."

Both Danny and Val whip their heads towards the red-head. "Explain."

"Well, there's only two problems right?" Wes tilts his head in thought, tipping over until he's leaning into Val. "If Phantom is touch-starved, then y'know, touch people more. Compare and contrast."

"And if you think it's his fire magic—" Val continues the thread, "Ask Etrigan."

Danny blinks. "The…demon ghost guy?"

"Demon meaning hellfire and all that?" Val pauses. "Or you could ask Zatanna, since she's your fave JL Dark member. She can use fire magic, can't she? Or at least, knows someone who can."

Danny considers this. "But…Hood. How do I…"

"Danny." Wes sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Use your big boy words. If you listened to Jazz you know that you can just talk to the guy, ask for some space to figure it out—actually no, ask him what his intentions are in the first place."

"That sounds way too reasonable and logical." Danny jokes, trying for a smile and probably failing.

"You're twenty-five." Val deadpans. "Be an adult and talk about your feelings."

Danny groans as he falls back to starfish on the gym floor again. "Yuck."

Dear Darcy...

Another AU borne from the HHD server--Touch-starved DoM with identity shenanigans. Follow here on AO3!

===

It isn't until well into their acquaintanceship that Jason notices something odd about Phantom.

That's not exactly true—Jason noticed it on their third mission together in a passing thought, but decided to not care about it on account of all the bullets and daggers being thrown at him and his team at the time.

Phantom is an ally, of sorts. A consult, perhaps, Jason doesn't really know.

It's hard to really say when they still don't really know what he does.

Though, again, that's not exactly true—Jason supposes it's more accurate to say they still don't really know what he can't do.

They go to him when the supernatural is involved, introduced to them via Zatanna when Jason expressed an adamant dislike of needing to ask JL Dark for anything (needing to ask Bruce for anything).

The ghost, a big name in the so called Realms world, is friendly and happy to help most of the time. He's a delight to work with in Jason's book, seeming to use his so-called ghost sense to read the room empathically—filling in the spaces when the quiet is too dark for the team, trailing behind silent as a shadow when even breathing is too loud, staying mostly out of the way and chiming in when necessary.

It helps that if shit hits the fan, Phantom can do something about it—it helps that that's the only time Phantom will ever butt in.

The Outlaws, Jason, is still to raw to handle playing nice, but Phantom makes it easy.

Phantom makes it effortless.

It makes Jason's gut roil in ways he's not sure how to deal with, beyond shooting it.

Either way, Jason, Red Hood, isn't supposed to be here in the Realms.

It's not that he's not allowed, per say, it's just that he wasn't exactly invited to this particular corner and Jason's a Bat, sure, but even he knows the supernatural have rules.

Jason was trying to summon Phantom for a quick mission, an in and out kind of deal that may or may not have had a cult involved in it that made Jason a little leery.

Except the summons was denied, which can happen sometimes when Phantom is busy.

Only instead of the circle simply going dark, like usual, Jason got pulled in instead.

So now he's here, in what he assumes to be Phantom's lair.

It's nice, the lair, if a little dark and mood-lighted. It has a dome-like structure, with stars and constellations all over like a planetarium. There's even one of those big ass telescopes peeking out the roof like one, though it seems to only point outwards towards the green of the Realms. Symbolic, or decorative in nature.

There's bookshelves of astrology and astronomy and all sorts of science and space related things littered throughout the shelves. Every now and then the stacks of books are interrupted with some kind of LEGO space creation, or a miniature of a rocket, or some of those weird weapons Phantom sometimes pulls out.

There's a work area, neat and messy at the same time, with a work table and a large toolbox drawer set. Metal detritus is piled neatly next to it, a project or two laid out under a heavy dark blue cloth on the table to keep it from getting dusty or be moved around if Jason has to guess.

In another area, there's living room-like space with a big monitor and beanbags and soft chairs surrounding it, typical of a college dorm room-esque gaming set up. Just beside it there's a large computer that hums softly, a picture of a female werewolf acting as a screensaver.

In yet another, there's a gathering of plants of many varieties growing this way and that. Jason spots a couple he recognizes from his run-ins with Pamela, and spots a copious amount of plants he doesn't recognize of this Earth. Ghost plants, he's assuming, from the glow of them.

There is even, curiously, one of those "at-home" basketball games that can fold away reminiscent of the ones you can see at the arcade with a couple miniature basketballs. Beside it, some kind of sleek mechanical looking surfboard rests against the wall in metallic reds and black with another toolbox set hidden just behind where it leans.

The kitchen area has a fridge that's absolutely covered in magnets from all over the world, a picture in crayon that is disconcertingly good pinned up here or there signed by someone named Ellie.

And then, of course, the main draw at the center of the room: a bed of sorts, stacked with pillows and blankets and assorted plushies of varying sizes.

Buried within is Phantom himself, huddled up in a nest of pillows and breathing heavy, angelic face flushed green the way a human would in fever. Jason, for the first time since meeting the halfa, truly wonders extensively how much the he isn't telling them.

Which brings Jason back to the odd thing.

Well, the odd thing that Jason is focusing on right now:

Phantom, contrary to his self-proclaimed ghostly nature, is very solid.

More than that, he's very, utterly, alive.

It's all the more apparent when Jason takes off one of his gloves to feel Phantom's forehead, the way Bruce would when Jason was Robin.

The way Jason wishes he could with his family.

Jason realizes, with the kind of starkness that comes from a photo flipbook of memories cascading through him, that he's never touched Phantom before. Not skin to skin or outside of a spar, and never like this.

He realizes, as the pocket book extends to not just him but his team-mates as well, that Phantom's never touched anyone before.

Always hovering just 6 feet away, like quarantine.

Like the depth of a grave.

Phantom is not quite hot to the touch, as Jason expects he would be. He had suspected a fever, of a sort. But he supposes it makes sense that a ghost would run cold, considering.

In the first place, Jason's not sure what possessed him to touch the ghost—he doesn't even have a baseline temperature to compare to so there's no real point.

He's not sure what possessed him to think this was okay, touching an ally like this without consent.

Not when his touch has never been welcomed, especially not when he's Red Hood.

He's just about to pull his hand away, careful not to wake the ghost, when Phantom starts to purr.

It rattles through him, like it's not used to being let out, as Phantom nuzzles at the tips of Jason's fingers.

As if Jason's touch was wanted, as if it comforts the ghost, as if Phantom wants nothing more.

As if this very hand didn't burn buildings to the ground, didn't shoot men into the fathoms, didn't carry bloody duffle bags, didn't fucking hurt hurt hurt.

Jason withdraws his hand carefully, gliding as gently as he can manage, breathing slow and deep.

He's been trained bloody enough to know pulling back in knee-jerk reaction can give things away.

He does not want Phantom to know he touched him.

Jason puts his glove back on, tight and unforgiving, and steps back.

He flexes his hand once, twice. Shakes it, before forcefully relaxing every muscle, trying to melt away the cold traces of Phantom's skin on his.

He clears his throat once, twice a little harsher, until Phantom mewls and blinks glowing green eyes up at him. His gaze is hazy with fever, soft like feathers, child-like in confusion.

And here, another odd thing Jason has not noticed until now:

When did Phantom's Lazarus green eyes become comforting?

When did Phantom's watery green eyes become forgiving?

#danny is going though it #must be rough being the more emotionally competent one in a low EQ averaged couple #seriously from here on theres plot and low key i am sorry about it #cuz theres gonna be angst and healing hopefully #touch starved dead on main #dead on main #my writing #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #red hood #darcy au

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girlwithadragonheart · 19 hours ago

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Ptolemaea

Eddie x Volt x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your house is so quiet now that everyone is gone… (Who will protect you now?)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: RAPE!! If this is triggering to you DO NOT READ it is EXPLICITLY WRITTEN AND DESCRIBED, and not in a kinky way.

A/N: I read several chapters of @/Deliciousfreesample ‘s fic on Ao3 titled “I’m Still Here (Even If You Guys Aren’t)”, which was absolutely heartbreaking, friend if you’re here on tumblr hiiii I love your fic. Anyways, it was very Dorian centric with other mentions of characters, but I was inspired to write this based on that but Eddie/Volt centered with only small mentions of the others. Also much more traumatizing.

Sorry not sorry

Masterlist

You never knew your house could feel so… empty. Even before the dateviators came into your life, there had been some underlying hum of energy to your home. It’s why everything was so unsettling when the power went out. Why it was hard to sleep without the hum of your AC unit or electricity flowing through the walls to every light, outlet, and appliance in the house.

And when you had gotten the dateviators, that underlying life in your home made more sense. Because these things were alive, and you never knew it. It took some getting used to. Knowing you were constantly being watched, and it wasn’t just your paranoia. But as the days went on, and you lost your job, you had come to rely on the companionship of the various objects in your home.

If you knew your breaker box housed two extremely sexy men, you would’ve tried to jump its wires a hell of a lot sooner.

But now…

Everyone was gone. They all left to start their own lives outside of your home. You knew you would miss them, but it wouldn’t have been right to not offer them their own chances to a life. Even if you didn’t willingly take yours by the reins, it was wrong to withhold it from them when you so blatantly had the power and the keys—well, you did, before Keith jumped out of a plane. Fucking lying ass, manipulative ass bastard. You understood Dorian’s wish to remain friends after seeing what he went through with Keith.

It wasn’t like you never saw any of them anymore. And you still messaged and called them whenever you could, and they were always quick to update you on how things were going. But, it wasn’t the same. And it made your heart very heavy very quickly.

Being prone to depression and depressive episodes didn’t help, surely, but even beyond that…

You missed your friends. You had gotten so used to everyone being just a few steps away, and now some of them were hundreds of miles away.

Not to mention how much you missed your boyfriends. They made it a point to stop by when they were near and spend a couple days with you, but their newly established Real Estate company took them all over the state. Sometimes even out of state.

You missed your nightly visits to the Breaker Box, and the gathered crowd of friends inside. Whether it was Johnny Splash’s off-key singing or Jean-Loo’s “crapping”, it was like home to you. Home inside your home, rather.

You had to get out of this house. You thought about inviting Sam or Beverly, but your best friend had already dealt with the brunt of your bad mood for the last several weeks and Beverly was running her own bar now.

Actually… Her bar was fairly close by, now that you thought about it. You could certainly think of worse places to be. You could definitely take a drink or five right about now.

So you donned your real clothes and your boots and jacket and headed out down the street. It was already getting dark out, but you weren’t in a rush.

The sight of the bar was warm and truly welcome. It was full to the brim, however, and when you approached the bar, the best Bev could do was make your favorite drink and slide it to you before dealing with some other customer.

You weren’t a fan of strong liquor before Eddie, but you had acquired the taste for it over time as he made you some of his own favorite drinks. No offense to Beverly, but her whiskey sour didn’t taste nearly as good as Eddie’s. It was probably the exact same ingredients and ratios, but your feelings said otherwise.

There were people all around you. Some touching, others pushing. There was a sweet man beside you who said he would cover your tab because you looked so down. He didn’t know your drinks were always on the house. Bev made sure your glass was never empty, though.

You talked to him a little bit here and there. He said he was trying to take care of his daughter because her mother left him. You told him how alone you felt, and his pretty words made you feel warm and giddy. He was right, you didn’t deserve to be all alone in a bar late at night with strangers surrounding you.

You noticed he still wore his wedding ring, and that fact alone almost brought you to tears. If you had anything of your boys’ you would never take it off. You got deep in your cups, and eventually Bev cut you off. You shot her a glare when she slid you a glass of water, and she just frowned, her brows creasing in pity.

The man beside you had a solid touch, his hand on your back as he offered to walk you home, saying no woman should be left alone in the dark streets. Your rational mind probably screamed at you, especially as you accepted the offer, but drunk minds are never reasonable, and emotions can lead you to dark places.

The man kept his arm around your waist as you stumbled home with him. You weren’t going to sleep with him. Amp only knows no one could satisfy you like your lovers, and you would never hurt them by sleeping with someone else. But his touch was warm and his presence was grounding in the chill of the dark and lonely night.

Turning to thank him for walking you home, he smiled. Your vision swam as you moved to shut the door, but he shoved his foot in it, forcing his way into your home, into your space before closing and locking the door behind him. In your mind you were begging Dorian to kick him out. The gentleman that you thought you had come to know throughout the night had a glint in his eyes.

Were those his eyes? The edges of your vision were blackening, a hazy vignette that made you squint to focus your gaze. He moved closer, invading your space.

“Stop…” You said, backing up only for your heel to hit Stella—only she wasn’t here. And neither was Dorian. Or Eddie, or Volt, or or or… Anyone. There was no one here but you… and him.

You barely felt the pain in your achilles as you lost your balance, slamming into the stairs without grace. Your heart was pounding, and your head spun. This felt different from just being wasted. You had been trashed many times before, but this…

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you,” the man stepped between your sprawled legs as you fought to find some kind of equilibrium to cling to.

Your breaths came fast, but the world was moving so slow. “Sto… Stop,” You breathed, feeling like the walls were closing in. Your mouth and throat felt like sandpaper as you swallowed. “Stop.”

“Shh, shh, doll, it’s okay.” A rough, calloused hand caressed your face, and you wanted to vomit. Your insides twisted up in disgust as his disgusting musk invaded your senses. Hands. His hands were everywhere, all over, touching everything that wasn’t meant for him.

Vaguely, you recognized the way your tights were being ripped and your skirt pushed haphazardly up around your waist. Fingers poking and prodding to see if what he wanted was accessible. The ripping of your underwear to get what he desired. You could only lay there, screaming in your mind as the drug took over your system. Even as your tongue tried to form words, it felt heavy and swollen in your mouth. Like you might choke on it if you weren’t careful.

Somewhere between hyperventilating and not breathing, the only sound that left your mouth was a scream as your body was violated. Pain radiated throughout your being. Your shoulder blades and hips were shoved against the harsh angles of the stairs. Ripped tights and scratches on your thighs. Countless bruises from rough hands.

You don’t know how long it lasted. You know he didn’t pull out. If you had any sense of self you would’ve vomited. You didn’t know where you ended and he began.

When he was done, he pulled your pretty skirt back down and brushed your hair out of your face before kissing your temple. “Good night, princess,” he whispered before exiting through the front door.

You couldn’t move. You tried. Your stomach churned, and you swallowed it down. You could feel him leaking out of you. You didn’t realize you wet yourself until the warmth set in. Still, you didn’t have it in you to move. Your vision faded to black as your eyes crossed. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wished that the drug had taken effect earlier.

—————————

Your head was pounding and your body ached. A deep ache that could only be compared to a bad period cramp. Your heart was pounding as you sat up, your tailbone crying in protest from your position on the stairs. Your tights stuck to your thighs uncomfortably, and when you looked down, tears flooded your vision. There was dried blood staining the stairs along with half dried urine and a mix of other fluids.

Your stomach churned violently, and you tried to stand, only making it a half turn up the stairs before collapsing to your knees. You heaved, bringing up all the contents of your stomach from the day before. You could barely breathe through your cries.

The only traction that pushed you up the stairs was the boots you were wearing. With shaking hands and a ravaged frame, you pulled yourself up the stairs. You didn’t know where you were going until you found yourself in front of the open door to the upstairs hall closet.

…Your breaker box.

The first sob heaved its way out of your chest as you curled up against the wall. What would’ve been the door to The Breaker Box before everyone had left you. Bitter and lonely and hurting, you cried. Clutching your knees to your chest and openly wailing. Your despair echoed around the confines of your empty house.

When you were able to quiet down a little bit, you pulled out your phone, dialing the only number you knew by heart.

It rang for two seconds before he picked up. “Live wire! We were just thinking about you, how did you know? Good morning, how are you? How are things? We’re just about—”

“Volt,” You said quietly, your voice cracking.

He immediately fell silent. “What’s wrong?” He asked, concern flooding his tone. It was enough to make you choke out a sob. “Eddie!” He called away from the phone microphone. You could hear your other boyfriend grumble from down the hall somewhere. “We have to go. Now.” Something about the finality of his tone had Eddie showing up only a few seconds later.

“Spark, what’s wrong?”

The tears were still in free fall and you sniffled, trying to breathe so you could explain it to them. No matter what you did, the words didn’t come. “I… I can’t. I just…”

“Are you safe?” He asked immediately.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m… at home,” you whispered. “Please, just…”

“We’ll be there within the hour, darling, sit tight, okay?” Volt answered.

“Just stay on the phone,” Eddie said. “We’re on the way.” You could hear the huff of exertion in his voice and the sound of a truck door shutting.

“Eddie’s driving, love, I’ve got the phone, alright?”

“Okay…” You whispered, fighting to keep your breathing in check.

“Take a deep breath, darling.” He took his own on that end of the receiver and you copied as best you could, sniffling and hiccuping in between.

You don’t know how long you sat there, trying to just breathe with him before you heard the front door open. Fear seized in your chest at the sound, and you tried to calm your racing heart, knowing it was just your boys.

***

They didn’t know what to expect upon entering your home. The strong smell of urine was in the air, and Volt could see the half dried puddle on the stairs. The two made eye contact and nodded. Eddie moved toward the downstairs bathroom to find cleaning supplies and Volt stepped around the mess and headed up the stairs.

“Live wire?” He called out, hearing quiet cries from his right. As he turned down the hall, he saw you curled up in the closet in front of the Breaker Box. He knew you couldn’t see the bar itself anymore now that Skylar was realized. You flinched as he rounded the corner.

You didn’t look at him when he crouched to inspect you. Mascara ran down your cheeks, and your hair was tangled. Bruises covered your limbs, and your hands were clenched in your skirt, seemingly pulling it down.

“Spark?” Volt gently put his hand out toward you, and you shrunk away like a frightened animal. He hovered his hand in the air above yours until you slowly relaxed and allowed his warm touch.

At the contact, you looked up at him, tears running down your face.

“Let me see, darling,” Volt coaxed gently, smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand. “It’s alright.”

He gently squeezed your hand and you released your skirt. You pulled away from his touch, covering your face with your hands as he lifted your skirt. The rips in your tights ran in splits down to your knees. He saw your blood soaked underwear and abused nether regions. His hands shook with fury as he pulled your skirt back down.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, love.” Before you have time to think about it, you’re wrapped up in his arms, and he’s carrying you to your bathroom.

You were trembling in his grasp, but Volt held you tightly to his chest. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him like he was your only lifeline. There was a deep ache in your chest, and you wished you could cry again, but you had no tears left to shed.

He didn’t let go of you as he bent down to run the bath. Even knowing none of this was really your fault, the stone of guilt was heavy in your gut. “Can you stand, spark?” Volt asked you quietly.

“I…” You weren’t sure. “I can try,” you whispered, your throat beyond hoarse.

“Alright. I’m going to put you down. Grab onto the sink for me to steady yourself.” You did as he instructed while he carefully set you onto your feet. “There you go. Can I help you out of those clothes?”

You swallowed, nodding. Gently, he gripped the hem of your shirt, guiding it up over your head. Your hair fell back over your shoulders as he tossed the garment to the side. You winced as he brushed one of your bruises in the same place as your bra. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head as he undid the hooks and pulled it down your arms, throwing it to the side as well.

Volt knelt down in front of you, pressing his lips to your sternum softly as he pulled your skirt down to your ankles. Holding it open, he held your calf and you shifted your weight as he pulled your leg out and then repeated the motion on the other side, leaving you in nothing but your boots and ruined tights.

Practically eye level with the brunt of the defilement, your muscles were tense, and you looked away from him, mouth turning down as he rested his forehead against your stomach.

Eddie wiped his freshly washed hands on a hand towel before tossing it into your pile of dirty laundry in the corner. When he turned the corner toward the bathroom, the first thing he saw was Volt kneeling, the soft shake of his shoulders the only indication he was barely holding it together.

When he looked up, he met your gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears and ruined makeup staining your cheeks. Your brows furrowed, and you looked to the other door, avoiding both of them.

Volt leaned back on his heels, hands holding your thighs delicately, as though afraid you might break right in front of him. As though you already had.

It felt like you had.

You crossed your arms over your chest, and Eddie finally saw the damage done to you without Volt in the way.

“Oh, Amp…” His voice rumbled in his chest as he stepped toward you both slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered instinctively.

Volt’s hands tightened on your legs, and you finally looked at him. Slow tears dripped down his cheeks, his normally bright white eyes missing their light. Eddie grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him. The gruffness of it made you flinch, but he didn’t waver. “Jesus, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.” He said it like a prayer. Like a plea.

A fresh wave of tears overtook you and a sob bubbled past your lips as you held his steel gray gaze. Cold and hard, only warmed by his concern and anger for what happened. “I couldn’t stop him,” you whispered.

“Shit,” Eddie muttered. “I know… I know.” He moved his touch from your face to wrap his arms around your frame, holding you tight to him, one hand burrowed in your hair, stroking gently and slowly untangling small knots.

Whereas Eddie held your torso, Volt wrapped his arms around your waist, head resting against your stomach. You kept one arm around Eddie, your free hand moving to rest on Volt’s head, finally feeling some semblance of safety.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie mumbled beside your ear.

“I know,” you said quietly.

“No, you don’t. It’s not your fault,” he repeated, holding you tighter.

You wept, tucking your nose into his neck. After a moment, Volt pulled away, and you felt him tugging at the laces on your boots before twisting to shut off the bath water.

“Let’s get you in there,” Eddie said, finally pulling away from you. He kept your hand in his so you could brace on him for stability with your shaking legs.

Volt pulled your boots off your feet before hooking his fingers in the waistband of your tights. “Ready?” He asked gently.

You nodded and closed your eyes as he peeled the garment down your legs and pulled your feet out of it. He balled the tights up and threw them in the waste bin before his hands gripped your hip, rubbing soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs.

“There now, darling,” he said softly.

“Let’s not waste the hot water,” Eddie told you, and you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the bath as Volt got off the floor. You held onto both of Eddie’s hands as you stepped into the bath, slowly sitting down.

You hissed as the water hit your nether regions, but the warmth slowly soothed the ache in your core. The wrinkle between your brows gradually eased as you let yourself relax for the first time in hours.

Eddie and Volt shared a glance, Volt stepping out to grab a folding chair before setting it up beside the bath. Volt had gotten better with his aquaphobia since becoming realized, but he still had no desire to touch it unnecessarily. Eddie grabbed a washcloth and soap from the cabinet under the sink and knelt beside the tub as Volt took a seat and held your hand.

“I’m going to clean you up, alright? Just try to relax for me,” Eddie told you gently as he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back as his hands dipped into the water with the washcloth before he applied soap to the rag. You stayed as still as possible as his touch ran along your skin. You only tensed when his hands dipped between your thighs, but Volt soothed his thumb over the back of your hand and ran his other hand through your hair.

“There you go, little wire, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, darling, it’s alright.” Volt continued sending calming words and praises your way as Eddie cleaned you up.

“Sit up for me, okay?” You opened your eyes to see Eddie filling a small pitcher with bath water. “Tilt your head back– yeah, just like that, good girl.” One of his hands shielded your face as he poured the warm water over your hair and made sure it was thoroughly soaked before rubbing your shampoo between his hands and lathing it through your hair.

Your breathing had evened out, and you allowed your eyes to close again even as Eddie moved the water with his ministrations and dumped more water over your head before conditioning the tangles out.

“Do you want to get out or would you like to stay here for a little while?” Volt asked you as Eddie finished up.

“I think if I stay here I’ll fall asleep,” you said truthfully, your words coming much easier now.

“Let’s get you into some dry clothes then, darling,” he said with a small smile gracing his lips. The first since you initially called him. Eddie hung the washcloth on the far end of the tub and set the pitcher on the floor before standing and pulling you up.

You were glad for the small smile that appeared on your own face as Volt reached tensely into the tub and pulled the drain stopper. He let out a tense breath before wiping his hand dry and relaxing again.

He caught your gaze as you stepped out, smiled, and winked. “Anything for you, love.”

The words warmed your heart and eased the lingering guilt in your chest. He truly did mean those words. And to think you had been so upset and desperate about being alone that you put yourself in danger.

Volt grabbed the softest towel from the cabinet before gently pat-drying you and wrapping you up in it. He lifted you off your feet and pressed a kiss to your cheek as the three of you headed back to your bedroom.

Eddie pulled open the drawers of your dresser and pulled out a pair of your sleep shorts and underwear before moving to the closet and grabbing the baggiest shirt you own. “This good?” He asked, holding the items up for your inspection. He truly had learned you in his time with you, picking up on your tastes whether it was alcohol or clothing.

You smiled and nodded as Volt set you on the edge of the bed. He pulled the towel off your body and started drying your hair gently, stepping out of Eddie’s way.

The dark haired man knelt to slide your underwear and shorts up your legs as far as they would go without you standing. When Volt had finished, you stood, adjusting the clothing to be in the right places for comfort before pulling on your t-shirt that came almost to your knees and covered your shorts.

Volt helped you get settled in bed, curling himself up behind you before pulling the blankets over both of you. Eddie shook his head at the both of you with a fond smile.

“Dorian is on his way over to install new locks and a security system,” Eddie told you.

“You go deal with him, I’ll be here with our live wire,” Volt told him. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“He just says that…” you reassured him before a yawn overtook you. The boys shared a look, but you didn’t care what it meant as you felt your system finally winding down from the lingering adrenaline.

“I love you, live wire,” Volt muttered softly as he pressed his lips to your still wet hair.

Eddie leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The closest thing to a love confession for him. “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he said.

And as you drifted off, you had the lingering thought that things might be okay.

A/N: I don't even know or care if people will read this, I was possessed at 10pm by the angst demon last night so I finished this up today. It's not edited, idc.

Let me know if you want to be on the Breaker box boys tag list!

Tags: @hawke1917

Starry banner by @/cafekitsune

I love you guys. If you’ve ever been through this I’m proud of you for still being here. You are loved. It is not your fault. The things that happened to us will not break us. My inbox and DMs are always open if you want to talk 🫶

That’s all thank you!

104 notes · View notes

e1e4n0r5 · 5 hours ago

Text

Got a Lil Sugar: Chapter 1

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Sugar Mommies Cait & Vi x Sugar Baby Reader

Words: 3184

Synopsis: In dire financial straits, you ask your friend Mel for advice. Unfortunately you have a rocky start.

Warnings: Financial distress, mentions of illness, discussions of sex work, creeps on the internet, lesbian reader has to flirt with men

Notes: Sex work is a very complicated industry with a lot of nuance. There are positives, and there are negatives. This fic does not shy away from the negatives, and there will be times when Reader is uncomfortable. I know this fic is just a smutty piece of fiction, but I don't want to glamorise what can be, at times, a very difficult job. Please read, and enjoy, at your own discretion.

The cappuccino in front of you was the prettiest, most luxurious thing you’d seen all week, all perfect foam and dusted chocolate, served in a ceramic cup you couldn’t afford to break.

You could barely afford the bus ride home.

Across from you, Mel sat with her phone face-down on the polished wooden table, perfectly at ease in her designer coat, and heels that probably cost more than your rent. She smiled faintly, like she always did when she saw you looking at the little gold bracelet on her wrist or the new bag over her shoulder.

“Stop staring,” she teased, blowing across her own latte.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “I’m not. Not like that. I just…It’s nice. You look as nice as always. You look happier too?”

Mel quirked a brow, amused. “I’ve got a new Daddy, he’s so nice. Actually cute, too.”

You laughed at that, because she always said it so breezily, like it was just another line on her résumé.

Mel Medarda: Professional Sugar Baby of 5 years, references available on request, glowing reviews.

When the barista swung by with the cheque (because this place was fancy enough that you didn't have to pay up front) Mel waved you off when you reached inside your bag. “Oh no, sweetheart, this is on me,” she said. “New Daddy’s footing the bill. He’d be so upset I let you pay.”

You smiled and said ‘thank you’, but something in your chest twinged as she signed the receipt, even though you knew you couldn’t afford the drink anyway.

“Mel…” you started, watching her tuck the receipt away.

“Hmm?”

“How…How did you get into this?”

Her head tilted slightly. “Into…?”

“This,” you gestured at her designer coat, her perfect nails, the delicate gold decorating her wrist. “You know…Being a Baby. Or whatever you call it.”

That got you a full grin. She leant back in her chair, drumming her nails on her coffee cup in amusement. “Why so curious?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I need money.”

Her face immediately sobered, sitting forward again.

“My rent’s due in three days and I'm more than half short. They're putting it up next month too, and I don’t have the new difference leftover each month. My account’s barely holding two figures as it is. Plus, my bills are almost overdue; the insurance company is gouging my pay for the medical bills, and the interest is constantly climbing…” You rubbed your temples, stressed tears starting to form in your eyes.

Her face softened. “Angel, I could help you-”

You shook your head firmly. “No. No, absolutely not. I’m not taking your money.”

