#when its empty and you are only illuminated by headlights

[vialofarsenic]

its really surreal being in a target parking lot at 12 am in the morning

it feels like its on another plane of existence

[prentissluvr]

abstract (psychopomp) — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, idk just like a lot of feelings, animal death, some descriptions of injury, blood, crying, mention of character death, 1.9K words. listen to abstract (psychopomp) by hozier.

summary : sam realizes that he loves you as you hold a dying cat in your arms and cry over its loss.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

your gasp startles sam. all had been quiet after the hunt, the cruel, clawed monster killed and the rumble of the impala filling the space in the silent air. the street is slick with fresh rain and clouds block the moon and stars.

“pull over,” you insist suddenly. sam glances over at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you’re very serious.

“what is it?” he asks, tearing his eyes from you to focus on the road. he’s already easing up on the gas.

“pull over, sam,” you repeat with more strength, voice imploring. he obliges, expression concerned as he swiftly brings the car to a stop on the side of the road. the tires screech from the effort because sam thinks something is horribly wrong. he’s worried about you, and that feeling only increases when you rush out from the car, leaving the door open as you run down the empty street back the way you came. it’s lit solely by a single flickering street lamp and the impala’s headlights.

“wait, hey, what are you–” he can’t get in a whole sentence before you’re gone. he puts the car in park and follows after you. greeted by the sight of you kneeling on the side of the road, back facing him, his frown deepens and he breaks into a jog. his long legs get him to your side in moments. you sit right underneath the orange light of the street lamp, your form illuminated by the gold of october leaves.

there’s something in your arms. something small and shaking and reflecting the light of the lamp. the smell of rain and grass is heady and delicate all at once.

your eyes are shadowed until you look up at him. then they’re shining with the threat of tears. sam crouches next to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

it’s a cat, its tabby brown fur marred with blood and these deep, horrible gashes. its blood stains the road and mixes with newly fallen rain. it shines in orange light above you. the cat's eye glistens, and it’s still alive, barely, moving in your arms. clearly, the monster you just killed got to it, before you even arrived, and the poor creature’s been bleeding out slowly on the side of the road.

sam imagines that its body isn’t as warm in your arms as it should be. you hold it so gently, your hands so delicate and full of intention. with a pang to his heart, sam realizes that you just want to hold it as it passes. its eyes must’ve held fear as you gingerly lifted it into your arms. but that fear is gone as you softly, so softly, brush your fingers over the fur of its tiny head.

“shhh,” you hush sweetly, quietly. sam wonders how everything could be this silent. sam knows it would be wrong if it weren’t, though. “it’s okay. i’ve got you now. you’re alright.” your voice is lulling and murmuring and trembling.

it slows in your arms. it stills. sam puts a hand over yours and he feels where its fur is soft and silky, untainted by blood. the cat doesn’t breathe in again.

sam looks at your face, and as a tear rolls down your cheek, past the shadow over your eyes, it catches the light. his heart aches. it aches and it aches and it aches.

for the sweet, small creature, innocent and swept aside by unnatural claws. discarded and truly nothing more than collateral damage. its tiny paws and darling brown ears and its good-natured animal heart which all deserved nothing but soft and unconditional love. cat hearts are small, sam recalls. about fifteen times smaller than a human heart. he doesn’t remember where he read that.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s begun to rub small circles over your back. while he has a soul full of compassion for the pretty tabby cat, his heart aches for you the most.

you look so distraught. you’re still crying. there’s a dead animal in your arms.

the way that you hurt makes him feel it too, makes him desperate to fix it for you. he wonders if the tip of your nose is starting to get cold like it always does when it’s windy outside.

and there’s just… your humanity. all he can see in this moment is how it shines. how you’re better than anything he’s ever known. 

he thinks that sometimes it feels like the two of you choose what you’re doing. and then he realizes that it’s tearing at your hearts. he remembers that he’d choose anything but this if he could.

he knows you would too. you’d always choose a home and a purring brown tabby cat and house plants over this view; mangled bodies of the innocent, blood in the road, and weeds through the concrete. then again, it’s that humanity of yours that keeps you going. you can’t just leave it all, knowing you could save even one life with the knowledge that you have. you keep him going too.

