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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

Note

i would like to request Cuclops, Beast, Storm, professor X, Magneto, Gmabit with a child reader who was made from they’re dna with another person and they dound them in a lab and is now they’re child they have to look after

X-Men x Child!Reader

You are their DNA child

The X-Men each find a child created from their DNA in a lab, taking on the role of protective and nurturing mothers and fathers despite their own struggles. As they guide their children through mastering inherited powers and dealing with past trauma, they provide unconditional love and support, forming deep familial bonds.

Characters: Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, Ororo Munroe, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Remy LeBeau (+ my personal addition: Logan Howlett, Jean Grey, Kurt Wagner, Wanda Maximoff, Rogue & Laura Kinney)

I didn't think I'd enjoy writing about Child!Readers so much, so thank you for this prompt ♡ Hope you like it — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- It had been a routine mission, or at least that’s what Scott Summers thought. The X-Men had received a lead on a suspicious lab experimenting with mutant DNA, and Scott, as ever the disciplined leader, had led the charge. But nothing could have prepared him for what he found when they stormed the facility. Among the vials and tanks, amidst rows of sterile equipment, there was a child—you. Your wide eyes stared up at him through the glass container, fear and confusion swirling in them. It wasn’t until later, after the chaos settled, that Scott learned the horrifying truth: you were made from his DNA and that of another mutant. You were his daughter, created in some twisted experiment.

- Bringing you back to the mansion felt surreal. Scott, who had always struggled with family ties, now had a child to care for. He had never been one to show his emotions easily, but seeing you, so small and vulnerable, brought out something deep inside him. The first night you stayed in the mansion, you were scared, clinging to the unfamiliar surroundings. Scott sat beside your bed, his usually stoic face softened as he held your hand, unsure of what to say. “You’re safe now,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “I promise.”

- The days that followed were full of awkward moments for Scott. He wasn’t used to being a father, let alone to a child created from his DNA in such a traumatic way. But as the weeks passed, he found himself growing more protective of you. He took it upon himself to teach you, both in combat and in life. Whether it was teaching you how to control your powers or helping you with homework, Scott was there, even if he fumbled through it. You were a reflection of him in so many ways—his discipline, his strength—but there was also a sweetness in you, a gentleness that Scott often struggled to express himself.

- One day, you were practicing with your optic blasts, and the frustration was clear on your face when you couldn’t get it quite right. “I’ll never be as good as you, Dad,” you said, your small fists clenched. Scott knelt down beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to be like me,” he said softly, “You just have to be you. And that’s more than enough.” His words carried a weight that neither of you fully understood at the time, but it was a turning point in your relationship. Scott wasn’t just your teacher—he was your father.

- Over time, Scott found that you brought out a side of him he hadn’t known existed. You gave him a reason to smile more, to laugh. It was in the small moments, like when you surprised him with a drawing of the two of you or when you’d curl up beside him on the couch after a long day. He wasn’t perfect, and there were moments when the weight of being a leader and a father seemed too much, but Scott never gave up on you. He had promised to keep you safe, and for Scott Summers, promises were everything.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

- Hank McCoy had always believed in science, in logic, and in facts. But nothing could have prepared him for the moment he found you in that cold, sterile lab. Among the syringes and data logs, there you were—a child created from his DNA and that of another person, a genetic experiment. At first, Hank didn’t believe it. He’d read about cloning and hybrid experiments, but seeing you, your little hands curled around a small teddy bear, he felt something crack in his usually logical mind. How could someone use his DNA for this? More importantly, how could he ever be a father?

- Bringing you home was no easy task. Hank’s lab, usually a place of quiet research and order, was suddenly filled with the chaos of a child. You asked endless questions, your curiosity insatiable, much like his own. “What does this machine do?” you’d ask, pointing at some complex piece of equipment, and Hank would patiently explain, even if your attention wandered halfway through. Despite the overwhelming change, Hank quickly realized how much you were like him—sharp, eager to learn, and always thinking two steps ahead. It wasn’t long before he found himself smiling every time you’d light up with excitement over a new discovery.

- But being a father didn’t come naturally to Hank. He was used to solving problems with science, but you were a whole different kind of puzzle. There were nights when you had nightmares, crying out for help, and Hank would rush to your side, his large, furry hands gently wiping away your tears. “I’m here,” he’d say, his deep voice soft and calming. He’d sit with you, reading one of your favorite science books until you fell asleep again, your tiny hand clutching his fur for comfort.

- One day, while you were sitting on the floor of his lab, drawing pictures of the two of you, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Dad,” you said, hesitating for a moment. The word felt strange on your tongue, but when Hank smiled, it didn’t feel strange anymore. “Yes?” he replied, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Do you think I’ll ever be as smart as you?” Your question was so earnest, so full of hope. Hank knelt down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re already brilliant,” he said, pride clear in his voice. “And you’ll only get smarter.”

- Hank’s life, once so full of equations and experiments, was now full of laughter, of you running through the mansion, leaving a trail of questions in your wake. You were a constant reminder that science wasn’t everything—that there were things like love and family that couldn’t be calculated or put under a microscope. And though Hank didn’t always have the answers when it came to being a father, he knew one thing for sure: you had changed his life for the better, and he wouldn’t trade that for all the knowledge in the world.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

- Ororo Munroe, known as Storm, had always been a force of nature—both literally and figuratively. She controlled the weather with ease, a goddess in her own right. But when she found you in that hidden lab, a child made from her DNA and another’s, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of her. You were so small, so fragile, lying in a stasis pod with machines hooked up to monitor your vitals. Ororo felt a deep rage for the people who had done this, but as soon as you opened your eyes and looked up at her, that rage melted into something else—something softer.

- Taking you back to the mansion was a whirlwind, not just for you, but for Ororo as well. She was used to guiding young mutants, but being a mother? That was a different kind of responsibility. You, however, adapted quickly, attaching yourself to her like a shadow. You loved when she’d create tiny storms for you to watch—little gusts of wind that made your hair fly around, or small rain showers that you’d dance under. And despite Ororo’s usual grace and poise, you quickly learned that she was a soft touch when it came to you.

- There were moments when Ororo was unsure of herself, wondering if she could live up to the role of being your mother. One night, as thunder rumbled outside, you crept into her room, scared of the storm. Ororo, who could control even the wildest weather, pulled you close, letting you snuggle under the blankets with her. “You’re not scared of storms, are you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. Ororo smiled gently, her fingers brushing through your hair. “No, little one. I’m not.” She paused, pulling you closer. “And you don’t have to be afraid either. I will always protect you.”

- As the days turned into weeks, you became her world. She taught you everything she knew about the balance of nature and how to respect the power you might one day hold. But there were also simpler moments—Ororo teaching you how to braid your hair, laughing with you as you tried to copy her intricate designs. The X-Men often commented on how much you resembled Ororo, not just in looks but in the calm, confident way you carried yourself, even as a child. You were her legacy, and Ororo couldn’t have been more proud.

- One afternoon, after a day of training, you sat beside her in the garden, watching the flowers sway gently in the breeze she’d conjured for you. “Mom,” you said quietly, the word feeling more natural every time you used it, “Do you think I’ll ever be able to do what you do? Control the weather?” Ororo looked down at you, her smile warm and full of love. “You already have a power all your own, my dear,” she said, placing a hand on your cheek. “And one day, you’ll learn to control it, just as I did.” You nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. With Ororo by your side, you knew you could handle anything.

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

- When Charles Xavier found you in that hidden lab, it felt as though time had stopped. He had read the reports of genetic experiments being conducted on mutants, but he had never expected to find you—a child made from his DNA and another’s. The scientists who had created you intended for you to be the perfect telepath, a child who could rival even Charles in mental power. As you stared up at him, your eyes wide with confusion, Charles couldn’t help but feel a deep connection to you. You were not just an experiment—you were his child. And though the circumstances were unnatural, he felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for you.

- Bringing you back to the mansion, Charles knew that your upbringing would be difficult. Not because of your powers, which were still developing, but because you had been created in a sterile, loveless environment. You had never known the warmth of a family. He could feel your fear and uncertainty through your young mind as you clung to him. “I know this is all new for you,” Charles said softly one evening, his voice calm and reassuring. “But you are safe here. You’ll never have to be alone again.” His words weren’t just for comfort—they were a promise.

- Your powers began manifesting early on, sometimes in ways that startled even Charles. One day, during a lesson, you accidentally tapped into his mind without meaning to, and for a moment, you saw the depth of his thoughts, his past, and his pain. Frightened by what you had seen, you pulled back and cried, “I didn’t mean to!” Charles knelt before you, his eyes gentle. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice soothing. “Your powers are a part of you, just as mine are a part of me. We’ll learn to control them together.” And that’s what he did—patiently guiding you, helping you understand the vast capabilities of your mind.

- Despite his often serious demeanor, Charles loved spending time with you. He took you on walks around the mansion grounds, explaining the history of the X-Men, the importance of protecting both mutants and humans. But it wasn’t all lectures. Sometimes, he’d create small mental games for the two of you, making puzzles that you could solve together with your telepathy. He found himself enjoying the simple joy of watching you grow, both as a mutant and as his child. You weren’t just a student to him—you were family.

- One night, after a particularly long day of training, you crawled into his lap as he sat in his wheelchair, your small arms wrapping around him. “Dad,” you said quietly, “Do you think I’ll be strong enough one day? Like you?” Charles smiled softly, placing a gentle hand on your back. “You’re already strong,” he whispered, “In ways you don’t even realize yet.” His words comforted you, and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, Charles knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would never have to face them alone.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik Lehnsherr had seen many horrors in his life, but finding you in that lab—his child, created from his DNA and that of another—awakened a new kind of rage within him. The people who had done this saw you as nothing more than an experiment, a tool for control, and that disgusted him. When he found you, weak and scared in your containment cell, his heart broke in a way he hadn’t expected. You were small, innocent, and unaware of the forces that had brought you into the world. But as soon as he saw you, he knew one thing for certain: you were his, and he would protect you at all costs.

- Erik had never considered himself a nurturing figure, but the moment you reached for him, your tiny hand clutching the sleeve of his coat, something inside him softened. “You’re safe now,” he promised, his voice low but steady. He could see the confusion in your eyes, the fear of the unknown, but Erik was determined to make sure you never felt that way again. He took you back to his sanctuary, away from the prying eyes of the world, where he could keep you close, keep you safe.

- As the days turned into weeks, Erik began teaching you about your powers. Like him, you had control over magnetism, though your abilities were still weak and unfocused. He showed you how to manipulate small objects, how to feel the pull of metal in the air. You were eager to learn, your wide eyes always looking to him for approval. And though Erik was a strict teacher, there was a tenderness to the way he spoke to you, a gentleness that he reserved only for you. “You are strong,” he would tell you, his hands guiding yours as you lifted a metal ball with your mind. “Stronger than you know.”

- Erik wasn’t always the easiest man to be around—his anger often got the best of him, especially when it came to protecting you. He was fiercely protective, and the idea of anyone harming you sent him into a rage. But with you, he was different. You had a way of calming him, of bringing out a side of him that he had long buried. One night, after a particularly hard day of training, you climbed into his lap and rested your head on his chest. Erik froze for a moment, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, but then he relaxed, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “You’re my child,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “And I’ll always protect you.”

- The bond between you and Erik grew stronger every day. He wasn’t perfect—his anger and need for control sometimes made things difficult—but you never doubted his love for you. He taught you to be strong, to stand tall, and to never let anyone make you feel small. And though Erik was often seen as a villain by the world, to you, he was a father—a man who loved you fiercely and would do anything to keep you safe.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- When Remy LeBeau found you in that lab, it felt like a punch to the gut. You were a child—his child—created from his DNA and that of another person. Remy wasn’t the kind of man to be easily shaken, but the sight of you, so small and scared in that cold, sterile room, hit him harder than anything else ever had. You looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes, and in that moment, something inside him changed. He had never expected to be a father, especially not like this, but as he reached out to you, offering you his hand, he knew he couldn’t walk away.

- Remy brought you back to the mansion, unsure of how to be a father but determined to figure it out. From the moment you arrived, you clung to him, and despite his usual carefree attitude, Remy felt a deep sense of responsibility for you. He’d always been a bit of a rogue, someone who played by his own rules, but when it came to you, everything was different. He found himself caring in ways he never thought possible. You were his petite, and he would do anything to make sure you were happy and safe.

- Life with Remy was never boring. He taught you how to play cards, how to move silently through a room without being noticed, and even a few harmless tricks to keep life fun. But it wasn’t all fun and games—Remy also took his role as your father seriously, even if he didn’t always show it in the traditional way. He was patient with you, always ready with a smile or a joke when things got tough. “Don’t worry, mon chéri,” he’d say when you struggled with your powers. “We’ll figure it out together, eh? Jus’ gotta take it one step at a time.”

- One evening, after a long day of training with your powers, you sat beside him on the porch, watching the sun set. You had been quiet all day, and Remy could tell something was on your mind. “What’s on ya mind, petite?” he asked, his voice soft and full of concern. You looked up at him, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you, Dad?” Remy chuckled softly, ruffling your hair. “Cher, you already better than me,” he said with a grin. “You just don’t know it yet.”

- Remy wasn’t perfect—he made mistakes, and sometimes his past caught up with him—but when it came to you, he was always there. He taught you not just how to use your powers, but how to navigate life with a sense of humor and a light heart. You were his pride and joy, and though he didn’t always say it, you knew he loved you more than anything. Remy LeBeau, the infamous Gambit, was a man of many faces, but to you, he was just Dad—the man who made you laugh, who taught you to be strong, and who loved you more than anyone ever could.

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- When Logan first found you in that lab, he wasn’t sure what to think. You were a kid—his kid, created from his DNA and that of another person. Logan had been through more than his fair share of experiments, but this one felt personal in a way that cut deeper than any blade ever had. The moment he saw you, small and confused in the sterile environment of the lab, something inside him clicked. He was a lone wolf by nature, but now? Now, he wasn’t alone. He had you.

- Taking you out of that lab and bringing you back to the mansion was one of the hardest things Logan had ever done. Not because you were difficult, but because the situation felt so foreign to him. He didn’t know how to be a father, not after everything he’d been through. But when you grabbed onto his hand, refusing to let go, he realized that maybe, just maybe, this was something he needed—something you both needed. “You’ll be alright, kid,” he muttered, his voice gruff but comforting. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

- Life with Logan was rough around the edges, but there was a certain comfort in it. He was protective, always keeping an eye on you, making sure you were safe. Your powers, inherited from him, were slow to develop, but he was patient, teaching you the best way he knew how. When your claws first emerged, you were scared—terrified of what they meant, of what you might become. But Logan just knelt beside you, showing you his own claws. “Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of,” he said quietly. “We got the same blood. We’ll figure it out together.”

- Despite his gruff demeanor, Logan had a soft spot for you. He wasn’t the type to show affection openly, but there were little moments that made you feel safe and loved. Sometimes, he’d ruffle your hair or take you on quiet walks in the woods surrounding the mansion, sharing stories from his long, complicated past. And though he didn’t say it often, you knew he cared. “You’re tougher than you think, kid,” he’d say after a particularly hard day of training. “Don’t let anyone tell ya different.”

- One night, after a long day of training and dealing with the chaos of the X-Men’s missions, you sat beside Logan on the porch, watching the stars. You leaned into him, and to your surprise, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he put a strong arm around you, his usual gruff expression softening for just a moment. “Ain’t easy, bein’ like us,” he said quietly. “But you’re doin’ good, kid. Real good.” His words, simple as they were, meant everything to you. Logan wasn’t just your protector—he was your father, the one who would always be there, no matter what.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- When Jean Grey found you in that lab, it felt as if her heart had stopped. You were small, frail, and afraid—her child, created from her DNA and someone else’s. Jean had always known the world could be cruel, but seeing you, a child born from her, used in an experiment, broke her heart in ways she hadn’t expected. As you looked up at her, your wide, uncertain eyes searching for answers, Jean knew she had to protect you, to show you that you were more than just a project—you were her daughter, and you would never have to face the world alone.

- Bringing you to the X-Mansion, Jean took it upon herself to make sure you felt safe and loved. She was nurturing by nature, but being a mother, especially under such strange circumstances, was new to her. You had been raised in a lab, never knowing the warmth of a family, and Jean could sense the confusion and fear in your mind. “It’s okay,” she would often tell you, her voice soft and full of love. “I’m here now. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

- Your powers began to manifest slowly, but Jean was there every step of the way. Like her, you had telepathic abilities, but they were unpredictable, sometimes overwhelming. Jean knew what it was like to be afraid of your own mind, so she guided you patiently, helping you control your powers in a way that didn’t scare you. “I know it’s hard,” she would say when you struggled, “but we’ll work through it together. You’re never alone in this.”

- Jean was the type of mother who balanced discipline with love. She taught you about responsibility, the importance of using your powers for good, but she also made sure you had a childhood filled with warmth and care. She loved reading with you, taking you out to the garden, and spending quiet moments with you when the mansion was still. “You’re going to do great things,” she would whisper to you before bed. “I can already feel it.” Her belief in you was unwavering, and that gave you the strength to keep going.

- One night, after a particularly overwhelming day with your powers, you burst into tears, afraid of the thoughts and emotions that were swirling in your head. Jean held you close, her arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “You’re stronger than you know. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.” Her words calmed you, and as you drifted off to sleep in her arms, you knew that with Jean as your mother, you would always be loved and protected.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt Wagner’s heart broke the moment he found you in that cold, dark lab. You were a child—his child, created from his DNA and someone else’s. The scientists had clearly been experimenting on you, trying to replicate Kurt’s teleportation abilities, and the thought made him sick to his stomach. You were frightened, huddled in the corner of the cell, but when you looked up and saw Kurt, something changed. Despite your fear, you recognized him—your father—and in that moment, Kurt knew he had to get you out of there. He teleported into the cell and scooped you into his arms, holding you close as he whispered, “You’re safe now, mein kind. I’m going to take care of you.”

- Life with Kurt was full of warmth and love, despite the strangeness of your origins. He was a kind, gentle soul, and he made sure you always felt safe and loved in your new home at the mansion. You had been raised in a lab, and the world outside was new and overwhelming to you, but Kurt was always there to guide you through it. “The world can be a little scary sometimes,” he would say, his voice soft and full of love, “but you don’t have to face it alone. We’ll figure it out together, ja?”

- Your powers began to manifest early on, much like Kurt’s. You could teleport, though it was unpredictable, and it scared you at first. But Kurt was patient with you, teaching you how to control your abilities with care and precision. “It’s like a dance,” he would tell you with a smile. “You just have to find your rhythm.” He made it fun, turning your training sessions into games, and soon enough, you were teleporting with ease, your laughter filling the air as you disappeared and reappeared around the mansion.

- Kurt was the kind of father who filled your life with joy and laughter. He loved taking you on little adventures, teleporting you to different places around the mansion, or even to quiet spots in the nearby forest where the two of you could sit and talk. He would tell you stories of his own childhood, of his time with the X-Men, and you always felt a deep connection to him. “You’re a gift,” he would say to you often, his golden eyes full of warmth. “And I’m so proud to be your father.”

- One evening, after a particularly difficult day with your powers, you found yourself frustrated and on the verge of tears. Kurt noticed immediately and teleported to your side, wrapping you in a gentle embrace. “It’s okay, mein kind,” he said softly, his tail curling around you protectively. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. And that’s more than enough.” His words were comforting, and as you leaned into his embrace, you realized that no matter what challenges you faced, you would always have Kurt by your side, loving and supporting you every step of the way.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

- When Wanda found you in that lab, her heart ached in a way she hadn’t felt since losing her brother. There you were, small and fragile, created from her DNA and that of someone else’s, a product of twisted science. The fact that they had used her powers, her very essence, to bring you into existence shook her to the core. But as she reached out, sensing your fear and confusion, Wanda’s maternal instincts kicked in. She saw herself in you, vulnerable and lost. “You’re coming with me,” she whispered, her voice soft yet firm. And with a wave of her hand, she made sure the lab was nothing but a distant memory for the both of you.

- Adjusting to life outside of the lab wasn’t easy for you. Wanda knew that better than anyone—she had struggled with control over her powers too. But she was patient with you, teaching you how to harness your abilities in a way that didn’t overwhelm you. You inherited a portion of her reality-altering powers, though on a much smaller scale. Still, they frightened you at times, and Wanda was always there, offering a calm, understanding presence. “It’s okay to be scared,” she would say gently, holding your hand. “But you’re not alone. I’ll help you control it.”

- Wanda took a different approach to parenting than most, understanding that you had been through so much already. She was nurturing and protective, but she also gave you space to find yourself. Some days, the two of you would sit together in the living room, working on spells and abilities in a way that felt more like a bonding experience than training. “You’re stronger than you think,” she’d tell you, her eyes glowing softly with pride. “And I’ll always be here to guide you.”

- Despite the intensity of her own life, Wanda made sure you had moments of normalcy. She’d take you out for walks, playfully manipulate reality to make flowers bloom in winter, or make the stars shine brighter just for you. There were quiet evenings where the two of you would sit outside, watching the moon, and she’d tell you stories of her own childhood, of Sokovia, and of her brother Pietro. “Family is everything,” she’d say, a soft sadness in her voice. “And you, my dear, are my family.”

