#and then they still ask me where everything goes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

edamameimei · 2 days ago

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everything you wanted

"you're just thinking it's a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me."

pairing: daniela avanzini x reader (childhood best friends!au)

synopsis: after an unexpected accident shakes their world, your friends make it their mission to carry out what seems to be your 'final wish.' however, what they discover goes deeper than anticipated.

feat: winter from aespa, soobin and yeonjun from txt

so much angst im so sorry. there are points where it's kinda fluffy, but do not be fooled. loosely based off the kdrama 'move to heaven,' more specifically, episode 5 (ifykyk). CW: character death, kissing, swearing

wc: 4271 words

now playing: we hug now - sydney rose

It was any other night for you.

After consuming a copious amount of caffeine, you are finally done studying. You look at your watch, sighing tiredly when the screen displays 2:00 AM. You rub your face with your hands. What you thought would be a short study session became much longer than anticipated. You didn’t realize how behind you were.

You slowly stuff your laptop into your bag, zipping it up then swinging it over your shoulder. You yawn as you make your way toward the library exit. When you walk outside, you can’t help the quiet, ‘fuck’ that escapes your mouth.

It’s a torrential downpour tonight; your measly hoodie was the only thing you had.

You put your hood on, shaking your head as you walk quickly to your apartment. It was only a couple blocks away but in this weather, it might as well feel like years. You keep your head down as you walk, shivering with every step. You’re relieved when you finally get to the crosswalk that leads straight to your apartment building.

You step out onto the street, not thinking to look both ways. It was late and your brain was fried, having any rational thoughts at this point is impossible.

But as you keep your head down, your eyes trained on your feet, you don’t notice the headlights getting closer. You don’t hear the rev of an engine or the music that blasts loudly from a vehicle. You just wanted to be in bed already.

You don’t notice until you hear the ugly screech of the tires.

You look up, your eyes immediately widening when you realize. You raise your hands, the world going silent in a blink of an eye.

You meet Daniela Avanzini in the 8th grade.

You were tasked with tutoring the younger student due to your above-average knowledge of the subject she was struggling with. The only thing you know about the girl is that she’s quite loud, very sociable, and is terrible at science– things you are not.

You sit in the classroom waiting for the girl. Your nose is in yet another book, so entranced by the story that you don’t even notice when she walks in. You only look up when you hear the chair next to you being pulled out. When you see her, you immediately freeze.

She was undeniably the prettiest person you have ever seen.

She holds her hand out, smiling widely, “Daniela Avanzini.”

You grab her hand and shake it. It almost feels like a promise. “Y/n L/n.”

Your closest friends stand at your apartment door, a sad silence surrounding them.

It felt wrong. Going into your apartment with you nowhere to be seen.

But, after the funeral, your parents asked them to go through your things. They asked for your awards, certificates, medals, but nothing else. The rest is junk. It enraged them to think that’s all you ever were to your parents and even after death, it’s still the same. You often complained about them, telling stories about how they pushed you to be just like them. But you were nothing like them. You were just as hard working, that much was obvious. But you had your goals set on something else. It wasn’t medical school nor your research in the labs. But it was something you kept to yourself, never once sharing with your friends.

And they are determined to figure out what that was.

Winter leans down, removing the mat lying in front of your door. She picks up the key, shaking her head with a chuckle. “For a genius, what a stupid place to keep a key.” Soobin laughs and so does Yeonjun. They watch as Winter unlocks the door. At the same time, they all realize that you will not be inside waiting for them. You will not be three energy drinks in, studying at your desk. You will not be lying on your couch, cozied in your blankets with a book. You will never be in this apartment again and it doesn’t make sense because it’s yours.

Soobin walks in first and the others follow suit. They stand in the hallway, taking it all in. After a few moments of silence, they walk into your room. They’ve been in your apartment almost a thousand times but this time it felt unknown. What usually feels homey now feels desolate without its warm presence. The feeling intensifies when they walk into your room.

The bed wasn’t made. It was as if you were there this morning.

The thought almost makes them want to turn around. The desire to leave everything untouched becomes unbearable. At least then, there would be evidence that you were there. It wouldn’t matter how long ago, you would be there and you would be alive.

Your desk was littered with papers, some crumpled up while others had words scratched out with a pen. The trashcan was filled with coffee cups and energy drink cans. Yeonjun walks over to the nightstand, spotting your ID badge. He picks it up and stares at it for a moment.

Y/N L/N. 4TH YEAR PRE-MED INTERN. EMORY MEDICAL RESEARCH CENTER.

His lip trembles as he looks at your ID photo. “We were gonna graduate in three months…” He shakes his head and pockets your ID, wanting it as a keepsake. It’s a weird thing to have sentimental value over; but grief does that unfortunately. Yeonjun turns around and walks back toward Winter and Soobin. They found an empty spot on the floor to sit, not wanting to sit on your bed. Yeonjun sits next to them and takes a deep breath. He lets out a shaky sigh. “Well. This is really fucking weird.” Winter laughs. She tries not to let the tears brimming her eyes to fall. She looks down at her lap and whispers, “What now?”

Soobin shrugs his shoulders. He leans back, propping himself up with his arms. He looks around your room with a sad smile. “We find what we’re looking for.”

You are known as an academic weapon to your teachers and peers.

You aren’t a natural by any means. It takes a lot of sacrifice to be as smart as you are. Other kids your age are going out and having fun while you are at home, studying for an exam weeks away. The determination was built into you, wired this way by your parents who believe in nothing less than perfect. You had a destiny to fulfill and you were dedicated to it. If it meant long hours of studying at the library, in study hall, or at home, then so be it.

But your favorite study spot by far is on the bleachers.

It sounds ridiculous because it is. It doesn’t make sense for you to like it so much. It’s the noisiest place to be, especially after school. The constant yelling from the football team, the shrill of a whistle every five minutes, the cheerleading squad repeating the same routine over and over again. The bleachers were an overstimulating nightmare.

But it gives you the best view of Daniela Avanzini, your best friend in the entire world.

You learned more about the Latina through the many tutoring sessions in middle school. Even after she began to improve in science, Daniela insisted on still meeting with you. You learned she was very dedicated to dancing and performing. She wanted to become a star. For the first time, your life wasn’t consumed by formulas and medical terminology. You secretly lived vicariously through the girl, seeing her chase a dream that was all hers. You had no dreams.

You just had to get into medical school. That’s all you knew.

After some convincing (and her not willing to let go of you when you were desperately trying to make your way toward the school’s library) you finally made use of the time waiting for Daniela to finish cheer practice. You wouldn’t admit it, but after a couple of weeks, it has become one of your favorite places. Watching Daniela cheer became a new hobby of yours. She shined on the field, her bright smile lighting up the student section even when their football team loses yet another game. The feeling you get watching her is the same when you attend her dance competitions. You feel proud to be her best friend. And you even feel special when you are always the first person she runs up to when they’re over.

Daniela never lets you forget how important you are to her.

And in return, you’ve never missed a football game when she started on the team last year. You haven’t missed a cheer competition nor a dance competition. Every single thing Daniela participated in, you were there. She always urged you to do the same, to join an activity so she had something of yours to go to, but you always had the same excuse. You were just too busy. And why should you? You’d miss the way Daniela looks up at you in the bleachers after practicing well. The way she smiles as if looking for approval. And you’d always smile back because she always does well.

After practice ends, you always wait for her outside the locker room. When she comes out, she makes a beeline toward you, interlocking your fingers immediately. She would always look up at you with a smile, her dimple evident in her cheek. She asks, “Did you like what we did today?” And even if it’s always the same thing, you always nod, squeezing her hand gently, “Of course I did, sunshine.” The nickname never fails to make her giggle. You called her that once during one of your tutoring sessions in middle school, and she never let it go.

She pushes your glasses up on your face, leaning up to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. When she pulls away, she giggles, grabbing your hand again. She pulls you toward your car. “Come on, make yourself useful and get me ice cream!” You roll your eyes, allowing her to drag you. You playfully respond, “What do you say, sunshine?”

She giggles again. “Please make yourself useful and get me ice cream?”

You didn’t need the please. You just wanted to hear her laugh again.

Your friends return to Soobin’s apartment after digging around your apartment for hours.

They sit on his couch and in front of them on the coffee table is a locked box. They found it hiding amongst your old medical textbooks underneath your bed. They were always curious about this box. They’ve watched you put things in it before but your friends always respected your privacy, never asking about it or bringing it up. But they knew whatever was inside held the answers to their question.

The only problem is the lock on it.

Yeonjun suggested picking the lock (“We don’t know how to do that.” “YouTube is our best friend, you know?”) and Winter says to break it open (“How do you intend on doing that?” “Just… Smash it open?”) but Soobin feels it would only be right to figure out the combination. When he says this, Yeonjun raises his eyebrow. “Are you serious? We don’t even know what’s in here. And you think we can just figure out a combination?” Soobin sighs. He knows it sounds stupid, but he already feels bad for invading your personal life like this. After a few seconds of silence, Winter picks up the box. Soobin reaches his hand out, scared she may try her idea, but she pushes him away, fiddling with the lock. “Trust me! Let me try something…”

The two boys watch Winter work on it. Their eyes widen when they hear the lock click open. She pulls it off, surprised as well. Yeonjun leans over, the shock evident in his voice, “How’d you figure it out that fast?”

Winter shrugs, looking down at the box in her lap. “I tried their phone passcode. 0701.”

It’s your senior year, and your feelings for Daniela have evolved to a point where they have become distracting.

Your parents have noticed your lack of focus on your studies. Being the child of two well-known doctors in Atlanta made it even more difficult for you. There was a title to uphold and a pressure for you to be just like them. Before meeting Daniela, it was something you’ve accepted. You had your entire future figured out before you were even born. After meeting Daniela though, the free spirit that she is, made you realize there’s a lot more to life than the expectations your parents set for you.

There were days where you’d stay longer in study hall, attempting to study for your AP classes. But it would be immediately forgotten once Daniela joins you. On the days where she isn’t at cheer or dance practice, she would join you wherever you are. She’d sit next to you, taking out her homework or the latest book she had begun reading. She would put her glasses on and get lost in her task, while you took glances at her shamelessly.

It always confused you on why she’d spend all her free time with you when she had her own life to live.

When you arrive at school in the mornings, you’d find her standing at her locker talking to her friends from cheer or class. The moment she spots you, she’s ending the conversation and attaching herself to your hip. No one at your school understood your friendship with Daniela. You were always so quiet, so timid. Daniela was energetic and everyone knew her name. But no one would ever see one or the other, they always saw you and her. And that’s how it always was.

Until one morning.

You walked into school expecting to see Daniela at her locker. However, you spot her on the other side of the hallway. She stands with a boy you recognize from the football team. You watch as they interact and your stomach drops when she places her hand on his shoulder. You see them laugh together and you have to will yourself to look away when you see her light up at whatever the boy says. You walk quickly down the hallway, avoiding her eyes. You don’t stop when she calls your name. You just keep going, ignoring the stinging in your chest.

It goes on like this for a week. And then two weeks. Then suddenly, you’ve stopped keeping track of how long it has been since you talked to Daniela. You have exams and projects to focus on.

You walk out of study hall, your eyes on your phone as you walk toward the exit. However, you bump into something– or someone more like it. When you look up, your eyes widen.

It’s Daniela.

She has her arms crossed and she is glaring at you with that intense look in her eyes. You check your watch, noticing she should have been on the bus to go to the game 15 minutes ago. You’re about to say something but Daniela pushes you, successfully knocking you back a couple steps. You look at her surprised. The Latina steps closer to you, jabbing a finger into your chest. “What the hell has gotten into you lately?” You look away from her, your voice shaking slightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” She scoffs, crossing her arms again. Her tone comes out even harsher than before. “You’ve been avoiding me. I thought you were just busy with everything but you haven’t even answered my texts! You won’t even look at me anymore, what the hell is going on?!”

You look at her, exasperated. “Dani, I don’t need to always–”

She cuts you off, yelling, “Don’t call me that!” Her words make you roll your eyes. You try to walk away but she grabs your wrist and stops you. You turn toward her, your tone firm, “Let me go, Daniela.” But once the words leave your mouth, you regret them immediately. Your eyes soften when you see how hurt she looks. Tears are threatening to spill from her eyes and her lip trembles. She whispers, her voice cracking, “What did I do wrong?” The desperation in her voice breaks your heart. Knowing you’re the reason makes you feel worse. You shake your head, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sunshine.”

She wipes her eyes and you want to reach out and wipe her tears for her. She looks up at you, her eyes glistening. “Then what’s up with you? You’re supposed to be my best friend…” She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/n.”

Her words knock the wind out of you. Without a second thought, you grab her by the waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She doesn’t respond at first. You begin to think that you’ve ruined everything, that you’ve lost Daniela completely. You’re about to pull away but she grabs your shirt and pulls you closer. Her lips move against yours desperately and it makes your knees weak.

For the first time in your life, you have something worth fighting for.

On top of everything lies an envelope.

Yeonjun grabs it. He takes a deep breath and opens it slowly. His hands shake as he pulls out two pieces of paper.

One is a one-way ticket to Los Angeles.

The other is a concert ticket.

Winter takes the concert ticket from his hands, studying it. She can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. “Katseye?”

Your first semester at Emory is a nightmare.

After years of being able to breeze through any assignment and project, you now find yourself struggling to keep up with the demands of what it takes to be a pre-med student.

You’re consuming more caffeine than you ever did in your life, there are days you’re not even sure if you ate anything besides a granola bar you found at the bottom of your bookbag, and amongst all of your fellow pre-med colleagues, you feel somewhat inadequate.

You’re sitting at your desk in your dorm when you hear your phone begin to ring. You want to ignore it knowing your exam is in the morning, but your eyes briefly land on the name. You grab your phone, answering it immediately. You lean back in your chair and smile. “Hey there, sunshine.”

“I’m outside.” You sit up, your eyes wide and your heart beating out of your chest. Your smile gets wider as you stand. “Are you serious?” She giggles, responding, “Come outside and find out.” You speed walk toward your door, your hand on the door knob but Daniela stops you. “Nuh uh. It’s cold out here, put on a sweater.” You roll your eyes, groaning, “How do you know I’m not wearing one?” The silence on the other end is the only response you get and it causes you to sigh, quickly grabbing one of the hoodies you threw on the ground earlier. You sprint downstairs and hear Daniela laughing on the other end at your excitement. You run out the door and spot her immediately.

You run toward your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her waist. You spin her around and her loud squeals cause you to smile even wider. When you put her down, you lean in, kissing her softly. She places her hands on your cheeks, deepening the kiss. You pull her closer as if you were scared this was all a dream. After a few minutes, she pulls away, looking at you with stars in her eyes. You kiss her dimple before pulling her back for a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder. You murmur, “What are you doing here?”

She giggles, running a hand through your hair. “To see you, dummy.” You pull away slightly to look at her in surprise. “You drove almost an hour to see me?” She nods, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in and kisses your nose. “I missed you…” You pull her in for another tight hug and chuckle. “I missed you too, sunshine.” You hold her close, your worries disappearing. You’re about to ask her to come inside but she speaks up, saying, “I do have something to tell you.” You pull away, your arms still around her waist. You notice the excitement in her eyes and tilt your head in curiosity. “What’s up?”

She takes a deep breath. She speaks softly, “Do you remember that audition I was telling you about?” You light up at her words, nodding quickly. “Yeah! Did it go well?” Daniela bites her lip and nods. You hug her again, shaking her excitedly. You remember how nervous she was for her audition, but you knew she’d do well. She always does.

However, you notice a shift in her mood. You pull away, placing your hands on her shoulders. You look at her worriedly. “That’s a good thing, right?” Daniela looks down when she hears your words. She whispers, her voice barely audible, “I’m going to California.”

Soobin continues sifting through the box and pulls out a stack of letters that are neatly kept together with a rubber band. Yeonjun and Winter lean closer to him, watching as he pulls the rubber band off with caution. He goes through the letters and notices they are all addressed to you. They’re all dated and signed off by the same person.

‘Your Sunshine.’

Yeonjun grabs one of the letters. Unlike the others, this one was mailed to you. He opens it, taking it out of its envelope. “This one is from three years ago…” Winter looks at it, her eyes scanning for anything important. She sits up straighter when she reads the words ‘Dream Academy.’ She reads the whole paragraph aloud: “I know you’re not happy about me going to Los Angeles. About me being on Dream Academy. But this is everything I’ve ever worked for. I can’t give it up for anything, I’m sorry. You have your dream and I have mine.”

Soobin looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?” Winter grabs the envelope that contains the two tickets. She holds it up, waving it around, “Y/n was going to Los Angeles–” Yeonjun cuts her off, adding, “Yeah? They got a job at the UCLA Medical Research Center there… That wasn’t that surprising.” Winter rolls her eyes, continuing, “They weren’t just going to Los Angeles for a job, dumbass. They were going for whoever this is.” She opens the envelope, taking out the Katseye ticket. “And I think it’s someone from this group.”

Yeonjun leans back against the couch, chuckling. “You’re joking right?” Winter shakes her head. She looks back at the letter, putting the pieces together. “Dream Academy was the survival show that created Katseye… It just makes sense.” And no one can deny it, it certainly does make sense. But it all seems so far fetched. If anything, they could be putting together a story that doesn’t exist at all. They sit in silence, not knowing what to do with the information in front of them. Winter sighs and puts the letter down. She looks at the two boys with a determination in her eyes.

“There’s one way we could try… Seeing if I’m right.”

Daniela breaks up with you over the phone.

It wasn’t a long phone call. But it did enough to crush you.

She tells you that the distance is too much to handle. She tells you that she needs to focus on training. She tells you how she can’t be distracted.

When the phone call ends, you can’t help but feel you’re back at square one.

You sit in your dorm, taking a glance at your anatomy textbook. You push it off your desk, tears spilling from your eyes.

An hour later, they move their investigation to Winter’s apartment.

They sit in her room, waiting patiently for your phone to charge. It was given to her by the police when they came to break the news of the accident. Your driver’s license still had the address of when you and Winter lived together in your second and third year at Emory, which led to her being the unfortunate one to know what happened first.

She was also the unfortunate one to identify the body.

The sound of your phone turning on fills the silence of the room. They turn their heads, looking at it. Your lockscreen was all of you together during a trip you all took last spring. You’re all smiling widely, holding each other close. Even through the cracks on the screen, the photo still emanates a happiness that they are afraid of never getting back.

Soobin grabs your phone and looks at the others, his hands shaking. They watch him unlock it ‘0701’ and swipe for your contacts. He sighs in relief when he sees you haven’t blocked the contact he had been looking for.

‘Sunshine <3’

“What if they pick up?” He whispers, looking up from your phone. Winter shrugs and keeps her eyes on her lap. She speaks quietly, “I guess we’ll see.” Soobin nods and looks back down at the contact. He taps on it, putting it on speaker for everyone else to hear.

To their surprise, the person answers on the first ring.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

a/n: i literally have no clue how this idea came to mind considering I watched the drama like two years ago but hey! heartbreaking content! i lowk don't recommend watching it bc it is so sad and it took a lot of mental energy for me to finish but it was so good. watch it if you'd like some context, esp episode 5 but u rlly don't have to.

also, ik this was pretty long so there will be a part 2! stay tuned!

requests are open

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #daniela avanzini x reader

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thealexchen · 2 days ago

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Why Dontnod's games feel original and inspired (and why Deck Nine's games don't)

So, I've talked at length about how Double Exposure feels much more like a corporate product than a playable piece of art entertainment [My initial thoughts on the DE trailer] [My thoughts on the early access paywall] [My thoughts on the weird marketing].

But now with the release of Lost Records, I feel like I have no choice but to confront the question: were any of Deck Nine's games truly original or inspired in any way? And honestly, I have to say no.

Objectively, I could say it's because Deck Nine literally has not produced any original IP's since their rebrand from Idol Minds in 2017. Their only narrative adventure games are all part of the LiS franchise. But even their most original game, True Colors, pretty obviously follows the first game's narrative formula (young woman with a superpower investigates a sudden disappearance/death in a small town with a dark secret, has two opposite sex love interests, learns about a twist villain, is nearly murdered, and goes through a psychological nightmare in the last episode) to a tee. But oh look, there's also a LARP!

But I believe there's more to it than that, because when I look at Dontnod's games, they are always inspired by other works. Life is Strange 1 plays very clear homage to Twin Peaks with the Pacific Northwest setting and Rachel Amber resembling Laura Palmer. Max Caulfield is named after the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, another novel about the fleeting innocence of childhood and superficiality of society. Life is Strange borrows tropes from Donnie Darko, Groundhog Day, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Stand By Me, and even Blue is The Warmest Color for its themes and plot points. Just take a look at its "Shout-out" page on TV Tropes. And the result is... something completely original, with riveting plot twists, memorable characters, and an ending that will make you cry.

This shouldn't make sense, right? You'd think this big soup of references would turn into an indistinguishable mess of cliches, but Life is Strange managed to be a synthesis of everything the writers loved and were inspired by, to become something completely new. Why? Because nobody had tried to take Twin Peaks, Donnie Darko, and The Catcher in the Rye and turn it into a video game before! And make it gay!

The point being, Dontnod consistently makes original material because they take creative risks. This is definitely not done lightly, since they still need to be a company that generates profit, but they still prioritize making art over selling out. Their stories feel inspired because they are inspired; when writers love what they're writing about, the result is a passion project that has loving, clever nods to all the works that are woven into it.

So perhaps a way to reword that first question is to then ask, "Have Deck Nine's games ever been inspired by anything?" And unfortunately, the answer is still no. Instead, they just copy what they hope will sell well. And a bland imitation for the sake of generating profit is never going to produce anything that feels original.

This takes me back to Lost Records, which is also clearly inspired by the same works: Twin Peaks, It: Chapter One, The Craft, The Blair Witch Project, The Goonies, Stand By Me. But again, no other game studio besides Dontnod has ever looked at these works and thought, "But what if it starred teenage lesbians instead?" Or, more specifically: "How do we capture the spirit of what made these media great and incorporate that into a new story for a new audience?" And those characters have so much thought and care poured into them too: while I've been disappointed that Double Exposure Max looks airbrushed to hell and back, I love that the Bloom & Rage girls have asymmetrical faces, acne, freckles, body hair, skin discoloration, and diverse body types. Double Exposure is marketed as nostalgia bait for fans, where Max is reduced to a prettied-up, polished-up, representation of nostalgia, not even her own character anymore, in a game that otherwise has no connection to the original. Her quips are reduced to "Hey! Remember our good ol', dad-joke cracking, dorky Max Caulfield??" and her grief is shoved aside for "Hey, look at that appealing new love interest! Because we knoooow y'all love your sapphic romance, right?"

By contrast, Lost Records has only been out for 10 days, but I already feel like the girls are some of the most memorable characters I've come across in gaming for the niche they fill. Swann seems like your typical Max-like dork, except she's also a movie buff and giddy about bugs, horror, and the paranormal; and has clearly been affected by her mother's fatphobic beliefs. Autumn is a level-headed leader who always stuck to her desire to help others, and her Blackness naturally informs her desire to feel valued and not cause trouble in a small, very white, conservative town. Nora intrigues me so much for going from a fun-loving rebel punk teen to a more gender-conforming, capitalist-leaning, influencer businesswoman. And Kat feels like an evolution of Chloe's cynicism, where her scrappy charm belies an almost unsettling obsession with the occult and a deep, tragic chasm of rage at having to confront her mortality far too young. They make sense. They feel carefully written, genuine, and like real people.

But most of all, Dontnod's games have never felt like products. In fact, most of their characters have historically gone against the grain of what traditionally "marketable" characters are. The first LiS took all these aforementioned stories about straight white men and chose to remix and retell it through the eyes of a young, queer, time-traveling girl instead. Tell Me Why is the first AAA game with a trans protagonist, and Tyler is voiced by a trans actor in all the language dubs. Lost Records decided that it would tell its story through four queer teenage girls, with women writers onboard, and fucking own it. As long as Dontnod keeps making games that stick to their creative integrity, I'll keep respecting their vision in whatever they decide to create next. Also, maybe I should finally watch Twin Peaks.

Thank you for reading!

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akanemnon · 3 days ago

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Good day, Akane. There's been a question that has been stuck in my head for quite some times. It comes and goes in my memory, but this time I finally grabbed hold of it.

Though the final QnA has been closed forever, still, because you still left your inbox open in which in thankful for, and us fans are seeming to near a turning point in your epic Undertale/Deltarune crossover comic known as TwinRunes, I fell as I have reached an aproprite time to ask this:

Say in an alternate universe where TwinRunes never happened. The first page was received how it was supposed to be: one and done, so you went to go work on and make Lost in the Inbetween instead. Where do you think you'd be now?

Well... first and foremost; The Other Script/Lost in the In-Between wouldn't exist in the form it does now.

I started working on Twin Runes when I was mayyyybe writing the Waterfall part of TOS (abbreviating it to save time). The characters would be different, and the story would be as well. Frisk, for example, wouldn't be such a snarky little shit like they are now. They would've behaved much closer like they do in Twin Runes. In fact that is something I HAVE changed througout writing the script. They were behaving way too nice for someone who unlike the Frisk in Twin Runes, remembers everything they have done.

One story wouldn't exist without the other. Not only that, but without Twin Runes, I wouldn't have met people who have given me pointers and constructive criticism to make them both the best they can be.

If I know myself well enough (and I do), then I'd say without Twin Runes, TOS would've been another abandoned project. In a hypothetical setting it would've either never made it past the scripting phase OR it would've been abandoned somewhere at the beginning of the story. Twin Runes IS a way for me to test the waters after all, and figure out how making a comic works. Also as an exercise to keep at it.

#ask #twin runes #queued post #ask akane #the other script #lost in the in-between

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zepskies · 1 day ago

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Ooooh I LOVE the movie RED!!! ❤️ Karl Urban's fight with Bruce Willis is so freakin' iconic. 🤩 I'm already in, babes. Let's dive in.~

Ahh the "hear me out" thing is so relatable lmao. But Marlin?! Really?! 🤣🤣

Four times you’d fallen asleep on your computer and had the imprint of the keyboard on your cheek, three times you’d had a mental breakdown and decided to change your major promising yourself that you were sure you could make it doing freelance whatever the fuck sounded good at that moment, and you couldn’t count the number of times that you’d gone to the library to study only to get distracted by whatever else was better than studying for a physics test.

Oh God, you're giving me Vietnam War-level flashbacks to undergrad when I was stuck until 12 am at the library working on essays and shiz. 🫠

“And I raise you Kerchak from Tarzan!” “The daddy gorilla?” Liza asks, leaning into her fiance, Matt, where he lounges back against the faded maroon leather beside her.

GIRL PLSSS. 💀💀💀 Not "daddy gorilla." 🤣

The stranger sitting at the bar is everything she suggested and more. He’s the kind of handsome that didn’t exist outside of the stack of communal romance novels that sat on the bookshelf in your living room and served as the perfect reminder of how single you were.

Okay, lmfao. I'ma need you to stop calling me out like this. 😂😂

But I so love the description of Russell -- he's a man in a sea of man-boys our age, and there's a distinct difference. 😏

“Hi.” You smile shyly at the man when you meet his gaze. “Hi.” He rumbles with an easy smile while the green of his eyes flashes in the neon sign hanging behind the bar. His voice catches you off guard. You weren't expecting it to be so smooth, silk over your skin, but also like the rough drag of the ocean against sand as it pulls it out to sea. “Hi.” You say again as all other thoughts evaporate from you mind and you fight the urge to facepalm.

LMFAO. Reading this snippet in context is of course even better. I'm dying but also she would so be me in this situation. 😝

“Rain.” Despite the last few seconds of you feeling so awkward it made you want to sink into the floor like quicksand and the fact that your throat is still burning from when the beer went down the wrong pipe, your mouth quirks up in a smile. “The horse from Spirit?”