sam wishes more than anything that this wasn’t it for you. sam knows better than anything now that he loves you. and this is the moment he realizes it. in orange light and a dark blue sky. in a haunting shadow and a soft brilliance. 

you are the soft brilliance. in all of your pain and weariness and honest devastation over the loss of a small animal you never knew. that’s what makes him love you, so fully and truly and with no room for a drop of doubt.

he’ll remember this view. it’s fucked up and horrible. it’s the most genuine display of unconditional love and humanity that he’s ever seen. it makes him wonder if someday he’ll be you, and you’ll be the cat, curled up and cold in his lap. the blood drains from his face and he almost starts to cry with you.

but he loves you too much now to go back. it’s strange, he’s loved you a long time. a long time, and now he finally knows it. and he loves all of you. his love for you just rushes through his veins, it overwhelms his senses, it multiplies the aching of his heart.

he sits all the way down, pressed close against you as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and draws you to his chest. the cold wet of rain that’s stuck between the grooves and bumps of the asphalt soaks up into the thick fabric of his jeans. his warm hand smooths up and down your arm. the other stays splayed over yours and the poor cat, like he can somehow protect you both. that hurts him because one of you is already gone.

sam doesn’t just let you take the time to mourn. he mourns with you. he lets go of the part of him that fights to push it all away, to pretend it isn’t there, to just play through the pain. instead, he lets himself feel it. the loss and the sadness and all the wishing that this never happened. that so many things never happened. you always bring sam back to himself.

eventually, sam realizes you need a bit of help with moving on. as soft and quiet as he can, he peels off his jacket to wrap the cat in. you shouldn’t have to keep staring at its bloody wounds. the cat shouldn’t have to be so cold. he lays the jacket on the ground in front of you.

“here,” he murmurs. you inhale sharply, like you’re coming out of a daze. when you look up at him, your eyes still shine. ever so gently, you place the poor thing over the fabric of his jacket. sam wraps it up, safe and warm for you. he tucks it carefully into one arm, silently and sadly marveling at how small it is. then he holds out his other hand for you.

he exhales softly through his lips when your trembling hand meets his. you look so tired, so worn as he pulls you to your feet. but a bit of burden has been lifted since he took the cat from your lap. there’s streaks of blood on your clothes, smothered over your gentle, calloused hands.

your hand doesn’t slip from his as you walk back to the car. you open the trunk and pull out salt, gasoline, and matches. sam locks the car and you walk out into the grass until you can barely see the road. the lump of sam’s jacket, with the cat’s sweet head and closed eyes framed by the fabric and the rest of its body hidden away, is set gently on the ground. it’s silent as the two of you build up a tiny pyre of sticks and dried leaves.

sam softly covers the animal’s face when he sets it over the sticks. the cat receives a proper hunter’s funeral. sam lights the match and sprinkles the salt. he doesn’t want you to have be the one to set it alight.

you sit on the dewy grass and watch, rather than stand so you can be closer to the small thing. sam sits beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. he’s a bit cold without his jacket, but he doesn’t care. the heat from the fire reaches him, though it's mostly swallowed up by the wind.

he looks at you, quiet and subtle in his movements. your features are lit up by orange light for the second time tonight. the fire flickers in your eyes and the shadows cast a haunted look over your face.

sam is afraid of losing you. he’s terrified. and he’s still glad he met you. all of his love and terror is poured into you. he won’t tell you that he loves you today. he’s unlikely to tell you tomorrow. he wonders if he’ll tell you the next day, or the next month or year. he will tell you. and before that, he’ll show you.

every moment from now, he’s utterly dedicated to you. to your humanity, love, passion, kindness, and soft, immovable goodness. he’ll hold you close and kiss that goodness and make sure that no one can touch it. he’ll make sure you know that it is seen and loved and honored so that you don’t ever feel that you have to tuck it away for the sake of looking strong. really, your strength is undeniable.