- One night, after a particularly hard day, you broke down in front of Wanda, frustrated with your powers and the fear of becoming something you didn’t understand. Wanda knelt down in front of you, wiping your tears away with a gentle touch. “You are not your powers,” she said softly, her voice steady but full of emotion. “You are so much more. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side. You’re my child, and I love you.” The warmth in her words, the unconditional love, wrapped around you like a shield, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

Rogue (Anna-Marie)

- Rogue had been through enough in her life to know that no one asked for the cards they were dealt. But when she found you in that lab, hooked up to machines, created from her DNA and another’s, it shook her to the core. The guilt hit her hard—someone had taken her powers, her life force, and used them to create you. As she gently pulled you out of that cold, sterile environment, she looked down at your young face, full of fear and uncertainty, and felt a fierce protective instinct rise within her. “C’mon, sugar,” she said softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt ya now.”

- Rogue wasn’t sure how to be a mother, especially considering her powers, but she was determined to make it work. She had never been able to touch people without fear, but with you, it was different. The scientists had altered something in your genetic makeup, allowing you to be immune to her powers, meaning she could hold you, comfort you, without the fear of harming you. And for the first time in a long time, Rogue felt like she could give someone the care and affection she’d always longed to give. “Ain’t that somethin’,” she’d say with a smile as she hugged you, grateful for the chance to finally feel human connection.

- You had inherited a version of Rogue’s powers, but they were different, more unstable. You couldn’t quite control when or how you absorbed someone’s abilities, and that scared you. But Rogue was patient, guiding you through your struggles with a warmth and understanding that only she could provide. “It’s okay, baby,” she’d say whenever you felt like you were losing control. “We’ll figure it out together. I know what it’s like to feel scared of your own skin, but I promise, you’re gonna be just fine.”

- Rogue was fiercely protective of you, always making sure you felt safe and loved. She’d take you out on long rides on her motorcycle, teaching you the thrill of the open road while also making sure you knew that no matter what, you had someone in your corner. She shared stories of her own life, her struggles with her powers, and how she found a family in the X-Men. “We’re family now,” she’d say, her Southern drawl comforting and familiar. “And family sticks together, no matter what.��

- One day, after a particularly rough incident where you accidentally absorbed another mutant’s abilities, you were left feeling scared and ashamed. Rogue found you curled up in your room, and she sat down beside you, pulling you into her arms. “Listen here, sugar,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. We all got our struggles, but you’re strong. Stronger than you know. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you. Always.” Her words, her unwavering support, made you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

Laura Kinney (X-23/Wolverine)

- Laura wasn’t one for showing emotion, but when she found you in that lab, something shifted inside her. You were a product of the same twisted science that had created her, only this time, they had used her DNA along with someone else’s to make you. Seeing you, so small and fragile, hooked up to those machines, brought back memories she had tried to bury. But you were different—you were hers. Without a second thought, she destroyed the lab and took you into her arms, her voice soft but firm as she whispered, “You’re coming with me.”

- Life with Laura wasn’t easy, but she was determined to be the mother you deserved. She wasn’t used to caring for someone else, especially not a child, but she knew what it was like to grow up alone, to feel abandoned, and she refused to let that happen to you. She didn’t talk much, but her actions spoke louder than words. She made sure you were safe, protected, and had everything you needed. And when you were scared, she’d sit with you in silence, her presence alone enough to make you feel secure. “I’m here,” she’d say quietly, her hand resting on your shoulder. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

- Like Laura, you had inherited claws, but yours were different—more unpredictable. Sometimes they would come out when you didn’t want them to, and other times you struggled to control your healing factor. Laura knew what that was like, and she was patient, teaching you how to manage your powers with a quiet strength that you came to rely on. “It’s not about control,” she’d say as she watched you practice. “It’s about understanding who you are. You’re not a weapon. You’re my child.”

- Despite her stoic nature, Laura was protective in a way that only a mother could be. She’d watch over you constantly, making sure you were never in danger. She didn’t express her love through words, but through actions—taking you hunting in the woods, teaching you survival skills, and making sure you knew how to defend yourself. “I’m not always going to be here,” she’d say, her voice low and serious. “But you’re strong. You can handle anything.”

- One night, after a particularly hard day of training, you broke down, frustrated with your abilities and feeling like you were more of a burden than anything else. Laura sat down beside you, silent at first, before she spoke quietly, her voice filled with an emotion she rarely showed. “You’re not a burden,” she said, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “You’re my child. And I’m proud of you. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.” Her words, though simple, carried a weight that made you feel loved and understood in a way you hadn’t before. With Laura as your mother, you knew you were never truly alone.

#scott summers x reader #hank mccoy x reader #ororo munroe x reader #charles xavier x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #remy lebeau x reader #logan howlett x reader #jean grey x reader #kurt wagner x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #rogue x reader #laura kinney x reader #x men x reader #x men headcanons #x men imagines #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s.

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it.

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa.

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard.

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head.

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull?

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way.

oh, wow, big spender.

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first.

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has.

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you.

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go.

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.”

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there.

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration.

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it.

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed.

real, scary, big girl feelings.

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

“better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to.

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

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d1onysusw1n3 · 4 months ago

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Dirty Grimes - rick grimes x reader

Tw: slight age gap (reader is 22 and rick is in his 40s) Cheating, P in V, slight bondage, rick is kind of rough. And a slight size kink. Plus squirting and creampie.

This is an AU where the apocalypse has never happened! Carl is a collage student who was a childhood friend. Lots of plot but I will give a warning on where the smut starts so if u want to skip the plot and head straight to the spice, do as u please!

“C’mon baby it’s not that bad, stop worrying about shit.” Carl huffs shaking his head in a annoyed way.

Look I love him to death Don’t get me wrong, but I dread coming over to his parents house over the holidays. My father ran out on my family when I was little, my mom was diabetic and she always had hospital bills up to her neck. So I was a bit of a problem child, until high school came and I worked my ass off for a full ride scholarship to Stanford. I’ve known Carl since middle school he always had a crush on me but I’d shoot him down and tell him when we get older we’d get married. Well I guess that wish came true.

I look down at the huge diamond on my finger. Me, Y/N summers, becoming a grimes? Who would’ve thought it. When I said yes it felt like the world stopped, but as time went on Carl got distant, stressed. He seemed easily annoyed by me. Plus that fact that I can’t help but to be scared of his father. Sherif grimes. He caught me vandalizing a classroom with spray paint once in middle school. He scared me shitless, but Carl stood up for me and helped my mom bail me out. Safe to say whenever I come over Rick always seems so, intense. The way he carries himself as if I’m a rabbit and he’s waiting to pounce on his prey. It scares me shitless, to be frank! And his marriage hasn’t been doing to good, last time I came over Lori and him wouldn’t talk or extange glances, no his eyes were too busy studying me, picking me apart as if he’s trying to read me like a book.

“Just calm down, you’re overreacting like usual.” Carl says as he brings the car to a stop, placing it in park. I scoff shaking my head at his antics.

“Overreacting? That’s what you want to tell your fucking fiancé before she tells her future in laws that she’s getting married to their son?” I scoff.

“I’m done arguing with you.” he sighs running a hand through his long hair. “It’s only arguing because you can’t have a normal conversation without acting like you hate me!” I scream frustration enveloping my body. “I should’ve never asked you to marry me then, my sincerest apologies.” He coldly says while walking out the car to the front door without me. I sit back contemplating what he just said. It broke my heart. I catch up to him wiping the tears that escaped my face, my eyes puffy and nose red, but I guess I can chalk it off as the allergies during spring break. He knocks and to my surprise Lori opens the door, yet I could see the clunky mascara and the bloodshot puffy eyes. She had been crying.

“Hiii! Oh my baby’s back” she smiles widely a genuine smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes like usual, and that glow that had once been her flame, has been burnt out into ash. It’s apparent on her hunched shoulders and the way she frowns when nobody looks.

“And look at you Y/N! All grown up and in collage.” She smiles and hugs me tightly. I always loved Lori, she was sweet to me, because she knew I grew up less fortunate than others.

“Hi lor how you doing?” I smile as I embrace her into a tight hug. I could feel her hiccup and take deep breaths.

“I’m living, at least I can be grateful for that.” She smiles tightly as she sees rick walk down the stairs to us.

“Hey, you wanna talk later?” I ask nudging her. She just nods and puts her fake smile back on as rick walks right past her and to Carl.

“Hey! My boys back.” He hugs Carl tightly while leaning back gripping his shoulders. “Man your old now! what’re you like fifty?” Rick teases as Carl rolls his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “Tha’d make you what? About seventy?” Carl quipped back and rick holds his hand to his heart. “Touché.” Rick smirks as he looks over to me. Instead of his usual crossed arms and tough guy demeanor, he was cuddly today because he wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me in for a generous hug. “How’s my daughter in law huh!” He jokes.

“Doing just fine.” I smile lightly at him. Though in the inside my heart was crushed into a million pieces.

“Well common in dinners ready just in time!” Lori beams walking away, she turns around first motioning to the kicthen. “You wanna help me prepare food Y/N?” She says. I just nod giving Carl a look, he doesn’t even turn to me and ignored my presence, though rick noticed because he turned to me.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

“Peachy.” I reply glaring at Carl while turning and storming off to the kitchen.

As soon as i step in I see Lori breaking down sobbing while holding her mouth to quiet her crying.

“Hey what’s wrong?” I walk up rubbing her shoulder.

“I have been having an affair with ricks partner Shane and he found out about it.” She comes clean.

“And I’m-“ she purses her lips.

“I’m pregnant with his child.” She says sobbing as her shoulders shook.

“It wasn’t supposed to get this bad! I mean rick and I were on a break and it was one time that turned into more times then rick and I got back together and I told him no, but we still went at it anyways a-and I took a pregnancy test and Rick found it.” She spits out fast in her shaky voice.

“I’m so stupid.” She sighs.

“I agree with you on that. There’s so many different ways you could’ve handled this Lori, if you weren’t happy with Rick why didn’t you just tell him?” I frowned at her.

“What about Carl.” She gasps.

“You’re just gonna have to explain things to him, he’ll understand in time.” I say hugging her. We break off setting up the food in the table while calling the boys in to eat. The rest of the night went pretty smooth, everyone laughed a had a good time, well then there was rick, whenever I’d send a nasty look to Carl he’d tune in looking at me with those intense eyes.

“Alright I have something to announce!” I smile as fake as I could. “Carl asked to marry me.” I hold up my hand showing my ring. Out of the side of my vision I could see rick clench his jaw. But Lori gasped while clapping in excitement.

“Oh my baby’s all grown up!” She starts tearing up.

“I’m so happy for you son.” Ricks rasps. Though he looked furious. Cark just tightly smiles wrapping an arm around my waist.

As night fell me and Carl crashed in his childhood room. His walls were filled with comics and superhero’s. I change into my sleep clothes which were some panties and one of carls shirts, I didn’t bother putting on pants, it was way to hot in the summer time. Carl was dead asleep snoring an all, I had a hot flash and was sweating balls. I sigh getting up to walk downstairs and drink a cold glass of water. as I reach the cabinet in the kicthen I stand on my tippy toes trying to reach the last glass on the tallest shelf. I felt a warm calloused hand grip my waist pushing himself against my rear. I could tell it was rick, by his bulky hands and his white tee that was scented of pine and whisky. A man’s scent. Usually it would ick me out, overly manly men, but something about rick made my thighs clench and my tummy flip. I shake my head trying to ban these criminal thoughts of my fiancés father. I call his wife mom so gods sake, pull it together Y/N.

“I saw you strugllin, thought you might need some help.” His raspy voice sounded as sexy as usual, with his thick southern accent.

“Thank you Rick.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” He smirks down at me. He had me slightly caged to the counter, with my ass pressed right against his crotch. I could feel his cold belt buckle pressed tightly to my tramp stamp I got when I was 17. Apparently my shirt rode up my waist when I was struggling to reach for a cup, cause I could feel the cold ac on my bare back. I slightly moved away pulling down my shirt while walking to the fridge grabbing ice and water. I sit down on the island in the kitchen as rick pours himself a glass of whisky while leaning on the counter across from me.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He gruffly says handing me the shot of whisky he poured. I gingerly take it from his hand as my fingers brush his, it sent goosebumps down my spine.

“It was too hot upstairs, I needed some air.” I say with a tight lipped grin. I shot back the whisky quickly sliding the glass back to him, he fills up the whisky glass again but this time he take it down with no struggle, licking the corner of his mouth as some dripped down his chin. I could feel myself clench around nothing. That had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

“Lori told you bout Shane, huh?” He chuckles shaking his head. I could see the tears brim his eyes. I couldn’t help but to feel bad for the man. His wife is pregnant by the man he called his brother.

“Yeah.” My throat suddenly felt dry.

“I’m sorry Rick.” I say chewing the bottom of my lip.

“Don’t be sweetheart, iss alright.” He huffs.

“We were arguing before that as it is anyway, it was bound to happen.” He shakes his head. While he looks down he nods over to your ring.

“So engaged huh? Carl better be treatin you well.” He swallows thickly as his intense blue eyes scan over my body. I felt like a peace of meat.

“He treats me just fine.” I clear my throat.

“Does he though?” Rick quips back. My jaw slacks in shock, not knowing what to say.

“I say you arguing in the car from the window. Seemed like whatever he said hurt?” He presses on.

“He said he wished he never asked to marry me.” I swallow thickly and slightly chuckle as tears run down my cheeks.

“Maybe I’m sensitive, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt like hell.” My wobbly lips smile at him. I look down as tears run down my cheeks. Rick slowly stalks towards me, running his calloused thumb across my cheek collecting my tears.

“What a shame. If you were mine, I would treat you better sweetheart.” He whispers.

At first I couldn’t believe his words. If I were his?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SMUT STARTS NEOOOW >-<!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“What do you mean rick?” I whisper back. I could feel the tension between us, so thick it was hard to breathe.

“What I said sweetheart. I could treat you better.” He slowly trails his hands up my thighs in a soothing back and fourth motion.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispers trailing his hands up my shirt gripping my breasts firmly as his thumb nudges the bud of my breasts massaging them slowly.

I gasp leaning into his touch while rubbing my thighs together for friction. It’s been awhile since Carl had touched me. I was horny and deprived.

“Y/N tell me to stop, and that this is wrong.” He groans out as he feels my legs wrap around his hips bringing his crotch right down into mine. I moan slightly tilting my head back.

“Can’t, feel s’to good.” My words slurr as I could feel pleasure running up and down my spine in waves. Rick bends down trailing hot sloppy kisses down my neck into my collar bones, sucking at the sensitive spot making me grind down onto him. He growls gripping my hips pulling me back down onto him. I could feel him grinding himself down into me. His chest heaves in needy breaths. I couldn’t help but to whine, it felt so wrong dry humping my fiancés father in his childhood kitchen, but it felt so good at the same time.

“Need you rick.” I moan out.

“Please.” I frown at him showing off my best puppy eyes. I could feel his dick pulse against me.

“Don look at me like that, sweetheart.” He warns. I quickly slide off of the counter dropping to my knees. I trail my hands up ricks black jeans to his thighs and then to his belt. He doesn’t stop me, he just leans against the counter as i tug his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. His dick springs up close to my face. I could see the intricate veins and precum leaking off his pink puffy tip. I slowly get closer placing a peck on the top of his cock. He grunts as his abs contract in pleasure. I slowly take his tip in my mouth hollowing out while flipping my tongue on the base of his cock flattening it out. He groans deeply sucking in a sharp breath. I swallow more of him down my throat with ease. He moans leaning foreword on the counter I was leaned up against, I could feel his hips thrusting in my mouth. I set my hands to the side as he starts thrusting rougher. His small moans and gasps escaping his throat as I could feel him close to his edge. He quickly pulls out lifting my little body up with ease slamming me on top of the counter.

“Such a good girl huh?” He huffs. “If Carl won’t take care of my baby than I will.” He rips my panties off shoving them in his pocket. Getting down on his knees he kisses my cunt and flattening his tongue on my entrance slowly bringing it up to my clit. He begins to ravage my cunt in fast and needy licks and nibbles. It was so hard for me to be quiet as this was probably the hottest sex I’ve ever had. I felt my legs shake on his shoulders and my arms start to wiggle and give out. Rick stands up wiping off his lips that once were sucking needy at my cunt.

“Lay down baby, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” his raspy voice soothes my nerves as he lines his tip up to my cunt. He pushes in and I almost came from the sheer thickness of his cock. The way it fills me up and stretches my cunt had me salivating. I couldn’t feel a condom though. And my heart skipped a beat.

“Rick what’re doing-“

“Shhh,” he shushes me and it drowns out all my worries. “Gotta fill my princess up? Yeah.” He starts thrusting slowly but roughly into my wet cunt. I clench down on his cock from his filthy words. “Gonna pump you full of cum” he huffs thrusting faster. My tits bounce roughly due to his thrusts. I arch my back covering my mouth to contain the erotic moans flying out. Rick rips my arms off my mouth holding them down on my stomach. “Don’t hold ur moans in.” He huffs. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.” He growls somehow speeding up fucking me into oblivion as I could feel his dick curve up and hit my G spot with every thrust. I couldn’t hold in my moans anymore and I’m pretty sure the next door neighbors heard me. “That’s my good girl, let them know your my slut.” He whimpers as my cunt clench’s tight around his cock. “You like that huh?” His raspy voice chuckles. “Knowing you’re my slut, how I’m filling you up better than he does mmmh.” My lips quiver and I feel my legs shaking. “R-rick I’m about to cum.” I complain trying to push him off. He doesn’t slow down a bit as he brings up an arm rubbing my clit furiously as he snaps his hips down onto mine. “Cmon baby it’s okay, cum for me.” I felt the buildup finally crash down in hot electric waves. My eyes roll to the back of my head as rick relentlessly pounds my cunt not faltering a second as my orgasm hits. I felt liquid spray all over him, he moans as if that was his breaking point snapping his hips one time deep into my cunt spraying my walls white with his thick cum.

“Fuck, you take my cock so good.” He growls pushing deeper into me, filling up my cunt full. He stands there inside of me as we breathe heavily. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I just raw dogged my fiancés father in his kitchen. Rick pulls out staring at the cum dripping down my cunt.

“Rick,thank god I’m on the pill, or else we’d be fucked” I sigh trying to slide off the counter. He pushes me back grabbing napkins while cleaning up his mess.

“Lemmie,” he says while tenderly taking care of me. He picks me up carrying my shaky legs to carls room.

“I’m sorry it got carried away, sweetheart.” He mumbled kissing my forehead. He slowly backs up staring into my eyes intensely while walking away.

After that day I didn’t mind going over to carls over the holidays, in fact, I couldn’t wait till thanksgiving hit, even Christmas.

#rick grimes smut #rick grimes #carl grimes smut #carl grimes #the walking dead #walking dead #michone grimes #lori grimes

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tulip-room · 5 months ago

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Crush Next Door - s. kiyoomi

syn. your childhood friend that you lost contact with moves next door to you

Ch. 1 || Playground

Warnings. None

Words. 1.2k

prev >> series masterlist >> next

-‘๑’- Fall, 16 yrs ago (elementary school)

“Just one game?” A small child's voice calls to another child. It was a sunny day, birds were chirping and leaves were bristling in the wind. Most days as a child are remembered as nice, when you still have an optimistic view on the world.

Currently two children are in a bit of a standoff, one wanting to stay where he is out of the sun and in the cooling shade. The other wants him to play with her, she doesn’t have a good reason for picking him out of everyone else on the playground. Perhaps it was because he was sitting by himself and she thought he could use a friend.

Whatever the reason may be there they were. “I don’t want to. I want to sit right where I am.” The boy huffed as he crossed his arms and kept distance between the two of them.

“But I want to be your friend,” the girl responded as she took a step closer to him. “We can play in the sandbox! There’s a shaded area so you won’t be in the sun.” She tried to bargain with the boy.

“Will you be quiet if I do?”

“Come on,” she holds her hand out and waits for the boy with the dark curls to take her hand. He lets out a sigh —it’s quite a funny emotion to see on a child his age, and takes her hand. The two walk to the sandbox and sure enough there’s a small patch of sand that remains untouched by the sun. As much as he hates the feeling of sand getting stuck in his clothes he climbs in with her.

“What’s your name?” The girl asks beginning to make a hole in the sand.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he answers simply as he helps her make a hill in the middle of the hole she was digging.

“I’m L/N Y/N,” she gives him a kind smile as he helps her. Sakusa can’t quite place the feeling but his heart seems to beat a little faster at her smile. He gives her a small smile back, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

The two stay like that until their teacher calls them back inside. Playing in the sand and talking about meaningless things like why is the sky blue, how do leaves change color in fall, do you think if I jumped off that I could land on my feet? The endearing things children usually ramble about.

-‘๑’- Summer, present time

You see the moving truck in the driveway of the house next to you and smile. It had been so long since someone had lived there, you were happy the house was finally getting used. You rush around your kitchen gathering flour and other ingredients to makes cookies.

You wanted to make a housewarming gift for the neighbor. You hoped they liked sweets otherwise it would be an awkward walk back to your house with a container of cookies. While the cookies were in the oven you changed out of your flour stained clothes into something a little more presentable.

When the timer finally went off to let you know the cookies were done you grabbed a Tupperware from your cabinet and placed a cloth inside to put the cookies on. You put an oven mitt on and carefully set the warm sheet tray on top of the stove. You let them sit for ten minutes as you gathered bottles of water and a can of soda.

If they didn’t like the cookies they would at least take the drinks, you hoped. Once the cookies were safely sealed inside of the container you start making your way over to the house next door. The moving truck had left so you hoped it was a good time to visit and that you weren’t interrupting anything. You take a deep breath before knocking on the door.