“Well, how much do you need? I’m doing really well-”

You couldn’t help but scoff lightly. “Six figures, Mel. And I don’t just mean 100k.”

Her hands clenched around her mug. “Fuck cancer.”

“Well, I did,” you smiled. You toasted your cups together in celebration of the battle you fought for two years and ultimately won.

But it was time to finally swallow your pride.

“Things are just really bad right now and I don't know what else to do. Plus, I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like. You make it look so…”

“Easy?” Mel supplied, laughing. “It is, most days. But it won’t be at the start,” she warned.

You sipped your cappuccino just to have something to do with your hands.

“Do you think,” you ventured, “Someone like me could even do it? I mean, I don’t have a designer wardrobe or whatever.”

Mel studied you for a moment, eyes a little sharper now. Then she shook her head with a low chuckle. “Oh, angel, being a Baby isn’t about already having all the pretty things. That’s what they’re for.”

She leant in across the table, her voice becoming warm and gentle as she held your hand. “I’ll help you. Show you the ropes, set up a profile for you, coach you through it.”

Your heart skipped a little. “I’m serious,” you said quietly. “I really need the money. I trust you.”

Mel grinned like the cat who caught the canary, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “You’re going to be just fine. Let’s finish our drinks and then go back to your place. We’ll get you started tonight.”

The door to your apartment stuck, like it always did, and you had to give it a little shove with your shoulder before it finally swung open.

“I always hated this place,” Mel groaned, stepping inside behind you and glancing around. “Why did we let you move in here?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, kicking your shoes off and placing them on the wobbly little shoe rack by the door. “It was all I could afford when I moved.”

She shook her head, looking at the cramped living room with its thrift store couch, second-hand rug with a hole in it, and one too-small window that barely let in any light. “We’re getting you out of here. Alright,” she said, setting her tote down on the coffee table, “Let's get to work.”

You sank into the couch and opened your laptop, as Mel sat elegantly beside you, already pulling out her phone and opening an app.

“Rule number one,” she started, holding it up like a teacher, “This isn’t a dating app. You are not here looking for a girlfriend, or a wife, or your soulmate. You are here to provide companionship and affection – and maybe more, if you’re comfortable – in exchange for being financially taken care of. Period. It’s okay to like the people, but do not get attached.”

You nodded, leaning in as she scrolled through an app.

On her screen was a slick, clean-looking interface with profiles. Every profile had photos, some with nothing but a name, others had a few teasing lines. You catch glimpses of headlines like “Looking to spoil someone special”, “Discreet arrangements only”, “Full sex services available”, and more than one bio that makes your ears burn.

Mel started showing you how it worked – how to set up your own bio, how much detail to give, what pictures are best to use, and how to keep your boundaries crystal clear from the start.

“So, to start off, you should include a close-up photo of your face; a full body shot; something a bit sexier but not too much; then – now, don’t freak out about this – your feet too.”

You gawked at her. “My feet?!”

She shrugged. “Feet is one of the most common kinks out there. I know Babies who only do feet content, and they’re loaded.”

“But I don’t want to do…Foot stuff,” you grimaced.

She raised an eyebrow. “What if someone offered you $100 just for a single photo?”

You paused, remembering the numbers on your debt spreadsheet. “Okay, feet too. Got it.”

Mel chuckled. “What’s your age limit? Realistically speaking. Not necessarily for full sugar, but what could you realistically be comfortable with chatting to, or going on dates with?”

“What’s yours?” you asked.

“I don’t have one. There are some lovely widowers out there who just want companionship. It might be worth leaving it quite high, but it’s up to you. Plus, you can also choose what you’re willing to provide based on age when you talk to people.”

You had to admit that was reasonable. Plus, you weren’t really in a position to be choosey. “Okay, no limit,” you adjusted the setting on your new profile.

“And – here’s the hard question – are you willing to include men?”

You couldn’t help but grimace.

“I know you’re a lesbian, sweetheart, but if you’ve got bills to pay and medical debt to work through, could you face sending some flirty messages to men if it earns you some spoils? Plus the majority of Sugars are men, you’d be cutting off a huge portion of potential benefactors.”

You pondered again, wringing your hands together. “Just messages?”

“Remember, you can always choose how you interact with each person individually,” Mel advised. “It’s your choice. But what if you come across a man wants to give you $50 a day for a sexy photo? You could always tell him that you won’t want to meet up in person.”

You weren’t happy about it, but you ticked all the boxes for sex and gender.

“Never say you’re ‘open to anything,’” she warned, clicking through a few examples. “Even the most confident, experienced Babies have limits; everyone has limits. Manage their expectations from the start. Next: be sweet, be charming, but also make sure they know that you know your worth. No desperation, no haggling, and always let them come to you. You’re doing them a favour by letting them take care of you. If you say a photo is $100, it’s $100; not 80, not 75. Do. Not. Haggle,” she said firmly, wagging her finger at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Got it. No hagglers.” You were quiet for a moment, watching her scroll and type as a message came through on her profile. Then, hesitantly, you asked, “How do you tell the real ones? You know, from the scammers and the creeps?”

Mel actually grinned at that, like she’d been waiting for you to ask.

“Good girl,” she said approvingly. “That’s rule number two. Trust your gut, and don’t believe anybody who promises big money right away. Someone offering 10k for your first date and another 10k every week after that? Not real. Real Mommies and Daddies don’t flash cash in the first message. They ask about you. They care about what you want. They respect your limits. Scammers, on the other hand?”

She snorted, flipping through her inbox and showing you a couple of examples: ridiculous promises of thousands a week just for texting, requests for bank info before even meeting, weird links they say you need to click in order to get paid.

“Block. Block. Block,” she said with a tap of her manicured finger. “Anybody who pressures you to move off the app too soon? Block. Anybody who can’t spell ‘allowance’? Block. Anyone who complains about the vetting process? Block. Remember: the good ones want to be vetted. It shows them you’re being safe.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at her attitude: sharp and sure, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Mel noticed your look and smirked. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “You’re just really good at this.”

“Damn right I am.”

She pointed to your laptop and nodded at the empty profile. “Alright, sweetheart. Time to write your bio. Start with something sweet: one or two lines about you, what you’re looking for, and what you want in return. Be honest but keep it classy.”

Mel helped you write your bio and choose pics from your gallery – though you did have to take a fresh feet pic, cringing the whole time. By the time Mel finished tinkering with your profile, you were already emotionally exhausted.

“See?” she purred, nudging your shoulder with hers as you sat side by side on your sagging couch. “That’s a good start. Sweet, just a little flirty, and clear about your boundaries.”

You swallowed, rereading the words she helped you craft.

Looking for someone who knows how to take care of what’s theirs. I’m attentive, affectionate, and eager to please. Not looking for one-night stands. Photos/videos/voice notes available for tips. Open to discussing arrangement details once vetted.

Mel winked at you as you hit “Publish” on your profile and grinned at the little blue tick that came up next to your name once the system finished checking your details. She got up and poured the two of you a rum and cola – both ingredients the cheapest the store offered – to celebrate.

And then, not five minutes later, the first messages started coming in.

She stayed with you for another couple of hours, lounging with her legs curled up under her, one perfectly manicured finger flicking at your screen now and then to help you compose polite declines or playful replies.

hi bb u like cashapp? – Block.

Can I send you pics? – Block.

I wanna own u – Block and report.

But there were a few nicer ones – men and women who seemed polite enough, who asked how your day was going and didn’t jump straight to nudes or numbers. Mel made you save a few of them to look at later, and for a little while, sitting there next to her, you even felt a little excited.

When Mel’s phone buzzed with a sharp little chime, her expression shifted into something sly. “That’s my cue,” she said, gathering up her coat. “New Daddy’s taking me out tonight. Are you going to be okay? I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You nodded automatically, though the pit in your stomach was already forming as you watched her leave.

“You’ve got this, sweetheart,” she said at the door, hugging you tightly and kissing your forehead. “Just remember what I told you. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, and don’t you dare settle for less than you deserve.”

And then she was gone.

The quiet in your apartment felt loud after that.

You curled up on the couch with your phone and tried to keep up the same energy Mel had drilled into you – polite, charming, firm – but after the first few hours on your own, it all started to wear you down.

So many of the messages were gross. Or pushy. Or straight-up insulting.

You should be grateful for whatever I give you

girls like u don’t get to make demands

Send pics now or I’m blocking

Come over tonight and I’ll test drive you

You blocked. And blocked. And blocked again. But each one chipped away at you just a little more.

And before long, your eyes were stinging, your throat tight, your stomach rolling.

For the first time you let yourself wonder what your parents would say. Not that they’d spoken to you in years. You couldn’t think about them. You couldn’t let the guilt and shame settle in and fester. You didn’t deserve that.

You looked back to your laptop again. Messages kept pouring in.

A new one blinked at the top: Baby, you’ve gone quiet. Can I spoil you a little more?

You stared at the words for a long time, fingers hovering over the keys. Your cheeks burned, but your bank account was growing, and your rent was due.

So, you took a breath. And you typed back:

Yes please, Daddy

The next morning brought more messages.

You woke up to the little notification bubble glowing on your phone screen – 48 new messages overnight, some payments made to your new cash app account that Mel had told you was safe for Babies to use.

You read through all the messages, your mood already feeling conflicted.

Most of them were basically the same thing: Good morning, gorgeous. Did you sleep well? Hope you have a good day. I sent you $20, did you get it?

Which was nice. But then you got the others:

What would it cost to see that body without the dress?

How much for a quick video of you moaning my name?

Why don’t you show me those tits and I’ll send you something

Some of the spoils in your account were for small requests - $10 for a video of you brushing your teeth. $30 for your skincare and makeup routine. $10 for a little ‘outfit of the day moment’. All of those you fulfilled as you got ready for work.

On the bus to work you scrolled through the rest of them, trying to keep your face neutral despite the stranger sitting beside you who definitely glimpsed over at your inbox.

You started typing out polite no’s, or simply blocking the ones that made your stomach twist.

By your lunch break, you already felt frayed.

One man had offered $100 if you filmed yourself ‘doing something fun’ with a pillow between your thighs.

You didn’t want to reply to that one. But you had bills to pay, so you messaged back with some clarifying questions – how long did he want the video? What did he want in it? What exactly was he looking for?

Your coworkers chatted around you at lunch while you anxiously picked at your crappy sandwich of cheap bread and even cheaper jam, trying to shake the hot embarrassment off your skin.

When you finally got home that evening, the weight of the day hit you all at once. You dropped your purse on the couch, sat down at your little kitchen table, and buried your face in your hands.

The screen of your phone lit up again and again as you left it face-down on the table, little dings marking incoming requests, compliments, and demands.

You felt dirty. And tired. And angry with yourself for feeling dirty, when you knew this was exactly what you’d signed up for.

Your phone buzzed again, and you forced yourself to flip it over. Another message:

Princess, you there? Don’t leave me hanging. I already sent you the money. You owe me.

Your chest tightened at that word. Owe.

You shoved the phone away and leaned back in your chair.

You were glad Mel couldn’t see you now, sitting in her your apartment, blinking back tears, feeling smaller than ever.

You whispered to yourself, “You need the money. You can do it.”

But even then, you weren’t sure you believed it.

You stood under the spray of hot water far longer than you needed to.

The steam clung to the cracked mirror, the air thick and wet, and still you lingered, scrubbing your arms, your neck, your chest like you could somehow wash off everyone else’s words.

You felt gross. Not so much for what you’d actually done – a few tame photos of your neck and feet; a breathy little voice note moaning someone’s name; one leg shot that you’d agonized over before finally snapping it and sending it. That wasn’t so bad, you told yourself. It was more how fast people demanded, and how entitled they sounded, and how you found yourself agreeing just to get the money.

Because you needed the money.

Halfway through rinsing your hair, your phone buzzed on the sink. Again.

You leant out of the shower to glance at the screen, water dripping from your elbows. Three more payments had come through. You sighed.

When you finally stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel, your inbox was a mess again, dozens of new messages blinking at you.

Did you get my last request??

Don’t make me wait, girl

Show me something real this time, not just a tease.

I’ll double it if you send me something dirtier.

The words made your stomach tighten, and you put the phone down again to finish getting dressed into your softest, cosiest pyjamas.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, hair still damp against your shoulders, trying not to cry. Your fingers hesitated over the screen for a long time before you finally opened your inbox again.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup, @niceminipotato, @fruitfulfashion, @dut1fuldyk3, @youngtastemakerfart, @trinityobsessesovatings, @barmaideneeveewrites, @c1sne, @geminideathrose, @nuianced-tck-enby, @all-things-lilac, @m0ss-gremlin

#got a lil sugar #arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman #arcane au #caitvi #caitlyn x reader #caitvi x reader #arcane caitvi

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svmjaeyvn · 2 days ago

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LOVE MAZE — 심재윤

chapter 10. dress up. pairing: trust fund baby!jake x college student fem!reader

An unfortunate encounter, drunken mistakes, and a sort of (definitely) stalker lead to Sim Jaeyun 'dating' his best friend's childhood crush!

or, your life gets intertwined with a rich boy’s in an attempt to not get sued by his crazy personal fangirl and like with all good cliches, sex overcomplicates things.

10. DRESS UP

prev masterlist next word count - 2.6k note - erm kinda cliche, kinda rebuilding the plot to create conflict, rich boys 02z line, little mention of yoongi cause that's my man, minjun making obvious dumb decisions but yk.. anyway! yeah, cute little 02z moments with you, sunghoon my beloved and jake attached to your hip lol

"SMALL PROBLEM," JAKE smiles innocently, leant against the kitchen counter flooding your space. You raise a brow, looking up from the fruits you were amidst cutting for him to continue. His phone was in hand, the screen still lit up from ending the call he had disappeared to take a few minutes ago. "Okay, more like big problem but don't freak out,"

Your shoulders drop, completely disregarding the half cut strawberries on the cutting board. "Jake," You warn, not one to be fond of dancing around your problems.

He winces, placing the phone down on the counter and running his hands over your sides. "You know how you went to that gala dinner for Jay last week?" You nod, confused by the sudden mention while Jake mirrors your gesture. "You two made an impression, word got to my parents 'cause Jay's folks and the other partners spoke highly of you,"

"That's.. good, isn't it? Proves that I'm good for our relationship?" You frown, not following what was the bad aspect while Jake shrugs, nose scrunched up evidently concerned.

"Yes, but, they want to meet you now," He finally admits, waiting for your reaction but you merely blink. You tilt your head, confused as to why it was such a big deal considering pleasing rich families could've been a quality trait on your resume by this point.

"I mean, I figured they would at some point while we're doing the whole ‘dating’ thing," You shrug, lightly hitting his shoulder for working you up before turning back to the half chopped berries.

"Well they don't exactly like the connotation of you being Jay's regular date when we're supposed to be together," Jake trails off, your body stiffening at the new piece of information. "My family, they care a lot about appearance. My mom thinks it would be good to come out in public at the Seoul Charity Gala next week as a couple,"

"We're not getting married?" You scoff, surprised by the sudden jump and monumental attendance you were requested of. Seoul was two hours away, the charity gala, an annual event which high class celebrities and business owners were in attendance of—not you, a common college student who played dress up once in a while.

"I know," Jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think it's because of Bianca, she's still been spreading that we're going to get together soon—"

"--and that makes you look like a playboy to the richest family in the market right now," You finish, the reality of the situation weighing in and you understand why the sudden escalation was in effect. You groan, dropping the knife with a huff. "God, is she ever gonna get over you? Seriously, it's concerning,"

Jake hums, truly understanding the sentiment with a puff of air blown out of his cheeks. "My dad’s just tired of her dad breathing down his neck about it, and my mom thinks that since I'm portraying a long-term, happy, relationship that I'm not willing to get rid of, going out in public for as many high-level people to see, will finally make Bianca behave. I mean, she can't keep running her mouth making claim on me if everyone knows your name and us being happily together with their approval,"

You nod, fully aware of the circumstances but that didn't stop the pit of dread in your stomach. Dramatically, you throw yourself on the island counter, pouting like a child. "This is stupid, she's insane,"

"I know baby," Jake agrees, a small laugh bubbling from his lips at your antics. His hand reaches your back, running up and down in a soothing manner. "On the bright side, Sunghoon's family was already confirmed to go and I can put Jay's on the list so at least you'll have a few familiar faces and people to stand behind you?"

You sit up, hands placed on your hips as you begin to brew ideas of an outfit in your mind. "Perfect, my own personal security of Korea's most sought out bachelors, totally won't drag out more attention,"

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

"I'M GONNA THROW up," You mumble, deep breaths heaving from your chest as you feel lightheaded under the bright lights. You felt Jake's hands at your sides, running up and down your arms soothingly.

"You're fine," Jay tuts, his hand waving the card-stock pamphlet in your face as a makeshift fan.

You rolled your eyes, meeting his gaze and though he attempted to seem nonchalant for your sake, you saw the hint of nervousness in his expression. To your left, Sunghoon silently held out a perfectly rolled peppermint in the palm of his hand.

"It'll help with the nausea," He offers, a pitiful smile sent your way. Jake took it, quick to unwrap the candy treat and slip it into your mouth although you protested at first. "Keep it under your tongue, it'll help your nerves too,"

"Look at you, Mr. Holistic life saver over here," Jay whistles, nudging Sunghoon's shoulder with his own.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, digging in his inner suit pocket to pull out a freshly opened back filled with peppermint candies. "I fucking hate coming to these things," He mumbles, eyes glancing around with a stoic expression but just as worked up as you beneath the surface. "My mom started giving me candy when I was a kid as a distraction during events, I found out in high school that peppermint works best,"

The boys hum, seemingly understanding the sentiment and although you didn't want to admit it, the red and white treat seemed to be working. The tightness in your chest eased, regaining your composure and stopping Jay's fanning as you were sure it was beginning to ruin your hair that you and Yeji nearly cried over doing this morning.

"I walked a red carpet?" You finally manage to get out, words slightly jumbled due to the mint under your tongue as directed. The three nodded, allowing for you to process however needed but you let out a scoff of disbelief. "This is insane, how are you real? I saw the three of you fight over a slice of pizza last night but you're telling me you're actually loaded?"

"To be fair, this is the first time I've attended one of these," Jay interjects. Leaning toward you, he whispers his next words but they are still heard clearly by Sunghoon and Jake. "I told you, whole 'nother level, Crazy Rich Asians,"

"Yeah, congratulations on finally making it to the club," Jake snickers condescendingly while Sunghoon rolls his eyes.

"You literally bet on random shit with us for sport?" You point a finger at Sunghoon, a scoff of offense leaving your lips as you think back to all the dumb bets made between you and spare cash you've lost to him.

He smiles, this time genuine with his pearly fangs peaking out. "Gotta stay rich somehow," Sunghoon offers, a light laugh coming in response to your visible disapproval. "To be fair, it's always a 50/50 chance. Not my fault you all suck at guessing,"

Before you could retort, Jake clears his throat as he pulls you closer. An older couple made their way through the previously empty corridor you all occupied, bidding pleasant ‘hellos’ to one another, you watch them enter the extravagant hall where the gala was being held.

"Alright, no more stalling," Jake mumbles, clearing his throat and straightening his suit for the umpteenth time since you've entered the limo—yes, limo, that was sent to collect you earlier. "Time to win yourself an Oscar,"

You let out a shaky breath, only able to send Jake a half smile at his attempt in lightening the mood. Jay pats your shoulder, a silent act of encouragement while Sunghoon slips a small handful of candies into your purse, just in case.

"Alright, we only have to convince everyone that we're together and that I belong here. No biggie,"

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

"MIN, FUCKING, YOONGI, knows I exist," You mumble for the third time within the same minute. Jake sat to your left, comfortably slumped in his chair and sipping from the champagne glass you had just brought back to him where said interaction occurred. Albeit simple and out of mere pleasantries, you were able to introduce yourself to a long term celebrity crush and managed to make him laugh.

Even with all the nerves from the day, you'd be glad to do it again simply for that interaction that you'd be sure to cherish. And it wasn't all that bad as you expected.

Impressing Jake's family was far easier than you thought. You had mentally prepared yourself to jump through hoops, practiced your patience, and were ready to politely handle any sort of judgment or criticism that was said between playful banter and faux smiles.

But you didn't need to, in fact, it felt like a normal conversation you would've had with your own family. His dad, although oozing with authority, was practically a big kid in disguise—an evident soft spot for his daughter-in-law and potential future ones as that was what he wished for but ended up with two boys.

His mother, although perfectly poised and allowed for not so much as a slip, had a comfort she carried. Welcoming and caring, her smile was full of warmth, genuine interest in who you were rather than what you came from. His brother, much like his mother, was rather stoic but inviting, a complete softie for his wife who was excited to meet the presumed girlfriend that managed to capture Jaeyun's heart.

Nani, Jake's sister-in-law, had no problem inviting you into her space. It was obvious she had no care for the overly strict unspoken guidelines, encouraging you to feel at ease in the bubble that surrounded the Sim table as it was like a barrier from the rest of the peering eyes and no one would dare utter a word to you unless granted permission.

Jay's family sat a few tables away from yours, within direct eyesight and your Aunt had managed to slip you away for a short while to bid greetings and teasing remarks about being coupled up. Sunghoon's family sat a few further away, away from the direct middle which held the most foot traffic, something you were sure he and his sister were thankful for as they preferred to stick to the sidelines as it was.

The banquet had occurred, cocktail hour coming and going and the previously intimidating atmosphere would be laughable later when you went home and thought about the night. Your dress stayed clean, hair withstanding the humid air from outside, and makeup managing to look flawless even though you were sure you had sweated it off earlier out of nervousness.

You knew people were watching, piercing eyes and whispers shared picking apart every fiber of your being but Jake's presence wrapped around you like a shield. His body stayed connected with yours, be it his arm wrapped around your waist or the reassuring touches underneath the table, or even the whispers of reassurance in the shell of your ear, it made a loud and clear claim who you were to him.

And you almost thought the night would end without a hitch. How naively innocent, the temporary facade your table had did nothing for when the hall had begun to clear out, a significant amount of money donated and everyone going about their night.

The Jones family had made a rather late appearance, sat on the opposite side of the room from where you were. You had barely managed to catch a glimpse of Bianca earlier, silently in tow of her parents but not once bothering to leave from her seat. It was refreshing, you were sure she was mulling in anger seeing your surprise presence, but Jake's father headed to their table in the middle of the night to withstand the pleasantries, allowing for the rest of you to do as pleased.

Jake had his hand on the small of your back, a protective bubble placed around your waist to keep anyone from accidentally bumping into you or stepping on the train of your dress. You had bid goodbyes to those necessary, Jake taking it upon himself to end the night early once the first family had made the move. Sunghoon and Jay were in tow, the plan to meet the shared limo in the valet line already prepared for you to head home together for the two hour trip.

"No shot," You heard Jay scoff from behind you. Your brows frown, looking up from your feet that were carefully stepping so as to not trip over your dress in the relatively crowded area. Thankfully, the exit had significantly less paparazzi compared to before—the flashing lights bearable and less overwhelming as you knew what to expect.

You felt Jake's hand tighten around your waist, subconsciously pulling you closer to his space. You let out a laugh of disbelief, utterly dumbfounded with the inkling of irritation igniting in your chest near instant. "Is he fucking crazy?"

"Keep walking," Jake mumbles, words a warning to not let your emotions override your rational. You bite your tongue, rolling your shoulders back and looking ahead without a hitch.

Kang Minjun was many things, but childish enough to be linked arms with Bianca and indulging in the paparazzi questions shouted out behind the cameras was something you wouldn't have guessed. It was baffling, how days ago he waltzed into your work claiming you and Jake were far too different for your family status while showing up with the tycoon princess when he truly had no business being there.

Minjun came from a middle class family. His parents owned a chicken shop and you were 99% sure prior to you, he'd never had a dress shirt to iron. They weren't poor, he was provided with a comfortable life and all he asked for, even now, but there was no etiquette or discipline that had been engraved in him like it was for you having grown up with the Park family as your own.

A hypocrite, and a desperate man he became simply because you finally put your foot down. A year ago you were begging for a second chance to fix what wasn't even broken, you simply weren't enough for him while being the best another person could've imagined.

The boy’s flooded your senses, Jake glued to your side while Sunghoon and Jay were a step behind, practically daring anyone for an attempt. Your eyes locked with the seemingly picture-perfect new couple, Bianca giggling to herself as her hand trailed up Minjun's blazer.

He cleared his throat, putting on a front that you saw through instantly. You bit your lip, refraining from a visceral reaction and the annoyance you felt washing over you came in waves.

It was obvious, entirely more so compared to yours and Jake's fake relationship because at least you had something and have grown to know each other so things fit naturally before making a very public appearance for all to see.

You climb into the limo first, the security holding open the door and Jake helped gather your dress inside. It was silent as you four settled, the A/C creating a cool atmosphere to settle your raging nerves but goosebumps rose on the exposed skin of your arms. Jake noticed, slipping off his coat to drag it over your shoulders, his eyes watching you carefully, trying to pinpoint what you felt.

The other two had sat across from you, their eyes peering out of the tinted window and watching the mayhem outside. Jay shook his head, understanding your sentiment and feeling overly protective while Sunghoon sighed.

He leant an arm against the window, popping one last mint into his mouth as he peered in the opposite direction. "She could've at least got him a suit that fit properly,"

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kagaintheskywithdiamonds · 3 days ago

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!!! I finally wrote the first chapter of car stan!!

And I might cross-post it to AO3, if/when I can actually come up with a title besides "car stan".

@eiriscosmo @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @kale-of-the-forbidden-cities @princessbubblecup @someoddmix @arzzly @pigeonsholdup @openendedquestionss @maridrawss @skrytch @bren-the-chicken @dark-lord-of-awesomeness @beetlbi @anotherspookyarchivist

This is not what I thought the afterlife would be like.

These were among Stan’s first thoughts when he came to in his new body.

Also not what I thought reincarnation was like.

Apparently the tow truck driver didn’t notice Stan helplessly spin his front wheels in the air when he woke up, trying to move his arms and legs only to discover that he had none.

You think the guy in that Kafka story had it bad? At least bugs still have things like a brain and a heart, Stan was fairly certain. I don’t. How the fuck am I even alive?

Never mind the fact that the jump off that bridge should’ve killed him. He was pretty sure it did. He didn’t really expect to wake up again after that, except maybe in front of the pearly gates.

Or hell, more realistically. Wasn’t suicide supposed to be a sin, or something? A really bad one?

Maybe that’s what all this was, some weird cosmic punishment.

Not that Stan was particularly worried about receiving some kind of cosmic punishment when he made his decision, because he didn’t really believe there was an afterlife, or a God at all, for that matter.

But now, having spent days staring at the back of a tow truck, Stan was certain that not only did God exist, but that he was a real sadistic bastard with a sick sense of humor.

Stan had somehow become his own car, and now he’s being towed to wherever his estranged twin brother lives. He’s about to be Ford’s car.

Because of course that’s how things would play out. He said that he wanted Ford to have the car, and amazingly someone actually respected the final requests that Stan left in that suicide note, but of course there had to be this bizarre monkey’s paw sort of twist to it.

About a week ago, Stan used the last of his spare change to call Ford one last time, and he’d actually worked up the nerve to say something instead of hanging up after three seconds of silence. Stan didn’t have high hopes that his attempts at reconciliation would go over well, but he had to try, he had to extend the olive branch one more time just in case there was any hope that he still had something left to live for.

But Ford’s words to him that night had not been so kind. That settles it, then, Stan thought at the time. I officially have nothing left to live for. I’ve got no future, I’m banned in half the country, I’m never gonna make those millions, Sixer apparently still hates my guts, and I’m so goddamn sick of living in my car.

Again, it feels like there’s a monkey’s paw twist here.

It took days of driving and quite a few pit stops before Stan arrived at his destination. He wasn’t sure where he expected that Ford would be living these days, but it wasn’t a log cabin in the middle of the woods in bum-fuck Oregon.

Gravity Falls, that’s what this tiny-ass town is called. Apparently it’s so small and unimportant that they don’t even put it on maps—much to the chagrin of the tow truck driver, who had a hell of a time finding the place.

The tow truck driver unhitched Stan in Ford’s driveway (if you could even call it a driveway. It was mostly just dirt) and Stan watched the driver approach Ford’s front door with clipboard in hand, probably so Ford could sign for delivery or something.

Stan thought about driving off right then and there. He was finally unhitched from that stupid tow, he had all four wheels on the ground, he could just drive off and start a weird new life. But for some reason he felt compelled to stay, at least for a bit longer. Stan kept his attention focused on Ford’s front door as the truck driver knocked.

