#Difference between branding and marketing

[superavenueunknown]

Branding vs. Marketing: What Your Business Needs to Succeed

Discover the difference between branding and marketing and how both contribute to business success. Learn branding strategies for business, effective marketing techniques, and ways to align branding and marketing for business success with MagixBowl.

Introduction

In today's competitive world, businesses must establish a strong presence to thrive. But what exactly fuels business success—branding or marketing? Many entrepreneurs often confuse the two, thinking they are interchangeable. However, while closely related, branding vs. marketing serve distinct purposes.

If you're wondering, "What is the difference between branding and marketing?" or "Branding vs. marketing: Which one is more important?" you're in the right place. In this article, we'll explore how branding helps in long-term business growth and the best marketing strategies to boost brand recognition so you can build a thriving business with the right approach.

What is the Difference Between Branding and Marketing?

Understanding the difference between branding and marketing is essential for making informed business decisions.

Branding:

Branding is the identity of your business. It defines who you are, what you stand for, and how customers perceive you. A strong brand identity includes a logo, colors, values, and a unique voice that makes your business recognizable.

Marketing:

Marketing, on the other hand, is the strategy and actions you take to promote your brand. It involves techniques like advertising, content marketing, social media promotions, SEO, and digital campaigns to reach potential customers.

Branding vs. Marketing: Key Differences

FeatureBrandingMarketing

Purpose Establishes business identity Promotes business to attract customers.

Focus on Long-term vision & brand consistency, Short-term campaigns & customer acquisition.

Emotional Connection Builds trust & loyalty Drives sales & engagement

Examples: Logo, mission, brand voice Ads, email marketing, SEO campaigns

While marketing strategies for startups help in immediate visibility, how branding helps in long-term business growth lies in customer retention and loyalty.

Why Branding is Important for Business

A well-defined brand identity helps businesses stand out in a crowded market. Here's why branding is important for business:

Builds Customer Trust: A consistent brand creates credibility and fosters trust.

Creates Brand Recognition: The more familiar your brand becomes, the more customers recognize and remember it.

Enhances Customer Loyalty: A strong brand encourages repeat business and referrals.

Differentiates from Competitors: A unique brand helps set you apart in a saturated market.

Businesses that invest in how to build a brand identity early on benefit from long-term customer engagement and loyalty.

Branding Strategies for Business Success

Effective branding strategies for businesses focus on creating a strong and memorable identity. Here are some key approaches:

1. Define Your Brand Personality

Your brand should reflect your values, mission, and customer expectations. Think about how to create a strong brand identity that resonates with your audience.

2. Craft a Unique Brand Story

The importance of brand storytelling lies in creating an emotional connection with customers. Share your brand's journey, struggles, and achievements to make your audience relate to your business.

3. Maintain Brand Consistency

Consistency in colors, tone, and messaging across all platforms strengthens brand recall. Brand positioning vs. marketing tactics must align to deliver a unified message.

4. Invest in Personal Branding for Entrepreneurs

Founders and CEOs should also build a personal brand to enhance credibility. Personal branding for entrepreneurs can attract new opportunities and partnerships.

Best Marketing Strategies for Business Growth

While branding builds identity, the best marketing strategies for business growth drive sales and customer acquisition. Here are some of the best marketing strategies to boost brand recognition:

1. Digital Marketing for Brand Awareness

A strong online presence is key to success. Digital marketing for brand awareness includes:

SEO (Search Engine Optimization)

Social Media Marketing

Content Marketing

Email Campaigns

2. Leverage Social Media

Social platforms like Instagram, LinkedIn, and Twitter help businesses engage with their audience. Marketing strategies for startups should prioritize these channels to increase reach.

3. Implement Paid Advertising

Google Ads, Facebook Ads, and influencer collaborations help target specific audiences. Effective marketing techniques like retargeting and PPC can maximize conversions.

4. Align Branding and Marketing for Business Success

For sustainable growth, businesses must integrate branding into their marketing efforts. How to align branding and marketing for business success involves:

Ensuring marketing materials reflect the brand voice.

Running campaigns that align with brand values.

Using storytelling in advertisements to reinforce brand identity.

Brand Perception and Customer Trust

Branding influences how customers perceive a business. If you want to strengthen brand perception and customer trust, focus on:

Authenticity: Customers value genuine brands that deliver on promises.

Customer Experience: Positive interactions enhance brand loyalty.

Social Proof: Testimonials, case studies, and influencer collaborations build credibility.

By consistently delivering value, businesses can enhance their reputation and trustworthiness in the market.

Branding vs. Marketing: Which One is More Important?

Many businesses ask, "Branding vs. marketing: Which one is more important?" The truth is both are essential for success. Branding builds a foundation, while marketing spreads awareness and drives revenue.

Without branding, marketing has no direction, and without marketing, branding has no visibility. Businesses must align branding and marketing for business success to create a powerful presence in their industry.

Conclusion

Understanding the difference between branding and marketing is crucial for any business. While branding helps establish identity, the best marketing strategies for business growth ensure visibility and customer engagement.

MagixBowl helps businesses develop branding strategies for business and implement effective marketing techniques to achieve long-term success. If you want to enhance your brand and reach the right audience, let us help you navigate the world of branding vs. marketing with expert strategies.

For more insights, stay connected with MagixBowl and explore tailored solutions for your business growth!

[liveblack]

What is Digital Branding? | Liveblack

You’ve seen several brands dominate the digital realm. But have you ever thought about how? What are the reasons for this? How do they always create wonders? Let us tell you these brands invest in digital branding strategy. To all businesses and brands, if you want to stand apart, digital branding is the ticket to reach your goals.

What is digital branding? What difference does it make to your business? Digital branding is now the highest priority any brand has to stay ahead of the competition. Digital marketing operates brand identity, and visibility, establishing a company’s image in the digital world. It connects the audience emotionally with the product or service they offer.

The number of internet users is now in the billions and is increasing daily. Speaking of which, brands and businesses get more chances to reach a maximum number of people or the target audience. Digital marketing channels allow brand awareness and give space to stand out in the cut-throat competition with the unique approach you bring to the world.

What are the roles of digital branding and marketing?

Digital branding is for creating an individual and consistent online presence of your brand. You can use channels such as social media platforms, websites, advertisements, etc.. to establish an image of a brand. This way you can increase brand visibility, identity, and loyal customer base, and create a space in the market.

Digital marketing helps you get traffic, leads, and sales and engages the target audience to become loyal customers. This strategy provides you with the benefit over your competitors to use various digital channels to reach new customers and your loyal customer base. Create an image of your brand that everyone can recognize.

the benefits of digital branding

The world of the Internet is expanding rapidly and there is a 100% chance your competitors will overtake you in any way to impress customers. To imprint your products and services into people’s minds, you should have a digital branding strategy ready in your mind.

Here, we are going to mention some of the benefits that let you hold the attention of your customers through unique concepts and strategies of digital branding.

Strong Brand Identity -

You know your customers are all over the internet as they are using social media platforms for surfing and search engines to find their requirements. Communicate your brand through social media to display the values through multiple digital branding strategies. Take advantage of the presence of your audience all over the Internet and create a strong brand identity.

Find New Customers -

Get a referral business through the digital branding you do for your brand. As people recognize the brand and tagline of your brand or find it on search engines, they will be more likely to purchase from you. Consistent branding can always benefit you in many ways. Be it your website, digital ads, social media platforms, or any other way, get the customers’ attention.

Build Trust -

A consistent appearance can easily build trust. People would like to purchase from a brand that deals professionally and builds an image of a trustworthy and legitimate brand.

Create Engaging Content -

Producing engaging content helps you attract target audiences to come to your brand. Many companies share relevant content, making it exciting to let the users enjoy and get information about the products and services of a particular brand. Also, through blogs, you can explain your industry with topics including videos, photos, and infographics. This will help customers and search engines better understand your website.

There is a difference between digital marketing and digital branding. There lies a thin line when we talk about digital marketing and branding. To understand digital marketing vs digital branding we need to go through the definition and details so that you’ll get a better idea.

Digital marketing is a general term for all kinds of online activities we do to promote our services or sell our products. Digital marketing allows customers to interact with businesses through social media platforms, websites, etc. By engaging with effective targeting methods, you will reach a specific audience to make a loyal customer base.

Whereas digital branding is an essential part of digital marketing where the aim is to create brand awareness and brand building. In simple words, digital branding is used to make a strong brand image and strengthen the reputation of a brand.

Let’s take an example of branding which automatically lets you remember the brands’ names. “I’m Lovin’ It” — McDonald’s. The other one is “Red Bull gives you wings” — Red Bull.

These are examples of digital branding where the company’s logo and tagline mark its presence in customers’ minds. The main goal of the branding is to make direct contact between consumers and businesses to build a market. Except for brand awareness, digital branding can drive sales and long-term customer loyalty, this way customers can never forget the brand.

Digital marketing in branding can help you reach new customers, increase sales and brand awareness, and let you generate more revenue. Digital marketing strategy can boost brand awareness with methods like SEO, paid advertising, and social media marketing, all of these can be impactful to achieve the predefined goal.

Crafting an effective digital branding strategy not only helps you achieve the goal of having strong brand awareness, but it gives customers an understanding of who you are and what your brand brings to them.

At Liveblack, we know the importance of having a strong brand identity and aim to provide our clients with the best. As a digital marketing agency, we know the tips and tricks that accomplish your brand goals in a manner that builds a reputation and a strong identity in the market and influences the target audience to connect with you. We try different approaches to understand your every goal with in-depth knowledge.

[realestatetutor]

Understanding The Differences and Benefits of Branding And Marketing

"Marketing" and "Branding" are the two most frequently used terms that are synonymous with making a business successful in the current times. While we might confuse them as a single entity, the actuality is that they're two distinct facets that, when combined, will take a business from strength to strength. To achieve that, one must first know the difference between marketing and branding to deploy the right strategy at the right juncture.

Stick with us as we help you uncover the essential differentiators between branding and marketing in detail in this guide. But before we jump right into the differences, let's start with getting to know the terms better.

What is Branding?

Branding is how you communicate your company's identity, values, ethics, and mission to your audience. It involves elements like your logo, color scheme, typography, and overall visual and verbal style. These components create a distinct identity, connect with customers, influence their choice in your favor, and foster lasting brand relationships.

Branding aims to help the consumer understand the differentiating characteristics of your company, services, or products. All these components work together to develop your company's identity, connect with your customers, confirm their decision to choose your company over your competitors, and form a long-term relationship with your brand.

What is Marketing?

Marketing complements branding by creating effective platforms to sell and promote products or services. It focuses on forming profitable connections with the target audience and staying aligned with your brand values. As business and audience preferences evolve, marketing strategies adapt to remain effective. Marketing activities can take various forms: online (e.g., digital marketing, SEO, PPC, email), offline (e.g., TV ads, print ads, billboards), or a combination of both, depending on the business needs.

Difference Between Branding And Marketing

When it comes to the distinction between the two, branding answers the questions "who" and "why" the business exists, while marketing answers the question "how" the company exists. We can't look at these differences through the lens of marketing vs. branding because they're separate. Let's get to the point about the difference between branding and marketing.

#1 Branding Takes the Lead Before Marketing

Brand identity stands as the foundation for all marketing efforts. It provides the groundwork upon which marketing and promotional campaigns are constructed. A captivating logo and website theme serve as the origins from which your advertisements spring forth, and a clearly defined brand persona sets the stage for a consistent tone in your brand messaging. In a world where consumers seek compelling reasons to engage, the emotional resonance of your branding takes precedence over the tangible value of your product or service. Consider your brand identity a versatile toolbox, easily accessible to your marketing team and tailored to meet specific objectives.

#2 Branding Emphasizes Customer Loyalty, While Marketing Drives Sales

Marketing strategies are crafted to fulfill immediate sales objectives. For example, campaigns related to current events, whether in sports, politics, or entertainment, can be potent tools for capturing attention and driving sales during those periods. Nevertheless, it's crucial to acknowledge that your brand identity and company values remain unwavering, irrespective of external influences.

While marketing efforts may prompt purchases, the alignment of your values and the resonance of your message fosters customer loyalty, transforming buyers into steadfast supporters of your business.

#3 Branding Prioritizes Audience Retention, While Marketing Captures Attention

While an advertising campaign may introduce your brand to a customer, building trust requires a deeper connection. Branding leverages the fundamental principles of your business to forge a profound bond with your customers and shape your brand narrative. Conversely, marketing strategies excel in expanding your reach and audience. Both branding and marketing are integral components of a long-term business strategy, ensuring the enduring relevance of your brand over time.

Benefits of Using Branding and Marketing In Sync

Thinking of branding as a flashy way for people to notice your brand or marketing as a sales effort is what people get as their immediate result. These two are the most powerful weapons one can use to create an integrated strategy for making their company unique, valuable, and capable of retaining clients. When branding and marketing are used together, they can build a unified and successful plan for a company's long-term success. Here's how they can help each other:

Opens Door For Clear Communication

Branding serves as the bedrock, establishing core values, mission, and vision for the company. Marketing then utilizes this foundation to craft content and promotional campaigns that consistently mirror the brand's identity. This unified message streamlines customer recognition and connection with the brand.

Harmonizing with the Target Audience

Branding aids in understanding the target audience and their preferences. Subsequently, marketing tailors its strategies to specifically reach and engage this audience, ensuring that messaging and content resonate with their needs and pain points.

Maintaining Visual Harmony

A robust brand identity relies on visual elements such as logos, color schemes, and design guidelines. Marketing materials should align with these visual cues to preserve a consistent and recognizable brand image across all channels, allowing the business to remain distinctive and true to its essence.

Ensuring Consistency in Content

Marketing generates diverse content, including advertisements, blog posts, social media updates, and more. This content should align with the brand's values and personality as defined by branding efforts. Consistency in content guarantees that the brand's voice remains clear and authentic to the readers and target audience.

Delivering a Seamless Customer Experience

Branding efforts define the desired customer experience. Marketing reinforces this experience by ensuring that all customer touchpoints, from advertising to customer service, align with the brand's promises and values.

Final Words

Branding and marketing are complementary facets of a business, each with distinct roles. Branding aims for lasting consumer partnerships, while marketing adds value by addressing customer needs. Instead of a choice between marketing and branding, a harmonious integration of both is essential for effective business strategies. Now that we've covered the basics of branding and marketing, their differences and how using them together is the optimal practice to evaluate one's business, contact Splendour Group to formulate the best strategy to move your business ahead.