What you weren’t expecting when the door opened was to see a familiar set of curls. A wide smile breaks across your face as your eyes light up. “Kiyoomi,” you say simply. It seems he’s just as shocked as you were. It doesn’t take him very long before he’s pulling you into a hug.

The hug is a little awkward with the Tupperware still in your arms but you take it in stride. You pull away and look up at him in awe. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he says with a smile of his own etched into his face. “I didn’t know you lived down here.”

“Yeah, have for a few years. What are you doing here?”

“I play for the MSBY Black Jackals.”

“Oh! You still play volleyball?” He nods and notices the Tupperware in your hands.

“Here,” he holds his hands out and takes the Tupperware from you. “You’re still baking I see. I’ll finally get to have your sweet treats again,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah, I opened up my own bakery. You’ll have to come by some time, my treat.”

“It’s a date. You should come to one of my games, I can save you seats.” He sounds a little nervous as he asks, like he’s expecting a rejection.

“I would love to. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you play.” Your feet shuffle around, you were elated to see him but it was also a bit nerve racking. You hadn’t spoken in years, losing touch after you had to move.

“I have to get back to unpacking but why don’t you come over Friday? We can have dinner and watch a movie.”

“I would like that,” you say softly and plays with her necklace. He catches the glint of metal moving on the necklace and he teases her lightly.

“Still wearing that?” He motions his head towards her necklace. You pull it out from under your shirt and show off the ring hanging from it, it’s slightly rusted from age but still in decent condition.

“Of course, where’s yours?”

“I don’t want to lose it so I put it on a keyring and attached it to my volleyball bag.” You let out a small laugh as you think of the circumstances.

“It seems I was right about them.”

“You were.”

“Do you need help unpacking?” You ask and gesture towards the boxes piled high behind him.

“No, I already have someone helping. You get back home, I’ll see you Friday.” He turns to set the Tupperware of cookies down before he pulls her into another hug. “It was good seeing you Y/N.”

You wrap your arms around him and take a deep breath. You almost forgot how nice his hugs were. “It was good to see you too, Kiyoomi. I figure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other since you’re so close again.”

He gives you a gentle squeeze before you pull away from the hug. “I would like that.” You give him one last smile and a wave as you begin walking back over to your house. He doesn’t close his door until he sees you’re safely back inside.

“And who was that Omi Omi?” His face drops as he heard the voice of Atsumu. He sighs and picks the Tupperware up to take it to his kitchen.

“A friend.” He doesn’t offer more context than that, he doesn’t need to.

“Aww, I didn’t know you had friends outside of the team Omi Omi!” Atsumu teases him as he breaks down a box and throws it in the recycling can.

“Just keep unpacking Atsumu.” He rolls his eyes as he goes back to unpacking the box of kitchen supplies.

I hope you guys liked the first chapter <3 more chapters coming soon! This series is really just an excuse to write soft Sakusa lol

taglist: @hiraethwa @loveelylacey

masterlist

rules

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #tulip writes #hq x reader #haikyuu x y/n #tulip types #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #msby sakusa #hq x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff

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chimcess · 2 months ago

Text

Nachash || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!

Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here

Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.

July 1997

"How are you feeling?"

I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.

"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."

My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.

Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.

"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.

They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.

Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.

"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"

I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"

"That's a long wait."

I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."

I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.

Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.

"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."

"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."

"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."

It would be her sixth.

"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."

"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.

I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.

"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."

"What if it happens again?"

My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.

I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.

"You'll get through it," I assured him.

We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.

"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too, sissy."

I smiled faintly, "Later."

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.

Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.

The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.

"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.

I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.

"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.

The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"

"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.

What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.

The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.

We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.

"Hello, Doctor."

I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."

"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."

I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.

It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.

"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.

Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.

August 1997

I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.

Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.

Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.

"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.

"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."

I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.

"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"

I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.

"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."

Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.

"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."

The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.

The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.

Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.

Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.

"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."

I hated the subway.

"Leave her alone."

That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.

"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."

Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.

I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.

“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”

Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.

This wasn’t my room.

The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”

Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.

As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”

A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.

“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.

An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.

He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.

“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”

“You. I’m yours.”

He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.

The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.

I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.

I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.

And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.

Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.

I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.

The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.

"I'm Hoseok."

The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.

"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.

"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.

I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."

I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.

"Would you like dinner with me?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.

But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.

I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Does two weeks work?"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded.

"I'm off on the 27th."

He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.

"Meet you here?"

We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.

The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”

I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.

My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.

I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.

Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.

Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.

“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.

I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.

I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.

He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.

And then he bites.

I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.

I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.

September 1997

I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.

“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”

“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”

The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate.

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.

“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?

Was I expecting more from tonight?

“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.

“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.

The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.

“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.

“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”

I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.

“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing.

“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”

I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.

“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”

“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”

I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?

“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.

Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity.

“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.

“Dauphine.”

The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me.

As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.

I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.

“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”

The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.

“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”

A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.

“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”

Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement.

“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”

I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.

“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.

“We were talking about work,” I said.

I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”

Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.

“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”

I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.

“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.

“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.

Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.

I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.

And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.

It both sickens and excites me.

October 19, 1997

My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.

The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.

Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.

With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.

From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05 To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi

I grinned and began typing my reply.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15 To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D. Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital

It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.

I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.

Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.

Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.

“Y/N. Come to me now.”

With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.

He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.

The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.

“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”

My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Are you ready, my lamb?”

Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.

He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.

“Please.”

And then he bit.

I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.

The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.

As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.

My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.

“Soon.”

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.

October 28, 1997

"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.

"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.

"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."

I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."

I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.

"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."

"You got it, doc."

The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.

I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.

The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.

After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.

Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.

Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.

"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.

"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.

The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.

"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.

"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"

The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.

She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.

The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.

“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”

I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.

“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”

I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.

“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”

Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.

“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”

Bootsy…

“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.

I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”

The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.

Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”

Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.

“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”

A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.

Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.

“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”

“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”

“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.

“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”

Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.

She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”

“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.

Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”

It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.

“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”

With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.

He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.

October 31, 1997

I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.

Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.

Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.

My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.

I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.

“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”

“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”

My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”

“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”

Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”

I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”

“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”

“You are special, sweet girl.”

A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.

“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”

“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.

I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.

“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.

“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”

Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.

“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.

“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”

“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”

“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.

“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”

“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”

I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.

“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.

“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”

“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”

“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”

The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.

My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.

The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…

I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.

“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.

The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.

As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.

The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.

“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.

“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”

The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.

I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.

Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.

At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.

The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”

The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.

He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”

He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.

I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.

The despair was suffocating.

“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.

I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”

“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.

Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.

Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.

Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.

“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.”

Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…

“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”

“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.

“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”

“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.

When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…

Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”

“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.

“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”

Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—

“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”

As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.

A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.

“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.

I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.

“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”

A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.

“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”

“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.

“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”

A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.

Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”

The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.

I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.

I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”

Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.

“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.

I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.

With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”

The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…

Don’t leave me.

Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”

As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.

“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”

Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”

The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.

There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.

And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?

We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.

Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.

Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.

What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.

The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.

I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.

As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.

When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.

The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.

On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.

The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”

“Body of Christ, save me.”

“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”

This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.

“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”

“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”

“O good Jesus, hear me.”

I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.

Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?

To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.

My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.

In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.

I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.

I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.

My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.

No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.

Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.

Shit.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.

I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.

The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.

Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.

The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.

Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.

My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.

I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.

The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.

“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.

"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.

The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy.

"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.

"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.

"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"

I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.

"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."

Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.

I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.

His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.

"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.

"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.

I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.

A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.

I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.

My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.

The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.

My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.

As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.

"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.

His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.

His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.

The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.

I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.

He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."

My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.

"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."

His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."

The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."

His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.

The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.

His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.

Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.

He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.

As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.

I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.

“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.

His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.

I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”

“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.

Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.

The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”

I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”

The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.

Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.

“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”

I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.

As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.

Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”

His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.

Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”

As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.

The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.

I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.

As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.

There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.

At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.

October 31, 2024

The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.

Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.

Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.

When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.

As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.

One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.

Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.

As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.

I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”

I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”

His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”

I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”

“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”

Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.

Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.

I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.

Pager Codes:

110 307 - Go To Bar

209 - On My Way

08 - OK

420 - You’re in trouble

3011 - Be Careful

221 - Where are you?

419 - I don’t understand

100 - Come Back

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love-of-the-red-star · 2 months ago

Text

Halloween Special: The “Bellboy”

Summary: Planting the seeds of freedom always entailed a violence in some form, and while you’d rather resolve it passively like you used to, people are difficult. Cult leaders even more so.

Aka you play the classic game of pretend like in Sigonia IV— this time you’re not a woman, but just a boy.

(Excuse my fuckass art)

“That won’t do, Mr. Wood.” The young boy with wine red hair stated, almost bored, twirling a lock of wavy hair between his fingers as Gopher Wood winced.

There’s blood on his fingers, there is warmth on his chin, and his eyes sting.

“Oh tri—“ Not even another syllable was uttered before he’s shushed by the boy.

“I wouldn’t recommend trying to force that method to go through. It. Won’t. Work.” He told him as a matter of fact, the older man fell down his knees as the throbbing inside his head worsened. “Any more than what you’re doing now and you’ll disintegrate— oh wait, it’s already starting.”

His hands are melting.

“I don’t like having to force people to bend to my whims— that defeats the purpose of what I exist for. Unfortunately, I think you’re too far gone.” The boy’s words are muffled as his ears started to ring.

Louder and louder, til the boy’s words are faint.

“Well, I guess that’s to be expected. I cannot save everybody or make everybody happy, and I tried giving you a choice and this is what you chose.”

Gopher looked up, and in what little logic he could grasp amidst the pain and disorientation, he saw the boy’s expression morph to one of remorse.

Genuine, pained. As if he was regretting this choice.

Gopher knew he’s saying more words, but the ringing in his ears are louder than the boy’s soft voice.

Then everything grew silent.

——————————

On a good summer day, Gopher Wood appointed the hotel another bellboy.

Right around Sunday’s age, he’s lean and reliable and good, albeit awkward. Sporting wine red hair and forest green eyes, he is not a bad sight to see around his child.

He called himself “Millicent”, a name strangely feminine for a boy but oddly suiting to his appearance.

It’s strange though— Gopher swore that he could see something just a tad bit off about him if he squinted or looked close enough, but whatever that imperfection was, it’d be gone in the blink of an eye.

He frowned, brows furrowed as Millicent attended to the new guests, charming and endearing enough that he knows the customers would keep asking for him next.

No one noticed anything wrong aside from him. That, or maybe he was getting old and his senses are starting to fail him.

“Good morning Mr. Wood.” Millicent cheerily greeted him, eyes bright and happy and smile sweet. Gopher returned his greeting in kind, albeit calmer and more composed.

“How was your day here, child?” Gopher asked, subtly glancing at the way the boy drummed his fingers against the luggage he’s on the way to tow off to some guest— Gopher remembers it to be an influential woman, who thankfully immediately took a liking to the hotel and the whole of Penacony.

“It’s fine… the young Madame— our new guest has been kind and gave me a souvenir.” The boy cleared his throat mid sentence, then played with a lock of his red hair between the pads of his fingers, not looking Gopher in the eye as his expression became bashful.

“Oh?” Gopher’s curiosity was piqued, he had his fair share of stories of guests liking his servants, but he’d like to check for this one just in case there was anything inappropriate happening.

“She gave me a cake!” The boy blurted out. “S-sorry sir, I couldn’t say no….” He began to sweat profusely, like a child getting caught taking cookies from the jar in the night. Gopher doesn’t mind, not really.

Happy workers meant a happy environment.

At the very least, the boy was safe and there was nothing inappropriate happening. He’d hate for the child’s eyes to dim, so very full of life much like his children, Robin and Sunday….

He dismissed his own musings and bid the boy goodbye so he could head to his duties, leaving the redhead behind.

Gopher could have sworn he saw the boy look at him coldly before he disappeared from his line of sight.

——————

It started small, with the lights flickering in the hallway and the way his lamp would refuse to turn on.

Millicent’s little smile had been particularly tight that day, nervous if anything else as he approached Gopher with care, seemingly afraid to anger him.

“The young Madame from room 107 said there was red in her sink.” Millicent blurted out, and Gopher frowned in response. “Then the person next door’s…. I don’t know the details, but the medics said the flesh under his skin turned into wire.”

Ah, Gopher remembers that guest— an unpleasant fool, a particularly difficult customer that couldn’t be pleased with the means provided to him in reality.

Unpleasant customers aren’t uncommon, but they’ve taken a silent approach ever since the incidents began a few days prior.

That’s why Millicent stood before him, detailing what had happened as he had asked the boy and the other staff to inform him of anything and everything since the strange occurrences.

“Wire?” Gopher carefully pried, and the boy nodded quickly.

“I only overheard it, but they said his muscles looked like the cables you’d see in an electrical room.” Millicent fiddled with his fingers, brows furrowed as he refused to look at him in the eye. “Oh and…. Some of the stuff that mister had used turned to mud.”

There’s a slight hint of satisfaction inside that statement that Gopher would have missed had he not been listening intently. It doesn’t matter much, although it is amusing that this boy was trying to hide that little glee of putting a man to his place to himself.

“I see.” He hummed. “How are you faring? And how are the others?” He asked, putting his hands and slotting his fingers neatly against each other. For a moment he thought he saw his green eyes dim, the shadow behind him morphing into something that didn’t look quite right.

Gopher blinked, and the image is normal again.

“I’m okay, just a bit surprised, that’s all.” Millicent trailed off, and Gopher sensed this to be a lie. “It’s not everyday you witness people have their flesh turn into cables and furniture turning into mud and hearing your coworkers scream— s-sorry! That was out of turn.” It was not, but the boy apologized anyways. “My coworkers…. They’re okay, they’re scared though.”

Gopher keenly observed him like a bird as he curled in to himself, before he cleared his throat and dismissed the boy— another member of the staff coming in right after him.

Something’s not right, and he doesn’t know why.

Whatever it was that was wreaking havoc in the hotel was not in the words of the Order, or part of it. Whatever it was, he’ll find out soon enough.

It was just too bad that he didn’t get to see the way Millicent grinned after he left the room seeing his turmoil.

There’s a reason why people say ignorance is bliss. Too bad that’s not a luxury that Gopher Wood will be granted with.

—————————

It had been Robin who began to suspect first.

“Father, something’s wrong with that boy.” She began, looking up at him with worried eyes as her halo thrummed.

“Which one?” Gopher asked, keeping that tranquil smile on his face as he focused his attention to his beautiful daughter.

“The one with red hair..” she trailed off, and he immediately knew who.

“Why is that? What makes you think something is wrong with him?” Gopher felt that he knew of the answer already; from the way that his image would distort, fade, or appear as if it was just… a puppet made of flesh emulating a mockery of human emotion. Halovians were particularly sensitive to people and their emotions… but that boy, he felt as if he wasn’t even a person at all for something that appeared so expressive.

“He feels—“

“Wrong?” Gopher’s smiled widened by a fraction and Robin was disturbed as her father finished her sentence for her.

“Yes.” She said. “Every time I try to know what he’s feeling, I get nauseous. Like I’m experiencing too many things at once.” She frowned, her worries deepening at every word she uttered. “It felt like I was peering into an animal and not at the same time.”

Gopher was silent, choosing to listen to his daughter tell him more. Now that she brought it up, Gopher began to reflect on the times they’ve interacted. He shouldn’t come to conclusions yet, if he wanted answers, it must come from the boy himself.

It was a little early to speak, as it was Sunday’s off handed comment that hit the nail on the head.

“I spoke to one of the bellboys the other day and one of them told me to stay off the 5th floor in the 11th room.”

That little comment had Gopher pause in his work. That was the exact same location where some of the more unpleasant guests he housed resided, and where another recent incident happened.

Unpleasant people couldn’t be avoided, and even they were welcomed by Xipe’s arms. Still, he thinks it must be a form of retribution for all the evil they’ve been doing. A way of enacting Order. Still, it is improper, unclean.

“What time did you speak to the bellboy?” He slowly spoke, and Sunday replied as precisely as he expected.

“3:44 in the afternoon.”

The incident happened an hour after that.

“And who did you speak to?”

“A boy named Millicent.”

Gopher smiled, the fine line of his lips tight as his eyes closed. There is a strange tranquility in knowing who may be the one starting this now, and while Millicent appeared harmless, Gopher knew better than to trust outward appearances.

“Are you alright, father?” Sunday asked, and Gopher shot him an affectionate look— one that was proud, one that was relieved.

“Yes, yes I am.” He said. “Will you call on that boy for me? There is something I need to speak to him with.”

Sunday frowned, but nodded hesitantly as he left for the door.

He has questions he wants answers to, and that boy will give him what he wants, whether he’d like to or not.

————

Gopher was a little irked to see the boy act nervous as he entered the office.

“I assume you know what you’re in here for, Fool.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.” Millicent shuffled his feet like a guilty child, feigning innocence.

Gopher Wood’s halo thrummed. “Speak, and cease your deceit, I will not be fooled twice, Fool.”

His halo glowed, and suddenly the boy grinned. “Playing that cheap trick, I see.” His voice was no longer shy, and he now stood differently.

“Well played, but too bad you’re wrong.” He said, sighing. The clock ticked ominously in the background as the bells signaled the passing of time. It is midnight.

“I’m no masked fool— although you’d send AHA laughing with you assuming I’m one of their own.” Slowly but surely, the layers peeled. With the glow of his halo, Gopher no longer saw a child.

“What would you be if not one of them?” Gopher inquired. “You caused chaos in this world— one that is unwelcome.”

“Pfft, tell that to AHA. They’re the one who requested I make my little entrance a bit entertaining.” The boy rolled his eyes, making air quotes at his last words. “ Anyways, you’re asking for what I am if not a masked fool— well, I’m something else, maybe a friend.” The boy stated. “Also, don’t mention them too often or they’ll hear you.”

“What of it if THEY hear?”

“You don’t want to know, just know that the Order isn’t here to protect you.” Gopher froze at his words. “You know, as much as I do actually appreciate Ena for what they represent, it’s you lot that are nuts in the head for bringing people down with you.”

“But… yeah.” He drawled, rather ungracefully. “If you’re nice enough to follow along, I got one request. Just one.”

Gopher narrowed his eyes, but listened to “Millicent”.

“Back off of reviving a dead Aeon and grooming your kid for Ena. You’re building a cage for them, not a paradise, Pathstrider of the Order.”

How did he know that? How did the boy know?

“You wanna know how I know you’re not Xipe’s? Is that what you’re gonna ask?” He grinned, and it’s one that looked as if he was relishing in the disbelief. “I smell Ena on you— nah actually you reek of them.”

“You’re rubbing off that smell on Sunday too— poor guy, just groomed by his own father for an Aeon that’s already served it’s purpose.” The boy’s voice started to sound a bit more grating to his ears now as he gritted his teeth. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna expose you, that’s why I’m here to ask you nicely to fuck off.”

After that, Gopher laughed.

“You expect me to follow along?” Gopher wheezed. “My life’s work.. you expect me to give it up just because you are asking me to?”

“Yeah, I don’t like unnecessary trouble and deaths— maybe except for the people that caused trouble for the staff. In my defense, they were asking for it.” Millicent shook his head, as if disappointed.

“I thought you were a reasonable man— as much as I don’t like to say this, you are a pretty decent parent, grooming your son aside.” He looked at Gopher in the eye. “So, will you back off? Or will you continue to play into being a dead god’s puppet?”

Gopher only smiled, his halo thrumming as the boy frowned.

“Last warning, don’t try to sear me using the light of Xipe, it’ll spell pretty bad—“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence as Gopher Wood uttered the words that he thought would punish the boy and smite him forever.

“Oh triple faced soul…” His vision started to distort. Was the room always this strange looking? “Please sear his tongue and palms with hot iron…..” his voice was starting to grow distant, and so he stopped.

The feeling of his head was starting to return to him, though it took moments. His halo did not stop thrumming.

“So that he will not— ARGH!” There’s a sharp pain, one that he couldn’t quite describe as his neck stiffened.

“That won’t do, Mr. Wood.” The young boy with wine red hair stated, almost bored, twirling a lock of wavy hair between his fingers as he winced.

There’s blood on his fingers, there is warmth on his chin, and his eyes stung.

What on earth was happening?

“Oh tri—“ He tried again, but not even another syllable was uttered by him before he’s shushed by the boy.

“Man, you’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” Millicent shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to force that method to go through. It. Won’t. Work.” He told him as a matter of fact, the older man fell down his knees as the throbbing inside his head worsened. “Any more than what you’re doing now and you’ll disintegrate— oh wait, it’s already starting.”

His hands are melting.

Louder and louder, til the boy’s words are faint.

“Well, I guess that’s to be expected. I cannot save everybody or make everybody happy,” Millicent sighed, tired. “I tried giving you a choice and this is what you chose.”

Gopher looked up, and in what little logic he could grasp amidst the pain and disorientation, he saw the boy’s expression morph to one of remorse(?). At least it looked to be remorse.

Genuine, pained. As if he was regretting this choice. Then saddened.

He knew he’s saying more words, but the ringing in his ears are louder than the boy’s soft voice.

Then everything grew silent as his body disassembled into familiar, horrific looking shapes.

The grandfather clock ticks. It’s 3:06 am.

————————

Hey guys I’m back!!! Sort of suffering from writer’s block rn but here’s the sort of Penacony chapter! I pulled this out of my ass so it’s not very good— might edit it and add more scenes later on but enjoy this absolute word vomit.