maybe any other day, you’d take a long, deep breath, then stand and walk back to the car before the fire flickers out. but sam’s understanding and willingness to do all of this for you is so unwavering and true that you don’t do anything at all. instead, you let yourself be.

the night is so slow. the clouds in the sky shift and swirl and reveal the stars sometimes. the moon shines bright and clear in the a.m.s once the storm clouds clear. tonight’s fire is stubborn and long lasting. it still sparks and crackles as the sky ever so slowly lightens. deep and heavy blue turns to soft purples and baby blue. the straggling clouds are wispy and sweet cotton candy pink as the sun touches the horizon. sam notices the lingering tears in your eyes as you gaze up at the honeyed tenderness of the morning.

the earth from a distance. see how it shines.

[silvertheduckling]

Shadows in the Rain

This is a Shadow one shot! I could make it into a series if everyone likes :3 Music I recommend for this fic, (if you like listening and reading) is Sailor by Alex Kehm. Also her song called Howl also fits the mood ♡

Summary: You find Shadow in the park during a rainy afternoon, and you share an umbrella.

Reader is a mobian and GUN agent. (1,347 words.) Hope you enjoy! 💙

It was a misty afternoon, as soft rain drops fell from the sky. Small puddles pooled in curbs and in the imperfections of the sidewalk. There was no breeze or movement, just calm, peaceful silence. Except for the patter of the rain drops, making a pleasant hum. You had taken the afternoon off, to enjoy this serene atmosphere. Umbrella in hand, as your boots made little splashes on the wet sidewalk. 

That morning, you had been assigned to work with Shadow, only for Shadow nowhere to be found. It was unusual for him to be absent, for he was always very punctual, especially if others were relying on him. You worried about him, for how uncharacteristic it was. But you were left with your thoughts and the soft sound of the rain.

 He was a very intriguing person; Rouge herself had told you about how he was. She always teased you about Shadow, saying you had a way of pulling words out of him that no one else could. Though you were never sure if you believed her. Over the few months together on missions, he never conversed more than necessary.

Only, his eyes always spoke more than his voice ever did. You could swear you'd seen a hint of vulnerability in his deep, ruby eyes. A hidden struggle behind those beautiful gems. 

 His gaze always seemed to stiffen as soon as it became too revealing. Making you wonder if those moments were all a work in your head.  

Over these past months, he'd warmed up to you more, though never getting too comfortable. On those riskier missions he always would choose the more difficult front-line assignments. Saying you wouldn't be able to keep up. 

Those missions when you could see the flash of panic when you made a close call, the strong reprimand to never do that again on the ride to headquarters. When you'd see that deeper look in his eyes. Those moments when you understood he did care. 

He had showed it many times. When he had saved your life. When enemies got a little too close and he stepped in front of you. Shielding you with himself. Though, more recently, he had grown distant. 

Ever since you both had been on a mission that cut very close. Too close. In the moment he insistently asked if you were alright, looking you over many times. That desperate worry in his eyes as he looked in yours. He held you by your shoulders making you look in his eyes, his grip firm but gentle.

"Don't do that again."

The passing of a car splashing in the little stream brought you out of your thoughts, the blur of fading headlights melting in the hazy fog. 

 Faint glow from a light pole shined a misty haze over an approaching bench, a figure lightly illuminated there. Curiosity bubbled in you as you wondered who the figure was. Once close enough the misty glow revealed an empty stare, Shadow. 

Raindrops trickled from his fur to the cool ground. He looked so distant, so lost. Gazing in no direction in particular, tension in his hands as they clenched. 

You stood there for a few moments, wanting to greet him happily but biting your tongue, knowing that's not what he needed right now. With a soft movement, you sat on the bench, an arm length between you. 

You debated in your head if that had been the best idea, that he probably wanted to be left alone. It's too late to turn back now.

You inched closer, wondering if he noticed your presence. Slowly, you shifted your umbrella, letting its brim cover him. After a few moments he seemed to notice. His ruby eyes softened slightly as they met yours, revealing a flicker of emotion beneath his usual hardened gaze.