Stan didn’t have a great view from where he stood (don’t ask him how he can see at all without eyes. He doesn’t even know), but he could see Ford answer the door. And he swore Ford actually looked… upset? About what?

About me being dead?

The truck driver, his business concluded, got back in his vehicle and drove away, probably glad to be done with this assignment.

Ford, meanwhile, stood almost motionless in his front door, fidgeting with the set of keys he’d just been given, seemingly deep in thought. Once the tow truck was gone, Stan watched Ford descend the steps on his front porch and walk towards the Stanleymobile.

Once Ford got closer to him, Stan was able to see that not only was Ford clearly distraught, but he actually looked like he’d recently been crying, and was possibly about to start doing so again.

Were Stan a more emotionally intelligent person, he might’ve been able to make sense of the complicated whirlwind of feelings going through his head at that moment. But it was easier to just be angry, so he was angry.

Oh, so now you give a fuck about me?! Now you care?! Stan really wished he could speak. He wished he could do anything other than keep his rage bottled up in his strange new body. It would’ve been nice of you to say that when I was still alive! I called you, I said I wanted us to be brothers again, and you acted like you still hated me, you asshole!

Ford placed a hand on the car’s hood, completely unaware of his brother’s silent rage. “Oh, Stanley…”

Don’t you “oh, Stanley” me!! Stan had to restrain himself from revving his engine in anger. You weren’t supposed to care if I live or die! I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I knew you actually still gave a damn!

Ford’s tear-streaked face was a bit of a surreal sight. Pines men don’t cry. Stan hadn’t seen Ford cry since they were children. So to think that the death of his brother—the brother that he turned his back on!—would be enough to bring him to tears…

Stan felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.

Ford lifted his head up a bit, enough to peer through the car’s windshield, and Stan noticed his eyes narrow slightly. Apparently their decade apart didn’t change the fact that Stan could still read Ford like a book. Even the subtle changes in his facial expression were enough to make Stan realize, Ford was thinking. Stan could practically see the gears turn in his head as Ford made observations, and then came to conclusions based on those observations.

Ford was noticing all the clutter inside the car.

Stan, at that moment, really wished that he’d splurged on those legally dubious tinted windows when he had the chance.

You didn’t have to be a genius like Ford to figure out that Stan had been living in his car. And, sure, Stan knew that Ford would’ve eventually figured that out when he left the car to him in his makeshift will, but he didn’t think he’d be around to watch Ford come to that conclusion, to see the look of pity on his face…

Fuck tinted windows, Stan wished he could turn invisible.

Ford looked back down at the keys in his hands and continued to fidget with them. Actually, not just fidgeting, it looked like he was getting ready to use them. Sure enough, Stan then saw Ford approach the driver’s side door with key in hand.

Ford was about to open the car up and root through all of Stan’s trash, learning just what a pathetic life he’d been living for the past decade.

Pines men are also prideful, and Stan didn’t think his pride could take that.

Stan felt the key as it was inserted. He felt his doors unlock.

Stan panicked.

His engine roared to life. And with a screech of his tires, he rocketed forward.

Ford leapt back in surprise, losing his balance and falling backwards into the dirt.

Stan came to a hard stop again just a few car-lengths forward. He could still see Ford propping himself up in the dirt, staring at the car with his mouth agape and glasses askew.

Stan realized at that moment, he probably could’ve just re-locked the doors.

He also realized he didn’t have a plan, as he froze momentarily without a clue what to do next. Maybe I should just run, he thought. Running seemed natural enough. He’d been running pretty much nonstop since he was kicked out of the house at 17. Apparently being a car (a reality that Stan was still absolutely boggled by) wasn’t going to change that.

He turned, kicking up dirt in Ford’s driveway (or the dirt-way, whatever. Stan still felt like it didn’t count as a driveway) as he made a beeline for the open road. He still didn’t have a plan. He just knew that he wanted to be anywhere other than here.

“Wait, stop!” Ford yelled as he scrambled to his feet. But Stan ignored him as he accelerated onto Gopher Road.

Fuck it, maybe I’ll travel the country, for fun this time. Stan thought as he began to picture what the next chapter in his bizarre new life might be like. Maybe I’ll go sightseeing in all the states I was banned from. They can’t ban a car, right?

The thought of existing as a carefree automobile became increasingly enticing, and Stan thought it might actually be a not-terrible existence if he could figure out a way to keep his gas tank full—but something made him hesitate, and that something was the sight of a sprinting, panting nerd in his rear-view mirror.

Amazing. Ford was actually trying to run after a self-driving car that did not know or care what this road’s speed limit was.

Before he even realized he was doing it, Stan started to slow down.

Against his better judgment, he soon came to a stop.

Stan stood still for a moment, watching as Ford put his hands on his knees, no longer able to stand upright as he gasped for breath.

Stan didn’t know why he did what he did next. He made a three-point-turn on that quiet rural road, and then slowly drove back in the direction that he came from, stopping just in front of Ford.

For a moment, the only sounds were the quiet hum of Stan’s engine, Ford’s labored breathing, and the distant chirping of birds in the woods.

That is, until Ford tried to speak.

“How…? I… And you…” Ford gasped between breaths, gesturing wildly as if that would somehow help articulate the thoughts he was trying to get out. Eventually, Stan watched Ford steady himself, take a deep breath, stand up straight, and say a full sentence:

“What the hell?”

Yeah, that’s a fair reaction.

#i'm not suuuuper pleased with how this turned out but i wanted it to be done with already #it's a lot of setup but it's necessary setup to get to the stuff i have a stronger desire to write #gravity falls #car stan au #i started tagging everyone who contributed to the original post but i stopped when it started to look like too many tags #stangst #i guess?#it's gonna be like one third stangst two-thirds vehicular shenanigans #stanford pines #stanley pines #tfw you're trying to mourn your brother and then his car runs away from you #i feel like there's a 'is your refrigerator running' joke in there somewhere

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 days ago

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster 9 Teaser

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

A/N: I'M BACK! I've gotten a lot questions about whether or not I'm continuing my various Sandman fics, so I figured actions speak louder than words. Enjoy the first scene of the next chapter (still in development and not entirely edited)! @cherry1a, your timing is impeccable. Chapter warnings: graphic violence, threatening children, murder, quasi-cannibalism, referenced child harm, identity theft?

Chapter 9 Teaser

The Corinthian whistled, hands in his pockets as he strolled up the gravel drive.

Each step a little too loud.

Each note a little too sharp.

It made him smile. Three times over.

He’d chosen a beautiful day for the visit, and he thanked the digital age’s obsession with poorly-protected records as he followed the only set of tire tracks through the little forest. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he had both Bright Eyes’ homes gathered on one neat little plot.

When she first bought that van, she’d thrown him off. He could admit that. But he wasn’t really pursuing her. Just keeping tabs. And when he caught up and spied her license plate, he tied an invisible bell to a bit of fishing line – in other words, he found a clever human who slipped through the BMV’s firewall to replace a few little contact details.

He’d finally gotten the call, and he gladly handled the fees on the owner’s behalf. He even arranged for the vehicle to come back to her property.

A fog of dust gathered around his ankles as the tow-truck passed him, and he nodded, giving the men inside a friendly wave as they rolled on by. They waved back, thinking him a great friend or a kind neighbor. Hell, they may even think he was family.

Well, he was the closet thing to family one Aisling Hunt had left, and he had a glut of their memories to cherish of little Aisling coloring strange pictures and making friends with the air. He liked to think he knew her better than they had, though.

He felt like the Big Bad Wolf as the little house came into view. Stranger danger and the devil she knew at the same time.

He’d always gotten a certain sense of satisfaction when he made a dent in her world. Like watching ripples remind the pond he’d hit it with a rock, spreading and growing until the memory became part of a fresh, mirror glaze, ready to break all over again.

The van sat out front, towed and delivered after being abandoned at a rest area many miles away. His fingernail dragged over the faded paint, dipping into fresh dents and scratches left by one bad, bad deer. The nightmare had gotten close again. He bet that had been a show. Poor car lost a window and everything.

Maybe he’d cut open the plastic and climb inside. See how she’d been keeping herself. But he should really stop and say hello to the old place first.

It had been a while.

His mouth watered as he remembered, as he pushed open the unlocked door and looked straight down the narrow hall to the back bedroom. The old carpet was gone but not properly replaced. Mismatched rugs and shower mats covered the bare tacks and padding.

They must not’ve been able to get all the blood out. He licked his teeth.

“Guess I really did make a mess.”

He could taste it like it was yesterday.

The sand had first pulled him to the remote home as growling fears ached in his belly. He imagined his maker free, his master pressing against the cracks in his cage and back into his power. The Corinthian came ready for a fight. Whatever threatened his freedom would die – if it could.

The man and woman inside died very easily. But the sand’s summons still itched in his marrow. Determined not to walk into a trap blindly – because what else could this be? – he paused to eat the eyes. They crunched nicely, bleeding experiences and views that nourished the soul Dream had never bestowed.

That was the first time he met Aisling. As a heavy weight in her mother’s belly, a squalling infant that laughed at nothing, a girl obsessed with books and adventures and a host of imaginary friends. He savored her father’s pride and fears as she learned to ride a bicycle, climbed high trees, and stopped to ask before petting strangers’ dogs in the park.

Their confusion coated his tongue, their horror as their child changed overnight. Fearful. Crying from pain no x-ray or MRI could diagnose.

They’d run away. They’d taken their child and fled the city, unaware they were being hunted.

Ironic about the name, really.

As he’d shuddered back into the present, high on his feast with blood dribbling down his cheeks, he’d found himself drawn to the last door, where the sand throbbed with strange, new power. His master’s, but not. As a dream himself, he’d never perfectly understood the human experience as they slept, always on the opposite side, the one in control. Drifting forward, almost without meaning to, he thought he might almost understand. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.

He'd shaken his head, casting off the discomfort and doubts.

It didn’t matter. He’d finish the set and chew everything clear in a moment.

Finding his old friend, the thing under the bed, trying to hide his prey came as a surprise, but he’d always been stronger, and he dragged the child out from the flimsy shelter effortlessly. He hauled his prize to the corridor, determined to get a good look at the problem before he solved it.

Her screams fell on deaf ears when she saw the mangled remains of her parents. Mother’s throat slit. Father’s chest gouged open. Both eyeless. Lifeless. She’d seen horror, but it was the first time she’d really seen death.

But the Corinthian couldn’t stop staring. The sand was the least interesting thing about the girl. Her torn mortality. The name written and carved over on her soul.

It was so terribly wrong that it was perfect.

His master’s greatest desire finally came into the world, and he would likely never know. She’d be dead and gone by the time the Endless found a way out of his cage. If he ever did. And his sand, the one part of him that could reach her, was summoning his creations to tear her apart.

The Corinthian grinned, laughed, accidentally shook the girl until she fell silent, staring at him with the most wonderful eyes. True sight. Because of course Dream’s mirrored equal would be a born troublemaker. Willing or not. Destiny was almost as much of a bitch as his little brother.

He traced her lashes with the tip of his knife and crooned, “Hey there, Bright Eyes.”

The family’s blood marked the blade’s path, and he found he couldn’t help himself. He dragged it along her face, painting each tear track red until she looked just like him, sated from a little casual destruction.

The more he peered into those bright eyes, the more he wanted to see what she’d do with them. Killing her to spite Dream wouldn’t taste like anything but wasted promise. After all, how much would it really hurt the Dream King to lose her without knowing she existed?

She was already more his than Dream’s.

And she already had something sharp inside, deep, deep down under the glittery nails and pretty nightgown. Something that could do real damage. The Corinthian could appreciate a good blade. Especially one that bled.

He let her go and sat back on his heels, grinning at her like they were friends as she vibrated with shock and outsized emotions. What must he look like to her, with her true sight and sand-infected soul?

“You know,” he said. “There are a lot of monsters coming to find you right now.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “I’m not scared of monsters.”

“I figured. I saw my friend under your bed.”

She nodded, clearly understanding they were both nightmares. Clever kid.

“But I’m not that kind of monster.” He dropped to one knee so he could lean in close and whisper in her ear. “I’m the bad kind. You know what’s written inside? On your heart? It’s a name. Have you heard it?”

This time she hesitated, eyes flashing with fear. But she nodded eventually, and the Corinthian was delighted.

“Well, I’m his favorite,” he drawled. “I’m his masterpiece.”

More tears rushed down her face, spreading the blood into a pink wash as sobs rattled her tiny body.

“You should be glad it’s just you and me, Bright Eyes. Because, you know…” Slowly, he raised his hand, slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, and winked. “I’m not half the monster he is.”

The girl was alive with trapped energy, desperate to run, or scream, or fight. It turned the air electric with potential. He’d have to give her something to do with it.

There really were other nightmares on their way. They’d nipped at his heels all the way to her front door. She’d have to prove she really was sharp enough to survive.

With a pat on the head, he sent her on her way.

“You better run now.”

And she did. She ran into the path of the Not Deer and the Hungry Ghost and a dozen other dreams freed to follow their worst impulses.

Coming back to the present, he sighed, goosebumps rolling down his arms.

Dream must already have her. She wouldn’t abandon her home away from home if he hadn’t snatched her away. It was only a matter of time before she came back, though, before Dream showed his true colors and the Corinthian got to see how much wyrd could make an Endless bleed.

But she wasn’t back yet, and he really would like to get in touch.

His eyes swept the empty home, returning again to the unpatched wound in the floor, and he chuckled.

“I’ll just have to leave a note.”

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc #sandman x reader #sandman x oc #sandman fic #sandman fanfiction #corinthian x reader

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404-sturniolo-not-found · 3 days ago

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Chapter 3; Cornered

Ghostface!triplets x bsf!OC

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Casey didn’t move.

The mask still rested in her lap, cold and unforgiving, its hollow eyes staring straight through her as if mocking the panic clawing up her throat. Her hands hovered above it, frozen in place, heart pounding hard enough she could hear it in her ears.

Matt took one step into the room.

She saw it now. How easy it was for him to wear calm like a second skin. How every look, every word he’d spoken over the years had been controlled. Measured. A curtain over something monstrous.

“Matt,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer right away. He set the bag of food down on his desk with deliberate slowness, then unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and took a sip like they were just chatting. Like she hadn’t just found a serial killer’s uniform in his room.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even cold. It was disappointed.

“Is it a joke?” she asked, grasping at anything, at hope. “Tell me it’s a prank. Please.”

Matt looked down at the mask and then back at her, expression unreadable.

“It wasn’t supposed to get this far,” he said quietly. “You weren’t supposed to be curious.”

Her breath hitched.

“You’re Ghostface,” she said, not a question this time.

Matt tilted his head. “We are.”

The plural cut through her like a blade.

Chris. Nick.

Everything clicked at once. The late nights. The half-heard arguments. The sudden shifts in mood. The tension in the room when the murders were brought up. The way Chris always joked a little too hard when things got serious. How Nick never met her eyes anymore.

They were all in on it.

She stood up too fast, nearly knocking the duffel bag over, mask falling to the ground at Matt’s feet with a soft thud. He didn’t move. Just looked down at it, then back at her.

“You going to scream?” he asked softly.

Casey’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her instincts screamed run, but her legs felt like they’d turned to concrete. The door was right there—but Matt was standing in front of it, calm, casual, like he had all the time in the world to wait her out.

“I trusted you,” she said, and her voice cracked on the words.

Matt’s face twitched—something almost like regret, or something that wanted to pretend.

“I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “But you looked. You kept digging.”

A sound came from down the hall—the front door opening.

Footsteps. Two sets.

Chris and Nick.

Casey’s blood ran cold.

She lunged before she could stop herself, shoulder-checking Matt hard. He stumbled backward just enough for her to squeeze past him and bolt into the hallway.

“Casey!” Chris shouted as she sprinted past the kitchen.

She didn’t look back.

Out the front door. Down the stairs. She didn’t breathe until she hit the sidewalk, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the brick walls of the alley as she ran, heart slamming in her chest, lungs burning.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She just knew she couldn’t stop.

Because they weren’t her best friends anymore.

They were predators.

And she had just become their prey.

Casey didn’t stop running until her legs gave out.

By the time she collapsed onto a bench outside an all-night laundromat in Cambridge, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t unlock her phone. Her lungs burned, her hoodie clung to her back with sweat, and her entire body felt like it had turned to ice.

Matt. Nick. Chris. Ghostface wasn’t just real—they were him.

The boys she’d grown up with. Slept over with. Cried to. Trusted.

And now they were hunting people. Killing them.

And she had found out.

Casey finally managed to unlock her phone and opened the group chat. Her thumb hovered over the messages. She could see it—Chris was still typing. A bubble popped up. Then vanished.

She backed out and tried calling someone—anyone—but her mind blanked. Her mom was out of town, her roommate was in New York, and she didn’t know who she could explain this to without sounding insane.

“Hey, my three best friends are actually one of the most infamous serial killers in modern history. Plural. Surprise.”

She nearly laughed. But the sound that came out was choked, cracked, full of something way closer to a sob.

Her phone buzzed.

Matt: Where are you? Please. Just talk to me.

She stared at the message. A second buzz followed.

Nick: Don’t do anything stupid, Casey. We can fix this.

Fix this? The words made bile rise in her throat.

Then the third message came. From Chris.

Chris: You weren’t supposed to find out yet. But now that you did… the rules change.

She dropped the phone.

Her hands clenched into fists as she stared ahead at the empty street. It was too quiet. Too still. Every shadow looked like a threat now. Every distant step echoed like it was meant for her.

Her gut screamed that going to the police would end badly. The boys were smart. Careful. Manipulative. If she didn’t have proof—real proof—they’d turn the story around, paint her as paranoid, unstable, maybe even obsessed.

And besides… what if they had someone on the inside? The way this thing had been going on so long without a trace—what if this went deeper than just them?

Casey knew only one thing for sure.

She couldn’t go home.

Not yet.

Not until she figured out what to do next.

Not until she figured out how to expose the brothers without getting herself killed.

Because now it wasn’t just about what she knew.

It was about what they knew too.

That she was a threat.

And Matt? Matt wouldn’t let her go.

Not without a fight.