[disco-descent]

I don't think you guys know what a boycott is or how it works

[xenosagaepisodeone]

youtube recommended me an hour long video where someone rants about the decline of build a bear as a brand and I decided to watch maybe 15 minutes or so not for any insight, but instead as a form of people watching. what kind of life would an adult my age lead to feel that kind of consumer betrayal? not because build a bear is cringe but because build a bear is expensive. ridiculously expensive. the only time in my life where i walked into a build a bear and did not immediately walk out was when my old-old ex took me there for my 18th birthday and got me a twilight sparkle plush because we were looking at the cost of these custom bears and their clothes and going "holy fuck whaaaaat". a build a bear ride or die is built very different from me.

you probably deduced from the thumbnail (as well as from the nature of these consumer grievance type videos) that the thing this person has an issue with is the overall modern day "aesthetic". the store has downsized considerably in the last decade and resembles a regular toy store moreso than its older workshop-like setup. at one point she near-tearily mulls over how many malls only have a "dinky little kiosk" instead of an actual location. she hates the fluorescent lights and minimalist style shelves. she doesn't get why things that were once painted surfaces are now interactable screens. she gushes over the things she loved about the old store as if she's seeing it all for the first time in between talking extensively about her personal relationship to certain accessories and plush types. she hates that so many of the plushies are just licensed characters now. she misses the experience of being in the store as a child. she misses the bears from her childhood that she regretfully gave away. she doesn't like that these things that meant so much to her are going away and that she doesn't know how to get them back. at one point, she mentions that she tried to go back to the store a few years ago and (pausing repeatedly as if hovering above some kind of inscrutable alien truth) that buying a bear and paying $30+ for clothes "just wasn't...fun?" but immediately combats the instinct to investigate these feelings by arguing that this is the store's fault for not being fun. that build a bear is failing because it is not more accommodating to adults.

with any other youtuber who was confounded by the fact that novelty things from their childhood did not survive the forces of the market 15+ years later (and had to shuffle around its brand aesthetics to see what would maybe make investors happy while also minimizing cost) I would probably have just stopped watching at the 15 minute mark, but I found myself fascinated by this humorism powered hydraulic performance. she simmers in nostalgia happily, reliving her memories with every image of old build a bear she superimposes over the screen, before snapping into a state of sadness and confusion once the image has been taken away. it takes about 25 minutes in for her to start verbalizing her frustration towards all modern day toy aesthetics. "why did they do this? what makes them do this? why does everything look like this now? I don't understand" she's less asking a question and more unable to reconcile that a part of her life which once possessed tangibility no longer exists, and the transactional nature of her relationship with build a bear is what specifically makes her unable to make peace with this. she cannot accept that she cannot buy back this time that was lost because her time as a child in build a bear was something that she purchased in the first place. the experience is tied so much to build a bear as an enterprise and transaction that to simply separate what she liked about it and pursue something that resembles that is inconceivable, and instead that the only choice is to. retvrn to build a bear.

[brrandommedia]

Difference between Branding and Advertising

What is Branding?

Branding is a process that involves creating a specific name, logo, and image for a particular product, service, or company. Branding is assembling various marketing mix mediums into a whole to give a brand an identity. It is basically to capture your customer's mind with your brand name. It is also about capturing niche marketing for your product/services or company by creating confidence in the current customer's mind that you are the unique solution to their problem.

Way of Establishing a Brand in the Market

Establishing a Brand in the market

Make it unique then competitors

Relatable to the focusing niche market for the brand

Analyse potential customers and their activities

Reach to potential customers via suitable platforms and show your products or services as per their needs

Analyse competitors and their strategies. Find out the best strategy or create a new strategy to reach the brand’s potential customers.

Making sustainable

What is Advertising?

Advertising refers to a component of marketing communication that transfers a non-personal, open message to promote a product or service to a wide range of audience.

Role of Advertising in Marketing

The role of advertising in marketing is to promote a product/service to create awareness, information, persuasion, brand loyalty, brand image, educating the consumers, and understanding the market expansion.

Importance of Branding in Advertising

The importance of branding in advertising helps organizations or companies to generate awareness, increase reach and make their brand more visible to the customers. Branding supports marketing and advertising. It gives your audience a clear sense of purpose,direction and credibility.

Difference between Branding and Advertising with Examples

The major difference between branding and advertising is branding focuses on creating and shaping a brand’s identity, whereas advertising on the other hand is responsible for promoting that brand and getting customers to notice it.

FAQ

What defines a brand?

A brand is a distinct identity shaped by its name, logo, values, products, and customer experiences. It embodies a promise to customers, reflecting its mission, personality, and reputation in the market. A successful brand builds trust, loyalty, and emotional connections with its audience.

How are we different from our competitors?

We can be different from our competitors by the following -

Unique product features and innovations

Exceptional customer service and support

Competitive pricing strategies

Strong emphasis on sustainability and ethical practices

Engaging and interactive online platform

Exclusive partnerships and collaborations

Customization options for a tailored experience

Robust loyalty program and rewards

Rapid response to market trends and consumer feedback

Established reputation for quality and reliability

How to choose a suitable company name?

To choose a suitable company name:

Reflect Your Brand: Align with your mission, values, and offerings.

Memorable & Pronounceable: Easy to remember and say.

Avoid Trends: Timeless names have lasting appeal.

Consider SEO: Ensure it's searchable online.

Trademark Availability: Check for legal conflicts.

Global Appeal: Keep it culturally neutral if aiming for an international market.

Feedback & Testing: Get input from potential customers and stakeholders.

Future-Proof: Allow for growth and diversification.

Check Domain Availability: Secure a matching website domain.

Emotional Resonance: Evoke positive feelings or associations.

[lalo0]

UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT CH. 1 ┃ Damsel in distress

Sana x male reader (smut)

word count: 12k

The thing about these events is that no one actually wants to be here.

Not me, not them, not even the poor souls pretending to be fans screaming from behind the barriers. It’s just part of the deal: put on a suit, smile, act like you’re honored to attend another rigged award show where the winners are decided weeks before anyone even pretends to vote.

I flash a practiced grin at the cameras. Just enough teeth to seem charming, not enough to seem desperate. They eat it up. They always do.

Inside, it’s colder than necessary, not for comfort, but to make sure no one starts sweating through their designer suits before the main event. I recognize the usual layout: round tables close together, champagne that’s all label and no taste, plastic smiles stretched across faces polished within an inch of human.

I find my table. Karina’s already there, glued to her phone like she’s solving world hunger. My manager, Karina Yoo. Full-time job: Making sure I don’t publicly crash and burn.

“You’re late,” she says, not even looking up.

“I’m fashionable,” I correct, sliding into the seat beside her. “Try to keep up.”

She hums under her breath, something between disapproval and exhaustion, and taps at her screen a few more times before glancing at me. “You’re third. Stick to the script and smile.”

“I always smile.” I flash my teeth at her. “You think I’m out here winging it?”

Karina just gives me that look. The one that says she doesn’t get paid enough to argue. I lean back in my chair, scanning the room. Same faces, slightly different brands of fake.

And then there’s Sana.

Of course.

If South Korea had a national treasure, it would look awfully much like her. She’s draped in a dress that cost more than some idols’ entire discography budgets, shimmering under the lights with an ease that looks accidental and isn’t. Perfect smile, perfect hair, legs crossed in a way that suggests she doesn’t have to try, she just exists. She’s laughing at something, head tilted, hand brushing through her hair like it’s all just a natural accident. I know better.

And because the universe is nothing if not predictable, a few tables down sits Kang Jihoon.

Perfect skin, perfect smile, perfect product of fifteen million dollars in marketing campaigns and enough plastic surgery to qualify as a construction site. The kind of rival whose existence is an insult. Our eyes meet. He nods, that tight little smile that says, Congratulations on your award. Hope you trip and break your teeth on the way to the stage.

I smile back, all teeth.

Karina nudges me under the table. “Don’t start anything.”

“I never start anything,” I say, sipping from a champagne flute that tastes like someone bottled hand soap and chilled it.

Jihoon’s laughing too hard at something one of the producers said. Probably another joke at my expense. He’s not subtle.

The lights dim and the host starts his opening bit. I tune it out. Same script as last year, just different names plugged in. When they call my name, it’s with all the fanfare you’d expect for someone already halfway to an EGOT.

“Leon — Male Solo Artist of the Year.”

I stand, smoothing the front of my jacket with a deliberate, oh, this old thing? kind of air, and make my way up to the stage. Flashbulbs pop like fireworks, but I pretend not to notice. The trophy’s lighter than it looks. Cheap, like the ceremony. I step up to the mic and smile, not too big, not too smug, just the right angle to keep the fan edits flattering.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll keep this brief. Thank you to my fans, my team, and to everyone who made this possible.”

I bow. They applaud. Pavlov would be proud.

On the way back to my seat, I catch Sana looking. She raises her glass in a slow, deliberate toast. The corner of her mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. I raise mine back, then hold her gaze for a few more seconds.

—

By the time I make it into the afterparty, an overpriced lounge in Gangnam with too much glass and too little oxygen, half the eyes are already on me. A few heads tilt together, a few girls whisper behind raised hands. All that wasted effort, as if I can’t already feel it in the way the air sharpens around me.

Sana's also here. Of course she is.

I spot her immediately, curled into a corner booth like she’s the headliner that doesn’t to be introduced. There’s a drink in her hand, something clear, expensive-looking. She’s laughing at something one of her friends said, one of those bright, polished laughs that sounds so effortless you almost forget how practiced it probably is.

Sana’s good at playing innocent. Better at making sure you know she isn’t.

She’s exactly the kind of person you learn to spot early in this business. The kind who doesn't just walk into a room, but recalibrates it around herself. A professional manipulator, disguised as a professional sweetheart.

I don’t blame her, I respect it.

Still, I don’t head toward her right away. That’d be too obvious. Too eager.

Instead, I weave my way past a few clusters of people, industry kids mostly, managers, producers, B-list actors desperate to be mistaken for A-list. The kind who try too hard to look like they belong here. I smile at a few of them, nod once or twice, let them think I’m being polite. The truth is, I don’t remember half their names. the other half aren’t worth remembering.

It doesn’t take long for Karina to catch up to me. She’s dressed for business even when she’s pretending not to be, black blazer, sharp lines, sensible heels. She looks more like she’s here to close a deal than babysit a soloist with too much media training and not enough patience.

“You’re late,” she says under her breath, flashing a smile that’s for everyone else’s benefit.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, offering mine right back. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Karina sighs, just audible enough for me to hear it.

“This isn’t optional,” she reminds me. “Show face, shake hands, act grateful. You know the drill.”

“Relax. I’ve been doing this for longer than I can remember.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She’s right, technically. I’ve been in this business long enough to know exactly what tonight is: a networking event dressed up as a party. A chance for people with too much money and too little shame to decide who gets to be famous next. It’s not about talent, it’s never about talent. It’s about leverage, perception, the right smiles, at the right moments, aimed at the right people.

Speaking of which, Sana’s eyes catch mine from across the room. It’s not obvious, just a flicker, a slight tilt of her head, but it’s enough. I don't smile right away. I make her wait for it, let her wonder if I’ll bother. Then, slow, deliberate, I offer the faintest nod, barely a movement. But she sees it. And more importantly, she understands it.

I let Karina wander off to do whatever it is managers do at these things, probably networking, maybe praying. It doesn’t matter, she’s not the one I’m here for.

I grab a drink from a passing waiter without asking what it is. It could be champagne or window cleaner for all I care. It’s not about the drink. It’s about having something in my hand, looking just casual enough to pretend I’m not watching her.

But of course I am.

Sana doesn’t make me wait long. She slides off the leather booth with a grace so natural it has to be practiced, leaving behind two of her group members who immediately start whispering the second her heels click away.

I don’t move. I don’t smile. I just let her come to me.

Up close, she smells expensive. Something sweet and sharp, something no stylist could’ve picked. It’s the kind of thing that clings to your clothes if you let her too close, the kind you’d notice hours after she’s already gone.

"Leon," she says, all polite sweetness, tilting her head like she’s genuinely surprised to see me. As if this wasn’t planned. "Didn’t think I’d run into you here."

"Sana," I reply, letting her name sit on my tongue a second too long. "Small world."

She laughs, soft and airy, a sound designed to make people lean in closer. I don’t. I stand my ground, sipping whatever poison’s in my glass.

"You look good," she says, and it feels like a test.

"You look expensive," I answer, because she does. Every inch of her, hair, skin, makeup, is curated to perfection, not a single thing out of place. It's the kind of polish you can’t fake. It costs money, time and blood.

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. "Same old Leon," she says. "Still charming as ever."

"Still lying through your teeth," I shoot back, and this time she does smile. A real one, sharp at the edges, not the kind she gives the cameras.

"You’re not gonna be nice to me? I thought you had an image to maintain."

"I’m off the clock," I say. "Besides, you don’t want nice. You want me."

She laughs again, softer this time. She’s enjoying this. Of course she is. Girls like Sana don’t chase boys, they chase puzzles, and I’m not about to make it easy for her.

She shifts her weight, leaning in just a fraction. "So what’s it gonna be tonight?" she asks. "Leon the idol or Leon the asshole?"

I shrug, taking another sip. The drink’s starting to taste less like paint thinner now. “Whatever gets you wetter.”

Her eyes flick in surprise, blink-and-miss-it sharp. Like she’s checking how deep the water is before she dives. She taps her glass against mine. Little clink. Too sweet to trust. “Surprise me.”

I let a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Careful,” I tell her. “I might.”

Sana takes another slow sip from her drink, eyes never leaving mine. “You know, I forgot how much I hated you.”

I grin into my glass. “Come on, we both know you’re obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed is a strong word,” she says, but there’s that curl of her mouth again, like she’s chewing on something she’s not ready to spit out yet.

“You’re the one who came over,” I remind her.

“Pity,” she says, tossing it out like it was obvious. “You looked lonely.”

“You’re confusing lonely with selective.”

She hums under her breath, amused, like she’s seen this movie before. “Selective, huh. Funny way to describe standing alone with your drink going flat.”

“Funny way to describe stalking me.”

“You wish,” she shoots back, but her hand grazes mine when she reaches for her glass, and she doesn’t move it right away. The corner of her lip glistens when she speaks again, too casual to be innocent. “Anyway. I figured someone should save you from dying of boredom.”