Though, he was silent. His irises looking impossibly deep in yours. It felt like he was looking in your soul. Like, he was.... searching. Searching for your angle, why you were showing him grace. 

All he seen was your honest sweet gaze. The kindness in your eyes... They were genuine. It had been so long since he had seen such tender, empathetic eyes directed towards him... He hesitantly met your gaze once again. 

"What are you doing?" 

His voice soft and quiet matching the gentle hum of the rain.

"You weren't at the meeting for our mission this morning, so I took this afternoon off; and found you here."

You had noticed? That alone made Shadow soften ever slightly. His gaze left yours to the rest of the misty central park. 

"I'm sorry."

he murmured, lowering his gaze to his lap as if the weight of the words pained him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." 

He looked up again, as his eyes found yours once more. His facial features softened gently, his brow less furrowed, his frown less prominent. 

"It's okay to take a break sometimes. I just... I was worried about you."

He froze a little after that statement. The idea that his presence... was missed. 

That look in his sanguine eyes revealing how much that sentence alone meant to him. 

The buzz of a phone interrupted the exchange as you sheepishly took out your phone with murmured apologies. It was Rouge asking where you were, you had forgotten your plans with her. 

"I'm sorry. Rouge is waiting on me and you know how she is."   

You said hurriedly embarrassed as you gathered yourself. 

"Um... where I'm going isn't far, you want my umbrella?"

Kindness in your eyes as you smiled gently offering the umbrella. He looked at you for a lingering moment, then he gently reached for it. Your hands brushed each other softly as he took it from your hand.

For a moment that felt longer than it was, his hand lingered over yours on the umbrella. In the gentle shower you both stood under the cover of the umbrella. You both clung onto this moment preserving it gazes locked. 

Time seemed to slow as your eyes searched his and his prodded yours. He remained silent, his eyes speaking for him. His deep gemstones caught the faint cast of light, showing the vulnerability in them. They wavered between yours. Your presence comforted him. Though silent, his eyes betrayed the truth—he didn't want you to leave.

The buzz of a phone call in your pocket disrupted the eye contact. You both knew who it was. 

"I should go. You have a good afternoon, ok?"  

You spoke apologetically as you pulled your hand away fully giving him the umbrella. 

"See you later."   

 He nodded faintly at your soft tone, as his grip on the umbrella grew tighter. You turned walking down the path, taking the phone call. Your figure growing farther in the misty afternoon. Blurring into the rain. He stood there watching you go, left with his thoughts. 

"Bye (name)."

He murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, as though speaking to the memory of your presence more than to you. He gazed where you once were, umbrella in hand. 

As he walked home, he held tight to the look in your eyes. The rain continued to fall, but the memory of your warmth lingered. A contrast to the cool misty atmosphere. 

It had been a few days since that late afternoon, you were at your home enjoying a lovely clear morning making some breakfast. There was a gentle knock at your doorstep, as you gazed curiously in that direction. After a few moments you walked to the door opening it, revealing no one there. Your gaze fell and there you saw your umbrella and beside it a vase of red roses and little white flowers. You picked both up bringing them inside. You set the flowers on the counter. 

A soft smile crossed your lips as you traced the delicate petals. The roses, their crimson petals catching the morning sunlight; reminded you of his gaze—vulnerable, yet unyielding. Even in his silence, Shadow's gratitude spoke volumes. You noticed a little card in the middle, and you pulled it out. Opening it gently it simply read;

"Thank you ---Shadow."

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! Reblogs, comments and likes much appreciated! 💙

[justalittlelilac]

One Day

One day (and a half) until Qiu left Golden Grove and you admitted to being in love with them.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Word Count: 7,211

AN: Hiii, sorry I have been gone for so long. I had some crazy family things happen that are still going on, and it really killed my motivation for this story. However, I really hope you like it!

I recommend listening to "it's ok!" by corook and "Ready Now" by Dodie for this, especially at the end. Also, very loosely "Look To Winward" by Sleep Token, but only the part about cycles in the beginning, haha.