OMG YESSSSS. Lmfao Rain was beautiful! And I love that you referenced one of my favorite movies. 😆😆 Totally agree that Nala had bedroom eyes. And I raise you Robin Hood from the Disney movie! They did NOT have to draw him that sexy.

“Shut up.” You laugh and raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but he catches it with his. The contact of the rough palm of his hand in yours makes electricity zing through your body, bringing a wave of heat coursing behind it. “That’s not very nice. Keep trying to hit me like that and I might have to take you to court, Sweetheart.” He winks.

😐😧🤭

Miss ma'am!! Don't make me bring out the Out of Order gif again! I had to fan myself when he literally caught her hand. Dear Lord. 🫠

Also, the way I was so shocked and literally laughed out loud at the way she headbutted him. 🤣 Honestly that would probably be me trying to flirt. A+ casting 😂👌🏽

But again, that spice and the way he kissed her melted me like the Wicked Witch of the West. ❤️‍🔥

“Seriously babe.” Kay begins to back away. “Be safe. Because the last thing you want to pass right now is a pregnancy test.”

lmaooo sage advice! 😂

How could I have been so stupid? He’s going to kill me here and I’ll never know what that physics test did to my GPA. You frown slightly at that thought. It really is weird what goes through your head when you think you’re going to die. “Please, let me explain.” He says again, eyes wide and filled with an emotion that looks surprisingly like regret.

LOL I love her inner monologue. She's so adorkable, but I'm already getting the RED vibes omggg. 🙏🏽

His body lays over yours, curving protectively around you, and his arm is behind you head so when you hit the ground, your head doesn’t.

It's the little things I love loll. 🤌🏽

“Calm down Derek Jeter! I’m not going to murder you, please stop saying that.” “Why?” He frowns and shrugs his shoulders. “Because it’s hurting my feelings a little bit.”

Not me feeling sorry for him right now when she's well within her right to try and beat him with a pink baseball bat. 🤣🤣🤣

I was smiling so hard while reading the rest of this. I was actually so disappointed to get to the end! This was one helluva meet cute, hun. 💜

The thing about your one-shots is that they feel like the start of a series--of an amazing adventure that's about to start. I know you have probably a million WIPs at this point lol, but this does feel like a RED kind of movie and I would love to see more of these two if you ever feel so inspired. ✨

I Can Explain!

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: "How Do You Know Where I Live?"

Requested by: @vixaaa

Summary: When you meet a gorgeous green-eyed stranger at a bar and agree to go home with him, everything goes off the rails and you're strapped in for the ride.

Tropes: Awkward Rom-Com? Forced Proximity? Protective Russell.

Word Count: 10.6 K (But You'll Laugh The Whole Time)

Warnings: An Unhinged Game of "Hear Me Out," References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Reader is kinda awkward and clumsy, Gunfire, Weapons, Talk of Murder, Shooting?, Brief Description of Torture, Brief Description of Murder, Terror, Fear, Cursing, Kissing, I think that's everything? I promise this one is a rom-com despite all the warnings. 😅

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: Hey guys! This is another wonderful prompt request that I got for my prompt celebration from the enchanting @vixaaa! This one is based a little bit on the movies "Knight and Day" and "RED." If you've never seen either of those, go and watch them right now. They are some of my favorites!

P.S: Yes, this is the one I've been writing that has just been making me wheeze/cackle laugh the whole time I wrote it...

“Alright, hear me out… Gil, the angelfish from Finding Nemo. There is no way in hell he was made for kids.” Your friend Liza says wobbling slightly on the plush leather bench seat of the booth before taking a shot of vodka. Her peacock blue No. 2 hair shimmers like a beacon in the dimly lit bar.

“That’s low hanging fruit.” Kay snorts from your left while leaning heavily into your shoulder, the smell of her vanilla perfume wafting up with the movement. “That scar? The tragic backstory? And voiced by Wilem Defoe? Sign me up.”

You giggle into the shot glass clasped in your hand before you knock it back, face scrunching at the taste and pleasant burn.

The “Hear Me Out” drinking game your two best friends proposed to clear your head from the nuclear level bombing of an exam you just took in your Physics One class, had been successful so far. You couldn’t remember any of the questions from the test that made you scream obscenities into the strawberry shaped pillows on the couch in your living room earlier. Exactly where the two of them had found you when they got back to your shared apartment at the end of the day.

The live music in the crowded bar thrummed through your veins and the shots were giving you just the right amount of buzz to feel more carefree than you had in the past week. The week that you’d spent approximately one million hours studying for the test and trying to memorize all the formulas that looked exactly the same.

Spoiler alert, there are a lot of things that are.

But you knew you were screwed the second you saw the first question and the rest of them had only been the final nails in the coffin that was the dream of getting an “A” in the class before the semester was over.

The glimmering sheen of hope at the end of the semester you once had, was ebbing to a dim lantern being swung by a lighthouse keeper in a hurricane, hence the large tray of vodka sitting prettily on the water ringed table in front of you.

You were sure to regret every single shot, but your next exam was two days away and you didn’t want to think about it yet, not when the shadow of the last was poking you in the back with a pencil like someone looking for your final piece of gum.

For a Tuesday night, Duke’s, the bar the three of you frequented so often that the rotating circle of bartenders knew you all by name, was crowded.

There was the familiar glow of the neon signs posted on every wall, a new band performing a set on the small stage in the corner, a collection of screaming girls in the front row of the crowd snapping photos and drooling over the base player, a group of frat guys shouting obscenities at a tv blasting a football game, and a few patrons trying to unwind from a long day while nursing multi colored drinks and sitting sporadically around the crowded bar while the bartender of the hour leaned against the counter and tried to hear orders people shouted over the din.

You would have been more than happy to spend the evening on the couch eating a greasy pizza and drinking margaritas back at the apartment, but Kay and Liza refused to let you rot on the couch.

The three of you had been inseparable since freshman year when you’d been assigned as roommates together. Liza was an art major hoping to illustrate book covers one day, Kay was a hardworking pre-med student, and you were… undecided. Physics 1 had been the idea of your advisor, who after a year of trying to get you to declare a major was close to throwing in the towel, you believed that he was using Physics 1 as a form of payback for driving him almost to the point of early retirement.

“Okay, okay I see you.” Kay giggles, before grabbing a fresh shot. Her long black hair is pulled back from her face with a claw clip, but a few pieces bob around her head with the movement of her head to the music. “And I raise you Kerchak from Tarzan!”

“The daddy gorilla?” Liza asks, leaning into her fiance, Matt, where he lounges back against the faded maroon leather beside her.

There was a half full glass of beer sitting in front of him, one he’d ordered when he found out what everyone else at your table was drinking. But he’d been a good sport so far despite all of his suggestions to the game being so obvious there was no reason for him to defend his choice and the rest of you mocking him endlessly for it.

“Sweetie, he could be my daddy any day of the week.” Kay winks and throws back her shot.

“You’re disgusting.” Liza rolls her eyes, refusing to take a shot to agree with Kay.

“Hey! What happened to ‘we listen and we don’t judge?’” You interrupt, putting your arm around Kay who holds up a middle finger in answer to Liza’s taunt.

“Where was that when I said Jessica Rabbit two turns ago?” Matt grouses from his side of the table, crossing his large arms over his chest. His blond hair had tumbled out of the bun at the back of his neck to cover the grass stain on the collar of his jersey. He’d come straight from practice when Liza called.

And then Kay and you had to suffer through the long make out session the two of them had when they reunited as if they’d been separated by war for fifty years and not two hours. They were recently engaged and you loved Matt, which is why you’d let them make out for exactly thirty seconds before Kay and you started making exaggerated gagging noises while they kissed.

Kay’s boyfriend hadn’t been able to get out of work, but Kay was going to walk to the coffee shop inside the library to pick him up when the tray of shots in the center of the table sat empty. Usually you’d worry about that sort of thing, your friend walking alone on campus at night, but because Kay had the highest tolerance out of all of you, Matt included, and a total badass who welcomed the challenge of anyone who tried to test her, you were willing to let it slide.

That and the three of you tracked each other’s location with your phones.

“Because Jessica Rabbit isn’t a hear me out! Everyone knows that she’s super sexy!” You argue. “She doesn’t fit the criteria of this game!”

“She’s right babe.” Liza says, squeezing his arm with a sympathetic smile. “But it’s okay. I love that you’re a basic bitch.”

“But she’s animated!” Matt exclaims, obviously confused.

“So? Flynn Ryder is animated and he’s every woman’s dream.” You shrug, picking up a glass to take your turn.

You begin to shuffle through the mental file folder you have on characters who possessed “the energy” that made them so attractive. Truthfully, Kay and Liza had already said most of the ones you were thinking.

“You want to talk about every woman’s dream?” Kay smirks, her eyes flick over to the bar. “Check out green eyes over there. Holy shit, I’d let him rock me like a hurricane all day and all night!”

“I’ll be sure to tell Sean, your boyfriend of three years-” You begin to say, but Kay pinches your cheeks between her fingers and turns your head so you can see who she’s talking about.

Oh.

The man is taller and broader than any of the so-called boys you went to class with each day, his tight fitting dark t-shirt pulling up over muscular arms that rippled with taunt muscles and were decorated with smoky tattoos curling beneath the ink colored sleeves. His chocolate colored hair is long and pushed back over his head, but a few strands hang forward to frame a well defined jaw covered in a thick dusting of facial hair.

Your throat suddenly gets very tight.

The man’s gaze is focused on you, the green of his eyes brilliant, crinkled just around the edges with his smile. He winks and your entire face takes on the identity of a strawberry with your flush.

“Holy shit!” Kay nudges you. “You have to go over there.”

“What?” You squeak. “Are you insane? That guy is-”

“The kind of man who would make you forget all about that physics test?” Liza raises an eyebrow.

“The kind of man who would break the laws of physics with you all night long?” Kay adds. “Babe, come on, it's been months for you. Why don’t you go over there and say hi?”

“No way.” You shake your head vehemently, hyperventilating a little bit at the thought of going up to a complete stranger.

You were not the confident girl in the group that did that. Kay was. It was exactly how she had met her boyfriend Sean three years ago, by using a cheesy pick up line that made him snort so hard he had beer coming out of his nose. Liza wasn’t much better. She’d met Matt in this very bar when her heel broke and she stumbled into where he was sitting with his friends at the bar.

And the truth was it had been a few months since the last relationship (if you could call it that) fizzled out… and with both of your friends in relationships you often were the awkward fifth wheel. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your friends' boyfriends, Matt and Sean were great and they always did their best to make you feel comfortable whenever you were out with everyone, but you were kinda tired of being the spare tire.

“I don’t think we should be encouraging her to go off somewhere with a random man from a bar that she just met.” Matt says with a frown.

Matt often held the braincell in your friend group and was the one who was more focused on making sure that everyone was safe. He was the one who followed up with a text whenever someone left to go home, the one who made sure that everyone stayed together when you were out late, and was usually the designated driver.

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Liza boops Matt on the nose. “You were a random man that I’d never met before. And if I’m not mistaken we met in this very bar.”

“That’s different.” Matt sighs, but he leans towards Liza, the tension dissipating from his shoulders as he looks at her and his frown slips into a smile.

They were one of those couples that no one ever thought would work. Liza was the carefree art major with no plan in the world and Matt was the All American, blue-eyed, blond haired football player that everyone said was “going to do great things” when in reality all Matt wanted to be was Liza’s husband. He didn’t care about anything else, but making her happy. Hence the giant engagement ring on her finger, the same one that he’d let her design because he knew that was important to her.

They were everything you wanted in your own relationship. A beautiful merging of crazy (from you) with someone stable and structured, preferably someone with a strong jaw, brilliant green eyes and-

Great, he’s already invaded my subconscious.

You glance up again to see if the stranger is still looking. He is, but this time his smile is just a little wider, and you watch his eyes drag down the length of your body for a moment appreciatively before flicking back up to yours and catches you doing the same thing.

You weren’t wearing anything revealing, in fact, you hadn’t bothered dressing up to go out because you didn’t feel like it. You were still wearing the blank sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt combo that you’d worn to your exam.

When you caught him looking at you, it made you regret you hadn’t worn something more eye-catching.

“Come on, that guy is checking you out! Go over there.” Kay nudges you, jostling the forgotten tequila shot in your hand.

“He looks like trouble.” Matt says half-heartedly, but he’s too busy staring into Liza’s eyes to really care. Her hands are entwined at the back of his head pulling his forehead down to hers.

When it got to that point of the night, it usually meant that the two of them were about fifteen seconds from calling it an early night and going back to Matt’s apartment. Technically Kay would probably end up there as well because Sean was now Matt’s roommate and that meant you’d have the apartment to yourself…

“How can you tell? Are you looking at his reflection in Liza’s eyes?” Kay takes a shot from the collection of the remaining few in front of her.

“We all know that if Sean was here, you’d already be practicing your scuba breathing.” Liza gently brushes back the few strands of blond hair that hang forward into Matt’s face which only makes him sigh softly and look at her like she’s the last woman on earth.

You try not to be jealous.

Kay only rolls her eyes. “Alright, I’m taking initiative.”

“What does that mean?” You begin to ask, but Kay shoves you out of the booth and towards the handsome stranger who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since your eyes met moments ago.

“Kay. What the hell?” You turn back to look at her, but she’s already holding up your forgotten shot.

“Take this and go over there.”

“But-”

“The only butt you should be thinking about is his, in those deliciously tight jeans. You will thank me in the morning.” She refuses to budge. “And then come home and tell me everything the two of you did, because Sean’s about to go visit his family for a week and I will need something to fantasize about.”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, but then look to Liza hoping for help. Unfortunately she’s too busy counting Matt’s eyelashes to defend you. You look back at Kay who is still holding up the shot, gaze unwavering.

I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

You think to yourself with a sigh, before taking the shot, hoping that it will give you some of the confidence you need to talk to the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life.

I can do this, I can do this-

The internal monologue repeats itself over and over again with each step as you weave your way through the crowd to make it where the man is sitting, dropping your gaze to the people around you as if you’re more focused on them.

You weren’t, but staring at him while you were walking towards him seemed too predatory, and you could already feel how warm your cheeks were from your flush.

You grip the firm edge of the bar when you make it to him, using it to ground yourself there in the moment before you find the strength to meet his gaze.

There’s a faded green jacket hung over the high backed barstool behind him that you hadn’t noticed before.

Your eyes trace over his body, just a quick glance, but snags on his arms for just a second too long to be casual. They were even more glorious in person, tan and flecked with cinnamon colored freckles hidden beneath twisting tattoos that disappeared into his dark shirt sleeves.

“Hi.” You smile shyly at the man when you meet his gaze.

“Hi.” He rumbles with an easy smile while the green of his eyes flashes in the neon sign hanging behind the bar.

His voice catches you off guard. You weren't expecting it to be so smooth, silk over your skin, but also like the rough drag of the ocean against sand as it pulls it out to sea.

“Hi.” You say again as all other thoughts evaporate from you mind and you fight the urge to facepalm.

What the hell am I doing over here? I might as well do the walk of shame back to my own table.

Russell raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Hi.” He echoes.

You open your mouth-

“Before you say hi back sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what you’re drinking instead?” He winks making your cheeks warm with their flush.

Honestly, you were expecting him to be turned off by your somewhat awkward introduction, but if you bothered him, he doesn’t show it. He leans towards you curiously, eyes drinking you in.

You clear your throat while your mind scrambles to come up with something appropriate or sexy to say other than ‘wow you’re pretty.’ You settle on. “Whatever you’re drinking.”

Smooth real smooth.

You glance back in the direction of where your friends are sitting as the man’s gaze turns to the bartender so he can order you a drink. Kay makes an obscene gesture with her hand that makes Matt kick her under the table, and Liza gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

Kill me now.

You turn back to the man lounging against the bar, unaware that he’s watching you again.

“You seemed like you were having some fun over there. What were you talking about?” He nods his head in the direction of your friends, the motion causing more of his dark hair to fall into his eyes and you fight the urge to push it back from his face and find out if it was as soft as it looked.

“Oh um.” Your mouth goes dry. The last thing you wanted to say to the gorgeous man was that your friends and you were discussing what animated movie characters turned you on. So you blurt out. “The First Law of Thermodynamics.”

It had clawed its way from the dark recesses of your mind where the rest of the test answers had been hiding from you when you tried to summon them earlier.

“What?” The man laughs while you feel your face begin to blaze.

“The First Law of Thermodynamics?” You clear your throat. “The theory that energy cannot be created or destroyed."

Where was that when I needed it for the test?

“Huh.” He smirks and takes a long sip from the beer in his hand. “Didn’t think Tarzan had anything to do with that.”

Oh sweet baby potatoes he heard the daddy conversation. Why couldn’t he have heard the Jessica Rabbit conversation instead?

“Ah.” You laugh awkwardly, realizing exactly what he overheard.

The bartender puts down a bottle of beer in front of you and whirls away to another patron sitting on the opposite side of the bar. The band begins to play a new song, this one louder with more drums than the last one, causing the man to lean closer to you so you can hear him.

“So.” The smell of the man’s cologne wafts over you. He smells like pine, mint, whiskey, and there’s an odd smell you can’t place, something that smells almost a little bit like smoke.

You ascribe it to cigarettes, but you don’t realize how wrong you are.

There’s something about him, more than just how attractive he is or how good he smells that draws you in. Maybe you’d just been burned by far too many boys and were blinded by the man sitting in front of you, but he had a roughness and self-sufficient air that you found refreshing.

He was assertive, sexy, with smoldering green eyes that somehow seemed soft and hard at the same time and filled you with an unholy amount of desire.

“So?” You parrot, bringing the beer up to your lips, hoping that a sip will take the edge off.

“Don’t you want to hear mine?” His voice is low and sultry, breath warming the air between the two of your faces.

You sputter out a cough, choking on the sip you took in surprise, and his eyes widen in concern.The man brings his hand down against your back with a hearty smack to clear out your lungs.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better.” You choke out, voice a little wheezy. “Wrong pipe.”

This is quickly becoming the most embarrassing moment of my life.

“Are you sure?” The stranger’s eyes trace over you as if he fears you’ll start asphyxiating at any moment.

“Mhmm.” You clear your throat again. “What were you saying?”

“I asked if you wanted to hear mine.”

You suddenly forget how to breathe, the only thing grounding you to this moment is the hand you placed on the cherry wood of the bar. “Sure.”

“Rain.”

Despite the last few seconds of you feeling so awkward it made you want to sink into the floor like quicksand and the fact that your throat is still burning from when the beer went down the wrong pipe, your mouth quirks up in a smile. “The horse from Spirit?”

“Mhmm.” He smiles a little wider. “My little sister used to watch that movie non-stop, and there was always something about that horse.”

“Huh.” You muse taking another sip of the beer, this time successfully not choking on it. “I didn’t peg you for a horse guy. You seem more like a Nala person.”

“Oh that lion did it for me too.” The man leans closer to you and you can feel your knees getting weak. “She definitely had bedroom eyes.”

“She did!” You laugh at him. “The animators knew what they were doing.”

It was getting easier to talk to him now and you could feel your nerves slowly going out to sea. There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air between the two of you.

“Why did you say the First Law of Thermodynamics earlier?” He asks before taking a sip from his beer. The condensation trickles down the side of the glass to pool against the wood of the bar.

“Because I didn’t want to admit what we were talking about.” You answer honestly. “And I guess it’s still a little fresh in my mind-”

“Why?”

“I had a physics test today. Completely bombed it. That’s why my friends brought me out tonight, they were trying to make me forget it.” You wave a hand dismissively, but it was the first time you’d thought about the test in the past hour and it still stung a little bit.

You were hoping that by this point of the night it wouldn’t have mattered anymore, but it did. Not to mention you didn’t exactly want to be talking about your most recent failure with a man who looked anything like he did.

But something about him made you feel comfortable talking to him about things that were not on the pre-approved list of subjects you created when you spoke to people you were attracted to. He didn’t seem to just be some hot stranger in a bar, he seemed like he actually cared, and that he was invested in what you were going to say.

It made him even more attractive. You weren't used to boys wanting to actually listen to anything you had to say.

“I’m sorry.” His face pulls down into a sympathetic frown.

“Me too.” You sigh.

“Maybe you didn’t do as bad as you think you did.”

“Oh I did. When I turned in the test, the professor made a face.” Your thumb rubs against the glass of the cold bottle clutched in your hand. “I studied all week for it and it kinda feels like I wasted all that time.”

The man studies you for a moment. “I think that if you learn something from it, then it’s not a waste. There are no accidents.“

“Are you purposely quoting Master Oogway to make me feel better or is that just a coincidence?”

“He’s a smart turtle.” He laughs pleased with himself that he made you smile. “But you remembered the First Law of Thermodynamics. And I thought it was a nice pick up line. Might use that sometime.”

“Shut up.” You laugh and raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but he catches it with his.

The contact of the rough palm of his hand in yours makes electricity zing through your body, bringing a wave of heat coursing behind it.

“That’s not very nice. Keep trying to hit me like that and I might have to take you to court, Sweetheart.” He winks.

“Oh please-”

“How else am I going to run into you again?”

“Well-” You swallow trying to find the next words, but they’re stuck in the back of your throat.

I am so out of practice.

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge, the end of his perfect mouth teased upwards in a smile.

“This doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

“What did you have in mind?” The heat of his gaze sends goosebumps dancing over your skin and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in the base of your throat.

People do this all the time. I can say it. I can-

“Maybe-” You scoot closer to him, summoning some courage from the tequila. “Something like this.”

Your free hand curls into the front of his shirt to pull the stranger closer for a kiss.

Unfortunately, you pull him just a little too hard, with a little too much enthusiasm, and he falls off the stool with a startled cry in surprise and knocks his head into yours.

“Ow.” You groan rubbing at the red mark forming on your forehead. “I am so sorry.”

By now your cheeks are so warm that you could fry an egg on them and you were sure you looked like a giant raspberry. You had never been so clumsy or so embarrassed in your entire life.

“It’s okay, you just surprised me a bit.” The man says, but he’s peering at the mark on your forehead. “Are you okay?”

How many times is he going to ask me that tonight?

“Yeah the only thing that’s hurt is my pride.” You let out an awkward laugh. “I’m just gonna-“ You gesture with your thumb over your shoulder to signify that you’re going to leave.

The anecdotes that your friends were going to tell from tonight had already begun to manifest in your head:

“Hey, remember that time you tried to flirt with a gorgeous man at the bar and you headbutted him?”

“Hey, remember that handsome stranger? The one you told all about your failed physics test instead of sleeping with him?”

“Wait.” He gently puts his hand on your waist, sending your heart into a gallop. “Can we try that again?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

So far all you’d done was head butt him and tell him your sob story about failing your physics test.

Worst seduction technique ever.

“Don’t move.” He smiles. “Don’t want to have to take you to the hospital for a CT if you bump my head again.”

It would have made you laugh if he wasn’t already kissing you.

It might just be the alcohol talking, or the fact that the last thing you kissed was the strawberry pillows on the couch in the living room last week when Liza, Kay, and you were watching your favorite paranormal tv show and you were imagining the male lead, but this kiss is nothing like any of the others you’d had in the past.

His mouth devours yours, beard scratching against your cheeks in a way that makes your entire body buzz. The man’s hands tighten your waist to draw you closer, closing the space between your bodies, and all you can feel is the wonderful drag of his fingertips against the end of your sweatshirt, the burn of his beard, the press of his chest onto yours, and the tangle of his tongue as you sink further into him.

A moan vibrates up through his chest and into your mouth that you echo with a soft sigh, your hands slipping over the taunt muscles before finding purchase against his back, your fingertips curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

The rest of the bar is rendered to a dull throb of life at the back of your mind, the man in front of you absorbing the rest of your attention as he should. He is nothing like anyone you’d ever met and you wanted to know more. You wanted to see the end of the odd shaped scar just at the base of his throat, trail your fingers over the dark tattoos that decorated his skin while searching for more in places you couldn’t yet see, and sink into the deep green sea of his eyes.

“Better?” He breathes.

“Much, but if you’re not into that, I also know the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Just to give you something to remember me by.” You mumble against his lips, still slightly embarrassed. Your hands were still curled behind his strong shoulders, fingertips digging into the firm muscles.

“Beside the bruises?” He smirks before he kisses you again, the languid roll of his tongue against yours makes you forget your own name. “I’d very much like to hear it.” The rumble of his words vibrates through where your bodies are pressed against one another. “But first let me get the car and then I’ll let you tell me all about it.”

He brushes his lips to yours one more time, before he puts cash on the bar, and leaves you breathless as he saunters away towards the front door.

Holy fucking shit. How did that work?

“Girl Yes!” You hear Kay, before you feel her hands come down on your shoulders to shake you excitedly. “I was a little worried in the middle there for you with that head butt, but yes! That’s how you do it!” Her excited squeal brings you back down to earth from the cloud you were floating on with Russell.

“Where’d he go?” Liza asks. Matt was holding her from behind, his chin on her shoulder as he slowly rocked her to the music.

“To get the car.” Your cheeks flush at the insinuation.

“Fuck I am so jealous. The only thing I’m going to get to do tonight is Sean’s back.” Kay gives an exaggerated sigh. “It’s acting up and that means I’m going to have to give him a massage for an hour and not the good kind. It always knocks him out.”

“Aww babe.” Liza says.

“It’s okay.” Kay shrugs, but then sends her a saucy wink. “I can do some laundry. His washing machine has this spin cycle that makes me see stars.”

“I didn’t need to know that you’ve been molesting our washing machine.” Matt closes his eyes as if trying to scrub the image from his mind.

“It’s money well spent, Mattie.” Kay batts her eyes at him.

He huffs, but then turns his gaze on you, his blue eyes are filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, nerves popping and sizzling inside so much that they might as well be giving off enough electricity to power New York City. “I don’t get a creepy vibe from him. I think he’s actually kind of nice.”

It was true. Your radar was usually on point with things like this, and there was something about Russell that didn’t scream axe murderer. He seemed surprisingly laid back and honest, and you found yourself curious to know more about him.

Matt doesn’t look convinced.

“It’s okay babe.” Liza says, swaying her and his body to the music. “We have the app on our phones and we all know the safe word.” She continues, referencing the word the three of you designated when everything was okay as well as the other word that meant everything was going terribly wrong.

You didn’t think that you would need it.

He sighs. “Fine, but if he tries anything weird-”

“What qualifies as weird for you?” Kay asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve always been curious about your kinks.”

Kay always took pride in getting under Matt’s skin. You never knew why that was, only that it seemed to be her mission to make him crack. He never did.

“Be safe.” He nods at you before he drags Liza towards the door.

“Seriously babe.” Kay begins to back away. “Be safe. Because the last thing you want to pass right now is a pregnancy test.”

“Why are we friends again?” You groan as you follow behind her, weaving through the mass of bodies writhing to the newest song.

The air outside the bar is cooler, but there’s just a hint of something on the wind. Spring was coming, but it was still far enough away to leave just a light chill in the air. The street in front of Duke’s was populated sporadically with cars of varying shapes and colors, but you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of car the mysterious stranger drove.

Why didn’t I ask him for his name?

“Because you’d be lost without me.” Kay laughs at you, but then pulls you into a hug. “Have fun and please try not to think about that stupid test. You’re so smart and I promise that one test is not going to define your entire future. If that were true my first organic chemistry test would have come with a refrigerator box to live in, because that test was literally the stuff of nightmares.”

She frowns at the memory. It was the first test that she had ever failed in her entire life, and although you were the one who usually obsessed over grades, it was the first time you’d ever seen Kay so disappointed. That was also because her professor had asked her to stop by for office hours and told her that there was no way she’d ever be able to get the grades she needed in his class.