Thank you for the support! Love you! And happy Halloween <333

#aeon reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #honkai star rail

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janeyseymour · 9 months ago

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Your Song

a sweet one shot based on Elton John's Your Song. Attached is my own version of it, if you wanted to give it a listen!

WC: ~1.95k

Melissa is sitting next to you as the two of you soak up the sun in the Summer morning. You both have your cups of coffee, waking up with the sun and the world around you, not quite used to sleeping in just yet. You have your guitar with you, and you’re strumming little tunes and fingerpicking different licks that feed your heart and your soul as she watches you in awe. And then something happens, and you begin to play a tune that you really haven’t played in a while. You sing it in earnest as your heart swells with love for the woman beside you. She has a gentle hand on your knee, and she squeezes it gently when you sing the first line of one of her favorite songs.

It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside… I’m not one of those who can easily hide.

You remember when you first realized that you had feelings for the redhead who worked in the room next door to you. It was… unpredictable to say the least. And once you realized that, you did everything you could to hide those feelings for her. You were shocked that you were able to because well… you weren’t someone who could usually hide.

It took you months to confess your feelings to the redhead, when she was speaking of finally getting herself back out there, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Just one date with me,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Just one. And if it doesn’t work… it doesn’t work.”

She took you up on that offer, and here you were- three years later and married. You never thought you would get a chance with the absolutely stunning woman that was Melissa Schemmenti, but here the two of you were with shining diamonds on your fingers and the change in your last name to show for it. You haven’t been happier, and Melissa hasn’t been happier either- Barbara has attested to that too, so you know its the truth.

I don’t have much money, but boy if I did- I’d buy a big house where we both could live.

As two teachers working in center city Philadelphia in an underfunded and poorly run school, you weren’t rolling in dough- even though the redheaded second grade teacher has been with the district for over two decades and has unofficial tenure.

But the two of you have spoken about moving out of your tiny little townhouse and upgrading to a big house. One where the two of you could live, and you think you might have convinced her at this point to have at least one child of her own.

“I mean… I would love to have a little Schemmenti running around,” you admit shyly as your curled up on the couch one night. You’re watching some movie where the main character is pregnant, and it makes you yearn for a child of your own.

“Y/N,” Melissa sighs as she looks at you. “I’m too old to have a baby.”

“But I’m not,” you tell her. “And… you’re so good with the kids at school, and I’ve seen the way that you go out of your way to make babies smile while we’re grocery shopping.”

Your wife purses her lips. “M-maybe. But I have to think on it.”

You give her your best puppy dog eyes.

“If we can get the money for a nice house and to afford IVF… I don’t think it’s off the table.”

You made her pinky swear that if you ever had the money and you were still at the age where you could bear a child, the two of you would go through with it. After that, you got a job at the local diner waitressing on Sundays. She hates it because it steals you from her, but she always comes in to visit you and keep you company. The money that you make immediately goes into a jar that has the words ‘Future’ written on it in your loopy handwriting.

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do… You see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue. Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen. Who are you kidding? You could never in a million years the beautiful shade of green that your wife’s eyes are. They were the first thing you noticed when you met her five years ago. She didn’t believe you when you told her that.

“Was it my boobs?” she chuckles on your third date.

You roll your eyes. “Your eyes. They’re… mesmerizing. I saw the way that they sparkled when you were talking about your kids or someone you loved, and I was determined to make your sweet eyes sparkle like that… did I succeed?”

“I would say so,” she smirks as she leans in to kiss you.

“Good,” you mumble against her lips. “They’re gorgeous, you know.”

“My eyes?” the redhead practically swoons.

You see your opportunity, and you run with it. “No. Your boobs,” you deadpan.

She smacks you on the arm playfully, and you put your arms up in defense. “Hey! I was joking!”

Since meeting her, you’re positive that her eyes are the sweetest ones you’ve ever seen. They’re so… expressive. You can see in her beautiful eyes when she loves something or someone, and you consider yourself the luckiest woman alive to be able to get to see them every morning when you wake up.

And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done- I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you’re in the world.

You didn’t even really mean for this Elton John to turn into your song, but it did. You were just playing around on the guitar that she keeps in her classroom while you waited for her to finish up dismissal duty for the day.

If you’re being quite honest, you forgot that you even knew you could play that song until you heard it on the radio in her car this morning. So, after a few misfired chords, you begin to play and lay your voice over the simplistic yet stunning chords.

She comes in, ready to head out for the night, when she sees you sitting up on her counter, criss crossed and with the stringed instrument in hand. And then she hears your voice. And she can’t do anything but lean against the doorframe and listening to your soft and angelic voice.

When you fire out the last chord, she starts clapping softly from where she stands, and it startles you. You immediately turn red upon seeing her.

"I didn’t know you play,” Melissa says softly as she comes in.

“I dabble,” you shrug as you put her guitar back where it lives.

She furrows her brows. “I wouldn’t call that dabbling. How long you been playing?”

“Since I was thirteen,” you shrug. “My dad taught me basic chords, and I just picked up the rest.”

“Well, you’re damn good. And I love that song.”

“I do too.”

“Play it again for me when we get to my place?” she asks as she grabs your bags.

You do, and she sits and watches, mesmerized.

“Those words are true, you know,” you say softly. “Life is wonderful now that you’re in the world… my world.”

She kisses you gently as she wraps her arms around your waist. “It’s like I see in technicolor now.”

If I was a sculptor, but then again, or a man who makes a position in a traveling show. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.

“Do you ever think we would be better off if we weren’t teachers? Or at least one of us wasn’t?” you ask Melissa.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like… if I was a sculptor, or… someone who makes potions in a traveling show,” you sigh softly. “Like in our song… maybe then we could have a big wedding.”

Your fiancée rolls her eyes as she pauses making dinner to wrap her arms around you. “I think that we both love teaching, and I think that I love this little life of ours, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“I just… I know it’s not much,” you frown slightly. “We could be so much better off.”

“We’re doing the best that we can do, and that’s more than enough for me,” Melissa promises you as she kisses your cheek.

“I know that’s what you say, but-”

“If you were a sculptor or a man who made potions in a traveling show, I would never see you,” she says softly. “Being on the same schedule is really nice.”

You smile a bit sadly. “I just wish that-”

“I don’t wish for anything else… we have a perfect life,” Melissa promises you. “Besides, you know I don’t want a big wedding- having just our Abbott family and our families.”

“A-are you sure?”

“As long as I have you, it’s enough,” the redhead kisses you softly.

Your big day has arrived, and as of an hour ago, you are officially Mrs. Y/N Schemmenti. After a simple ceremony in the courtyard at the school, the place that brought the two of you together in the first place, you move the ‘reception’ over to Barbara’s house.

Your wife had insisted on making all of the food for the party, and by some grace of God, the task at hand was completed last night. Barb spent this morning decorating and giving Gerald detailed instruction of how to lay it out so it was ready for when you all got to the Howard household before heading out to witness the two of you tie the knot.

When you get there, it’s beautiful- more beautiful than you had expected. There’s a stunning balloon arch, a garden of flowers, pictures of the two of you, and a few tables set up perfectly.

Your eyes well, as much as you will them not to. “How did we afford all of this?” you whisper to Melissa.

“We didn’t.” You look over at her, and her eyes are shining with tears too. “Barb?”

“The Abbott crew threw it together for our two favorite teachers,” the kindergarten teacher smiles. “Go on.”

Mr. Johnson announces the two of you in with the most sincerity that you’ve ever heard from him before he says softly, “And for your first dance…”

He hits play on the phone that is connected, and the familiar melody melts over your body as you pull your wife in close.

The Abbott clan and your families watch as the two of you sway back and forth, dancing together as a married couple for the first time. Barbara films it, tears of happiness falling down her cheeks.

“I hope you don’t mind… I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words… how wonderful life is, now you’re in the world,” you sing to her softly as she rests her head on your shoulder.

Life has been strange up until this time in your life, and you’ve had your doubts about love and life before… but with Melissa Schemmenti by your side? Life is wonderful.

#cover #singing #ukulele #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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luveline · 10 months ago

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Hopper requests? Say less…😂 How about something wholesome with El? Like Hopper was worried about El warming up to reader but he ends up having nothing to worry about?

I love your writing by the way!

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1k

Hopper loves El like any father loves their daughter, any parent their child, which is to say, he loves her and he knows her flaws. She’s a great kid but she has her problems, just as he does.

She’s angry sometimes, and she can’t cope with things she doesn’t like, and honestly, she’s allowed to be mad at the world (or at least he thinks so), but again, he loves her. He has to teach her that she can’t always get what she wants, even when she deserves it.

He’s a little tough on her. He’s been a bad dad to her, sometimes, he knows that. He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll keep trying.

He doesn’t deserve you, either, but he has you.

He’s not expecting you in his home, though. He’s barely mentioned you to El —he didn’t know how she’d react. It hasn’t been that long since her last outburst.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

Your shoes are by the door, he’d know your beaten up sneakers anywhere, and El’s talking to someone with their head turned away from the door. It’s dark, the only light from the TV and the weak orange kitchen lamp, but he can tell it’s you.

“What does what mean?” you ask.

He panics and relaxes, a paradox of behaviour as he closes the door softly behind him. His head races with thoughts of what El might do without a pep talk before meeting you even as his hands itch to be on you. He hasn’t seen you for a few days, which is a few too many in his book.

“Respect.”

“You and Hop must’ve talked about respect before.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, some people think respect is earned, and some people think you should have it anyways. I think it’s both, you know? It’s kindness and… politeness. You respect your dad by keeping your room clean, and saying thank you for dinner, and he respects you by saying thank you for keeping your room clean, and making you dinner. Though he should pretty much always be making you dinner. Does that make sense?”

He can’t not be soothed by you. The way you’re talking to her melts his heart.

“No,” El says succinctly.

Hopper holds in a laugh.

“Um… okay. So, I respect your dad–”

“Hop?”

“Yeah, baby,” you say gently. “Sorry. I respect Hop because he’s a good man. So I try to be good to him. He respects me for some reason,” —you notice him and give him a flirty, sweet, slightly nervous smile— “so he opens doors for me and tucks my chair in at the dinner table.”

“He puts my coat on the hook for me.”

You nod happily. “Right! That’s respect. And love, too.”

“You’re here?” Hopper asks.

El turns to him with a timid smile to match yours. “I let her in. She did the knock.”

“I didn’t realise it was secret,” you explain. “You do it sometimes, on the side of the car door. I couldn’t get you at the station, I thought you were home–”

“It’s okay.” He leans down to drop a kiss against your crown. “S’fine,” he says into your skin. “I can see you’re all introduced.” The secret knock isn’t even really in practice anymore.

“She’s your girlfriend?” El asks him.

Hopper doesn’t answer. Girlfriend feels odd sometimes when you’re older, because you’re a lot more than what the word might imply, but he likes the idea of it, too. “I wanted to introduce you on Friday. You know, the special dinner I mentioned?”

“Right. Why I need to clean my room,” El says, frowning.

“Exactly.” Hopper pats her back where she’s sat across from you.

“Now I don’t need to anymore?”

“No, you do,” Hopper says.

El frowns deeper. “Because I respect you.”

“Maybe one day.”

El’s only recently re-entered society. She’s stressing Hopper out, what with it being summer soon and her growing curiosity for the world, and he’s worried she won’t get along with people because she’s behind in terms of experience, but mostly he’s sick of arguing with her about leaving the bath water in and how much sugar she’s allowed each day.

He’d hoped to explain things to you in better detail. El’s a special case. She needs more patience than most kids (and maybe she doesn’t always get it). He didn’t doubt you’d be good to her, and it’s still a shock when you reach across the table to hold her hand and she doesn’t yank hers away.

“I can help, if you want. It gets overwhelming sometimes,” you say.

“How come you don’t help?” El asks Hopper.

“Because you don’t need help putting your clothes in the laundry, kid, you just don’t like doing it.”

“What Hop doesn’t understand is that we’re girls and we have better stuff to do,” you say, stroking the back of her hand with your thumb.

You have dinner together, and you watch a movie. Hopper can’t believe how well it goes, or how much El seems to like you. She sits between you and Hopper on the couch in demonstration of her lack of tact and he can tell you don’t care. He doesn’t care either. In a way, it’s nice to spoil El with affection she’s not used to having. Joyce is always, always kind to El when they see one another, but that’s not often. He hadn’t realised how badly El wanted some motherly attention, or how quick you are to give it.

He should’ve guessed. You’re nice to him, and he’s an idiot.

“I wish it was longer,” El whispers. Hopper looks over her head at you.

“Why?” you ask, pulling her hair in a circle around your finger. “It looks so pretty like this.” You ruffle her hair and tuck it behind her ear.

El shivers at the touch. “You think I'm pretty?”

“Doesn’t Hop tell you you’re beautiful?”

“No,” El says.

Hopper winces. You just smile and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She’s small enough for you to squeeze. “He doesn’t tell me much either, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think it,” you whisper. “How could he not, huh? You’re beautiful.”

“You’re both real pretty,” he says with a sigh, spitting it out now to get it over with. “Notice how nobody tells me I’m pretty and I don’t complain?”

“You’re handsome,” you say, grabbing the top of his shoulder, and rubbing it kindly. You lift your chin for a kiss and he gives it without thinking.

“Oh, ew,” El says, ducking away from you both in disgust.

“It was a peck!” Hopper says.

“Gross.”

“Go make yourself some ice cream, kid.”

She hums happily and jumps up off of the couch. You laugh as he pulls you into the space she’s left behind, sighing as he hugs you tightly to his chest. “I think she likes me,” you say.

Hopper snorts. “You think?”

#jim hopper x y/n #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x fem!reader #dad!jim hopper #dad!jim hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fandom #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper fluff

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sturniololoco · 11 months ago

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Can’t Hate You pt 1

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) X Nathan Doe

Warnings: Cussing, hitting, mentions of SA later in the series(and no, it was not Nate), etc.

ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩

SLS/N’s POV

Today was the day that I was not looking forward to. All week I’ve been dreading this specific Saturday to come, and it’s unfortunately arrived.

Nathan Doe is coming to LA.

He’s my brother’s best friend, so they invited him to come stay a week over the summer.

But, me and Nate have never really gotten along all that well. I know this will sound petty, but something that happened in high school, that you just can’t forgive people for.

“Who’s excited?!?” Chris yells in the car on our way to the airport, putting his hands up in the air. Matt and Nick cheer in delight, having been waiting for this week for a long time.

“Why so his big ass head can get in my way all weekend?” I say sarcastically, sighing then looking out my window.

Nick covers his mouth as he laughs at my snarky remark. Matt shakes his head while looking at the road.

But Chris turns to me and says.

“SLS/N, I know you two don’t get a long very well, but at least try this week.” He says, giving me a pleading look.

I glance at him for a brief second before looking out the window again, not responding. He sighs before saying,

“please sis? For me?”

I look back to see him giving puppy eyes. I roll my own before muttering a soft fine before we pulled up at the airport.

Nick and I stayed behind, filming Matt and Chris practically skipping through the airport corridors when they saw Nate.

“His head is still just as big as I remember,” I say to Nick and the camera he held for Wednesday's vlog.

Nick laughs out loud, shuts the camera off, then walks over to greet Nate. He gives him a side hug once he manages to pry off my other two brothers.

Instead of giving him a hug, instead of saying hello, instead of making eye contact with him at all, I stand behind Nick, looking at the ground, wishing this would hurry up so I could go home.

"SLS/N," he says sternly, nodding in my direction.

I gave him a tight-lipped smile, making eye contact for about half a second, then went back to looking at the ground.

"Wow. awkward!" Matt says, Nate just rolls his eyes and plays it off. I however began walking to the car.

I sit in the way back of the van, both headphones in, drowning out the boy's conversation. Nick and Nate were in the back while Matt and Chris were in their usual seats.

Around 15 minutes later, I felt a sharp tap on the side of my leg. I look up to see Nate reaching back behind the seats to get my attention. I pull one headphone out.

"We're stopping at McDonalds, what do you want to eat?" He asks, looking annoyed.

"Don't fucking touch me," I say, hating the fact that he feels like he could touch me.

Not after what he did.

"Don't be a child, SLS/N. Just use your words and tell your brother what you want." He says, using a sarcastic baby voice near the end.

I roll my eyes and mumble a quiet,

"I'm not hungry."

Nick rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, then rolls his window down to order.

The boys were filming the rest of their vlog while they ate, but I decided not to. I stayed in my room, scrolling through my Instagram.

There was a soft knock on my door.

After saying come in, I'm met with the eyes of Nate. He tosses a 6 piece chicken nugget box into my lap, then sets a small tea on my night stand.

My favorite.

"I said I wasn't hungry." I lie, turning my nose up at the food. I secretly wanted to crush 10 boxes of them, but he didn't need to know.

"You need to eat." He says walking back towards the door.

He goes to close the door but opens it a crack, saying,

"I better not see any of those in the trash can."

He then walks out leaving me alone with a box of chicken nuggets, a sweet tea, and a blushing face.

Why am I blushing? Why did he care if I ate or not? How did he know my order?

All of these thoughts only make my face redder, causing me to get frustrated.

He doesn't care about you. Not anymore.

I lay back into my pillows, taking a sip of sweet tea, trying not to think about the boy who just walked out of the room.

Guys, it gets juicy I swear! The intro is always the most boring part. But I think y'all r gonna love this one.

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo sister x reader #sturniolo sister #nathan doe x reader #nathan doe #nathan doe smut

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heartbreakgrill · 5 months ago

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Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 8; "My reputation's never been worse."

“This is so fucking stupid.”

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, eyes rolling at the sight of the boys, noise makers between their lips, some jank ass sign unraveling in the wind.

“Your mom’s fucking stupid,” Max fired back with his usual goofy smile, words muffled from the noise maker in his mouth. His knocked his fist against my elbow gently as he passed by, moving to help Cy hold up the poster board.

They’d bought it at a random Walgreens, after having forced the Uber driver to pull over, abruptly. Then, with bumpy hands and terrible penmanship, they wrote out some sarcastic for Sam about returning home from prison.

“Don’t be a sour puss, dude,” Adam replied. His brows were furrowed, chin dipping side to side in disagreement to my negative statement.

I looked to him, watching as he pulled a cone shaped hat down onto his hair, the rubber band snug against his chin. The meer humor of the too-small hat on his head made his words lose any meaning. I wanted to laugh, but instead I shot back, my brows skeptically, sarcasm quick as air, “Who? Me? No, never!”

Adam scoffed a laugh. His hat was finally adjusted now, hands falling to his sides exasperatedly. “Seriously. Just try to be nice, for once. Sam said Daisy’s, like, so sweet.” My skepticism only darkened my gaze, sarcasm sinking into genuine wonder, “So, what, we’re gonna be dancing around some child all summer?”

It was a valid question. When Sam asked us about Daisy joining the tour for the summer, everyone else just jumped on board. I, however, took a little convincing. What business did she even have here, 5,000 miles from home? It’s not like she had any professional connections to touch on, nor was London that interesting. Or, maybe I was just being a pessimist, again…

To say the least, I had trust issues. Or, in my therapist’s more light turn of phrase, I was cautious, careful to new people because I had a lot on the line with my career and had been through numerous situations with others that ended up with me, well…in therapy.

Max battled with the cardboard sign as the wind seemed to be winning the war. He struggled to get the words out as he scuffled to straighten its edges, which seemed to take more work than it needed to, “She’s literally only 5 years younger than you.”

“So, a child?”

“So, a 23 year old, grown woman. She’s really smart, Sam said. I’m sure you can have some fun conversations about the elements and shit.”

“Sam’s biased,” I murmured, focused now on the cigarette between my pointer and middle fingers. I dallied with lighting it, displaced energy in the act. It was early. I was tired.

“Sam’s one of your best mates,” Cy shot me a look. “Listen, just give her a chance. Stop moping just because you think some woman’s gonna take away from our guy time this summer.”

I straightened up, offense hitting my features like a stone wall, “When did I say that? I’m just worried we’re gonna have to cater to some child while we’re trying to literally do our jobs. She’s gonna be pursuing around like she’s in some Taylor Swift video while we’re going to be trying to earn our income. It’s just…weird.”

I’d never mention that fear to them- the fear I had of this trust. I think maybe if they all looked at me a little more closely, they’d see it. They’d see the fear in my eyes. But, I was really good at displacing my anxieties onto a separate, less pressing issue.

If I was ever terrified the sky was going to fall, then, suddenly, I was lashing out about the uncut grass in the front yard, randomly. Gotta love unhealthy coping mechanisms. Cy was still looking at me all judgmentally. I knew he wanted to lecture me further, but he simply reached over, patted my shoulder, and said, “Just…try not to be a dickhead, okay? Let the girl enjoy her summer.”

Max continued on, blabbering about something or the other. “I’m, like…Ollie, have you ever even seen a Taylor Swift video? I am pretty sure not a single fucking one takes place in Europe. They’re all super conceptual and abstract. Honestly, you might actually love some of ‘em. What’s that older one? With the trees and shit?”

“Out Of the Woods?” Adam was quick to fill in the blanks. I looked to him out of the corner of my vision, gaze narrowed. Of course he knew which one it was. He held his hands up, defensively, “What? My little cousin loves her.”

“Mhm,” I nodded, slow.

He trailed off, looking away, “And, maybe, you know, I do, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Max latched onto Adam’s help, continuing his rant about Taylor Swift, of all things. “Fuck! Out of the Woods! It reminds me a lot of the Fall for Me video! There’s, ya know, water…lots of running…self-deprecation. Fuck, a Sleep Token/Taylor Swift collab would go so hard!”