I laugh, not bothering to hide how dry it sounds. “If I was dying of boredom, talking to you would only speed things up.”

Sana leans in a touch, just enough to really make sure I smell her perfume. “That’s rich coming from you, Leon. Aren’t you supposed to be the life of the party?”

“Off duty.” I swirl the drink in my hand, let the ice clink against the glass. “Besides, you don’t want the real me. You want the version you can brag about to your friends.”

She looks at me then, really looks, head tilted like she’s deciding whether to really say it. “Maybe I want both.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

The way her mouth curls tells me she doesn’t care. Or worse, she does. “Try me,” she says.

I toss the rest of my drink back, the burn sharp down my throat, and I feel it catch, slow and deliberate, when she leans closer and drops her voice to a murmur. “Come on. Be interesting.”

I don’t answer right away. I let it hang there, just a second longer than is polite, and smile like I’m thinking about it, like it’s some big favor. “Maybe later,” I say, setting the empty glass down on the bar. “When you’re drunk enough to forget.”

Her fingers trail the rim of her glass, slow, absentminded. “And what if I don’t want to forget?”

I shrug. “Not my problem.”

Sana laughs under her breath, low and dry, then tosses her drink back too, straight-faced, like it’s water. Her hand brushes mine again, deliberate this time, knuckles grazing. And maybe it’s the burn of the liquor or the glint in her eye, but for a second, it feels easy to forget the part where I’m supposed to be working.

I check my phone instead. Flash a smile she doesn’t buy.

“Midnight already?” I say, slipping it back into my pocket. “Guess I’m getting old.”

Sana just watches me, eyes a little too knowing. “Leaving already?”

“Big day tomorrow,” I lie.

“Shame.” She taps her glass against mine, gentle little clink, like she’s toasting something only she knows about. “I was starting to have fun.”

“Yeah,” I say, pushing off the bar. “You should get out of here too. Never know what kind of creeps hang around these places after dark.”

—

Her laugh follows me as I walk off.

The sidewalk’s quieter than it should be. I don’t rush. The trick is never looking like you have somewhere to be. I hear the door swing behind me. Heels again, faster this time.

“You forgot your manners,” she calls out.

I don’t turn. Just slow down a little. “I said goodbye.”

“You said ‘you should get out of here too,’” she says, catching up. “That’s not the same thing.”

I glance over. She’s got her arms folded, jacket barely draped over her shoulders, heels digging into the concrete like she’s got something to prove. I sigh and keep walking, but she matches my pace like it’s a challenge. We’re two blocks out when the tension hits me. Background noise shifts, too quiet on one side, too fast on the other. I look ahead. There’s a guy leaning against a wall, hood up, trying too hard to look casual.

Sana notices.

“Leon?” Sana’s voice rises.

I don’t answer, just stare at the guy. He tilts his head. No mask, no warning, just lunges a punch that grazes my jaw. Instinct sharpens everything. I shift under his arm, grab his wrist, then slam him into the wall. Hard enough to echo, but not enough to stop him. He surges forward, elbow into my ribs. Winded. Pain flowers across my side.

He then pounces forward and tries to grab Sana “Move!” I bark to her, stepping between her and him. He’s circling me now. All of a sudden, three more guys show up, their hands grabbing at my arms. I snap a swift elbow back, crack against one’s jaw. He stumbles. Two of them close in, fists clenched, going for my throat. I swallow past the soreness in my chest. Drop low, grab one by the shirt, whip him into the other two. A crash of limbs and grunts, bodies sliding on asphalt. I’m not winning this with finesse. Not tonight. I land a knee, hear a crack, and then I’m up, fists short and sharp.

But there’s another. He strikes from behind. My vision blurs, and for a second the world goes gray.

“Leon!” Sana screams. I hear her, but can’t answer. I duck another punch, blood spitting where I snap back with an uppercut. I taste metal—blood—fuck I hate that taste.

I catch a glint—a knife now. He’s reaching. I lurch, scoop my jacket off my shoulders and wrap it around my arm. He swings. The cold blade bites the leather, nothing more. I sidestep, stomp my boot into his foot and grind it there. He hisses and drops the blade, but not fast enough. I grab him, twist hard, and drop him against the pavement.

And then—silence, broken only by distant screams.

Sana is behind me, frozen. I spin around, chest heaving and hands bloody. She stares—eyes blown wide, the color drained out of her face. “Oh… my god.” She sways forward, collapses against my ribs. Knuckles white on my arm. I hold her, feel her tremor through my side.

A siren wails, closer now. The city knows, they saw. I wipe my hands on the pavement without thinking. “You okay?" I ask, voice rough. Too rough.

Sana’s grip tightens like she’s grabbing onto a lifeline. My jaw throbs, ribs ache. I’m shaking—partly from the adrenaline, partly from how her body sags against mine. I press a hand to her back, steady. Witnesses come closer, murmurs rising.

And the next moment, I realize, every eye in the street is watching us.

Phones up. Lights flashing. Murmurs thick in the air. Half of them didn’t see the fight, just caught the aftermath—blood, scared girl, bodies on the concrete like someone forgot how gravity works. And me, standing over it, like we were filming a movie.

Sana hasn’t moved, still curled in on herself like her skin’s not fitting right, arms locked around herself. Her heels are uneven on the sidewalk, and it’s not because they’re cheap, but because one of them seems be cracked. Security splits the crowd. One of them goes straight for one the guys on the ground, checks if he’s breathing. He is. Unfortunately. Another glances at me, hesitation loaded in his posture. His eyes do the math—celebrities, blood, cameras, and he decides not to ask questions.

“Is she hurt?” someone barks behind me. Not police.

I don’t answer.

She still hasn’t looked at me. Not really. But she’s closer now. Just slightly. Her shoulder brushes mine when another guy tries to come up and someone yells at him to back off. Flashing lights again, blue and red this time, police. They show up just in time to make it look like they were involved. Reporters circle like flies. A few of them already have the headline drafted. Top Artist Defends Fellow Star from Late-Night Assault. Or maybe something dumber. Hero or Hype? Leon’s Street Fight Goes Viral.

I hear my name in a dozen voices, some shocked, some excited. No one’s checking if I’m okay though. No one cares, and I don’t blame them, not when Sana’s here, shaking so subtly it barely shows unless you’re looking.

I am looking.

One officer steps in, clipboard out, tone all business. “What happened here?”

I tilt my head toward the guys on the ground. “They did.”

He gives me a look that tells me it’s not enough, that he wants more. But I’m already giving the cameras a different angle, just enough profile to look sharp, not smug. Another officer crouches beside Sana, softer voice. She doesn’t answer him either. I shift closer, just enough that the gesture reads on camera. Protection, familiarity, maybe something more. She finally moves closer, her shoulder brushes mine again, this time staying there. And that’s all they need. Flash, flash. I hear someone mutter my name like it’s holy, and for a second, everybody was focused on me.

—

The cameras follow us all the way to a barricade the police made in order to secure the scene. Some idiot shoves a mic past the line and it almost clips Sana in the face. I block it with my hand and shoot them a look. They already got what they came for. Girl clinging to my side, blood on my shirt, four bodies on the ground. It’ll go viral before I even make it home.

A cop waves us through like he knows who we are, maybe he does, maybe he just saw enough to not want to slow us down. I nod once and keep Sana close. She’s quiet now, not still terrified quiet, more like all the words got sucked out of her lungs and haven’t come back yet. Her heel catches on a curb and I catch her before she falls. She doesn’t even look up, just mutters something that might be thanks. They pull us aside behind one of the cars and another cop shows up with a pad, asking questions. I give the short version, four guys, I didn’t like the way one of them looked at us, they swung first. He scribbles without looking up, nodding like it checks out. The bodies get loaded into an ambulance.

Sana hasn’t moved from my side, she hasn’t let go either. Her hand’s curled around my jacket like it’s the only thing she can use to balance herself in a world that just shifted under her heels. The officer glances at her. “Miss, did you see what happened?”

She doesn’t answer. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out, just this low sound like she forgot how to breathe right. He tries again, gentler, still nothing. I watch her face, it’s not blank, it’s too much, everything still happening inside. You can see it behind her eyes, the split-second replay on loop.

“We’ll talk later,” I say. The cop shrugs, maybe he knows better than to push.

Reporters are getting closer and someone’s yelling my name again. A girl tries to push through the line, phone in hand, red light blinking. I turn slightly and block Sana from the angle. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and doesn’t care, hard to tell. A few more suits show up, one of them’s definitely management. Not mine. He spots us and jogs over like he’s actually worried. His face does that thing where he tries to look concerned and not furious. Fails.

“Sana. Are you okay?”

She blinks. Doesn’t answer. He tries again, crouches a little to meet her eye. “Can you walk? We have a car waiting.”

Still nothing.

He glances at me. Then at her hand still on my jacket. His jaw tightens. “Leon, thank you for stepping in. We’ll handle it from here.”

Sana flinches. Just barely, but it’s there, and it’s enough. I don’t move.

“She’ll tell me when she wants me to go,” I say. My tone doesn’t change, it doesn’t have to.

The guy hesitates, then backs off. Probably running through all the possible headlines in his head.

Another officer approaches. He looks at me, then at Sana, then at the blood drying on my knuckles. “We’ll need you both to come down to the station tomorrow. Just statements. Routine.”

I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

He gives a tight smile and leaves, but we’re still not alone. Phones up, flashes still going off behind the line, one guy’s livestreaming. I can hear him narrating. “...she’s not saying anything, but she looks freaked. That’s Sana, right? Holy shit...”

—

I guide her away from the light, the noise. She follows, doesn’t speak, doesn’t stumble either, just walks like the world’s too bright and her body doesn’t know where to hide.

When we hit the corner, out of view, she stops, finally her hand loosens from my jacket. She leans against the wall like her legs gave out, but she’s pretending it’s a choice. I stay close, don’t say anything.

She doesn’t look at me, but she finally speaks up. “Can you...” Her throat works around the words. “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in the whole time. Doesn’t say thanks, but she doesn’t need to. I slide down the wall next to her, feeling the cold concrete under me. Sirens still in the distance, phones still out somewhere nearby. Sana stays silent again for a while. She’s staring ahead, breathing a little too shallow, like she’s trying not to fall apart on camera even though there’s none left. I let the silence hang, she’ll talk when she’s ready.

Her voice cracks first. “That was… insane.”

“Yeah.” I wipe my lip again, still bleeding, or maybe I just keep reopening it. “Not quite the night I had in mind.”

She finally looks over, eyes a little less wide now, less glassy. “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit.”

She almost smiles, but it dies before it fully gets there. “You could’ve gotten killed.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

That earns me a small chuckle, but air catches in her throat like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to find anything funny yet. Then she looks down at her hands like they’re not attached to her, nails dug into her palms so tight I’m surprised she’s not bleeding too.

“I really thought I was gonna—” She cuts herself off. Swallows. “You know.”

I don’t reply to that one. No need. She knows. I know.

The sirens have mostly stopped, just distant flashes now, the crowd moved on to whatever version of the story their friends will find the most interesting. Someone’s already writing their thread, I can feel it.

She wipes under her eyes, quick, like she doesn’t want me to see it, still shaking, just less. Her voice drops again. “You were... really fast back there.”

I shrug. “Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.”

She stares at me for a second, then she leans her head back against the wall, finally letting herself breathe. “I mean it. You saved my life.”

I glance over. “Don’t make it weird.”

That gets a real laugh out of her. She closes her eyes for a second, just sitting there, like her body’s finally caught up to the fact that she’s safe.

When she opens them again, her voice is lighter, not fully back to normal, but getting there. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

“Old news.”

She turns her head, rests it against the wall so she’s looking at me sideways. “Still, thanks. Most people would’ve run.”

“Yeah.” I glance at her. “But then I wouldn’t get all the attention.”

She huffs out something and snorts. “You’re unbelievable.”

I flash a smile. “I try.”

The cold air bites a little more now that the adrenaline’s burning out, my ribs are gonna be a problem in the morning. She watches me shift against the wall, her eyes narrow for a second like she’s inspecting something.

“You're in more pain than you're showing.”

“No cameras here,” I say. “I can afford to wince.”

Her expression softens. “Still, you should rest.”

I stay quiet for a while. “What,” I mutter. “You gonna take me home and patch me up? Make me soup or something?”

She doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

I stare at her. Waiting for a punchline, a smirk, anything that would tell me she’s joking. There’s nothing.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

I stare at her. “You just got jumped by four guys and your first instinct is to invite me over?”

“You’re the one who saved me.”

I exhale through my nose, leaning back against the wall. “You always make decisions this fast or is this just a post-trauma thing?”

She sits up and shifts her weight onto her good heel, the other one’s still cracked from earlier, tilted at a weird angle like it's given up completely. “I don’t really want to be alone right now. That a crime?”

I glance down at her hands, she’s clutching the hem of her jacket, there are little tremors in her fingers she probably thinks I don’t notice. I sigh, finally standing, my ribs immediately reminding me why sitting had been the better option. “Alright. Lead the way.”

—

The streets are quieter now, not empty but less people. Most of the crowd’s dissipated, police are still wrapping up, reporters shoving mics in the faces of whoever looks available. My name’s still getting thrown around in hushed conversations like I just cured cancer or shot someone live on air. Phones keep popping up every few feet we walk, people think they’re being subtle. They’re not.

Her apartment’s not far. A tall building that screams money yet tries to pretend it doesn’t. The kind of place where the lobby smells like fresh flowers even though nobody ever sees them change. The doorman barely raises an eyebrow when he spots us, just nods, like seeing a half-beat-up guy with a girl clinging to him is the most normal thing he’ll witness all week.

Elevator’s empty, thankfully. The second the doors close, she exhales, like she can finally breathe again. I lean against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb, and we finally get off the elevator and into her apartment.

“You sure about this?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

She glances over at me, hair falling across her face as she tilts her head. “You’re bleeding on my floor, feels a little late to kick you out now.”

I huff a quiet laugh, more air than sound. “Fair point.”

Her apartment’s exactly what you’d expect from someone like her, minimalist, expensive, but somehow not lived in. Everything’s perfect, neutral colors, oversized windows, some abstract painting on the wall that probably cost more than my last three endorsement checks combined. It’s the kind of place that looks ready for a photoshoot, but not for people.

“Sit,” she says, pointing toward the couch like she’s scolding a dog. “You’re ruining my carpet.”