But a weekend marathon of Sex and the City listening to her mentor Samantha Jones, had brought her back to life and she’d sauntered confidently into the classroom armed with a flat white latte and sat in the front row at every lecture the rest of the semester.

She’d gotten the highest grade in the class.

Basically, Kay was your hero, that was the real reason why you were her friend.

“I’ll try my best. Tell Sean hi for me.” You squeeze her just as tight, before she walks away down the darkened path back to campus where Sean would be waiting for her.

There was an odd glow over the sidewalks tonight, a yellowed light that crawled along the cracked brick building that housed Duke’s and halted just shy of the opening of the alley that ran between Duke’s and the bank next door. No other people were visible. Even the small crowd that usually leaned against the rustic brick wall outside of the bar smoking was nowhere to be seen.

It was odd.

You rub your hands down your arms with nervous anticipation. You’d slept with someone from a bar one time before, but one night stands were not your forte at all. The last time it’d happened, you’d gone back with a guy to his apartment only to find out an hour later when his girlfriend got home that he wasn’t single. She hadn’t seemed surprised that you were in bed with him, but you had been when she pulled out a switchblade the size of your hand and began to slash through the neatly arranged collection of plush squish-mallows on the floor while screaming obscenities at the guy.

In hindsight, maybe the squish-mallows were a clue that he was in a relationship.

But you didn’t have any bad feelings about the man you’d met. He was attractive, witty, nice, funny, and he genuinely seemed concerned about you when you almost choked to death on a sip of beer.

I will make him forget the entire awkward encounter.

You promised yourself, but you also began to be a little bit nervous. You didn’t know why it was taking him so long to find the car.

A bird caws overhead, sweeping low across the buildings, feathers an inky black in the night air, its shadow flickering across the moon.

Another two minutes pass and you start to get antsy.

Maybe he just left?

The thought brings a wave of disappointment over you. The stranger was the first person in a long time that you’d felt genuinely attracted to and now you couldn’t help but think that maybe he lied and when he said he was going to get the car, he really was trying to get away from you as fast as possible.

You take a few steps in the direction that Kay left thinking that you might as well cut your losses and see if you can catch up, but hesitate.

What if I leave and he comes back? What if-

An odd noise that sounds like a cat hacking up a hairball comes from the alley directly to your right, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the pavement.

You turn. Most of the alley is obscured in shadows, several large dumpsters jut out from grimy brick walls stained with God knows what, but you don’t see anything out of the ordinary.

There are some lights fastened to the wall that runs the length of the bar, sending a dingy orange light over the bags of trash, empty flattened cardboard boxes, and plastic cups strewn over the wet ground.

The door of Duke’s swings open for a moment, bringing the sounds and smells of the bar through the doorway as a woman enters tugging a sullen looking man behind her.

You turn your attention back to the empty alleyway, and catch the low rumble of a voice that sounds oddly familiar. It echoes through the darkness bouncing off the stone, metal, and bags of trash to where you stand at the dimly lit mouth of the alley.

That’s weird.

Another sound follows the voice, a wet sounding thud that piques your interest. You take a tentative step forward into the darkness.

Wait. Isn’t this how every horror movie starts?

It was a valid question. But then you hear the voice again, it’s louder, vibrating against the brick and mortar, and it pulls your forward.

Anxiety hums through your body as you inch down the alley, sticking to the well lit side that runs the length of Duke’s.

“Who sent you?” The familiar voice asks.

There’s no answer, and the sound of the cat choking up a hairball comes back.

Someone needs to get Grizabella a glass of water.

You take another shaky step passing by the first dumpster before you reach the part of the alley that wraps around the back of the bar.

At first you’re not sure what you see. The part of the alley behind the bar is more of a cramped street with a tire marked dirt path, bathed in awkward light from the moon and from a lazy streetlight that’s only half lit. There’s another dumpster back here, this one a little larger than the others you’d seen along the side of the building, but that isn’t what’s interesting.

The image comes into focus.

The stranger from the bar is standing there, his back to you, but he isn’t alone. The stranger has a man pinned to the dumpster, a large knife stabbed into the space between the man’s collarbone and his right shoulder while his other hand is clasped tightly around the man’s neck.

“Who sent you?!” The stranger roars, the knife digging into the man’s shoulder.

Your entire body freezes in fear.

My radar was so wrong. How could it be this wrong? He was so caring and kind- That’s what they said about Ted Bundy.

Your gaze drops to what you thought was a garbage bag at the green-eyed stranger's feet, but realize that it’s not a bag, it’s a body.

Holy shit he’s a murderer! Maybe if I just back away slowly-

You take a slow step backwards hoping to edge back into the alley that runs the length of the bar and forget this night ever happened, but instead of your foot finding solid ground, it finds a forgotten potato chip bag.

The crinkled plastic crunches underfoot, breaking the still silence of the night. You inhale sharply and look up. Your gaze locks with the green-eyed man.

“I didn’t see anything.” You hold up your hands, backing away slowly. “Have a nice night.”

“Wait-”

“Nope.” You turn and flee down the alley hoping that someone is coming out of the bar at the exact moment who can witness the broad stranger chasing after you. His boots thud against the concrete, splashing through water in hot pursuit, contrasting against the plods of your own feet sloshing through puddles and through trash to get back to the light.

Before you make it halfway through the darkness, he grabs your arm and turns you to look at him.

“Let me go!” You shriek, tugging at his grip, preparing to kick him between his legs, the only place that matters.

“Please wait. I can explain!”

“You don’t have to explain!” You keep pulling at his arm. “I didn’t see anything! I don’t know who you are. And you know what? I wasn’t even in the bar tonight! I was back in my apartment watching Crime Scene Kitchen!”

It was the first thing that popped into your head, but if it meant that you got to live, it would be your alibi.

He hesitates confused. “What’s Crime Scene Kitchen?”

“What? You just fucking murdered someone in an alley, you’re about to murder me, and that’s what you’re asking me?” You scream.

“I’m not going to murder you. And I was the one who was attacked!”

“Oh sure!” Fear clamps down hard on your throat squeezing the air coming in through your lungs. Tears begin to burn against your eyes as you try to release his grip. “Somebody help me!” You scream loudly trying to twist away from him and wishing that you’d brought your bottle of pepper spray or that you’d taken the self-defense class last summer with Kay or at least paid more attention to that scene in Miss Congeniality.

How could I have been so stupid? He’s going to kill me here and I’ll never know what that physics test did to my GPA.

You frown slightly at that thought. It really is weird what goes through your head when you think you’re going to die.

“Please, let me explain.” He says again, eyes wide and filled with an emotion that looks surprisingly like regret.

His dark hair has fallen forward over his cheeks that are flecked with blood, but the lights that line the wall of the dark alley perfectly frame his face. He looked like a model for a beer commercial or one that they’d roughed up a little for those weird perfume commercials you saw that never made any sense, but were always intriguing.

Why are all the hot ones crazy? Why couldn’t he have just been a bad kisser? Or maybe a little too loud? Why is his flaw that he freaking MURDERS people?

As you think that, there is a little voice inside your head that asks: Could I be okay with that?

NO! OF COURSE NOT!

“There’s nothing to explain! You’re a murderer! You just killed those people!” You aim a kick at his crotch, but the man only catches your ankle with his large hand. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your sweatpants, the sensation that brought warm tingles through your body when you were in the bar, only sends a wave of fear crashing over you.

“Yes I did, but for a good reason!”

“Really? What reason was that!?”

“They were trying to kill me!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I-”

Before he can finish his sentence, gunfire explodes over your head. Sparks fly as bullets crash into the dumpsters and rip through the night air around where you and the man are standing.

There’s a large black suburban parked in the street that runs behind Duke’s where you’re found the stranger with the body. Three men stand in front of it all in dark clothing and each one is holding a pistol pointed directly at where you’re standing.

“Holy shit!” You scream, but the stranger tackles you back behind the large rusting green dumpster that juts out and gives you cover from the blaze of bullets.

His body lays over yours, curving protectively around you, and his arm is behind you head so when you hit the ground, your head doesn’t. The impact of the cold, wet, concrete beneath your body jostles through your system, but you can’t focus on it too much, not when the man’s entire body is laying on top of yours and it feels as if he was made especially for you.

He lays in the cradle of your thighs, wonderfully broad and hard, the muscles of his body contrasting to the soft curves of your body underneath your clothes. It left very little to the imagination, well… not little.

It’s enough to make a girl forget that he’s a murderer… No, what am I saying!!

You shove him off of you and cower back behind the dumpster, the sound of gunfire filling your ears and making you realize exactly what you smelled on the man earlier that you thought was smoke.

“Baby-” He says reaching out to comfort you.

“Don’t touch me! I’m not your baby!” You swat his hands away from you pressing yourself back into the wet wall of the alley.

The smell of mold and trash was rising all around you in an unholy mist. The wet ground soaked into the soft fabric of your pants and left stains that you didn’t want to think about what they were.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit-” It comes out like a sickening mantra as you rock back and forth, hands on your ears to make the sound of the gunfire stop.

I’m going to die here. In this dismal back alley. In front of this gorgeous murder. If I had know that I wouldn’t have spent so much of this week studying for a mother-fucking physics test!

“Sweetheart!” The man shouts to catch your attention, but you don’t look at him.

“What in the devil’s ass is happening?!” You shriek.

“Listen to me!” He shouts louder over the sound of gunfire and takes your cheeks in his rough palms to make him look at him. His green eyes are brilliant in the light, but filled with a determined fire that makes you suddenly feel very safe despite watching him kill someone and the active gunfire bouncing all around you.

You wanted to trust him, but you also didn’t want to be on the news or used as a cautionary tale for mothers to guilt their daughters with.

“I promise that nothing is going to happen to you.”

“How can you guarantee that?!”

“Because I don’t break my promises.” The determined grit in his eyes hardens as they sweep over your face. “I will explain what’s going on. But first I have to go talk to them.” He releases your face, but hesitates.

The man wasn’t bothering to duck and cover, in fact each time a bullet ricocheted off the side of the dumpster he didn’t even flinch, meanwhile the sour taste of bile was rising into your mouth and you were sure that you were going to throw up. Panic was setting in, and your heart rate was getting dangerously high as anxiety and fear flickered along your nerve endings.

Oh my sweet goodness he’s mentally unstable.

“Actually.” He sighs and flashes an awkward smile. “I don't want to lie to you. I’m going to go kill them. Don’t move.” He reaches into the waistband at the back of his worn jeans and pulls out a gun.

Has he had that this whole time? HOW did I not feel it?

“Wait what? Don’t go out there!” Your fingers fist in the front of his jacket, the fear of him leaving you more than the fear of him murdering you. At this point it was either be killed by the beautiful stranger or killed by the other guys, and being killed by the other guys meant that you’d have to meet someone new and look where that had gotten you tonight.

“They’re not exactly going to leave on their own.” He cracks a smile despite the situation. “But promise me you’re not going to move.” His smile turns into a concerned frown, eyebrows furrowing together as his eyes settle on you once more, steely and unyielding.

“I promise.” Your voice comes out shaky and not at all what you sound like. Truthfully you were surprised that you got anything to come out of your mouth that wasn't vomit.

He nods once.

When he leaves, you wait exactly three seconds, counting each of them out in your head before you take off in a dead run for the front door of Duke’s bar and into the safety of the street beyond without looking back while hoping that all of this has just been a bad dream.

Coming back to the apartment feels surreal, crossing through the living room like a Salvador Dali painting, and finally closing your bedroom door and locking it is like a mirage.

You weren’t sure how you made it back here, only that you did, and that was all that mattered.

Kay and Liza weren’t home, predictably, but you would have tried to call both of them if you hadn’t dropped your phone in the cluster fuck that was everything that happened an hour ago. Because on top of everything now you didn’t have any way to contact your friends and let them know that you’re alive and okay.

Your body was still buzzing with the anxiety of everything that happened, mind going a mile a minute the longer you allowed it to bathe in the memories of being shot at and watching the stranger kill those men.

The stranger that somehow was able to trick your radar.

I just need to breathe, relax, and-

You turn around towards your bed expecting to go to sleep and forget all of it, but the thought stutters to a halt as you realize you’re not alone. The green-eyed stranger is standing there in the center of your bedroom. He is holding a bundle of your clothes in one hand and your empty school backpack in the other.

“What the fuck?!” You scream and reach for the Strawberry Shortcake bat your dad bought you when you moved out, hefting it high on your shoulder preparing to swing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He raises an eyebrow at your awkward stance. “Why are you holding a bright pink baseball bat?”

“All the better beat the shit out of rapists who break into my apartment in the middle of the night!”

“What happened to murderer?” The end of his lips lift up in a smile too perfect to be real. He almost seems to be enjoying this, like he thinks you’re being cute and not accusing him of something terrible.

“That too!”

He laughs at you, but then his smile slips into a frown.“Why did you break your promise?” You don't understand why he looks like a kicked puppy at the thought that you broke your promise.

Of course I didn’t keep it! I was running for my life to get out of the way of the millions of bullets pointed at my head!

“What?”

“You promised that you would stay there and you didn’t. You could have been killed.” Worry flashes in his gaze, and your eyes drop to the flecks of blood on the outside of his jacket that remind you of everything this man had done tonight.

“Oh, well excuse me for breaking a promise I made to a murderer!”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“If the boot fits!” You snap back. “You showing up in my bedroom certainly seems plenty murdery. That and you going through my underwear drawer for a little souvenir.” Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“A souvenir?” The man laughs at you again, his shoulders shaking. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was in the alley, and again you’re momentarily stunned by how attractive he is.

“Why else would you be going through my drawers? And how do you know where I live!?”

“That’s not important right now.” The man shoves the bundle of your clothes into your backpack before moving back to the chest of drawers in the corner of your bedroom for another handful.

“What the fuck do you mean that’s not important right now? And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m packing you a bag.”

“What? Why? So it’ll look like I ran away?!”

Oh holy fuck he’s still going to kill me!

You swing the bat as hard as you can, but the man raises the backpack to block your attack.

“Calm down Derek Jeter! I’m not going to murder you, please stop saying that.”

“Why?”

He frowns and shrugs his shoulders. “Because it’s hurting my feelings a little bit.”

“Hurting your-” You shake your head in disbelief. “Look, I have no idea who the fuck you are or why you broke into my apartment but-”

“Hi. I’m Russell.” The man now identified as ‘Russell’ holds out his hand to try and shake yours.

That’s obviously a fake name.

You stare at him blankly. “Are you insane?”

“No, I just told you, I’m Russell. And we have to go.” He retracts his hand and begins to shove clothes into your backpack again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, crazy! I have class in the morning and an exam in two days!” You heft the baseball bat higher on your shoulder as a silent threat.

Judging by the way he blocked your attack so easily a few moments ago, you didn’t have high hopes. But you did think that if you screamed loud enough your elderly neighbor, aptly named Willy due to the many, many times he’d flashed Kay, Liza, and you “accidentally,” would come over at least to see if you had any extra magazines to take back to his hoarder apartment that was stacked floor to ceiling with yellowed newspapers long out of print.

Russell sighs, and looks from the bat to you, shoulders relaxing a millimeter, but there’s still something determined in his gaze. “I understand that you’re scared, but those guys, they saw you with me.”

“So?”

“So if I leave you here with no protection, they’re going to come here and take you.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do!” He replies, the edge of his voice is tinged with anger and frustration.

“How?”

“Look!” Russell holds up a battered phone. Displayed on the cracked screen is a message thread of texts to an unknown number. Russell clicks on one of the pictures that was sent an hour ago, about the time the two of you met.

As it grows larger on the screen you recognize the two people in it. It’s a picture of Russell and you kissing at the bar. Your eyes are closed, hands curved over his shoulders possessively, while you smile into his mouth.

The memory of the kiss sends a warm tingle down your spine as you remember how good the kiss was. It was definitely in the top ten, hell, it was number one.

Don’t be seduced by his charm and good looks! You saw him kill someone tonight! Not to mention he probably killed those other guys that were shooting at you.

Russell swipes his finger over the screen again, this time the picture is of him and you talking, your face on full display. You’re laughing at something Russell said with your right hand resting on the cool bottle of beer you never finished. Honestly, if anyone was seeing those photos for the first time it would look like Russell and you were together.

“You took pictures of me!?” You shout. “You’re a fucking freak!”

“Sweetheart, listen to me-”

“I’m not your Sweetheart. You’re just some random murder that I met at a bar!”

The things that I’ve said tonight for the first time could be an SNL skit. Why me?

“For the last time, I am not a murder! And I didn’t take those photos. The men who were after me did.”

“So? Why would they care about some random girl?”

“Because they don’t know you’re some random girl I met! They think that you’re important to me and until I figure out who they sent these pictures to, you’re not safe.”

“Can’t you text them and say that you just met me tonight? That it’s a pure coincidence?! That I’m not important to you.” You point at the cracked phone, waving your free hand frantically at it.

Russell laughs at your question. “Are you kidding? Do you think they’re going to believe me?”

“I don’t know! And how would they know where I live?”

“The same way I knew how.”

That is a good point. How did he know where I lived?

You hesitate, gaze flicking over where Russell stands with your backpack in his hand, but another idea begins to wiggle from the depths of your mind. “Wait. Is this some kind of kinky thing you do? Some fetish? Pretending to be a spy or that people are after you just to get yourself all hot and bothered?”

“What?” Now it’s Russell’s turn to look at you like you’re crazy.

You take that as confirmation. “It is! Holy fuck, that is so messed up.”

Wow forget murderer, he’s an actual psychopath. Why the hell did I drop my phone?

Kay and Liza weren’t going to be back tonight. Especially not if they think that you took “Russell,” if that really is his name, back to the apartment. You had no other way of contacting them, except with your laptop that was sitting closed on your bed behind where Russell was standing.

“Wait a minute. I’m not a spy.”

“Exactly, that’s the point! You’re pretending to make me-”

“No, I’m not. I promise all of this is real!” Russell sighs frustrated. “I know that you don’t want to believe me, but it isn’t safe here. And I can protect you!”

“That’s exactly what you would say to kidnap me!”

“Sweetheart. I am not going to kidnap you, I’m trying to keep you safe. I mean, if I have to kidnap you I will-”

Your eyes widen and you heft the bat high on your shoulder prepared to swing.

“Sorry, that was a bad joke.” He holds up his hands in surrender, flashing an apologetic smile. “What would it take to make you believe me?”

It was the question that you had been contemplating since he’d protected you in the alley. You knew nothing about him, didn’t know what he did for a living, and you’d only just learned his name. But despite everything that happened there was a little part of yourself that wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe everything he was telling you, well, not the part about you being in danger and the idea that people now wanted to kill you, but the part about being able to trust him.

You think about the way he made you feel at the bar, when he listened to you complain about your physics test and made you laugh. You’d trusted him then, enough to go home with him or at least, try to go home with him.

“I don’t know.” The bat slips a little bit from your shoulder with your honesty. “Do you have any character references?”

Russell cracks a smile. “Isn’t it a little early for you to ask me about my old girlfriends? Don’t think any of them would be willing to say anything good about me either.”

This time you can feel a little smile begin to tug at the end of your lips, one that Russell notices.

“I know that you’re scared.” He takes a tentative step forward. “But I promise that I will explain everything to you, answer all your questions, but all I know is that you’re not safe here. And I can’t in good conscience leave, if I know you’re in danger.”

The look in his eyes had the determined fire you’d seen many times tonight, but there was something honest about it. They saw through you, and even though you had spent most of the night terrified and believed him to be a murderer, you didn’t think that someone like that would be so determined for you to go with him.

It felt like two parts of your head were at war. You wanted to trust Russell, you didn’t think he was lying to you, but you had seen him kill those men. And there was an unfortunate part of you that worried he made all of this up to kidnap you.

But I think if he meant to do that… he would have jumped me the minute I walked into my bedroom, he wouldn’t have said “hi.”

“I know this whole thing sounds crazy. But the last thing I want is for you to die because of something stupid I did. Please.”

You bite the inside of your cheek thinking about Kay and Liza. “If I leave, what about my roommates? They live here too.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not going to sugar coat it Sweetheart, there’s always a chance that they’ll be hurt, but with you gone, there’s also a chance that these guys will focus more on finding me.”

“So basically you can’t guarantee their safety?”

“No.” He drops his gaze for a moment, but then he looks at you again. “But I can guarantee yours and I don’t want to take the chance with your life. And my brother is smart, maybe he can figure out a way to keep them safe too.”

You stand there for a moment contemplating what he’s saying, the memories of everything that happened tonight rising up in an unrelenting wave, not just cowering behind the dumpster, but the kiss the two of you shared, and the way he made you laugh.

I want to trust him. I don’t think he’s lying, I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. You think to yourself, and then the inevitable thought comes. I feel safe with him.

“Do you promise that your name is Russell and that you’re telling me the truth?” You ask one more time to make sure.

“Yes.”

So you take a chance and hope to God that you’re not wrong.

“Okay.” You nod, lowering the bat entirely. “I’ll go with you.”

He sighs in relief. “Good.” Russell holds out the backpack towards you. “You should probably pack this. If I had my way, there won’t be much in here besides underwear.”

“You’re such a guy.” You roll your eyes and take the backpack from him, but you can't help the smile that curls on the end of your mouth.

Russell returns it, pleased with himself that he'd gotten you to smile again. “That's better than you accusing me of being a murderer.”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

“But you have to admit… this did make you forget your physics test right?”

He's not wrong... but you don’t think that this is better.

A/N: I had so much fun with this one. I hope y'all laughed as much as I did 😂

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

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@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

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#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw #russell shaw x you #russell shaw x female reader #jensen ackles #russell shaw fanfiction #tracker #tracker fic #tracker cbs #tracker fanfiction #meet cute #jensen ackles characters #jackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles russell shaw #lovely mutuals #zepskies reads

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loveesiren · 10 hours ago

Note

Hi lovely. Hope youre having a great weekend. I had short question. I love your writing and was wondering if you do requests? If so could I ask for one where y/n meets GD's cats for the first time. Theyre both nervous but it goes great.

If not, sorry for asking

Have a great rest of your weekend<3

Ｚｏａ'ｓＦａｖｏｒｉｔｅ

a/n: Oh my sweet angel, if only you knew the creativity this request sparked for me!! I even had to add some SMAU to it! Thank you so much for sending me the cutest request! I hope I did it justice!

Also, I just got a new phone and all my fake social apps got deleted so sorry if they're wack lol

synopsis: Jiyong finally decides that the girl he's been dating should meet his precious babies, and he's blown away by the result.

warnings: FLUFFFF, alochol, language, very light mention of sex, still SFW

wc: 3.2k+

Soft music filled the car as you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel, your stomach twisting with nerves. The GPS on your phone read you were five minutes away, and suddenly, the reality of where you were going sank in deeper.

You and Jiyong had been officially together for two months, though the pull between you had been there long before. Late-night texts that stretched until morning, goofy pictures exchanged on Snapchat, secret moments stolen at his shows. But privacy mattered—to both of you. Being in the public eye made everything more complicated, so you took your time, let things unfold naturally. And you liked it that way.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he had invited you to his home.

It was a big step, one that spoke volumes. Jiyong was careful about his personal space, rarely letting people in. More often than not, he preferred to meet somewhere neutral or come over to your place instead. His past had taught him to be guarded, to protect the things he held closest. That included his home. That included his cats.

Princess Zoa and Iye weren’t just pets to him; they were family. And the fact that he was willing to introduce you to them—on their turf—meant more than words could.

You exhaled sharply as you pulled up to his building, quickly sending him a text to let him know you’d arrived. Within moments, your phone buzzed, and you saw his response:

Come up. Already called it in. Park next to me.

Of course, his building had top-tier security. Nothing less was expected.

You found his spot and eased your car into place beside his, gripping your bag as you took a couple of steadying breaths. Just as you turned to get out—

"Ahh!" You yelped, heart slamming against your ribs.

Jiyong stood outside your window, a smug grin on his face, clearly proud of himself for making you jump.

"You’re a dick!" you huffed as he opened the door for you, still chuckling.

“Mmm, sorry,” he murmured, clearly not sorry at all. His hands found your waist, pulling you in effortlessly as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Missed you.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie as you smiled. “Missed you too, JiJi. I’m really excited you invited me over.”

He hesitated for a second, then let out a breath, his lips quirking up in a nervous smile. “I just... trust you.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “I want to share this part of me with you.”

That made your heart do an embarrassing little flip. You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin. You were head over heels for this man.

"Come on," he said, grabbing your bag from the car before lacing his fingers through yours. "Let's go."

Inside the elevator, he swiped a key card, granting access to the penthouse suite. A comfortable silence settled between you as the numbers climbed, Jiyong absentmindedly toying with the ends of one of your long braids.

When the doors finally slid open, he led you down the hall to his front door. He hesitated, scratching the back of his head.

"Uhh… it’s been a while since I’ve had someone… new over,” he admitted.

You squeezed his hand gently. “As long as you want me here, Ji, that’s all that matters.”

“I do!” he said quickly. Then, after a beat, “Zoa and Iye might be a little nervous, though…”

You chuckled. “That’s okay. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

A soft pink dusted his cheeks as he bit his lip. God, he was adorable.

“Okay,” he breathed, then unlocked the door, pulling you inside.

Your eyes widened as you took in your surroundings. You had seen glimpses of his place through Snapchats before, but nothing prepared you for seeing it in person. It was an effortless blend of artistic chaos and meticulous minimalism—every piece carefully curated, every detail intentional. The sleek furniture, the carefully arranged artwork, the shelves lined with vinyls and rare collectibles. It was stunning.

“Damn,” you muttered, turning in slow circles. “You really put my place to shame.”

Jiyong laughed as he placed your bag on the couch. “I like your place,” he said. “It’s homey.”

"Ji, I had no idea you were this clean and organized.” You teased.

"I’m not," he admitted with a smirk. "The cleaners came this morning. Gabriella has been cleaning up my messes for years. Bless her heart.”

You shook your head, grinning as he sauntered toward you, fingers grazing your exposed hip, playing with the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Can I get you a drink?” he murmured, his smirk deepening.

"Please," you teased, matching his energy.

He led you toward the kitchen, rambling about drinks and dinner. But before he could finish his sentence, a soft brush of fur against your leg made you pause.

“Hi, Princess Zoa!” you cooed, crouching down as the elegant gray cat moved gracefully around you, rubbing her face against your outstretched hand.

Jiyong blinked. “No way. She was hiding before you got here…”

You beamed, gently scratching behind her ears. “She’s so sweet! I love her already.”

And just like that, the tension in Jiyong’s shoulders eased. His lips curled into something soft, something real.

Yeah. This was a big step. And it felt right.

Jiyong handed you a drink—a simple vodka soda, but he knew it was your favorite. That small detail alone made your chest tighten in the best way. You took slow sips as you followed him through his home, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over you like a warm blanket.

He showed you everything. His personal recording studio, where half-finished lyrics and melodies lived. The spare bedrooms, each one somehow still curated with his impeccable taste. The breathtaking view from the balcony, where the city stretched out endlessly beneath you, glittering like a dream. And finally—his bedroom.

This was your favorite.

His presence was everywhere in this space, woven into every little detail. The artwork, a mix of chaotic genius and sentimental treasures. Clothes draped over the back of a chair, half-folded laundry on the bed—tangible proof that he lived here, existed here. His knick-knacks, collected from different parts of his life, told a story only he could tell. It was personal. It was beautiful.

Something on his bedside table caught your eye, drawing you closer. A photo. A small, colorful rock. You picked them up, curiosity humming in your chest.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning the photo over in your hands.

Jiyong chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s, uh… a picture Daesung took of us. From that beach party a few months back.”

The moment flooded back instantly. That warm summer night, the waves crashing in the distance, music thrumming through the air. You and Jiyong, tipsy and tangled in laughter, dancing with the kind of reckless abandon only a new connection could bring. You’d forgotten Daesung had been running around with a camera, documenting the night in blurry snapshots of joy.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your thumb brushed over the image. That night was when it had really started for you—the way Jiyong had held you close, how he never stopped making you laugh, how gentle he was even in the midst of chaos.