“Shit, could you imagine some real drums on one of her songs?” Cy perked up at the thought, fingers thrumming against the corner of the sign that he’d now laid his clutches on. “Sick!”

“Oh, God,” I rubbed my forehead, itching more and more to finally light up my cigarette, puff out a few smokey deep breaths. “I can feel the glitter and sparkles starting to fucking suffocate me! Can we please talk about something else?”

“Whatever, Ollie,” Adam flicked his hand towards me dismissively. He went to change the subject when his phone dinged from his pocket. He pulled it out, in one fluid motion, and read whatever text he’d gotten. “Shit! They just got their bags! Quick! Hold up the sign!”

Max shuffled around, all energetic, trying to make everything look perfect. He quickly tried to put a party hat on my head. I had to shove his entire body into Adam to stop him from getting the string down over my chin.

“Fuck off!” I cursed, brushing out the torso of my hoodie. He giggled, annoyingly, knowing he’d successfully gotten on my nerves. Again.

Max turned his attention away from me and to the two people who had just walked out of the airport, suitcases rolling behind them, backpacks looped around their shoulders. I noticed Sam, first, his head dipped down into his phone, curly blonde hair mopped up atop his head. He was dressed, head to toe, in all black. It was a welcome site, the fifth member of our posse back in our home country, our original stomping grounds, even if he wasn’t from here.

I let a smile overtake my features, excitement bubbling in my cheeks. It was actually really good to see him.

I wouldn’t have even paid any attention to the girl standing beside him if she didn’t stick out so much, like a sore thumb. Her bright pink sweater, gray sweatpants, the purples and greens swirled around her suitcase. Every single thing touching her was just…so colorful. Even the expression on her face, wide grin, cheery eyes- though they were circled by tireless bags- it was all so glaring.

I narrowed my eyes skeptically.

As Sam fumbled about on his phone, she stepped forward, excitedly taking an extra noise maker, my left over party hat, from Max. She barely got the hat on before Sam was looking up, our small crowd erupting into joyous ruckus that caused him to nearly drop his phone.

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I watched her, carefully, as she went through the motions of greeting everyone. Adam was his shy, introverted self. Cy was charismatic, Max obnoxiously flirty.

And she was just…constant, through it all. Upbeat, grinning, encouraging to every single average word that my friends told her.

And then she was looking at me, offering her hand. My head shook slightly as if to unscramble my consciousness. I glanced between her hand, her own gaze, unsure of what to do or say. I had been too busy watching. I barely brought myself out of that entrapped stare before my name came fumbling out of my mouth.

“Oliver.”

She seemed a little put off, taken aback, after I blatantly ignored her outstretched hand. But, I didn’t want to shake it. I was afraid that, if I touched it, she might shock me, sting me, scorch me with that bleeding sunshine she seemed to have sticking to her skin.

Besides, I couldn’t trust her, right? Right.

I turned my head away, feeling somewhat ashamed for the way I brushed her off. There was a rejected twinkle in her eyes, one that I could not handle. Moving on from that interaction, or in an attempt to do so, I tilted my chin down, glazing my eyes to the concrete. I shrunk beneath the cover of my hood. I didn’t need to feel bad for anything. I didn’t even know her, nor did she know me.

As the others finished up with their exchange of greetings, the group itself began making its way back to the Uber, with Sam and Daisy now a part of the flow.

The car ride back was objectively short, though it felt longer than the time on Apple Maps said. I rode in the back with the guys, pressed up against the door due to the lack of space. My long knees jutted out awkwardly. The bone of my leg ached from knocking against the door with each bump in the road that the car hit.

I stared out of the window, hoping the painful time would pass quicker. The ugliness of London stared back at me. A small, curious part of me kept darting my eyes towards the front seat, where she sat. But I stilled my gaze on the city.

That was maybe part of the issue- I just didn't understand why Daisy was so interested in visiting this place anyways. It was boring, bland. I associated the cloudy gray skies and rainy summers with some of the worst times of my life. This city looked the way I felt for most of it, too. The people were shit, too. Rude, always in a rush, unforgiving and untrustworthy.

What adventure could one find in this wet, concrete maze of hell?

Bored, I moved my attention back to the interior of the car, still resisting that urge to look forward. Adam, Cy, Sam, and Max were a cacophony of lost conversation, catching up, rumbling laughter. I listened for a moment, intently awaiting her to throw in her two sense. She seemed like the type to talk somebody’s ear off. Perhaps I could read between her sentences, find out her motives, her intentions, find something to use against her, so I could easily hate her and put distance between us-

Oh.

She was sleeping.

Her body was slumped against the door, neck pillow twisted around to support her forehead from the glass of the window. She cradled her hands to her stomach, the blanket she had just up underneath her chest.

The curve of her face caught my eye the most, the simple stillness of the lines around her lips, the peaceful flutter that ruffled her lashes every so often. I wondered what she dreamt of- rainbows, sunshine, lollipops. I bet she was the type of person who would respond, "World peace," when asked what she would wish for if she had a genie.

God. I really was an asshole. Here was this stranger, this beautiful, seemingly kind stranger, trying to catch up on sleep after traveling nearly 20 hours…and here I was, creating an entire persona around the two facts I actually knew about her. Maybe I should give her a chance, like the guys said. Maybe I should let her in, even if it was barely past the surface, and try to be amicable.

Maybe she wouldn’t sell my name to the paparazzi. Maybe she wouldn’t leak photos of me online, or call news sites to gain traction on social media.

I nearly flinched as she shifted in her slumber, so lost in my thoughts that the disruption was a panic. Her lips parted, just so, as air deflated from her lungs. The hair that curled around her face ruffled from the gentle gust.

Though she looked like Sam, she really was beautiful. Sure, Sam was attractive, in his own way. But, uniquely, Daisy was…honestly, gorgeous, all doe-eyed, rose lips, freckled cheeks.

I kept staring at her, analyzing, accidentally memorizing.

As I felt myself sinking, into my seat, into myself, into this stare I had on her, I straightened up, shoved myself back in the door.

The poor girl wasn’t even awake.

And I was being far too open.

When we reached the hotel, everyone piled out of the Uber. I went to step out, myself, to begrudgingly helped with luggage. But after I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, I noticed Daisy was still asleep. As though she were his responsibility, I found Sam and went to vocalize the issue with him. But he was busy with their bags.

None of the others were really familiar enough with her to consider her.

No one but me, I guess, because I was reaching out my fingers, touching her shoulder, telling her, "We're here."

I swept myself away before she could wake up and look me in the eyes. - "Where's your sister?" Cy inquired, poking at his dish with the fork in his hold.

Sam shrugged as he continued shoveling french fries in his mouth. "Sleeping, I think. She was fucking exhausted. Could barely get herself to bed this morning.”

"Poor girl," Max pouted his bottom lip. "Has she ever traveled this far from home?"

"Nope."

"Damn. Good for her, then. It's hard to just leave everything behind, to leave your everyday life for this type of thing for this long," Max continued.

I listened intently, though I made it seem like I wasn't even conscious of the guys seated at the table with me. Where they thought I was mindlessly stirring my drink, I was reading between the lines of every vague fact Sam dropped about Daisy.

"Well," he held a hand before his mouth as he chewed, swallowed. He sat back as he began to unload more information about his sister, "No offense to her, but she doesn't have much of a life. She works, like, two-three jobs at any given time. She works at some clinic during the day, waits tables in the evening, then does some stuff on campus here and there."

"Shit. Hope she's taking care of herself," Adam commented, thoughtfully.

"She does. I think. I don't know. We don't really get much time together anymore. Ever since mom died...I don't know. It's been hard to stay connected."

"This summer's gonna be good, then, for you guys to get to see each other," Cy touched Sam’s wrist with his fist, encouraging our friend with his response.

"Yeah," Sam's eyes seemed a little distant then, like there were foggy memories, regrets clouding his consciousness, "Yeah, I hope so."

Max went to speak again when Sam's phone went off. He pulled it out, scrolling through the texts he'd received. "Speak of the devil."

Sure enough, Daisy came padding into the hotel bar. Her hair was damp, twisted up behind her head by some clip. Her features were more prominent this way, skin shining with the care she must have just put into it. As she approached us, her perfume breezed off her skin, off her stupid Taylor Swift hoodie, right past my nose.

It smelled so sweet that I had to look away, focus on something else.

Everyone else greeted her, asking about how she slept, how she felt. I was inattentive, attempting to make it seem like I hadn’t just been thrown off balance.

I needed to do something, say something to her, to be welcoming. To make it seem like I wasn’t such a dickhead, even though I pretty much was. So, I worked on some phrases in my head, hoping to catch her in a side conversation, so there wasn’t so much tension with the others listening in. But, she walked out of the bar as quickly as she'd come.

I found the air to be cooler without her occupying the space.

I shivered and turned my chin towards that freeze.

Later that evening, I found myself on the hotel roof.

It was one of my favorite spots, no matter which city we were passing through, which state I found myself to be stuck in. I could go up to the highest floor, even if it wasn’t too far off of the ground, tune out the stress that came with work, and relax into the peace and quiet.

It was one of the healthier coping mechanisms my therapist and I had been working on. I was an antisocial person, to say the least. And when I’d had to be around others for too long, working literal overtime to just function like a normal person, I’d become irritable, withdrawn.

So, stalking off in the late hours of the evening with a book in my hand and some lyrics in my head became a usual, practiced ritual that I was comforted by, especially on tours.

The breeze of London flew past my face, braising goosebumps on my neck. I tucked my chin into my hoodie more. There were these tiki lights, all around me and the intimate seating area I occupied, but the little bits of light did nothing to help me see the book in my hands.

I tucked it away after straining for a few moments and settled on just resonating with myself for a bit. I watched the flames of the fire pit before me, listened to it crackle and pop. I was so focused on the peacefulness, that I hadn’t even noticed the elevator ding, nor the person scuffling across the concrete of the roof.

In fact, I didn’t even notice her until she was sitting across from me, these little alcohol bottles in her hands. The movement of her sitting before me flitted my gaze up, edges of my vision blurred slightly from the intensity of the flames. My hearing focused after. There was music streaming from the speakers on her phone, some Taylor Swift song I didn't recognize. I withheld the urge to roll my eyes and studied her movements.

She read the label on the mini shot of Jack Daniels with squinted eyes. I'd never seen someone pay so much attention to a simple liquor Maybe she'd never drank it before. That would be a strange fact, considering she was 23. Every 23 year old I knew had gone through every liquor known to man. Then, she drank it and I realized why she was so observant. Her face turned up in this grimace, lips puckered, brows furrowed. She just couldn't handle her liquor. Her examination of the bottle was really just a hesitance to consume it in the first place.

I stifled a laugh and instead found my words, urged to tease her for this occurrence, "Gonna share?' Maybe I should have intruded her peace more gently, or maybe I should have said something sooner than I did. Either way, I had spooked her enough that she jumped.

Her once shocked grimace twisted into a deep frown, like she was annoyed I had disturbed her. "How long have you been sitting there?"

My grin widened, though it didn't seem like she found much humor in the situation. "Long enough to know you can't take a shot." I held out my hand, awaiting her to hand over one of the bottles. She didn't do that Instead, her face hardened a bit and she made another comment, “Sorry I’m not an alcoholic. If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

I was taken back by her crudeness. Everyone said she was so kind, so sweet. I'd even overheard her niceties earlier, at the airport, at the bar. Had I done something?

Instead of setting the record straight, communicating, though, I became defensive to her jabs. As I reached for one of the bottles, I said, "Comfy with this trash music playing?"

Funnily enough, this made her face sink more, if at all possible. Her frown was deep as a river, and murky as one, too, "Real men listen to Taylor Swift."

I tried another joke, hoping it would salvage the wreckage we were feeding, "Hey, haven't you heard? I'm a vessel, not a man?"

I don't know if it did, but she at least continued speaking to me. "So, vessel, what are you doing up here? Can't sleep?"

I tossed my hand in her direction, speaking with my casual satire, "Obviously." I looked away from her, breathless. I was trying so hard, so incredibly hard to seem careless, chill. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just, actually, genuinely not give a fuck.

I reached for my cigarettes, too stressed out to handle a head that was some sober from nicotine. After a long drag, I felt that familiar buzz of a clear head, the temporary reduction of anxiety.

Cigarettes were always a killer ice breaker, helpful in even the toughest, most awkward conversations. So, when my eyes popped back open and met hers, I offered a hit.

If her face had been disgusted before, it was even more so now. "That's okay, thanks," she almost sneered.

I pursed my lips. Okay, I wasn't the only one killing this conversation. She acted like she was just too good for anything that I had to do with. Like if she were to take a drag from this cigarette, she'd be infected with my sickness.

I voiced the concern with my snide tone again. Her response nearly made me choke on my own spit, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

As quick as possible, I stomped the butt into the ground. "Sorry."

She hummed some sort of response, looking away so uncomfortably. I wanted to grovel, to beg for her forgiveness in the case of such a small moment of misunderstanding, but I settled on another painful jab at a nice conversation.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.” She responded in that same dry tone, "Yeah, no."

Annoyed, I began to wonder where all this sweetness had gone. Earlier, with the guys, she had spoken like she'd known them for forever. Here, with me- she acted like I'd spit in her coffee this morning, like I was holding her at gun point just to have this conversation.

I gave up on trying to be overly considerate and shot straight to the point. I wanted answers anyways, and now I had a good reason to search for them, "What's your deal, Daisy?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" She responded.

I shrugged as I crossed my arms over my chest. What did she want it to mean? "Why are you here?" Instead of just answering the question, she countered me, echoing the question. Good fucking game, Daisy Hallett. Good fucking game.

I stretched my body out as I thought, unsure of how to answer. What was I here for? To do my job, obviously. So, I told her that. But, I should have known she would pry deeper. That were her job, after all, to observe, analyze, pry.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” She rejected my words, shaking her head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

I started making music for myself, not anyone else. In the darkest, most terrible parts of my life, it had gotten me through to the other side with ease. It was my biggest coping skill, sitting at a clear number one on the list my therapist and I had outlined.

Getting paid for it, getting to tour and travel cities…that was all a plus. Touring, performing itself, were two things I was still trying to get used to. It was awesome to get to play my music life for others, to help them through to the other side, but it was sometimes…overwhelming, a hard pill to swallow.

So, I answered honestly this time, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

She was impressed by this answer, pleased, and I could tell this by the stretch of her lips. That sweet, enticing smile did something to me.

As she held up the shot bottle in a gesture to cheers, I returned the smirk. We danced on the edge of some invisible line.

"To life."

I wanted to hear more of her voice, more of...her, more about her. So, I scrambled and said, "Wait, what about you?"

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” she waved me off.

I understood her more in this moment than I sometimes understood the people closest to me. She was like- she was insecure, she was scared. She was a little kid with monsters under her bed and in her closet.

So, I affirmed her existence with words that seemed so simple, yet would have meant so much for me to hear, too. “Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?”

This threw her off balance, yet somehow kept her from falling off the edge. It made the gears in her head turn, made her question her own thoughts. "I guess…I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

She still didn't seem too sure, but I knew that, once this summer ended, once the leaves turned brown, and she returned back to a place called home, she would know it in her bones.

And I think, maybe, I might know it, too.

Sooner, rather than the later that I hoped for, we were in the elevator. Hours of breathless conversation sat, stale in the air on the roof, abandoned as the steel doors trapped us in silence.

The more she told me, the more terrified I was of her very existence. She was smarter than me, and very good at returning snide comments. Her wit was so profoundly intelligent, that I found myself silenced on more than one occasion.

Above all this- she was a disruption- she was chaos. She made me think differently, harder. She made me laugh.

I was drawn in by all of this, by her eyes, by the way the corners of her pink lips curled up into her cheeks. It took me a second to realize that she was staring back up at me, that our shoulders were turning to face one another, that my fingers were grazing the sleeve of her hoodie.

"You're very pretty, Daisy," the words fell out in a dangerous whisper. I loved the way she blushed, the way the tip of her nose scrunched, and she fell back onto her heels a bit.

I would have kissed her, I knew that for sure, had the elevator doors not opened up, had we not parted ways there, in the barren hallways. And I would have sought her out, would have reached for a simple phone number, another moment on the roof, another conversation about life and college and her favorite fucking color...

had I not made it back to my room and looked myself in the eye, through the smudged reflection of the bathroom mirror. The painful eye contact brought me back down to Earth, reminded me of the ugliness swirled up inside my chest, the bitter desire of my own self interest, selfishness.

I was...I was the chaos. I was the disruption. Here was this beautiful, interesting, smart girl...and here was me, this man-giant, who could barely hold a conversation without feeling like he was going to have a panic attack. Besides all that, her brother was my fucking best friend. I was his boss.

This was territory that I could not enter, not without a guilty conscience and someone's broken heart. So, I would proceed with caution, although it ended up making me seem like the worst person in the world.

I knew I could no longer keep up the act only a few weeks in, all thanks to Whitney Houston and this stupid pink fucking dress.

I watched her parade herself all night, guzzling drinks like they were air, batting her stupidly prim and perfect eyelashes my way. She knew exactly how to get me going- how to lock me in, most of all. And I was playing right into the fucking game, weak signs and Achilles heels all exposed from the second that she stepped out of that hotel room.

When I saw that knowing, vivacious smirk- I knew tonight would be different.

It wasn't until she was passed out, in my bed, with my hoodie on, that I realized I was falling for her. I had been able to subside the hunger that I felt, the hunger I felt to speak to her, to consume her with my eyes, my teeth, my hands, my body- God. It was easy to push all these thoughts away when she wasn't there- but then, she'd show up at breakfast or dinner or in my dreams and thoughts and desperations and I'd spiral again.

It didn't help that I was letting it get to me so much- and she was literally trained in analyzing behavior. I exposed my curiosities with even the slightest dip in my gaze or lift in my shoulders. There was a moment, during breakfast, when she told us of her plans for the evening of one our first shows- that she wasn't coming to.

Max had to go and make a stupid joke when I just barly glanced up from my plate, "Even Ollie's hurt!" I stopped coming to so many social gatherings, at least where she was concerned. And, then, I got all the space I needed when we took off on the buses.

Everyone flocked to her side, wanting even a second of her attention, while I kept to myself on the other bus. Because I thought the guys might leave me alone about it, I could almost reside in absolute peace.

But, then, Ronnie came knocking on my bunk.

It was early morning. We were stopped for gas, somewhere in Northern Italy. The bus was deadly silent, with nothing but my own quiet breath and the hum of the outside world to keep e company. Ronnie came in, bounding, like she always did. She slammed the bus door shut, jarring me from the focus I'd had on the game of Mario Kart pulled up on my Switch. Next thing I knew, she was ripping open the curtain to my bunk.

"Why the fuck are you rotting in here like a mummy? I'm close to wrapping you up in toilet paper and shoving you in with the suitcases!"

I rolled my eyes as she spoke and slouched my shoulders away. The hood of my sweatshirt dipped enough that she was no longer in my view. "Sam needs to stop gassing up your jokes. It's getting to your head."

"You're literally just jealous because your jokes are only ever mean and borderline tone-deaf," Ronnie grabbed the lip of my hood and tugged it down over my face.

I wriggled away from her, Switch dropping towards the inside of the bunk. I shoved her hands away. "Says you, Miss Jimmy Carr."

Ronnie's jaw jutted open a bit, "Now that's fucked, Ollie."

I went to jab back again, but she held up a hand, head tilted like she was a tired, annoyed mother of a band of men babies. "Stop while you're ahead, dude. Back to what I came in to harass you about- you need to come join us! We're playing Mario Kart with peaches- Daisy, sorry. You guys would get along sooo great. I know you're, like, weird about new people, but she's so fucking funny. Please, please just come over, hang out, be chill for once in your life."

Peaches. They had given her a nickname. Peaches, as if she weren't already sweet enough to sour the cuts on my skin.

I huffed and puffed at the rant as I pulled my hood down the back of my head. "First of all, I don't play Mario Kart-"

"I literally hear the music coming from your Switch," Ronnie pointed with a dead stare at the device, muffled humming rumbling from beneath my blanket.

I met her eye, absent any shame of my white lie. I took a breath and dove back into my rejection, "Second of all, why the hell do you guys give out the cringiest, most ridiculous nicknames? Like, peaches?What even is that?"

"It's called joy, magic, and fun, you grinch," Ronnie pinched my elbow. I flinched away from her touch again and she snickered. "If you don't like Daisy, just say so. I won't tell anybody. I'll just resent and judge you in silence- silent words, not punches."

What did she mean, that I didn't like Daisy? I knew I'd been passive towards her, but I never made it so obvious-

The expression on my face must have read confusion or shock because Ronnie popped a hip and crossed her arms.

"Listen," she added, "I know that she probably irks you. I get it. You're the bad boy, dark soul type and she's this ray of fucking sunshine and, yes, peaches. Just- give her a chance before you rain all over her parade."

"I literally never said I had a fucking problem with her. Why does everyone think I hate her guts when I've literally only ever had one conversation with her?" I frustratedly spoke, words rushed together. Ronnie stood back a second, reading the scrunch of my brows, the way I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Then, her offended frown morphed into something knowing, as though bits of information clicked in her head.

"Oh," she rhythmed, grinning now, "I see what's going on here. Hey, she's gorgeous.” "Oh, my God, here we go," I stood from my bunk, now, unwilling to just lay there and listen to her try to evaluate my behavior.