Not without blood.

~~~~~~~

Kind of a filler chapter. Buuuut, it's getting good. :)

Tag list: @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @markella-kalogeras @anedpev @lostinyourbabyblues @b-ruiz @drewslefttoe @munkincakes @namelesssav @sturnsavxmpire @courta13 @bft1996 @nalinidhanraj @maisdysillyn @bernardsbendystraws

#404sturniolonotfound #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolos #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #ghostface #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo tumblr #Spotify

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lpmurphy · 2 days ago

Text

Begin Again

<- Previous

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, abby’s daddy issues flare up big time (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Warnings: loss of a patient, car accident, death, big time mom guilt, mentions of traumatic childbirth/c-section/NICU, general er gore

Word Count: 13,385

Read on AO3

Chapter Seventeen: Just For A Moment

Beth had fought with Abby on the phone that morning.

It had been stupid. God, it was always stupid. She hadn’t even wanted Abby to spend the night at Kenadie’s in the first place. She’d said as much the night before. PT at ten, a calculus test to study for, a mountain of homework she swore she’d finish and probably would, but still; it was the principle of it. And her first round of college applications were due in three weeks, which Beth had reminded her of multiple times because, somehow, she had become the only one in that house who seemed even remotely alarmed about deadlines.

But Abby had insisted; they were all going to go shopping for homecoming and finish their senior overalls before next week’s game and like always, Beth folded. Because it was her senior year. Because she was tired of being the bad guy. Because she knew her brilliant, bossy little girl would get it all done anyhow and she promised that she’d be up in the morning and home by the time Beth told her to be when she threatened to check the doorbell camera at 7:15 to make sure she was there.

She hadn’t been. Beth called four times to wake her up. By the fifth, her tone had turned sharp. By the time Beth was halfway through her drive to work, they were arguing; snapping at each other, short and exasperated, talking over one another until they finally hung up. She couldn’t remember if she told her daughter she loved her before they ended the call. Couldn’t remember what her last words were. She’d tossed her phone in her locker the second she arrived, already irritated, not realizing her watch had died sometime in the night. Not realizing Abby had been trying to call her.

That girl had been driving home from a sleepover too before she died on the table in Trauma One with her blood all over Beth’s hands. She was seventeen. Running late and driving too fast on wet, oil slick roads when she wrapped her car around a fucking telephone pole. Beth had spent the last hour trying to keep her alive, trying to keep her heart beating, trying to fix something that was already too far gone by the time she got there because someone was waiting for her to come home, too.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the fight. The way Abby’s voice had sounded, groggy and annoyed, the beep of the call ending too fast. And the last thing Beth said… was it about calculus? About her alarm? Or was it I love you? She couldn’t remember.

Beth hadn’t let herself feel it in the trauma bay. Not while she had a job to do; her hands were working and her voice was calm and her mind was running on protocol. But when she stepped out, when she caught her reflection in the glass of the empty exam room and realized how pale she looked, how her hands were still trembling, it hit her like a wave.

That morning could’ve been their last conversation.

And all Beth could think about—couldn’t stop thinking about—was how annoyed she’d been. How right she’d felt. How easily her baby could’ve died with her voice in her ears, saying something small and stupid and mean because she wanted her to do her fucking homework.

She couldn’t even remember if she said I love you.

And then Abby called her three fucking times because she needed her and she didn’t answer her.

She nearly lost her fucking mind when she heard her daughter’s name in that trauma bay.

Jack had come in with that grim, tight look he always wore when something was wrong. The second she heard him say “Abby’s car,” her whole body snapped to attention like a rubber band stretched too far. Her ears rang. Her vision tunneled. She swore she couldn’t hear anything past those two words. She felt the sting of bile crawl up her throat and her pulse spike so high it made her dizzy. Her fingers stilled where they’d been suturing, and she turned so sharply she nearly dropped the needle.

“What?” she’d barked. No—she’d shouted. Voice sharp, high, panicked enough that everyone looked up for a moment before they resumed what they were doing. “What happened? What’s wrong? Jack—.”

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” His hands came up like he was calming a spooked animal, which frankly, she felt like until he leaned in. “She’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice low. “She’s fine, Sparky. I just talked to her. She’s okay. Just a dead battery. That’s all. I’m going to go get her now, alright?”

That name knocked the air from her lungs in a completely different way. Her brain hiccuped, jolted by the softness in his voice. He hadn’t called her that in a long time. No one had. It hit her chest with more force than it should’ve. Like a match flicking to life after years left cold. She didn’t even realize how much she missed it until it fell out of his mouth like it was second nature.

Then his hand touched her back, careful and warm through her scrubs, and she felt her whole body lean into it without thinking.

“I’ve got her,” he murmured. “I promise.”

She nodded, barely managing it, afraid that if she opened her mouth she’d fall apart. She turned back to her patient, to the bleeding and the chaos and the work but Jack’s voice stayed with her. His handprint stayed like a phantom, along with that strange flutter in her chest when he told her “I’ve got her” and every muscle in her body relaxed at once.

It had been nearly an hour before Robby made her call it. Beth knew. Somewhere deep inside, she’d known fifteen minutes in. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not when the girl was seventeen. Not when she was supposed to be home.

Beth had tried. God, she tried. Chest compressions, meds, lines, suction; everything. Her voice had stayed level, her hands steady, even as her stomach turned and her mind kept circling back to Abby. To the missed calls. To the fight. To what she would’ve done if it had been her daughter’s blood on the floor.

When the time of death left her mouth, it tasted like bile. Beth stood there for a moment after she said it, like her body couldn’t figure out how to move. Her gloves snapped when she tore them off of shaking hands, shoved them into the bin, and walked out without a word. Robby had tried to stop her, tried to say something comforting that never made it over the ringing in her ears before she shook him off. When she finally found the stairwell, she sat down hard on the landing and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth so no one would hear her sob.

She cried until her chest ached. Until she remembered that Abby was probably waiting for her, and she had no idea that her mother had spent the morning trying to save someone else’s baby who never made it home.

It took everything she had to go back in.

But she did. Because there were going to be more someone else’s babies right after that one. Plenty of teenagers who were stupid and reckless and thought that all the bad in the world would never touch them because the people waiting for them at home had protected them from all of it until they couldn’t. Ones that reminded her of Abby and who always wanted the same thing when they were brought to her.

They always wanted their mom.

Abby had wanted her. And she didn’t answer the phone. And still couldn’t remember if she’d told her that she loved her.

She’d lost patients before. Hell, in this specialty, it was practically just part of the work week. There were nights she could still see their faces behind her eyelids when she blinked too long, voices she wasn’t sure she was imagining when the trauma bay went still. Most days, she could put it in the file, sign the paperwork, and move on to the next case before the blood on her gloves even dried. Not because she didn’t care, but because she had to. Never apathy, always survival. Because if she let herself feel all of it, she wouldn’t survive the month.

But some days, some faces, they slipped through the cracks. They seeped into the spaces of a heart she glued back together after every shift, rebuilt from splinters and spit and whatever stubborn thread kept her showing up for another one. This girl had one of those faces. Beth had felt that girl’s ribs crack under her hands. Had whispered please under her breath while pressing hard and fast on a chest too young to be still. Had looked down at her face and seen Abby. Seen her in the way her lashes clumped together. In the curve of her cheek. In the chipped purple polish on her fingernails.

This girl found the places in Beth that she hadn't repackaged as cleanly as she told herself she had when she went home the night before. The ones that still ached if you pressed too hard. The ones that opened wide when Jack said “Abby’s car” like her world could really, truly end mid-suture. But she got lucky. Her baby just had a dead battery and was pissed off and wet and alive in her car. Why couldn’t this mother have gotten that lucky?

Some days, it didn’t matter how long she’d been doing this. Twenty years or two, she still walked into that room and tried to save them. She still stood there afterward and watched a mother scream into her hands and wondered how the hell the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Or, in this case, stood at the hub waiting for parents who had gotten a call from a strange number at work and were racing to a hospital to hear words that never got easier to say.

She’d try to patch the cracks when she got home. The ones that girl had slipped through. The ones she’d held together with adrenaline and procedure and the soft press of Jack’s hand between her shoulder blades. She’d seal them, gently, with the sound of Abby’s voice; sharp and sarcastic and full of opinions about everything with a conviction that Beth hoped she’d never lose for a damn moment. She’d lean against the kitchen counter while her daughter talked a mile a minute, fingers flying with barely-contained outrage over a teacher’s unfair grading policy or the group project she’d inevitably ended up doing herself. Beth would pretend to listen passively, like she hadn’t been aching to hear her voice all day. She’d nod, throw in the occasional “mhm” or “she did what?” while stirring dinner, stealing glances at her girl just to reassure herself she was still there; still fine.

After dinner, after the dishwasher hummed to life and the homework was spread across the dining room table like a crime scene, they’d settle onto the couch under that crocheted blanket Beth’s mother made for Abby three Christmases ago. The one Abby claimed made her itch but always ended up curled under anyway. They’d queue up Gilmore Girls—season four, probably, even though they both agreed the writing started slipping after Chilton. Abby would quote every line. They’d compare themselves to Lorelai and Rory like they always did. They’d pass a pint of ice cream back and forth and pretend the world outside the blanket didn’t exist. And if Abby fell asleep beside her like she used to when she was little, Beth might even let herself cry, just a little. Quietly. Gratefully.

But first, she had to make it through this shift. She had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and do the next right thing. Chart the notes. Deliver the news. Keep her hands from shaking. Ignore the ghost of his hand on her back and the phantom press of his voice in her ear. Ignore the warmth still blooming there where he’d brushed his thumb against her back like he used to across the back of her hand, or how he said “I’m going to go get her” like it was the simplest thing in the world. The way The Girl Before stood beside her in the trauma room and whispered, breathless and beaming after he left, “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he called you?”

How when she finally ripped her locker open and unlocked her phone, that stupid little flutter returned the moment she read ‘i’m ok tho. jack’s here :)’ and the full body exhale that left her like it wasn’t the strangest string of sentences she’d ever fucking read.

How it made her feel still again.

No. Stop that.

She couldn’t think about that right now. Couldn’t let her mind drift to the brush of his fingers, the warmth of his breath on her cheek when he leaned in, or the way something had lit up her spine like a live wire the moment he touched her and stayed there, thrumming, as his voice echoed in her head. I’ve got her. I promise.

She just needed to get home. She needed to see Abby. To wrap both arms around her and not let go.

All of…this—whatever it was—couldn’t matter.

Then why did it feel like it did?

Nope. Focus, Baker.

Beth kept her eyes locked on the monitor in front of her. She filed the thought away and shoved it into the same overstuffed drawer she’d been avoiding since the other night beside her car, when he’d looked at her like that. She wasn’t opening that one, either.

Instead, she pretended the numbers on the lab order required her full concentration. They didn’t. She could have submitted it in half the time, but she wasn’t moving. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard like she was waiting for someone to hit pause on the entire goddamn day. She blinked hard, rubbed under her glasses and pushed them up on top of her head, and ignored the loose strands of hair clinging to the sweat drying on her neck. Her ponytail had given up hours ago, just like the rest of her.

She should step into the bathroom and fix it, she thought. Take the sixty seconds she’d need to splash water on her face, breathe, maybe look a little less like she’d just walked out of the worst trauma of the week. But she didn’t. She kept entering cultures like the CDC depended on it and gnashed at the inside of her cheek like it would relieve the tension in her jaw.

She didn’t look up when she caught movement in her periphery, or heard the heavy fall of footsteps of linoleum. Eye contact felt like a dangerous game at the moment, and she preferred not to become known to the nurses as the attending who broke down over every dead teenager. She’d already burned through whatever scrap of composure she had left pretending Robby’s little post-mortem powwow he’d pulled her into when she came back in was anything more than suppressing grief in nicer packaging while she stood there with hands at her sides and picked at a hangnail until it bled. Still, he stood across the counter, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his hoodie he wore every shift like a second skin like he’d wandered over without a plan.

“You did good work in there,” he said gently.

Beth kept her eyes on the monitor and blinked fast against the sting in her eyes. Bit the inside of her cheek until it stung. Don’t look up, she told herself. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

“There was nothing else you could’ve done.”

She bit down on her tongue hard. She knew that. Of course she knew that. But knowing it didn’t do a damn thing for the ache in her chest or the way her jaw kept locking tight around the noise she refused to let out. It wasn’t going to do a damn thing for that little girl’s mother, either.

“I can talk to the girl’s parents when they get here,” Robby offered.

Beth’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard.

Alyja, she wanted to snap. The girl’s name was Alyja. She had purple glitter nail polish, and mismatched socks—one with little oranges, one gray and white striped. I noticed when I was cutting her clothes off. It probably drives—she swallowed hard—drove her mom nuts that she wouldn’t just match her socks when she did her laundry. She was seventeen. She was someone’s baby. Someone was waiting for her.

Her voice came low, tight. “No. I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

Don’t look up. She sent off the requests and clicked into the next chart. “I’m sure,” she said flatly.

“Hey, why don’t you take the afternoon?” he asked. “Go home? Be with Abby?”

Beth shook her head immediately. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Beth hummed and logged out of the terminal with a click that felt a little too loud. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a terrible flirt, Robinavich?” She allowed herself a quick glance up, meeting big, soft brown eyes with a tight smile before she stepped out from behind the counter and lied again. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve got a toe to sew back on in Eight.”

She left him at the counter before he could push again. She didn’t want to be coddled. Didn’t want to be sent home early like it was a pat on the head or met with soft, understanding looks from across ER counters like she was made of glass. She just wanted to get through the rest of her shift. To keep her head down and her hands busy and not think about the girl in Trauma One or her mother, wherever she was, not knowing yet.

Beth closed her eyes and drew in a slow, steadying breath, then pulled out her phone, checking for a text from Abby. Still nothing new. Just the same one from nearly an hour ago under the barrage of her snarky texts that hit her like a gut punch: jack’s taking me to get a new battery. all good, promise :)

She read it again. And again. And that stupid flutter returned. Low and persistent like a hummingbird trapped behind her ribs that she just couldn't release.

She didn’t understand why. That was never a name she expected to hear from her daughter, much less in that context. Not like that. Not with trust behind it. Not with a smiley face. Not like it meant something. She didn’t know what to do with that. With the picture it painted; him showing up, sitting behind the wheel, letting her pick the music and rolling his eyes at her jabs before throwing them back like they had spent the last seventeen years perfectly in sync.

She didn’t know what to do with the way something warm settled in her chest every time she thought about it. The same way it had that night at the dinner table, when Abby laughed so hard she snorted and Jack grinned like he’d won something.

Beth hadn’t let herself look too closely at that feeling then. And she didn’t now. And yet, there it was. Jack. Of all people. Pressing his hand against her back and whispering ‘I’ve got her’ before picking her up from a Target parking lot like it was just a line item on his to-do list. Like he meant every word he said.

She’d thought he meant every word he’d said then, too.

Still, something persistent coiled in her chest, the same feeling that had bloomed, uninvited, when she watched him make her daughter laugh across the dinner table and smile like he had won something. She hadn’t immediately tamped it down now the way she had then. That was the part that stuck with her. It lingered—warm and gentle and dangerously pleasant—and damn her, she liked it.

Fuck, what was he doing to her?

She’d been just fine for the last thirty years. Everything had its place. Things had been quiet; maybe not pretty, maybe not easy, but settled. Functional. Clean. Things had been packed up and labeled, shoved into the deepest corners of her chest where she didn’t have to look at them. Then he came back in like the damn mess he’d always been, and now the contents of everything she’d boxed up and buried were suddenly scattered across the floor again like it hadn’t taken her years to get them put away.

Two months. That’s all he’d been back. And already, every time he looked at her like that, like he was seeing every year that passed and still chose to step closer, That Girl stirred. That version of herself she thought she’d grown out of; the stupid, hopeful version of herself she thought she’d buried a lifetime ago sat up and leaned forward, aching for his eyes the way they used to be: soft. Certain. Hers.

That Girl had been with her in the trauma bay. Standing at her shoulder when he said that stupid fucking nickname he gave her when she accidentally started an electrical fire in the chem lab sophomore year like it was still theirs, wide-eyed and soft. She’d followed them to her car after the bar, curled up in her chest and whispered, just let it be like that again. Just for a moment. Just until it stopped feeling like pretending and stopped hurting, just for a minute.

She hated how fast that girl came alive. How easily she slipped in beside her and whispered things Beth had worked so hard not to want anymore. She hated that part of herself that hadn’t packed away those boxes as neatly as she’d always claimed. That hopeless, foolish, stupid part of her that, for one brief second on that sidewalk, had wanted to curl her fingers into his shirt and tell him just to come home, even if it was only for the night. Even if they’d both just be pretending. The part that still remembered every promise he ever made, the ones that echoed in the shape of what had passed between them in that trauma bay when she had to fight the urge to turn into him, to press her face to his neck and whisper thank you.

The part that still, stupidly, met his eye every time he looked at her that way and wanted it to be something.

God help her, she wanted it to be.

Stupid girl.

Beth’s jaw tightened as the flutter in her chest refused to settle. She thumbed her phone screen off and shoved it deep into the pocket of her vest like it burned.

Enough.

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. She was tired, wrung out, bleeding at the seams. That was all.

She exhaled hard through her nose and pushed into the exam room, not giving herself another second to think before she introduced herself with a smile she hoped passed for genuine. Not about her chest. Not about how shitty of a mom she felt like. Not about Jack. Not about the girl in Trauma One. Her hands moved on autopilot, reaching for gloves, scanning the chart, noting the toe; clean laceration, clean break, clean fix.

Good. She needed clean. She could do that. One clean injury, one clean solution. Something she could sew back on and walk away from. Not whatever the hell this mess was. This… this feeling that refused to be boxed up no matter how many times she tried. She needed something she could fix. She needed to fix something.

And more than anything, she needed to stop letting the warmth in her chest win.

Beth pulled on gloves with a snap, grabbed the chart, and forced herself to focus on the numbers, the margins, the wound. Let her hands do what her head couldn’t. She wasn’t That Girl. Not anymore. Not now. That girl didn’t belong in this room, didn’t belong in this shift, didn’t belong in her.

So she’d sew the damn toe back on, and she’d do what she always had; she’d do the next right thing and keep moving. One clean line at a time.

DIY home renovations in flip-flops was a… bold choice. Professionally, she wouldn’t recommend putting new tile down in the kitchen with your ‘dogs out’, as Abby would so delicately put it. But judging by the earful the patient’s wife had been delivering for the entire duration of the suture job, she probably didn’t need to hear it from the ER doc too.

Then again, she wouldn’t consider herself the authority on proper home reno footwear. She’d torn out the wall between her dining room and living room last summer in a pair of Ugg slippers on an HGTV whim after an episode of Love It or List It convinced her that it would really open up the space. She still remembered the way the drywall dust clung to them, and how Abby had threatened to film her for one of those “midlife crisis mom” TikToks. But at least she hadn’t left a tile saw on the floor. Just ruined a perfectly good pair of slippers. It did really open up the first floor, though. And the TikTok she and Abby made was pretty cute.

Beth stepped out of the exam room and peeled her gloves off with a tired snap, tossing them in the bin before pulling the curtain closed behind her. She sighed and pushed both hands into her hair, trying to tame whatever had come loose and shoved her glasses back up on top of her head in an attempt to secure it. They slid a little, but she didn’t care enough to fix them.

At the tracking board, she checked her phone on reflex and immediately felt the twist of guilt in her chest. A missed call and voicemail from Abby illuminated her screen, the timestamp stared back at her like a disapproving glare. Figured. She’d been busy stitching up a woman who’d nearly filleted her toe in the name of a “simple kitchen update” while she smiled and nodded while silently judging every Home Depot commercial ever made, all the while proving to her daughter that she was as shitty a mom as she already felt.

God, she needed to charge her damn watch. Maybe she’d order an extra charger tonight, keep it in the glove box. Fifteen bucks seemed like a small price to pay to avoid this awful sour feeling again.

She tapped the voicemail and brought the phone to her ear. She startled a little at the first sound; Abby’s laugh. Bright and high and joyful. The most beautiful thing she’d heard all day.

“Oh my god! I’m doing it, Jack. Stop nagging. I’m calling her,” she laughed, some Gracie Abrams song playing under the sound of his own laughter. Beth swallowed the twist in her chest at the noise of those two sounds mingling and listened. “Hi Mom! I guess you’re, like, super busy or something but whatever. Jack wanted me to call and tell you that I’m not dead, so. Here I am. Not dead. Hope work is okay. Love you! There, Mullet. Happy?”

“Oh, absolutely thrilled,” she heard Jack say flatly, a laugh edging his tone. “Ecstatic, really. You know, I think this might actually be the–”

“Oh my god, don’t start–”

She didn’t pull the phone from her ear right away when the voicemail cut out. She stood frozen in front of the tracking board with the hum of the ER around her and the sound of Abby’s voice echoing in her ear. Even though the message had cut out mid-word, it had been just enough–those few seconds–to settle the churning in her stomach before it returned, different and tight, when she considered the second laugh.

When she finally blinked and glanced down, the screen had already gone dark. She tapped it once, illuminating the screensaver image of her and Abby in Kauai that spring that she’d asked a stranger to take. She just needed to be sure, she told her. Maybe it was just a trick of her exhaustion.

But the proof came in the shape of Abby’s name right about the file of a voicemail she’d never expected. Of two laughs–two–she’d never expected to hear together outside of daydreams when she had been younger and trapped in the delirious exhaustion of new motherhood. Her daughter and…him.

Beth’s thumb hovered over the play button. She knew she shouldn’t; that it was ridiculous to listen again. She already knew what was there. She should put her phone away. Take the next patient. Consider why it didn’t feel stranger to her that her daughter was spending the morning with a nearly fifty-year-old man, much less one who was her ex-boyfriend. But she listened again anyway to the brief flash of her daughter’s voice, bright and so damn happy, and then his dry reply in the background.

When it ended, she let the phone rest against her chest and stared up at the screen, her arms crossed tight over her chest like it could hold back what threatened to pour out as something in her cracked right down the middle.

She likes him, That Girl whispered, gripping Beth’s arm and bouncing on her toes as she grinned. He likes her. They sounded like something. This could be our something.

Beth didn’t tell her that she was wrong. Didn’t shake her off or throw her back to the tides. But she didn’t admit that she was right, either. It sounded like that life she’d packed away and labeled Do Not Touch before she buried it so deep she thought it had rotted through. It was there. Her daughter. Her Jack. Laughing together like they’d always known how.

She didn’t tell That Girl that she liked it. Instead, she squeezed her hand and hid the small smile she couldn’t keep hiding before she turned her ringer all the way on and typed out a text with fingers that ached from the morning:

Hi boo. So sorry I keep missing you today. Call me when you get this—my ringer is on. If I don’t answer, call Miss Dana. Love you so big.

She stared at it for a second, rereading “Love you so big” twice before hitting send.

She slipped her phone into her pocket and wandered over to the hub, where Dana was scribbling something onto a clipboard with the same focused fury she always had when they were short-staffed. She hadn’t realized that she was still smiling until she caught her reflection in the dim screen of one of the monitors, tugging at her mouth like it had been waiting to slip out all day.

Before she could tame her face, Dana clocked it almost instantly. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she watched Beth over her glasses. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” Beth said quickly, still trying to school her face into something neutral, but her friend raised her brows with a disbelieving look.

“Oh yeah?” Dana arched a brow. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain handsome nightshifter swooping in to save the day like some ER cowboy?”

Beth exhaled a soft laugh and rolled her eyes, but the heat that crawled up her neck betrayed her. “It was a dead battery. Not exactly a daring rescue.”

“And I suppose you blushing over your phone like a teenager is just a coincidence then?” Beth opened her mouth, then closed it, caught. She tried to mask it with a little shrug, but the gesture only seemed to confirm that wicked way Dana grinned at her. Dana stepped closer and leaned against the counter, her voice dropping. “Just sayin’, Red. If someone who looked at me the way he looks at you went rushing out of here to help out my kid? I’d be feeling a little appreciative, too.”

“You’re terrible,” Beth snorted, chewing her lip to keep from smiling again as heat crawled across her chest. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Dana’s smile softened. “You don’t have to keep pretending that it’s nothing, Beth,” she said. “He’s good to her.”

Beth didn’t answer. She looked down at her hands, still trembling faintly from adrenaline, from the crash of grief, from whatever the hell Jack stirred up in her chest again, and let out a long breath. “He is, isn’t he?”

“That’s gotta count for something.”

It counts for too much. That’s the problem.

Beth toyed with the cuff of her quarter zip. It wasn’t the top she’d shown up in the morning. A sorority girl with alcohol poisoning had made quick work of that. “Any word from the girl’s parents?” Beth asked.

Dana looked up and gave a small shake of her head, holding out the discharge paperwork for Toeanna Gaines in Exam Eight that Beth had forgotten she printed. “Not yet. They’re on their way, though. Kiara’s keeping an eye out.”

“Thanks, D,” Beth said absently, grabbing the printed discharge papers from the nurse’s outstretched hand.

She straightened up with a wince. Her ponytail officially gave up the ghost; threw in the towel, turned in its letter of resignation and flipped off Gloria on the way out. A rogue section of hair dropped straight into her eyes as if it had been waiting for the opportunity just to piss her off. She blew it away half-heartedly, but it clung stubbornly to the sweat at her temple.

Beth let out an annoyed breath. That was it.

She ripped the hair tie out of her hair with one hand, dragging her fingers through the mess, and marched herself to the nearest bathroom like she had a purpose. She didn’t. Not really. But for the first time since the trauma, she let herself take the sixty seconds she hadn’t let herself have. Just a minute. Just to breathe. Just to stop pretending her chest wasn’t still tight. She leaned back against the door as it shut behind her, the cool of the metal bleeding through the fabric of her top. Her hands went to her hips. Her head tipped back. The overhead light buzzed softly above her, casting everything in that particular, unflattering yellow hospital wash. For once, she didn’t care.

She tried her best not to meet her reflection in the mirror as she hastily threw her hair up. But, as if the universe just needed to jab at her one final time, the elastic snapped and broke in her hand. Beth let her hair fall around her shoulders and exhaled heavily, closing her eyes.

Fine.

She sighed and turned towards the door. There had to be a clip in her locker. Probably one of Abby’s; that pink one she snagged on her way out of the door last week or the one with stupid little teeth that never held her hair right, but still. It would do the trick. She’d order her more tonight to replace the ones she’d borrowed. And a charger. One for her car, maybe one for work, too. She was done gambling with dead batteries.

Some days, the Leanne Baker Rule didn’t work as well as it did on others.

Beth had followed it anyway. Stripped out of her scrubs like shedding skin, traded them for the soft familiarity of yoga pants and an old college sweatshirt two sizes too big like worn cotton and elastic waistbands would erase the day. She’d stepped out of sneakers stained in blood she couldn’t get out and didn’t try to anymore. Let her ponytail give up the fight to gravity somewhere around the exit sign in the staff parking lot.

It was all muscle memory. Going through the motions like doing the right things in the right order might trick her brain into thinking she was okay.

But the weight of it stayed with her, clinging like smoke. That heaviness didn’t care about clean clothes or comfort. It sat with her on the drive home; silent, full of judgment, and impossible to ignore.

She didn’t get out of the car right away. She sat in the driveway, parked in front of the house while the opening chords of Boulevard of Broken Dreams crackled through the speakers. She’d cranked the volume somewhere around the freeway, somewhere between needing to feel something and needing to hear anything but that mother’s scream before she collapsed into Beth’s arms and begged. The music didn’t help; not really. But the silence felt worse.

She stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the song to end and another to start. Long enough to feel the ache creep back into her chest despite the sweatshirt emblazoned with the insignia of the school she’d ruined them for.

When Robby had offered to send her home early again, she hadn’t argued. She hadn’t even waited for him to finish the sentence. She’d already been halfway to her locker, keys in hand, heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stand another second in that building with the memory of that trauma bay echoing in the tiles. Not with That Girl still whispering she likes him like it meant something. Not with the ghost of Alyja’s blood still on her hands, under her nails, soaked into her skin like it had a right to stay.

No, the Leanne Baker Rule didn’t fix it today. But she followed it anyway, because some days, the motions were just all she could manage.

Beth watched the rain slap against the windshield, her wipers idle now, streaks of water distorting the world just enough to make everything feel a little farther away. The sky was still that dull, heavy grey that made everything look colorless except for the trees. The red and orange leaves clung stubbornly to the branches lining their street, defiantly bright against the gloom. Abby’s car sat just ahead of hers, right where it should be. That dumb “don’t tailgate me I have rabies” sticker was crooked on the back windshield, just below the streak left by the wiper blade. The disco ball hung from the mirror, catching no light, just a dim, scattered reflection in the rain-muted dark.

Beth’s chest ached. She closed her eyes and let the final chords of Brain Stew rattle through the frame of the car, the heavy percussion shaking the silence loose from her ribcage. Then, with a breath she didn’t fully release, she turned the key, let the engine die, and stepped out onto the rain-dappled sidewalk. The cold bit through the soft cotton of her sweatshirt almost immediately, but she didn’t rush.

The red brick house was quiet from the outside. The lights were on inside, muted yellow behind the curtains. She came through the door without thinking, the motion weightless until the gym bag thunked to the hardwood with a heavy slap. She didn’t look down at it when she nudged it aside with her foot. She’d deal with the scrubs later when she had the energy to dump them in the washer and not think about how much of today still clung to them. Tomorrow morning, maybe. Right now, she wanted to shower, order something shitty, and sit with her kid.

The tv was on when she came in, far too loud as usual, but the sound made her pause in the doorway for just a moment, if only because of how wholly expected it was. She tossed her keys into the dish beside Abby’s and started to shrug off her jacket to hang it by the door with her purse when she heard it: nails on hardwood, the jingle of tags, and a low thud that could only mean one thing.

Or so she thought.