You glanced at the small rock in your other hand. “And this?”

Jiyong grinned, taking it from you, rolling it between his fingers like it was something precious. Because it was, to him. “This, my dear, is the first gift you ever gave me.”

You blinked. “It is?”

“Mmhmm.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Remember that time you called me drunk, asking if I could pick you up? You got in my car, all excited because you found a rock that ‘matched my hair.’” He mimicked your voice playfully. “You put it on my dashboard, declared it a masterpiece, and passed out before I even made it to your street.”

Your face heated. “Oh my god.” You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “Jiyong… you kept my drunk gift?”

“Of course.” His voice softened. “I have it in my pocket at every show. It’s my good luck charm.”

Your heart swelled, emotions tangling in your throat as you looked up at him. “You really are the kindest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He smiled, that soft, intimate kind of smile that made your stomach flip. “Can’t help it with you…”

His lips met yours, slow and sure, his hands finding your waist and pushing you toward the bed. Your back hit the mattress as his lips traced along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, making warmth pool in your stomach. You tangled your fingers in his hoodie, pulling him closer—

A sharp bap landed right on Jiyong’s head.

“Ow, Zoa!” he yelped, rubbing the spot where his beloved cat had just smacked him.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as Zoa hopped onto your lap, settling comfortably.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Jiyong shot you a mock glare, eyes twinkling with amusement. He sat up as Zoa curled into a loaf on your stomach, kneading at your shirt like she had claimed you for herself. “Did my cat just cockblock me?”

“Shhh, don’t say those words in front of the baby!” you scolded, scratching behind Zoa’s ears.

Jiyong scoffed. “Wow. Okay. I’ll just fuck off then.” He stood dramatically, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen.

You couldn’t stop laughing as you carefully moved Zoa to the side, hopping off the bed to chase after him, the cat trotting behind you.

“Hmmm, later, Oppa,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “Let’s watch our show.”

He sighed dramatically but smiled as he turned in your arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. ��Fine.”

The two of you curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over your legs as Breaking Bad flickered onto the screen. Jiyong’s hand rested on your thigh under the blanket, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin.

Zoa stretched out across your lap, already fast asleep, and moments later, a soft meow announced the arrival of another visitor.

“Iye!” Jiyong grinned, patting his lap. The sleek gray cat hesitated before slowly making her way over, her small paws pressing into his legs as she perched there, still wary of you.

She craned her neck, sniffing at your arm cautiously before pulling back.

“Hi, Iye,” you murmured, keeping your voice gentle. You let her come to you, holding out your hand for her to investigate. She gave a single curious sniff before rubbing her face against your fingers—just once—then retreating back to Jiyong’s lap.

“At least you still love me, huh?” he cooed, scratching under her chin.

Iye kept sneaking glances at you as the show played, inching ever so slightly closer with each passing minute.

Jiyong leaned against your shoulder, exhaling a long drag from his vape as he glanced toward the window. The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline, painting the city in soft gold.

“You hungry, babe? I can start dinner.”

You stretched, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Mmm. What’re we having?”

“Lobster,” he said casually.

Your head snapped toward him. “Lobster?” You scoffed. “Jiyong, how fancy. I should’ve worn a cocktail dress.”

“As much as I’d love that, Jagi,” he mused, standing up, “nothing beats sitting on my couch in pajamas with my gorgeous girlfriend, eating lobster with no judgment. We can be as messy as we want.”

You leaned against the couch, watching him with a warmth spreading through your chest.

“God, I love you…” you murmured, without thinking.

Jiyong froze mid-step, turning sharply to face you, his expression unreadable.

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I mean—” You stammered, face heating. “Ah, fuck.”

“No, no, don’t take it back.” He crossed the room in seconds, dropping onto the couch beside you. His hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours. “Say it again.”

Your heart pounded. “I said… I love you.”

His lips crashed against yours, deep and urgent, a raw kind of emotion surging between you. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you, too.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shy but filled with absolute joy.

Jiyong grinned, standing abruptly. “Okay, I’m gonna go make you the best dinner ever. Because I fucking love you and you fucking deserve it.”

You laughed as he dashed toward the kitchen, grabbing your phone with trembling fingers to text your friends.

Laughter echoed through the kitchen as you and Jiyong moved in perfect sync, playfully bumping into each other while prepping dinner. The rich aroma of butter and garlic filled the air, mingling with the sharp scent of freshly squeezed lemon. His two cats sat perched on the counter, their sharp eyes tracking every movement, their tails flicking lazily as if silently judging your cooking skills.

“Babe, they’re totally waiting for us to drop something,” you giggled, nudging Jiyong as he reached for another ingredient.

“They’re opportunists,” he scoffed, turning to Zoa. “Aren’t you, Princess? You’re not slick.”

The gray cat blinked at him, unimpressed, before returning to watching your every move.

The two of you tossed back shots between chopping, stirring, and sneaking bites of food. Each time the tequila burned your throat, Jiyong was there with a teasing smirk, leaning in to steal a quick, lingering kiss that tasted of citrus and salt. You felt light, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, but it wasn’t just that—it was him. This moment. This feeling of being completely and utterly alive.

“Voila!” Jiyong announced dramatically, placing the finished dish on the counter with a flourish. His grin was downright giddy, like a little kid proud of his creation.

You clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up as you took in the masterpiece before you. “Holy shit, babe. This looks amazing.”

Jiyong preened under your praise, already reaching for a piece of lobster and popping it into his mouth.

“Should we sit at the table?” you asked, glancing toward the neatly set dining area.

“Fuck no,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Couch. Show. Now.”

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. You had finally found someone who matched your energy—who understood the joy of ignoring formalities in favor of what truly mattered.

Plates in hand, you both made your way back to the couch, curling up under the softest blanket as Breaking Bad resumed on the screen. Every so often, Jiyong would feed you a bite, and you'd do the same for him, laughing when he dramatically moaned about how good it was. The alcohol settled over you like a warm embrace, your limbs heavy, your mind blissfully light.

At the edge of the couch, Zoa and Iye sat patiently, their eyes fixed on the two of you, hoping for a dropped morsel.

“Sorry, ladies,” you teased, waving a lobster claw in front of them. “This one’s all ours.”

Jiyong chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. His body was warm against yours, his scent a mixture of cologne, blueberry vape juice, and something inherently him. You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling completely and utterly at home.

It hit you then—how much you loved him. How he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend. The person you could be unapologetically yourself around. No pretense, no walls. Just laughter, love, and this perfect, ordinary, extraordinary moment.

By the time dinner was finished, the two of you had knocked back a few more shots, and your bodies had melted further into the cushions. The warmth of the alcohol, the lull of the TV, and Jiyong’s steady breathing made your eyelids heavy. Even the cats had settled into slumber, Zoa curled up at your feet while Iye stretched out on the back of the couch.

Jiyong shifted beside you, his lips grazing your temple as he whispered, “Can we finish the show in my room?”

You hummed in agreement, unable to form words in your sleepy haze.

With an exaggerated groan, Jiyong forced himself up, stumbling slightly before pulling you to your feet. The two of you giggled as you made your way to the bedroom, tripping over each other’s steps, hands wandering, lips meeting between bursts of laughter.

As soon as you passed the threshold of the bedroom door, it was a tangle of limbs, clothing being shed in lazy, drunken movements, laughter giving way to slow, heated kisses.

Jiyong took his time with you, his hands mapping the curves of your body like he was committing you to memory. Every touch was reverent, every kiss deep and lingering. The world outside ceased to exist—the only thing that mattered was this, the warmth of his skin against yours, the way your bodies fit together like a puzzle that had finally found its missing piece.

There were moments of whispered confessions between soft moans, giggles breaking the tension as you both found yourselves too tipsy to be completely coordinated. But none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, with you, holding you like you were the best thing he had ever known.

Because to him, you are.

Afterward, tangled in the sheets, Jiyong pulled you close, his arms securing you against him as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder. You sighed in contentment, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

“G’night, JiJi,” you murmured sleepily.

He hummed against your skin, his lips still brushing over you. “Night, baby girl.”

Within moments, sleep claimed you both.

Jiyong was the first to wake.

A groggy groan left his lips as he scrubbed a hand over his face, his body still heavy with sleep. The golden morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the room.

When he turned over, his breath caught.

You were still fast asleep, your hair spilling across the white sheets, your lips slightly parted as the softest snores escaped.

Nestled under your arm, Zoa was curled into the smallest ball, her tiny frame rising and falling with each peaceful breath.

Jiyong felt his heart clench.

He had never been a morning person, but waking up to this? To you? He could get used to that.

A quiet meow pulled his attention, and he shifted his gaze to Iye, who sat perched on the pillow beside your head. The slender cat stretched lazily, then turned to look at him.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow. “Well?” he whispered, as if Iye would actually respond.

The cat let out a soft chirp, then glanced at you.

And then, in the smallest of gestures, she leaned forward and rubbed her face against your cheek before settling back down.

Jiyong blinked.

That was it. That was the moment.

He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Iye, his most reserved, most particular baby, had just given you her silent approval.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his gaze drifting back to you.

The love that swelled in his chest was almost too much.

He reached over, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

And in that moment, with the sun painting you in gold, his cats nestled around you, and his heart feeling fuller than it ever had—Jiyong knew.

He had found his forever.

Tags: @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria @manuzicaveyr @maskedcrawford @gdinthehouseee @aishallnotbefound @babygirlewis @multifanxtvshows @readin0nsense @anonymip @lilysdoll @uuchii @pinkpunkdynamite @lariem-blog2 @sherxoo @honeyblossom112-2 @succulentpk @topluvr @bvbgirl21 @1950schick @gdgirl21 @hotbutbothered

#kwon jiyong x reader #g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong #g dragon #bigbang #princess zoa #iye #bigbang fanfic #kwon jiyong fanfiction #jiyong #cats #bigbang ot5 #gdragon #gdragon smut #gdragon fluff #gdragon fanfiction #gdragon bigbang #fluff #kwon jiyong fluff

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persicipen · 24 hours ago

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𑑛 “GOODBYE FLOWERS” ﾉ PHAINON. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.8k ✘ spoilerless but vaguely set back in 3.0 before he goes to castrum kremnos. saying goodbye when you send your boy to save the world. but don’t worry, he will come back :3 ✘ BITTERSWEET FLUFF ﾉ GENERAL CONTENT!

Who stands before you is none other than Phainon of Aedes Elysiae himself. Chest proudly wide and out with the golden stars on his vest gleaming with each breath he makes; moonlight hair ruffled by the wind and his frivolous trotting through the streets with the intent to find you as soon as possible. He gives you a flower blue as his own eyes. It’s beautiful, no doubts about it. Must’ve been growing on the slopes with waterfalls behind the city where the climate is the gentlest, most loved by all plants and animals alike.

“Romantic.” You muse, rubbing the velvety soft petals between your fingers. “Maybe you should ask Lady Aglaea to hand you the Coreflame of Romance?”

“Don’t joke about it, Lady Aglaea is not someone to be laughed at.” He scolds you, voice gentle like Phagousa’s breeze.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that… It’s just that… if you weren’t destined to bear the fate of this world… perhaps then I wouldn’t have to worry about saying goodbye to you on such a beautiful day.” Your voice breaks with the first tear that dews your lashes.

The day is beautiful, more than ever. Kephale’s gentle sun shines on the city, and you can believe there is already a demigod standing in front of you, even though you know that he is still awaiting his chance to conquer the Coreflame. He seems unaffected by this anymore, not as much as with your saddening reaction.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs and takes your hand in his, caressing gently with his thumbs. The smile he gives you is loving, yet you see it wavering at the corners of his lips. “I’m going to miss you as well, more than you can ever understand…”

“Don’t say it like you’re going away for long. It’s just one mission, yes?”

“Heh, I am grateful that you think of me so highly. Battling a corrupted god is but a detour on our journey. Soon, we’ll stand together again under the sunlight shining from above.” His other hand rests against the nape of your neck as he presses his forehead against yours. “Don’t be sad. Whatever comes along, remember that I will always find you. I will always come back to you.”

Your shoulders slump a little with those words. If only you could have seen each other as much as you wanted to. In times when there is a fleeting peace, all you crave is a battle; an excuse to make Phainon stay beside you, as he has done many times before. Whenever things turned dangerous, Phainon was there to protect you. It is not you wishing for more pain or calamity — people have suffered enough because of the black tide — but that infantile part of you didn’t want to see him venture out into the fog of solemn war and leave you unattended. What purpose is there in the sun and ripe fruits if there’s no one to share them with you?

“I will keep watching this flower… Believing it’s your eyes looking back at me.” You tell him as you wrap your one arm around his waist, pulling him closer into a hug, which he returns without any hesitation.

“Then I shall return to you with a new flower every time, and I won’t stop until you’re drowning in a sea of them.” He laughs, and you feel the vibrations from his chest.

“You’re such an idiot… There is only one place where the flowers make a sea.”

The other side of the warm west wind, the one destination everyone will eventually reach once their life comes to an end.

“I’m not going there without you.”

You don’t ponder that. Instead, you let him hold you close as you try to memorise everything about him. Every curve in his muscular body, and how perfectly you mold together. The warmth of his embrace and how it makes you never want to let go, the way his heart beats against yours, the sound of his laughter, and his scent. For a moment, you pretend it’s just a normal day where your duties are mundane and Phainon’s presence is but a reward for accomplishing your task. A perfect ending, a beautiful dream.

But dreams will never last forever.

When he lets go, the chill of solitude envelopes you instantly. Your hands wander over to grasp onto the hem of his sapphire robes, gripping tightly as if holding on to something long lost. His voice calls out your name, repeating it gently until your blurred gaze meets with his cerulean one. He places a kiss on your forehead with a soft hum. It’s almost painful how genuine and affectionate it feels; as if he still believes there is always another chance, another time.

“See you tomorrow,” he whispers against the skin.

“Or the day after tomorrow.”

Another gentle laugh reverberates from him as he tucks the flower behind your ear and at last heads towards the gates to join the others. Your eyes follow him until his figure disappears in a blur of your tears.

#manuscript.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail fluff #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #phainon x reader #phainon x you #phainon fluff

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theclairvoyage · 1 day ago

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Homecoming (i)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Freshly divorced and knee-deep in debt, you take a part time job at a local dive bar to make ends meet, which introduces you to a sexy, mysterious contractor. The attraction between you two is instant and painfully obvious - where will it take you?

WC: 10k

Warnings: Explicit - MDNI! eventual smut, eventual romance, mentions of divorce, infidelity, betrayal, alcohol consumption, smoking, adult language, no outbreak AU

Folks - as someone who is newly divorced, making this story has been a great way to channel all the post-divorce laments and feels into something fun and healthy. And makes the single life a little more exciting. Hope you enjoy! It will be multiple parts, but I'm not sure how many as of yet. Please request/message me about anything you please :)

Divider by the lovely @cafekitsune <3

Summer 2024

A lot of things felt different today.

The usual comfy, pillowtop mattress in your bedroom now felt like a long slab of sandstone, cold to the touch from the icy night.

The sparkly, bragworthy princess cut wedding ring on your finger now felt like a heavy, rusty band of aluminum and cubic zirconia.

But most of all, you felt different.

In the blink of an eye, you made a decision that shifted everything. The carefully shuffled deck of cards had fallen onto the floor, strewn about like the once put-together buildings of a small, Midwestern town ravaged by a tornado.

You hadn’t even told your best friend yet, nor your family. This was unusual for you—but today, you felt like bearing the weight of this choice on your own. And it was heavy, a 20-pound weighted vest stitched to the seams of your skin, dragging your shoulders down with each step.

Ending a marriage is never easy. It’s never the end goal, from the time you say yes, to the time you say your vows.

Your mind races back to the first date you had with your soon-to-be ex-husband, almost a decade prior. The sweet, chivalrous gentleman who had been too scared to kiss you goodnight now seemed like a very distant stranger. Pictures from that very first date are still stuck to the walls of your living room. Oh, how you dread peeling those pictures off the wall.

And though the stone of dread was burning massive holes in your stomach, there was a glimmer of hope in the corner of your mind. You weren’t sure what it meant, but you knew you’d ride it out of this house and onto the next part of your journey like a magic carpet.

Fall 2024

Divorce was many things, but expensive is not the one you worried about the most. Until now.

Sure, you no longer had to split your paychecks into your personal account and the joint account, so it made it seem like you had more money, but that wasn’t the case. Rent, car payment, utilities, student loans, and the list goes on. And on. And one income instead of two hurts.

Your day job was cushy. But the debts of having to close joint credit card accounts with balances, lawyer fees, and furnishing a new townhouse had sucked you dry. It was time to supplement that income until the debts were paid off. Your family had given you a bit of change, but you threw it directly into your now-empty savings account.

Now, you find yourself scrolling through Google, analyzing the part-time jobs in your area. Cashier. Cashier. Clerk. Call center specialist. Customer service representative. Bartender. Cashier.

Bartender?

You click on the ad for a part-time bartender at a local dive bar, The Home Stretch. It’s one you’ve been to before, usually after a long workday or on a random Friday night with your friends. 15-20 hours a week, and not much other information besides “Call the bar and ask for Steve if interested.” It’s reminiscent of a Craigslist ad, which disgusts and intrigues you.

You scrawl the number on a nearby Post-It note and stick it on the back of your phone. I’ll do it tomorrow.

And you did. Steve is a gruff man in his early 60s eager for some help behind the counter of a dive bar he inherited from his father. “Preferably someone with a nicer ass than mine,” he’d said. You chuckled over the phone and mentioned you’d been to the bar many times before.

“Good, won’t need to show you the whole thing, then,” Steve had replied. “Just come in whenever you have time this week, and we’ll get started.”

“Sure thing, Steve. Thanks a lot,” you replied, not realizing until after that he’d already hung up.

Later that week, you show up at the bar around 8:30 PM after a long day at the office. The door swings open with a loud creak, alerting everyone in the vicinity of your presence. Less than 20 pairs of eyes, mostly from middle-aged men, dart quickly in your direction, forcing you to pause. You gulp and force a weak smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

An older bald man perched behind the bar stares at you a bit longer than everyone else. A pair of bent, yellowed reader’s glasses threaten to slip off the tip of his nose as he scans you. You see the lightbulb illuminate in his head as he recognizes you.

“Hey, I’m Steve,” he says brusquely, reaching a callused hand to shake yours. His grip is firm, but short, and you guess that’s how he is as a person, too.

“Hey, thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you say, introducing yourself. He waves you off, like he had nothing better to do.

“Come back to the office and we’ll chat. Too many damn eyes out here,” he rasps, forcing a quiet chuckle from you. His reclusive attitude is a fresh shift from the fake cheery types you constantly deal with at work.

Steve leads you to a small office not far from the restrooms, a quick 20-step walk from the front of the bar. It’s stuffy and old and clearly hasn’t been updated since the early 80s. Wood panel walls, dirty linoleum floors, and a couple of file drawers stand out to you as you examine the small space. There’s no desk, but rather a cracked slab of countertop with three beat-up, green-cushioned barstools underneath. The only sound is the loud buzzing of the fluorescent lights above, which are caked with dead bugs and yellow stains. Gross.

Steve isn’t watching you but seems to read your mind as he shuffles some papers on the countertop. “I know, it’s a bit run down. It’s on my list,” he murmurs, chuckling quietly as he gestures at one of the barstools. You sit, expelling all the air from the cushion audibly. You can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Steve chuckles again. “Don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s the goddamn stools.”

A nervous giggle escapes your lips. Steve sits at the far stool and takes his glasses off before turning toward you.

“I’ll be honest, I have no plans to actually interview you. You want the job, you got it. You seem like a level-headed gal, and not to be weird, but you’re attractive. You’ll do just fine here.”

Confused, you tilt your head at Steve while cocking one eyebrow.

“Are you sure? I haven’t worked in a place like this since high school,” you hesitate, studying his face. He laughs again.

“I’m telling you, this job is a piece of cake. And you can pick your hours. Are you married?” He asks, nodding toward the tan line on your ring finger. You rub it absentmindedly as you shake your head.

“No, got divorced this summer. Tan line won’t go away,” you respond, giving him another weak smile. He sucks his lips into his mouth in embarrassment.

“Sorry. Glad I asked, though,” he says.

“It’s alright, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last to ask me that,” you say, smiling genuinely now. Steve lets out a bigger laugh, catching you off guard.

“In this joint? Yeah, that’s a guarantee.”

Your first few shifts at the bar were a little shaky, but easy, nonetheless.

Steve trained you on the POS system the first two shifts before handing you off to Jerrica, a middle-aged woman who reeks of cigarettes. She’s tall and thin, covered in tattoos, and has the brightest blue eyes, which are lined on the bottom with thick, black eyeliner. Her deep, raspy voice and serious face are intimidating, but you learn quickly that she’s a very kind soul.

She quizzes you on the POS system and where things are located around the bar. You answer seamlessly, impressing her.

“Smart as a whip,” she beams at you, flashing some yellowed teeth as she smiles.

“I have some good teachers,” you reply with a wink.

The next month or so is a breeze for you, and you’re raking in a lot of extra cash. The hardest part is balancing the two jobs—and the many men that frequent the bar. All of them stare at you, most of them are polite, and some brave enough to ask you for your number. Jerrica warned you it would be like this, though she knew you could hold your own if needed.

One chilly, fall Friday night, a group of younger men, likely close to your age, enter the bar. It’s pretty busy—Jerrica and you have been hustling nonstop since around 8 PM. You catch a glimpse of them as they shuffle in and settle at one of the pool tables.

One of the men meanders up to the bar, and you can feel him staring at you from the corner of your eye. Jerrica takes the lead and approaches him.

“Hey, sugar. What can I get for ya?” she asks, wiping down the counter as he surveys the selection of beer and liquor. He stops and snaps his gaze at you when you walk by with a bucket of ice, dumping it in the cooler next to Jerrica.

“Her, if she’s on the menu,” he quips, smiling at you, looking almost reptilian. You size him up and arch an eyebrow, your face screaming unimpressed.

“She’s not,” Jerrica and you respond in unison, and his sly smile quickly turns to an embarrassed frown.

“J-just kidding. I’ll take a couple pitchers of Coors Light,” he squeaks, looking down at his wallet as he fishes some bills out. His cheeks are bright red. You stifle a smile and return to the back to get more ice as Jerrica pours the pitchers for him. When you come back, he’s gone and facing away from the bar.

“Poor kid, guess we ruined his hopes and dreams,” Jerrica jokes, making both of you giggle.

“He’ll get over it as soon as he finds one of his regular type bimbos,” you say. Jerrica cackles.

“I’m gonna go smoke, be back in a few,” she says, patting you on the back as she slips out of the bar.

You scan the bar, surprised by how many people are here. College football fans flock here during the fall for the pitcher specials and greasy bar food, and there’s not an empty table in sight. Thankfully, most people have stuck with ordering the pitchers, so you haven’t had to mix a lot of drinks yet.

A grunt interrupts your thoughts, and you snap your eyes in front of you to a well-built, middle-aged man in a green and black flannel, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn Wranglers. Your eyes meet and lock for a second longer than you’d like before you clear your own throat, which has suddenly gone dry.

“Sorry. What can I get you?” you ask him, noticing the corner of his mouth quirk slightly.

“Eagle Rare, neat. Please,” he responds, silky voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Fortunately, you’re adept at hiding your emotions, so he doesn’t notice the sweat form on your hairline as you try to find the bottle and pour him a glass. Or so you think.

“Here you go,” you say, propping the glass in front of him. He doesn’t grab it, though, he just stares at you inquisitively. You force yourself to meet his gaze.

Oh.

You knew from his voice that he’d be attractive, but you didn’t expect this. He’s fine fine. Curly, chocolate hair, streaked with silver. Aquiline nose. Strong, square, clenched jaw lined with a patchy beard. Thick, tanned neck. Deep amber orbs staring into your soul. He’s stoic, yet the lines on his face tell you he’s experienced all the emotions. Your heart flutters in your chest, vibrating like the quick wings of a hummingbird. Your mouth opens before you can think of anything to say.

“You got a tab?” you sputter, breaking his hot gaze to return the Eagle Rare bottle to the shelf. You swear you see him smirk.

“Yes ma’am. Miller,” he murmurs, his voice a little deeper and quieter than before. He’s staring at you without a semblance of shame, and you can feel it burning into your back. You turn to enter everything in the POS system, taking deep breaths absentmindedly.

“Nervous?” The man asks, cocking his head to one side as he studies you. If you thought you were hot before, you’re feverish now.

“W-what? No… why would I be nervous?” You stammer, arching an eyebrow as you continue messing with the POS system, ensuring that you don’t make eye contact with him. Too bad for you, because he sits down on the stool in front of you and meets your gaze.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. His eyes communicate so many different emotions to you; primarily, amusement. There’s a hint of mischief and something a little more dangerous, a little more smoldering behind it. He cracks a smile at you, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. You need him to leave. Now.

He chuckles before answering you. “Just seem a little uptight, s’all,” he croons, smile reaching the corners of his Hershey’s Kisses-colored eyes. Their warmth is captivating and calming, almost as if they slow time. Ironically, that’s the last thing you want right now.

“Busy night,” you reply quickly, giving him a brief smile before pretending to organize the coasters and napkins next to the POS system.

“I’ll leave ya to it, then. See ya around,” he says, standing up and returning to his table in the back of the bar. You smile back at him, baring teeth this time, and nod before turning your back to him to restock the cooler.

It’s a good thing you don’t catch the way his eyes sweep your frame, lingering on your ass for a moment longer than he’d like them to. And your smile brought some heat to the back of his neck, so much so that he feels the need to cover it up with his hand as he saunters back to the table.

Dazed and confused, you barely register that Jerrica has returned from break until the stench of cigarettes threatens to give you a migraine.

“Hey, who is that guy over there?” you ask her, turning your back toward the man and pointing your eyes in his direction. She smirks once she sees him.

“Joel Miller, and he’s a hot commodity here,” she says, chortling quietly. Her eyes sweep back to you, and she lowers her head before continuing, devilish smirk on her face.

“You interested? He really doesn’t entertain any of the women here.”

Skeptically, you narrow your eyes at her before turning around to gaze at him again, which turned out to be a shitty idea because his intense eyes are already on yours. A quick panic sets in, and you whip around to face Jerrica. She chuckles.

“Oh, he might entertain you, though… just based on how he’s staring at you now,” she teases, trying hard not to laugh.

“Jesus. I’m taking my break,” you huff, snatching your phone from a cubby underneath the bar and walking toward the back patio before she can say anything else.

“I can help you with that!” Jerrica calls out to you, her voice drowning in the sound of the bar as the patio door slams shut.

Once outside, you close your eyes and inhale deeply. The brisk autumn air sooths your airways, and you can feel your heartbeat finally slowing to normal pace. The fire pit in the middle of the patio is calling your name. You plop down in one of the freezing metal chairs next to it and watch the flames dance, not noticing the squeak of the patio door as it opens.

“Mind ‘f I sit here?” A deep, rich voice asks, startling you from your trance. It’s that sexy rugged mysterious man, Joel Miller.

Fuck.

You shake your head and gesture to one of the chairs, not meeting his eyes. “No, go ahead.”

He half-smiles and pulls back one of the metal chairs next to you, sitting with an audible groan. You chuckle quietly.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, eyeing you inquisitively.

“Sounded like it hurt,” you tease him, still not looking at him. He laughs. Not only does it sound genuine, but it awakens something in your belly you didn’t expect. Something molten. You look at him, discovering that once again, he’s already looking at you.

“Finally,” he says quietly, almost an exasperated whisper, eyes traveling your face as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Hm?” you ask, confused. He finishes the glass before setting it on the empty chair next to him, swishing the spicy liquid around his mouth before swallowing. You study the muscles in his neck and jaw as they flex and groove. He turns to face you again.