I drop down onto the edge of the massive sectional, ribs protesting the movement. She disappears into one of the rooms and returns a minute later with a sleek little white box that she tosses onto the coffee table.

A first aid kit.

“Don’t expect a miracle,” she mutters, popping it open and pulling out some antiseptic wipes. “I’m not a nurse.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She drops to her knees in front of me, carefully inspecting my face like she’s about to grade an art project. “Jesus, Leon.”

“I know. Gorgeous, aren’t I?”

She doesn’t take the bait, just starts cleaning the cut on my lip. The antiseptic burns worse than the punch. I grit my teeth.

“Don’t be a baby,” she says softly, dabbing around the edges. She’s close enough now that I catch the scent of her perfume again. Her fingers are steadier than I expected, but I can feel how tight her shoulders are, still tense from earlier, still running on whatever leftover adrenaline she’s got.

“You’re quiet,” I say after a bit.

She presses her lips together, focused on my knuckles now. “Trying to concentrate.”

“Didn’t realize dabbing a wipe took this much concentration.”

Her eyes flick up. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Not really.”

She huffs something close to a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

She keeps working in silence for a bit. The scrape across my cheekbone, the split at my eyebrow, the raw skin on my knuckles, every time her fingers brush my skin, she slows down like she’s checking if she’s hurting me.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says finally, barely above a whisper.

“What, punched them? I thought it was pretty effective.”

“You know what I mean.”

I glance at her, but she’s still focused on my hands, not meeting my eyes. “Would you rather I let them hurt you?”

“That’s not—” she cuts herself off, exhaling hard. “I just… you didn’t have to get hurt for me.”

I let that hang for a beat. “Didn’t exactly think about it.”

She finally looks up, eyes softer now. “Yeah…”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Her hands are still resting lightly on mine, bandage half-finished, but she doesn’t move. Just stays there, kneeling on the floor, like she doesn’t want to break whatever weird moment this is.

I clear my throat. “You done playing doctor yet?”

She smiles. “Almost.”

She pulls the last bandage tight, smooths it down with her thumb. Her hand lingers on mine a second too long. She notices. So do I. Neither of us moves.

“You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?” she says softly.

“Old news.”

She exhales again, finally standing. “Come on. You’re staying here tonight.”

I arch a brow. “What, you need a security blanket?”

“No.” She crosses her arms, but her voice stays light. “I need you where I can keep an eye on you. In case your macho hero thing makes you pass out.”

I smirk. “You just don’t want me walking out and making another scene.”

“That too.”

She walks off toward the hallway, tossing the first aid kit onto the kitchen counter on her way. “Wait here, I’ll get you something to wear.”

I lean back into the couch, watching her disappear down the hallway, and let out a slow breath. My ribs still hurt, my lip still stings, but for the first time tonight, everything feels a little less loud.

She comes back with a shirt and sweatpants that don’t look like they’ve ever been worn. Tags still dangling. Probably bought for a boyfriend that never existed or some stylist’s emergency backup. She tosses them next to me.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”

I push off the couch, slower than I want to be, my ribs reminding me I’m not as indestructible as I thought. The hallway’s quiet, same soft lighting, same expensive everything. Even the towels folded on the rack look like no one’s ever touched them. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize it for a second. Split lip, cuts along my cheekbone, blood dried into the edge of my hairline. I turn my head, jaw tight, flex my shoulder. Bruises already starting to bloom across my ribs. Nice.

I strip out of my ruined clothes and clean up as best I can. Cold water helps a little, mostly just makes me more aware of how bad everything aches once the adrenaline’s fully gone. I swap into the fresh clothes she gave me — they hang a little loose, but they’re soft, comfortable. Smell like fabric softener and hotel rooms.

When I step back out, she’s already fixed the living room. Coffee table cleared, lights dimmed low, two glasses of water sitting out like she’s trying to pretend we’re normal people winding down after a normal night.

She glances over from the couch and nods once. “Better?”

“It almost doesn’t feel like I got jumped in an alley.”

I sit back down, careful this time. The couch is stupidly soft. The second I lean back into it, my body wants to sink and stay. Sana’s sitting cross-legged across from me now. Barefoot, jacket folded next to her. Her hair’s a little messy, like she finally stopped caring about fixing it. She then watches me for a second, like she’s studying my face all over again.

“You heal fast,” she says.

I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “You do this often?”

“Getting beat? Not really.”

She picks up one of the glasses, takes a sip, then stares at it like she forgot it was even there. The silence stretches again, but it’s not heavy this time. It’s tired. Shared.

“You want something stronger?” she asks after a while. “I’ve got wine. Or whiskey.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Lame.”

“Responsibly lame.”

She snorts under her breath. “Suit yourself.”

The quiet comes back, but we both kind of sink into it now. Less tension, more like neither of us really knows what to do next. The adrenaline’s fully burned out, all that’s left is sore muscles and weird feeling humming under the surface. She shifts again, pulling her knees up, arms wrapping around them loosely. The oversized sweater she threw on while I was gone swallows half of her. She looks smaller like that. Not fragile, just… smaller.

Her voice breaks the quiet again. “You ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“Why you do this. All of it.”

I glance at her. She’s not looking at me, just staring across the room like she’s asking the air.

“Be more specific.”

“The career. The cameras. The image. The fact that people are already turning tonight into a headline while we’re sitting here pretending we’re okay.”

I lean my head back against the couch. “Sometimes.”

“And?”

“I have my reasons.”

That gets a little smile out of her, almost bitter. “Same.”

We sit with that for a while. Both of us quietly admitting we’re a little fucked up without having to actually say the words. After a minute, she stretches her legs out across the couch, one foot bumping into my thigh lightly. She doesn’t pull it back. Just leaves it there like it’s normal.

“You’re weirdly good at this,” she says.

“At what?”

“Not making it weird.”

I laugh under my breath. “That’s because it’s already weird.”

“Touché.”

She finally shifts enough to meet my eyes again. There’s still something behind them, something a little cracked from earlier, but it’s fading. She’s finding her footing again.

Another beat passes. “Thanks, by the way.”

I glance at her. “You already said that.”

“I know.” She pauses. “I just mean it.”

I don’t answer. Don’t need to. She already knows.

Her foot taps against my leg once before she shifts back into her little cocoon of oversized sweater and expensive throw pillows. “You tired?” she asks.

“Not really.”

She looks away. “Me neither.”

We both stare ahead for a while longer, the weight of the night settling in around us. Not heavy. Just there. Her eyes drift over me again, slower this time. No more shaky breathing, just that steady hum underneath. Like her nerves have been replaced with something else now.

“You’re staring,” I say.

She shrugs, small. “So?”

I watch her for a second. She’s still tucked into that oversized sweater, hair messy, cheeks a little pink from the heat inside or from everything building up between us, probably both. Her legs shift a little more, stretching out, toes brushing against me again, not subtle this time.

“You flirting with anyone who saves your life?” I ask.

She gives me a small grin. “No. You’re special.”

“Lucky me.”

Her eyes drop down to my mouth for half a second. She catches herself, but not really, just letting it sit there like she wants me to notice.

“You could kiss me, you know,” she says, voice lighter now. Casual. Like it’s something obvious.

I don’t say anything. Just let my hand drift up, settling on her knee. Skin warm under my palm. She doesn’t move. Lets me touch her like she’s been waiting for it.

“You sure?” I say, voice low.

Her eyes stay locked on mine. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

I don’t.

I lean in slow, watching her breathe. She meets me halfway. Soft at first. Warmer than I expected. She tastes like wine and mint and something even sweeter. Her hands slide up to my shoulders, pulling me in like she’s afraid I’ll stop.

I kiss her again, deeper this time. She opens her mouth under mine swiftly, like she’s been waiting all night. My hand moves higher up her thigh, fingertips tracing bare skin under the edge of the sweater. She shifts, hips angling toward me like she’s trying to get closer without making it obvious. I pull back for half a second, catch my breath. She’s already watching me again, breathing a little harder now.

“You good?” I murmur.

She nods quickly. “Yeah.”

I go back in. This time she’s hungrier. Her hands slide up into my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp, pulling me in deeper. Her breath hitches when my hand slips under the hem fully now, palm resting on her hip.

She moves into me without thinking, pressing her body up against mine. Her knee brushes higher against my leg, grinding against me once. Just enough to let me know she’s there. She breathes against my mouth, voice softer now. “You feel good.”

“So do you,” I mutter back, fingers moving up her side, finding bare skin under the sweater. No bra. Of fucking course. My thumb brushes under the curve of her breast, testing the softness, and her breath catches again. Her head drops back a little as I slide my palm up, cupping her breast fully now. Warm, soft, perfect in my hand. Her nipple’s already hard under my thumb, and she shivers when I roll it gently.

“Fuck—” she whispers, breath shaky.

I press my lips to her neck, kissing along her skin, feeling her pulse under my mouth. She tilts her head. Gives me more room. My hand slides down again, lower this time. I feel her body tense, not nervous, just expecting. Fingers slip under the band of her shorts now. Skin hot, smooth. I move slower here, letting her feel every inch of my hand moving lower until my fingers find the heat between her legs.

She’s already wet. Really fucking wet.

My breath catches against her throat. “Jesus, Sana.”

Her voice breaks. “Been like that.”

I press against her slowly, fingers moving in small, steady circles over her clit through the soaked fabric of her panties. Her hips twitch at the first touch. Her hands clench in my shirt, pulling tighter.

“Fuck,” she gasps, rocking her hips up into my hand, chasing the pressure.

I don’t rush. Just keep it steady, slow circles while she breathes harder against me. Her face presses into my neck, little whimpers slipping out with every shift of my fingers.

“You’re not even trying to pretend you don’t want this,” I whisper against her ear.

“Why would I?” she breathes, voice breaking. “Just don’t fucking stop.”

Her hips grind harder against my hand now, chasing the friction. I slide my fingers inside the soaked fabric finally, skin on skin, feeling how warm and wet she is. She gasps loud against my neck, her body twitching under my touch.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” I groan into her hair.

She nods fast, too breathless to speak. My fingers rub slow, spreading her open, feeling every slick inch of her. She’s grinding up against my hand now, little desperate sounds slipping from her mouth with every slow circle I draw.

Her voice breaks against my neck. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“Yeah?” My voice is rough now. “You wanted me to touch you like this?”

She nods again, gasping. “Yes. Please—”

I press my thumb harder against her clit, my fingers dipping inside, curling gently. She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips bucking up to meet me. “God, Leon—” she chokes out.

I kiss her again, swallowing her moan while my hand keeps moving. Her whole body’s shaking now, her thighs trembling around my wrist.

Her breath catches. “Fuck— don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“Not stoping,” I whisper against her lips, fingers still working her, feeling her tighten around me as her body starts to get hotter and wetter. Her legs are shaking like crazy now, thighs twitching every time my fingers hit the spot. She’s got one hand in my hair, the other gripping the couch cushion like she’s holding on for dear life. Breath’s all chopped up, mouth open, but the words barely come out right.

“Fuck—Leon—”

She’s close. Stupidly close. You can feel it in how tight she’s clenching around my fingers, how her hips keep jerking up, trying to grind harder against my hand like she’s chasing it.

I pull my hand back. Just enough.

Her head snaps up, eyes wild. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I blink, like I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Don’t what?”

Her chest heaves. “You know.”

I smirk a little. “Relax.”

She glares at me, but it’s useless — she’s a wreck. Hair all messed up, sweater falling off one shoulder, legs spread wide open, all dripping and shaky and desperate. She looks so goddamn hot like this. I shift down without saying anything, both hands sliding under her thighs, dragging her hips closer to the edge of the couch. She makes this tiny breathy noise when I lower my head between her legs, like she’s already breaking before I even touch her.

“Leon—” soft, high, breathy.

“Shh.”

I start slow. Kiss her inner thigh first. Then again, closer. She lets out this shaky exhale, hips twitching. By the time my mouth hits her, she lets out a small gasp, like her whole body short-circuits for a second. I lick up slow, teasing, barely pressing at first. She squirms, fingers tightening in my hair. The second time, I press harder, tongue flicking over her clit, and her whole body jolts.

“Fuck—oh my god—” it comes out all broken, high-pitched.

I pin her hips down, keep her still, my tongue working slow circles now, steady, just enough pressure to have her breathing all messed up again. She’s shaking under me, little gasps turning into full-on moans.

“Leon, don’t stop,” she whispers, voice cracking.

I keep at it, pushing my tongue flat against her, sucking lightly, then switching it up, licking faster, deeper. She’s fucking dripping now. I slide two fingers back inside her while my mouth stays locked on her clit. She lets out a loud cry, hips jerking hard.

Her thighs try to close around my head but I shove them back open. “Keep them open,” I mutter into her, voice low and vibrating right against where she’s falling apart.

She moans again, louder this time. “Fuck, I—Leon—”

Her whole body tightens up. I feel it hit before she even makes a sound — muscles locking, her breath catching in her throat like she forgot how to breathe. Then it breaks loose. She lets out this raw, fucked up cry, back arching off the couch as she comes hard, legs shaking, fingers pulling at my hair like she’s trying to ground herself.

I don’t stop. I keep my mouth on her, working her through it while she gasps and whimpers, hips twitching with every aftershock. She’s trembling all over, voice breaking into little shaky noises she probably doesn’t even realize she’s making. When I finally pull back, my chin’s wet, and she’s completely wrecked. Sweater bunched up, hair sticking to her face, chest still rising and falling like she ran a marathon.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at her. “You alive?”

She lets out this breathless, fucked little laugh. “Barely.”

Her voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, but she’s smiling now. I move back up, hovering over her. My hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing across her lip.

“You still want more?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to.

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares up at me, breathing all shaky, pupils blown wide. Then she nods. Her fingers hook into my shirt, tugging me closer until our faces are inches apart. Her voice is soft, but there’s that little spark behind it again. “Let me take care of you.”

I blink, watching her. “You sure?”

She bites her lip, eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah.”

Her hand moves down, tracing over my chest, stomach, slower than she needs to. She’s buying time, steadying herself. When she reaches the waistband of my sweatpants, her fingers slip under. Light, barely there. I suck in a breath, feeling my cock already straining against the fabric.

“Sit back,” she murmurs.

I shift off her, leaning into the couch, legs spread a little wider. She sits up slowly, still kind of unsteady from earlier, but focused now. Focused on me. Her fingers tug the sweatpants down, slow and careful. She exhales when she frees me, lip caught between her teeth. The second she sees how hard I am for her, her face flushes a little darker.