Her first instinct was automatic, conditioned by years of routine. She looked down, ready to greet the dog that—

That’s not my dog.

A startled breath caught in her throat as a rather rotund graying German shepherd rolled onto his back at her feet, tail thumping, ears flopped back like a doofus in a dog suit. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, teeth displayed in a goofy grin, panting happily as he presented his round belly like she was someone he’d known all his life.

Beth blinked at him, stunned. “What in the hell…?”

He panted harder, as if to say Well, are you gonna scratch it or what?

She did.

She stopped halfway through taking off her jacket when she straightened back up, watching Not-Atlas warily until she spotted the unfamiliar Carhartt hanging on the hook beside Abby’s jacket and her own purse, faded brown and damp around the hem, heavy with rain. She let the denim fall back to her shoulders while she looked between it and the dog. Not-Atlas twisted around clumsily and stood, sneezing before he lumbered off to the living room and jumped up on the couch.

The mystery of the dog and jacket didn’t stay unsolved for long. A voice echoed from her kitchen with infuriating casualness over the sound of the tv.

“So when does she start dating the Kelce kid?”

Beth stilled in the entryway, hands halfway to the collar of her jacket. She hadn’t quite managed to attempt to shrug the wet denim off a second time before the conversation stopped her in her tracks the same as the strange dog in her house. She stepped down the entryway and the couch came into view, the glow of the tv throwing shadows around the room. She swallowed down the noise in her throat when she saw Abby leaned back into the cushions, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head, her school laptop open in her lap and balanced atop the Christmas blanket. Atlas was curled in a tight little knot against her hip, nose tucked to tail. Not-Atlas was splayed dramatically on his back beside her with his paws in the air like a cartoon drawing of a dead bug, tongue lolling, completely unbothered by the fact that this was absolutely not his house.

Beth’s heart tugged once, tight and quiet, then let go. She lingered in the entryway, watching the exchange quietly.

“Oh my god, Jack. We are years away from that,” Abby said, exasperated and amused all at once. She lifted a hand from her keyboard to pat Not-Atlas’s side. The dog wiggled happily and pushed his head into her side with a contented grunt. “We haven’t even hit the Matty Healy era yet. Pay attention.”

“Right, sorry,” Jack’s voice floated in from the kitchen, easy over the rush of the faucet and the clicking of Abby’s typing. “So, this Scooter Brown—.”

“Scooter Braun,” she groaned, shooting a dry glare toward the kitchen doorway.

“That’s what I said. Who’s not listening now? Anyway, Skipper Vaughn—.”

Abby sighed, but Beth caught the little smile illuminated in the glow of her laptop screen. “You are so exhausting.”

“I’m just trying to keep up, kid,” Jack called back, unbothered. “You’re like a damn soap opera recap in there. Not sure what any of this has to do with that calc test.”

“I knew you weren’t listening,” Abby said with a sigh, but she didn’t sound mad. If anything, she sounded a little pleased.

Beth stood in the entryway, watching them. For a second, it didn’t even feel like she’d walked in. It was like she’d been standing there forever, on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to step into. She hadn’t seen Abby smile like that in… well, how long had it been? Her stubborn, brilliant little girl didn’t share that smile easily; all teeth and wide enough to push up her cheeks and crinkle her nose. But there it was, shining from her like gold, while Jack moved through her home like he was simply a part of the furniture. Like he’d always known how to be the soft landing for a kid that wasn’t his. For a cruel, brief, beautiful, aching moment, it felt like home.

Beth’s fingers stilled on the jacket as that hummingbird came on quiet and warm, fluttering in her gut like it was trying to escape. Jack glanced at Abby from the kitchen doorway, something softening in his face when she rolled her eyes at him and laughed before returning to her homework, and that flutter turned into a steady beating. The way he teased her, gently, and left room to push back, didn’t bristle to her snark, but rather returned it with his own clever jab that drew out that rare smile. The way he looked at her girl like he saw her. No one had looked at her like that before. Not her teachers, not her coaches, not her friends’ parents, not Ed. Certainly not Russell. But Jack didn’t look at Abby like she was some puzzle to crack or some problem he had to fix.

He looked at her the same way he had Beth all those years ago.

“I was!” Jack called back defensively.

“You’re not. But okay,” Abby muttered, still typing without looking up. “And for the record? If I have to listen to your boomer road trip playlist every time we get in the truck, you can absolutely suffer through my Swiftie TED Talk.”

He chuckled from the kitchen. “My music’s not that old. Some of it’s from the 2000s.”

“Oh wow. Next you’ll tell me your taste in women is just as current.”

Jack choked on his laugh and stepped into the kitchen doorway with an exaggeratedly offended look, dishrag in hand. “That felt targeted.”

“It was.” Abby grinned, sinking a little deeper into the couch cushions, smug and glowing with the satisfaction of a well-landed jab. “Now shut up and pay attention.”

He rolled his eyes and wiped his hands. “Bossy.”

“Old,” she shot back without missing a beat.

“Watch it,” Jack warned, pointing the dishrag at her like a white flag he wasn’t really waving before stepping back into the kitchen. “I can go pull that alternator right back out, kid. Keep it up. Hey, where does your mom keep the dish soap? This Bath & Body Works crap you have in here sucks.”

Beth watched from the shadows of the entryway, the smile curling at the edge of her mouth as involuntary as the sting in her eyes. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself as she kicked off her sneakers, still watching Abby smile and toss back another quip that Jack volleyed back.

“It’s under the sink,” she called out, her voice catching in the quiet between their laughter.

Abby’s head snapped up. “Hey, Mom!” she beamed, immediately brightening. One hand reached for Atlas, who stirred just slightly against her hip before resettling with a grumble.

Beth’s breath left her in a slow exhale. Not-Atlas thumped his tail lazily at the sound of her voice. She stepped further into the room, returning Abby’s smile with one that didn’t feel forced as she crossed the living room to wrap her arms around her from behind the couch.

Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, dishrag still in hand. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, easy and at home in a way that made something twist in Beth’s chest and made the trauma bay feel far away. A well-worn hoodie replaced the scrub top she’d seen him in that morning, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, his forearms streaked in grease. His hair was still damp from the rain, flattened a bit, curls sticking in every direction like he’d dragged his hand through it one too many times.

He met her eyes and offered a soft, crooked smile; quiet and familiar. Beth felt the weight of it settle somewhere low in her belly.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Mom, you’re choking me.”

Beth loosened her grip automatically, but didn’t let go. She pressed a kiss to the top of Abby’s head instead, then pulled back just enough to see her face; cheeks pink, eyes bright, safe. Whole. Breathing. That flutter in her chest ached and swelled all at once.

She looked up and found Jack still leaning in the doorway, watching them with something quiet and unreadable behind his eyes. She met his gaze and gave him a small, tired smile.

“Thanks for going to get her,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Jack shrugged, brow hitching as he made a dismissive little noise. “No big deal. Happy to help.”

“Seriously.” She meant it. Let it hang there in the quiet between them, heavy with more than just gratitude.

He just nodded, and Beth could almost believe that was enough. She brushed Abby’s hair back gently, eyes still on Jack as she asked, “Why aren’t you home? You didn’t have to stick around.” She winced the second the words were out, biting lightly at the inside of her cheek. “I just mean—”

“He had to play mechanic in the driveway,” Abby cut in, as if she could rescue her from the stumble. “My car was, like, big dead.”

Beth’s eyebrows lifted, eyes flicking to Jack again. “Big dead?”

Jack grinned, a little smug. “Terminal.”

“Anyway,” Abby went on, “we got a new battery after breakfast.”

Beth’s gaze darted back to her daughter. “Breakfast?”

Abby nodded casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah. Jack took me to get something to eat after he got me. Made me listen to his old-man music in the truck.”

Jack groaned and tipped his head back like he was begging the ceiling for patience. “You have no taste.”

“Oh my god, I’m literally talking,” she snapped, not looking up from her screen.

“Oh my god, I literally hear you,” Jack shot back.

“Shut up, Jack.”

Beth couldn’t help it—she laughed. It started small, curled at the corner of her mouth, then bloomed into something fuller, looser, warm in her throat. She looked at Jack again and saw the same smile reflected there. Abby looked up at the sound of it, then ducked her head with a grin of her own, cheeks flushed. For a second, they were just here; in the living room, together, with dogs and dumb jokes and the kind of ease Beth hadn’t felt in months. The tightness in her chest let go. Not all the way, but enough that she finally felt like she could take a full breath.

“Anyway,” Abby said, lifting her chin with exaggerated dignity, “as I was saying before I was interrupted—” she shot a pointed glare at Jack, “—we got a new battery for my car. Did you know they expire? I thought you had the same battery for, like, ever. But apparently, you’re supposed to get a new one every five years? Jack said mine was the original. Wild, right?”

Damn it. She’d been meaning to replace that. Beth raised an eyebrow, already halfway to a smirk. “Honey, do we keep the same batteries in the remote?”

Abby frowned. “No… oh—wait.” Her eyes widened as the metaphor clicked into place. “They’re like a battery-battery? You didn’t say that.”

Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Why would it be called a battery if it wasn’t a—?” He gave up halfway through, muttering something under his breath that Beth was pretty sure ended in Jesus Christ.

Abby snorted, actually snorted, and then covered her mouth with both hands, wide-eyed. Beth blinked, startled by the sound. It was so sudden, so full and real that her own eyebrows flew up like they’d been pulled on a string. When was the last time she had heard that?

“Oh my god, Jack!” she said between giggles. “Stop interrupting! I’m trying to talk!”

Jack lifted his hands, a smug little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “By all means. Please continue the riveting saga of the world’s most abused Subaru. I’ll keep the commentary to myself.”

Beth didn’t interrupt. She just listened and let herself enjoy it, letting That Girl sit on the arm of the couch and watch in wonder as her Abby laughed. Beth snorted a quiet laugh when Jack rolled his eyes and chuckled, and her smile pulled a little wider despite herself.

“Alright,” she said, glancing between them, “so you two got a new battery?”

“Well, kinda,” Abby said, already gearing up. “We got one, and Jack showed me how to change it, which was actually kinda cool. But my car still wouldn’t start. He thought it was something wrong with my…” She turned toward Jack, lifting her eyebrows in question. “Alternator, right?”

He nodded once, that proud little half-smile blooming on his face, quick and subtle, but full of something warm that made Beth’s cheeks feel hot.

Abby caught it and grinned back, then turned to her mom with a shrug. “So he said he’d just drive me to my appointment since he, like, crashed out over the idea of me taking an Uber or whatever. And we went to go look for a new alternator after so he could fix my car. And I got to meet Moose, which was the best part. Even though someone never told me he had a dog. Like, rude.”

Beth’s gaze drifted to the dog, still upside down and very much asleep on her couch like he paid rent.

“This is Moose,” Abby added, giving his belly a pat. “He’s literally the stupidest dog I’ve ever met.”

Moose snorted in his sleep, tongue flopping even further out the side of his mouth like he’d taken that as a compliment.

Jack crossed his arms loosely over his chest from the doorway. “He’s not stupid. He’s just… simple. He’s a good boy.”

“He’s a great boy,” Abby said proudly, scratching behind Moose’s ear. “And I love him.”

Beth just shook her head, smiling into Abby’s hood. It was too easy to slip into this; into them, like them was even something they were. And that was maybe the scariest part of all. Beth looked between them, letting her eyes linger just a second too long on Jack. There was something in her expression when she looked at him, a tug at the corner of her mouth that didn’t quite become a smile, but wasn’t nothing either. Familiar. Fond, even. Maybe a little curious.

“Sounds like you two have had a busy morning.”

“Yeah,” Abby said, already halfway through scritching Moose’s ears. “Jack just finished. It’s been kinda fun, though.”

Beth’s gaze lingered on Jack. Her voice softened just slightly. “Sounds like it.”

“He also told me you ran out of gas, like, all the time,” Abby added cheerfully.

Beth rolled her eyes. “It was not all the time.” A short laugh slipped free as she turned to Jack, pointing an accusing finger. “It was twice. Stop lying to her.”

Jack smirked, not even pretending to feel bad. “It was three times.”

“Whatever.”

Beth shook her head, but the smile stayed. At least until Abby tilted her head and asked, “Wait, why are you home so early? Don’t you get off at seven? It’s, like… three.”

Beth’s breath caught just enough to make Jack glance up.

“Oh, um…” She stiffened and gave Abby’s hair a little smoothing pass with her fingers, like the contact might anchor her. “They didn’t need me at work, so they sent me home. Kind of nice, huh?”

Abby nodded slowly, but Beth could tell she wasn’t buying it. Her daughter didn’t push, though. She turned back to Moose, who had begun lazily licking her cheek with impressive commitment.

“Dude,” Abby said, scrunching her face. “Your breath smells like straight ass. Get out of here.”

Moose flopped against her harder, satisfied.

Beth laughed softly but felt it waver at the end. She glanced toward the kitchen and caught Jack watching her. It wasn’t obvious. But it was the kind of attention that made her skin feel too tight, like the seams of her sweatshirt didn’t sit right on her shoulders. He wasn’t grinning now. Just looking at her the way he used to when they were younger, when she’d try to pretend everything was fine and he never let her get away with it; like he could still see the fault lines under her skin before they shifted and shook. She looked away first and bent to grab her gym bag without saying anything more, clutching the straps like she needed the weight in her hands.

“I’m gonna throw these in the wash,” she murmured, already turning toward the hall. “Be right back.”

Beth didn’t let herself breathe until she reached the laundry room. The hallway felt too long, like walking through molasses, her bag thumping against her thigh with every step. Her hand clenched the strap so tightly her knuckles ached. She didn’t glance back, didn’t check to see if Jack was still watching her. She knew he was. She could feel it like a weight at the base of her neck.

She stepped inside the laundry room and shut the door behind her with a soft click. Only then did she exhale, shaky and uneven, like it had been caught in her chest for hours. The silence felt too loud in here, but it was private. Dim, except for the strip of afternoon light bleeding through the half-shut blinds above the washer. She dropped the gym bag on top of the machine with more force than she meant to, the vibration of it jarring through her wrists.

Her fingers trembled as she found the zipper. It stuck once, because why the fuck wouldn’t it, and she tugged it harder. The sound of it opening felt louder than it should’ve, echoing in the close space.

Beth didn’t look at what she pulled out. Just gripped each piece of clothing and shoved it into the washer one at a time like the day itself could be laundered away if she just moved fast enough. The scrubs were still damp with sweat, sleeves sticking together, pants bunched in on themselves like they wanted to be anywhere else. She forced them down into the metal drum. Shirt. Pants. Compression socks. Her badge slid out when she tugged out her compression jacket and hit the tile floor with a light, accusing thud.

She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps in the hallway behind her, too heavy to be Abby, too familiar not to brace for. The door creaked open behind her.

“Hey,” Jack said softly. “You good?”

Beth flinched just slightly, then caught herself. She glanced over her shoulder, lips pulling into a smile that didn’t quite land. “I’m good.”

“Your kid this morning?” he asked, gentler this time.

Beth froze, her hands tightening on the blue jacket still half-folded in her bag. Her jaw locked, her breath stalled.

“Her name was Alyja,” she said quietly, the syllables catching like splinters in her throat. She swiped a quick, rough hand across her cheek and turned toward him, trying to pretend her voice didn’t shake. “Thank you again. For everything today. For Abby. You didn’t have to…”

Her words trailed off. Her voice cracked on Abby’s name.

Jack was already moving. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, stepping forward and catching her wrist before she could turn away. “Stop.”

“I’m okay, I’m just—” Beth started, but her voice faltered when he said her name again, soft but firm. She shook her head, blinking fast, already trying to pull back. “Jack—”

“Beth.” Just her name, soft and firm, and steady in a way that undid her.

She stopped fighting. She stared at him through watery eyes, her mouth pressed in a flat line she couldn’t hold much longer.

“She was two blocks away from home,” she whispered. Jack didn’t speak. His fingers stayed around her wrist, warm and gentle, his thumb brushing against her skin like he could ease the ache beneath it.

“She was seventeen years old, Jack,” Beth choked out. “All I could think of when you came in that room—” Her voice caught. She covered her mouth like she could shove the rest back in. “All I could think of was Abby.”

Jack stepped closer. “You did everything you could.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough anymore,” she said, a hollow sound in her chest. “Not when I had to look at that girl’s mom and—” She broke off, sniffled, shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I know. I shouldn’t. I’ve been doing this for half my life, I shouldn’t be getting this worked up—”

“No. Not that.” His voice was quiet but certain. “You don’t have to apologize, Sparky. Not to me.”

Beth went still again, eyes glassy as she blinked at the floor between them. Jack reached for the front of her jacket, fingers curling in the fabric just enough to pull her forward.

Beth didn’t move at first.

Jack’s hand on her jacket was gentle; like he was offering, not asking. She hovered in the space between them, stiff and brittle, hands braced against his chest like that was as close as she’d let herself get. Her breath caught high in her throat. She could feel the steady rise and fall on his chest beneath her palms, the slow pull of breath like it cost him nothing to be here while everything inside her was screaming.

Please, That Girl breathed. Please.

He guided her in, slow and sure, one arm slipping low around her waist, the other rising to cradle the back of her head. He tucked her in beneath his chin like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The fan whirred softly above them, the hum of the washer ticking by behind her like a second hand, but none of it seemed real except him. The heat of him. The clean weight of his arms. The way his heartbeat beat slow and patient under her ear, like he wasn’t in a rush to make her okay. She smelled rain on him. Oil. That faint, stubborn soap he never swapped out for anything better; warm and old and familiar and undeniably Jack. Something that made her ache down to the marrow.

Please, That Girl inside her whispered. Please just stay.

Beth’s breath hitched again. Her fingers twitched once, then curled into the front of his sweatshirt like she was grabbing fistfuls of time. Like she could hold it still if she held on tight enough.

And then she folded. Slowly, like a wave collapsing on the shore. She closed her eyes, her forehead tucked into the curve of his collarbone, her knees softening as the last bit of resistance bled out of her. Her breath shuddered against him, and Jack pulled her in closer, his arm strong around her waist.

His hand moved gently over her back, the other threading through her hair, anchoring her in place. Not to keep her from leaving, but to give her somewhere to land. She could feel him breathe her in. She could feel the way his chin dipped, the press of his mouth to her temple, just barely there. A moment she could almost pretend she imagined, and had convinced herself she didn’t want to for such a long time. For the first time in a long time, she let herself be held.

Jack held her in the quiet, his arms firm and steady, like he was content to stay that way as long as she needed. His chin rested against the top of her head, and for a little while, neither of them said anything. Beth stayed pressed to his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heartbeat under her ear.

Jack shifted just a little, adjusting his arms, but didn’t let her go as he broke the silence. “I really need to teach Abby how to fix her own car.” Beth let out a small, surprised laugh that caught in her throat. It cracked something open in the silence. “Just as helpless as her mother,” he added, teasing.

“Hey,” she protested weakly, but there was no heat in it.

“I’m serious,” he said, pulling back just enough to glance down at her face, still damp with tears. “You worked in that shop for, what…two years? And never paid attention?”

Beth sniffed, her mouth twitching into a tired grin. “I paid some attention.”

Jack raised a brow. He chuckled, low and warm, and the sound curled around her like a blanket.

“I could’ve learned,” Beth said, a little smile playing on her lips. “But it was more fun watching my cute boyfriend do it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Ah. So you were useless on purpose.”

“I was being supportive.”

He grinned. “Right. By standing in the doorway and flirting while I did all the work.”

“Exactly.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, slow and careful. It stayed there a second longer than it needed to before his fingers moved to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

“You always were a sucker for a guy with dirty hands,” he murmured.

I was always a sucker for you, That Girl murmured. I guess I still am.

The way he looked at her in that moment made her chest ache; like time hadn’t passed at all, like she hadn’t spent years trying to forget how easy this used to be. Her smile faltered, just barely, but she didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“I was,” she whispered.

Beth let her head fall gently back against his chest. The movement was small, almost shy, but Jack didn’t shift or flinch. He just held her like she belonged there.

She had once. Or at least, she had thought she did.

She closed her eyes and listened.

The steady churn of the washing machine filled the quiet. Jack’s breathing moved slow and deep under her ear, solid and calm. Down the hall, Abby laughed, something bright and real that made Beth’s throat tighten all over again. A few muffled words followed, soft and amused, directed at the dogs no doubt, and the answering thump of a tail against the couch leg made her smile through the ache in her chest.

This was her home. Her little world. And yet, this moment didn’t feel like something she was meant to keep. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this. Not tucked against him in the dim light of her laundry room, his arms steady around her, like no time had passed at all. Like the weight of the years and the heartbreak and the silence hadn’t existed. Like she hadn’t spent the better part of her life learning how to live without him.

She’d trained herself not to wonder. Not to imagine. Not to let her thoughts drift back to what it would’ve been like if he hadn’t left, if she’d been able to make him stay, if they hadn’t both been so young and stupid and scared. She’d buried those fantasies beneath practicality and motherhood and reality. She’d taught herself to live with the choice.

But then he walked into that exam room, and her world shifted. And ever since, she’d been losing ground. And now here she was. Letting herself lean. Letting herself remember. Letting herself feel what it was to be held by someone who knew her. Beth swallowed hard, the guilt and longing braided so tightly together she couldn’t tell one from the other.

She should pull away. She should move. She should say something that created space.

But she didn’t. Not yet.

She just stood there, quietly stealing this moment that didn’t belong to her, and wishing she could stop time long enough to convince herself it did. She knew it was foolish, this aching, impossible tenderness blooming in her chest. But she didn’t move.

Jack’s arms stayed around her like they’d never learned how not to be, like thirty years hadn’t carved out a lifetime between them. And maybe that’s why she stayed for just a moment longer. Maybe that’s why she let her eyes close and let the weight of her head rest where it wanted. Because it was foolish, yes, but it also felt so safe. Dangerous in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in so long.

After things ended with Russell, after everything went to hell and her dad moved her into that shitty apartment by the hospital she never wanted to be in, there were nights when she let herself wonder.

Only in the dark. Only in those fragile, unraveling hours between midnight and morning. When the apartment was too quiet and too cold, and Abby was so small she could barely fill the newborn clothes Becca had bought in bulk. When she could hear her daughter breathing through the monitor beside her bed, soft and steady and perfect, and she’d stare at the crack in the ceiling above her mattress, too exhausted to sleep but too wrung out to cry.

She would lie there and think about names.

Think about that name.

The one she hadn’t said in years. The one she hadn’t let herself touch until it slipped free, unbidden, out of her mouth when the nurse asked what’s her name? and she was too tired, too undone to lie.

Beth hadn’t let herself think of Jack until that moment; until that name left her lips before she even had the chance to stop it. Abby.

And then it was over. The floodgate cracked open. And she let herself wonder again: What if he had come back?

Maybe, in some other life, things would’ve been different. Maybe they would’ve lived near the ocean like they always talked about; some little weather-beaten house with peeling paint that he’d work on every weekend. He’d curse at the porch steps and threaten to tear out the kitchen cabinets every other Saturday, but he’d do it all with sawdust on his sleeves and the sun in his eyes and a smile tucked beneath his stubble. And the house would be theirs. Imperfect and loud and full of dog hair and laughter, but it would be theirs.

Maybe they’d have moved back to Coldwater so Abby could grow up near her grandparents; familiar streets and old neighbors waving from porches. Maybe Beth would’ve taken the job at the clinic, the one her mother used to talk about when they were kids. Maybe they would’ve bought her parents’ house once they retired, let it live a new life full of grass stained feet and bike tracks and home-cooked dinners.

Maybe Jack would’ve kissed her on his way out the door every morning, pressed his lips to her forehead like a promise. Maybe he’d bring her lunch when she forgot it on the counter, roll his eyes and tease her about it later like it didn’t matter at all. Maybe he’d let her sleep in on her days off without her even asking, because he’d know the way exhaustion settled deep in her bones. He’d have seen it. He always did see her.

Maybe in some other universe—some parallel thread where he never left—he’d be lying beside her in that apartment, their hands tangled between them, listening to the soft, steady sounds of their daughter breathing through the monitor on the nightstand. Maybe he’d love them. Stay for them.

Maybe Abby would’ve had a father who never missed a moment. Who would’ve been there for her first breath, his hands shaking as he reached for her. Who would’ve cried when they put her in his arms for the first time, whispering wonderstruck things into her tiny ears. Who wouldn’t have hesitated, not even for a second, when they rushed her away to the NICU.

He would’ve known what to say. Knew the right words when Beth couldn’t find any.

He would’ve pitched a fucking tent in that NICU if they’d let him, stubborn and protective, refusing to leave Abby’s side. He would’ve curled himself around their daughter like he could shield her from everything that was broken in the world.

And when the bleeding started, when it wouldn’t stop, and Beth woke up in the recovery room—panicked and confused, without her baby or the womb that carried her into this world—he wouldn’t have stared at her like she was a disappointment, like she’d failed at the one thing she was supposed to do. He wouldn’t have turned cold or silent or resentful.

No.

Jack would’ve been there, eyes wet and voice low, kissing her temple and telling her it was okay. That she was okay. He would’ve known exactly what to whisper into her hair when she broke apart. He would’ve crawled into that tiny hospital bed with her and held her together when she was heartbroken and terrified. Would’ve made sure she never had to bear any of it by herself.

This is all I need. She could hear him whisper on those nights. This is all I’ve ever needed. Just you and her. In that dream, they were safe. They were happy. Love was still kind. She would fall asleep wrapped in arms that never felt too far away and wake up to coffee already brewing and laughter down the hall. The sheets wouldn’t feel cold. The silence wouldn’t feel so loud.

They’d be happy. Because they’d have him.

But that wasn’t the life she got.

The life she got was one where the bed cooled far too quickly. Where a baby stirred in the next room, a baby who would grow up flinching at the last name he used as a bargaining chip whenever someone said it aloud in class or across a doctor’s office like it was something to be embarrassed by. Like the weight of it still hung on a ghost of a man who hadn’t earned it.

And Beth still woke up alone.

She used to stare at the sky through the blinds of her apartment and wonder if he was looking up at the same stars. The ones that used to be theirs. She’d whisper to them like they could answer. Like they could tell her what she did wrong. Like they could explain why love stopped being enough.

Maybe in some other life, she wouldn’t have to beg the universe to trade skies. Maybe in that life, Jack would’ve come home. And if he had, the door would have been unlocked. It always was. Even when it shouldn’t have been. Damn her, maybe it still was now.

She told herself she’d stopped wondering a long time ago. Told herself she’d buried that version of him, and the girl she used to be when she loved him, so deep inside her that they couldn’t claw their way back to the surface.

But then he stood in her laundry room. He stood in her life again. With his arms around her and the smell of rain in his clothes and that look on his face like he still saw all the broken parts of her and didn’t flinch. And for the first time in years, she let herself lean into something that felt like home.

And she hated herself for it, because it wasn’t just about her anymore. It was watching him race out of the hospital to pick up a child who wasn’t his, watching him wipe grease off his hands after fixing her car. It was the way he made her daughter laugh, the way he smiled when she rolled her eyes at him and called him annoying, like it didn’t sting a little that she was seventeen and just now learning how to laugh with a man like that.

It was watching Abby light up, watching Jack be there with a fierce, casual certainty that didn’t ask for anything in return. No bargaining. No begging. No ultimatums.

Just there. And there meant that he could be gone again, too.

But Beth let herself wonder again. What if that had been her life? What if Abby had grown up with this?

What if she never had to field the bruises of silence and absence, of birthdays missed and promises broken? What if she’d had someone to fight for her? Someone who would’ve never let go? She wouldn’t don the same armor Beth knew she’d inherited from her, guarding herself with a sharp tongue and a need to prove that she was smart and funny and worth staying for. She’d never be ashamed. She’d never be angry. She’d never be unwanted. She’d have a dad who loved her. Who loved them.

Beth could see it then. See that life, blurry and shining across the room like some cruel mirage. Close enough to touch, but never to keep.

The worst part, the part that made her throat close and her chest go tight, was that for the first time in so long, she wasn’t just mourning what could’ve been for herself. She was mourning it for her daughter.

And now here he was. Warm and real, and so heartbreakingly steady. In her house. In her life. Holding her now like he hadn’t missed all these years. Like the fault lines between then and now didn’t scare him. Like she hadn’t bled alone. Like she hadn’t raised Abby in the wake of a man who’d never even tried to stay for her, either.

Jack let out a breath above her head, the motion barely brushing her hair. One of his thumbs still moved gently along the curve of her spine like he didn’t even know he was doing it. Beth swallowed hard. She didn’t let herself speak. She stood there in the quiet of the laundry room, wrapped in arms she never thought she’d feel again, and let the weight of everything she’d carried for years settle, just for a second, into someone else. She stayed pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear like it was some kind of lullaby she remembered from a lifetime ago.

And maybe it was. She wondered for a moment if it could be again before she swallowed it down.

She didn’t want to wonder. She couldn’t.

Because wondering meant hoping, and hope was a fire she’d already burned herself in once before. It always started slow: a what if, a flicker, a softness. But it spread fast. Lit up everything she had spent years trying to rebuild. And when it burned out, when it always burned out, it left her hollow.

He’d left her once. Things had been like this then, too. Quiet. Close. Familiar in all the ways that made her forget how much it hurt to remember.

She couldn’t live through that again. She couldn’t let herself fall and claw her way back up again only to drown. That Girl in the tides, the one who had sobbed into her pillow at eighteen until she made herself sick, who’d begged the stars to bring him home, she wouldn’t come back from it this time.

But, God.

God, how good would it be if he just stayed.

If he stayed and didn’t flinch at the weight of it all. If he stayed and helped her carry the pieces she’d had to learn to lift alone. If he stayed and made good on every promise they never had the chance to keep. That heartbroken, lovesick little girl inside her would have loved him every day of her life if he had just stayed.

But he didn’t.

And somehow, against every good instinct, every word of warning she whispered to herself in the dark, she had loved him anyway.

Even in the silence. Even in the absence.

And now, with her head tucked beneath his chin, like she was still That Girl, still eighteen and stupid and hopelessly in love, Beth let her stay. She let her lean into him and let him hold her a little tighter. Let that warmth spread through her in a gentle crawl until all she could feel was him.

She let herself wonder if things would be like this if he stayed this time.

Just for a moment.

Because this felt like something.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot #jack abbot #jack abbot/oc #jack abbot x oc #dr abbot x oc #jack abbot fanfic #begin again

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moonlightdreamzz · 4 hours ago

Text

CRIMSON RING ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! ── CHAPTER ONE

★ SUMMARY

you walk into crimson ring because you’re tired of being afraid. tired of flinching. tired of taking hits you never deserved. all you want is to learn how to fight back. but this gym…isn’t normal. the men who train there are too strong. some of them are kind. funny, even. some are terrifying without trying. but all of them carry something in their silence.

what you don’t know is that crimson ring isn’t just for fighters. it’s where vampires go to relearn control—to train their bodies to stay still when blood hits the air. a front for humans. a discipline for immortals. a place to feel everything—without giving in to it.