“Y’been avoidin’ my eyes,” he says, tilting his head at you ever so slightly, as if silently asking you why.

The heat in your belly rises, enveloping your chest and neck. You scoot away from the fire to cool off.

“Oh, s-sorry. I try to keep my distance from customers. Makes work a little easier,” you stammer, hoping he’ll buy that. It’s not wrong, but it’s not the main reason you avoid his gaze.

“I see,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you that indicates he knows. His gaze flicks down to your hands, which are held up near the fire. “Are y’cold?”

The heat in your chest says no, but the shivering of your limbs says yes. You shake your head.

“I’ll be going back inside soon. I’ll be fine.”

He stands suddenly, and you wonder if you’ve upset him—that is, until you see him shrug off that green flannel.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Well-built doesn’t seem to cover what you see as he shows off his bare forearms and the muscles peeking from beneath his worn t-shirt. You can tell he’s done manual labor for a long time from the carving of his muscles and the scars that litter his tanned, freckled skin.

“Here,” he says, walking behind you to place the flannel over your shoulders. The act catches you off-guard, and you’re frozen in place. His hands smooth the fabric over your traps, sending electricity from the source to your spine. The scent of his flannel drapes you, also—a rich combination of amber, pine, and whiskey.

“Oh, that’s nice of you. Thanks,” you say, watching him as he walks over to the empty chair housing his empty glass. You smile at him once he makes eye contact with you, and his pupils dilate imperceptibly.

“Don’t mention it. I’m gonna order another whiskey, y’can wear it as long as y’need to,” he says, half-smiling at you again. You watch him as he re-enters the bar, paying close attention to how his jeans hug all the muscles below his torso and acquainting yourself with his confident saunter.

“Jesus,” you whisper to yourself, burying your nose in the collar of his flannel and taking a deep breath. The smell is so good, so unique—it’s not something you’ll forget easily.

You check your phone and notice that your 15-minute break is well over. Absentmindedly, you slip your arms in the sleeves of Joel’s flannel and head back inside. It’s still busy, but people have shuffled out, meaning the night is starting to end. Thank god.

As you step behind the bar, Jerrica smirks at you as she notices your new garment. You shake your head and roll your eyes at her before grabbing a pad of paper and pencil to take inventory of the coolers. She sidles up to you, giggling.

“Yeah—he’s interested in you,” she rasps, making your spine stiffen.

“He’s just being nice. It’s kinda cold out there,” you say, waving her off. She giggles again.

“Uh huh. You gonna keep it?” she teases. You shake your head before heading back into the kitchen toward the walk-in refrigerator, feeling his eyes on you. Your stomach twists and flips as you picture his face, arms, and hands from just moments ago on the patio.

When you come back with a basket full of beer, you notice his seat is empty. Disappointment rushes over you. You see a stack of cash and a receipt next to the POS system. Jerrica is pressing buttons on it.

“He left this for you,” she says, smirking at you again. She points toward the stack of bills and the receipt, which is flipped over. You notice some blue ink scrawled almost illegibly on the middle of the paper.

It’s a phone number; with an area code you don’t recognize. There’s a message underneath.

Call me sometime. Keep the flannel.

-Joel

Your chest feels tight, and your stomach is flipping in overdrive. You re-read the message probably 20 times before folding it into your pocket.

“I told you!” Jerrica says, pointing her index finger at you. “You better not let that one go.”

“I don’t even know him, and once he finds out I’m divorced, he’s probably going to change his mind,” you say, scowling at her. She huffs, irritated.

“He’s divorced, too. You forget he’s older than you. I’ve never seen him give his number to anybody in the 5 years he’s been coming here,” she says, impressed.

“I’ve been out of the game way too long, Jerr—I don’t even know how to approach this,” you admit, embarrassed. She grabs your hands and squeezes them.

“He’s a good guy. He’s not the frat boy type, obviously. Just call him and go from there,” she says, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Call him? What is this, 1995?”

She guffaws. “Honey, he’s old like me. He’s probably no good at that texting stuff.”

“I guess we’ll see,” you say with a snicker.

Later that evening, after a great close, you sink into the couch in your living room. The cushions envelop you, along with the borrowed flannel you’re still wearing. Joel’s scent is still clinging tightly to the fabric, entrancing you each time you inhale. That, and the lingering stench of beer and tobacco.

You check your phone. It’s late, and you need a shower. You sit up, rubbing your temples. Joel’s face invades your thoughts every few moments. Usually, when you meet someone new, you have a hard time picturing their face in totality—like you can only remember fragments. Your brain fills in the missing pieces with faces you already know, creating a strange amalgamation of a person.

Joel, though? Nope. You remember every detail, from his patchy salt and pepper beard to his tanned, lined forehead. You remember the way he looked at you, how his eyes bore into you like a laser beam. And each thought makes your stomach churn.

Perhaps it was too soon to get back into the game—though you were free now, and you had nothing but time. You enjoyed his attention and admiration—it was much different than the attention you didn’t receive during your marriage. And he was divorced, too, so maybe he had some words of advice for you.

Absentmindedly, you rub the skin on your empty ring finger. The tan line has faded over time, and you’ve grown accustomed to the absence of the once-heavy ring you wore. You turn on the shower and disrobe, tossing the stress on the ground along with the pile of clothes.

As you scrub the day away in your scalding shower, a thought emerges.

You step out, dry off, and reach for Joel’s flannel after moisturizing your bone dry, red skin. You button it up until you reach your chest, leaving a scintillating section of skin exposed. The flannel is long enough that it covers the most private parts of you, but the tops of your thighs peek out.

After checking yourself in the mirror 30 times, you pull your phone out and snap a mirror picture. You compose a message to Joel’s number, which is still unsaved, and type a quick sentence before attaching the picture.

I think I’ll keep the flannel if you don’t mind.

You crawl into your crisp sheets, put your phone face-down on your nightstand, and count sheep.

Saturday morning rolls around, and you’re squirming under the sheets. Not because you didn’t sleep well, but because a vivid dream surged through your mind. One that involved your hot, naked skin sandwiched between your sheets and the hot, naked skin of a familiar man.

As you lie there, you replay the montage of events in your head. His hot breath in your ear, whispering sweet praises. His teeth scraping the skin on your neck and chest, leaving little petechiae in their path. His strong hands gripping your ass as he plunges deeper into you, bringing you closer to the edge with each thrust.

You sit up and rub your eyes, grabbing your phone to check the time. It’s almost noon, and you’ll be back at the bar in roughly 4 hours.

3 new messages.

Suddenly, you aren’t groggy anymore, remembering the risque text you sent to Joel before you slept. Your stomach somersaults as you open the messages.

Joel: Jesus Christ.

Joel: Looks way better on you anyway.

Joel: What a nice way to wake up.

Your neck heats up at his compliments. You type a witty response.

You: Thank you. Surprised you can text more than 2 words at a time. You chuckle before putting the phone down and getting ready for the day, still clad in his flannel shirt.

Saturday night at the bar made Friday night seem like a cakewalk.

The place was packed wall-to-wall, teeming with drunk football lovers of all ages, races, and creeds. Jerrica and you barely had time to take your singular break—and Steve helped man the bar all night, which said a lot. One young bartender called in, and the other two showed up hungover, so they were worthless.

You half expected Joel to come, but he never showed up. You ignored the cold feeling of disappointment curling around your ribs, and instead reminded yourself that you really don’t know him, and he has a life of his own.

Now, it’s 1:00 AM, and the bar is starting to empty, lifting some weight from your shoulders. The place is filthy—bar food everywhere, chairs strewn about, trash littered on the floor and tables. Jerrica emerges from the patio, blowing the last puff of cigarette smoke out before stepping into the bar.

“I’ll clean up, hon’—you take your break,” she orders you, tone half serious, half playful. You nod, trading the towel you’d been using to wipe the counter for a bottle of beer. Steve doesn’t mind whether you have a drink or two toward the end of the night during your break, and you haven’t indulged until today. An ice-cold domestic beer sounded heavenly, like stumbling upon an oasis after trekking through the Sahara for days.

You step out onto the patio, plopping down in your usual chair in front of the fire pit. It’s cold tonight, but the heat from your sweaty skin keeps you from noticing. You kick your feet up onto a nearby chair and lean back, gazing at the stars while you take swigs of beer.

The patio door screeches as it opens, but you’re too tired to look up. Probably another patron needing a smoke break.

“Thought maybe y’weren’t here today,” a familiar, deep Southern voice fills the air. You snap upright in your chair, repressing the grin threatening to push against your cheeks.

“Could say the same for you,” you tease him, watching him approach you. He’s got a ratty, long-sleeved Texas Longhorns shirt on and the same beat-up Wranglers he had on yesterday. You take a slow sip of beer, catching the way his eyes lock onto your lips as they kiss the bottle.

“Watched the game at my brother’s. Figured it’d be a shit show at any bar within a 50-mile radius,” he says, swishing around the whiskey in his glass as he watches you.

“You’d be correct, sir,” you reply, tilting your head back to down the rest of your beer. Joel gulps audibly—hearing you address him that way and seeing your exposed neck do something to him, something he needs to stifle.

“Couldn’t resist stoppin’ by, though,” Joel says, ambling over to the chair occupied by your legs. The pitch and tone of his voice have changed, from friendly to raspy, almost sultry. Your pulse quickens. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why’s that?”

He chuckles lowly, his deep chocolate eyes transfixed on yours. The heat coming from them is enough to make you sweat, and his velvety laugh makes your core ignite.

“Think y’know why,” he responds, sipping his whiskey, eyes unmoved from you. The scenes from your dream emerge in your head, forming knots in your stomach. The hairs on the back of your neck prick your skin as they stand.

A few moments pass by before he sets his glass down on an empty chair. Hands free, he lifts your ankles up and sits in the chair, propping your feet on his lap. His thumb strokes the skin between your shoes and the bottom of your cargo pants, sending tiny sparks through the pores there. This is the second time he’s touched you, and both times it’s felt like mild electrocution.

“If you’ve come to retrieve your flannel, you’re out of luck. It’s not here,” you taunt him, steering the conversation where you both want it to go. His hand slips under the leg of your pants, stroking the skin on your shin and calves. You twitch at the new sensation.

“Ticklish?” he asks, stopping to grip your calf lightly. You shake your head.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” you admit, your voice quiet. The tension between the two of you is palpable, almost painful. The primal urge to jump onto his lap and kiss him has you in a chokehold. He grunts, interrupting your carnal thoughts.

“Heard you’re divorced,” he says, fingers massaging the tight muscles of your calf. It’s slightly painful, but the release of tension feels amazing.

“Is there a question in there?” you quip, raising a brow at him. With a laugh, he nods.

“Yeah, finalized a few months ago. Started working here to pay off some debt from the split,” you respond, trying to remain lighthearted.

“Been there myself. S’not a fun time. Got any kids?”

You shake your head. “Neither of us wanted them in the beginning, and then he changed his mind.”

He purses his lips, nodding slowly. “S’tough but makes the split easier when y’ain’t got any.”

“I take it you have kids?” you ask, curious. He nods again.

“Just a daughter. She’s in college now. Split up when she was real young,” he tells you, moving to massage your other calf. He lightly digs into your flesh, hitting a knot in your mid-calf. You yelp and grip the arm of the metal chair. Your reaction embarrasses you, and you clap your hand over your mouth. Joel’s pupils dilate ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth rising slowly in a devilish smirk.

“Sorry. That hurt?” he asks, switching from kneading to light stroking of your skin.

“Just tight, is all,” you reply, the heat from the back of your neck moving to your ears.

“Mhm. Don’t need that now, do we?” he says, increasing the pressure of the strokes as he tries to tackle the knot. His hands feel good, and you find yourself closing your eyes as he works the knot out. You resist the urge to moan as his fingers massage your tight muscles.

His fingertips slow their pace after a few minutes, stopping to rest at your ankle. You open your eyes and look at him.

“Reckon y’gotta get back in there,” he says teasingly, squeezing your ankle. You sigh heavily.

“I know. Thanks for the massage. What do I owe you?” you ask him, pulling your feet off his lap to stand. He watches as you adjust the waistband of your pants, accidentally revealing your navel to him in the process. He clutches the glass of whiskey in response.

“Another glass of whiskey,” he murmurs, before dropping his voice to add, “And maybe another picture of you wearin’ my shirt.”

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you force a swallow to shove it back down into your chest. You take a step toward him, and he stands from the chair. He’s a little taller than you, but not by much.

“I usually don’t send strangers multiple pictures of me… especially ones where I’m not wearing much,” you tease, watching the way his eyes trace your lips. You swear you hear a growl bubble in his throat.

“Guess I gotta work on that, then,” he says, itching to caress your lips with his finger.

“Well, you know where to find me,” you respond, sidestepping him to return to the bar, huge grin plastered on your face.

2:00 AM rolls around, and Joel’s still at the bar. You emerge from the office with your things to find him propped against the bar, chatting with Jerrica. He’s facing her, but his eyes move to you, sweeping up and down your frame as you approach.

“I’m heading out. You good to take me home, Jerr?” you ask her, clocking out on the POS system.

“Of course. Let me finish up here and we’ll go,” she says, squeezing your arm affectionately. She bids Joel farewell before finishing up her closing duties, leaving you two and the magnetism between you alone.

“I’ll take you, if y’want,” Joel offers, fishing his wallet out. He grabs a stack of bills and divides them, placing one half on the bar and giving the other to you. Warmth blooms in your chest. He tips you way too much, but it’s a kind gesture.

“Sure, I’d like that. It’s not too far from here,” you tell him, “Just let me tell Jerr.”

“Not a problem,” he says, hopping up, shoving his hands in his pockets as you walk over to Jerrica to tell her.

“Better get yourself a breath mint,” she whispers, pinching your arm lightly. You sniff your breath in the palm of your hand and wave her off.

“I’m good. Nothing will happen anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes. She giggles, pulling a stick of gum out of her back pocket.

“Just take it, and no tongue on the first one!” she teases you. Your neck flushes again, but you pop the gum into your mouth and make sure it’s chewed up enough to hide in your cheek before Joel sees.

You’re giddy as you exit the bar. Joel’s hand finds your lower back as he guides you out the front door and through the parking lot to a fancy pickup truck parked in the spot furthest from the door.

“You’re one of those people, huh?” you ask him. He chuckles.

“I could use the steps. S’lotta work fillin’ in paint chips from door dings, too,” he grumbles. He walks you over to the passenger door and opens it for you, offering his palm as leverage as you hop into the elevated seat. His hand is warm, and a little sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous, too.

He trots over to the driver’s side and starts the truck, turning the volume knob down as Waylon Jennings croons over the speakers. You smirk at the small action, wondering if he’s embarrassed by his music choice or the fact that he was likely singing on his way here.

You guide him to your place, which is less than ten minutes from the bar. He’s a great driver—calm, smooth, and not too fast. His right elbow is propped on the center console, just inches from your arm, though you keep your hands clasped in your lap. Your nerves ignite as you get closer to your place, anticipating what may or may not happen once he drops you off.

He pulls in the driveway of your townhouse and parks the truck.

“I’ll walk you up, stay put,” he commands softly, getting out of the truck and walking to your door. He opens it, offering his hand again as you step down.

The knots in your stomach are so tight, it feels like you might throw up. You can’t remember the last time you were so nervous with a man, if ever. You let go of his hand once you’re on level ground, wiping your clammy palm on your pant leg. He follows you to the front door, hand locating your lower back once again.

“Do you want to come in? If not, it’s okay. I know it’s late,” you offer, gauging his face as you press the keypad to unlock the door. His flaming eyes and the clenching and rolling of his jaw say yes, but the stiffening of his shoulders betray his hesitation.

“Mind ‘f I use the restroom?” he asks, gaze flicking between both your eyes. You smile warmly at him and nod, not missing how his eyes lock onto your lips immediately.

“Not at all,” you reply, opening the door and pointing toward the bathroom, down the hallway beyond the living room and kitchen.

He saunters down the hall, hopefully not noticing the way you’re checking him out, marveling at how well his jeans fit him and that goddamn suave walk of his. He shuts the door, and you exhale deeply, pressing your back against the now-closed front door.

You ponder the next steps as he’s in the bathroom. One, he could just leave. Two, he could kiss you goodnight, and then leave. Three, he could… well, you can’t think about option three, which closely resembles your dream from the previous night.

As you hear the sink in the bathroom turn on, you scurry over to the kitchen sink to wash your own hands, giving you a quick distraction from your nerves. The door opens as you scrub your hands, fingertips pressing hard into your palms to relieve some tension.

His footsteps approach you just as you’re drying your hands, your back facing him. He gets closer until you feel the warmth of his body radiating behind you. He takes the towel from you and places it on the counter before placing a firm, strong hand on your shoulder and turning you toward him.

Fuck. This is it.

Hand still clasped to your shoulder, he stares into your eyes and moves in closer to you. The proximity of him and the realization of what’s about to happen has you seeing stars in the corner of your eyes.

After what feels like eons, Joel’s lips finally meet yours, softly and pliantly. The kiss is tender, but deliberate, like he knows exactly what he wants, but needs to make sure you’re at his level before progressing. The hand on your shoulder wraps around your upper back, and his other hand grips your waist to pull you flush to him. His warmth is hypnotizing, and you melt into him, completely at the mercy of his touch.

You respond, wrapping your arms around his solid torso, feeling his strength and the span of his back as he deepens the kiss. His scent overwhelms you, giving you a euphoric head rush. He tastes like whiskey and mint, and you wonder when he slipped an Altoid or piece of gum into his mouth between the bar and now, like he knew this would happen. Butterflies scatter throughout your body at the realization.

His firm hand on your upper back moves to the other side of your waist, and he hoists you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, taking you by surprise. You squeak, and he breaks the kiss momentarily to laugh, the deep, silky sound shooting straight to your core. His palms rub on your thighs before traveling up to grip your hipbones, calloused fingertips grazing bare skin between the waistband of your pants and the hem of your shirt. You moan lightly at the touch, spurring him on. His hands reach further under your shirt, stopping at your sides, thumbs swiping at the soft skin surrounding your navel.

Joel’s lips travel down your jaw and land on your neck, teeth grazing and tongue swirling on the sensitive skin. You moan again, louder this time, as his mouth sends shockwaves of pleasure up and down your spinal cord. He groans in response, gripping you tighter and kissing up to your earlobe. Your legs are hooked around the back of his thighs, pulling him close, and you feel his arousal on your hip.

You’ve never been kissed like this before, not even the first time you made love with your ex-husband, or on your wedding night. It feels surreal, almost cinematic—like you’re shooting a love scene with a hot stranger, ignorant to the surrounding cameras and crew. Your body is aflame with passion, burning you from the outside in—the flames twisting around each vein inside you, heating the blood that travels back to your core.

Joel breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours, panting. Both of you exchange labored breaths for a few moments as you recollect the last few minutes.

“Think I better get goin’,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you gently before hoisting you off the countertop.

“Too much to handle?” you tease him, walking him to the front door. You hear him growl, and in the blink of an eye, he grabs your waist and pushes you against the front door before closing the gap between you, his hips flush with yours. There are only inches between your lips, but you can taste the hunger emanating from him as he stares into your eyes.

“You have no idea what I wanna do to you, darlin’,” he hisses, hands squeezing the globes of your ass as he leans in to kiss you again. You moan into his mouth before reaching up to tug at the curls on the nape of his neck, pulling his lips off yours. He sucks in a sharp breath.

Oh. He likes that.

Still clutching his curls, you rub your thigh against the erection threatening to bust his jeans. “I think I can guess,” you tease him, moving your leg up and down his length. His eyes close in pleasure, and he groans softly. You cup his jaw and bring him in for one more searing kiss.

“No need to rush things,” you coo, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb as he watches you, wrecked. He chuckles before letting go of you, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Alright then. We’ll take it slow,” he rasps, smoothing curls out of his sweaty face.

“Does that mean you want to see me again?” you ask coyly, batting eyelashes at him.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it,” he replies, kissing you one more time before heading out to his truck.

Fucking hell.

Only been a few hours, but it feels like days

Only been days, but it feels like months

Life moves fast when you’re doing what you want

I guess I’m doing what I want, hope you’re doing what you want

The next four weeks didn’t go at all how you expected them to.

You worked at least 3 shifts at the bar each week, and Joel didn’t show up once. Worse, he didn’t text or call you, either. You went from understandable—because he’s probably busy—to confused, then upset, and finally, bitter.

And then you sat down and had a real conversation with yourself about expectations. Were they too high? Were you out of the game too long to scrutinize this logically? Were you being too clingy? You’d only texted him a few times, noticing that the messages hadn’t delivered normally, like he didn’t have service or blocked your number.

The fiery kiss you two shared lingered in your mind every day. The morning after it happened, you’re positive you’d lied in bed for an hour just replaying each moment before daydreaming about how the night would’ve progressed had he stayed over.

The combination of his rough and soft touches had you aching for him—the firm gripping of your hips as he lifted you on the countertop, the soft strokes on your delicate skin. The way his lips and tongue moved so smoothly with yours and the flaming trail they’d left on your neck and jawline sent shivers up your spine. And left you unbelievably horny.

Each time you’d thought of the passion, the feelings of regret and embarrassment soon followed. Though that was the single life, you figured. It was time to accept the new normal.

Now it’s Friday night, and you’re late for your shift at the bar. You’d left the office late after enduring a chaotic day, which put you directly in the crossfire of rush hour traffic. That, and a perfectly timed late fall, early winter freezing rain spell had immobilized traffic and put you a couple hours behind. You called Steve and Jerrica—they were understanding, of course. But the stress of your day and the feeling of letting the bar down had you in a foul mood.

You roll in at 8 PM, more than 2 hours after you normally come in. Flustered and frustrated, you power walk to the back office to drop your stuff off, noticing that it’s busier than normal. Finally, you make it behind the counter. Jerrica is pouring some pitchers but glances your way with a smile.

“Jesus, Jerr. I’m so sorry. It was an awful day,” you lament, pulling your unkempt hair out of your face. You looked a mess, wearing a slightly small t-shirt and old, ripped jeans. Not exactly cold-weather friendly, but that’s what you get for giving yourself 5 minutes to change.

Jerrica chuckles as she hands the pitchers off to customers. “I understand, hon. Really, it’s fine. We’ve had a good crowd tonight.”

“Thank god. Need me to stock anything?” You glance at the cooler, noticing that it looks a little barren.

Jerrica nods. “Please, and I’m low on ice, too.”

Eager to fix the mess you helped create, you start to work. Four buckets of ice, several trips to the fridge and back, and one sheen of forehead sweat later, everything is stocked. The bar is still busy, but a rare quiet moment where everyone seems to have a full drink gives Jerrica an opportunity to take a smoke break.

“Be back soon. Don’t hurt ‘em now,” she teases you, squeezing your upper arm as she trots toward the patio.

You take a moment to scan the tables, nodding or waving at most of the regulars. It’s a relief to work in a place like this, where the majority of them are nice, blue-collar folks just trying to relieve the tension of the American work life, and you know they appreciate the work you put in.

Your heart stops when you see a familiar head of curly hair atop broad shoulders in his usual spot. And of course, as usual, he’s already looking at you. There’s a smile on his face, and fuck, he looks good. He looks a little fatigued, obvious by the faint, dark circles under his eyes and overgrown stubble, but nonetheless thrilled to see you. The curls on his head are mussed and flattened in certain spots, like he had a hat on for a while and hasn’t had time nor energy to fix them.

And then you remember you haven’t seen or spoken to him in about a month, and the polar vortex swirls in your chest. You smile at him, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, and distract yourself with organizing the cash drawer, hoping that he feels the cold front.

Jerrica returns from break, sidling next to you. She must feel the ice emanating from you.

“He asked about you,” she says, not looking up at Joel. “Said he’s been crazy busy with work and hasn’t had good cell service where he’s been. Some odd job a few hours away. He seemed real sorry, honey.”

A heavy, resigned sigh escapes your lungs. You close your eyes and lean your head back, inhaling deeply before facing her. She was the first person you told about the kiss and the subsequent ghosting. She then let you know that Joel was a successful contractor who’d been running a business with his brother for years, a detail he neglected to share with you. You knew you were probably being harsh, but a little communication would’ve put you at ease.

“I get it, just wish he would’ve told me. It would’ve taken two seconds,” you say, closing the drawer and turning to face her. She mirrors you.

“You look exhausted, girlfriend. Take a break and take a beer with you if you need it.”

“Fine,” you reply, feigning stubbornness. Jerrica laughs before handing you a bottle of your favorite domestic beer. You grab your sweatshirt from under the register and slip out back.

Thankfully, it’s empty out here, leaving you alone with the crackling flames of the fire pit. And though the beer is the same temperature as the air outside, it feels damn good as it washes down your throat. You sit as close as possible to the fire, propping your elbows on your knees as the warmth invades your space.

Like clockwork, the patio door swings open and out comes Joel. Your back is facing the door, but you know it’s him—the familiar scent and staccato of his footsteps give him away. Two hands lightly squeeze your shoulders, making your scalp tingle and chest tighten. He starts rubbing them softly.

“These are tight,” he murmurs as his hands work up your traps and neck, shrinking the knots embedded in the muscles there. His deep voice is raspier than usual, like he’s been yelling.

“Been stressed,” you respond, closing your eyes as he rubs the stress out of you. You want to be pissed, but don’t have the energy to put up a front anymore.

“I can help ya with that,” he murmurs. You puff out a quick breath, frustrated—at him, and at yourself for being frustrated with him. Joel squeezes your shoulders a little tighter, leaning down. His beard tickles the skin on your temple, and your pulse quickens.

“’M sorry,” Joel hums, lips close to your ear, “I shoulda called, or let you know what was goin’ on. Been busy myself.”

“I understand, Joel. It would’ve been nice to know. I thought maybe it was me,” you answer quietly. He sighs in response, letting go of your shoulders and plopping down in the chair next to you.

He places a hand above your knee and squeezes lightly. “You did nothin’ wrong. The opposite, actually. I ain’t been able to get you outta my mind since I left that night,” he admits, chuckling softly. Finally, you bring yourself to look at him.

He looks exhausted up close, the sharp edges of him a little worn, but still ruggedly handsome. His eyes are less amber and more muted brown, like they haven’t seen the light in a few days.

“You look tired,” you say, reaching up to fix some of his messy curls. He closes his eyes as you touch him, like it provides him with instant relief.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he murmurs, pulling your hand from his head toward his mouth, planting a soft kiss on the top. The gesture floods you with guilt. He smiles at you, a silent It’s okay.

“Wanna make it up t’you,” he adds, kissing your hand again before returning it to your lap.

“I’ll allow it,” you tease him.

“Let me drive you home. Tommy has my truck, and it’s slick out there,” he asks, squeezing above your knee lightly. The now serious tone of his voice indicates that this is not a request, but a soft command. You cover his hand with yours and squeeze in response.

“That would be great,” you respond. “Though I’m going to need a long shower—I didn’t have a chance to take one in between jobs.”

He raises an eyebrow as he removes his hand from your leg, jaw clenching as he imagines what your body looks like naked and soaked. He can only imagine it’s perfect, given how good you look in clothes.

“Gonna make the rest of the night difficult,” he laments playfully. “Guess I deserve it, huh?”

You shrug, doing your best to stifle a smirk. It feels like time to head back in, and Joel senses it too.

“S’alright, I’ll be waitin’ for ya when it’s time to go,” he says, scooting closer to the fire. He turns to watch you walk back into the bar, and you catch him as you glance back right before the patio door closes, his eyes glued to your ass. Your cheeks and neck flare with heat.

The rest of the night was filled with nervous anticipation. You went from telling yourself that you’d get a repeat make out session from the first night, to entertaining the possibility of having sex with Joel. The thought of it frightened and thrilled you—it would be the first person you’d slept with since your ex-husband.