“Fuck…” she whispers. “You’ve been like this this whole time?”

I grin, voice rough. “Hard not to be.”

She lets out this breathy little laugh, slowly kneeling between my legs, hair falling into her face a bit, hands bracing herself on my thighs. She leans in, mouth hovering just above me, breath ghosting across my skin. Her hand wraps around the base, squeezing gently, thumb rubbing along the vein.

Her eyes flick up to mine — teasing. “Still feeling okay?”

I huff. “Sana.”

She smirks, satisfied, then lowers her head, tongue flicking out for the first slow lick, base to tip. My whole body tenses instantly. The sound that comes out of me is closer to a growl.

“Jesus—”

She hums against me, like she’s proud of herself, before wrapping her lips around the head, tongue circling, wet and warm and perfect. She keeps her eyes locked on me as she does it. That part’s deliberate. She knows exactly how much it drives me insane when she looks up like that. Her mouth slides lower, slow at first, taking more of me in with each movement. I feel her tongue working underneath, swirling around the shaft as she moves. The wet sounds echo a little too loud in the quiet apartment, her soft breathing mixing with the slick slide of her mouth. I exhale hard, one hand sliding into her hair automatically. She doesn’t fight it, just lets me guide her, pace picking up as she gets more comfortable.

Her other hand joins in, stroking the part she can’t fit, perfectly syncing with the rhythm of her mouth. Every few strokes, she pulls back just far enough to swirl her tongue around the head again, licking up the precum before sliding back down.

I groan, hips twitching. “Fuck, Sana…”

She smiles around me, like she enjoys hearing that, then pushes down deeper, throat tightening slightly as she takes me further in. My fingers tighten in her hair, not pulling, just holding. Her breathing grows heavier, little hums vibrating through me as she works. She starts bobbing her head faster now, messier, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth, stringing thin lines whenever she pulls back. Her hand never stops moving on me, stroking in time with each motion.

“Shit—” My voice breaks a little. “You’re gonna make me—”

She pulls back suddenly, letting me slip out with a wet pop, a thin line of saliva still connecting us. Her chest is rising fast, lips swollen, chin slick.

Her voice comes out breathless, teasing. “Not yet.”

I let out a sharp laugh, biting back a groan. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mm.” She grins, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just a little bit.”

She leans back in again, this time slower, licking along my length like she’s savoring it, like she’s not in a rush. Her eyes half-lidded now, looking up at me like she knows she owns me in this moment. My whole body’s wired tight, stomach clenching every time she goes back down, taking me in deeper. Her tongue works in slow circles again, lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing just enough. I let my head fall back for a second, breathing hard, fingers still buried in her hair, guiding her as she keeps the rhythm steady. She moans softly around me, sending vibrations straight up my spine. I can feel myself getting closer again, and I know she feels it too — the way my hips jerk slightly, how my breath keeps stuttering.

She pulls off again, this time panting a little herself, eyes glazed but locked on mine.

“You close?” she asks, voice low, rough.

I nod, throat too dry to say much.

She smiles. “Good. Because I’m not stopping this time.”

And then she’s back down on me, faster now, more desperate, both hands gripping my thighs to keep steady as she bobs her head, sucking hard, messy and wet and fucking perfect. My hand tightens, and I feel it building sharp and fast this time. My whole body locking up as the pressure snaps.

“Fuck, Sana—” I groan, spilling deep into her mouth as she takes it all, swallowing without hesitation, hands gripping tighter like she’s holding me in place until I finish. She doesn’t pull back until I’m completely spent, breathing hard, chest rising fast. She finally releases me with another soft pop, wiping her mouth again, eyes a little dazed, lips shiny and swollen.

She sits back on her heels, staring up at me with that smug little smile, voice still breathy. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

I let out a shaky laugh, chest still heaving. “Yeah. You fucking did.”

She crawls up, still shaky, but cocky enough to pretend she’s not. Hands slide up my chest, nails grazing just a little. That look’s back in her eye, like she’s proud of herself and she wants me to know it. “You good?” she whispers.

I laugh under my breath, voice still fucked. “Yeah. You?”

She shrugs as if her legs aren’t trembling. “Obviously.”

Then she swings a leg over, straddling me, settling right on top of my lap like she’s been waiting all night for this. Probably has. The sweater rides up high on her thighs, and the panties? Already soaking wet. She’s not even trying to hide it. She knows I’m looking and she wants me to.

“You sure you’re up for more?” she says, but she’s already grinding.

“Yeah. Don’t play dumb.”

She grins, biting her lip, rolling her hips once, dragging herself right over me. I grab her waist, squeezing tight to make her stop. Not because I don’t like how it feels — because if she keeps doing that I won’t last.

“You keep grinding like that, you’re not gonna get round two.”

“That a threat?” She says it soft, but her voice is all breath, like she’s barely keeping it together.

I pull her down, lips crashing again, messy, tongues fighting for space. It’s hot, wet, desperate. Her hips roll once more and I groan into her mouth. I can feel her grinning against my lips, smug little shit. I pull back just enough to breathe. “Lose the panties.”

She’s already halfway there before I finish the sentence. Hips up, fingers hooked in, dragging them down her thighs and slinging them. They hit the floor behind her, then she drops back onto me, no barriers now. The heat of her pussy is right against me, shivering a little, and it’s not because she’s cold. “Fuck,” she whispers.

“Yeah.” My hand slides between us, guiding myself against her, the tip sliding along her folds, slick and warm and ready. She twitches under me, already desperate for it.

“You ready?” I murmur.

Her voice breaks. “I’ve been ready.”

I push in slow, feeling every inch disappear into her. She gasps, hands gripping my shoulders, nails digging in. She sinks all the way down, seating herself fully on my lap, breath catching. “Jesus,” she whispers.

My hands slide up under the sweater, gripping her back. “Look at you.” She rolls her hips, just slightly and I’m already breathing heavy. “You feel fucking perfect.”

Her pace starts slow, hips grinding in tight circles, drawing herself up a little and dropping back down. Every time she sinks back down it knocks the breath out of me. She’s biting her lip, trying to play it cool, but her thighs are already shaking. “Fuck—you’re deep,” she gasps.

I huff, voice rough. “You wanted it.”

She leans in closer, forehead pressed to mine. “Shut up.”

Her hips pick up, faster now, slamming down harder, slapping sounds filling the room. Skin on skin, wet and filthy. She’s moaning under her breath with every drop, breaths becoming quicker, losing her rhythm a little. Her voice starts breaking. “Leon—oh my god—fuck—I’m close—”

I slam my hips up into her, one good thrust, and her whole body jolts, almost folds right into me.

She gasps. “Shit—Leon, I—”

I catch her hips and freeze her in place. She whines. An actual, desperate, fucking whine.

“Not yet,” I growl.

She’s breathing so fast now, her hands push at my chest, but not to get away — she just wants to move, but I don’t let her. Her voice is wrecked. “Leon—please—just—”

I shift under her, breathing heavy into her ear. “Turn around. On your stomach.”

For a second she doesn’t move. Just stares at me like she can’t believe I’m making her wait. Then she exhales hard, eyes glazed over, and does it. Climbs off with shaky legs, drops onto the couch face down, ass up. She spreads her legs like she knows exactly what I’ll do next. I stay sitting for a second, just staring at her. Sweater bunched up, hair a mess, her ass high, pussy dripping for me. I drag my hand down her back, over her ass, thumb brushing the slickness between her thighs.

“Look at you,” I murmur.

Her breath shudders. “Just fuck me already.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. I shift up behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other pressing between her shoulder blades, easing her down into the cushions. Ass high, legs spread, face buried. The view's fucking unreal. She looks back at me, breathless but still wearing that little smirk like she’s running this. "Don’t take too long or I might get bored."

Mouthy even now.

I grin, voice low. "Yeah?"

I drag the tip through her folds, slow, lazy, letting it glide through the slick mess she’s made. She tries to push back, hips wiggling, but I hold her firm, making her wait, making her feel it. The second I press in, she lets out this sharp little breath, head dropping, hair falling across her face as I start filling her slow, inch by inch. Her pussy is tight, hot, squeezing like her body’s starving for it.

"You’re fucking soaked," I breathe as I bottom out, buried to the hilt. She gasps, knuckles whitening on the cushions, voice shaky but still trying to stay sharp. “You should take some credit for that.”

I pull back and slam into her hard, the slap of skin loud in the room. She jerks forward with a choked moan, biting her lip like that’ll help. My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to arch her for me, breath stuttering out with every brutal thrust. "Where’s that smart mouth now, huh?" I growl, driving into her rough, setting a rhythm that makes her body jolt under me.

Her breath catches, but the mouth keeps running. "Still here," she pants. "You’re just making it… harder to use."

Her voice cracks on the last word when I hit that perfect spot that makes her legs twitch. My grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging in, holding her steady as I keep slamming into her, wet sounds filling the air with every thrust. She’s trying to hold it in, but I feel her clenching tighter, her body shaking, already starting to fall apart.

"Leon—fuck—" she gasps, her voice breaking when I drive in deep again. "I—I’m—"

I can feel it, the way she’s locking up around me, the desperate little cries slipping out of her with every thrust. I keep hammering into her, forcing her to take it, her orgasm ripping through her sharp and messy, thighs trembling, breath hitching, whole body seizing up under me as she cums hard. Her moans turn sloppy, breathless, breaking apart with every slam of my hips. I don’t stop. I ride her through it, fucking her straight through the shaking, through the aftershocks, keeping my pace brutal as her body twitches around me.

"That’s it," I growl, voice rough. "Take it all."

She’s wrecked now, voice reduced to breathy little whimpers, hands clutching at the cushions like she’s trying to ground herself. Her whole body’s shaking under me, legs barely holding her up. The pressure’s boiling in me too, fuck she’s tight. I yank her hair again, making her arch harder. She’s flushed, chest heaving, hair a mess sticking to her sweaty face, I’m right fucking there, but I’m not done yet, not like this.

I pull out, fast. She lets out a desperate, broken whine, clenching around nothing, body twitching as I leave her empty.

“W-Why’d you stop—” she manages, voice wrecked.

I flip her onto her back before she can finish, pinning her under me. She looks so fucking hot—flushed, breathing hard, hair all over the place—but still has that spark in her eyes. That fire’s still there, even like this. I grab her jaw, thumb pressing her lower lip down as I hover over her. "You still want more?"

She grins through the haze, biting lightly at my thumb. "If you’re not too busy being dramatic, yeah."

I drag my cock across her lips, still slick from her pussy, then I tap it against her mouth. “Open.”

Her lips part right away, tongue out, waiting, filthy and eager like she’s been craving this part. She wraps her lips around the tip instantly, sucking hard like she’s starving for it, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing around me. Spit’s already pooling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin. She moans around me, sending vibrations straight up my spine as I sink deeper into her throat.

She takes me like she wants it messy, sloppy sounds echoing in the room as she works her mouth around me. My fist clenches in her hair, guiding her, setting the rhythm as I start thrusting into her mouth, fucking into her throat slow at first, then faster, making her eyes flutter. Gagging, drooling, but not stopping. Her breath stutters through her nose, but she takes every inch like it’s her last meal. Her hands come up, clutching at my thighs for balance as I fuck her mouth deeper, rougher. Her spit’s everywhere now, glistening on her chin, down her throat, strings of it connecting us when I pull back slightly.

She gasps for breath, voice ragged but still cocky. “You’re making a mess.”

I shove back in, cutting her off, voice sharp. "That’s the point."

Her throat works to take me, gagging again as I push past her limits, fucking into her like her mouth owes me something. She moans again, those desperate little sounds spilling out between gags, eyes glassy but locked on mine like she’s daring me to push harder. When I finally pull out, she gasps for air, spit glistening everywhere, chest heaving like she’s barely holding it together. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand but keeps the smirk. “Get back inside me,” she breathes, voice wrecked but sharp. “Finish what you started.”

I don’t make her ask twice. I flip her back over, dragging her hips up again, and slam into her in one brutal thrust that knocks the air from both of us. Her cry rips out raw, and I don’t hold back. My hips slam into her, driving deep and rough right from the start, setting a punishing rhythm that leaves both of us breathless.

Her voice is breaking, nothing but broken moans now, breathy and high, hips jerking against me, thighs trembling. “Leon—fuck—yes—don’t stop—”

I’m right there, breath catching, every thrust getting sloppier, heavier, my groans rough in my throat as I chase that edge. Her body tightens up under me again, spasming, clenching like she’s ready to lose it all over again.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," I growl through gritted teeth, slamming deep. "Fuck—"

Her head throws back, voice wrecked. "Do it—please—just fucking do it—"

That’s it. My whole body locks up, slamming deep one last time as I cum hard, cock pulsing inside her, spilling deep. My groan breaks out rough, shaking through me as I hold her hips tight, grinding into her as I ride out every last spasm. She shakes beneath me, twitching, breathless, completely fucking ruined. I collapse over her, both of us panting, skin sticky with sweat, her body still twitching around me as I stay buried inside.

—

The room's quiet except for our breathing, both of us wrecked, tangled together in the mess we made. We stay like that for a while, her head resting against my stomach, one arm lazily draped across my thigh, breathing starting to slow but still not all the way down. My chest’s rising too fast, legs feel shot, one hand drifting through her hair, not even thinking about it, just moving.

Her lips are parted a little, swollen, wet where she’s still catching her breath. Her cheeks flushed all the way up, that pretty post-fuck glow fits her so well. There’s that small grin playing at the corner of her mouth, like she’s pleased with herself. She should be. She drained me, fully and completely, and she knows it. She shifts a bit, curling in closer, her cheek pressing against my thigh now. “You alive?” she mumbles, voice rough, half muffled into my skin.

I exhale something close to a laugh, fingers still combing slow through her hair. “Barely.”

“Good.” Her voice stays soft, but I can hear the smug underneath it. “You deserved it.”

I let the silence answer that one, not even pretending to argue. My brain’s still fuzzy, everything warm and heavy, like my body’s floating but too heavy to move. She finally lifts her head, blinking up at me, hair sticking in random directions, eyes glassy but sharp under the mess. “You look like hell.”

I glance down at her, mouth twitching. “You don’t look so put together yourself.”

She grins wider. “Please. I’m glowing.”