the one they call ni-ki won’t even look at you. he trains alone. never speaks. and when he finally does, it’s to say “you shouldn’t be here.” you don’t know why he hates you. you don’t know why he looks at you like he’s already lost you. but he does.

because you look like the girl he loved. the one he lost control with. the one he killed centuries ago—fangs in your veins. and now, you’re here again. same eyes. same voice. same scent that haunts him in his sleep. you don’t remember him. but he does. and this time, he’s not sure if he’ll save you. or ruin you all over again.

the flames are already at your ankles by the time you realize you’re not going to make it.

you’re not running anymore. not really. it’s more like limping forward on instinct—legs shredded open by bramble, smoke stuck in your throat like grief. the forest isn’t even a forest now. it’s a furnace. all red and cracking and alive, like the ground is breathing under you.

you don’t remember how it started. you never do.

your name is being screamed. not by you—but at you. like someone’s begging you to live. or to stop running. or maybe both.

the air stings. your heart stings. your body isn’t keeping up.

then, through the fire—he appears.

not clearly. never clearly.

he’s a shadow first. tall. wrong. tilted slightly to the side like he’s trying to remember something about you. and for one split second, you almost think you remember something too.

you freeze.

he doesn’t.

his hand lifts.

you don’t see fangs.

you don’t need to.

the bite doesn’t come gently. it’s violent. invasive. like something inhuman is trying to carve itself into you. your head snaps. your scream gets stuck somewhere between your ribs and the sky. the pain spreads too fast to catch.

you’re bleeding. you’re choking on heat. and just before your body gives out—

you wake up. screaming.

and when you say screaming, you mean the kind that sounds like something’s actually being murdered.

your body shoots upright. soaked in sweat. hands clutching the sheets like you’ve been in a fight for your life—which, technically, you have. your heart is rattling in your chest. your breath comes in broken gasps. the room spins for a second before you realize—

it was just a dream.

again.

your door slams open.

“BITCH.”

destiny’s standing there in a huge t-shirt, no pants, one lash half-on and the other completely gone. she’s holding a taser and a juice box.

“what the actual fuck? are you okay?!”

you’re still trying to slow your breathing. “sorry,” you manage, voice hoarse. “dream. again.”

“that was not a dream. that was a live exorcism.”

you open your mouth, but another voice cuts in—quieter, more annoyed.

“was it the same one?”

sydney. she appears in the hallway behind destiny, hoodie thrown over her tank top, silk bonnet slipping off her head. she’s rubbing sleep out of her eyes like this is routine.

you live with your two best friends in a third-floor walk-up that smells like vanilla, weed, and whatever you’re cooking that night. sydney’s the lover girl, destiny’s the smart mouth, and you’re just trying to keep the peace most days. the three of you don’t always have it together, but somehow, the lights stay on and the fridge stays full. that counts for something.

you nod slowly. “yeah. same fire. same forest. same bite. still can’t see his face.”

she tilts her head. not judgmental. just thinking. she’s already halfway into therapist mode.

you’ve had this conversation before.

and still, neither of them laughs.

sydney steps into the room fully. “i’m telling you, it’s your nervous system. you survived something your brain still doesn’t know how to file. now it just keeps replaying the fear, trying to make sense of it.”

you don’t answer. mostly because you’re tired. but also because you don’t know if it’s just trauma.

because it doesn’t feel like trauma.

it feels like memory.

old. familiar. like something buried deeper than anything your ex ever did.

destiny finally relaxes enough to toss your taser on the bed and climb in next to you. “we’re gonna sage the hell out of this room later.”

“and maybe sleep with a rosary,” sydney adds, sitting on the floor like this is group therapy.

you exhale a laugh, soft and dry. “love y’all.”

“we know,” destiny says. “you better. we didn’t let you die.”

by the time the sun finally drags itself over the skyline, the nightmare’s still clinging to your skin like secondhand smoke. it lingers in the bend of your neck. the throb behind your left eye. that sharp, tired feeling in your teeth from grinding them in your sleep.

destiny’s already blasting music in the bathroom. sydney’s in the kitchen stirring coffee like it personally offended her. the apartment smells like heat, cheap vanilla candles, and a hint of the ghost you swear followed you out of the dream.

you move slow. like your body’s still deciding if it wants to be here.

by the time you slide into destiny’s car, your hair is still damp and you’ve only eaten half a granola bar. sydney’s already in the front seat, scrolling through some discussion board post for her online psych class. destiny’s wearing her usual: oversized shades, gold hoops, and a resting bitch face powerful enough to stop traffic.

you’re in the backseat. hoodie pulled over your head. thighs sticking to the seat. trying to remember what it feels like to not be haunted.

“so,” destiny says, throwing the car into reverse. “new day, same emotional baggage. how we feeling?”

you grunt.

sydney doesn’t look up from her phone. “she needs a hobby.”

“thank you, dr. phil.”

“i’m serious,” sydney says, twisting halfway around to face you. “you need something that’s not work and not insomnia. something that makes you feel human again.”

“i don’t want to do yoga,” you mutter.

“not yoga,” destiny says. “you need something real. with sweat. and maybe blood.”

you raise a brow. “that escalated quickly.”

“listen,” sydney says, setting her phone down. “you’ve been in survival mode for like, a year. you don’t even like the job you’re at, your ex is probably still living rent-free in your nervous system, and you haven’t flirted with anyone since before covid.”

“thank you for the annual report.”

“you need a reset,” destiny says. “a disruption to the pattern.”

“a montage moment,” sydney adds. "and plus, hot guys work at boxing gyms."

you roll your eyes, but something about the silence that follows says they’re right. your shoulders have been up to your ears for months. your body’s been a war zone since—well. since him.

you don’t need peace. you need power.

later that night, after the shifts and the small talk and the group texts with no replies, you’re back in your room with your laptop open, tabs pulled up for every “women’s self-defense” class in a 30-mile radius. you scroll through flashy websites promising empowerment, toned abs, and sisterhood. most of them look like instagram influencers with punch bags.

you’re looking for something else.

you’re not sure what.

that’s when you hear the knock.

sydney steps inside, balancing a bowl of rice and kimchi with a tired smile.

“found anything?”

you shake your head, pushing your laptop toward her. “every place either looks fake or full of men who call themselves ‘sensei’ but have never been in an actual fight.”

she squints at one of the tabs. “this one says they offer free smoothies.”

you stare. “that’s not a selling point, sydney.”

she laughs, setting her food down. “okay, hear me out.”

you look up.

“what if you talked to jay?”

you blink. “…your boyfriend?”

“yeah. he boxes. he’s been doing it for years. real gym. no frills. no smoothies.”

you hesitate. “i don’t know. i’ve never even met him.”

“which,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed, “i’ve been meaning to fix.”

you glance at her, curious.

“i mean—we’ve been together a few months. you and destiny only know what he looks like from that one story i told about him punching a dude in a parking lot.”

“so romantic.”

“point is,” she grins, “i like him. i trust him. and i wouldn’t mind you grilling him a little. like… girl dinner vibes. meet the boyfriend, judge the boyfriend, maybe ask him where he trains, y’know.”

you nod slowly, mind already spinning.

“…you think he’d be okay with that?”

“absolutely. he’s been wanting to meet y’all anyway.”

you chew your lip for a second. “okay. yeah. maybe that’d help. just… get a feel.”

sydney smiles. “perfect. i’ll set it up.”

you’ve got the pan too hot again.

oil’s spitting like it’s mad at you, and the rice is probably gonna be a little crispier than it should be, but nobody’s gonna complain. sydney’s at the sink washing lettuce like it’s a science experiment, and destiny’s in charge of the music—meaning you’re currently listening to a playlist that’s 70% summer walker and 30% gangsta rap.

the apartment smells like garlic, heat, and something else—something more nervous. maybe it’s you.

“i’m just saying,” destiny says over the sizzle, “this is a lot of effort for a man we’ve never even seen in real life.”

“you’ve seen his instagram,” sydney says, not looking up. “and it’s not for him. it’s for us. quality control.”

“right,” you mutter. “welcome to dinner, jay. please enjoy this lovely home-cooked meal while we interrogate you like the feds.”

“as it should be,” destiny says, tossing a chip in her mouth.

you’re still not sure why you agreed to this. part of it was politeness. part of it was curiosity. and part of it was the unshakeable feeling that maybe—just maybe—this jay person might hold a thread to something you haven’t touched in a long time. something your body still remembers in flashes. fire. breath. teeth.

the buzzer goes off before you can finish that thought.

sydney wipes her hands on a towel, glances at herself in the mirror like she’s checking for vibes, then walks to the door.

the second it opens, you feel it.

a shift.

it’s not loud. not dramatic. just a small lurch in your chest, like something inside you tilted slightly off axis.

“hey,” sydney smiles. “come in.”

you wipe your hands on your shorts, heart ticking.

then he walks in.

and for a second, everything goes still.

he’s tall. broader than you expected. wearing all black like it wasn’t ninety degrees outside, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to touch anything. his face is sharp, sure, but it’s his eyes that make you pause.

because they land on you—

—and something flickers.

he freezes for just a breath. not even that long. his expression flicks from neutral to something else, then back to neutral so fast you almost doubt you saw it.

but you did.

you saw it.

recognition.

panic.

grief?

you blink. he’s already smiling, walking in like nothing happened.

“you must be the roommates,” he says smoothly. voice low. careful. like he’s walking a tightrope. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

sydney grins and links her arm through his like she’s proud. “this is jay.”

destiny raises an eyebrow. “so you do exist.”

he chuckles. “in the flesh.”

“barely,” you mumble before you can stop yourself.

his eyes slide to you again. slower this time.

“you okay?” he asks. light. casual.

you nod once, watching him like he might vanish. “…you looked at me weird.”

he blinks. “did i?”

“just now. at the door.”

his mouth tilts up, like he’s trying to find the right version of the truth.

“you just… look like someone i used to know,” he says finally. “from high school. or something. must’ve been the lighting. my bad.”

you hold his gaze a second longer.

the lie is too clean. practiced.

but you let it go.

for now.

“happens,” you say, turning back to the stove.

sydney’s already pulling out plates. destiny’s opening wine.

the moment passes.

but something in your chest stays burning.

dinner happens like it’s supposed to.

sydney plates everything like she’s on masterchef, even though she only helped wash lettuce. destiny pours wine like it’s juice, and you’re the one stuck making sure nothing burns while jay sits quietly at the table, taking it all in.

“oh, this smells so good,” he says, genuinely impressed. “did you make all this?”

you nod, scooping the rice onto everyone’s plate. “chef of the house.”

“she won’t say it, but she’s actually insane in the kitchen,” sydney adds, already sliding a fork into her salmon. “we would’ve died without her. starves easily.”

“i believe it,” jay says, glancing down at his plate. “this looks better than anything i’ve eaten all week.”

you finally sit.

and for a few minutes, it’s… normal.

the conversation stays light. jay talks about his job in vague terms—“scheduling’s a mess,” “my coach is kind of insane,” “sleep is optional”—but he’s charming enough that no one questions the details.

until destiny leans forward, eyes narrowed like a cat with too much time.

“so, jay,” she says, “you box?”

he nods. “yeah. been doing it for a while now.”

“mma or just boxing?”

“mostly boxing. some sparring. depends who’s in the ring.”

“ever killed someone?”

jay laughs, but it’s a beat late.

“uh…no. definitely not.”

“hm,” she says, sipping her wine. “sounds fake.”

“ignore her,” sydney says, smacking destiny’s leg under the table. “she gets like this.”

but you’re watching.

closely.

he hasn’t looked at you since that moment at the door. not directly. and yet, you can feel him. the way he shifts when you speak. the way he follows your movement in his periphery.

“what gym do you go to again?” you ask.

jay’s gaze flicks up.

sydney answers first. “crimson ring. it’s…intense.”

“that’s a hell of a name,” destiny mutters. “sounds like a secret society.”

jay smiles. “kind of feels like one sometimes.”

“do they make you sign something?” you joke. “like a blood oath?”

he pauses, but just for a second.

“just a waiver.”

you chew slowly.

“and what do you like about it?”

his eyes finally meet yours.

and when he speaks, the whole room feels like it quiets around him.

“it reminds me who i am,” he says.

your chest tightens.

but you nod. because you get it. even if you don’t know why.

“so what would you recommend for a girl who’s never been in a fight but has some shit she wants to work through?”

sydney’s eyes light up. “she wants to try boxing.”

“oh?” jay’s brow lifts. “you thinking about joining?”

“maybe. i’ve been looking into some places. most of them feel… performative.”

“crimson ring’s not performative,” he says, without missing a beat. “but it’s also not easy.”

“good,” you say. “i’m not either.”

he smiles again, but there’s something softer in it now. like he’s seeing something he wasn’t expecting to.

destiny stands, stretching. “alright, i’m rolling up. come smoke?”

“duh,” sydney says, grabbing her lighter.

they both look at you.

you shake your head. “nah, i’m good.”

“wow. growth,” destiny jokes, already halfway to the balcony.

jay makes a move to stand too, but sydney stops him.

“no, babe, stay. i’ll be back.”

“you sure?”

“she doesn’t bite,” sydney teases. “and you don’t smoke anyway.”

“true.”

and then it’s just you and him.

alone.

the kitchen hums around you. the faucet drips. a breeze flutters the edge of the curtain.

“want help with the dishes?” he offers, already moving to gather plates.

you nod. “sure.”

you work in silence at first. you rinse. he dries.

but eventually, he breaks it.

“you don’t remember, do you?”

your hands stop moving.

“…excuse me?”

he doesn’t look at you. just keeps drying the plate like he didn’t just say something insane.

you turn to face him fully.

“remember what?”

he exhales. sets the plate down. finally meets your eyes.

“nothing,” he says. too quick. too smooth. “just… deja vu.”

you stare at him.

and you know it’s a lie.

but you also know what it feels like to carry too much truth.

so you nod.

“happens,” you say again.

but this time, it sounds like a warning.

he stays quiet for a second. eyes still on you. like he’s trying to solve something with his mind alone.

“so,” he starts, voice light again, “you from around here?”

you nod. “born and raised.”

“yeah?” he grabs another dish, drying it slowly. “what high school?”

you name it.

he pauses just enough for you to notice.

“no way. i went there too.”

you blink. “really?”

“mhm. class of... forever ago,” he says, smiling like it’s supposed to make it less weird.

“i don’t remember seeing you.”

“yeah, i—i didn’t talk much,” he says, too fast. “kept my head down. tried to make myself invisible.”

you tilt your head. “why?”

he shrugs, setting down a cup. “guess i didn’t really know who i was yet.”

you look at him.

for a second, the room feels too quiet again. like it’s holding its breath.

“do you now?”

he meets your eyes.

“some days,” he says. “other days... i just fake it better.”

you nod once. slow. like you understand. because maybe you do.

he clears his throat. “what about you? always been... here?”

“yeah. unfortunately.”

“no, i mean—i just wondered if i would’ve remembered you. even back then.”

you narrow your eyes, playful but a little wary. “you sure you’re not trying to flirt with me?”

he laughs under his breath. “would it work if i was?”

you don’t answer. just rinse the last bowl and set it down.

“how many girls train at your gym?” you ask casually.

he raises a brow at the shift but rolls with it. “not a lot. most people can’t handle the first week.”

“because it’s hard?”

“because it’s real,” he says. “there’s no mirrors. no playlists. just sweat and instinct.”

“sounds dramatic.”

“it is.”

you glance at him. “you like it?”

he nods. “it keeps me grounded. reminds me of... restraint.”

you pause at that. “restraint?”

he doesn’t explain.

you grab a knife to cut some leftover lime. it slips.

you flinch—“shit”—and drop it into the sink.

a thin line of red blooms across your finger.

and then everything slows down.

you don’t even look at him—your eyes are on your hand, reaching for a paper towel—but you feel it.

the shift.

like the air’s been pulled too tight.

you glance up, and jay’s frozen.

his eyes are on your blood. his jaw is locked.

you feel something crawl over your skin, slow and ancient.

“it’s nothing,” you say quickly. “barely a paper cut.”

he doesn’t move.

“jay?”

he blinks. the sound of your voice pulls him back, like snapping out of a trance.

“yeah—sorry,” he says. way too calm. “let me get you something.”

he moves fast but gentle, grabbing a clean towel and pressing it to your hand. he doesn’t flinch at the touch. doesn’t breathe either.

“thanks,” you mumble. “you okay?”

he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “yeah. just... reflex. hate the sight of blood.”

“weird for a boxer.”

he doesn’t answer.

you let it go. for now.

he holds your hand a second longer than necessary. then steps back.

“you’ll be fine,” he says, voice quiet now.

you nod. “i know.”

and for a second, neither of you say anything.

you don’t ask why he looked at you like that.

and he doesn’t ask what you’d do if you remembered the last time he saw you bleed.

you press the towel tighter to your finger, more out of habit than pain now. jay’s rinsing the cutting board, eyes deliberately on anything but you.

he speaks up again—soft, like he’s still trying to reset the mood.

“by the way... just so we’re clear,” he says, “i wasn’t flirting.”

you raise a brow. “okay…”

“i just—i love sydney. she’s...” he trails off like he’s looking for a word that doesn’t feel big enough. “she’s the first real thing i’ve had in a long time.”

you nod. “i get it.”

he glances at you, almost like he’s making sure. “but for a second... when you looked at me, i don’t know. i thought i knew you.”

you smile a little, not mean—just amused. “nobody looks like me.”

he chuckles. “you’re probably right.”

the tension eases. not gone, but tucked away again. like something folded neatly and set aside.

he starts drying his hands, and you grab a new bandage from the drawer.

“i really think you should come by,” he says, his voice gentler now. “the gym. crimson ring.”

you glance at him.

“i think it’ll help,” he continues. “just promise me you won’t quit after the first round.”

“you really think i’m gonna come in and get rocked that bad?”

“i think...” he shrugs, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. “i think it might wake something up.”

you narrow your eyes, but there’s no edge to it. “that supposed to be encouraging?”

“depends,” he says, grabbing his keys. “you doing anything tomorrow?”

you pause. “…off work. why?”

he nods once. “stop by. three o’clock. don’t be late.”

before you can answer, sydney and destiny crash back in—laughing, loud, trailing the scent of weed and too many secrets.

you shoot him one last glance before they pull you into conversation.

and for a second, you think he might say something else.

but he just smiles.

“see you tomorrow.”

jay kisses sydney goodbye at the door.

“text me when you’re home,” she says, arms around his waist, cheek against his chest.

“always,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “love you.”

“love you more.”

she squeezes him once, lets go.

he gets in the car. pulls off. and for a while, it’s quiet. music low. streetlights blurring past.

but his hands won’t stop tightening on the wheel. his brain won’t stop replaying the night. her laugh. her eyes. the way she looked at him—like a stranger.

he dials. the phone rings twice before it picks up.

“how was it being human today?” heeseung’s voice is low, amused.

jay exhales. “very… interesting.”

a pause.

“that right?”

jay’s voice drops. “do you believe in reincarnation?”

the line goes still.

“…what happened.”

jay swallows.

“caroline happened.”

heeseung doesn’t speak.

then: “caroline?”

jay nods, even though he’s alone. “yeah. ni-ki’s caroline.”

heeseung exhales. “jay… i know we’re vampires, and logic left the chat centuries ago, but that’s—impossible. we watched her die. ni-ki killed her. we pulled him off her body. we buried her. together.”

“i know,” jay says. “that’s why i’m asking if you believe in doppelgängers. or karma. or fate. because i swear on everything—it was her.”

heeseung’s quiet.

“did she recognize you?”

jay laughs, but it’s empty. “for a second, i thought she would. i thought maybe she’d been turned, or cursed, or—i don’t know, man. she didn’t recognize me. not even a flicker. not the name. not the voice. not the face. nothing.”

he rubs his jaw, still trying to make it make sense.

“and it’s not just that,” he says. “her name isn’t caroline anymore. she goes by y/n. and her personality? it’s not the same either. caroline was… bright. country as hell. sweet. this girl? she’s the emo version of her. still kind. just… quieter. guarded. but those eyes, heeseung. you don’t forget eyes like that. not after what we saw.”

heeseung mutters something under his breath.

jay continues. “i asked what high school she went to. she named ours. like, ours. and nothing. blank face. she had no clue who i was. but it’s her. same soul, different packaging.”

heeseung breathes in slow. “and?”

“and she’s coming to the gym tomorrow.”

heeseung sits up. “what?”

“sydney told her about crimson ring. said she needed a hobby. apparently she’s been through some shit—abusive ex. she just wants to feel strong again.”

“fuck,” heeseung mutters. “what the hell are we supposed to do?”

jay doesn’t answer.

“first thing’s first,” heeseung says. “i need to see her. because if i’m being honest, jay—you don’t feed on humans. your senses might not be as sharp anymore. your eyes might be lying.”

jay scoffs. “they’re not. it’s her.”

heeseung sighs. “and ni-ki?”

“we’ve gotta tell him. he’s gonna see her.”

“no,” heeseung says. “i’ll figure that out.”

another pause.

“just come home.”

jay hangs up without another word.

his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. his stomach twisted. and somewhere, buried beneath it all—he’s scared. not for him.

for ni-ki.

because if he sees you— if it really is you—

he doesn’t know what the hell is going to happen next.

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httpconcrete · 2 days ago

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BAD DESIRE - Chapter 3

summary: Just when Bad Omens loses their bassist due to health issues, Noah receives an audition tape that feels almost like an angel sent from heaven to save the production of their second album. However, even though it solves the problem of losing a member, Noah finds himself having a hard time concentrating when his newfound angel stands so close to him all the time.

Chapter warnings: nothing, just fluff

masterlist

You woke up late that day, wanting to get as much rest as you could. You wanted nothing more than just a lazy day watching Netflix and eating popcorn.

But life had another plans.

Your phone buzzed with a new message just as you finished brushing your teeth. It was from the band’s group chat.

Noah Sebastian BO [10:32 AM]:

Day off at mine. Pool, BBQ, all that.

Noah Sebastian BO [10:35 AM]:

@Y/N you should come and spend some time with us today, we can talk about the new album and you can properly meet part of our crew.

Your heart thumped a little too hard in your chest when his name popped up. You quickly typed out a simple “Got it, thanks” before tossing your phone onto the bed and scrambling to find something to wear.

You weren’t sure why Noah was inviting you over, despite the album conversation and the “meet the crew” thing. After all, it was a day off, they were just having fun between actual friends. Maybe he just wanted you to fit in and not feel weird or left out, like just another co-worker… right? Despite the soft way he’d looked at you before, the quiet little moments that lingered longer than they should have, he was probably just being nice.

He was probably just afraid you would step back.

You grabbed your phone again and texted Crystal, who insisted on calling him “demon boy” because of his screams on stage, his height, and his tattoos.

You were sure she would get her hopes high about something happening the second you texted her. She always teased you about it and dreamed about Noah noticing you, claiming in the most excited voice ever, “Come on, I’m like a super powerful psychic. If I say something’s happening, you should believe me.”

But at the very least, she could help you decide what to wear.

Crystal [10:43 AM]:

Idk, maybe something cute? A sundress to make demon boy lose it?

You couldn’t help but chuckle and roll your eyes at her words. She really had the audacity.

But you chose your best sundress after being quickly convinced because of the “pool” part, even if you weren’t planning on getting in. The snake tattoo on your arm would be showing for the first time around them, since you always wore long sleeves while in public because of the weather.

And as the sun decided to visit your city again, you wanted to try something different.

Crystal offered to give you a ride to Noah’s place, rambling about how proud she was of you finally fulfilling your dream. And obviously hoping you’d get a new hot lead vocalist as a boyfriend.

You could only roll your eyes at every teasing word.

“C’mon, he’s handsome,” she said, her gaze flickering between the road and you before fixing back on the road ahead. “And he seems single, so why not?”

“Maybe because sleeping with your boss is a terrible idea,” you said matter-of-factly, chuckling at her funny face as she clearly disagreed.

“Anyway, I’m happy I get to give my best friend a ride to her band’s BBQ,” she said with a bright smile, swaying her head side to side as she did a little victory dance in her seat. “When you guys get really big, don’t forget about me.”

You couldn’t help but watch her with quiet admiration, her happiness and excitement filling the car.

Crystal had been through so much.

A tough life, a sad backstory of bouncing through foster homes until she finally landed with your neighbors. She’d been with you since she was eleven, bullied at school for not having parents and left out by the popular kids, and you were the one who had always protected her as fiercely as you could.

But looking at her now, glowing with confidence and smiling like she had the whole world ahead of her, your chest tightened with love and admiration.

She really was the prettiest woman you had ever seen.

And you hoped she would be by your side through every moment of your new rockstar life.

“I will never forget you,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking with emotion. “You’re my eternal best friend. You’re stuck with me.”

She smiled at you before looking back at the road.

She knew you meant it with all your heart, that you two belonged together as sisters.

And as a sister, she wanted you to be happy, hoping you’d find love soon.

A few minutes later, Crystal pulled up to Noah and Jolly’s place, barely able to hide her excitement as she parked.

“If you don’t at least get him to do something gentle like… I don’t know, give you a plate or something, I’ll disown you,” she teased, lightly shoving your shoulder. “Or maybe get Ruffilo’s phone number for your bestie.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, adjusting the strap of your bass case over your shoulder as you climbed out of her car. “Ruffilo has a girlfriend, but I can try Jolly’s.”

“Another hot guitarist? It’s a win,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Text me when you’re done here so I can come pick you up,” she said, rolling down the window as you shut the door with a laugh.

“Fine,” you replied, waving at her with a small smile “Text me when you get home.”

She only winked before driving off, leaving you standing there alone in front of Noah and Jolly’s house. It was big, in a cool area of LA, and you felt nervous stepping into their little bubble without it being totally work-related.

Your heart did little flips in your chest, your hands sweaty as you gripped the strap of your bass case, trying to hold yourself together. You took a steadying breath and walked up to the front door, but before you could even knock, it swung open.

“Hey, Y/N!” Folio greeted you happily. “Come on in and make yourself at home, they’re in the backyard. I’m just grabbing more beers.”

He spoke casually, leaving the door open for you as you stepped in shyly.

The house was cozy, warm despite its minimalist decor. Guitars lined the living room walls, amps and scattered cables filling corners alongside potted plants and band memorabilia. You could hear Ruffilo and Jolly’s voices from outside, mingled with Noah’s laughter and the sizzling sound of something on the grill.

“Hey, Y/N,” Noah greeted casually as you approached the backyard after setting your bass next to the couch. He wore black athletic shorts and an oversized Bad Omens tee, his damp hair pushed back from his face like he had just showered. He was flipping burgers with a beer in his free hand. “You’re meeting new people today. I mean, you saw them at our show, but you didn’t really get introduced. Things happened too fast.”

You smiled, waving shyly as you looked at the different guys standing there, your nose instantly hit by the smell of grilled meat.

Your stomach growled embarrassingly loud at the scent, and his lips curled into a quiet chuckle.

He had to notice. Of course he would notice, for your embarrassment.

“Hungry?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with the smallest smirk.

You nodded quietly. “A little,” you admitted shyly.

“Come say hi to your brothers,” Ruffilo cheered as soon as you stepped onto the grass. He wore swim trunks covered in little rubber duck patterns, sunglasses pushed up onto his head as he helped Noah with the burgers. “And to your new brothers.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the word.

Brothers. Family.

It sent a warmth through your chest you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were they really letting you into this little family?

“Hey,” Jolly greeted softly, holding out a fist for you to bump. He sat cross-legged on a pool chair, notebook balanced on his knee as he scribbled down lyrics, sunglasses hiding his eyes. “That one is Matt, our tour director and mixing engineer. You saw him running around backstage, worried about everything and yelling,” he introduced, pointing to the blonde long-haired guy wearing a black cap.

Matt shouted “HEY” in protest, but Jolly just chuckled and ignored him.

“Those three dumbasses over there are Bryan, our photographer, Davis, our creative director, and Jesse, from ERRA,” he continued. “Jesse lives with us. The other two who split the place aren’t home right now, Orie and Michael.”

You nodded, smiling and waving at each of them as they greeted you back.

“Sit down,” Noah ordered gently, nodding towards the shaded table where a few beers and soda cans sat in an ice bucket. “Relax.”

You sank into a chair, taking a moment to watch them all. This was quickly becoming your favorite version of them: not on stage, not rehearsing, but just existing. Laughing, teasing, letting the world slip away for a while, just being with their friends as normal people.

“Here,” Noah said suddenly, placing a cold soda can in front of you before sitting down at your side. You hadn’t even noticed him switch places with Jolly; now he was flipping burgers along with Matt. “So… first week with us. Tour, rehearsals, plans for a new album, everything. Thoughts?”

You blinked, trying to process his words, surprised by his question. “Uh… amazing,” you said, biting your lip nervously. “Overwhelming, but in a good way.”

He nodded slowly, looking away from you and staring at his can. “Good. That’s… good.”

“Dude,” Folio interrupted as he came back from the grocery store, tossing a bag of beers onto the table. “She kicked ass on stage. Even the fans who were being assholes at first shut up by the third song.”

Noah didn’t respond, but you saw the smallest twitch of a smile on his lips before he hid it behind a sip of his beer.

After lunch, and after they teased you for eating three burgers, you all moved to the living room.

Ruffilo, Matt, and Folio set up a Mario Kart tournament on the giant TV while Jolly scribbled more lyrics in his notebook, humming under his breath. Davis, Noah, Bryan, and Jesse kept chatting about ERRA’s plans.

“Wanna play?” Folio asked, handing you a controller.

You hesitated. “I suck at Mario Kart, really.”

“Even better,” Jolly teased, grinning lazily. “Easier win for me.”

The next hour was filled with curses, laughter, and Folio’s dramatic wails every time someone knocked him off Rainbow Road.

You lost every round, but the sting of it faded with how much they teased you like they’d known you forever. You felt included.

Eventually, Noah disappeared into the kitchen.

You watched him for a moment before handing your controller back to Folio and following him, finding him leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone quietly.

“Need help with anything?” you asked softly. You didn’t even know why you followed him… you just felt the pull. And now, standing in front of him as he scrolled through his phone doing nothing, but looking incredibly handsome, you felt pathetic.

He glanced up, surprised. “No. Just… needed a second,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb across his forehead dramatically. “They’re a lot sometimes.”

You smiled, playing with your hands to keep yourself from looking too nervous. “They’re… good people.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “They are.”

Silence fell between you, comfortable but charged with something you couldn’t name.

You looked away first, clearing your throat as you busied yourself with rearranging the cans in the fridge.

“Hey,” he said after a moment. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… fitting in. For trying,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “Not everyone would. Not everyone can, actually, and you did amazingly well.”

Your chest warmed a little at his words.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a small, grateful smile, almost letting a can slip.

“I’m not trying,” you said quietly, finishing stocking the cans. “I just want to be here.”

Something shifted in his eyes, softening into an expression you hadn’t seen before. One that made your pulse stutter and your breath catch with how intense his pretty boba eyes were.

Dammit, I shouldn’t be noticing this, you scolded yourself.

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking away with a slight smile. “Yeah. I know.”

The silence fell again before he opened his mouth again, leaving the kitchen right after to reunite with his friends at the living room.

“Nice tattoo” he said motioning to your arm.

You smiled quietly, looking at your own arm with a warm expression. “Thank you,” you muttered.

When you finally texted Crystal to come get you and left his house that evening , totally sunburned, tired, but still glowing with quiet happiness, Noah walked you out to Crystal’s car.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched you climb in.

“See you,” you echoed, waving as Crystal pulled away from the curb.

She waited until you were a block away before squealing, shaking your arm as she stopped at a red light. “OH MY GOD,” she shouted, almost fangirl-like. “Was that Noah Sebastian walking you out?! Girl, tell me everything right now.”

But you just leaned back against the seat, staring out at the summer sky with a small smile. You shook your head, exhaling softly. “Tomorrow.”

Everything could wait until tomorrow.

For now, all you wanted to do was replay every second of today in your mind, memorizing how it felt to be part of something real.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad desire #noah sebastian fic #bad omens x reader

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lokisprettygirl · 1 day ago

Text

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read Chapter 21 here /Series Masterlist

Chapter 22