After a smooth night, closing time rolls around. After several mop buckets and restocks later, you emerge from the back office. Joel is waiting for you at the bar, the usual stack of bills propped on the counter in front of him.

“I wanna know details,” Jerrica whispers in your ear as she walks up with you. Your cheeks heat up again, and you widen your eyes at her, an unspoken Shut up.

“You’ll be the first to know,” you reply, sly smile playing on your lips. She giggles, waving bye to Joel as she makes one last round of the place before locking up. Joel is watching you approach him, equally giddy and nervous as you. He’d been thinking about what would go down tonight, too—and boy, he was ready to give you everything you wanted. The electricity between you fizzes in the air, like a firework moments away from exploding.

“Ready, darlin’?” Joel asks, standing from the stool and shoving his wallet in his back pocket. You nod, the nickname charming you.

Joel walks you to your car, and again, his hand finds home on your lower back. It’s a gentlemanly gesture, but the feeling of his hand on you makes your core throb. He opens the passenger door for you, offering a hand as you shift weight on the icy pavement and get in your car. You have a nice sedan—one of the only things you purchased on your own during the marriage, much to your ex’s chagrin.

Joel handles the slick roads like a pro, never losing traction. He remembers exactly where to go to find your townhouse. Throughout the ride, you find yourself growing sleepier with each passing streetlight. You’re so tired, you hadn’t noticed he laced his fingers with yours on the center console. It was sweet and domestic, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

You arrive, and like last time, Joel tells you to stay put while he trots around to open your door. Your eyes fight to stay awake—the stress of the day is threatening to drown you. Joel notices.

“Tired, sweetheart?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walk inside through the garage.

“Me? Never tired,” you lie, sleep already taking over your voice. Joel laughs as he helps you walk up the few steps that lead into the kitchen.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh?” Panic sets in. You don’t want him to leave, and through the blanket of fatigue covering you, you feel guilty.

“Joel,” you say, turning around and putting two hands on his chest. He looks into your eyes, trying not to laugh at how sleepy you look.

“Hm?” He responds, smirking at you.

“Please stay with me,” you ask. The smile fades from his face as he notices the expression on your face, like you’re worried about him leaving in the middle of the night. He cups your face in his warm, rough hands, marveling at how gorgeous you are, even in your half-asleep state.

“’Course. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He responds immediately, enveloping you with his strong arms, kissing the crown of your head softly. He hoists you up, searching for your bedroom in the dim lighting of your place. He finds it, nudging the door open with an elbow before gently placing you on the bed.

“Let’s get you some clothes,” he soothes, flicking one of your nightstand lamps on. The low light paints him in an amber glow, and though your eyes are half-open, you watch him amble around your room.

“Top drawer,” you mumble, pointing at your dresser. He opens it up and pulls a big t-shirt out.

“Wait, I need to shower—I ne—,” you stammer, before Joel shushes you.

“S’okay. Y’can shower in the morning. Let’s get you to sleep, sweetheart,” he coos, helping you sit up. You feel like a helpless baby, but you’re so exhausted. You’d have slept in your jeans if he wasn’t here.

He undresses you, peeling the sweaty shirt from your torso. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of your half-naked torso, dotted with tattoos and soft skin, mesmerized at how your old t-shirt bra complements the tone of your skin and the curve of your breasts. You’re beautiful, even in your rattiest clothes. He pushes the soft tee over your head, doing his best not to ogle. You unclip the bra underneath the shirt, pulling it through one of the arm holes. Joel chuckles.

“S’magic, how y’all do that,” he says, making you giggle. You lie back, ready to fall asleep. Joel pats your leg.

“Y’can’t sleep in jeans. What d’ya sleep in?”

“Panties,” you mumble, eyes closed. “Middle drawer.”

Joel clears his throat uncomfortably and opens the drawer, impressed with the variety of underwear he sees folded in it. He pulls a pair of blue cotton and lace panties and returns to the bedside, trying like hell not to imagine what you’d look like with these on. And though his desire for you is strong, he is ever the gentleman, wanting never to overstep your boundaries. He pauses next to you. You sit up, exhausted but aware of his hesitation.

“I’m gonna use the restroom, darlin’. Be right back,” he assures you, his soft, deep voice caressing your eardrums. He steps into the bathroom connected to your bedroom and shuts the door softly.

You take the cue and peel your jeans and underwear off, replacing them with the blue panties, appreciating his respect for you and your privacy. You lie back down and turn your lamp off, your tired eyes quickly welcoming the darkness that paints the room.

Half-asleep, you slip under the sheets on one side of the bed, back facing the bathroom door. Moments later, Joel emerges quietly, and the telltale clink of a belt buckle tells you he’s taken his jeans off. Though moonlight seeps through your blinds, it’s not enough to see him as he prods toward the bedroom door to shut it.

He gets into bed and reaches for you immediately, the warmth of his body cloaking you like another blanket. You reciprocate and wrap your arms around him, inhaling deeply as he nestles you against his chest. The scent of him is hypnotizing—amber, pine, cedarwood, and whiskey. A blend that is eclectic and brooding, yet warm and romantic. He strokes your hair as you melt into him, your legs tangled together under the crisp sheets.

He presses his lips to your forehead and whispers goodnight before sleep finally takes over you.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @tuquoquebrute, @syd-djarin, @danaispunk, @anoverwhelmingdin <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fandom

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fall0utmind · 2 days ago

Note

thinking about marc never having had aftercare before pr maybe just never having it after valentino was angry with him that everything was always meaner after marc misstepped on track

pecco realizing that that little 22 year old with starstruck eyes was being treated like shit back then

marc being like uhm ill just head out and pecco going no??? sit down you can barely stand??? and marc just not understanding

OUGH

Yes!!!! Omg anon, yes!!!!

So this is 100% what I'm thinking. Marc never got aftercare with valentino. Back in 2013, their hooking up was never cruel. But after the ranch visit, it took a turn, bitterness seeping in. And marc knew no better, so he just took it, and it was HOT. But their was no aftercare, as things got worse, Valentino would just leave (or make Marc leave), or ignore marc. Would degrade him, but never follow it up with praise, would bruise him, but never soothe him after. It was cruel. Vale didn't even realise what he was doing was awful, but he was gradually getting worse - bitter and jealous about marc. Until, finally, it all came to head and sepang happened, and then nothing, no more hooking up, no conversations, no acknowledgement at all from Valentino.

So, Marc, poor, doe-eyed marc just thought it was all normal, didn't realise that he needed aftercare. He was just left floaty and adrift after sex- sore and slightly humiliated, even as he dragged himself back for more. (Valentino, as per usual, was completely insane about it all - didn't think about the consequences, too busy convincing himself that Marc was evil).

Now imagine, just like you said, pecco realising what happened. Maybe one of the first times he and Marc try that dynamic - pecco accidentally makes marc all spaced out; Marc underneath him babbling incoherently, his eyes glossed over.

Afterwards, not 5 minutes after Pecco has rolled off him, marc goes to get up, his eyes still glassy, legs unstable. Pecco watches as he stumbles to his feet, blinking rapidly as if trying to get himself to focus, reoreintaring himself in reality.

Pecco reaches out a hand automatically.

To reach out. To stop him.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?" He asks.

Marc wobbles, turning his wide eyes to pecco.

"Um, I'm going. Thats what you want right?"

Pecco gapes, unsure of what to say, what part of his behaviour had given marc that impression.

He properly reaches out, then, standing up only to tug marc back into his arm, pulling them both onto the bed.

"I can't let you go like this, angelo" he hums, the nickname slipping out. It only serves to drag marc back under, blinming slowly at Pecco.

The younger man sighs, running a hand through his hair and resisting the urge to press their lips together again. He doesn't want to overstep.

"Why not?" Marc slurs, even as he does, pecco notices the way his body relaxes subconsciously, sinking into Pecco's embrace.

"Because you're still completely out of it, it would be irresponsible, I need you to come back to me properly. Come on let me clean you up" he pauses,

"Let me take care of you," he whispers, holding his breath, waiting for the negative reaction he is sure will come.

Marc frowns, it's endearing when he's like this, still deep into subspace. Pecco is slightly shocked he can talk.

"But, what? Normally, I just left. You don't have to do this"

"Do what, marc? Because to me this is important."

Marc frowns harder, "be nice to me" he whispers.

Pecco's heart shattered. Then he registers marc's earlier statement.

"Hold on? You said that you used to leave. Leave who? Did someone let you go like this, with no aftercare?" He asks, trying to tamp down his rage.

Marc tilts his head, and yet again, it's incredibly endearing. Oh fuck, pecco thinks. He doesn't want to let Marc go. Like ever.

Before he can get too far down that habit hole, marc answers.

"Vale. Also, what's aftercare? And what do you mean you cant let me go, " He says softly.

Which firstly gross. Pecco does not want to think about Valentino right now. Expect, secondly, he kind of does because WHAT THE FUCK. Vale used to do this, let Marc go after and by the sounds of it never give Marc aftercare. Well suddenly a lot of things make sense. Anger bubbles inside of him, but he pushes it down.

Marc is staring at him, guileless and sweet. And pecco just can't, not right now.

"Don't worry about it, amore. Stay for me?" He begs.

And marc, he simplt agrees, content to be held for some tkme longer.

Pecco will deal with the other things later, for now, he has Marc In his arms, satiated and content. That's enough.

----

Well I just kinda wrote that???

So i hope you like it haha!!! Lmk

#motogp #marc marquez #motogp rpf #rosquez #my fics #valentino rossi #asks #pecco bagnaia #marcnaia #2025 teammates fic

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enchantresss97 · 1 day ago

Text

Dark Gravity- Part Three

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, guns, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 4427

Dark Gravity-Part three

The second you see his name, your stomach tightens. Your fingers hover over the screen.

You could ignore it.

You should.

But instead, you swipe, unlocking the message.

Eric: Thinking about me?

A slow breath escapes your lips.

That’s it? No mention of what happened hours ago. No explanation. Just him, throwing out a line, waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Your mind flashes back.

The explosion.

The way the air had split open with fire and noise.

The gun in his hands, steady, controlled, aimed at the car like it was nothing.

You can still see him standing there, jaw tight, muscles coiled, his expression unreadable. And now, this...

A text like it’s just any other night. Like he didn’t nearly kill someone...or maybe he did? But you don't want to thing about this too much.

You stare at the screen, fingers tapping against the phone. Play along? Shut him down? Ignore him? But before you can overthink it, your thumbs move on their own.

You: Are you okay?

You don’t even think before sending it. It just slips out. Because despite everything, despite what you saw, despite knowing what he is, something in you needs to ask, wants to know that he's save.

The reply comes fast.

Eric: Oh? You worried about me, princess?

You exhale, already regretting it.

You: Forget it.

Eric: Too late. I like it.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can respond, another message pops up.

Eric: How worried, exactly?

You: Not enough to boost your ego.

Eric: Liar.

Your breath catches.

Eric: Bet you’re lying in bed right now, thinking about me. Wondering what I’m doing. Maybe even missing me a little.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse betrays you.

You: You’re delusional.

Eric: And yet, you’re still texting me.

Your stomach tightens.

He’s impossible. He always knows exactly what to say, exactly how to turn things in his favor.

You: Must be bored if you’re this desperate for attention.

Eric: Who says I’m bored? A pause.

Then—

Eric: Maybe I’m just hard.

A quick pulse of heat spreads through you. He’s not even trying to be subtle now.

You: Not my problem.

Eric: Could be.

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

You: Keep dreaming.

Eric: I do. You. On my lap. Tight little dress. No panties. Dripping for me.

Your breath catches. A rush of something dark, dangerous, and impossible to ignore floods through you.

You should end this. Right now. Before it goes any further. Before you let him get to you.

Your phone vibrates again. But this time, it’s not a message. It’s a photo.

You hesitate for half a second before tapping on it.

Eric, lying back on a couch.

One arm resting careless on the couch, the other disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. His zipper undone. Button open. His hand inside.

You can’t help but notice how hard he is.

The way his jeans cling to his hips, the bulge pressing against the fabric.

He’s confident, shameless and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Another message follows.

Eric: Can you help me with this?

Your fingers tighten around the phone. Heat crawls up your neck.

He’s shameless.

You: You seem to be managing just fine.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Eric: I’d rather you use your hands. Your pulse stutters.

Another message pops up before you can process the first.

Eric: Or your mouth.

Your breath catches.

You stare at the screen, refusing to react, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

You: You should get some sleep.

Eric: Not tired.

You: Goodnight, Eric.

A few seconds later, another message pops up.

Eric: Just picture it—me here on the couch with you between my legs, my hands tangled in your hair, forcing you to look up at me as you kneel. Your lips lips, soft and eager, begging for my cock. I want to see you take me in... slow, deep, working me with your mouth, showing me how much you want it, how badly you need it. I want to feel you choke on my cock, your throat tightening as you take all of me, inch by inch. I’ll be watching you, desperate for you to show me just how far you’ll go for me...how much you want it.

The message sits there, taunting, heavy with the weight of what he’s saying. The words linger, burning into your screen, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at them.

Then another message pops up

Eric: Sweet dreams, princess. Think of me.

Your screen goes dark. You drop the phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

Like hell you will.

Your phone stays dark.

No more messages. No typing bubble. Nothing.

Eric doesn’t say anything else. And you don’t reply. But the words are still there. Lingering.

You stare at the ceiling, your heartbeat steady but not quite calm.

The silence in your room feels louder now, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You should just forget it. Push it away. But your mind won’t let you.

The image flashes behind your eyes, the way he looked in that picture, sprawled out, completely at ease, his hand inside his pants, hard.

The way he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what effect it would have on you. And his words…

You swallow, shifting slightly, as if that will somehow shake the feeling off your skin.

It’s not just what he said. It’s how easy it was for him. How effortlessly he got into your head, made you picture you on your knees...his cock...made you feel it. Like he knew you would. Like he expected it.

Your fingers tighten around the blanket. You won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t.

But then why does your body feel like it’s betraying you? Why does your skin feel hot, your stomach tight, the ghost of his voice still echoing—I want to see you take me in… slow, deep…

You exhale sharply, closing your eyes.

It doesn’t matter. It was just words. Just a game. And you’re not playing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when sleep finally pulls you under.

______________________

The next few weeks slip by in a strange, tangled rhythm.

It starts with texts.

At first, it’s sporadic—messages from Eric at odd hours, slipping into your day, your night. Some filthy, some teasing, some completely normal, like the things he said that night never happened.

But he did.

And you remember them.

Then, the messages become frequent. He never holds back. He’s still cocky, still shameless, still pushing the line between teasing and temptation. Still saying things that make you hesitate, that make your fingers tighten around your phone before you decide whether to play along or ignore him.

But somewhere between the filth and the arrogance, there’s something else.

Longer conversations.

Moments that don’t feel like a game. Stories he tells you, pieces of himself that don’t belong to the version of him the world knows.

Like how he got his first tattoo at twelve. A shitty job done in someone’s living room, with cheap ink and a needle that hummed too loud. He never fixed it, even when he could.

Or how he used to steal his neighbor’s car before he even knew how to drive, speeding through the empty streets at night just to feel something, to prove to himself that he was untouchable.

Or how he hasn’t seen his mother in years. And doesn’t plan to.

And you tell him things, too. Not because you mean to, not because you trust him, but because somehow, between his usual cocky remarks and the way he turns every other message into something filthy, he makes you forget what he is.

For a little while.

But you never forget completely.

Because the news reminds you. You see it in headlines, in flashing images—two people trapped in a burning car. The explosion, the smoke, the bodies. The way they died, burning alive.

And you know. You just know.

Eric’s hand was in this.

And yet, hours later, your phone vibrates, and it’s him, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just ended two lives and God knows how many more. Like he’s still the same Eric who texts you about the coffee he just spilled, or the fight his friend got into at some club last night, or the new tattoo he’s thinking of getting.

It’s like living in two different realities.

And that’s why you keep saying no. Not directly, never directly. But you find excuses.

Every time he asks to meet up. Whether it’s a casual “Come get coffee with me” or something more dangerous, “Come over, I want to see you”, you always have a reason.

You’re busy.

You have plans already.

You’re too tired.

Maybe next time.

And you know he sees through it. You can feel that he knows you’re dodging him. But he never calls you out on it. He just keeps trying. Keeps acting like it’s only a matter of time.

And maybe it is.

Because no matter how much you tell yourself that staying away is the right thing, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that you don’t want to.

That despite everything, you still reach for your phone the second you see his name.

That you still reread his messages too many times before replying.

That you still feel that pull. That dangerous, reckless pull toward him. And that scares you more than anything else.

__________________

It’s late afternoon when Lily shows up at your place, knocking twice before pushing the door open like she always does.

She’s wearing a thick jacket over her hoodie, her hands tucked into the pockets, sign that the autumn is here. Her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“Hey,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “What are you up to this weekend?”

You glance at her, shrugging. “Nothing, really.”

“Perfect.” She grins, walking straight to your couch and flopping down like she owns the place.

“So, listen. A bunch of people are going up to a cabin this weekend. Just hanging out, drinking, chilling for a couple of days. You should come with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A cabin”

“Yeah, a friend’s place. It’s nice, big, cozy, middle of the forest, all that. It’ll be fun. We haven’t done something like this in forever.” She stretches her legs out, looking at you expectantly, and you can already tell she’s not going to let this go.

You lean against the table, crossing your arms. It’s true, you haven’t hung out properly in a while. “Yeah. Why not?”

Lily’s face lights up. “Yes! Okay, good. We leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up.” Just like that, it’s decided.

The next afternoon, you’re ready when Lily arrives. You chose something that sits perfectly between elegant and effortless—a fitted two-piece set, a sleek top that hugs your waist, paired with a long skirt that flows with every step. Knee-high boots complete the look, adding a subtle edge.

You even did your makeup, nothing over the top, just enough to enhance everything the right way.

Lily whistles the second she sees you. “Damn.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. She smirks, pushing the door open wider for you. “You look hot.”

You shake your head, following her out. As you slide into the passenger seat of her car, you catch yourself checking your reflection in the side mirror.

It’s not that you dressed up for anyone in particular. But still. A thought flickers through your mind before you push it away.

Lily turns up the music, grinning. “Let’s go.” And just like that, you’re on your way.

The air is cool and crisp as the car winds its way through the narrow roads that cut through the forest.

The trees are a mix of fiery reds, golden yellows, and deep oranges, their leaves falling gently, carpeting the ground in a rich tapestry of color.

The scent of damp earth and pine fills the car as Lily drives, her laughter light as she chats with you about everything and nothing at all.

The ride feels like a break from the tension you’ve been carrying, the one that always seems to sneak up when you think about Eric, or when you find yourself staring at your phone, reading his messages over and over.

When the car rounds the final bend, the cabin comes into view.

It’s tucked away deep in the forest, surrounded by tall, weathered trees that stand like silent sentinels. A lake nearby.

Lily parks the car, and you both make your way inside, your boots crunching on the fallen leaves as you walk up to the door.

The cabin’s large and sprawling, built from dark wood that gives it a sense of permanence.

The living room opens up as soon as you step inside, a vast space with an open kitchen, where the faint smell of sizzling food lingers in the air.

A few couches are scattered around, one facing a big flat-screen TV. Everything feels cozy, intimate, even though there are plenty of people around.

A group of friends, both guys and girls, chatting, laughing, and drinking. Music pulses through the space, upbeat but not too loud, just enough to fill the air with that buzz of excitement.

Downstairs, there are three rooms, and two bathrooms, but it’s upstairs that catches your eye. The wooden staircase, worn with time, leads up to a few more rooms, each with their own bathrooms, perfect for the large group that’s gathered here.

You can tell it’s been a well-loved retreat for friends to get together over the years, but there’s a feeling of anonymity here too. It feels like no one will notice if you disappear for a bit, slip away and lose yourself in the space between conversations. And you wonder which of Lily's friend owns it.

There’s a sort of quiet confidence that comes with being here, with the smell of wood and burning fire filling the space, and the warm glow of the lights inside the cabin.

You exchange greetings with a few familiar faces, your attention as you take in the scene.

There’s food, plates of chips, pizza, and a few bowls of mixed snacks that people are picking at between drinks.

The table is piled with alcohol, some whiskey, rum, and beer bottles dotting the space like a familiar comfort. There’s a quiet hum of a few joints being passed around too, but it doesn’t seem too out of place in the friendly chaos.

And then, just as your gaze sweeps across the group, you spot him.

Eric.

He’s leaning against one of the walls near the back, looking completely at ease.

His presence is undeniable, even among the lively group.

He’s talking to a few people but his eyes flicker in your direction for a split second, and you swear you catch him smirking.

His tattoos are visible now, a few of them peeking out from under the sleeves of his shirt as he casually lounges, drink in hand.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived here, but seeing him like this, amidst the chatter and laughter, as if he belongs here, like he’s one of the group makes your heart beat just a little faster.

For a moment, you hesitate.

The desire to approach him, to talk to him, is undeniable. But there’s also the part of you that wants to keep your distance, that knows what happens when the two of you are alone. It’s this pull, this tug-of-war between wanting him and knowing that you shouldn’t.

It’s easy to forget all the things that make Eric dangerous, all the things you’ve heard, when he’s just…here. With people around him.

And maybe that’s why, despite the knot of nervousness in your stomach, you can’t help but feel a small glimmer of excitement.

____________________________

You find your seat on the couch next to Lily, the air filled with chatter and laughter.

People are lounging, drinking, and nibbling on snacks, the atmosphere warm and easygoing. The conversation around you is easy, familiar.

You sip your drink, snack on whatever’s within reach, blending into the group as the night stretches on.

Laughter spills across the room, voices overlapping, the low thrum of music weaving through the air. But even as you talk, as you joke, as you listen to Lily ramble about something ridiculous, you feel it.

That pull.

Like a thread being tugged, reeling you in no matter how much you try to resist.

Every so often, your gaze drifts, across the table, across the room.

And every time, he’s already looking. It’s subtle. The way his eyes linger. The way his fingers tap lazily against his glass. The way he tilts his head slightly when you catch him staring, like he’s waiting for you to look away first.

You don’t.

At least, not right away. The alcohol makes it easier to hold his gaze.

At some point, the group shifts. A few people drift outside, curious about the lake. Someone makes a joke about taking a midnight swim, and soon enough, the energy follows, the crowd filtering through the open door.

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as you step outside with the others.

Laughter drifts through the cold, the energy still high, fueled by alcohol and reckless excitement. Someone’s already kicking off their shoes, daring the others to jump in.

You stay near the edge, arms folded against the chill, watching as the dark water ripples under the moonlight.

The cold bites at your skin, but you welcome it. It keeps your mind clear, keeps your thoughts from spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

And then, he’s there. You don’t need to look to know.

The warmth of his presence is unmistakable, even before he steps beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours.

Eric doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the water with that same ease he always carries.

But you catch it, the small flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips, like he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the silence, the cold, the way your eyes keep flicking to him before you can stop yourself.

He tilts his head toward you. “You gonna jump in?”

You scoff, rubbing your arms. “In this? I’ll freeze.”

He hums, a soft chuckle under his breath. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called common sense.”

That small smirk deepens, and then, without warning, he reaches for you.

It’s not a sharp grab. Not something reckless or teasing. It’s soft. Easy. His fingers curling around your wrist, just enough to pull you forward a step.

And you let him.

The warmth of his touch spreads up your arm, sinking into your skin too fast, too deep. It’s so casual, like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like it’s nothing.

But when your eyes meet, when you feel the heat lingering between you, you know, it’s not nothing.

A shiver runs through you, and it has nothing to do with the cold. You glance at him, and for the first time tonight, his smile isn’t sharp, isn’t teasing. It’s soft. Genuine. And that’s when it hits you. Eric, the Eric you’ve been wary of, the one with the reputation, the sharp tongue, the dark smirks. He looks different right now.

There’s no danger in his expression. No arrogance, no taunting. Just this.

This quiet warmth, this easy amusement, this unspoken understanding that makes something tighten in your chest.

And that’s what scares you. Not the cold. Not the water.

Him.

Because if he can be like this, if he can look at you like this, then maybe—just maybe—falling for him wouldn’t feel so impossible.

And that?

That’s dangerous.

Eric doesn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist, slow, absentminded, before he finally releases you.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, you swear he notices. “You’d survive,” he murmurs, still watching you.

You swallow. “What?”

“The water,” he says, tilting his head toward it. “You’d survive.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Not worth the risk.”

Eric leans in, just slightly, just enough that you catch the faintest scent of smoke and something undeniably him. “Scared?”

Your pulse kicks up, and it’s unfair, so unfair, how easy it is for him to make your stomach flip.

“I just don’t like being cold,” you mutter, looking away.

“I’d warm you up,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like it’s a promise. Your stomach twists. Your fingers curl at your sides. And just when you’re about to say something

You’re falling.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as ice-cold water crashes around you.

Your body hits the lake, the freezing shock stealing the air from your lungs, your hands flailing for balance as the darkness of the water swallows you whole.

It takes you a second to surface, hair dripping, breath ragged, absolute disbelief shooting through you as you wipe the water from your face.

That bastard.

He’s standing at the edge of the dock, watching you with a devilish smirk, hands still in his pockets, completely unbothered.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you manage between chattering teeth, your voice a mix of fury and laughter.

Eric tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I told you, you’d survive.”

“Eric—”

And then he jumps.

The splash is loud, water surging as he dives in, and suddenly, he’s right there, right in front of you, emerging from the lake with a shake of his head, droplets catching in the dim light.

You barely have time to react before his hands find your waist and pull you toward him.

A small gasp leaves your lips as your chest brushes against his, his wet skin burning hot despite the freezing water.

His fingers tighten, holding you steady, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to make you feel him.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, dangerously close.

You can feel his breath against your lips. Can see the droplets sliding down his jaw, his throat, disappearing into the soaked fabric of his shirt.

Your hands instinctively find his shoulders, your pulse out of control. “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, but there’s no venom behind it, just breathlessness.

His smirk softens into something else. Something slower. Something warmer.

And then he pulls you in closer.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms clutching his shoulders, your soaked clothes clinging to both of you as he steadies you against him.

His hands, strong, warm even in the freezing water are gripping your thighs, keeping you securely against him.

Your pulse pounds. His breath brushes against your cheek, his wet skin hot against yours despite the chill, every inch of you aware of the way your bodies fit together.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, slower, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

You should pull back.

You should say something sharp, something to deflect the way your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you.

But you don’t.

You just stare at him, your lips parting, your heart hammering against your ribs.

There’s no distance left between you. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, teasing, his thumbs brushing against the wet fabric clinging to your skin.

His gaze flickers to your lips, lingers there, dark, intent.

For a second, nothing else exists.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the way the world feels like it’s tilting when he leans in, so close, so close you can feel the heat of his mouth against yours, the tip of his nose brushing yours

“Yo! You guys making out in there or what?” The voice shatters the moment like glass.

You freeze.

Eric’s grip on you tightens, like he’s resisting the urge to turn around and murder whoever just spoke.

Laughter erupts from the dock. Someone whistles. Someone else yells something about how they’re definitely flirting. Heat floods your cheeks.

Eric doesn’t let go of you immediately. He just lets out a sharp exhale, his forehead dropping against yours for the briefest second, like he’s trying to compose himself, like he’s trying to fight the same war you are.

And then—his smirk returns. “Guess that’s our cue,” he mutters.

With an infuriating amount of ease, he lifts you, adjusting his grip before wading back toward the dock.

His hands don’t move from your thighs, his grip still firm, still possessive.

He only sets you down once the water is at his waist, making sure you’re steady before he finally releases you.

You miss the weight of his hands immediately.

The moment you step onto the dock, someone throws a towel at you, laughing as you wrap it around yourself, still shaken from what almost happened.