Your bright headlights cut through the winter darkness, sweeping over the front of your house as you rounded the cul-de-sac to park. The white illuminated the shrouded figures resting on your front porch chairs. Qiu and Tamarack. Your stomach twisted and tangled in tight knots, half in guilt and relief, and it pulled tighter with every passing second.

The neighborhood steeped in silence was interrupted by your car door opening and shutting. Snow had coated everything in a soft quilt of white. It muffled every sound, save for the blood rushing in your ears and the way every footfall sounded like glass shattering in the quiet.

Slowly, you approached the front gate to portray some casualness like you had. You winced as it betrayed your arrival with a piercing squeak.

Tamarack lifted her eyes from the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and offered you a quiet smile with eyes that held a cautious hope. On the other hand, Qiu's gaze had been glued on you since your headlights fell over their face. They both reflected an uneasy tension, stiff shoulders, and faces that carried the weight of exhausted relief and lingering hurt.

You came to a standstill in front of the two, nervously picking at your coat sleeve like you'd once done when you were caught doing something you shouldn't

"I didn't do anything." Your whispered voice sounded too loud in the silent, snowy night. You witnessed both of their shoulders relax, even if their faces were intense with concern that caused your guilt to settle in the base of your throat like a dry pill.

"I—I couldn't…" The words died on your lips, getting caught on that too large a pill; truths that were too hard to swallow.

What you said was true.

As you had weaved through the empty streets of Golden Grove earlier that night, your brain was vibrating with the goal of forgetting, escaping, and avoiding. The familiar gnawing ache of self-destruction had coursed through your veins like a welcome poison, your body remembering the feeling like an old addiction. You knew your destination well. Could drive it blindfolded.

The abandoned lumber mill outside town held hundreds of memories of reckless nights and even poorer decisions in its rotting beams and graffiti-tagged walls. The ground there would greet you like an old friend. You could hear the thumping music as you parked your car at the back of the lot, keeping yourself out of the way.

People gathered outside, smoking, their faces lit by the cherry-red glow of cigarettes. Some faces were familiar, while others were new and younger, but they wore the same expressions of practiced indifference you once perfected. It all blurred together—background noise to the growing hollowness inside you.

You sat motionless in your car, hands still gripping the steering wheel to anchor yourself to reality. The static in your head had grown deafening, but beneath it lurked a weird calmness, like the eye of a storm.

You numbly flipped down your visor to double-check your appearance, wanting to utilize the mirror for practicing your smile and getting your armor in place. As you did, a rectangular piece of paper fluttered down like a helicopter seed onto your lap. You paused when you turned it over.

The glossy strip of pictures showed you, Qiu, and Tamarack crammed into a mall photo booth last May. It had been one of the rare moments where everything felt like it used to��laughing so hard your faces hurt, Tamarack reluctantly joining your "Senior Skip Day" antics. In the last frame, Qiu had stuck out their tongue, Tamarack was mid-laugh, and you… You were smiling so brightly it felt like another person entirely.

Your hands returned to the steering wheel, gripping it tighter, steadying yourself as you observed the scene before you. Nothing about this place had changed over the years you'd been coming here. The same broken windows, the same rust-eaten metal. The same faces that had been there for years. The same people engaging in the same behaviors.

The same people who would likely be doing these same things five years from now. Never growing or changing.

But you had changed.

Sitting there, gripping the steering wheel, watching people stumble and laugh their way inside, you couldn’t help but think:

Was this what you wanted?

Something inside you whispered that you didn’t belong even here anymore. It wasn’t the kind of change that came with a snap of fingers, but a slow, dawning realization.

For a long time, you believed this was to be your fate. Running from so many things that you got caught in thick sludge and began to sink. The only rope that kept your head above the surface was the safety in sameness. If too many things changed, what if you sank lower?

What if your head went under and you were left behind? What if you tried, only to drown because you were no longer capable of pulling yourself out?

Someone stumbled past your car, laughing too loudly. The sound jarred you from your thoughts, making you jump slightly in your seat. Blinking away the wetness in your eyes, you watched the person throw their arm around their companion, stumbling away towards the building.

What did you want?