Summary : Patricia helps Eric see past his insecurities.

Warning: 18+, smut, Fat shaming, terminal illness, body shaming, manipulation, domestic violence, child abuse, cheating, reader has a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

It's been 4 months. Yeah 4 months. 4 months of finding out Patricia had cancer, four months of Eric breaking your heart because you meant nothing to him. Time didn't even seem real at times these days, the seconds they just passed you by. Your day went by usual, you'd spend eight hours at the library, then two at a gym, not The Crow, of course not. Just another gym, you had learned alot from Eric in those eight months so you put that knowledge to use, it was one of those things he had left you with, apart from a broken heart l and lifetime worth of trust issues.

You tried to spend time with Patricia every other day, at first that started with everyday but then you realised that as much as Eric had claimed he wanted to spend every second with her, every time you were there, he wasn't there, he'd disappear, didn't matter if you spent hours at her place at times, he'd just not be there, he refused to even look at you, often at times you'd catch the whiff of his cologne in her room, on her clothes so you cut down the time because the last thing you wanted was to be another reason he'd despise you after she's gone.

Despise you for taking away the hours he could have had with her.

Eight hours of sleep every night had become the favourite part of your day, the best actually, because when you slept, you often dreamt, you often dreamt of that day at Patricia's apartment, that first dinner, when you weren't lovers but you were more than friends and that was apparent, when he so badly wanted you to be a part of his family, with Chance, Shelly and Stella over there, it was perfect, that day was perfect. You were a part of something, and now it was all scattered. At Least you still had Patricia. It was the only thing that hadn't changed.

So yeah, you looked forward to sleeping a lot because that's when you saw him the way you remembered, he'd look at you the way he used to, the way he did until the moment that night outside the gym, when he passed you the helmet and looked at you as if you had hung stars over his sky, you'd often dream that phone call had never came and he took you for that dinner and then spent the night at your place, where you slept in his arms feeling every bit of love he has made you believe was yours to have.

So eight hours of that, that left you with the four hours of the day where you didn't even know what to do.

It's not as if you had friends of your own, Chance and Shelly, they were his friends, Shelly did her best to be there for you as much as she could, she was absolutely one of the nicest person you had ever known but they were his friends so you distanced yourself from them slowly, because if they were there for you then they won't be there for him when he needed them.

Your fingers tapped on the kitchen table mindlessly as you stared into the space in front of you. What were you supposed to do? That was the question. When Jake broke your heart, you gave up on yourself but you were able to let it out, you acted up, you binged on food, you cried watching romantic movies with a tub of ice cream in your hand because that made you feel better. He had hurt you, you knew him being gone was a good thing.

But Eric? He left you feeling dead inside, you didn't even understand it, he loved you so much and then in a moment he just decided that he didn't. How do you ever get over that feeling? How do you ever make yourself feel happy again knowing it could be taken away from you the very next moment?

You thought about texting him. Often. You didn't, of course. You never would again. But the thought came anyway, Sometimes you even typed out the message just to delete it again. Like a ritual. Like a self-inflicted wound you had gotten used to.

You didn’t want him to be the villain. That was the worst part. You wanted to hate him, wanted something neat and sharp to wrap around this unbearable grief but he wasn’t Jake. He hadn’t cheated or lied or manipulated you. He just left. Pulled back. Shut down. Like a light switch. And somehow that made it worse because it made you feel disposable, as if you could be discarded the moment you weren't what someone needed.

A week ago, Chance called you asking to meet so you did, he would often ask how you were doing, he didn't want to bring Eric up either, Eric was his ride and die, the only thing he had said once about this whole situation was that his best friend had self destructive tendencies, that's what he went for when he didn't know how else to control a situation.

Whatever that meant, you were past the moment where his reasons for this decision would change anything, he had broken you in a way that was irreversible.

Chance told you how that Physiotherapist Miranda had been to the gym a lot lately and she'd often come when Eric was at the gym himself, not that he was even there a lot these days, he had hired two trainers to take care of his clients but she always left with him, where to? Chance had no idea, he had tried asking but had gotten no response.

“Do you like it?” You asked Patricia as she put on the sweater you had bought for her, you saw it outside a store today, the warm fuzzy fabric, it just reminded you of her so you knew you had to get it.

You knew she was suffering, she seemed weaker, less energetic, her hair had thinned, she used to wheel around all over her apartment but some of these days she couldn't even get out of bed, the chemo took a toll on her, the only reason she was doing it was because of Eric. He was spending every last penny he had earned to extend her life as much as he could and she didn't want to take that away from him.

“It's beautiful..thank you my child, my birthday isn't for another three days though” she mumbled softly so you gave her a smile.

“Oh this is not your birthday present..just a random one” you mumbled so she gave you a warm smile, it was one of the only things that made you feel something these days. That smile and you didn't know how you'd cope when you won't be able to see it anymore.

“Alright Ms beautiful..i gotta go now” you said as you got up and grabbed your bag so she sighed like she did everyday.

“Stay for dinner, Stella is making her famous apple pie” she said to you so you smiled again. You wished you could but then you knew he would have to force himself to keep away as long as you were here.

“Save me a piece..I'll have it tomorrow” you leaned down to kiss her forehead, she placed her hand over your head to caress it.

“You know he misses you right? You can't let yourself believe that he doesn't” you smiled again as she said that. It wasn't genuine though this time.

“I love you but i think you're wrong”

As you made your way to the door you turned to look at her, everytime you left her room these days you felt a sense of dread, any day could be the last day you'd walk out of her room.

On the way out you said goodbye to Stella. The moment you stepped out of the building you saw Eric's bike pull up, it's been a while since you had seen him last, you almost wanted to walk up to him and ask how he was dealing with all of this, not as a lover or a friend but just as a human being, just ask if he was okay.

But then you saw her, Miranda, stepping off the backseat as if she belonged there, she did say hello to you as you walked past them so you gave her a polite smile, a smile even though a part of you felt resentment towards her. If Eric brought her in his life that wasn't her fault but you wanted to put the blame somewhere and then you looked at her properly. She was beautiful, more beautiful than you could ever dream of being and then it made sense.

*********

He saw you. Of Course he did. He tried to avoid you as much as he could but he still saw you at times.

“You okay?” Miranda asked, as she pulled off her helmet. Her tone was gentle, professional, but concerned. She had that voice that always made people feel like they could confide in her. He guessed that’s what made her good at her job.

Eric didn't answer at first. He had just caught a glimpse of you—walking out the building door. For a second, everything in him had stilled, his heart stopped beating for a moment.

You looked different, you had lost a lot of weight in the past 4 months he could tell even though you wore baggy tshirts and trousers, you looked gorgeous like always but he was worried. When he broke up with you he feared you'd stop working out and taking care of yourself again and now he feared you were at the opposite end of the spectrum.

You had walked right past him and Miranda, didn't even flinch. Just offered Miranda a tight, polite smile that didn’t reach your eyes. He knew that smile. Knew that polite mask you wore when you were hurting and didn’t want to show it.

He wanted to say something..anything. But what could he say now? Wait, it’s not what you think? That I’m not dating her? That I think about you every goddamn second?

No. He didn’t get to say that anymore. He had taken that right away the day he snapped at you, the day he let himself shut the door on his happiness before you could even try to open it.

“Come on,” he muttered finally, pushing open the building door for Miranda. “Mama is waiting.

**********

As you came back to the emptiness of your apartment you looked around, soaking in the silence and hollowness of the space before you slumped down on the couch. And seeing her, Miranda getting off the back of his bike? That was just cruel. The way she looked like she belonged there, next to him.

********

Later that night Eric sat down at Patricia's bedside, reading her a book she liked these days. When he was done, he bent down to kiss her forehead and wished her a goodnight but she grabbed his arm before he could leave so he sat down again.

“You're making her believe that she meant nothing to you Eric” Patricia said to him, she knew him, she knew why he was doing, she knew it was more than just him but wanting to not split his time between his dying mama and a girlfriend, she was familiar with all of his insecurities, all the comparisons he had made with his father all his life, the fear he had of turning into him.

His mother’s voice was quiet, but it cut through him like a blade. He didn’t respond. Not immediately. Just stared at her thin hand wrapped around his wrist, so frail, so gentle. And still, somehow, the strongest anchor he had.

Patricia’s gaze didn’t falter. He could lie to you all he wants but she knew him and he couldn't lie to her no matter how much he tried to.

“She looks so… lost, sweet bug. I haven’t seen her like that before, you'd think it would get better with time-.”

“Mama, don’t—” he interrupted her, like he always did, he didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to know if you were hurting.

“She still loves you.”

“She shouldn't ”

His words came out strangled, like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. He swallowed hard as he knelt beside her bed like a boy asking for forgiveness.

Patricia gently brushed her fingers through his hair.

“Why are you doing this to her? Why do you want her to hate you?”

Eric let out the breath he was holding

“Because she deserves more than this. She should hate me. It’d be easier for her if she did.”

Patricia’s eyes welled with tears as he voiced his thoughts out loud but she wanted to make him see the reason..all his life he had stayed away from women because he didn't think he deserved affection, he always thought he would wake up one day and become his father and that just wasn't true.

“That woman worshipped the ground you walked on. She doesn’t want easy, Eric. She wanted you”

Eric clenched his jaw,her words striking a chord. His chest ached.

“I yelled at her,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “That night when Stella called me from the hospital..She just asked to come with me to the hospital, she just wanted to be with me and I yelled at her like that bastard of a father used to yell at you for no reason. I saw her eyes..I saw how she flinched and yet she looked at me as if I had nothing wrong”

He looked away, ashamed as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I kept thinking” he continued, “All night as I watched you in the hospital bed I kept thinking ..What if one day I lash out again? What if I say something worse? What if I hit her when she's not listening to me? What if she makes me angry and I do something I can’t take back? She doesn’t deserve to be loved with conditions or fear or what ifs all her life, she deserves a man who'd not raise his voice at her. I thought if I let go early, before it got worse, maybe I’d save her from all of that”

Tears rolled down her eyes as she listened to him talk about himself so cruelly.

“Oh baby you know you're the sweetest baby there ever could be and you have turned into this fine gentleman any woman would be blessed to have” she mumbled softly as she pulled him in for a hug, he placed his head down on her chest as he cried in her arms, finally letting out the emotions he had been holding in.

“But you didn’t save her, sweet bug” Patricia said gently, her voice tender but firm at the same time. She didn't want to leave this world behind knowing her son would never allow himself to be happy “You broke her.”

Eric’s eyes burned as he heard that. He knew he had hurt you, he knew he had broken your heart but having it said out loud and hearing it from his mama killed him.

“She’s wasting away just like I am,” Patricia said “Only you can’t see it because she hides it behind polite smiles and empty stomachs and all those hours at the gym that you taught her to use like armor”

“I just wanted to do the right thing”

“No, baby,” Patricia whispered. “You were just scared. You’re not your father, I have always said that, not because you're my baby, not because I love you but because I know you have a loving heart and you could never hurt anyone. But if you keep letting fear make your choices, one day you’ll wake up and realize you became him anyway..you don't just use your voice and your hands to hurt people, sometimes indifference is enough, letting someone in, making them believe they matter and then cutting them lose, that can change someone's life and how they choose to live and trust other people, that hurts more sometimes”

Eric didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t. His tears were falling freely now, soaking the blanket that covered Patricia’s chest. His shoulders shook under the weight of everything he had refused to feel for months.

Patricia kept stroking his hair, her breath shallow but steady

“I’m not telling you to fix everything all at once, sweetheart,” she murmured. “But you’ve gotta stop running from the things that scare you most. You have this life and you’re letting it pass you by..years from now you'll see her and you'll regret not giving her the love you had for her, you'll regret when you'll watch her be with someone who you know would never love her the way you could”

Eric sniffed hard and wiped his face with the back of his hand like a boy trying to look brave, but the war inside him was still raging.

He sat up slowly, meeting her eyes, red-rimmed and tired.

“I have ruined it beyond repair mama, i don't think she'll ever believe anything I'll say” he said, his voice almost childlike in its fear.

Patricia gave him a small smile, the kind that could crack through years of self-loathing.

“Then at least you’ll know you tried. But I don’t think she’s done with you, baby. Not even close. She still walks in here like this place is home”

“She loves you” he mumbled ashe wiped his tears, so Patricia smiled

“Oh I know she does.. but you think she comes here just for me? I mean, I’m delightful” she added with a weak smile, “but don’t fool yourself. She comes because part of her still hopes to catch a glimpse of you. She sits in this room like her heart is caught in her throat. She pretends not to look at your pictures, but I see her stare at it when she thinks I'm not looking. She still loves you, Eric, she's hurt, she might get upset but she still would do anything for you”

He looked down at his palms, calloused from the years of weight training. His fingers gently rubbed over the callouses, the same way yours would do every time you held his hand on yours.

“How do I fix something I shattered mama?” he whispered “She gave me her heart, she trusted me and i took it away from her”

There was silence for a while as he questioned her but then she smiled.

“You be honest, you tell her what scares you the most, you let her in”

Eric stood up as she said that, pressing a kiss to her forehead once more “You need anything?”

“Just you believing in your worth like you believe in others”

*****

Three days later you stood outside her building holding a gift box in your hand. Shelly was supposed to pick you up but she was running late so you came by yourself. Your heart was racing because you knew Eric would be there too,he couldn't run or escape today, it was her birthday, she'd not let him leave.

What you feared the most was seeing Miranda there, or worse watching them together.

You took a deep breath as you knocked on her door. You could hear music and chatter of voices coming from the inside, the smell of delicious food made you feel a little warm.

And then the door opened and then you saw Eric, in a green button up shirt the exact shade of his beautiful green eyes. You had a feeling Patricia forced it on him.

You didn't say a word as you entered, he didn't blame you either. He deserved it.

But then he noticed the dress you had on, you had told him all about it, the red dress that brought you at the steps of the Crow last year around the same time. The one you wanted to wear to impress Jake's family, the one you couldn't squeeze into without restricting your breathing, the same dress that hung loose around your waist now.

Behind you, Eric entered the room and stood silently, his eyes never leaving you. He could feel it, the wall you had built to keep him out. And tonight, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to climb it or stay exactly where he deserved to be, on the other side.

He caught Patricia’s glance from across the room. She gave him a look that clearly said Don’t just stand there like an idiot.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Not until he found the courage to tell you what scared him the most. Not until you looked at him again the way you used to. And not until he figured out how to ask the one thing that had been clawing at his insides for months.

Ask if you still loved him.

😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted @a-differentbrandof-beans @kikibit @venuslayla23-blog @somedayimagines @sn0wybowie-blog

#eric draven x female reader #eric draven x reader angst #eric draven x reader fluff #eric draven x reader smut #bill skarsgård eric draven #alternate universe #bill skarsgard eric draven

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wrestlersownmyheart · 24 hours ago

Text

"Tweet Of Fate" Chapter 18 (Damian Priest X OC)

Title: Tweet Of Fate Pairing: Damian Priest X OC: Sharlotte Taylor Summary: Little did Sharlotte Taylor know that her first little tweet to WWE wrestler, Damian Priest, would change her life forever. Hearing about his nasty breakup with his girlfriend, and seeing so many hateful tweets to him regarding his failed relationship, she wants to send him something encouraging, so she sends him an inspirational quote. It sparks Damian's interest and leads to a flirty, but close online friendship between the two. A friendship that turns into a little something more than either of them had counted on.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Another touch of NSFW!

Note: Some of you have already read this chapter, but I had to post it again because I accidentally posted it too soon last night! Sorry!

Chapter 18

Sharlotte awoke to the sound of her cell phone alerting her to a tweet being directed to her. Groaning sleepily, she grabbed the phone off her night table and checked the notification.

Instantly she saw where she'd accumulated about twenty five tweets. She glanced at each one growing more confused by the second.

Each message accused her of being a "whore" or "slut" in so many words, and were laced with venomous attacks. She grew a little calmer after checking the Twitter accounts, however, because they all appeared to belong to female teenage wrestling fans.

Realization dawned then.

"Damian Fangirls," she chuckled, shaking her head. "They've just discovered Luis' tweets to me, I bet," she considered. Chuckling again, she silenced the text and Twitter notifications app, and placed the phone back on her night table.

If I ignore them, they'll stop sooner or later, she thought. Though I'm sure there are a few unstables I'll need to block.

She glanced at her bed-side clock then and noted that she had another half hour to rest before she had to get up and start her day.

A big day, she elaborated to herself. I'll need to finish cleaning the house, before everyone arrives for the interviews, but I'm sure Noah will help me finish up. She smiled at the memory of how her nephew had acted over the weekend. He'd laughed a lot and seemed lighthearted, more at ease. It was a relief to see him so upbeat and back to his old self.

The thought of cleaning the house and having to get dressed up to do the interviews entered her mind again and she decided to take advantage of the start of her day by getting the proper rest. It's not every week I get a Monday off, she thought snuggling back into her pillow. I need to remember to thank Emilia for being so understanding about all of this. Closing her eyes, she dozed for the next few minutes and then came awake when her alarm finally went off. She stretched contentedly, then climbed out of her cozy bed and pulled her robe on. Grabbing a hairband off her dresser she secured her hair up into a messy bun and grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a purple tank top. She quickly pulled them on and headed downstairs to fix some breakfast for Noah.

Upon going downstairs and entering the living room, she discovered Noah had apparently beaten her to not only getting out of bed, but also in finishing the chores. Touched, she called out his name and headed toward the kitchen to find him.

"Noah, where are you," she called, smiling.

"In here!"

His voice came from the direction of the kitchen, but when she entered the room, he was nowhere in sight. However, a second later, he walked through the laundry room door which was just off the kitchen. "What is it, Aunt Sharlotte?"

She smiled at seeing him carrying a laundry basket.

He's still working, bless his heart, she thought.

Walking up to him, she took the basket from him and set it on the kitchen table, then took him in her arms.

"I just wanted to thank you for the hard work you've done," she said, kissing the top of his head. "I fully intended to clean up around here and you beat me to it. Thank you."

Noah smiled in return, "I wanted to do something special for you. I know how hard you work between taking care of me and your job, so I wanted to make today easier for you so you can get a little rest."

"You are an amazing kid, you know that," Sharlotte asked, hugging him close. "If I ever have a child of my own, I couldn't ask for anything more if they turn out like you."

Noah looked up at her hopefully, "Really?"

"Yes, 'really'," Sharlotte answered softly. "You are a blessing to me."

He grinned then, his slight dimple appearing, "If you ever do have a baby, can I call them my brother or sister?"

She laughed, "Why not? I know you'd make a great brother. And they'd be growing upwith you, so I imagine they'd think of you as a brother anyway."

He looked down at his hands, "I have something to ask you, Aunt Sharlotte."

"Well, ask away," she prodded, sitting down at the kitchen table to sort through the cleanlaundry in the basket. He sat down at the table next to her, and looked hesitant. Sharlottestopped what she was doing and glanced over at him, "What is it, Noah?"

"I'm afraid I'll sound like a bad person..." he said softly.

"Noah, you are NOT a bad person," she told him, reaching over and patting his hand. "And no matter what you're about to ask me, I will not think badly of you."

"Promise?"

"I promise," she smiled. "Now, what's bothering you?"

"I was sort of hoping..." he said slowly, "that since she left me..." Sharlotte knew by 'she' he meant Julie. "And since you've always taken care of me..." he puffed out a sigh as hebattled to get the words out, "...Would it be okay, if... if I called you 'Mom'?"

Sharlotte was flabbergasted. Why didn't I see that one coming, she wondered inwardly smacking herself.

"Well, Noah..." she started. She looked over and saw his hopeful face, and it was almost her downfall. "I'm not sure," she answered. "I mean, you aren't doing a bad thing by asking that of me, it's just..."

"What," Noah asked. "What's wrong with me calling you 'Mom'?"

"Nothing, really," Sharlotte said. "It's just...I think I'd feel a little selfish if you did."

"But you shouldn't," he answered. "It'd be my choice. It's not like you're making me do it. And besides...adopted kids call their adoptive parents 'Mom and Dad', don't they?"

Sharlotte nodded, "Of course."

"Well, you raised me. And now Mom's left me in your care...so you've kind of adopted me."

Sharlotte smiled. He had her there.

"Yes, I suppose you're right, although I've not officially adopted you. However, if your mom does get in contact with me at all, I'm going to see about her letting me have custody of you so I can legally adopt you."

"So I can call you 'Mom'?"

Sharlotte grinned, a twinkle in her gray eyes, "If I can call you my son."

"You'd do that," Noah asked happily.

"You better believe it," Sharlotte chuckled. "You are the best little boy a mother could dream of having—so of course I want to call you my son."

Noah jumped up out of his chair and launched himself at her, hugging her close.

Sharlotte giggled as she nearly fell out of her chair. "Easy now," she squealed.

"Sorry...Mom," Noah said smiling.

"No problem...son," Sharlotte returned. She ruffled his hair then, "Why don't you go play some video games or whatever you feel up to doing and get to enjoying your summer vacay?"

"You don't want help with the laundry?"

Sharlotte shook her head smiling warmly, "You've done enough for me today. Have you had breakfast?"

Noah nodded, "Yep. I fixed a bowl of Fruity Pebbles."

"You know," she replied, "I think that sounds pretty good too."

"Want me to fix it for you," Noah asked.

She stood to her feet then and grabbed a cereal bowl out of the cabinet, "No, I can handle it fine. Go play and have some fun!"

Grinning happily, Noah ran off to his room to enjoy the rest of his day.

Sharlotte fixed her breakfast and thought about what Noah had asked of her. It shocked her at first, but then she thought, Why shouldn't I treat him as my son? Julie never did and he does need a mother figure. She sat down at the table and ate her cereal, deep in thought.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Damian slowly came out of his shocked stupor and sat up on his bed.

"I need the night off," he thought out loud, beginning to strategize. "I need to tell Sharlotte about all this—God, how will I do it? How can I tell her I slept with her sister? She really will think I'm just a womanizer—even though it was years ago."

His thoughts wandered back to Noah then. "And I had no idea... I didn't even know I had a son. And how will he take it? What if he thinks I didn't want him? There's no telling what Julie told him if she was bitter toward me."

Shaking his head to clear it, he grabbed his cell phone. I'll make the necessary calls to the staff and then head for Tallahassee, he thought. I'll tell Sharlotte about the news report and feel her out—then try to find a gentle way to break the news about Noah to her.

His plan firm in his mind, he quickly tried to call Hunter. However, his boss' phone went straight to email. Damian groaned, realizing the only time's Hunter's cell phone was off was during flights. He tried Stephanie next, whom was next in command. Luckily she picked up on the second ring.

"Stephanie McMahon," she greeted.

"Hi, Steph," Damian returned. "It's Damian. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," she replied. "It's still a few minutes till I board my flight."

"Flight," Damian repeated. "Oh, that's right...you're going to Sharlotte's for the interviews, aren't you?"

"Yes," Stephanie replied. "Was there something you needed me to tell her?"

"Actually, there's something I need to tell her myself. I really need the night off."

"Did you call Hunter?"

"I tried," Damian answered. "But I think he's on his flight because it went straight to voicemail."

"Okay," Stephanie said. "I can let him know when he reaches Tulsa. Does this have anything to do with the news report and photos posted up on TMZ about you and Sharlotte Taylor?"

"Yeah, just a little bit," he answered, telling a half-truth. "I need to alert her about it—and it's not something I want to tell her about over the phone. Having photos of her and her home online isn't something a young, single woman wants to discover on her own and without any warning."

"Yes, you're right," Stephanie said. "I understand completely. I'll let Hunter know asap. Oh, and be sure you call Drew. He'll need to know about the change of plan for tonight since you two had a match. Tell him to get in touch with me. I'll be working on rearranging the lineup on my flight to Tallahassee."

"Thanks, Steph," Damian said, thankful he didn't have to go into deep detail. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," she answered. "You don't typically take a day off for anything. Anyway, I hope she takes the news well."

"Me too," Damian responded. "Please don't mention any of this to her. I need to be the one to tell her."

"Don't worry," Stephane replied. "I won't. It's not my place or my business."

"Thanks again," Damian said appreciatively. "I'll see ya later." As soon as he ended the call, he was then dialing Drew McIntyre and informing him of the lineup changes. He apologized to him for the inconvenience, and ended that call as well. Then, minutes later he had his suitcase in hand and headed out to his car with his plans to see Sharlotte foremost in his mind.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

"My goodness," Sharlotte exclaimed, glancing at yet another alert on her cell phone. "I'm so sorry," she apologized to Stephanie McMahon, Michael Cole, and the WWE camera crew as well as the representatives from Be A Star. "I've been getting all sorts of negative tweets fired off at me since this morning," she informed them, shaking her head. "I'll turn my phone of for now, and we won't be disturbed anymore."

"Not a problem," Stephanie informed her kindly. She felt badly that the younger woman didn't realize what was most likely the cause of the tweets. But she'd promised Damian she wouldn't say a word, so she kept her lips sealed on the subject.

Sharlotte put her phone back in her pocket and the cameramen resumed recording the interview.

"How have you been coping with this bullying situation and the strain it's causing ," Michael Cole asked.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Sharlotte answered honestly. "Noah and I have had a few things happen in addition to the bullying and...well, my worrying about him as well as these other issues have really impacted my daily life. It's hard to concentrate at work and focus on the everyday things I have to do." She paused then and added, "But then I think of what Noah's going through and...and I know I have to be strong—for him. His well-being means the world to me and it's what keeps me going."

"You say you've had a few other things happen in addition to all this... Can you tell us about them? Do they pertain to the bullying?"

"One situation does, but the others—not so much. One thing that's happened, I don't really wish to talk about—it's too personal. Another thing has actually been a true blessing, but I wish to keep it private," she said, a flush creeping up her face. "And the remaining situation..." She took a deep breath to calm herself. She noticed Stephanie giving her a warm smile and a nod of encouragement. "I'm being threatened over the phone."

"Regarding Noah?"

"Yes. Thursday morning, I'd talked to Noah's principle about speaking with Be A Star, as well as getting authorities involved if he didn't get a handle on the bullying situation. And then the next day, a man called my house and asked me-" Sharlotte halted her words a moment, needing to collect herself.

"It's okay, Sharlotte," Michael said softly. "Take your time."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "He asked me if my kid enjoyed his black eye." She swallowed again. "And then about four days ago, I got another call. A man told me if I caused any trouble, I'd pay the consequences. On Friday, a boy even told Noah that I'd get hurt if I didn't shut my mouth."

Though she kept a strong appearance while she answered the question, inside she was trembling.

"Did you notify the police," Michael asked her.

"No, I did not," Sharlotte answered. "I was advised to keep quiet about everything till this interview could be conducted, and the information made public. However," she looked directly into the camera then, "if I receive any more threats, I will notify the police."

"Until this ordeal is taken care of, what kinds of precautions are you taking to protect your nephew?"

"Well, Thursday, I kept him out of his summer book club. I felt he needed to have a day to just be a kid—to have a little fun. We spent the day together, and while we were out I took him to his doctor to have him checked out. And, thank God, everything was fine other than some bruises and scratches. I also got him a cell phone for emergencies. But now...The bullying has started bothering him for another reason. The kids began calling me names—which is fine by me. It doesn't bother me in the least. But it hurts Noah. I can't make him go through any more of this." She took another deep breath and bravely stated, "I've decided that he will not be returning to Kate Sullivan Middle School. I plan for him to attend a private school."

"Private school...those can be awfully costly. Will that be difficult for you?"

"Of course," Sharlotte said. "But I'm determined. If I have to work three jobs to accomplish it, I will."

"Do you think bullying will ever stop completely?"

Sharlotte sadly shook her head, "No. I don't. Bullying is nothing new. It's simply getting more publicity in recent years. But bullying will continue for many reasons. One is—simply put, there's just mean people in the world, and unfortunately sometimes their meanness comes out at an early age. Another reason is, there's too many parents and guardians not teaching their children right from wrong. That's not to say all parents are like that," Sharlotte clarified, "I'm not trying to stereotype here, but the fact remains, in some households discipline is a problem.

Another reason is when school faculties ignore the issues, and refuse to do anything to stop them—even when they are contacted numerous times about a situation. And sadly, all of this… Only in a perfect world will it all be rectified," she said softly. "But I believe it can be cut down on. And I'm so thrilled to see organizations like Be A Star go to the front-lines in the battle to stop bullying."

"Okay, I think we have enough material from Sharlotte's interview to work with," the reporter stated. "Great stuff," he added, smiling at Sharlotte.

"Thank you," Sharlotte returned the smile, as a WWE crew member unhooked her lapel microphone, "I can't thank you all enough for doing this."

"We're happy to," Stephanie interjected. "I just hope it will help the principal to see-"

"Ms. McMahon, do you want any more footage of you addressing this issue," a crew member asked.

"No, I don't think so," she answered. "We already got enough footage of that before we started Sharlotte's interview.

"Alright, then let's get Noah hooked up and get his interview done," the cameraman said, checking his camera to make sure he had enough tape left. Noah rose from the sofa and sat on the chair Sharlotte had sat in moments before, and watched as Michael Cole and the crew prepared him for his interview.

"Well, I should be going now," Stephanie said, also rising to her feet. "It's a little after noon and I still have to do some rescheduling for tonight, and I need to be in Tulsa to make sure things go smoothly."

"Thank you again so much," Sharlotte said, walking with her to the door. They stepped out onto the porch together. "This means so much. It's really put my mind at ease."

"I'm glad. And I hope it helps," Stephanie replied. "When they get through they'll begin working on editing immediately, and should be able to air it tonight during RAW, so don't miss it," she smiled.

Sharlotte smiled in return, "Okay, we won't. Noah wouldn't dare miss a chance to see himself on TV—especially on his favorite TV show."

A car came down the narrow country-like road then, and Stephanie glanced up to make sure her rental wasn't about to be demolished.

"Looks like you've got company," Stephanie smiled with a twinkle in her eye, and motioned toward the road with a nod.

Sharlotte glanced up at the road and despite the bright sun, spotted a silver BMW pulling in front of her house. Not recognizing the vehicle, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight and tried to catch a glimpse of the driver as they climbed out of the car. They walked a ways forward and reached some shade, becoming easier to see. Her breath caught in her throat.