Ronne didn't follow me as I made my way to the back room, "Ollie...just remember who you are. And who she is."

And this sentence alone threw me for the biggest loop.

I didn't even know what she meant by that, but as well I knew Ronnie...it was definitely more than met the eye, deeper than any surface level warning anybody else could give. Not only did I know Ronnie well, but she could read me like a book. She knew what to say to make my skin crawl. Who I am...who Daisy is.

Analyzing the statement from top to bottom, general to specific, it was simple. She was my best friend’s brother. And I was his boss.

It meant more than that, though.

Ronnie meant that Daisy…Daisy was delicate. Daisy was meat, fresh off a shattered bone, and I was a hound.

I was always the hound. The Albatross, even. A winged creature always coming in to swipe shiny things off of stormy shores.

Ronnie didn’t want to harm me with the statement, but she sure as hell wanted to humble me. And that she did.

Each time I found myself aching to find Daisy’s gaze, I’d shrink back into myself. Remember my place. Remember who I was.

And, then…that damn Whitney Houston song. That damn pink dress.

Ronnie knew I was slipping, when I first spotted Daisy, in the doorway of her hotel room, long legs on display. I caught my lips beginning to party, drool beginning to pool in my teeth. This appreciative smirk came upon my face until I met Ronnie’s frown.

And I moved on.

I kept trying to move on, to fly away, leave the gold necklace on the beach for some other lucky, hopeless idiot to clean the sand off of, treasure for the rest of their sorry days.

I paid for her meal, as some sort of reparation for the damage I must’ve done all evening, being the hungry being I was while she toyed with the lock on my cage.

But, I just couldn’t . Especially not when she was running from the bar, sickness visible on her face. I could’ve left it where it was- Max was shuffling after her, ready to help, ready to hold her hair up.

Before I knew it, my feet were racing me out of the door, my hand was on Max’s shoulder, a kind smile was reassuring him that I could handle it, that he could go back to having fun.

My hands were in her hair, my neck was cradling the crown of her head, she was reaching for my wallet, letting us into the hotel room, laying down on my bed. I was giving her my hoodie, placing a bandage on her leg, caressing her fruity skin.

And then…just like that, as quickly as the rain began, like when you can see it in sheets, pounding into the Earth, just there, off in the distance…then it’s splattering on your windshield, the sound jarring you from your tired drive, the blur harming your vision of the road.

It was raining in my hotel room.

I didn’t have an umbrella.

I spent the entire night, laying there on the bed beside her, faced away, tensed up. Every breath she took stopped my heart. Every wrinkle from the white sheets made my eyes blink.

I was spending so much of my thought process trying to remember the taste of her fleeting lips on my own, pressing my fingers to them as though they were stained from her, as though I could close my eyes and taste them, again and again and again.

Then, in the morning, she returned my hoodie. There was this…look…this distant, worried look. Had she remembered? Had she remembered the words I said? Was this going to change anything? Everything? At breakfast, I ignored her persistent eyes, the gaze burning into my soul for answers. When she told us she couldn’t remember anything, I was little relieved.

If she didn’t remember, I could put distance between us, try to forget it myself- try to forget the way her fingers buried themselves into my hair. Try to forget the feel of her nose, pressed into my cheek, her chest, warm against my own.

While I was able to put physical distance between us this week, being that work kept us busy. But, the mental, emotional yards were harder to climb.

Once we made it through the airport, to Italy, I began my practice of celibacy, against the thoughts of her, against us.

I think part of me knew it wouldn’t last. I think part of me didn’t want it to. I think that’s why I was there- in the elevator, headed for the roof, in hopes that I might find her there. I didn’t even know if it was a place she frequented, but my intuition told me it was a good place to look.

And I was right.

I acted shocked when I first saw her, like it didn’t help my blood pump, seeing her, feet in the water, hair curling around her forehead.

She looked so…tense. Stressed. There was this permanent furrow in her brow. Did she really not remember…anything? At all?

Though it was a relief, I wanted to jog her memory (I wanted to kiss her).

I asked Daisy, barely glancing over at her in the seat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chew upon on her bottom lip, “Not really.”

Why did it feel like a lie?

She must’ve remembered something. Sure, she had been drinking, but…she was smarter than that. “Okay,” I choked, snatching another look at her.

I noticed Daisy turn her chin to return the gaze and I looked back at the city. I couldn’t look into her eyes, look at her face. I’d crumble.

“Is there something I should be remembering?”

It was timid, shy. But bold.

Bolder than I could bring myself to be right now.

Unable to find my own words, unable to form my own lie, I echoed her.

“Okay,” she copied.

The moment swelled in my mind. I wanted- needed her to remember. I wanted her to feel the ache in my bones at the thought of our lips pressed together. Wanted her to feel the longing Maybe then, she’d be the one to break, and I could blame it on her. Make her out to be the bad guy, going after me.

What a fucked up thing to think about.

Before I could catch myself, I blurted, “You don’t remember-“

At the same time, she went to push further on the topic.

I excused myself, motioned for her to continue. But, of course, she let me go instead.

“You don’t remember coming back to the hotel?”

I knew I was confusing her.

“Not really. you’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Something important I should be remembering?” her knuckles, clasped together, were turning white.

I shrugged and pretended to be unaware, “I don’t think so.”

“Why did you tell me to come sit with you?”

She really knew how to make a guy question his own thought patterns. It would make her a really great therapist- but it just made me want to run.

To hide. To slip away from this disruption in my damaged peace.

I sighed, thoughtful, though still unsure, “I don’t know. Thought it would be nice. Like when we were in London-“

“Like when we were in London and you proceeded to pretend like we never did this? Like when we were in London and you kept interrupting me, so I couldn’t tell everyone we had been up on the roof together?”

So, she was pissed.

I knew she would be. She acted like she didn’t care, but I saw through the disguise. It reminded me of me.

I shrugged, putting on the same play, “Like that.”

I guess that was the comment that sent her off the edge, though. She was too guarded, too respectful of herself to take the bullshit I pushed. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

That wasn’t it for me. I needed to know what she knew. She obviously remembered more than she was letting on.

I slid into the elevator behind her, “Daisy-“

I swear to God, the rhythm of her breathing palpitated when I said her name-

“I need you to be honest with me. What do you remember?”

“Oh, cause you’re such a conscientious person yourself?”

I pulled at my hair, stressfully, “I really don’t think we’re on the same page right now, Daisy. Please, if we could just talk about this, if you could just tell me what you remember-“

Gears seemed to click in her brain. Something I said, the way I moved, the flash of the stars in her eyes, something had triggered a memory in her head. Something suddenly made sense.

I tried to help, though I was probably just being an asshole. “I want to figure this out, okay?”

I wanted to figure her out.

Whatever clicked was- it fucked things up.

“Oliver,” she frowned, “I can’t play this game with you.”

Game?

What game?

I was only ever playing defense- keeping to myself, keeping her away from my heart, trying to maintain distance. She had kissed me- I was the one to turn her away.

My shoulders fell, “What game? Daisy…I’m confused!”

“So am I, Oliver!”

Fuck. The way she said my name-

“I’m- you’re fucking with my head!”

Like she wasn’t fucking with mine?!

I went back to my original question, hoping to continue digging there, instead of worrying about this new hole she was unburying, “What do you remember?”

“It doesn’t matter, Oliver! I just don’t want to do this with you. Max is right. I should listen to him.” What the fuck did Max say? Why was he involving himself in this? How did he even know about- us- when we didn’t even- what?

What was happening?

“I’m not doing this with you.”

The doors opened, and she was leaving me. In her dust. In the swell of her words.

I retreated back to my room, throat tight, chest contracting for any gulp breath I could get. I fell back against the door like there were bullet holes bleeding out of my chest. I wanted to just...be honest. To be honest with her. Tell her what I really thought, what really happened, how I felt about her.

It wasn't the boundaries holding me back now. All my senses of morality and respect for our situation were dead. It was me. I was the iceberg. I was the gun.

I found my way to the bed, lay there like an empty casket. Dead, hollow, shards of wood. Why was I so afraid of her?

Maybe she'd be good for me...better than the last relationship I had, that much I could already tell. But, maybe she didn't want me for that.

Maybe she wanted to scalp me for my money, for my fame, dish out the gossip to the tabloids. Maybe she wanted to love me.

Maybe I deserved something good. Maybe I deserved to take a risk on something. Maybe I needed to. I was outside her door, before I was really conscious to my own movements, knocking, waiting. For barely a second.

She was opening the door, standing there in this barren light like an angel.

"Daisy."

I was kissing her.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, whatever cruel fate she may prophesize or goodness she may expose to my paled skin- I didn't care.

Because she was kissing me.

I hadn’t been with someone for over a year.

That was what was so jarring about the entire situation.

It made me cautious, held me back. I’d been on a dating ban since I switched to my new therapist, who wanted me to focus on myself more than I always did on another person.

And for a while, it was going well.

Until Daisy disrupted that.

I knew, for as long as she was alive, breathing my air, I just could never be alone.

Usually, when I dated someone, when I was with them…I still felt that loneliness because I would give so much. And that person never returned it.

Daisy did, by a tenfold. She was…present. She so easily showed up, made time for me, chased me down when I went into those bouts of self isolation.

It was difficult to let her in…to let her join me in the dark.

But she made it feel less lonely. She made me feel…whole.

I started going to breakfast more often, started including myself in the group activities. Not only did she make me feel less alone, but she made me feel like I needed human connection.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?”

I scoffed at my therapist’s words, so simple for something so complex. “Warm. It’s hot. I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Good. Burn,” she responded. “You’re in the light now, Oliver. How do you feel about it?”

“Wow, what a question,” I teased.

Dr. Grime sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement was delayed, due to the time zone different, the laggy wifi in the hotel room. “Seriously, Oliver. Is it…do you feel like you want to snuff it out?”

“Of course I do,” I shuffled on my bed, “you know me. Something good comes and I feel like I don’t deserve it. But…I think it might be okay if I hang around in this for a while.”

“I think so, too,” she smiled. “I like how your language has changed, too. You’d tell me, ‘I don’t deserve this.” Now you say, you feel like you don’t deserve it. You’re recognizing rational thoughts from emotional ones. That’s very important. I’m proud of you.”

I offered a strained smile in response, uncomfortable with her praise. It was appreciated, though, and gave me body a sense of accomplishment.

Maybe I was getting better.

“So, this Daisy,” she leaned forward, more intrigued with the personal aspect of my love life, like some maternal figure.

I chuckled, shaking my head approvingly, “Daisy.”

“Do you…love her?” Dr. Grime poked.

I blushed, deeply, but quickly shoved the thought away, “Oh, no. No way. I…I barely know her. That’s- that’s crazy. Definitely not. No.”

My phone dinged in rhythm with the end of my sentence. It was her.

Daisy: soon as sam goes to bed, i can be over

My eyes lingered on the text, more concerned with this situation now than the accusatory, knowing tone of my therapist’s words.

“Mm,” she paused, “no, of course. So, is this just…a casual summer fling for you? A way to get over everything this, figure out what it is you want out of a relationship? It’s important to have something like this, a stable ground to work up off of for the future, considering you don’t have a great idea as to what love should be like.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, toying with my phone. I stared at the message, reading and rereading the message again and again.

What…was this.

What was this to me?

What was this…to her?

We’d established some boundaries, mostly that I couldn’t really commit to anything to serious. And she said that had been okay.

Was I still okay with that?

Was that still what I wanted?

I was so obviously falling in love with her, but I would never tell anybody that.

Especially not her.

But it didn’t matter if I loved her- did I want her that way? Did I want this to last past the summer?

I did.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Loving her beyond the swept up dream we were caught in, back home, domestically. Loving her casually, routinely, in the kitchen back in my apartment, through school, sharing plants and bath towels.

I wanted that.

I wanted her…her ends and odds.

I lied, “No. I don’t want that right now. Got tour going on, new album soon. You know. Busy.”

Long after therapy ended, I stared at the message. The sun had set, the day had died…and I just couldn’t think of anything to say.

I think if I were to be around her right now, I might blurt out some passionate, mindless thing that I couldn’t bring us back from.

I needed to do…what I always did. Be alone. Ruminate in my thoughts in the darkness of a foreign hotel room in a strange city. All alone.

This felt…easier. Comfortable. What I was good at.

Yeah…this was easier.

The next day, I couldn’t stay from her any longer.

I needed her and she was needed that, too- however we could get each other.

So I pushed aside the feelings I had for her- put up all my walls and boundaries, and took her into my arms-

We would have this summer, even if it killed us.

–

"Hiya, Ollie, dear!"

My mother's voice was a sweet symphonic sound to my tired ears. We were in near opposite time zones, hundreds of miles apart, and I missed her more than anything. Touring usually took everything out of me and she was the one, separate, stable person I could turn to.

We'd only called once or twice the past few months due to my obsessed perversions with a certain best friend's sibling who had been taking up all of my time- not that I was complaining about who.

It was only recently that my mom and I had established such good rapport. Since I was young, she'd struggled to wrap her head around my career choices. Now that I was fully devoted to the act, and quite successful, she pushed aside her disagreement with it and chose to just keep supporting me.

Though I couldn't always answer, her calls were welcome.

"Hi, mum," I sat up in the hotel bed, my back sighing in gratitude at the change in posiiton. i had been rotting in here for a few hours, a little bored since Daisy was out with her friend. I could've went and hung with the guys, but I honestly needed some time to myself. That time was starting to really feel like loneliness, though. I guess before I met Daisy, they were empty hours full of empty feelings. Now, I was waking up to the reality of my existence. I'd made it so dull.

"Are you in Paris yet? Or are you still travelling?"

"We made it a few days ago," I replied. “Show’s tomorrow."

"Oh, I love Paris," she remarked. I could hear her lovely grin through the tone of her words. "I remember when we went there on a school holiday. My favorite part was the Eiffel Tower. It's so big. Now, I hear that it sparkles. You'll have to take a photo for me."

"Sure, mum."

"Have you gotten out much or are you holing up in your hotel room?"

Sheepishly, I scratched my neck. My response was delayed a bit; we both knew the answer. “Uh...I’m getting out there. Ya know, hanging out.”

“Ugh, Ollie,” I could nearly hear the roll of her eyes through the phone. “You know need a lady friend. Someone to drag you out of your bed. I mean, how many times do you get to see Paris. And get paid for it!”

At the mention of a ‘lady friend,’ I blushed. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about Daisy, and damn did I want to. Though we weren’t even officially together. I didn’t know how to explain that to my mom, so maybe I’d just shy away from the topic, talk about something else.

But I guess my lapse of silent thinking made her think that there already was a lady friend.

“Oh?” she questioned with a cheerful lace to her tone. I didn’t say anything, my brain was unable to come up with anything in response. Acting defensive always made people think the opposite of what I said. Should I just tell her? Get it out of the way? Let her lecture me about my poor choices.

“Well, I won’t badger you. When you're ready,” she was already responding.

I was surprised that she was going to leave it there, to say the least, which only furthered my sentence. She usually pushed until I gave her some semblance of the truth. As she was getting older, I’d realized she gotten more relaxed and didn’t push as much as she used to. I think it was partially due to the guilt she felt for everything between us growing up.

So, I just went to move the subject along when she jumped back on it, “Just- please don’t tell me it’s that Fiona girl. I’m so sorry if it is. I just can’t sit around and watch you be treated so poorly by someone so...so awful. Again. Her personality is just- wow. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. I went to school with her mum, and she was awful towards me. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree-”

I had to stop her while she was ahead. I guess some things never really, truly changed. "Mum, please! I’m not seeing Fiona again, I promise. I’m not...”

I wasn’t offended that she thought I was. It was just...more or so shocking. Shocking that she thought I’d put myself back in that. I had, a handful of times before. But...I was different now.

I guess she hadn't been around me these past few months, but I had truly changed. This past May’s Oliver very well could’ve let Fiona waltz back into his life. But July’s Oliver? He would’ve been hesitant.

And, even more so- Daisy’s Oliver...Daisy’s Oliver was a changing man. Daisy’s Oliver was a better man.

And I wanted to tell my mum that, I decided. She needed to know- it would ease her mind, along with my own. I know she was always worried for me. So, I told her-

“No, I’m seeing someone else. Her name...her name’s Daisy,” that felt good to admit, to put into the Universe, that I was seeing her, and she was seeing me, even if there were no labels attached.

“Daisy?” she perked up at the name. “That’s a pretty name. What’s she look like? You got any pictures you can text me?”

I realized quickly that I didn’t. In the near two months that we had been sleeping together, consuming one another’s souls, we hadn’t taken a single picture. It was probably for the best, just in case they somehow fell into the wrong hands. But- there were so many moments I could’ve- should’ve- captured. Moments of Daisy, hair whipping past her face on the roof, the lights of Italy glowing behind her like she had angelic wings. Daisy, in my hotel room, in the early morning before she had to sneak away. Tired eyes and an even more exhausted smile as she laughed at something stupid, I’d done in my sleep.

I wanted one. I wanted a picture of her, a picture of us, whatever I could get.

For now, all I had was my memories to help me describe her to my mum. It was easy to do so, considering she was etched into the very nerves in my mind.

“No, I don’t,” I breathed out, “but she’s beautiful. She’s got this-this- God, I can’t even describe her to you. Her hair’s darker, like yours. She’s got these brown eyes. Shorter than me, of course. You can always tell it’s her, though, just by the way she carries herself. She’s got this energy. You’d just have to see it to believe it.”

“She sounds amazing, Ollie,” she sighed distantly then giggled, “Well, if she’s so pretty, where are the pictures? I need to see her! Need to see what this talk is all about.”

I chuckled in response, “I know, I know. I suck.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s difficult, with you on tour and her...what does she do, exactly? Where is she from? Would I know her?”

Here came the long winded, shameful explanation of everything between Daisy and me. The feelings that weren’t feelings, the girl who wasn’t mine, the upset sea tumultuous between us. Her brother. Sam.

I tried my best, “Well, she’s working towards her counseling license. So, she goes back to school in the fall. But right now, she’s on tour with us. Her brother works- um...Sam’s her brother. She just wanted to do some traveling before getting tied down for the next few years.”

“Sam? Sam Hatlett? She's his little sister?” There was a bit of shock in her tone now like I imagined there would be. Sam was like a brother to me, and mum knew that. In fact, she loved Sam. She always had.

When she first met him, she’d pulled him under her wing like a mother bird, like she could just feel that he needed her. So, to imagine that I might go after his little sister is rightfully shocking. It was close to home.

“I know, I know. Again, I suck,” I laughed, though I felt so tense. Rubbing my neck didn’t ease the tension in my skin.

“You don't suck, darling. It’s just a precarious situation, I’m sure. How does Sam feel about it all? Was he weird when you first started dating Daisy?”

When I first began to tell my mum about Daisy, I doubted whether or not I wanted to be completely honest. But I easily fell into the comfortability of her warm conversation and realized I could not bend the truth. Not only did she deserve to know it, but she needed to. I knew, too, that she wasn’t going to judge me, tell me I was making a bad decision. It took three times with Fiona for her to begin voicing her opinion.

Above all, I didn't need to jump through any hoops to win her approval. I didn’t have to play a role, fill a part. I was me. And she loved that man.

I realized, subconsciously, that this was how I felt about Daisy, too. Comfortable. Easy.

Loved.

I explained things to my mom, carefully, making sure she knew of the endless boundaries Daisy always ensured we had and the sweet, delicate moments that made everything worth it. I nearly fell into myself, swept up in the reminiscent beauty of it all. God, I missed her, even if it had been only two days since I’d seen her. Her friend Sasha was in town and took up all her time.

I didn’t know what I was expecting my mom to say, so I held my breath after I finished saying, “But, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s just a summer thing or what. We’re both kinda in weird positions, so we’re not too worried about that, I guess. We’re just...having fun, ya know?”

As the insecurity rose up my throat and choked me out, I sighed out the rest of the air I had in me and added, “We’re not, like, in love or anything.”

I hadn’t expected her to laugh, that’s for sure.

But she laughed. My mum giggled, like things were well and truly hilarious, like I had just told her a joke. I waited there in silence, waiting for her to make fun of me for being so stupid as to let this situation occur. Laugh at me for being terrible at love and life. There goes Oliver again, breaking hearts, getting his heart broken. He can’t even be in a stable relationship! Laugh, laugh, laugh.

She said, “You are crazy, Ollie,” but it wasn’t meant in a harsh manner.

It wasn’t condescending, it wasn’t mean. She wasn’t making fun of me. She was...she was laughing because it was funny.

“You are usually so good at going after things. I mean, look at you with your music, darling. I said no, how many times? I insisted you do something, anything else. I never supported you financially. I never...I never supported you. I was the odds you were testing yourself against and looking at you now! I mean,” her voice cracked. A sniffle followed. My muscles eased from the discomfort I felt into something that wanted to reach for her through the phone, hug her.

“I know your father and I didn’t give you the best example for love. I know we weren’t some movie star-couple that everyone always knew would last forever. We fought. We weren’t there for you when we should have been. Your father left you. And then I held all these stupid expectations up to you, to try to make you better. And you! You’re successful!”

“And I give you all the credit for that. You are...my pride and joy, Ollie. My life. I am so proud of you, darling. But it breaks my heart, still, that you have not been able to find happiness. That you must spend so much time repairing what I broke. We cannot blame everybody else- you can...you can blame me, Ollie. I know I am to blame. And that is okay.”