Her hand slides up slowly, resting flat against my stomach, fingers drawing lazy circles over my skin like she’s not even aware she’s doing it. I feel my abs twitch under her touch but don’t stop her. She keeps tracing slow patterns, like she’s grounding herself with every little circle.

“You good?” she asks, her voice dipping just slightly, not all teasing this time.

I tilt my head back, eyes half-lidding. “Yeah. You?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but the way she shifts even closer kind of says it for her. Her body molding into mine like we fit like this, warm skin pressed everywhere, breathing synced up again. For a while, neither of us says anything. Just the quiet hum of the room, the faint noise of the city outside, distant cars, maybe a siren somewhere blocks down. But here it’s calm, cozy even. She fits perfectly tucked under my arm like this.

“You know tomorrow’s gonna be a circus, right?” she says after a bit, voice muffled into my chest.

I sigh, hand drifting over her back, slow. “It already is.”

“They probably posted a hundred clips of tonight already.”

“Thousands.”

She groans softly. “I’m gonna have to listen to my manager’s meltdown for a full week.”

I smirk, thumb brushing her spine. “Tell him to get in line.”

Her body shakes a little as she laughs into my skin. “They’re gonna turn me into some fragile girl.”

I snort. “Right. The poor Sana, completely helpless.”

She pinches my side lightly. “Shut up.”

“Just saying.”

Her voice drops softer again. “I hate that shit. Like I’m some victim that needs to be saved.”

“Then stop clinging to me like one.”

She smacks me gently without even pulling her head up. “Asshole.”

I grin. “Love you too.”

Her breathing slows again. She’s fighting sleep now, but her body’s too comfortable to move. Her leg’s still draped over mine, fingers still tracing absent little shapes across my stomach.

Another beat of silence.

“You’re staying,” she says, quiet now.

I run my hand through her hair again, fingers sliding through the mess, catching the strands gently. “You already said that.”

“Just making sure.”

Her eyes are closed now. I feel her lips brush lightly against my skin once before she fully settles, curling into me like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The weight of the night sinks in fully. The blood, the fight, the adrenaline crash. The weird, unexpected calm afterward. All of it sitting somewhere in the air between us. But even then, it felt weirdly peaceful. And for the first time all night, it’s actually quiet.

—

She’s out cold.

Didn’t even flinch when I shifted off the bed. Just breathing softly, mouth a little open, hair half stuck to her cheek like she’d melted into the pillow the second her body let go. I stand there for a bit, watching her chest rise and fall. She looks small like this, safe. Like none of what happened tonight even affected her. Like there wasn’t four guys in a fucking alley two hours ago trying to tear her apart.

I grab my phone off the nightstand, screen lighting up in the dark. Two texts waiting. One from Karina—work shit, nothing that can’t wait. The other’s from him.

‘Did you really have to go that far?’

I sit down on the edge of the bed again, thumb hovering for a second. The apartment’s dead silent except for the hum of city traffic leaking in through the glass. Sirens in the distance, maybe leftovers from earlier, probably reporters still sniffing around. This one’s gonna be everywhere tomorrow, I can already hear the headlines spinning.

The phone buzzes again.

‘Four of my guys got picked up.’

I let the air leave slow through my teeth. My ribs pinch when I lean forward, the adrenaline from the sex gone now. Elbows on my knees, fingers dragging down my face like that’ll scrub any of this off. I stare at the screen for a while. Not angry, not anything really, just tired.

I finally type:

��You knew what the job was.’

I barely finish sending the message before the dots start dancing again.

‘They weren’t supposed to end up in cuffs. It was just a scare, you didn’t have to lay into them like that.’

My eyes flick toward Sana again. She hasn’t moved, still curled up under that stupidly expensive throw blanket. Knuckles twitch a little in her sleep like she’s dreaming something light, like tonight wasn’t real. I stare at her for a long second, then type:

‘They weren’t supposed to touch her.’

He takes longer this time. The dots blink, disappear. Then:

‘This one’s gonna cost you.’

I lean back against the headboard, let my head tip back and close my eyes. Everything fucking hurts. My thumb floats for a second longer before I finally send:

‘I know.’

[superavenueunknown]

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[wisteria-lodge]

I really do not want to discredit JKR, she created a fantastic world, with great ideas etc and I hate to be like "oh her success was just an accident!" especially to a woman. But that's what I feel about her getting praise for Snape. People say that the fact that there's so much debate about him now is a testament of JKR's writing skills, but on the contrary I think there is much debate about him now because she executed his character badly...or at least not in the level of genius I see her get praised for. I have always felt this way even before her views but I hate saying it now bc it'll come off as "revisionist" or something 😭 imo the fans have interpreted, analyzed, and broken down his character better.

JKR's success was absolutely not an accident. She dusted off and revitalized the dead School Story genre, she clicked things together in proportions that made a lot of sense, she's VERY good at marketing both herself and her work, she understands (and polices) brand identity and always has, she understands franchise potential, she made the *very* smart decision to age her series up along with her core fan base... but. This did create a few issues with the actual text.

There is a LOT of ambiguity in the Harry Potter series. Lines, scenes, entire characters (Snape is the poster boy, but not even close to the only one) that can legitimately be read in vastly different ways. And not Game of Thrones "oh this is a morally grey character in a complex situation." It's more like "you can interpret what is literally happening in this scene in about three different ways."

I see this ambiguity coming from two main sources, which are honestly kind of unique to the Harry Potter series.

The "Three Year Summer" Shift.

Books 1-3 are kids books, written like kids books, and Books 5-7 are young adult books, written like young adult books. It's not a new take that there are a lot of worldbuilding details and characterization choices that make perfect sense in a kid's book, but not if you're going for the added complexity and grounded tone of an adult book. Filtch is fine as a one-line joke comic villain, but if you're treating him as a fully realized person who actually exists in a more grounded sort of world - he becomes terrifying, tragic, and actually starts creating plotholes. It's like how Willy Wonka is whimsical in his own universe... but if you were to move him to one that's less stylized, now he's Julian Slowik from The Menu.

This leads to a backwards-compatibility situation where you're taking the "adult book" versions of the characters and trying to make them fit over the "children's book" character's actions. Often, the fit isn't super clean. So, you interpret these children's book scenes to make it fit - and you CAN, because children's book scenes are short, use simple vocab, and don't generally give you a *ton* of extra information. Why not interpret them with adult subtext? It's not contradicting anything. But it is essentially a version of that "open scene" acting class game where you get a scene that's like:

- What’s that? - My latest project. - It looks very interesting. - Well, I think so.

and then two actors run it though first straightforward, then sarcastic, then angry, then longing, etc.

2. Harry Potter is a mystery novel serial.

This is where a ton of the structure of the Harry Potter series comes from. Who opened the Chamber of Secrets? (we have suspects and clues) What is the monster? Who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire? (we have suspects and clues) How is Sirius Black getting into the castle? Who is the Halfblood Prince? Who is Snape loyal to? Like there are TONS of these questions (especially in the better books...)

And they make the books fun! They made speculating between the books a TON of fun. Buut.... suspects in a mystery story HAVE to be written ambiguously, or they're not very good suspects. The point is to have a scene that seems super suspicious on a first read but is actually completely innocent, and vice versa. So the scenes themselves fundamentally have to be written to support multiple meanings, in order to make the magic trick work. But the problem IS that in order to do that... you have to sacrifice cleanly articulated character development. There's a reason, in serial detective novels, that the detective goes to a new place and meets a new group of people every book. Ex-suspects have trouble going on to serve new functions in the plot, because who are they exactly? The point is that we don't know.

Lots of Harry Potter characters get hit by "suspect effect." In Book 3, Sirius Black is written to be a dangerous red herring (like why DID he slash the Fat Lady's portrait, in retrospect?) and in Book 4 he's this positive (but ultimately misguided) mentor whose function is to shift suspicion off of Moody and Barty Junior. So when we meet him in Book 5... and he no longer has a structural narrative role... who is he exactly? In a lot of ways, it's up to you the reader, and how you interpreted books 3 and 4.

Or Remus and Tonks. Their relationship is treated as a "mystery" in Book 5. So we get the reveal, but we don't get to see it develop. Because every time the relationship comes up, it needs to be discussed in a way that Harry can misunderstand. As a result, we don't get a good sense of what the dynamics of their relationship actually are.

And Snape... he's the red herring in Book 1, he's "up to something" in Book 3, a red herring again in Book 4, AGAIN in book 5 and 6. Which means. That is there is at least one alternate way to interpret pretty much every single thing that man says by design. So of course there are going to be multiple ways to interpret his motives. Snape the literary equivalent of the face/vase optical illusion... only you have Word of God saying "it's for sure a vase."

[impishjesters]

Hello!! I saw your post for K-pop demon hunters and I was wondering if you would write something for baby saja?

Maybe just how him and reader meet at the market. I give full creative control I don’t usually do request so not sure what to ask. But I love you works and the way you write! Thank you if you don’t do this it’s chill <3

Meeting Baby Saja at the store

CW(s): none A/N: I went into writing so confidently and immediately crashed out, this isn't great, but I'm still gonna post it ;w; Also my brain forgot how to English and I mistook market as store, I'm pretty sure you meant when the Saja boys first showed up (like in the gif), my bad...

If someone told you that your sudden trip to the nearest store would result in you getting to meet one of the Saja boys, you’d have called them a liar. What would one of them be doing here?

Shopping, of course. It’s a store…

And if that person said that a Saja boy would take an interest in you? You’d call them delusional.

What you didn’t expect was for it to be Baby. At first, you almost didn’t even recognize him with the hood pulled up over his head and the colour palette change in his clothing. And by the looks of things, he was struggling to pick between several different types of ramyeon.

Trying not to be a creep about it, you watch Baby struggle, his eye twitching like he’s trying to contain his irritation. You take a quick glance around and find the aisle empty aside from the two of you, and in the hardest attempt to stay completely normal, you approach him.

Too invested in the packs of ramyeon in front of him, Baby doesn’t seem to notice your approach until you clear your throat to catch his attention. Any hints of irritation on his face are immediately gone, and that iconic, cute baby face smile is directed at you. His mouth opens to greet you, but you’re faster and point at the packs of ramyeon in his hands.

“If you’re looking for spicy ramyeon, that one’s not very spicy. I suggest this one.”

Baby watches closely as you grab a different pack of ramyeon from the shelf and hold it out to him. “You like spicy stuff, right?” It’s a dumb question, you know he does. You’ve seen the hot sauce chugging contest the Saja boys took part in. Even thinking about it gives you heartburn… eugh…

“Mhm.” He hums in reply, the deep tone sending chills down your spine, and returns the packs in his hand to the shelf before taking the one from your hand. “I don’t think I’ve tried this one before.” Baby eyes the packaging before turning his attention back to you.

You swallow almost nervously, struggling to maintain eye contact before using the packs of ramyeon as a distraction. “Aha! Yeah, there are so many brands.” You chuckle nervously, eyes scanning the packets before you grab another one. “I’ve heard this brand is good too.”

Unseen to you, the corner of Baby’s mouth turns up slightly, a brief smirk on his mouth before it disappears into his usual cutesy smile. “Oh? Do you like spicy stuff too?” He asks, leaning closer to you, almost shoulder to shoulder as he eyes the brand in your hand.

He watches your nose scrunch up cutely at the question, telling him all he needed to know.

“I don’t hate it.” You murmur, having yet to process how close the idol is to you. “My spice tolerance is fairly low… I get heartburn.” You confess.

Baby lets out a small snicker too close to your ear, and that’s when you realize just how close he is. He watches you death grip the poor ramyeon in your hand, plastic crinkling just barely loud enough to cover up the sound of you breaking the brick of noodles. Just as quick as before, the smirk comes and goes.

He’s had fans act similarly before, but on a much grander scale. Other people would’ve come up to him, asking for photos or autographs—which was okay—before quickly getting on his nerves. Baby doesn’t remember fans getting on his nerves in the past, but you? He can smell the excitement and anxiety just rolling off of you, and he can’t help but almost commend your strength to try and play it cool.

Which you’re failing to do, truthfully…

Deciding to play nice, Baby takes the now broken pack of ramyeon from your hand and gives the pack a gentle wiggle. The two halves of noodles cause the bag to flop slightly with each movement. “Any other good ones?”

You cringe at the noise the package makes, a pang of guilt hitting you at the broken noodles. At least it’s still edible. Thankful for the breathing room, your shoulders relaxed a little more at the question, grateful to pass over this embarrassing little moment. “Oh, um…”

Turning your attention back to the various brands of ramyeon, you idly point out a few that were supposedly good. “People on social media seem to agree that this one is super spicy. There’s a trend of people trying to use the whole sauce packet without needing cheese or milk to try and combat the spice.” You cringe again, staring at the package. “Which is pretty stupid in my opinion, I don’t see the fun in feeling like you’re dying from spicy foods.” You quietly tack on.

Baby’s shoulders briefly rise up and down with a silent laugh before tossing the two packs of ramyeons he had in his hands into your empty basket. He watches your eyes quickly focus on the basket before looking up at him, and he gives you a quick pout. “I didn’t grab a basket, I’ll buy it. Promise.” In truth, Baby tossed the items into your basket as an excuse to keep you close by; you’ve caught his interest after all.

He watches you scrunch your nose cutely again and quickly plucks a few of the rameyons you recommended and tosses them into the basket to avoid letting you try to get away, not that it seemed like you would.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, a small smile finding its way on your lips. “Fine…”

Baby grabs a few other packs of noodles in varying spice levels and tosses them into your basket; you can only assume it’s for the other Saja boys. He throws in a pack of ramyeon that on the surface doesn’t look spicy, but you know better, and there’s a sneaking suspicion that’s the intention.

You almost feel bad for whoever eats those. Almost.

Not wanting to part just yet, Baby quickly pulls together a plan to borrow more of your time. He places his arm behind your back, just shy of touching you, as he gently herds you to start walking. “Mind helping me find a few other snacks?”

[lexosaurus]

listen it's absolutely ESSENTIAL to the gym bro au that we all understand the difference between preworkout, protein, and creatine

preworkout: literally caffeinated powder. half the time it looks like cocaine. on friday one of my students said he took two scoops of preworkout "just cuz" and when i was like "wtf are you insane" he just shrugged and was like "ya but i was so locked in i had the best workout of my life" honestly idk how he's alive. i hc that this is the only thing danny likes about the gym and gym culture

protein: what muscles are made of!! gym bro ppl usually consume 0.7g per pound of bodyweight for optimal muscle growth. irl the most popular brand of whey protein powder on the market rn is no joke called ghost. danny thinks this is very funny.

creatine: 3 essential amino acids for supplying energy to the muscles and is used for recovery and muscle growth. supplements can be taken in either pill or powder form. dash always offers danny some creatine right after their workouts together and danny always turns him down because it's just one step too far down the gym bro rabbit hole and he's not mentally and emotionally ready for that yet. also kid barely passed biology with a D he doesn't know what the hell an amino acid is.