Luis.

"Oh, my God," Sharlotte whispered. "What's he doing here?"

"You should go ask him," Stephanie said teasingly, stepping off the porch. "I'll be going so you two can talk."

Having the distinct feeling that Stephanie knew exactly what was going on, Sharlotte brushed all thoughts aside and ran to Damian.

"Luis!" She leaped at him and he laughed, catching her up and swinging her around in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"What, aren't you happy to see me," he teased, hugging her closer. They both were oblivious to Stephanie smiling in their direction as she pulled out of the driveway and drove away.

She giggled happily, "You know I am! I just wasn't expecting you."

Damian finally set her back on her feet and took a look at her. Her hair was down in loosegolden waves, and she had makeup on. She didn't need the artificial improvement, but hecouldn't deny that with it, she was even more breathtaking than usual.

"You look beautiful," he said, reaching up and brushing the back of his hand over her cheek. He saw her face flush and she glanced downward.

"It's the makeup. I don't think you've really gotten to see me with it on. I must look like a totally different person-"

"No," Damian replied, tapping her chin with his knuckle to silence her. "I didn't mean that. You're still you. It's just an enhancement to me," he explained. "You don't need it to be beautiful."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. She smiled again, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Damian replied. "A lot."

"How are you here," Sharlotte asked him, "Tonight's RAW."

"Well," Damian started, rubbing his hand over his neck. "There's something I need to talk to you about. Can we go inside?"

"Sure. We'll have to go upstairs though. If Noah gets a glimpse of you he'll never get his interview finished," she chuckled. When Damian didn't laugh in return, she grew nervous. "Luis… what is it?" She realized then that Damian would not miss work for just anything. "What's happened? You never miss a show."

"Come on," he said, taking her hand. He quietly led her into the house and was careful to reach the staircase without Noah seeing him. Once they were in the second floor hallway, he led her into her bedroom and closed the door.

"Luis, please, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

"Have you been online," he finally asked her. "Have you seen any dirt sheets this morning?"

She shook her head, "No. Why?"

He sighed and sat down on her bed, "Somebody took pictures of us the night I stayed over."

She gasped, "What? How?"

"I don't know. From the shots I saw, they used night-vision and it looked like they were possibly across the road hiding in some of the shrubbery or something. They took shots of us hugging, and they were careful to get shots of me taking my suitcase into the house."

"Show me," Sharlotte said, motioning to her laptop. "It's already booted up."

Damian got up and then sat down at her desk and pulled up TMZ's website and quickly found the report.

"Here," he said, getting up so she could sit and read it. "It's not very long, but with those photos, it doesn't need to be. As they say, 'a picture's worth a thousand words'."

"But we didn't do anything," Sharlotte exclaimed, now looking at the photographs.

"People will draw their conclusions from these photos."

"Oh, my God," she said, reading the short article. "They've identified me." She gaped as she read aloud, "The woman in the photos has been identified as former Olympic figure skater, Sharlotte Taylor—who is now a local librarian in Tallahassee, Florida. Damian Priest's taste in women has taken a pretty drastic change, folks. Cue the fangirls' wrath." She scowled angrily, "So that's why I've gotten so many nasty tweets! She looked at Damian then. "Why would someone do this?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Normally, my instincts would tell me Jasmine was behind it. But it's not like we are married and she'd get anything out of it. Plus, she was the one who told me about the report, ranting and raving about us. So I don't really think it's her."

Sharlotte shook her head in agreement. "And since you aren't married to her... Whose business is this anyway? I mean, yes, I get that it looks like something happened. But all we actually did was hug, for crying out loud!"

Damian actually smiled, "That's not entirely true."

"But-"

"I barely kissed your mouth, and I didn't get to make love to you that morning..." he said softly, walking up to her, a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

Sharlotte took a cautious step back and he chuckled, taking an even bigger step toward her. Her back hit the bedroom door and she knew she was in trouble.

Of course 'trouble' is all in how you look at it, she thought wryly as she watched the large, gorgeous man continue making his way over to her.

"But I did much more than just hug you, cariña."

Damian was right in front of her then. He reached out and pulled her close against him, enclosing her in his arms.

Of their own accord, her arms wrapped around his neck and held on for dear life.

"L-Luis..." she spoke quietly, unsure of what she was actually planning to say.

"In my mind, I've had you over and over again," he said, whispering the words softly. He leaned downward, testing the waters with her.

She couldn't fight the enchanting anticipation of his kiss even if her life depended on it, "I want you so badly it hurts..." she whispered in return.

His face neared hers then and she closed her eyes, her breath trembling past her lips.

Damian smiled in his own anticipation, and touched his mouth to her forehead.

Sharlotte felt his lips travel downward and brush lightly over each of her closed eyelids and then down further, dusting her cheeks with a couple of soft pecks. His breath brushed over her lips and she knew his mouth was mere seconds away from touching hers.

"If I do this, Sharlotte—if you let me kiss you... you know as well as I do, "friendship" will fly out the window. There'll be no turning back," he whispered, his voice full of intensity.

"I-I know..." she said softly, her voice trembling. Butterflies invaded her stomach. "Please, Luis..."

Deciding to draw out the moment, Damian leaned down and tasted the skin of her neck as he had before. "You taste so good," he mumbled in her ear. His lips found the tender skin behind her ear then trailed downward, placing soft kisses down the curve of her neck. Sharlotte whimpered slightly, and angled her head to the side, giving him easier access. Goosebumps rose up on her entire body as his mouth kissed her skin.

Growing slightly frustrated, Damian reached up and began unbuttoning her maroon-colored blouse. Each new flash of skin that appeared as he unbuttoned the closures, his lips brushed over. Finally he had all the buttons undone, and opened the blouse completely, then pulled back to look his fill of the beautiful porcelain doll in front of him.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered, eyeing the lacy black bra's contrast against her milky white skin. He wasted no time in dipping his head low, skimming the top of one of her breasts with his teeth.

"Luis..." Sharlotte moaned softly, dropping her head back against the door behind her.

Her fingers clutched at his neck and head as his mouth trailed over her burning skin. In the next instant, she felt his hands on both her breasts. Cupping his hands underneath them, he pushed them up a little ways so his mouth could reach them. She felt his tongue brushing over the tip of one through the lace of her bra. Her legs nearly buckled. She cried out softly, digging her fingernails into his neck as his tongue and teeth continued their erotic assault. Just when she thought she couldn't possibly feel any more, his mouth did something amazing and elicited a new sound from her.

"I love those little noises you make," he whispered around her breast. "You're so responsive. I can't wait to have you in my bed. We're going to be explosive together." He took her hips in his hands and tugged them against his, allowing her to feel his blatant arousal.

"See," he said, hearing her soft gasp. "That's what you do to me."

Sharlotte moaned deep in her throat, and tentatively reached down, touching him through his jeans. Rubbing her hand along his length, she looked up at him, wonder in her eyes. "So hard," she whispered in amazement.

How will he ever fit inside me, she wondered, growing a little frightened and feeling as if she'd bitten off much more than she could chew.

Damian's teeth clenched, and he struggled to not shout as he said, "Yeah, and it's gonna get a lot harder if you keep doing that."

She immediately pulled her hand back, but Damian didn't let her move away from him. He kept her close to his body and bent downward as his hand slid to one of her breasts. He pulled the cup of her bra down and gently stroked the soft globe in his large hand, running the pad of his thumb over the peak. He smiled when he saw her shudder and close her eyes, a dreamy expression on her face. He lowered his mouth to hers, a soft brush of his lips over hers.

Sharlotte sighed against his mouth, feeling so much all at once. She couldn't comprehend the sensations flooding her body. She cried out softly as his fingers lightly pinched the rose-colored tip of her breast and then…

Suddenly, Damian's hands and mouth left her and he uttered a sharp curse as he grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket.

"You've got to be kidding me," he growled, looking at the phone's screen.

"What do you want," he demanded, his tone a sharp contrast to what it was just a moment before.

Sharlotte braced herself, leaning against the wall behind her, and struggled to catch her breath. She'd felt so amazing, and was pretty sure she was going to feel even more amazing if Damian could've continued his ministrations.

She could hear Jasmine's voice over the phone, despite John's attempt to hide it.

"With your little rebound whore?"

Sharlotte gasped softly, and her gray eyes widened in horror. Is that what I am, she asked herself. Am I just a rebound? Something to help him get over Jasmine?

"She's not a rebound, Jasmine. Honestly, I'm done. This is done. Do you understand? I'm not taking your calls anymore."

He tapped the screen and ended the call, then turned back toward Sharlotte. And he knew then Jasmine had screwed him over royally.

Sharlotte was breathing hard as she worked at buttoning her blouse. He could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes.

"Sharlotte? Cariña?"

"This was a mistake," she said softly. "I'm not going to be a rebound, Damian. I-"

"You're not," Damian said softly, turning her to face him. "I don't do rebounds anymore." He swallowed hard. "We can slow things down," he said. "I'm sorry I sprung this on you.

Really, I-"

Sharlotte sighed, "You'd get tired of me. What if I take longer to trust you, than you're willing to wait. You'd want to break up after so much time with no...no..." She stammered over her word choice and felt her face flaming.

"Sex?"

"See, I can't even just say the word," she said exasperatedly. "I'm too frigid. You'll get tired of that."

"First of all, if what we just did is any indication—you're not 'frigid' in the least. And secondly, did it ever occur to you that I find you refreshing," Damian asked, flashing a smile at her. "I work in one of the worldliest industries there is. Before the 'PG' rating in WWE, as you know, it was super graphic. There was nothing the divas wouldn't do. I work around that because I love to wrestle, but promiscuity is not what I look for in a woman."

"Well, what I just allowed you to do was pretty promiscuous," Sharlotte said.

"Not when you're intending to be in a relationship," Damian tossed back at her. "You told me last week that you were ready for this. What's changed?"

"I'm scared," Sharlotte admitted. "What if this is just a rebound, Luis? What if you only want sex from me and you think it's more?" A note of panic had entered her voice, and Damian knew he was losing her. "And then when you get it, you'll be done with me."

"Baby, I don't have all the answers," he said, reaching up and brushing his thumb across her lips. "All I know is that I do care about you, and I'm very attracted to you, but sex is not all I want. I promise, I will do everything I can to not hurt you."

"That's not a guarantee though." She looked down and avoided his gaze as she pulled out of his embrace. "I was so stupid," she chuckled bitterly. "Damian..." she sighed, "You're a wonderful man. And I could... get very attached to you." She fought tears as she said the hardest words she'd ever speak. "Let's just leave things as they are—be friends. I'd rather have you as a friend than have my heart broken by you and lose you altogether."

With that, she hurried away from him and left her room, not giving him the chance to reply.

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kangaracha · 1 day ago

Text

dragonfish; chapter three

summary; rumi never goes to namsung tower. jinu must find another way to atone.

fandom; kpop demon hunters

tags; romance, angst with a happy ending, enemies to lovers, alternate ending, slow burn, demon!rumi

read on AO3

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← previous chapter

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In her sleep, Rumi stands on the rocks outside the cave and watches the souls as they track across the sky.

It seems a strange dream to have, rather than reliving any of the violent end to her life, the lying and betrayal, the death she's been denied. It feels almost like she could turn around and see herself lying there inside the cave, broken and bruised. Better off dead, if this is the life that waits for her. She can't turn though, even if she wants to; only watch the souls and remark to herself on the strange peace that they almost bring, if she can look past what they are underneath the light they give to the sky.

They make her sad though. She can't ignore what they are, no matter how hard she tries, because the guilt eats her alive; these are people that heard her song and sang along, that saw who she was and what she could do, and yet still didn't laugh - and she betrayed them. Fed them to Gwi-Ma like cattle.

The thought makes the voices start in her head, quieter than normal but still clamouring to be heard. They whisper all the terrible things she's done over the top of one another like they're trying to turn her mad. She still can't escape them or turn them off; she isn't strong enough yet, doesn't understand what she now holds in her chest. Even if she did, would she choose to put an end to the suffering? Or is this just a way to pay her due?

Either way, the voices call. Gwi-Ma calls, because she knows by now how to recognise his voice beneath the layers of her own, and she must answer.

With a slump, she falls through the world and lands on her knees at his feet.

She stands quickly, hanbok swishing around her shins. That is the game; to bow, but never too deeply; to mock but never offend. Appear long enough to amuse him and then disappear to some void beyond his attention and hope he forgets you exist.

She'd wanted him to forget this time, was hoping he'd never call - but of course, he always knows what you least want, and he has never known the kindness of letting it go.

The demon king has feasted well since the last time she saw him; his flames tower to the height they had once reached when he held dominion over the earth, the heat of them crackling in the air. She has to shield her eyes when first she looks up into that mouth, so full of the light of souls that it burns white-hot with their power.

"I've been looking for you," Gwi-Ma says, flames reaching out to lash at the toe of her boots. "I thought you would be eager to collect your prize. Unless you're still having doubts - Jinu."

—

Rumi wakes with a gasp, sand spraying across the rocks as she bolts upright.

The cave. She is in the cave still, not standing before Gwi-Ma's throne. She is safe.

Jinu is not.

His absence rings in the air like a bell. She struggles to her feet, kicking away the folds of a black hanbok that has been thrown over her, and steps outside - but there is nothing, not anywhere she can see along the ridgeline. There are places you can't see, she has to remind herself before she can panic - but she already knows in her heart where he is. She can feel it tugging her towards him.

Towards Gwi-Ma, a light in the distance. She has the distinct feeling that this is exactly the place Jinu doesn't want her to go, but...

But she can't be here alone, waiting. Already, the silence rings too loud, the world too big and empty. Her arms are exposed to the air and to any eyes that might be watching, and the single patch of light that falls inside the cav reminds her of a dark stage - of lights going out and the gold fading from view and the first notes of Takedown starting to play under a single spotlight.

And god damn it, she has to save him, even if she hates him. Her heart won't sit here while he faces Gwi-Ma, wondering if he will come back. Her soul can't bear the burden of shame if he doesn't.

She darts back into the cave, stomach churning, to collect the hanbok, pulling it tight around her shoulders like a shroud. It feels better that way, to have the old patterns covered up, it gives her the strength to linger long enough to find his gat sitting on a rock, almost invisible in the dark. She shoves it on her head as she exits, reaching back and tucking the length of her braid down into the hanbok.

Gwi-Ma's light greets her, flaring and diminishing in uneven patterns. She wonders what it means, that the souls have stopped streaking across the sky, that the light is no longer consistent. Will she know if he destroys Jinu? It feels like she will, down in the pit of her stomach, but she's thought that before about Zoey and Mira too, fancied that they could all be connected through the Honmoon, and yet she'd felt nothing of them when she was surrounded by demons on that stage. And they'd felt nothing of her.

She reaches for her sword rather than the tatters of that tenuous connection, something that she knows is tethered to her soul in a way that can't come undone. It leaps into her hand with an anticipation that surprises her, the power of it jolting through her body so suddenly that it knocks her back a step. Strange. She stares at it, scrutinising the blade; swings it experimentally, the sharp movement reawakening the ache of every part of her body. Nothing seems out of place, not the weight or balance or the rune patterns inscribed upon it. It is just...different in her hand, humming a new tune that her heart isn't used to.

She is a different person now, she supposes, letting it vanish back into the universe. It's enough a part of her to know that - at least it is still here, changing with ehr. At least she can keep hold of one part of her heritage.

Time to go. She's lingering too long, even though the thought of Jinu there alone fills her with fear. The thought of facing Gwi-Ma scares her almost as much, beaten out only by her fear of being left alone in this strange and hostile land to become a demon-

Purple smoke envelops her like a cloud, and she steps out on the edge of a crowd of monsters. It is work to still her hand from reaching for the sword again as the close ones turn to look at her - instinct hitches her breath in her throat and grounds her feet to defend herself. She forces a breath out again, loosens her shoulders and looks past them until they turn back to the show they were watching, accepting her as one of many black gat in the crowd.

Jeoseung Saja. She'd figured it out, of course, between her knowledge of the hunter's history and the myths of hell that haunted the world. Messengers of the underworld, couriers of souls - and Jinu said he only delivered the souls, crossed between worlds without belonging completely to the hunger of one or another.

There are dozens of them here, recogniseable between the ranks of demons by the broad brims and clinking beads of their gat. Their faces still echo their humanity, as same as anyone she would pass on the street in the world above except for the patterns that threaten to consume them. She looks for Jinu's face when first she sees one, the only face she associates with the black hanbok, and then remembers with a start why she is here. Where he is. What he might have risked, in that moment that he spirited her away to the underworld.

At Gwi-Ma's feet, raised above their heads on a plateau of stone, stands Jinu.

His hands hang at his sides and his shoulders are slouched, the very picture of casual confidence. Fake confidence, she sees almost immediately, because she knows exactly what it looks like. She's seen it in a hundred idols before; the experienced ones, with aching bodies and a sixth sense for the angle of a camera. They learn as they grow, how to angle their bodies just right, how to pose in real time and hold the illusion for hours on end. Even Zoey could do it, her face held in the perfect still of delight even when she was sick to death with the flu.

There's a tension held in Jinu's spine that she can see even from here, a certain quality to the picture he paints to the crowd that makes it so perfect it's unbelievable. It shoots cold fear into her veins. She has never seen Jinu scared before.

"You really don't know where she is?" Gwi-Ma asks, his voice rolling over the empty plain.

"No," Jinu answers, barely audible from where she stands. Her feel propel her closer, ghosting between demons and saja. "I thought she came with the others."

"She doesn't answer when I call," Gwi-Ma says. "You know this, Jinu."

"I forgot."

"That seems unlikely."

Fear catches in her throat as the flames rise higher into the air and the crowd around her gasps and cringes, turning their faces into their hands rather than watch Jinu be consumed. She remembers the heat of it from the dream; feels the edge of it as it washes over the place where she stands, hot, dry air and then the pinprick of cold as it disperses. She doesn't look away, not for a moment, but he does not consume Jinu. Not yet.

"You seemed unhappy, the last time I spoke to you," says Gwi-Ma, his voice softening. "Are you unhappy, Jinu?"

"Last time we spoke, you thought I would betray you," Jinu answers smoothly. "Now, you seem to have forgotten the terms of our deal. Wouldn't you be unhappy too?"

"I would. And you would be dead. Best to remember that, before you lie to me again."

A pause. Jinu lets it run on just long enough for her blood to run cold. "The deal was to defeat the hunters. Not to bring them to you."

"If there is still one out there, then you have not defeated them."

"I have broken her though." Jinu's voice rises with the words, not a shadow of doubt written into its undertones. "She has no voice with the patterns, and no friends that trust her. No Honmoon. If she's not dead yet, then she lives with more shame than any demon. She's not any threat to you."

Rumi stills.

They are talking about her.

"She's a threat as long as she's alive," Gwi-Ma says over the thunder of her heart in her ears, the ringing echos of Jinu's cruel voice; broken, silent, shamed. "How do you think the Honmoon grows stronger and stronger over several of their lifetimes? More with the voice will be born, and as long as she is there to bring them together, the hunters can be born again. Do none of you know how any of this works?"

All around Rumi, demons twitch and look downward and shuffle their feet, cowering in fear. She could swear she hears one burst out in muffled sobs, not so far away, but her attention is only for the king and the boy, and the whirlwind of thoughts that try to coalesce inside her mind.

Bring them together. Gwi-Ma knows her destiny better than she does - believes she will achieve more than Celine ever could. She hadn't thought about it since they started to see the bands of gold flickering through the Honmoon, since the arenas began to sell out and the money blinded even Zoey to any obstacle that could stand in their way; but of course, that money was never for her. Neither was her inheritance, the far-reaching platform the Sunlight Sisters had built thirty-odd years ago. It all lay in wait for the next group of hunters when she inevitably failed at turning the Honmoon gold, the little girls that Zoey and Mira would one day scout from obscurity, because of course, if the Honmoon never turned gold then she would be-

"She couldn't even bring her own group together," Jinu scoffs, perfectly cold even when standing in the heart of a bonfire. "She won't succeed at raising the next."

"If only you were as old as me," Gwi-Ma sighs on a breath of hot air, "you would know not to underestimate them. If one is alive, she will found more, until the Honmoon traps us again."

"Not this one," Jinu insists. "All the hunters have ever done is bury her in shame and abandon her. She won't rebuild what she doesn't love."

Rumi feels sick. She understands now, that she shouldn't be here, that leaving her to huddle alone on a mountain was a mercy he had afforded her to keep her from hearing this; truths she could not handle, a reality she refused to face. She'd really thought she could save him? Again? There wasn't even enough strength in her to save herself. The only thing she knows how to do is run away.

At the thought, her feet stumble backwards, barely carrying her weight with them. Running. Yes. She wants to go back to the mountain, to the tiger and the bird and the silence that she'd thought would drive her mad. She wants to go home and pretend that nothing has changed. She wants to go to Celine, to ask her to reconsider.

She turns her back and walks away, winding her way through the crowd again. In every rank she passes, she can feel their gazes turn towards her in curiousity, their scrutiny burning at her skin. Run, everything in her says; but when she reaches for the smoke that carried her here, she can't find it, and when her feet get faster, she crashes into a demon, knocking it to the ground as she stumbles past.

"You," Gwi-Ma's voice says, right in her ear, and she flinches, freezing where she stands. "Where are you going?"

When she turns around, she is standing at the foot of his throne, staring up at the steep staircase cut into the stone.

"Don't be shy," Gwi-Ma says, amusement in his voice "Come here and let me look at you, little hunter."

Rumi hesitates. Looks for an escape, as if the demons are just going to open their ranks and let her pass; as if Gwi-Ma would let her get any further than would amuse him. There is no way out. The demons ring around her, jostling the ones at the front together to create a wall. They cower away from her as she turns to look at them all, hands coming up to cover their faces; but their fear of Gwi-Ma is greater than their fear of her. She knows without asking that they will tear her to pieces if she gets too close, just the way she has torn them apart her entire life.

One step at a time, she climbs to the plateau. No sound rings as she walks, not from the crowd or from Gwi-Ma. Not from Jinu. Her footsteps echo an unsteady rhythm, the note of each another beat in the song of her damning.

He won't look at her when she crests the rise, the boy that tried to save her. She can't see what echoes on his face, what twists in his mouth he tries to hide. She has the urge to tell him that he was right - that she had hated him for no reason, when every misfortune that has ever befallen her is her own fault - but Gwi-Ma stares her down and she is not supposed to know him, and she was never destined to die with all her affairs in order anyway. He is just another in a long list of people she has never told the truth to.

She spares him only a glance. He's very careful not to return the favour, not even out of the corner of his eye. She looks around instead, trying to pick a point in the mass of flames that she can look at.

"Take off that hat," it says, the mouth barely moving even though the words rattle in her chest on their way through her. With mechanical fingers, she does, tossing the poor disguise off to the side. "Ah. It is you. Come to me at last."

"I'm not here for you," she spits, and squints against the light of souls in his mouth when he laughs.

"What are you here for then?" he asks. "For him?"

She pretends not to see Jinu wince in the corner of her eye. "Just to see," she claims. "Sightseeing, you know. Tickets to Hell are hard to get."

"Hm." Gwi-Ma is thoughtful. Jinu winces again. "And what do you see?"

Rumi shrugs. "A lot of rocks, and a big, ugly ball of flame."

A collective gasp rocks the crowd down below; she glances back to find them standing stock-still, mouths hanging open. It would be kind of comical if it weren't a crowd of soul-sucking demons and their king who wants her dead. For several seconds, nothing moves, and then-

Gwi-Ma laughs, flame shooting up high enough to touch the Honmoon, if the Honmoon still existed.

"Like you are so beautiful," he replies, and she wonders if he knows how easily he crushes her, like a flower held in the palm of his hand. "You are brave though. I like that in a servant."

"I'm not your servant," she says. It comes out weaker than before, all her bravado wasted on nothing.

"You bear my mark," Gwi-Ma responds. "You stand in my court. Soon, you'll beg me for you life and your voice. But you tell me, daughter, why I should bow before you."

Daughter? The word rushes through her like an electric shock, entirely foreign to her orphaned ears - and how she has dreamt so many times in the dark of hearing that one word, but not like this. The moment it leaves his mouth, borne upon the power of burning souls the dream dies inside her chest, its body churning like poison in her gut.

"W-what?" she stutters, her voice lost in the rush of thoughts that constrict her hest. She feels sick to the stomach and weak at the knees, the fragile pieces of her world that she's been scrambling to pick up shattering once again. "You can't be-"

"Your father?" Gwi-Ma guesses. She could swear the mouth smiles at her, capricious and cruel. "Not in the way humans think of things, no. But your soul - the is as much mine as any of these idiots that stand around and do nothing all day. Look."

She doesn't want to look, doesn't want any part of this at all, but she does; as all around her, smoke bursts from his mouth and billows across the ground. Figures rise from within the smog, black and formless and yet taking shape as they unfold. They are as hideous as any demons she has seen, born with fangs and claws and hissing tongues that spit at her as they emerge. Her fingers twitch again, feeling for the hilt of her sword in the air.

"You are not my father," she says, more of a mantra to herself than a truth to him.

"In every way that matters, I am," Gwi-Ma tells her. "The Saja your mother loved so much...no. I won't say."

"Tell me," she demands through gritted teeth.

The new-born demons around her snarl. "How badly do you want to know?" Gwi-Ma asks, the air crackling as the heat rises.

"How much do you know?" she throws back, ignoring the sweat beading on her brow, the look that Jinu gives her from under his lashes.

"Hmph," Gwi-Ma huffs, amused. "I knew your soul before your mother imagined you in her arms. I know everything."

"Tell me."

There is a pause where the fire just crackles, unseen eyes examining her up and down, and then, "Negotiations usually start on your knees."

"This isn't a negotiation," she says, her sword tickling the inside of her palm.

"Begging, then."

"I'm not begging."

"So I ask again," the demon king says, as calm as ever, "what gives you the power to demand things of me?"

Rage engulfs her in one breath; dark, old rage from the second in which she was born, coiling inside her like a snake. It strikes hard and fast, fangs reaching for the demons that surrounded her. The sword has no choice but to follow its path, her feet grounding and then dancing as she wreaks her arc of death. The fire does not matter to her, the heat or the exhaustion, the sharp pain that ripples through her in protest. To her touch, they all die, born just to disperse back into the smoke that clouds the sky.

When she is done, she faces the king, her chest heaving and hair in her eyes.

"Well, that was dramatic," Gwi-Ma says, smoke leaking between his flickering teeth.

More demons crawl from the cloud. Her blade goes to the first one's throat, pressing to the skin until its eyes bulge in alarm. "Tell me, she says again. Slashes through its throat when he refuses to speak.

Gwi-Ma laughs.

She cuts them down again, and then a third time, ripping them apart even as her body screams for release. She's going to pass out again, stars dance in her eyes, her form turning sloppy. Every beat of her heart is in agony, tearing at her chest as it strains to keep up.

She won't stop. Even when they turn to formless beasts that writhe over the top of each other in waves. Even when some corner of her remembers Jinu's voice saying, if hatred could be Gwi-Ma, I would have done it a long time ago.

"ENOUGH."

From within the swarm, some great bludgeon slams her to the ground. There is no way to see it coming, no room to avoid it. There is only the crackle of her ribs and the crunch as her shoulder breaks. Her sword clatters as it skips across the ground and out of reach. There's a harsh keening in the air as she falls. She doesn't realise it is coming from her until her knees split open on the rocks.

There, on one hand, she bows. Right where he said she belonged.

"Savage thing," Gwi-Ma says when she has taken enough breaths to understand that she should not get back up. "Just like your mother."

She can't be goaded this time, not through the pain and the humiliation that ties her to the ground. He signs when he senses it, the heat in the air around her easing. It doesn't make it any easier to breathe.

"It seems such a shame to kill you now," he says between each rasping effort she makes. "That was so...entertaining."

I hate you, she says, but all that comes out of her mouth is a sound like sandpaper in her throat, her tongue too slow to make the sounds. The words ring hollow anyway. She's said them to Jinu too many times for them to have any real meaning anymore. Just kill me, she replaces it with, inside her head, but it doesn't feel any more powerful. Just...sad.

"I think you owe me a hundred souls for those demons," he continues, her input unneeded. "Or perhaps two hundred is a fair deal." She can't speak, only spit blood onto the rocks at the thought of harvesting souls. "How many do you think the memory of your father is worth?"

In the absence of her voice, others shout from down below, a raucous chorus of figures that get more and more obscene the longer Gwi-Ma tolerates them. She cringes at a thousand; at two, ten, several hundred thousand. A million. More souls than people she has ever looked in the eye, more than the entire population of Seoul. More than she could ever collect before her mind broke under the weight of everything she has become.

"Tell me, Jinu," Gwi-Ma says over the noise. "How many souls once powered the Honmoon?"

Jinu steps are whisper-soft, only his feet visible as he comes to stand by her side. "Seventy two million," comes the answer. It rings familiar, even as it takes her breath away; seventy two. The last estimate Bobby had given her of their fanbase, a number to call the staggering extent of her reach across the globe.

"And how many are left now?" Gwi-Ma asks.

It takes Jinu a moment to answer. "I don't know," he says eventually, like an admittance of guilt. "Maybe thousands. Maybe five. Maybe none."

"You underestimate, I think," Gwi-Ma growls.

"I won't collect souls," Rumi rasps with everything she has. "Kill me."

"Their fans started turning on them before that last day," Jinu says, as if she hadn't spoken. "By the time the Honmoon broke, there were none left."

"Ten thousand then, I think," Gwi-Ma says. "Ten thousand, for the ones she wasted and for the insolence. And then we will see if I am still hungry."

"I won't," Rumi says again, before Jinu can sell away her life in his fear. "I'll die first."

Heat washes in again, like the opening of an oven. Her lungs constrict around the boiling air, her lips cracking. Jumping into a bonfire would offer more relief.

"Then they will take your place!" he thunders, and her head turns of its own volition, her eyes helpless to see anything but Mira and Zoey stepping out from between the broken columns.

She wants to scream. She wants to jump up and throttle the king, wants to tell him she knows it's a trick and she won't fall for it again, and they hate her anyway so why would she care, and - and nothing will come out of her mouth. None of her limbs will move.

Zoey and Mira look so real.

"I don't like the taste of hunters," Gwi-Ma says. "Obscene creatures, ripping out the tastiest parts of your souls and carving them into weapons. You do make lovely toys though."

Not real. She squeezes her eyes shut, wrests her head from his control and hangs it low. Not real.

"Nothing," Gwi-Ma huffs. "Take her away from me, Jinu. She has until I grow bored to deliver her first soul."

She can hear the whisper of Jinu's hanbok as he bows. His hand wraps around her arm as he speaks, murmuring assent to the kind he bends the knee to. He doesn't force her broken body to stand like he had the day before, but summons the smoke to spin them away just like that, his body curling protectively over her as it carries them off to places unknown.

She hopes that wherever that is, they never find it.

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