Eric, of course, looks completely unbothered, running a hand through his wet hair before reaching for his own towel.

But just as you’re about to wrap yourself tighter in yours, he does something that makes your breath catch.

He pulls off his shirt.

The ink is covering his chest, his arms, his stomach. Every time you see him like this, it does something to you.

It’s not just the way they look on him, not just the dark, intricate designs that make him seem even more untouchable, it’s the way they feel like a part of him. Like a story written across his skin that you desperately want to understand.

And then he walks past you.

You catch it this time, on his shoulder, the inked letters of a name.

A woman’s name.

You don’t see it clearly, but you see enough. Enough to realize it’s not just another meaningless piece of ink. Enough to know it belongs to someone.

Someone important.

Who?

The question settles in your mind before you can stop it.

Who is she? What does she mean to him? Why does he have her name carved into his skin forever?

The thought lingers, even as you try to shake it off. Even as you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

But as Eric slings his towel over his shoulder, his tattoos on full display, as he throws you one last knowing glance before heading back inside.

You realize it’s already in your head. And it’s not leaving anytime soon.

________________

Here is Part one / Part Two

@paraficwriterThis part three it's up.

This part is not edited yet, I will come back later to check for mistakes. There are still two parts left, although I'm really trying to put everything into one, but the parts end up being too long. I hope you like it. I will probably publish the other part today or tomorrow as well (I already wrote quite a lot because I thought I would integrate it here, but then I saw the word count and didn't want to make this part too long). Enjoy this, something very steamy is up next.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard smut #eric draven x you #eric draven x reader #eric draven imagines #eric draven smut #eric draven #the crow 2024

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maskedcrawford · 22 hours ago

Text

Code Red

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: That time of the month comes and GD helps you through it.

Warnings: Mentions of blood. Nothing too bad but its there. GD being an absolute sweetheart<3

A/N: Thank you darlin' for the request! This was super cute and I hope it's what you wanted, if not feel free to let me know!

Masterlist

Requests: OPEN

“This should be the last box,” you say as you and Jiyong are now standing in the living room of his penthouse looking at the boxes of your things. Moving in with him was really exciting and when you had said yes to the idea, he couldn’t of been more enthused.

“Great, how about I make us some dinner and we’ll unpack some after we eat?” He puts arm around your waist pulling you close.

“Sounds perfect.” You give him a chaste kiss before he walks off to the kitchen. You get a large comfy blanket out and snuggle up on the couch with it. You doze off for a short while and before you know Jiyong is gently shaking you, telling you to wake up.

“Hmm?” you focus your eyes on your boyfriend.

“Dinner’s ready, jagi,” he smiles. You nod your head, still a little fuzzy from sleep. He prepared your favorite dishes and brings out a bottle of champagne.

“To new roommates,” he winks as he fills up the glasses. You giggle and clink the glasses together.

“I love you,” he blurts and you feel a slight blush rush your cheeks.

“I love you, more,” you say before you both start to devour the meal on your plates. Turns out moving in can work up quite the appetite. After dinner you two begin to unpack your boxes. Jiyong takes some of your things to the new shared bedroom and as you grab a box off the floor you notice something red on the couch where you were sitting and your face goes pale.

“Oh no, no no no,” you drop the box as you whisper to yourself. You dash to the bathroom and just as you suspected, your monthly visitor had arrived. You sigh dramatically and search around the bathroom for pads or tampons. He didn’t have a single one. Your stomach twisted in knots. The back of your sweatpants is now stained with the same blood that was on the couch. You groan.

“Y/n?” you freeze and look at the door.

“Ye-yeah?” you call out trying to sound casual.

“Everything ok? You’ve been in there for a minute,” his voice is dripping with concern.

“I’m, uh, I’m,” you sigh.

“I need a tampon.” You say slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, ok. I can run out and get some,”

“No I have some in my bag. And Ji?” you call out.

“Yeah?”

“Can you grab me another pair of sweatpants?” your voice is sheepish and he tilts his head at the door.

“Sure, give me a second,” he makes his way to the kitchen to grab your bag and get your product. As he checks the boxes to find your pants he notices the red stain on the couch. He quietly grabs some cleaner and scrubs the area cleaning effectively taking out the blood. He gets your pants and brings you what you need.

“Can I come in,” he asks as he knocks on the door.

“Yeah,” you were standing there waiting for him. You take a few minutes to get yourself cleaned up and when you come out he’s gone. You check your phone for a text.

Be back soon babe.

You furrow your brows but quickly shrug as you grab a few things from your toiletries box and put them in the bathroom. As you walk out you remember the spot on the couch and grab some cleaning supplies only to find it was gone. You face flushes a little and you can’t help but smile to yourself. You really do have the best boyfriend. Just then you hear the door open and shut behind him. You take the cleaning products to the kitchen and see Jiyong with a couple of bags.

“What’s all that?” He gives you a grin and pulls out your favorite candy, a new stuffed animal, some medication, and a heating pad.

“I thought these might help.” He says shyly and you smile down at the floor for a moment.

“Come on, let’s go lay in bed,” he grabs the stuff he bought and takes you to your new room.

“Wait, hold on,” he says dramatically earning a confused look from you.

“We must do this right,” he gives you a cheeky grin as he sets the bag on the table in his room, you stand right outside the door way.

“What do you mean?” He comes by your side and puts his arms under your back and the backs of your legs, picking you up bridal style.

“Ji,” you giggle. He carries you over the threshold and sets you on the bed gently, giving you soft sweet kiss.

“I’m pretty sure that’s only for when you’re married.” You smirk.

“Then we’ll call that practice,” he winks and you blush as you get underneath the covers. He grabs the heating pad and candy and lays beside you.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” you mumble as he turns on your favorite movie, Rapunzel. He scoots his body next yours, snuggling up into. You stroke his hair.

“Anything for my lady,” he says as he places a delicate kiss on your stomach before laying the heating pad over you stomach.

If you enjoyed and would like to support me, buy me a coffee

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1343401 · 19 hours ago

Text

captive desires - chapter two

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 10.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse

prev | next | m.list

when myah returned home that night something felt off.

jisun was waiting for her in the living room, curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bouncing slightly. her rabbit ears twitching the second myah stepped through the door, nose scrunching up as if she caught a scent she doesn’t like. her golden eyes sharpened, flickering over myah from head to toe.

not just looking. assessing.

"where were you?" jisun’s voice is soft, but there’s a tension to it, like a wire stretched too tight.

"the house," myah answers, kicking off her shoes. her limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the thick layer of unease clinging to her skin. she can still feel the press of cold metal beneath her fingertips, the scent of damp stone lingering in her nose.

jisun watches her closely. doesn’t blink. doesn’t look away. myah knows that look.

then, slowly, jisun sits up, stretching her arms overhead, her movements languid, too casual. calculated. her ears flick again.

"and?"

myah hesitates. "and…what?"

jisun tilts her head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "and why do you smell like that?"

a chill runs down myah’s spine, cold and sharp. her fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

she won’t flinch.

"what are you talking about?" she asks, forcing her voice to stay even, bored, like jisun is just being dramatic again.

jisun doesn’t respond right away. instead, she rises to her feet, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. too close.

myah can see it now, the way her pupils have dilated just slightly, the way her nostrils flare, like she’s inhaling, pulling in something unfamiliar.

"other hybrids," jisun murmurs. "it’s faint, but…it’s there. under all that dust and whatever else is clinging to you."

myah’s mouth goes dry. there’s no way, she thought.

from the kitchen, chae-eun’s voice drifts in, calm but curious. "should we be concerned?"

jisun doesn’t look away. doesn’t even blink.

myah forces a breath past her lips, tries to shake the tension out of her shoulders. act normal. don’t let them see it.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about," she lies. "it was just me."

another pause. jisun’s eyes narrow, her ears flicking again, sharp and quick.

"okay," she says, but the word is light, dismissive. a trap.

myah can see it in the way she lingers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach out, grab her wrist, pull the truth out of her. but she doesn’t push. not yet. instead, she just smiles. too sweet. too knowing.

"you should sleep in my room again tonight," she says, voice smooth. "just in case."

myah exhales slowly. "i’m fine, jisun."

"humor me."

her voice is light, but there’s something unshakable in her tone, something dangerous lurking beneath the concern. something that says i know you’re lying.

she knows.

maybe not everything. maybe not what, exactly, myah had found in that basement, but she knows something happened.

and myah can’t risk pushing her further.

"fine," she murmurs.

jisun hums, pleased, and reaches out, running her fingers through myah’s hair, absently smoothing it down. like she’s claiming her. like she’s reminding her where she belongs.

"good," she whispers. "i’ll take care of you."

as the night drags on, the air is thick and heavy. myah shifts beneath the covers, sleep evading her.

jisun is curled against her side, her breathing slow, steady. but even in sleep, she doesn’t let go. one of her hands rests lightly on myah’s wrist, fingers curled just enough to keep her there.

it’s not just comfort. it’s possession. a quiet warning.

stay where i can see you.

myah stares at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing. she feels like she’s still in the basement, like the weight of the house is pressing down on her, wrapping around her throat like invisible hands.

the scratching.

the breathing.

it had been on the other side of that door. waiting.

she had run. bolted up the stairs like a coward, slamming the panel shut behind her.

but she hadn’t imagined it.

she knows what she heard.

a shiver runs through her.

the sun hadn’t even risen by the time she finally untangles herself from jisun’s grip. she moves carefully, slowly, prying herself free without waking her.

jisun stirs slightly, fingers twitching against the sheets, but doesn’t wake.

quietly, myah slipped out of the room.

rounding the corner, myah sees chae-eun in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable. the early morning light filters through the window, casting soft shadows across the counter.

myah freezes for half a second.

then, chae-eun glances up, meeting her gaze.

she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t scold her for being up so early or for looking like she hasn’t slept at all.

instead, she turns, pulls another mug from the cabinet, and fills it.

then she slides it across the counter.

“sit.”

it’s not a request.

myah hesitates, but she’s too exhausted to argue. she pulls out a chair and sinks into it, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

silence settles between them.

chae-eun watches her. patient. waiting.

“what happened?”

myah’s fingers tighten around the mug. “what do you mean?”

chae-eun exhales, tilting her head slightly. “you came back wrong.”

the words shouldn’t make myah’s stomach drop, but they do.

“jisun smelled it,” chae-eun continues, voice even, unreadable. “i saw it. you walked in here like you weren’t sure if you were even supposed to be back.”

myah swallows, forcing herself to meet her gaze.

she isn’t like jisun. she doesn’t sniff people out, doesn’t pin them in place with a knowing look, doesn’t dig her claws into the truth until it spills out, raw and exposed.

but she doesn’t have to.

because chae-eun knows.

she’s already put the pieces together, already seen the way myah walked through the door last night like she was stepping out of a nightmare, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking, the way she hesitated when asked what happened.

and she’s waiting for myah to say it.

for some reason, that makes it harder.

her throat feels tight.

her mind flashes back to the house. to the dim light flickering overhead, to the cold air creeping up from beneath the floorboards and the dust thick in the air.

to the door in the basement.

she hadn’t seen anything.

but she had heard it.

the scratching. the breathing. the slow, deliberate drag of nails against metal. like whatever was behind that door wasn’t just waiting.

and then, that moment,

that awful moment,

when the sound had stopped.

when the silence had stretched long and thin, curling around her like a warning.

when the air had felt too still, as if something was pressing against the other side of the door, ear to the metal, mirroring her.

like it was listening back.

myah shudders.

her fingers tighten around her mug, her pulse thudding against her ribs.

chae-eun doesn’t look away. doesn’t blink.

the weight of her gaze makes it impossible to lie.

so myah exhales, steadying herself, and whispers, “there’s something in the basement.”

chae-eun stills.

myah forces herself to keep going. “i don’t know what, but,” she shakes her head. “it’s locked. bolted shut. but there was something on the other side.”

the words feel ridiculous now that they’re out in the open. like she’s a child confessing to a nightmare.

but chae-eun doesn’t laugh.

doesn’t blink.

instead, she sets her mug down carefully, fingers pressing against the counter’s edge.

“what did you hear?”

myah’s stomach twists, nausea curling low in her gut.

the apartment feels too warm all of a sudden, the scent of coffee and chae-un’s floral perfume turning thick and suffocating in the air.

her grip on the mug tightens, the ceramic pressing into her palms, grounding her.

but it doesn’t stop the memory from creeping in.

“scratching,” she says, the word dragging out of her throat like something unwilling.

chae-eun doesn’t move.

doesn’t even blink.

her expression remains eerily neutral, but there’s something simmering beneath it, something watching.calculating.

waiting for myah to keep going.

she swallows, throat dry.

“and breathing.”

the words are barely a whisper, but they feel deafening in the quiet of their kitchen.

chae-eun exhales, slow and measured, before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

her eyes don’t leavemyah’s face.

and then she asks,

“how did it breathe?”

a chill rips down myah’s spine.

the question shouldn’t make her stomach drop, shouldn’t make her pulse pound against her ribs.

but it does.

because chae-eun isn’t asking to humor her.

she’s asking because she sees her.

and that means this isn’t just paranoia.

this is real.

she blinks, forcing herself to focus. “what?”

chae-eun tilts her head slightly, like she’s studying her.

“was it shallow?” she asks, her voice too calm, too controlled. “uneven?” she pauses. “or was it slow?”

the world tilts for a second.

slow.

the lump in myah’s throat feels impossibly thick.

her mind yanks her back to the basement.

to the thick, suffocating air pressing against her skin.

to the steel door, bolted shut, looming in front of her like something alive.

and to the moment it breathed.

not shallow.

not erratic.

not panicked.

not desperate for escape.

controlled.

deep.

a slow inhale, dragging through the silence, like something was taking its time.

like it was thinking.

like it knew she was there.

like it was waiting for her to lean just a little closer.

her pulse roars in her ears as she forces her hands to stay steady around the mug, forces her voice to stay even.

but when she finally speaks, the words barely scrape past her throat.

“...it was slow.”

chae-eun inhales through her nose, leaning back slightly.

she doesn’t look surprised.

she looks like she just had something confirmed.

and for some reason,

that terrifies myah more than anything.

like whatever was behind that door had been listening to her just as closely as she had been listening to it.

she doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t have to.

chae-eun sits back, exhaling through her nose.

“and?”

myah blinks. “and?”

“what are you going to do about it?”

the question lands like a slap.

she doesn’t have an answer. not one she can put into words, not one that makes sense. her pulse is still erratic, the memory of that deep, measured breathing pressed into the back of her skull like a stain she can’t wash out.

her fingers twitch around her mug.

“i don’t know,” she admits finally. it’s quiet, but it feels deafening in the small space of their kitchen.

chae-eun watches her for a long moment. then, just as calmly, she says, “do you want me to come with you?”

myah’s breath catches.

she blinks, unsure if she heard her right. “what?”

chae-eun shrugs, taking another slow sip of her coffee, as if she’s offering to run an errand with her, not go back to a house with something locked in its basement.

“you’re planning on going back, aren’t you?”

myah doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t need to.

chae-eun hums, setting her cup down again. “you shouldn’t go alone.”

“i—” myah shakes her head, still trying to catch up. “i wasn’t—i mean, i don’t—”

“you are going back,” chae-eun says, cutting through her hesitation with the same sharp, even tone she always uses when she’s already figured something out. “it’s just a matter of when.”

myah exhales through her nose, pressing her palms against the table. she wants to argue. wants to say she’s not planning anything.

but that would be a lie.

because of course she’s going back.

she doesn’t have a choice.

chae-eun tilts her head, considering her. “so?”

myah hesitates.

then, ever so quietly se replies “you don’t have to.”

“i know.” chae-eun leans back, tapping her fingers against her mug. “but i don’t like the idea of you going by yourself.”

she doesn’t say i believe you. she doesn’t say you’re not crazy.

but she also doesn’t say you imagined it. doesn’t tell her to leave it alone.

and somehow, that makes myah’s chest ache.

she swallows. “okay.”

chae-eun nods once, satisfied.

“we’ll go tomorrow,” she says simply. then she stands, stretching, rolling her shoulders back like she’s already moving on to the next thing. “you should try to get some actual sleep.”

myah huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “doubt that’ll happen.”

“figured.” chae-eun gives her a look. “just don’t let jisun catch on.”

right.

jisun.

myah’s stomach twists.

“i won’t,” she says, but she’s not sure.

because jisun’s already suspicious.

and if she realizes myah’s planning to go back

she won’t let her leave.

not without a fight.

the house is still.

above them, the weight of silence stretches, thick and heavy. but down here, beneath the earth, buried beneath years of rusted metal and stone, none of them are sleeping.

jungkook finally stops pacing, his body taut with frustration, muscles wound too tight. his jaguar tail flicks, a sharp, irritated motion, the faint rosette markings on his arms standing out under the dim light.

“i hate waiting,” he growls, voice low.

yoongi exhales, stretching out against the bars like he has all the time in the world, his panther tail curling lazily around his wrist. “we’ve waited this long. a little longer won’t kill you.”

“speak for yourself,” hoseok mutters, shifting his weight where he sits, his spotted tail tapping impatiently against the cold stone. his golden eyes flick toward the ceiling. “feels different now.”

“it is different,” seokjin murmurs, his silver-white hair catching in the dim light as he leans against the bars, his fluffy tail curling around his leg. his tone is unreadable, but his piercing, icy blue eyes are sharp, focused.

“she was here,” jungkook snaps, tail flicking again, more agitated this time.

“briefly,” namjoon corrects, his golden mane slightly disheveled from where he’s been leaning against the wall. he looks calm, but his amber eyes hold an intensity beneath them, calculating, considering. “and then she ran.”

silence lingers for a moment.

“if she returns,” taehyung says, his deep voice laced with lazy amusement, though his sharp tiger eyes glint with something darker, “we’ll see what kind of person she really is.”

jungkook’s ears twitch back. “she will.”

“will she?” taehyung tilts his head, black curls falling over his eyes. “we both smelled the fear on her.”

his gaze sweeps the room, landing on namjoon. “it’s clear she knows something dangerous is down here.”

“good.” yoongi’s voice is smooth, almost lazy. “means she’s smart.”

jimin, who’s been sitting with his long, clouded leopard tail draped over his lap, finally shifts. his hazel eyes gleam in the dim light, something unreadable in them.

“then we just have to convince her that nothing dangerous is down here.”

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “easier said than done.”

“not really.” jimin hums, tracing idle patterns on the stone floor with one fingertip. “fear makes people irrational. she ran before she saw anything, which means she’s only scared of what she thinks is here.”

“so we let her fill in the blanks,” seokjin muses, a slow smirk curling his lips.

hoseok snickers, resting his chin on his palm. “oh, this is going to be fun.”

but namjoon remains quiet, watching, considering.

he knows something the others don’t want to acknowledge.

he finally speaks, his voice steady, measured.

“even if she does come down here,” he murmurs, “even if she opens the door,”

his golden eyes flick to the cages.

“do you really think she’ll open these?”

the room falls silent.

jungkook’s tail flicks once, twice, sharp and agitated.

“so what?” he mutters, crossing his arms. “we just sit here and hope she’s stupid enough to come back?”

seokjin hums, a slow, amused sound. “you sound eager.”

jungkook’s golden eyes snap toward him, sharp and irritated. “we’ve been rotting in here for years. you’re not eager?”

seokjin shrugs, his silvery-white hair shifting as he leans against the bars. “eager? maybe. impatient? never.”

“you should be,” jungkook growls. “because namjoon’s right, she could walk through that door and still leave us locked in these fucking cages.”

his tail flicks again, a sharp, annoyed motion.

“we have no control over what she does.”

“so we make her do what we want,” taehyung murmurs, his deep voice laced with something dark.

jimin tilts his head, his long, spotted tail curling loosely around his fingers. “we can’t exactly hold a knife to her throat, taehyung.”

taehyung exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “who said anything about knives?”

yoongi shifts, rolling his neck, his golden eyes catching the dim light. “you want to scare her into it?”

taehyung shrugs. “if she’s too afraid to open the cages, we make her afraid not to.”

hoseok, who’s been quiet up until now, snorts. “you’re an idiot.”

taehyung’s gaze snaps toward him, but hoseok doesn’t look impressed. his golden, cheetah like eyes are sharp, calculated, but there’s an edge of amusement curling at his lips.

“you think she’ll listen to threats? we just established she ran because she already knows something’s wrong here,” hoseok points out. “if she really thought there were monsters in this basement, do you think she’d willingly let them out?”

taehyung narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

because hoseok’s right.

seokjin sighs, dragging a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “so, what? we play nice?”

jimin’s lips curl, slow and sweet. “we make her want to help us.”

jungkook scoffs. “we’re a bunch of caged hybrids. what exactly do we have to offer?”

jimin’s hazel eyes gleam, knowing. “you’d be surprised.”

yoongi finally shifts, exhaling like he’s already exhausted. “namjoon?”

the lion hybrid hasn’t spoken for a while, his golden-blond mane slightly tousled as he leans back against the cold bars of his cage, watching them all in silence. his amber eyes are thoughtful, considering.

“we wait,” he says simply.

jungkook makes a frustrated sound. “are you kidding me?”

namjoon doesn’t react. his expression remains steady, unwavering.

“she’ll come back.”

his voice is calm, but there’s something final beneath it. something certain.

his tail flicks once, slow. deliberate.

“and when she does…” his golden eyes glint in the dim light.

“we’ll make sure she doesn’t leave empty-handed.”

the basement is still.

the cold, damp air sits heavy, clinging to their skin like a second layer. in the quiet, only the slow flicking of tails and the steady rise and fall of breath can be heard. but beneath that, something simmers. something restless.

yoongi is the only one who looks at ease, lounging with his back pressed against the metal, long legs stretched out, panther tail draped over his lap.

the air is heavier tonight.

not from tension, at least, not the kind they’re used to.

but something else. something uncertain.

"you’re thinking too loud," yoongi mutters, barely opening his eyes.

namjoon huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "someone has to think."

“that sounds exhausting,” jimin hums, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall limply back to his sides. “ever considered letting it go? just for one night?”

seokjin smirks, tipping his head back against the bars. “namjoon? relax? you might as well ask the old man to start treating us like his pets.”

silence.

the weight of his absence is still fresh, still strange.

"why do you think they kept us?" taehyung asks suddenly, voice quiet.

it isn’t the first time the question has been asked.

but tonight, it feels different.

yoongi's golden-amber eyes flick open, sharp against the dim light. “who cares?”

"i do," taehyung mutters. “they could’ve killed us. we’ve all seen them do it before. they take hybrids and toss them out, hunt them for sport, treat them worse than animals.”

his tail flicks against the bars, a slow, restless motion. “so why us?”

hoseok exhales, tilting his head back. "maybe we were a game."

jungkook's jaw tightens. "we are a game."

the silence that follows is heavy.

because they all know that’s the truth.

they were hunted, taken, thrown in cages, kept.

but why?

seokjin, who had been quiet up until now, speaks.

“it wasn’t just for sport,” he murmurs, voice smoother than it should be given the weight of the conversation.

they all turn to him.

he runs a hand through his silver hair, blue-gray eyes unreadable. "if it was just for sport, we wouldn’t still be here."

"then why?" jungkook asks, eyes dark, intense.

seokjin sighs. "because they were waiting for something."

the words settle over them.

because it makes sense.

if they had only been prey, they would have been discarded long ago.

but instead, they were kept.

the old man, sir, as they had been forced to call him, had always been different with them. not kind, never kind, but never outright cruel either.

"maybe they liked the idea of us belonging to them," jimin says softly, tracing patterns into the dust.

his tail sways lazily, but his expression is distant, unreadable.

"not them," yoongi corrects. “him.”

they don’t have to say his name.

the old man is gone now.

but his presence still lingers, buried in the walls, in the floor, in the cages that still haven’t been opened.

"if he was waiting for something, it sure as hell wasn’t us," jungkook mutters, stretching out his arms, muscles rippling under golden-toned skin.

“no,” namjoon agrees, voice low. “but maybe it was her.”

silence.

the air shifts.

jimin hums, a slow, thoughtful sound. "if it was, then the real question is what was she supposed to do?"

none of them have an answer.

but the truth is obvious.

she was here once before,

and she’ll come back.

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. "even if she does, do you really think she’ll open the cages?"

seokjin tilts his head, smirking. "we’ll just have to give her a reason to."

yoongi’s lips curl, slow and sharp. “and if she doesn’t?”

jimin, who has been silent, finally speaks.

"then we make her want to."

his hazel eyes gleam in the dark, something knowing, something dangerous flickering behind them.

they all glance toward the door.

waiting.

listening.

because when she returns,

and she will return,

she won’t be walking away so easily this time.

the next morning, myah wakes up feeling like she never actually slept.

the weight of the night before clings to her skin, thick and suffocating. every time she closes her eyes, she hears the slow, deliberate scratch against metal, the measured breathing on the other side of the door. steady and patient, as if it knew she was there.

as if it had been waiting for her.

she swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

the morning light filters weakly through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the walls. jisun is still curled beside her, warm and unmoving except for the occasional twitch of her ears. her breathing is soft, even, but there’s a possessiveness to the way her fingers remain loosely curled around the edge of myah’s sleeve, like even in sleep, she refuses to let go.

and chae-eun—

the memory of her sharp, pointed gaze flashes through myah’s mind, the don’t be stupid written all over her face when she left last night.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud.

myah already knows.

because the basement door still exists.

and that thing behind it still exists.

and she still has no idea what the hell she’s supposed to do about it.

but for now, she has to go to work.

she exhales slowly, forcing herself to move.

carefully, she peels jisun’s fingers from her sleeve, holding her breath as she shifts out of bed. jisun stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, her ears flicking once before she settles again.

myah lingers for half a second, watching her.

she can’t know.

not yet.

not until myah figures out what she’s dealing with.

and right now she’s not even close.

by the time she steps into the café, the scent of coffee and fresh bread is already thick in the air, warm and familiar. the soft hum of conversation blends with the whir of the espresso machine, the clinking of ceramic cups against saucers, the low chatter of customers tucked into booths and perched on stools.

kai is behind the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works the espresso machine with practiced ease. his tail flicks once, irritated, as he pulls a shot, eyes narrowed at the portafilter like it personally offended him.

when he sees myah walk in, his sharp gaze flickers over her, quick and assessing.

“you look like shit.”

myah sighs, rubbing a hand over her face as she ties her apron around her waist. “good morning to you too.”

kai doesn’t let it go. “you sleep?”

“enough.”

he raises a brow. clearly, he doesn’t believe her, but for once, he doesn’t press.

“you sure?” yuna’s voice cuts in before myah can brace herself.

she’s leaning over the counter, chin propped up in her palm, eyes glinting with amusement. strands of dyed blonde hair fall loose from her messy ponytail, the ends curling slightly from the humidity in the café. she’s already chewing gum, bright pink, probably sickly sweet, snapping it between her teeth as she watches myah like she’s her morning entertainment.

“’cause you look like you’ve either seen a ghost or committed a murder,” she continues, smirking.

myah exhales. “maybe both.”

kai’s ears twitch slightly, his grip tightening on the tamper for a fraction of a second before he slides a drink across the counter toward her without a word.

she takes it without question, the warmth of the cup grounding her more than she wants to admit.

yuna pops another piece of gum into her mouth, eyes still trained on myah. “big plans after work?”

myah hesitates.

“nah.”

kai snorts. “liar.”

she stiffens, grip tightening around her cup.

“what?”

kai doesn’t even look up from the milk frother. “you just seem off today. you keep touching your pocket like you’ve got something in there, and you keep looking at the door like you’re waiting for someone to walk through it.”

myah stiffens, her hand immediately retreating from where it had been resting against her jacket pocket.

damn.

she hadn’t even realized she was doing that.

she forces herself to stop, shoving both hands into the apron tied around her waist instead. but now that kai has pointed it out, it’s all she can think about. the nervous tick, the way she keeps checking the entrance like something is coming for her.

because, deep down, she feels like it is.

yuna, ever the opportunist when it comes to gossip, perks up from where she’s stacking cups near the espresso machine.