“So, forgive me for laughing, forgive me for calling you crazy and stupid and wild, darling, but- it's right in front of your face, Ollie! She’s right there in front of you. Daisy. Darling, if you’re still questioning what love is, what it’s supposed to feel like...please let me knock some sense into you! You are wasting so much precious time on believing that it can only leave. It doesn’t have to stay for long for it to be important. If she leaves at the end of the summer, you will regret not telling her.”

I didn’t have to ask her what she meant; what she knew I’d regret not saying. I knew it, I knew it as well as I knew Daisy’s face, even more clear in my memory now.

“You can beat around the bush some more if you’d like, or you can carry on with this facade you’re so deeply transfixed by. Darling, I know it’s hard to let the chaos subside, to let the goodness in, but as I am getting older, I am realizing that it is bright. It is...comfortable. It is good. You deserve to have a lifetime of that. Don’t waste any more time, Ollie. Please tell her, please let her tell you. Please just...hold what you have.”

I had borne a hole into the wall, but snapped out of my still position when I felt a tear roll down the side of my nose. “H-how? How do I tell her?”

“However you need to,” she chuckled lightly. “Although, here’s a hint, Ollie: you are in the City of Love. Take advantage.”

I knew our call was ending and didn’t know when we’d get to speak again. So, like she had told, I took advantage of the moment and I held what I had; “Mum, just so you know,” my voice came out as a whisper, a gentle patter of rain on the roof.

“Yes, Ollie?” she whispered, too, like there was a gentle card deck stacked between us. I think maybe there was- I think there was always some sort of tension lingering from the harsh moments we’d beat into each other; the fighting, the leaving, the crying. I don’t think she ever felt like I’d forgiven her, as if I really needed to. She had been growing up, too, after all.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I know, baby,” I felt relieved that there was a smile in her tone, “now, go. You have some more dreams to chase down. And, Ollie?” “Yeah?”

“Get some pictures for me.”

I was lucky that, the next day, everyone was busy with their own plans on opposite sides of the city. So Daisy and I were able to spend some time together, outside of this drywall prison. I was a pretty good listener, too, and remembered all the spots Daisy had gushed about seeing in the little time we’d had together these past few weeks. I was being given the perfect setup to do what I needed to do: we were going to be alone, in the most romantic city on planet Earth. I could finally tell her how I felt.

Of course, so much of me shook with anxiety. What if- she didn’t feel the same way? She didn’t want to risk it? She didn’t want to commit to someone this close to school? Let alone someone who lived across the world from her? These weren't my only fears. There were so many revolving around my career that I could’ve drowned beneath their weight.

Yet, each time I looked at her, I was anchored to her shoes. I couldn’t drift out to sea. I was grounded. Though my fears about how she would react sank, it took another amount of effort to get the words out.

I could’ve done it right away, gotten it out there, cleared the air, so we could enjoy each other even more. That would’ve been the best way: I would've gotten answers, started the day out on the right foot. But, when we got out onto the streets, I was swept up in the busy buzz of the crowds. It was loud in the cafe we grabbed breakfast at, loud on the sidewalks, overly crowded by the river. We finally found a place to sit, breakfast sandwiches and drinks in hand. Though there were still throngs of people all around us. So what good was the City of Love when it was full of ignorant tourists?

The anxiety of what I wanted to do was making me feel grumpy. I shut down a little bit, unable to really engage in much conversation, let alone tell her how I felt. I think it just looked like exhaustion to Daisy, so she didn’t really notice. I did- I was hyperaware of every short sentence, every avoided gaze. All of these people are going to be standing here when I tell her. They’re going to watch her reject me and they’re going to know. They're going to know I’m not good enough. She’s going to walk away from me, leave me stranded in the park, alone with my own rejection and denial. I’m not good enough I’m not good enough.

I thought about what my therapist would tell me, ways to snap myself out of this maladaptive pattern of behavior. My brain lies, she always said. It makes things up, creates false realities based off things others have said to me, or moments of true insecurity rooted in no sense of truth.

Daisy would want me, even if I wasn’t good enough. That was the one assurance I could tell myself to shake off the weary thoughts.

And if she didn’t- well, I don’t think thinking about that was going to help me very much. So, when we got back into the hustle and bustle, shopping around the city, visiting the sights, I opened myself back up.

I didn't know if I’d ever find the confidence. I was on the precipice again, after lunch, when I began spewing cheesy pet names as a sublimation for the words I needed to say. It shocked her at first, hearing such sweet things coming from me. And that stung a little. Was I that monstrous towards her that simple affections made her brows shoot up? Was I that bad? I repeated them once, twice, just so she really knew I meant it.

The day went on and on and I cowered in on myself even more. There were plenty more ample moments, but I just kept letting the clock tick down. I knew we were running out of precious time. If I didn’t tell her now, we would go straight back to secret moments in a hotel room, balancing on a tightrope, pretending like the moment the leaves changed color, we wouldn't be losing each other. I just knew Daisy wanted that about as much as I did.

Just when I was giving up hope, I found my moment, finally. Just after we had stopped to view the Eiffel Tower, some street side scam artist grabbed some pictures of us and was trying to convince me to spend $200 on the copies. At first, I brushed it off, until I caught a small peak at the images on his camera. Before he could spout another line, I was giving him $100. He gave me three photos.

Where my words may fail, these pictures couldn’t. You wouldn’t have to know Daisy and I personally to well and truly and see how infatuated we were with each other. I wasn’t even worried anymore that she wouldn’t want me. I was worried she wouldn’t want the risk, the jump, the caution of a fall.

These would be to convince her to leap. These had to be.

I stopped us outside the hotel, knowing if once we stepped inside, our memories might as well be cleared of the day's events. We would be going back to normalcy, to the real world. Our friends would be waiting there, we would allow the gap between us to grow. I would swallow my words and choke on them.

“I love you,” I pictured myself saying. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you, I love you in London, you in Paris, you at home. I love you from the hotel rooms we’ve indented to the streets we’ve wandered. I love you in the plane, on the bus, in every inch of this world.”

But it just wouldn’t come out.

I tried to encourage myself by thinking of who I was just a year ago. By thinking of how I was a year ago, the person I was dating, the situation I was caught up in. Fiona, the endless hours of fighting, of begging. Crying, screaming, the blood sport we played. Hunter and prey, me the victim and yet the one wielding the sword. I thought of Daisy when I first met her. The scent of her in my nostrils, like a clue that I was to hunt for as long as I could run. Of her in my teeth, when I first caught up to her incessant running. The satisfaction I felt, how disgusting that was. How horrible it was that I loved the taste of her blood on my lips.

And how much better I could breathe knowing that I had let go, that I had put my claws away and instead threaded a needle to stitch her skin close. How beautful that was- the beast retracting, the mask falling away. A true creature coming to light, renewed and willing.

Tears welled in my eyes. The words were there, finally, waiting just atop my tongue. She was leaning closer, clutching my hand, clutching those photos like a rosary, like she would sacrifice herself for me. I would, too. I would I would I would I would.

I think I hesitated a moment too soon, or I think she could tell what was happening. I think tha- that, I think that she was running again.

I think she wanted me to chase her or to stop, or she was placing traps in the woods, waiting for the wolf with a bow in arrow.

Because she was pulling away. And our friends were calling our names.

I didn’t have time to think, wrapped up in the swell of the arrival of our friends.

But I felt the death of the moment. It was heavy. It was rotten.

Later, I sat alone in my dressing room before the show, the photo I had kept between my fingers. I swear I could hear her breath, echoing from inside the paper frame of us. Swear I could feel her hands on my arms, grasping as though the wind would take us away from each other. Her lips on my cold ones, warm and fueling like a kindled fire.

I wondered if she threw the photos away. If she stared at them, with resentment. If she wanted to burn them.

Yet, I could’ve lived and died in that moment if I had to. If I was never able to tell her how I really felt about her, I’d be content to waste away, hanging on her lips like a vine, rotting from indecision and cowardice.

Eventually, Sam poked his head in to let me know it was time to go on. I flinched when he first spoke. It drew me back to reality in harsh, cold lighting. I drew the photo from my face, met his eye, and nodded.

I was lucky he didn’t ask any questions about my reserved response, though I knew he was aware that I was getting into character as this vessel. Part of me wished he had asked, though, if only to have someone to share the darkness with again, if even for just a second. And maybe outing Daisy and I to Sam would force me to tell her everything. Force some sort of decision to fall from the loitering hammer that hung above us.

Sam left. I set the photo down on the counter, not even thinking straight enough to put it away somewhere. Then, I hung the mask on my face, edges of my eyes darkened, just like my mind.

Part of me wished I didn’t even have to perform tonight. Every time I put on this disguise, I was reminded of those dark parts of me, the parts of me that were too much like this creature the costume made into. When I’d first come up with the character, I felt so strongly that I was just like Vessel- nothing but a pit of black, music transporting through me like some god had planted it there. I hadn’t been aware of my very real feelings. I just sat there, in that emptiness.

Things were different now.

Maybe I just needed a break from it all, from the costumes and the concerts and Daisy. Well, not Daisy. Not her. Just...everything involving her.

But never her. I just wanted her always, everywhere.

I didn’t get to have that, though, the break nor Daisy.

In fact, all I got was a slap in the face. When I went on stage, I spotted Daisy in the audience. For a split second, there was a lift in my heart, a fire in my bones. She was here. She hadn’t pulled away- she wanted me. She wanted me.

Then, as the lights flickered, I noticed the look of guilt on her face and the hand around her waist, She was here...with someone else.

I felt myself retracting, cocooning, not for growth, not for birth into something good, something with fluttering wings...but into that moth. Into that darkness.

Into that vessel.

In my fury, I laid claim to Daisy in all the wrong ways. I held her by the throat and let her dangle from my lips, reminded her how desparate she was for me, reminded her just how much she relied on my game. It had never been and never would be our game. I was the villain. I was the hunter.

She was my prey.

I was losing hope for my own reconciliation, for my own change. Maybe I would just always be detached, dark, monstrous. Maybe I would never be able to commit, to give in, to be someone’s something.

Maybe I was just this vessel, and maybe this vessel was just me.

Maybe I was never good enough for Daisy, but just enough to satisfy her furious need for that bad. And that was enough for me.

Things got worse when Fiona started blowing up my phone.

I wasn’t sure how she had gotten my number. I had changed it back in March, when I’d ended- really ended- things with her. And, with my career, it wasn’t like I’d just handed my number out to any person on the street. I had, maybe, ten contacts on my phone.

Daisy was one of the few I responded to.

But, somehow, someway, Fiona had gotten hold of my number and began blowing my phone up with messages. I blocked her the minute I noticed, after a show when I had time to get on my phone. Then, a few days later, she started messaging from a different number.

They were innocent claims- she kept saying I had left things at her flat and needed to come pick them up. But I knew her better than that. She was trying to use this to weasel back into my head, my heart. She’d convince me to come pick everything up and then, when I was there, she’d start crying. Start saying how much she loved and needed me. She’d convince her into her bed, and we’d start spiraling down into that same old waltz we both knew too well.

After I blocked this contact, I guess she evolved. She started using an unknown number, so I couldn’t even block the contact. I called my manager immediately and told him I needed to get a new phone number. Apparently, all the stores around us were closed for a few days, which just so happened to be my fucking luck. But he promised to get something for as soon as possible.

In the meantime, I just had to ignore her.

So, I booked a last-minute therapy appointment.

I glossed over everything with my doctor, telling myself that things with Daisy were hopeless. She obviously thought me to be disposable. I mean, I had watched how quickly she’d pulled away, how quickly she found another empty face in the crowd.

I didn’t want to admit that shameful situation to my doctor. I didn’t want her to know I’d let myself fall again.

Instead, we talked about Fiona, about the temptress knocking on my door. My doctor kept reminding me to, “Stay strong. Know your worth.”

Easy words for someone in a healthy, happy marriage.

All it would take was one more wrong look from Daisy and one wrong text from Fiona, and I’d end up back off the cliff.

So, I clung to the guys. Daisy had been...not so distant but detached. Cautious. She was taking the lead, so I followed. We still hung out, still fucked like we had been doing. Still had these meaningful, deep conversations that made me wonder, over and over, what the fuck was going through her head. But honestly, I now spent some of that extra time with Max, Cy, Adam, or Sam. We were due to begin working on the next album and I had plenty of ideas floating around in my head.

It was peaceful, quaint. Something I’d missed. Maybe I wouldn’t be ready to start dating again if something like this caused me so much stress.

Adam was texting me now, wondering if I wanted to hang out sometime this morning, talk about the album. I told him I’d let him know what time, considering Daisy was in my bed. And Fiona was blowing my phone up like fucking crazy.

The whole situation threw me off. She wasn’t really concerned about it, but made numerous, passive jokes about me having a secret girlfriend. I don’t know if it was because she really, truly wanted me to be exclusive to her, or if it was just something to do with her pride.

Signals were still mixed, even after we’d had a conversation about how committed we were to each other. Part of me wondered if it had just been an act, her agreement to never see anybody else, her admittance that she was, “mine.” If it had just been something brewed from the heat of the moment. But, when I answered the phone, set it back on the nightstand, I swear to God I saw something in her eyes shift, like she had been bothered at the thought of me with someone else.

Or it would be shitty in general if I was seeing someone else.

I weighed telling her, every single, how I felt about her. I don’t know that if I told her I loved her it would change anything. I had all but done so, and she still was unmoving. She still had gone and found that faceless nobody in the crowd.

Today, I felt like maybe I should. Tell her.

As soon as she had left, someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think it was Daisy, considering Sam would be waking up soon and she needed to get back into bed. When I looked through the peephole, Adam was there, staring over his shoulder sort of strangely.

“Hey, dude,” I started as I opened the door, then turned to make my way over to the bed where my book bag was. I reached in for my notebook, continuing, “so, I’ve got a few good ideas rattling around-” probably a few too many about Daisy, “that I wanna show ya.”

He slowly entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him, “Yeah, uh...” he approached me sort of hesitantly, distant confusion in his pupils, “I think we...should talk about something first.” He didn’t seem too sure of himself and the words he was saying were cautious. So, my tone slowed, hardened “What-what’s up?”

He finally met my eye and I felt like a sword had been shoved down my throat, “I just talked to Daisy...out in the hallway.”

I set my book bag down, hands having been frozen around the straps like someone cursed me into the stoic, icy position. All I could think to say was, “Oh.”

Adam nodded half-heartedly, “Yeah. Oh. I... don’t know what to say, really. I knew you guys had been...like, it was obvious. To me and I think Max, at least. Sam is kinda clueless and, he and Ronnie are totally sleeping with each other.”

Well, that was obvious. So obvious that I could have snorted, but I was too focused on the wild realization that everyone basically knew. All of that sneaking around, trying to be secretive- well, it didn’t fucking matter. And it didn’t seem like it really mattered that much.

“Are you gonna, like, scold me or something?’ I sat on the edge of my bed, running a wary hand through my hair.

“No, I’m gonna tell you that you’re fucking stupid.”

“What?” I looked up from the ground, shock widening my eyes.

Adam finally softened his expression and chortled, though it was short before he was in on me again, “You’re stupid, Ollie. I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose. I think you’re just...Fiona fucked you up. And I’ve watched you slowly start to heal over these past few months. Daisy has everything to do with that. And...she fucking loves you, dude. She thinks the world of you. And you’ve both, I guess, been dancing this dance with each other, walking around the whole thing. I just told her, like- stop thinking less of yourselves. You both deserve something good. You’re both worthy of each other. So, stop being fucking stupid and just tell her.”

My face was hot. I clenched my hands together, knuckles turning white as all these rampant, loose feelings released in my chest, in my head. “She doesn’t love me.” Adam chuckled again, “That’s a bold fucking statement. She just told me herself how much she adores me.”

“Well, yeah, she likes me, that’s obvious,” I waved him off, “she wouldn’t be sleeping with me if she didn’t. But...I think I’ve made it clear so many times how much I want her. And she, just, doesn’t care. Or she turns away.”

“She’s scared!” Adam exclaimed, making me flinch just slightly. “Sorry,” he spoke quieter, like he had shocked himself with his tone of voice. “She’s scared, Ollie. She’s...she doesn’t know who she is. That’s why she came here. That’s why she pulls away, why she seems unsure.”

“Well, I know that,” I scoffed, “I know her better than anyone. You haven’t seen the way she...how she denies it. I know she denies it. She denies us- me.”

“Okay, tell me,” Adam nearly popped a hip at this, a sassy tone overtaking his authoritative one. “Tell me how she denies, what she says and does that makes you think she doesn’t want you. Tell me that she doesn’t love you.”

I thought, long and hard. I could've mentioned the very recent time when she had been dancing with another guy, at our concert, a prowling look in her eyes. Or, of the time when I was on the brink of telling her how I felt, then she pulled away. Or-

Wait.

Am I fucking stupid?

I’m so fucking stupid. I am the dumbest, stupidest idiotic idiot to have ever existed.

It was all right there, clearing up now like I was wearing new glasses. I had a new perspective- I had an unbiased, outsider’s view of the world I had been suffocating in. And Adam’s view was- a breath of fresh air.

I was so obviously the one turning away from her.

From the beginning, I’d been denying her, us, for fear that she wouldn’t want me that way. For fear that someone would find out, for fear that I might die if she ever looked away from me. And I’ve been covering it up with the excuse that I was broken, or hurting, or-or...worthless.

I knew differently. I’d known it differently for a while now but had been unable to act upon this rationality. I was too emotional, too, in my head. And that made me seem manipulative, and asshole-ish, and- fucking stupid.

Adam watched me carefully, watched me as I processed these past few months. My eyes were narrowed, confused, though they widened as the information unfolded in my mind, as the notches clicked together.

“You’re…right.”

Instead of worrying myself with the evidence that she, too, was afraid, I felt my head flood with memories, as tangent on my skin as the cool air of my hotel room. Memories of her devotion, her promise, her love. Memories of us in the stale morning, sharing stories of her mother and that little apartment back in America. Memories of us on the roof, atop the world, atop the feeling, a private sanctuary where even just the flash of her eyes should have told me everything that I needed to know. I was going to tell her I felt the same. I was going to pull her up to the roof, one of our most sacred secrets, and pour everything out onto the barren concrete between us. And I knew she would say that she loved me, too.

It was delicate and I would have to handle it as such. Any sudden movement, and we’d be falling apart, all over again.

But, then Max was bombarding my hotel room, spewing some nonsense about Daisy and Ronnie getting tattoos. He was dragging us to Sam’s hotel room. I was practicing the lines in my head, over and over, a prayer.

Daisy was looking at me with these doe-innocent eyes, like she, too, was praying to some old god. Altering herself for a breath that he may resurrect what was dying between us even now.

I found more words, new words- lyrics, pummeling my skull in wondrous discovery. It was right there- everything was- My phone wouldn’t fucking stop ringing and I thought that I might explode into atoms. I ignored the call, watching as Daisy’s face fell each and every time that it did. She well and truly thought that I was seeing someone else.

Enough was enough.

I took a step towards her, fully intent on putting a rest to the strangeness and awakening what was already there. But, then my phone rang again.

And Sam began making some joke about Fiona calling me, a knowing, devious smirk on his features. He didn’t know- how could he know? I couldn’t be upset with him, but I wanted to strangle him into the carpet.

But I couldn’t focus on that anger for too long-

Because Daisy was leaving like we both always left, one too many times, in one too many silent glares of this something that we just may never get right.

The delicate threads of us bent and snapped.

#sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #vessel x reader #sleep token x you #vessel x you #vessel sleep token #sleep token fanfic #sleep token band #sleep token iii

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 1 year ago

Text

Mamma mia | chapter five

listen to: Why did it have to be me? - Abba | My boy only breaks his favorite toys - Taylor Swift (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. For this chapter single-mothering? and stupid boyfriends.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

The sun was coming down, casting a warm golden glow over the pristine beaches and the navy-blue waters. The breeze carried the sweet scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you entered the Hard Deck, following James and August.

The day was a quintessential summer day.

After Augustine had kicked both Coyote and Jake, reasonably quickly after James had finished, literally. She chased them out of the house. They barely had time to pick up their clothes; James and you threw the rest of their belongings through the window while you laughed as they dressed in the front yard.

You can still feel Jake’s eyes on you. He winked at you while running away from Augustine, who was about to shower them with the hose. You’d shamelessly screamed at him, ‘Call me!’ still ran through your mind, and how his green sea-foam eyes shined as he saluted you was still imprinted in your heart.

Soon after, you biked to the beach; even with your injured wrist, you forced yourself to drive because the day was too beautiful not to spend it outside. By the time you were biking back, you bumped into a larger-than-usual crowd around the Hard Deck. Augustine quickly forced you to stop as she saw a group of Navy newbies walking into the Hard Deck. Parking your bikes in the back, you quickly ran inside, still in your swimsuits; your laughter and excitement filled the air, blending with the cheerful chatter of other patrons.

The bar was too full; it’d been a while since you’d seen it like that. Maybe it was the fact that you’d been under the sun all day, or the fact that the bar was too crowded, the fact that you mainly drank homemade lemonade and barely any food, maybe it was the fact that you had had your first orgasm that morning but, even in your bikini and body wrap, your body felt like it was simmering, a soft heat surrounding you.

“Here!” Augustine screams as she drags you to a small spot near the bar, where you take in the sight around you.

Sailors in their crisp uniforms mingled with locals and visitors. There was this aura around the bar. A sticky general sense of content filled the air, heavy like honey. The tropical breeze that managed to get through the window licked at you as you scanned the bar, momentarily gazing at your friends laughing.