[demifiendrsa]

The Outer Worlds 2: First Gameplay Trailer

The Outer Worlds 2 will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, and PC (Steam, Microsoft Store) in 2025. It will also be available via Game Pass. The PlayStation 5 version is newly announced.

Latest details

The call to go beyond the stars is here once again, and it’s bigger, bolder, and more unpredictable than ever. We just revealed a first gameplay trailer for The Outer Worlds 2 during The Game Awards 2024, promising a fresh adventure��in a brand-new colony next year. No really, we know we’re not supposed to promise things in marketing, but the setting is completely new, so this is all factual. Just don’t break the colony again. We’re looking at each of you who sent the Hope into the sun in the last game.

In true Obsidian Entertainment fashion, you carve your path through Arcadia, a colony teeming with factions, intrigue, and chaos. It’s also home of skip drive technology and where the fate of the entire colony – and the galaxy – rests. As a daring, undeniably good-looking, and questionably competent Earth Directorate agent, you’re tasked with uncovering the source of devastating rifts threatening the entire galaxy. Talk about stakes (not to be confused with raptidon steaks, those are very different)! The choice of how to deal with the rifts is up to you. “Your worlds, your way,” as we say at Obsidian.

Are the rifts the only thing threatening Arcadia? Of course not! That would be too easy. A factional war between the “benevolent rulers” known as the Protectorate, a rebellious scientific religious order, and a corporate mega power has the colony torn apart. Each is trying to close or control the rifts for their own good/monetarily profitable needs. Church, state, and capitalism! Who will win?! Well, that’s really up to you. This is your game. We’ve said the choices were yours the whole time. See that Obsidian motto above? Yeah, you get it.

We’ve said choice a few times already, but guess what? This is an RPG so it’s going to come up a few more times. When it comes to crafting your commander, it is full-on “RPG with RPG elements” time from ability points to skill checks in conversations, to even how flawed you want to be because, let’s admit it, no one is perfect. Except those who think they are. Look at you go. Being perfect.

How you build your commander and chart your way through the narrative is uniquely yours as you plunge into this player-driven story. Whether you’re a disciple of diplomacy, a smart strategist, a crusader of chaos, or defiantly different (so we can keep the alliterations), the choice – you guessed it—is yours. Oh, and with this being The Outer Worlds, yes, you can dumb!

While The Outer Worlds 2 is a single-player RPG, you won’t be alone! Not virtually anyway. Enlist a crew of companions to help you achieve your goals. Nothing says “middle management” more than sending people out to fight your fights for you, then having them judge everything you do with a visual reminder of how much they loved or hated it. Maybe you’ll help them fulfill their dreams or goals along the way. Clearly you care enough about the people working with you to see their dreams realized… right?

As excitement grows for the upcoming 2025 launch, now is the perfect time to revisit The Outer Worlds and relive the adventure that started it all. Whether you’re a seasoned spacer or are setting foot in Halcyon for the first time, there’s no better moment to prepare for the next chapter. The Outer Worlds is available for purchase on Xbox One, Xbox Series X|S, Steam, PlayStation 4, PlayStation 5, and Nintendo Switch. You also can jump in today if you’re a Game Pass member.

On top of that, the universe is expanding beyond the game! The Outer Worlds 2 will be featured in the upcoming Secret Level anthology series, streaming on Prime Video. Tune in on December 17 for a short story that takes place between The Outer Worlds and The Outer Worlds 2. While you may have thought that was a lot of shilling, the Secret Level episode is legitimately good, and if the Board were around, they’d tell you it was mandatory viewing.

Wishlist the game today on Xbox Series X|S, the Xbox app on Windows PC, and Steam, and stay tuned for more updates on The Outer Worlds 2—we can’t wait to share what’s next with you. The galaxy is yours to explore; the only question is, how will you shape it?

[unteriors]

So like, I know (or rather assume) that this blog is a commentary about old and decrepit homes being sold, and how that's due to Capitalism Bad, and how it's terrible how people live/used to live in those inhumane conditions. But what's up with the posts that just show completely normal interiors, just with some old furniture? Like, a good chunk of interiors on this blog I look at and feel like they're just regular grandma/grandpa homes. They have old furniture and maybe odd lighting in the picture being shown, but they don't look dirty or badly maintained, or even necessarily "poor". Perhaps there's something I'm missing here.

The title of the blog is more a reflection of the context we exist within while looking at its content - or finding it in the first place - rather than a commentary. If you spend enough time looking through real estate listings for imagery that goes against its intended purpose, and which contains a greater insight into the world than the narrow constraints of its institutional context would ordinarily allow, then you become pretty aware of how dysfunctional and weird the entire system of financialising housing is. I live in a country with a major housing crisis (not unusual) which has an enormous industry, with cultural backing, designed to normalise the idea of treating housing as a speculative asset, with ever-increasing value backed up by government policy. To see this as good and normal and acceptable relies on people having (I think) a very superficial understanding of the world; part of my motivation for doing this is sort of recognising that this is artificial and trying to look for the more interesting reality underneath the propaganda for a dysfunctional system.

I think part of the problem here is the word 'normal.' Like what's the difference between a normal and an abormal interior? These all exist in the world. I have images on this blog of mansions as well. What I find interesting in photos of older, unrenovated houses, and of older photos of cities generally, is how they reflect a period with a completely different attitude of how housing should be allocated and of how housing policy should work (though the seeds for our present crises have been around since the 1950s). You're made aware of the chasm between that version of the welfare state and the precarious hell that many people are forced into today. Even the interior design seems to reflect a different philosophy - an increasingly bland and naive cynicism. It's a bit like how some architects seem to design buildings in a way that functions to serve their own self-promotion - bold designs more interested in promoting their own brand than in responding to the needs of their users or the broader community. I get a similar sense when you look at what's considered normal in contemporary interior design. Grey and beige sleek corporate minimalism (not sure if that is the right term) seems like financialisation itself dictating design via marketing and house flipping. Looking back at photos of untouched European houses belonging to recently-deceased baby boomers feels like walking through catacombs by comparison.

[vintagerpg]

I love art books. I’ve got a ton of them. Been enjoying them ever since I was a lad, so, uh, several decades. Keep that in mind when I say I am not sure I have ever experienced an art book go so hard as Magic Realms: The Art of Fighting Fantasy (2024).

In terms of scope, there aren’t many books that are comparable. Art & Arcana, I guess, as a collection of art for a game that’s been around for several decades. A&A is so concerned with being on message (about D&D’s place in history, culture, the market place) though, that the art part of the book often feels secondary to the propaganda. Magic Realms isn’t worried about any of that. It wants to show you all the awesome art. And it does. For 350 pages. It’s unrelenting and, while it does not contain all the Fighting Fantasy artwork in existence, the density of artwork on display makes it seem like it must be damn close. Part of this is the remarkable consistency the gamebooks have had over the years. Even modern iterations with wildly different styles find ways to conform to a greater whole; every piece in this thing is recognizably FF in some way.

And yet, the focus is not on Fighting Fantasy as a brand or lifestyle or whatever. It’s squarely on the artists. 28 get in-depth treatment in alphabetical order, frankly an insane pool of talent including Ian Miller, Russ Nicholson, Iain McCaig, Martin McKenna, Chris Achilleos, Les Edwards and so many more, all at the top of their game, most displaying four illustrations up on a page (John Blanche has so many iconic pieces that his eventually go twelve-up to save space!). All of these are accompanied by a short essay explaining their place in Fighting Fantasy’s legacy (including, in the case of McKenna, Achilleos and Nicholson, brief mentions honoring their passings). The last hundred pages is split between surveys of more minor artists, artists for overseas editions, many collections of variant covers and some derivative products.

Seriously, go buy this, even if you don’t have a previously established relationship with Fighting Fantasy. If you like fantasy art or monsters, there is more than enough to entertain. It’ll blow your mind, I guarantee.

[kenyatta]

In his first term, Trump put some strategic tariffs on China, charging roughly 20-30% tariffs across a host of goods, but with a bunch of exemptions. Apple’s iPhone never got tariffed, for instance, and a lot of medical supplies went untouched. There’s a lot of hot air about tariffs increase consumer prices, but that’s not always true. The first round of Trump tariffs mostly didn’t increase consumer prices, but came out of corporate profits, so they didn’t generate inflation.  Why is that? Well it’s important to recognize that tariffs don’t apply to the retail price of a good, but to its wholesale price when imported. So a Nike shoe might cost $150 retail to an end consumer at a store but that’s before markup; Nike is paying $20 for it from a Chinese supplier. The $130 difference between what the Chinese supplier charges and the end American consumer pays is a mark-up, and it goes to Nike for branding, distribution, profit, etc. The tariff is charged on the $20. So even a very large 50% tariff will be just $10, which means Nike will still have a giant cushion, and can choose whether to pass the tariff along or reduce its profit, or both. Or it can negotiate some of the cost with its Chinese supplier.  This time, because the tariffs are hitting every sector, consumer prices are likely to change, though it will differ industry-by-industry. There are plenty of companies who have to raise prices to cover costs. But another reason for price hikes could be “seller’s inflation,” aka there’s market power throughout the economy, and corporations with such power have an excuse to charge higher prices, as they did during Covid. They can just blame Trump, and collect more profit. On the other hand, companies are scared of the new administration. So, for instance, Apple’s CEO Tim Cook may decide he will simply eat the extra $35 or so charged on each iPhone, and lose a few billion in profit, rather than anger Trump.

[biwitchenergyz]

That Thing Called Love

Chapter 2 of 3: Sweet Death

(Warnings! This work contains references to suicide, period-typical racism and sexism, as well as mentions of the KKK!)

Amongst the hanging herbs and the glittering crystals of your home, loneliness sank into the very air. It had been five days since you kicked Remmick out. Leo wandered between rooms, meowing a call that remained unanswered. 

You didn't cry, although sometimes you felt you would from the sheer loneliness you felt. Annie came by after you missed a market trip, and you couldn't explain your distance or your melancholy. It seemed so silly when confronted by your sister, whose own grief was so much more real than yours. 

“Sun’s gonna set soon,” Annie observed with one hand held out to block the light of the sun from her eyes. Five days ago, you would have settled into Remmy’s room with Leo resting on the bed and your grimoire in your hands. When the sun was gone, you would have opened the shutters and cracked the window for your little crow to feel the breeze.

“Go on home. Nothing good comes out at night.” You remind her. Annie smiles like she's thinking you finally understand her worries, and she kisses your forehead, which brings tears to your eyes. She doesn't see them as she leaves, and you're so thankful she didn't notice it.

Leo lay on the dining table; you watched the pink sunset glow against him. Sitting with your head on your knees, you closed your eyes for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, it was night.

“I ain’t scared of the dark,” you begin to talk, wondering if Leo will listen like Remmy did. “I love the night and the moon. Why should a creature of the night be any different?” You ask, but Leo doesn't respond; he doesn't even look at you, the damned cat.

“I ain’t never been lonely. I never missed Benny boy or Annie or anybody when I was alone. So why would I miss some silly bird?” Pure frustration filled your tensed muscles. Maybe it was the understanding in his eyes, or the specific little gifts he left you, but for some reason, you felt seen for the first time since your mother passed. 

Even after you tossed him to the curb, he still came back. Never knocking on the door or trying to get your attention, he left gifts instead. Bundles of rosemary on Tuesday and quartz from the river on Wednesday. Thursday, it was a group of colorful rocks. Friday, he left mourning glories, and Saturday, it was a brand new copy of The Conjure Man Dies by Rudolph Fisher. 

Each gift more meaningful than the last. He knew you, not because you willingly told Remmick, but because you bared your soul to Remmy. You hated the feeling of anger, it coursed through you like poison. Remmy was more than a bird; he was a demon of night, and he had willingly deceived you just to learn the most intimate parts of your life and the things you wouldn't even tell your sister.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Nobody knocked on your door at night or during the day. He didn’t have to knock, not after you had given him a permanent welcome to your home, even though you had done it under false notions. Still, you were glad that he gave you simple respect, so you opened the door.

“I could fix ya’ car.” Remmick’s hair was neater than when you kicked him out. Most importantly, he was clothed. His pale frame was covered by a light blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. Navy blue jeans looked nice on him, so did the belt he cinched around his hips and the suspenders he added purely as an accessory. “I know you ain’t got that boy to fix it no more. Figured it’s the least I can do.”

You laughed, “What would you know about cars?” To be fair, he had a physique similar to Benny and the other town mechanics. Strong frame, not as imposing as the farmers, but just as capable. He didn’t seem as sheepish or timid as he did when you last saw him. There was an ease to the way he leaned against your porch, potentially a facade. 

“Been around since they made 'em. Did some work as a mechanic for a while back in the day.” He shrugged, naturally reminding you that this man was not like you. Though he appeared to be in his late 20s to early 30s, there was something much older in his eyes and his mannerisms—an ancient being masquerading as a boy.

“I’ll let ya’ try. Doesn’t mean you get to come in.” You retort, reminding him that he is a stranger to you. “I ain’t forget what you did and I damn sure haven’t forgiven you.” He nodded slowly as if he was trying to show his understanding. Without turning your back on him, you scurried back inside, locking the door. 

An hour passed, and you weren't even sure if Remmick was still outside. You changed into your white chiffon nightgown before letting Leo out to use the restroom and wander the grounds. Taking a seat on the porch swing, you caught sight of Remmick, suspenders falling from his shoulders and dirt covering his pants. He had found the toolbox you kept in the back seat; it wasn’t yours to keep, truth be told. 

“Figured you’d given up by now,” you hollered from the porch. Remmick would have heard your euphonic voice even if it were mumbled under your breath. His slightly pointed ears perked up, grinning as he sauntered over to the porch. So enraptured with the soft lines of your face, he hadn’t noticed the thin fabric of your nightgown until you were right in front of him.