“ooh,” she coos, leaning in with a devilish grin. “is it a boy?”

myah snorts, but it comes out weaker than she intends. “oh, totally. i met a guy in a dark, creepy basement and immediately fell in love.”

yuna gasps dramatically. “no way.”

kai makes a face, ears twitching in mild irritation. “you do realize that’s a concerning sentence, right?”

yuna ignores him, smirking. “was he hot?”

myah groans, rubbing her temples. “yuna, there was no guy.”

yuna clicks her tongue, clearly unbothered by the denial. “tragic. girl, i wish that was the case. at least then you’d be getting some action.”

kai, who had been in the middle of sipping his coffee, promptly chokes.

he sets his cup down hard on the counter, coughing into his fist while shooting yuna a look of pure betrayal.

“what the fuck?” he wheezes.

yuna cackles, patting him on the back way too hard. “relax, fox boy, it’s just an observation.”

kai glares at her between coughs. “keep your observations to yourself.”

myah, tired of all of them, groans louder and throws a towel in yuna’s direction. “can we not?”

yuna just winks and flounces away to help a customer, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she didn’t just set a match to dry kindling and walk away. the slight bounce in her step, the smug tilt of her lips, it’s so yuna. she lives for moments like this, for stirring the pot just enough to make people squirm.

kai mutters something under his breath, tail flicking in irritation as he picks his coffee back up. whatever he says is too quiet for myah to hear, but judging by the way his ears twitch, it’s probably not polite.

myah exhales, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the conversation. but the words linger, pressing against her ribs like something sticky, something that won’t leave her alone.

she grabs a rag and busies herself wiping down the counter, but her movements are stiff, absentminded. her fingers twitch at her side, itching to reach into her pocket. to check. to make sure the basement key is still there.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she keeps glancing at the door.

and kai notices.

she doesn’t realize he’s watching her until she feels his gaze, sharp and focused, cutting through the space between them.

“what?” she mutters, not looking at him.

he leans in slightly, voice lower, quieter. “if it’s not a guy, then what is it?”

her grip tightens around the rag in her hands.

the weight in her pocket is heavy.

too heavy.

she’s not ready to answer that.

not yet.

so she forces herself to relax, tilts her head just slightly, and gives him a slow, easy smile.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

kai doesn’t react right away. his ears twitch again, tail flicking once behind him, but his expression doesn’t change.

he just watches her.

assessing.

calculating.

then, finally, he exhales and pulls back, picking up his coffee like he didn’t just pry a little too close to the truth.

“yeah,” he mutters, taking a sip. “i really would.”

and that, that unsettles her more than anything.

myah just takes a slow sip of her coffee and stares him down, letting the silence stretch between them. she knows kai. knows that he’s waiting, expecting her to crack, to give him something real.

but she won’t.

not yet.

instead, she swallows, and shrugs. “well, that’s too bad.”

kai exhales through his nose, his ears flicking back slightly. a subtle, irritated movement. his tail gives a single, slow flick before going still again.

but he doesn’t push.

not yet.

instead, he grabs a rag, swiping at an already clean spot on the counter, his voice low.

“just don’t do anything stupid.”

too late for that.

but myah doesn’t say it. doesn’t acknowledge the way her pulse stutters at the thought of the key still sitting in her pocket, burning against her skin like a loaded gun she hasn’t decided to fire yet.

she just hums, noncommittal, and turns away, forcing herself to focus on something, anything, else.

but it’s hard.

her mind keeps slipping, caught between the steady noise of the café and the silence of last night.

the silence before the scratch.

the silence before the breath.

she busies herself wiping down tables, clearing empty cups, resetting napkin dispensers, but it does nothing to ground her. her fingers twitch against the rag in her hands, her movements too stiff, too precise.

every time the café door swings open, she stiffens.

her body braces like she’s expecting something.

someone.

it’s ridiculous.

no one is coming for her.

and yet,

the feeling doesn’t fade.

it settles into her bones, curling against her spine, a whisper of unease that refuses to leave.

she feels watched.

even long after the morning rush dies down, even when the café is half-empty, even when the only people left are the usual customers who have never spared her a second glance.

the sensation lingers.

slipping into the cracks of her thoughts, pressing against the edges of her ribs.

a quiet, unshakable feeling.

like something unseen is waiting.

like something knows.

the thought sits heavy in her chest, crawling up her throat like a warning she can’t quite decipher. the café hums around her, warm and full of life, but she feels outside of it, like she’s not really here, like part of her is still trapped somewhere else.

somewhere below.

the scratching, the slow measured breathing, it all plays in the back of her mind, looping like a song she can’t shake.

it knew she was there.

it was waiting.

her fingers twitch against the rag in her hand, and for a second, she swears the air shifts around her. like something is standing just behind her shoulder, just out of reach, watching.

she nearly jumps when yuna slaps a hand onto her shoulder.

“earth to myah,” she drawls, chewing loudly on her gum. “you gonna take that table, or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’ve been possessed?”

myah blinks, her body snapping back into the present like a rubber band pulled too tight.

a couple sits by the window, waiting for her, eyes flicking between their menus and her blank stare.

right.

her chest feels tight as she forces herself to move, shaking off the lingering unease. she grabs her notepad and crosses the room, past the soft hum of customers, past the steady clinking of cups and plates.

the café is normal.

safe.

but her thoughts are elsewhere.

namely,

the house.

the basement.

the locked door.

she takes the order on autopilot, her voice steady, her hands moving without thinking. she writes down words she doesn’t fully process, nods in response to things she doesn’t fully hear.

because in her mind, she’s still standing at the top of the basement stairs.

she had promised chae-eun they would go back tonight.

but now, in the light of day, with the warmth of the café wrapping around her like a blanket, the weight of that decision presses down on her harder than before.

what the hell am i doing?

she shouldn’t be doing this.

she should leave it alone.

she should take the money from her grandparents’ will, sell the damn house, and forget any of this ever happened.

but she can’t.

because something inside her is screaming.

this isn’t just a locked door.

this isn’t just a family secret.

this is bigger.

this is wrong.

and she needs to know why.

she grips her pen a little too tight.

tonight.

she’s going back tonight.

the café slows down after the morning rush, the lull settling in like a warm haze. myah leans against the counter, staring blankly at the espresso machine, her thoughts far from where they should be.

kai, ever observant, picks up on it instantly.

“so,” he starts, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate movements. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do i have to beat it out of you?”

myah snorts, finally dragging her gaze to him. “you? beat me up? i’d like to see you try.”

kai raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t test me. you may be scrappy, but i have claws.”

“oh, terrifying.”

kai just flicks his tail, watching her carefully. “seriously, though. you’ve been weird all day. and before you say it, no, it’s not just the whole ‘dead grandparents’ thing.”

myah rolls her eyes. “wow. so sensitive.”

he shrugs. “i’m just saying. grief doesn’t make you jump every time the door opens.”

she stills for a fraction of a second. too quick for most people to catch.

but kai isn’t most people.

his ears twitch, golden eyes narrowing. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she exhales through her nose, turning to grab a rag just to have something to do with her hands. “it’s nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“just drop it, kai.”

he leans forward, voice dropping just slightly. “nah, see, here’s the thing, i would drop it, if i thought it was actually nothing. but it’s not.”

she clenches her jaw, scrubbing harder at an already-clean spot on the counter.

kai watches her, unimpressed.

“you don’t get like this, myah.” his voice is softer now, but still firm. “you don’t get jumpy. and you sure as hell don’t lie this badly unless something is really wrong.”

she doesn’t respond.

kai sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i don’t know exactly what’s going on, but i know you. and i know that whatever this is? you’re not handling it well.”

myah exhales, gripping the rag tightly. “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

kai huffs a quiet laugh. “it’s a compliment, dumbass. you usually handle shit way better than this. but right now?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re being hunted.”

her breath catches.

kai notices.

his eyes darken, ears pressing back slightly.

kai watches her carefully, his gaze sharp, assessing, as if he’s peeling her apart piece by piece, searching for the cracks.

“myah,” he says carefully, voice steady but edged with something hard. “is someone messing with you?”

“no,” she says immediately.

too immediately.

kai’s ears twitch, his tail flicking once behind him. He leans in just a fraction, voice dropping lower.

“is it… them?”

her breath hitches.

her fingers tighten around the rag in her hands, gripping the fabric like it can ground her.

she forces her face into something blank. neutral. “who’s them?”

kai’s jaw ticks, his expression darkening.

“you know who.”

her stomach drops.

because she does know.

hybrids.

but not just any hybrids, the wrong kind.

the ones who don’t care about peace, who don’t care about living alongside humans. the ones who see people like her as nothing more than prey, as something weaker.

and before she can stop it the memory floods back.

the alley behind the café.

cold air.

damp pavement.

the dull hum of streetlights buzzing above.a shadow moving too fast, cutting her off before she could react.

the scent of cigarette smoke and something wilder, thicker, muskier, something animal.

a hand, claws just barely extended, catching her wrist with an almost lazy grip.

“you should be careful walking alone, sweetheart,” the hybrid had murmured, voice deep and edged with amusement. “someone might take advantage of that.”

her stomach had twisted. she’d tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, claws pressing just enough to threaten.

there had been more of them.

leaning against the alley walls, watching. waiting.

she had felt their eyes rake over her, assessing.

like they were bored, like they were waiting to see what she’d do, how much fight she had in her before they decided whether she was worth the effort.

she remembers her pulse roaring in her ears.

remembers the way she opened her mouth, about to say something, anything, but she hadn’t needed to.

“let her go.”

kai’s voice.

low. steady. deadly.

she remembers the shift in the air.

remembers the way the hybrid’s fingers twitched against her skin before his lips curled, like he’d just been handed something fun.

“what’s it to you, fox?”

kai had taken a single step forward.

not fast. not aggressive.

just final.

“i won’t ask again.”

his ears had been pinned back, tail low, muscles tight beneath his work uniform. but his eyes,

his eyes had burned.

the hybrid holding her had exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, but something else had flickered in his expression.

something wary.

something that said he knew better.

“tch,” he had muttered, clicking his tongue as he let her go. “no fun.”

the others had pushed off the walls, hands in their pockets, expressions unreadable as they walked away.

as if it had all been a game.

as if it hadn’t meant anything to them.

but myah, myah had felt sick.

her hands had shaken.

kai hadn’t said anything at first. just stood there, watching the end of the alley until the hybrids were completely gone.

“you good?”

and she’d hated that her voice had cracked when she answered.

“yeah.”

he hadn’t believed her.

but he hadn’t called her out on it, either.

he had just stepped forward, slipping his hoodie off and draping it over her shoulders before nodding toward the café’s back door.

“come inside.”

not go home.

not be more careful.

just come inside.

like he knew she wouldn’t be okay alone.

she had followed him without a word.

for weeks, kai followed her home after every shift. he never said anything about it, never made a big deal out of it, just walked a few steps behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, tail flicking lazily like it was all coincidence.

he only stopped after myah, and an annoyed jisun who had wrinkled her nose and muttered something about “smelling too much fox” for her liking, finally forced him to.

but even then, he never really stopped.

he still called or texted her the moment she should’ve been home, a simple “you in?” or “alive?” showing up on her phone like clockwork.

and if she didn’t answer fast enough?

he was already dialing.

she forces the memory down, locking it back in the place she keeps all the things she doesn’t want to think about.

kai is still staring at her, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

he thinks someone hurt her.

and if she lets him believe that, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

kai doesn’t talk about it often, but she knows he’s been in situations before.

situations where humans decided what his worth was before he could prove otherwise.

situations where he had to fight just to exist.

he’s never said it outright, but myah knows he fough to be here.

and now, with the tension laced through his body, the sharp edge to his voice,

he’s ready to fight again.

but he won’t be fighting them.

he’ll be fighting something else.

something she doesn’t even understand yet.

so she forces a breath, shaking her head. “no, kai. no one’s messing with me.”

his eyes search her face.

for a second, she thinks he’s going to call her out.

but then, finally, he exhales, leaning back slightly.

“fine.”

relief washes over her.

“but only for now.”

her stomach twists.

kai levels her with a look, his voice calm but unshakable.

“if something is going on, you tell me. got it?”

his tone leaves no room for argument.

myah hesitates before nodding.

“good,” he mutters, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip. “because if i find out you’re keeping something from me, i will find out on my own. and you won’t like how i do it.”

she snorts. “oh, please. what are you gonna do? sniff me out like a bloodhound?”

kai just grins, slow and sharp.

“don’t tempt me.”

the rest of the shift drags.

myah keeps herself busy, refilling coffee cups, wiping down tables, pretending she doesn’t feel kai’s gaze flicking toward her every few minutes. he doesn’t push her again, but she can tell he wants to.

yuna eventually ropes him into an argument about proper latte art technique, giving myah just enough breathing room to keep her thoughts from spiraling. but no matter how many drinks she makes or how many orders she takes, the weight in her chest doesn’t ease.

because she knows what’s coming.

what she’s choosing to do.

by the time her shift ends, the sky is dark, streetlights buzzing to life as she steps outside. the air is cold, crisp, carrying the scent of autumn and distant rain.

she exhales slowly, watching her breath curl in the night air.

chae-eun is waiting for her when she gets home, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her arms folded. she doesn’t ask if myah is ready. doesn’t ask if she’s changed her mind.

she just stands. grabs her jacket.

“let’s go.”

myah swallows hard.

and together, they walk out into the night.

back to the house.

back to whatever’s waiting in the basement.

the air feels different the second they step onto the property.

it’s subtle at first, nothing more than a feeling. an unnatural stillness pressing against their skin, crawling up myah’s spine like unseen fingers tracing along her back.

the house looms before them, massive and unwelcoming, its dark silhouette standing against the night sky like a sleeping beast. the windows are empty, blacked out, void of warmth. the porch, once a place of childhood memories, now feels hollow, stripped of anything that once made it home.

the only light comes from the dim glow of a lone streetlamp at the end of the driveway, its flickering bulb casting elongated shadows across the uneven path leading to the front door.

the trees sway with the wind, their skeletal branches reaching toward the house, stretching over the cracked stone walkway like grasping hands. the overgrown grass shifts in the breeze, but there is no sound. no rustling. no chirping of crickets.

just silence.

thick. suffocating. unnatural.

no cars pass in the distance. no hum of life exists beyond the front gate.

just the steady pounding of myah’s heart, the quiet press of chae-eun’s presence beside her.

neither of them speak.

there’s nothing to say.

they both know why they’re here.

myah’s fingers tighten around the key in her hand, the cool metal biting into her skin. her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

she slides the key into the lock.

click.

the sound echoes too loudly in the quiet.

the door swings open with a low, aching creak, the kind that scrapes through her bones and sends a shudder crawling down her spine.

the air inside is thick, heavier than it should be.

dust lingers in the air, untouched, swirling lazily in the dim glow of the porch light spilling in from behind them. but beneath it, something else clings to the space. something old, something watching.

the scent of aged wood, forgotten memories, and the faintest trace of something metallic lingers at the edges of her senses, tugging at something deep, something unfamiliar.

she steps inside first.

the wooden floorboards groan beneath her weight, as if protesting her presence.

she flicks the light switch and the dim overhead bulb stutters to life, flickering weakly before settling into a dull, yellow glow, causing long shadows to stretch along the walls, warping the edges of the furniture, turning familiar shapes into twisted, unrecognizable figures.

chae-eun exhales, glancing around with sharp, calculating eyes. her nose wrinkles slightly. “it smells old.”

myah huffs out a quiet, humorless laugh. “it is old.”

chae-eun shoots her a look, unimpressed, but doesn’t argue. instead, she takes a few careful steps deeper into the house, scanning the dimly lit space with the kind of awareness that comes from knowing when something isn’t right.

her fingers trail lightly over the edge of a dusty side table, her movements slow, deliberate.

“nothing feels off yet,” she mutters.

but myah knows better.

the whole house feels off.

it always has.

even as a child, when she’d spent years running up and down these halls, curling up on the worn out couch, peeking into rooms she was never supposed to enter, there had always been something off, something there, lurking beneath the surface, something she could never quite name.

and now, standing here as an adult, the weight of it is even heavier.

she doesn’t realize she’s gripping the fabric of her jacket until chae-eun’s voice pulls her back.

“where’s the basement?”

the question slides down her spine like ice.

myah swallows.

her body moves before her mind catches up, turning toward the back of the house.

the hallway stretches before her, long and narrow, the floorboards creaking under her steps as she moves.

she doesn’t want to say it.

the words come anyway, low and quiet.

“this way.”

they move through the house, past the parts of the house that had once been familiar, towards the kitchen. a place myah had never questioned growing up.

but she questions it now.

the air is heavier, thicker, settling into the walls, into the floorboards, into the bones of the house itself.

every step she takes feels wrong.

as if she’s moving toward something that doesn’t want to, no shouldn’t, be found.

she stops in front of the hidden panel.

it looks like nothing. the wood is slightly discolored, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

her fingers twitch.

she crouches down, pressing her fingertips against the edges, feeling the grooves worn into the wood.

the panel gives under her touch, lifting with barely any effort.

the moment it opens cold air rushes up from the dark.

it hits her skin like something alive, crawling up her spine, sinking into her clothes, wrapping around her throat like a second pair of hands.

chae-eun inhales sharply, stepping back just slightly.

“well,” she mutters, staring down at the darkened stairwell. “that’s not ominous at all.”

myah forces a breath past her lips, but it doesn’t steady her.

she flicks on the flashlight on her phone and aims it downward.

the beam of light barely cuts through the blackness.

the stairs stretch below them, old and uneven, leading into narrow stone walls that seem to tighten the deeper they go.

she doesn’t want to do this.

her entire body is screaming at her not to do this.

but she has to.

so she swallows, forcing herself to glance at chae-eun.

“ready?”

chae-eun gives her a dry look, arms crossed, brow raised.

“not even remotely.”

but she steps forward anyway.

because they both know,

it doesn’t matter if they’re ready.

they’re going down there regardless.

a sharp noise, something between a tap and a thump, drags jimin from the edges of sleep.

he groans, shifting onto his side, his tail curling lazily around his waist. "why," he mutters, voice thick with drowsiness. "let me die in peace."

from the next cage over, hoseok clicks his tongue, the sound carrying through the quiet. "because she’s back."

jimin doesn’t move at first, letting the words settle in the air between them, the weight of them pressing against his skin like a slow-building heat.

then, finally, he inhales.

his pupils dilate, nose twitching as he catches it,

her.

it’s faint but unmistakable, threading through the damp, rusted scent of their prison.

his lips curl, slow and knowing.

"well," he sighs, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the cold bars. "that is interesting."

the others are already awake.

jungkook, closest to the door, is sitting up, muscles tense, tail flicking in short, sharp motions.

taehyung’s golden eyes gleam in the dark, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his cage.

yoongi doesn’t speak, but his attention is fixed on the door, focusing on the noise coming from the stairwell above them, his stillness more dangerous than any movement.

namjoon is the first to break the silence.

“she’s come back.”

the words settle over them, quiet but heavy.

jimin hums, stretching his arms over his head, slow and deliberate.

“i told you she would.”

seokjin’s tail flicks in mild amusement. “for once, you were right.”

jungkook exhales sharply, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“what do we do?” hoseok asks, tilting his head toward namjoon.

the lion hybrid doesn’t answer right away.

instead, he leans back against the bars, eyes still locked on the unseen presence above them, the scent of her curling through the air like a silent invitation.

“we wait,” he finally says.

jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“for what?”

namjoon’s golden eyes gleam.

“for her to come to us.”

jungkook scoffs, shifting where he sits, his golden eyes flickering toward the ceiling. "and if she doesn't?"

"she will," yoongi murmurs, voice smooth, confident. he’s still lounging against the bars, but his gaze is sharp, locked on the stairwell.

"you sound sure." hoseok tilts his head, watching him carefully.

yoongi's lips curl, slow and knowing. "because she hesitated last time."

silence.

jungkook's tail flicks in irritation, but he doesn’t argue.

because yoongi is right.

she had come close enough to hear them. close enough to feel them.

but she hadn’t run. not completely.

and now, she was back.

"so, what?" taehyung drawls, dragging his fingers along the rusted bars of his cage. "we sit here like obedient little pets and wait for her to decide what to do with us?"

"we make it easy for her," seokjin corrects, adjusting his position, his silver hair catching the dim light. "she’s already curious. we just have to nudge her in the right direction."

jimin hums in agreement, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the bars. "if she’s come back, that means she wants answers."

"then we give them to her," namjoon says simply.

jungkook scoffs. "we lie to her, you mean."

namjoon shrugs, expression unreadable. "we tell her what she needs to hear."

hoseok exhales, running a hand through his golden-brown hair. “and if she panics?”

"then we convince her that panicking is the wrong choice," jimin murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips.

jungkook's tail flicks again, restless. "and if she never opens the damn cages?"

silence.

no one moves.

no one speaks.

because that,

that is the real question.

"then we wait," namjoon finally says.

yoongi smirks, tilting his head. “and if waiting isn’t enough?”

namjoon’s golden eyes glint in the dark.

"then we make her open them."

chae-eun doesn’t hesitate. she follows myah down without a word.

the wood panel creaks shut behind them, causing the air to shift.

it feels colder.

heavier.

the stairwell is narrow, the old wooden steps groaning beneath their weight as they descend. dust clings to the air, swirling lazily in the beam of myah’s phone flashlight, but beneath it,

something else.

something damp. metallic.

it sits thick in her throat, sharp and coppery, like blood left too long in the air.

she swallows against it, tightening her grip on her phone.

behind her, chae-eun moves carefully, her footsteps steady, but myah can hear the slight hitch in her breath.

she feels it too.

the wrongness.

the weight pressing in on them the deeper they go, wrapping around their limbs like unseen hands.

the walls seem closer than they should be, the stone damp with time, with something else.

the further down they go, the worse it gets.

when they finally reach the bottom, myah hesitates.

the light from her phone flickers over the basement,

old shelves, their contents buried beneath years of dust. stacks of papers, curled at the edges, ink faded. rusted tools, their original purpose lost to time, but sharp in all the wrong places.

her stomach twists.

but it’s not the table in the center of the room, scarred with deep scratches, its surface warped with age, that makes her breath catch,

it’s the door.

thick metal, bolted shut.

waiting.

watching.

the second she lays eyes on it, her pulse roars in her ears.

her grip tightens around her phone.

her breath feels too loud in the silence.

chae-eun exhales sharply, her breath cutting through the thick silence. she takes a step closer, eyes sweeping over the room, over the dust-covered shelves, the rusted tools, the scattered papers that look like they haven’t been touched in years.

then, finally, her gaze lands on the door.

her brows pull together. “what is this place?”

myah forces herself to swallow, her throat dry. she doesn’t take her eyes off the heavy metal slab in front of them.

"that’s the door," she says quietly.

chae-eun’s lips press into a thin line. "yeah, i see that, but what the hell is it doing down here?"

myah exhales, forcing herself to look away. her heart is still hammering against her ribs, but the door remains silent.

no scraping.

no breathing.

just stillness.

like it’s waiting.

for what, she doesn’t know.

"i don’t know," myah admits, turning toward one of the shelves, running a hand over the thick layer of dust. "but whatever this place was, my grandparents didn’t want anyone finding it."

chae-eun moves toward the wooden table in the center of the room, dragging her fingers along the deep grooves scratched into the surface.

"these marks…" she trails off, inspecting them closer. "they’re everywhere."

myah forces herself to step closer. she hadn’t wanted to look too hard before—hadn’t wanted to think about what could have made them.

but now, standing over the table, she can see it clearly.

deep, uneven claw marks, carving into the wood like someone, something, had been desperate.

the same kind of scratches she had seen on the door upstairs.

a chill runs down her spine.

"you think they kept animals down here?" chae-eun asks, voice quieter now, more careful.

myah doesn’t answer right away.

because no.

no, she doesn’t think this was for animals.

not normal ones, anyway.

"i don’t know," she says again, shaking her head.

chae-eun exhales, stepping away from the table. she moves toward the far side of the room, where a rusted filing cabinet stands against the wall, barely holding itself together.

"there has to be something down here," she mutters, pulling one of the drawers open. "some kind of record, something that explains what this place is."

the drawer groans as it slides out, and a few old folders slump to the side, their papers yellowed with age.

myah watches as chae-eun carefully picks one up, flipping it open.

silence hangs between them as she scans the page.

then, slowly, she frowns.

"what?" myah asks.

chae-eun’s fingers tighten around the folder. "these aren’t just random records." she turns the page, eyes narrowing. "they're logs. someone was keeping track of something."

myah steps closer, peering over her shoulder.

the handwriting was neat and structured, every entry dated.

but the details,

the details are what make her stomach churn.

"‘specimen five: increased aggression. requires further restraint.’" chae-eun reads aloud, her voice flat. she flips another page. "‘specimen two: attempts at communication remain unsuccessful.’"

myah feels cold.

she swallows.

"they weren’t keeping animals down here," she murmurs.

chae-eun looks up at her.

her grip on the folder tightens.

"no," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"they weren’t."

chae-eun flips through more of the pages, her fingers moving quickly, her breathing steady but sharp-edged. myah watches the flicker of her eyes as she scans line after line, absorbing information, but her face gives nothing away.

instead, it’s the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers press just a little too hard into the paper, like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s reading, but she can’t ignore it.

myah swallows. her own hands feel clammy.

"what else does it say?" her voice is quiet, but the words feel too loud in the thick silence of the basement.

chae-eun flips another page. her lips part slightly as her eyes dart over the text, scanning, searching, then she freezes.

her breath hitches.

myah’s stomach drops.

"what?" she demands. "what is it?"

chae-eun says nothing.

she just turns the folder so myah can see.

myah’s eyes skim the page, past the dated entry, past the detailed notes, until she lands on a single line, a name she never expected to see here.

takahashi.

her entire body goes cold.

"no," she whispers.

but it’s there.

clear. undeniable.

a log. a record.

underneath the name, written in precise, clinical handwriting,

status: containment successful.

myah's pulse pounds in her ears.

"they—" she chokes on the word. her thoughts are racing, crashing into each other, a tangled mess of confusion and something worse.

her grandparents, her family, had kept records like this?

"myah," chae-eun's voice is firm, grounding. "you need to breathe."

but she can’t.

because this changes everything.

she thought this was just a locked door.

just another secret buried in the foundation of the house.

but this?

this is proof.

proof that her grandparents weren’t just hiding something.

they were documenting it.

tracking it.

and whatever was behind that door,

it had a status update.

which means,

it’s still here.

the realization slams into her like a punch to the gut.

she stumbles back, her shoulder hitting the edge of the wooden table, her fingers gripping the surface as she tries to steady herself.

chae-eun closes the folder with a snap.

"we need to leave," she says, her voice sharp, urgent. "now."

but before myah can respond,

click.

a sound, low and metallic.

the unmistakable noise of a lock shifting.

something behind the door, the heavy metal one sealed shut,

just moved.

the air thickens.

neither of them breathe.

a long, stretching silence,

then, scratch.

slow. deliberate.

something dragging across the metal.

myah’s blood turns to ice.

"we’re leaving," chae-eun says again, grabbing myah’s wrist this time, pulling her toward the stairs.

but myah can’t move.

because this time,

this time, it isn’t just the scratching.

this time there’s a voice.

low. smooth. barely a whisper, but unmistakably human.

"is someone there?"

authors note: i apologize for how long this took for me to get out, i rewrote this part like seven different times and nothing really felt right until this version. im already working on the next chapter and let me just say its about to be really interesting 🫣 anyways who do you guys think was the voice on the other side of the door???

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