You stay still for a moment. Trying to paint the memory in your mind, to add the scent of the bar, the scent of summer, scan it in your face, remember every second of that day. Your heart swells as you take everything in. Every last memory of the moment.

Of your last summer.

“You don’t have to change places at the table?” James says as Jimmy brings your drinks, recalling how August sat on the opposite side of the table from where you and Jake had. God, you turn maroon every time you think about the morning.

“Of course I have!” August grumbles as she remembers how she will now sit on your spot, far from where Jake had you.

“I disinfected it with alcohol!” you answer as you sip the Martini. More than you should.

“I don’t care!”

“Let her be,” James replies as she sits down; she eyes you from the side. “I mean, at the kitchen table?”

Your jaw drops for a moment before James bursts into laughter. You can feel your cheeks warming up even more before you dip your fingers into your drink and quickly splash James. The drops scatter around James’ face, and she giggles even harder.

“You did it all over the house,” you grumble.

Augustine nods. “I can’t sit on that sunroom couch for at least a week,”

“I disinfected it!” James says with a light smile as she shrugs her shoulders.

Honestly, you’d never seen James excited about anyone; she barely showed interest in someone since you’d met her when you were ten, and not everyone made an impression. She mostly hooked up one time every six months; it was often the cycle she had. As she called it, she would get bored and choose the most exciting suitor.

Ignoring them soon after.

“Who are you, and what did you do with our best friend?”

“Right?” you answer, smiling happily, another big sip. “Those googly eyes aren’t yours,”

“Oh my god, stop it,”

But with Javy Machado, it was different.

“Anyway, which guys you were looking at, August?” James says as she sips her wine and looks around the bar. Augustine does the same, trying to locate her next suitor, and you decide to help.

That’s when you see him.

He’s handsome, mainly because he is beaming when his striking amber eyes meet yours. It is strange. The way he moves through the crowd, it looks like he belongs here. It isn’t that he’s exuding confidence. He does seem confident, but it isn’t like that. There’s something in him, a somewhat halo effect. He appears to be glowing. He looks to be like the afternoon sun, with the tan skin and the caramel curls, what seemed to be like an attempt at an 80s pornstach. He looked like cinnamon.

Your heart skips a beat as time slows down, and the warmth of the summer day emboldens you to keep looking as if you haven’t been totally caught.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he seems just as awe-struck as you are. His soft lips parted as he takes you in. Salty hair, tan skin, just a bikini top and a Martini in your hand. Bradley has seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime, but there’s something about you, your eyes, and how dazzling they are. A butterfly in a bar of sunshine.

“Go talk to him!” James quickly says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You quickly snap your head towards James, looking away from him as she smiles at you playfully, nudging you to go talk to him. You take the second round James had already ordered as soon as Jimmy sets them on the table.

Your cheeks turn maroon as you sip your Martini again. “No, I can’t!” you answer, shaking your head. Momentarily thinking about Jake and Bob.

“August just went for hers!” she says. You turn around to find the seat next to you empty. Frowning for a moment, you return to James. “You can go too,” she insists.

You bite your lower lip as you take a deep breath. Your mind goes back to this morning, thinking about Jake. He was supposed to call you today, and yet he didn’t. Then you remember Bob. For all you know, he might be calling you right now since your phone is dead, but he still hasn’t. You aren’t insecure, per se. It isn’t like you haven’t been thinking about them. If you had their numbers, you probably would’ve called them.

You hold your breath for a moment. It has been a week since your summer started. Two short live romances in two days and a little more should be enough fun. Fun according to your friends, fun according to anyone your age. This is the time to make stupid decisions, experiment, and learn what you like.

And so, you turn around looking for him.

But he is gone.

Your eyes scan the bar as best as possible, but there’s no sign of the mystery man. “He’s gone,” you huff silently to James, who frowns and immediately starts to look for him as if ready to fight him while you order another drink.

Drinking the alcohol, feeling the liquid courage settle on your empty stomach, you think that’s for the best. You don’t notice when the music stops, too busy in your thoughts and telling James to drop it to notice what’s happening around you.

And then you hear someone clearing their throat.

“I know I’m just a fool who’s willing To sit around and wait for you,” the smooth, velvety voice makes you jolt around, and there he is.

He is close to you now, enough that you know he can smell the salt on your skin and the thick scent of the ocean in your hair. Enough that you can see the little beads of sweat in his mustache, his pink cheeks, and the freckles surrounding his eyes. You can smell him, too, the olive scent surrounding him mixed with the scent of the beer he must’ve been taking. All-American, all beautiful, and now he’s singing to you. Acapella.

“But baby, can’t you see there’s nothing else for me to do?” he continues to sign as people turn in delight, making the connection between him and the girl he’s singing to, you. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you,” his eyes are locked into yours as your cheeks flush, and you try to keep your smile down.

There’s delight in his eyes when he realizes that you can’t stop smiling. He is bewitched.

“But now there’s nowhere to hide Since you pushed my love aside,” he sings, swinging his hips, a dramatic performance, but now he’s accompanied by a chorus of military guys. You gasp as everyone starts to accompany him. Even James now. “I’m out of my head, Hopelessly devoted to you,”

The high tone isn’t his best for his friends; he still manages to keep it, but it causes you to cover your face with your hands as you giggle. He laughs too but continues to sing, through his chuckles, his smile now wide that he heard your laughter.

“Hopelessly devoted to you,” he signs lower, his voice husky and beautiful. “Hopelessly devoted to you,” he sings as if the lyrics are meant only for you. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and you stare at him as the last note lingers in the air.

Your heart flutters as the crowd erupts into cheering and applause. Everyone is now screaming his callsign, Rooster. He smiles at you, an expectation somewhere in his eyes, but you are too enthralled with him, with the gesture that you are simply beaming at him, waiting for him to say something.

“Sailor, sit here,” James finally says as she points to the empty seat beside you.

Rooster glances at James, giving her a thankful smile before he sits next to you. You frown as James quickly leaves you to it, winking at you and silently wishing you good luck. Rooster eyes trail down your body, taking in your outfit in a bar crowded with clothed people. He enjoys it, the carelessness in you.

“You don’t look like a singer at all, you know that?” you tease him, deciding you’ll be the first one to talk as if it would do much to diminish your anxiety.

Rooster’s grin widens. What little he can recall from his dad was that he was never the greatest singer, not that it ever stopped him, but his mom had a prettier voice. Maybe it was the fact that he sang too much as a child until he became talented. He just knows that his father loved to sing; he loved music. Hell, this was how his father and his uncle managed to convince his mom to go on a date with Goose.

“I like to keep a few tricks down my sleeve, you know?” he responds with the same teasing tone as he orders another beer from Jimmy, getting closer to you.

“I think that’s the best trick to pick up girls I’ve ever seen,” you answer as you turn towards him. “Do you use it a lot here? What’s your repertoire?”

Rooster bites his lower lip as he shakes his head and sips on the beer, denying your assumptions. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, come on, Rooster,” you say with a playful smile, pushing him softly on his chest, your fingertips grazing against his strong muscles.

You can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when you say his name, making your heart swell. You wonder for a moment if you are truly good at flirting as you gaze at him, blushing as the moments pass.

“Bradley Bradshaw to you,” he responds, his voice soft and almost teasing. “You?”

After you tell him your name, his smile grows wider. Your inner cheek gets caught between your teeth as you take in his handsome features - those captivating eyes, the long lashes, and even that distinct pornstache that somehow adds to his charm.

“So, Bradshaw, how many times have you used it?” you inquire, genuinely curious about the adventures of the daring pilot.

“Two,” Rooster answers, but a hint of disappointment crosses your face, hidden behind your furrowed brow. It should be more, you think to yourself. With looks like his and that voice that could melt hearts, you’re sure he’s had many admirers.

“How did it go the first time?” you ask, leaning in.

“Crashed and burned,” he admits, a touch of vulnerability in his voice.

“And the second?” you ask, the corners of your lips curling up with anticipation.

“Well, do you want to get out of here and find out with me?” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, playfully gasping at his assumption. “What makes you think that I want to sleep with you?”

He counters with a playful pout, “Oh, so you’ll leave me brokenhearted?”

You can’t help but chuckle for a moment. The playful banter between you two feels natural, like you’ve known each other for far longer than just this encounter as if you’d known each other your whole life. It makes you feel a bit more comfortable. It’s strange. Feeling the surge of courage in your chest makes everything feel lighter for a moment. He seems lighter, but there’s something else in his eyes. A sense of longing.

Giving him a mockingly dramatic expression, you quickly stand up from the chair and walk to the door.

Rooster’s eyes widen. “Wait, wait,” he says, his voice softening. He follows you while you smile as you feel him closely behind you, his fingertips touching yours, before you push the door to the outside.

The sea breeze hits your face perfectly. The moon is shining bright in the sky, enough to illuminate the beach just in the right way. A wide smile on your face as you close your eyes and relish the day. You don’t notice him looking; you don’t notice how he admires you, how his eyes are glowing as he takes you in. At night, with just a swimsuit, your face clean, your cheeks red, you are beautiful.

“Dance with me,” he suddenly whispers.

You snap your head towards him, opening your eyes softly as you take him in. Your heart flutters at his request, and you can’t resist his earnest plea. “You will truly break my heart,” you jest, as you take his hand and follow him to the sand.

Wordlessly, you take his hand, and he begins to sway the two of you side to side. Your body quickly molds to his, perfectly, moving in sync with the rhythm of the music from inside the bar. His strong arms wrap around your waist, drawing you even closer to him. Olive and beer fill your senses, intoxicating and comforting all at once.

You gaze into each other’s eyes, and the world around you disappears. It’s as if there’s just the two of you on the beach, lost in the feeling, the electricity, and the warmth.

“You are so one of them,” you whisper as your hands climb up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. His skin is hot; it burns. You don’t know why you are so sensitive; you want to blame the alcohol, but you think that’s just an omen for a moment.

Rooster frowns, unable to understand what you mean. “The one guy that genuinely falls in love, every evening, with a different type of girl only to fall out of it again the next morning,” you explain.

“That’s not true at all,” he protests as his hand gently trails up your back, sending a trail of electricity in its wake. The touch is both tender but a little more intimate, enough to know that he wants more but also soft enough that you lean into him. You don’t care that he’s too warm, that the heat might turn suffocating.

“And then, which is worse. As you are breaking her heart, you are telling all of these lies about how she’s too good for you, and you can’t possibly be a good option for her, and you love her too much to stay with her,” you continued.

Rooster chuckles softly as he leans down further.

“You’re too good for me,” he says, and you can’t help but smile.

His eyes linger on your face for a second, studying it; he’s tasting the moment, and so are you.

And then, he leans in.

The way he cups your cheeks is enough for you to gasp softly before his lips connect to yours. His mouth molds perfectly with yours, his nose bumping yours as your eyes close and you let yourself go. Bradley feels his heart thundering in his chest; you taste just like honey and lemon. His fingers dig into the delicate skin of your hips. It’s slow and long; he’s taking his time, but you can feel it, his impatience and yours; you know it by now as he ran his hands along the low of your back and you into his hair.

The kiss is sweet and pleasurable. It isn’t passionate or soft. It’s something else, too intimate, too unknown.

It wasn’t like it was with Jake or Bob. It’s different.

God. Jake and Bob, for all you know, they might be there.

As the thought crosses your mind, Rooster wraps his arms around your torso, and he’s pulling you closer to him, tight. As if he doesn’t want to let you go, he deepens the kiss.

But then something’s off. Your stomach churns, and a feeling of nausea washes over you, your breath shallow, and suddenly you are suffocating. You shake your head, barely having time to push him away enough by his chest for him to notice. He lets you go fast, just in time before the bile rises from your throat.

It might be the dehydration, the mix of alcohol, the fact of not eating, or just your consciousness.

But as you finish throwing up your guts, everything seems a bit blurry. A pressure on your chest that you hadn’t felt ever before overwhelms you; it feels like you can’t breathe as you wipe your mouth.

“Honey?”

Your vision goes blurry, and your throat feels so tight that no words come out of your mouth. All you can feel is the panic rising inside your chest; everything goes black.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

As James and Augustine had promised, they did take care of you. It’d been over two weeks since you’d run into Jake, Rooster, and Bob. They’d taken the toll of doing groceries and doing simple errands around the town so you would avoid places that they might be. Hardware stores, cinemas, bars, and Grocery stores were strictly forbidden until further notice, at least for you. Inés could go out with Augustine and James. You knew that you simply couldn’t.

Agustine told you that she had a contact in the Navy who might be able to tell you how long they’d be here. You waited patiently as you tried to do your best to work and take care of Inés, trying to cheer her up when you’d tell her that you couldn’t go to the movies together or the grocery store. Or the park on the main street. It was getting harder and harder each day, especially since Inés, three days after you’d sworn off any of these places, had realized and didn’t want to go anywhere without you.

She quickly decided to hibernate with you, and you honestly didn’t know if it could last long.

Even more with John’s presence in the house, more often than not. He’d apologized a week prior, and you’d let it go because you didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Not now, at least. He’d stayed over that same weekend; he’d tried to talk to her, but Inés outright refused. She even insisted that she had to sleep with you every night of the weekend until finally John left. Most importantly, John wouldn’t even be allowed to use her bed; he had to sleep on the couch.

As you looked down at your beautiful daughter, at her button nose, at those oh-so-familiar caramel eyes with flecks of green, her oh-so-familiar twisted soft pink lips, all wrapped together in that small frown as she slightly glared at you with her oh-so-familiar brunette golden hair in disarray, waiting for an answer, you knew that John would be complaining about his backache for at least a week.

“I just don’t get why she doesn’t like me,” he says as he slurps slightly from his cereal bowl. You cringe at the sound but try not to mind as you close the door of your mother’s house.

It was her night with your mom; part of you was grateful that she was in another place that wasn’t the house or her summer camp.

“She just doesn’t know you that well. That’s all,” you pinch your nose as you curse mentally the heels that you’d to wear due to a meeting with a client.

“That’s why I told you, both of you should come to LA with me; we can go to that Disney Park,” he insists on the other end.

You wonder for a slight second, only a second, if he didn’t have anything else to do at work because you did, and he still decides to bring up this. You regret it immediately as you stop in front of your car, phone heavy on your hand. Men you’d dated before had run away from you the moment they found out about Inés; here was a man who wanted to spend time with her.

“Yeah, I know,” you answer softly as you stare at the sky. The cues of orange were already reflecting on the clouds in the sky; the afternoon sun was warming up your skin, toasting it, making your soul sizzle slightly.

For a second, you close your eyes, and you let yourself go back to that summer. To those afternoons where the sun stretched as much as it could, showering you with its light. Salt air kissing your lips. Clouds lazily drift by. Rhythmic, soothing melody of the waves rushing towards you. You can remember their touch as they’d kissed your neck, your skin, their lips rolling down your body.

“Babe?”

You gasped softly as you opened your eyes. “I’m here,” you answer, clearing your throat as you look around, hoping no one else has seen you.

There were many moments throughout the years when you thought that you’d seen one of them. Jake more often than Bradley or Bob. Your heart always drops to your stomach, and your vision turns technicolor. Colors become so bright that you almost become sick. They, he, they always looked at you just in the way you liked those years ago. They didn’t age when you thought you saw them.

That’s how you realize that it is him, passing by in a car you didn’t recognize. As your eyes lock with him, you know deep down that he is looking for you.

“I have to go,” your voice could be barely heard; it’s not more than a whisper as your eyes are glued to the jeep that continues to drive. John might’ve heard you, you don’t know, but you also don’t care.

Holding your breath, you hope that he will drive away, but he doesn’t. It parks a few feet away from you. Your heartbeat picks up as you see the door opening. You’d seen him a few times with the green jumpsuit. He looks a lot older now, a lot grown up. Grown-up, something about it makes you want to recoil. It doesn’t fit with the memories you have of him.

He was supposed to stay twenty-five; you were supposed to stay twenty-three. The more times you see him now, the more it eats away those memories.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, a sudden cool evening breeze brushing against your skin as you stand in the street, washed in golden light. The moon was now peering over the edge of the horizon, casting a faint shadow to glow over the sky.

“I thought I’d pass by,” Jake replies, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia as he gazes at you. Those eyes staring back at you, just like they did seven years prior.

There’s a brief moment when you can feel like you’re back there with him again. Seven years ago, you had your father; seven years ago, you were still innocent; you hadn’t gone through anything, managed to live your life prior to them unscathed, without so much as a crack. Now, as you stand there, you can feel it.

All the cuts, all the breaks, all the different ways you were twisted and pulled back the way you’d to paste yourself back together for Inés.

Your face was stern, furrowing your eyebrows slightly. “You know what you sound like, right?” you ask.

Jake’s lips tug slightly on the edges. He managed to see those parts of you seven years prior, hidden through a meekness you’d tried to push down those sharp edges of you. He likes that you let the sharpness come through now.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he admits, his voice ting with regret. “I hoped,” he says slowly; you roll your eyes at him. “I think I was the only one that came to your parent’s house, right?”

As soon as the words drop from his lips, you feel everything stop. Staring at him, your mind rumbles to look for answers to what he means. He has your rattle; he notices it. He knows your body like the back of his hand, every edge, curve, inch. He had it memorized seven years ago. There’s a part of him that’s relieved that he can still read you; he was afraid that he couldn’t anymore, even with this.

“What are you -”

“I heard your name,” he interrupts softly, “Rooster and Bob were talking about you and how they know you.”

The silence is heavy as you stare at each other. There was a time when this was your worst nightmare, that either Bradley or, Bob or Jake found out about each other. You’d tried to handle it. None of them had asked you for anything else but what you had, and you hadn’t planned to ask for more.

Until then, they did, until you did.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you; you do know that, right?” you finally answer after weighing your options.

Jake nods. He half-expected that answer after the domino of events that trail behind your relationship.

His eyes examine you. Cheeks flushed, hair loose, the professional sleeveless black dress hugs your body perfectly. He’d imagined you like this: professional, beautiful. A little bit older, a little bit wiser. Sometimes he’d imagined what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t fucked up as he did.

But now, as he heard Bradley and Bob bickering about that summer. He realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one to blame.

“So, it wasn’t only me that summer, and Bradley for that matter,” he says, his eyes flickering now to yours.

The words come out of your mouth faster than you wished. “It was,” you sound definitive because you knew for a second it was before everything came tumbling down. But then again, you know it isn’t true, and you’d made the choices you’d made. You’d made your bed with all three of them. “I mean, I was also, you were.”

“Forgot that you avoid talking about feelings,” he murmurs, his eyes still fixed on you, the hint of a smile on his lips as he gives a step closer to you.

Your eyebrows pinch. Memories of that fateful summer flooding back. You recall how confident he was, the charm that always seemed to follow him, and why you got stuck in his web. Anger floods back too, simmering in your chest, defensiveness, everything you don’t want to feel again and less for him.

“I’ve changed; it has been seven years, and you only knew me for eight weeks.”

It’s filled with poison, you know it, and he does it too.

“And I haven’t been able to forget you, honey,” Jake confesses, his voice filled with a melancholic longing as he gives another step. “Please, just hear me out,”

You smell the sandalwood, the lemon. You look up at him through your lashes, holding your ground, not moving an inch as you stare at him. He shouldn’t make your heart beat this way, not when it has been so long. And yet he does; he makes your body react. Perhaps it is the fact that he is looking at you like that; perhaps it is the way the sun is hitting you right now, but anger drains slowly as you feel him closer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say softly, eyebrows still pinched.

Part of you wishes you didn’t sound so soft when he’s around you, but the thought of him has been marinating for so long in your mind since you first saw him here again. His face is calm, but you can still sense the regret.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” Jake repeats, swallowing hard as his hand carefully comes up to your face; he does it carefully, as if not to scare you.

A sound slips out of his lips as you lean into his touch. It doesn’t even cross your mind to move; you’re not too thrown off by his tenderness; you’d been craving it.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you argue; closing your eyes, you let his skin touch yours. It burns you, from the inside out, the fact that you still crave his touch like this.

“Honey,” he breathes out. “Of course it does. What are the odds that you are here and I am here?”

He startles you. You open your eyes just as fast as you’d leaned into him. Staring at him, he doesn’t know what you’re hiding. He does not know what kept you here. You want to yell at him, the odds, you scoff mentally. The odds were that you got knocked up by one of them, the odds were that you couldn’t leave, and the odds were that you raised your daughter on your own. Even worse, the present odds. The odds are that if he, or any of them, find out what you’ve done, they might take Inés away from you.

“Jake, stop,” you bite, taking a step back from him. You don’t dare to look at him for a moment.

“Honey,”

“You lied to me,” you pull away completely. “You lied to me, broke my heart,”

Jake frowns. He hates this. He hates that you run away, time and time again; you’ve always run away from him. Now that he knows, he just doesn’t let you go that easily. No, he can’t.

“You lied, too. I mean, were you sleeping with-”

“Go,” you snap at him. Jake watches as you glare at him, your eyebrows pinched. He remembers the way your lips turn when you’re mad; he knows you. You aren’t mad right now. He stares at you, your long lashes, your golden skin. Eyes that he’d been seeing in his dreams since he left. Pink, plush lips. His eyes stay there for longer than before, and when he looks back at you again, you’re already staring.

You know what he is about to do.

“I said, just go-”

One, two, three steps, and he has reached you. His hand finds your hip and grabs at it roughly, cupping your jaw; his lips find yours.

author's note: Thank you so much for your patience!!!!! I have so many questions about this fic because I've rewrote so many things. Need your opinions.

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