“Well, I-I couldn't leave ya’ without a car,” his breath hitched at the sight of you, and his words stumbled out clumsily. In truth, he never lustfully considered your body. Even when he climbed into your bed at night, he was obsessed with the honeyed tone of your voice, your sparkling eyes, your soft and rich skin, and the way your curls fell around your face. The curves of your body were unfamiliar to him, but suddenly they were invading his mind.

“Remmick, your drooling.” His blue eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, shot up to your lips. Blood that was not his own rushed to his face and brought a bright red flush to his cheeks and ears. Quickly, he wiped the beady pearls of his saliva away from his chin. It entranced you, reminding you that this man was a predator, animalistic and primal.

“Are you…hungry?” Your eyes searched for Leo, begging him to return so you could go inside. The tabby cat was below you, standing at Remmick's side and brushing against his jeans—a fur-covered traitor.

“Nah. I ate earlier, sugar.” For a minute, his words felt casual, like he ate the same dinner as you, and not the blood of his prey.

“How did you eat the berries and nuts? When you were a crow.” Remmick thought for a moment, not as though he were crafting a lie but more like he was trying to explain. He inched up the stairs, making his way closer to you.

“When I was turned, my creator drained me of all my life's blood.” Remmick began, deliberately closing the distance between you two until he was directly in front of you as you sat on your swing.

“I don’t have blood of my own; that's why I have to take it from others.” You ignored the pang in your heart that came from the grimace on his face. “When I drink blood, it flows through my veins, and for a few hours, it's like being human again. I have a heartbeat, the ability to taste food and all that human shit. Blood powers damn near everything in the body, without it we’re just shells.” He shrugged his shoulders, “At least that's what it’s like for me.”

“It only lasts hours?” You couldn't imagine the misery of not being able to taste all the delicious food in the world. You’d die without Annie's famous fried fish.

“Depends. When you found me, I’d sucked two humans dry, filled my veins for a few days. Without new blood, the old dries up and everything’s useless again.” You expected disgust or hatred to curl in your stomach, but it never came. How could you blame him for surviving when you would probably do the same? You don’t ask for further details, right now you understand enough, and one thing is clear: Remmick did not choose this life.

“So what do ya’ think?” You inquired, slightly nodding towards the red Cadillac. Remmick misses the movement; his eyes are focused on the way your hands curl against your gown. He looked up, examining you from the roots of your hair to your bare feet.

“I like it.” He retorted.

“Talkin’ bout the car, Remmick.” He looks back at the Cadillac.

“Oh, it should be good.  Just needed to adjust the motor.” You nodded along, not understanding the more technical terms he started to use, but it was nice listening to him explain it. Clearly, he knew what he was talking about. He motioned for you to follow him, and reluctantly, you made your way to the car as he started it to confirm it was working properly. 

“Seems good.” You hesitate when he leaves the front seat and stands in front of you. “Suppose we could talk on the porch if you had any groveling or apologizing ya’ wanted to do. ” For an unknown reason, you felt the need to let him explain himself. You didn't regret kicking him out; it was the safest thing to do, but his constant attempts at forgiveness were enough to make you want to hear him out.

The two of you sat together, the porch swing once felt so big when you snuggled into your mother's side, now it felt crowded as if you were practically sitting on Remmick's lap. You didn’t realize the closeness it would bring. If he felt uncomfortable, he didn't say or show it.

Dying to fill the silence, you open your mouth to find words, but Remmick beats you to it. “ I was tryna’ get away from some dangerous people.”  He hesitated, trying to choose the best parts of the story to tell without scaring you away. “They wanted to kill me, but naturally, I deserved it. Not all my kind can shapeshift, you gotta be stronger and older than the rest. I know I'm older than most.” He chuckled, a low and joyless sound.

“Don’t know why I can do it besides, only thing I can turn to is a crow.” Remmick looked off, watching the property line like a spooked animal. Leo bounded back up the stairs and jumped right into Remmick's lap, casually affectionate.

 Absentmindedly, Remmy stroked the cat's fur as though it were the most natural thing to do. His navy blue eyes still examined the forest. You could never keep track of what color they would be next, but you were starting to understand. At his weakest, most human moments, his eyes were naturally blue. Still, you didn't know what to make of the changes.

“Think they shot at me with silver bullets, one must have clipped me because I could only go so far before falling.” Remmick ran a hand along his previously injured shoulder. “Was tryna crawl deeper into the woods. Then you found me, I’m mighty thankful for ya. I woulda’ve died out there.” His strong hand rakes through Leo’s dark fur, and the cat stretches his paws out as he soaks in the attention.

“I was too weak to turn back, but when I got better, I started sneaking out to feed,” Remmick explained everything as if he were teaching you basic English. There was a familiarity between the two of you, despite your eagerness to ignore it. Sitting on the porch together reminded you of late nights with a good friend. 

“Why come back if you were healed? Why’d you leave all those gifts?” You asked, finding the questions easier than asking why he crawled into your bed dressed down to his underwear. He didn't speak for a while. With a Gallic shrug, he let the air go silent. You let him think, listening to the black field crickets and the occasional purr from Leo.

“I thought the gifts were pretty, reminded me of you,” He began slowly, testing the boundary of what you would let him say. “As far as why I came back, I wanted to—never had a pretty girl takin’ care of me. And you're so damned smart; listening to you talk was the highlight of my day. Guess I took a liking to you.”

Brazenly, you tugged at one of his suspenders, trying to get him to look at you. He did so, slowly turning to meet your playful gaze. His eyes appeared glossy, desperate for something in the same way Remmy’s eyes had so often looked. “For what it’s worth, I took a liking to you, too. In crow form, that is.” You pull a soft laugh from him as he places a contemplative finger on his lips. 

“Perhaps, you could like the human side too? If ya’ got to know 'em.” Remmick's voice was unsure, feeble like the first call he made when you found him injured in the woods. Everything you learned was screaming at you to get rid of him. He’d confessed to being a vampire; he was something monstrous, the very creatures Annie had warned you about. 

Still, he was Remmy. The little crow that listened to you attentively and left you gifts that proved you had captured his attention. His presence made you realize you were lonely out here, even though you liked to pretend you weren’t. You wondered if your eyes mirrored the same desperation that his did.

“I could,” You began slowly, torturing the man for fun.“If you were to promise not to hurt me, because if you tried, I’d have to hurt you back, and it’s damned hard to get blood out of clothes.” He nodded vigorously, his eyes wide like you were giving him a gift, something more precious than just your reluctant words.

“Wouldn't hurt ya’. Never even thought of it.” He promised like he had something to prove, like his life was on the line. 

The eagerness he held was strange to you. Nobody had ever craved your attention, even the boys who tried to convince you to marry them were only after the prize of having you on their arm for show.

To them, you were just a pretty girl with a good enough income, but to Remmick, you were something to yearn for. He might kill you, might tear your throat out and leave you drained. His fanged canines promised this, but his eyes told a different story.

“Got work in the morning,” He knew this, he remembered your schedule. “I wouldn’t mind a certain boy coming back tomorrow. Preferably, at sundown. Any later and I might forget he exists.” You stood from the swing, bending down to pull Leo from Remmick’s lap. His eyes trailed the dip of your nightgown, and he swallowed hard when your fingers brushed against his thighs to pick up the sleeping cat.

“I-I’m sure he wouldn't mind that either.” Remick stuttered, lifting one leg over the other in an attempt to hide his lap. You didn’t notice. With Leo securely clutched to your chest, you used your elbow to push the screen door open. Without a goodbye, you closed the door, resting Leo onto the dining table so you could lock the front door. 

Remmick didn't move for nearly an hour. His head fell back against the wall, his long pale neck bared before the moonlight. I’m no child, he reminded himself. I am older than most who walk the earth.  

He couldn't explain the weak feeling in his knees or the way he constantly felt bested by you. The ancient vampire was no stranger to women; he was married once before, and he’d had a history of lovers, human and of his kind. Still, he was a stranger to genuine feelings that did not derive from lust or physical desire. 

Remmick finally leaves, wandering away from your porch desperately trying to figure out the feeling that settles in his chest like an anchor tethering him to you.

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True to his word, Remmick broke through the tree line just as the sun fell away from the sky. You were back on the porch swing, with Leo lying at your side. The first thing the vampire noticed was the length of your hair, wet from a recent bath and longer than usual. Your scent hit him as he climbed the wooden steps, vanilla and lilies.

“You sittin’ out here waiting for me, sugar?” Try as you might, you couldn’t deny it. You sped home from work, made dinner as fast as you could, and took a long bath in vanilla extract and essential oils. You told yourself you would do it for anyone, just trying to look nice for a friend.

“Might be.” You teased, smoothing the lines of your skirt. His hands traced your movements. The outfit you wore was delicate. He’d seen you in it before, a white sweater-blouse with a high-waisted linen skirt and a black belt, more appropriate than your nightgown, but pretty all the same. Everything looked beautiful on you, he figured it was you who made it so. 

“Where do you go when you ain’t with me?” It was a question you pondered all day.

“Ain’t been in Missippi long enough to start a new life yet. I just came down from North Carolina. Got hurt on my third day in this damn place.” There was humor in his words, like he was used to the odds being stacked against him. “Usually, I find an abandoned home outside the town. Fix it up, get a simple job, and stay for as long as I can before the town notices all the missing folks and that I don’t age like them.”

“Do you make friends?” Remmick tilted his head, similar to the crow’s behavior, and he pondered your question as if it were something so confusing that he’d never thought of it. You imagined it was nice at times, traveling around and being someone new. You also imagined that it got tiring.

“I’ve made a few. Made some of 'em like me. Rare I meet another one of' my kind, but the friends I’ve turned are always with me, and I’m with them.” He tapped the side of his head, showing you where his friends were. “We all travel around, sometimes we meet. I don’t mind being alone, though. Grown accustomed to it.”

“I thought I was, too.” The ‘before you’ hangs heavy in the air. You didn’t mean to voice it aloud, but you couldn't help it.

“What, bout that fiancée of yours…boony?” Remmick asked.

“It’s Benny,” you correct. “I loved him, well enough. I couldn't balance my grieving sister and a needy fiancé, so I called it off. Not sure I would have been happy as his wife.”

Leo hops off the swing, stretching his arms out as Remmick steals his spot. The leg space you had disappears, but before you can throw them over the edge of the swing, Remmick takes the underside of your knees and lifts your legs onto his lap. He doesn't mind the weight on him; in fact, he seems to like it.

 You're stunned for a moment, but you won’t let him get the best of you. Sighing contentedly, you lean back into the porch swing until your thighs lie atop Remmicks, and your head lies on the armrest. You enjoy the way Remmick looks down at you and forces himself to look away.

“Mama always said a woman's duty was to her husband and children.” You watch Leo roll around in the dirt. “Don’t need none of that. She had a husband, and it killed her. She had me, and I couldn't even save her. I've got Leo, maybe he can be my only son.” Remmick laughs with you, a melody forming between the two of you. 

“You’re a good mother. Leo’s nothin’ but fat and happy.” It was nice to have someone who would agree with your little fantasy world, where you didn’t have to marry and your cat could be your son. 

“What about you? Didn’t think I noticed the ring on ya finger? Figure you have a wife and kids somewhere. Little vampires, perhaps?” As you observe him, Remmick gently tugs your skirt back into place, pulling it from where it's slipped up your thighs down to where it's meant to be at your ankles. He places his left hand right above your knee, the hand bearing his golden wedding band.

“Had a wife once. No kids, thankfully. Don’t know if I coulda’ve made it a thousand years as a father to little ones.” You make a mental note of that; he’s older than you originally thought. Still, you relax further into him as he taps his ring finger against your knee. “Liadan, that was my wife's name. Don’t remember what she looks like; it was arranged anyhow. She was a kind girl, didn’t fit well with me. I’ve always been a lil’ wild. Ain’t the proper way to behave.”

“Fuck propriety.” Your laugh startles him; he wasn't expecting it. “The best people aren’t always well behaved.” Danger encourages you to wink at him; you do it without hesitation. It’s funny to watch him squirm, his Adam's apple bobs, you wonder if he's trying not to drool again. You think he might eat you, yet you’re not afraid.

“Benny boy, that’s what the town calls him, he wanted a wife like the bible talks about. He didn’t want no witch and sure didn’t want no sinner.” The moon caresses your face, edging you on as you slip into a more casual way of speaking. “Ben liked me in the sunlight when everything had to be done a certain way. Told me he was gonna keep me from the dark, and it made me feel sick.”

“You’re gorgeous at night.” Remmick bites his tongue, shocked at his own words. “Sure, you're beautiful in the sunlight too, but you're made for this,” he gestures towards the darkness around you, lit only by a pale glow. “Thought you were an angel the night you found me. You were glowing like one, lookin’ like sweet death.”

Speaking like a poet yet refusing to meet your eye, Remmick was glad that he had not fed yet, or else you would have seen a flush on his face and potentially felt him poking against your legs. His thumb brushed the fabric of your skirt, circling the space below your thigh. He bites the soft skin of his lip, hard. Sick delight courses through you, entranced by the sheepish way Remmick avoids your gaze.

“Crows are known to be gift bringers. They like giving shiny things, and they never forget a slight or kindness.” It’s so random, so uniquely you, that he throws his head back and laughs. A real, genuine laugh, showing his fangs and closing his eyes. 

Despite his reaction, you continue, “They hold funerals and mourn their dead. Most importantly, they form bonds; it's not always exclusive, but sometimes, if they are lucky, they find the right one and mate for life.” You’re not sure if he remembers it, but last night he questioned why his second form was a crow. After talking to him, you feel you've figured it out.

“You’re so precious, sugar.” Remmick reaches out to push stray curls out of your face. You flinch back at first, gripping his wrist with your nails until you see the kind light in his dark eyes. From his sculpted jaw to his curved nose, you never paid too much attention to how naturally handsome he is. It’s subtle, but when you notice the curve of his lips and the strength of his neck, you feel compelled to let him do as he pleases. Cautiously, you release his wrist so that he can touch your curls.

 Remmick's thin, shapely eyebrows curl up like he’s in pain, but he smiles all the same. His hand doesn't leave you; he cups your cheek within his palm. You notice that his eyes are dark again, shining obsidian. You reach out to take his hand within your own, but he pulls back. Gently, but rushed, he places your feet back on the porch and stands, moving away from you.

“You've got work in the morning!” He shakes his head like he's waking from a trance. “ Sleep well, Lassie!” You look down at Leo, scratching at the screen door, when you look back up, Remmick is gone.