Why did it feel like your only two options were to hide in obscurity in your bedroom, fading into nothing because you felt like it, or to be here because you felt the same? When had living become this binary choice between isolation and self-destruction?

"When did this all get so hard? Why is this so hard?" you whispered to your steering wheel, your voice cracking under the pressure of questions you avoided for years.

You knew with assurance that it had been when Tamarack and Qiu left. You'd convinced yourself that your loneliness was too heavy to share. To divulge your fears and how you were miserable and didn't know how to not be. And the longer you hid in obscurity, the more your mind told you they wouldn't want to hear at all.

And with that burden and hearing how their lives were without you, the more it solidified, the better it would be to be alone.

You didn't know how to be you, but different. You didn't know how to change without the fear of drowning. You were so scared of drowning that it felt like you forgot how to breathe altogether. You didn't know how to be better anymore, without it feeling like you were lying.

This was all you knew. Ending up on the shore, choking on water in a never-ending cycle of avoidance and sinking. Coming back up for air to descend again. A stubborn pattern that was causing slow decay.

And that made your chest burn hot, tears threatening to fall. Because you had to wonder if this was what you wanted, why did you keep glancing at your phone in the cupholder?

Why were you dreading that there'd be a text from your mom, Tamarack, or Qiu, but also desperately hoping there would be one? Why, after everything, did you still want to tell Qiu how much they meant to you?

Staring blankly, eyes red at the steering wheel, you understood. It wasn't the change that scared you so much as failure.

If you tried and failed, things would be too different to return to how they were. But you were already failing—failing Qiu, failing Tamarack, failing yourself. Staying here, sinking into old habits, wouldn’t save you. It would only solidify the loneliness you were so desperate to escape.

Even if it was a losing battle, even if Qiu still decided to forget Golden Grove and you, along with it, you still wanted to reach for this one thing that mattered when nothing else did anymore. Because they were worth it.

They were worth everything. And a part of you whispered that you were worth it too.

You knew you needed to jump that gap. You had to tell them. To say sorry for how you treated them. They may not listen, but it was this thing that you would reach for. It may be the last chance you get.

You wanted to change. You wanted to try.

With shaky hands, you turned the key in the ignition. The headlights flared to life, slicing through the night, and you pulled away from the lumber mill. You oddly felt like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind as the lumber mill faded in the dark. Like leaving a piece that no longer fit, even if there was an empty space now and you weren't sure how to fill it.

The road back felt longer than it should have. You took the back streets, giving yourself time to breathe, to gather the crumbs of courage before you faced the two people who mattered most.

That brought you here, standing in front of the most important people in your life, who you've hurt time and time again. Qiu rose from their chair, their arms crossed protectively over their chest, before they reached out, their hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. Their gaze had no anger, just a sad understanding that made your guilt even heavier.

"Maybe we should move where we can talk more?" Tamarack suggested in a hushed tone.

Her gaze had drifted up, where you could see the warm light from your mother's bedroom window peeking through her curtains. Qiu and you subtly nodded in agreement and stepped off the porch to find a more private place for the three of you.

Qiu's fort loomed ahead as your boots crunched through the snow. Somehow, in the dim light of the moon, the structure looked even more weathered and tired, not unlike yourself. Despite the storms it had gone through, it was still standing.

The three of you halted at the base, knowing you all wouldn't fit in the space anymore. This would be the scene dressing for your confession. Qiu's backyard sat in delicate silence, the kind that only comes about with the soundproofing of snow.

The wind wisped through the evergreen branches surrounding the yard. Your exhaled breaths produced white clouds in front of you. The moon now hung heavily in the sky, making everything shine.

Tamarack and Qiu waited expectantly, and you let out a shaky breath. With trembling hands clenched at your sides and a rolling stomach, you opened your mouth.

"I'm sorry," you began, the words feeling inadequate. You had no idea where to go from there. You felt sick, and everything else seemed trapped in your throat.

"You don't have to apologize," Qiu said quietly. "We're just worried about you."

The words made you tense. You had no idea what they must think of you — how pathetic and childish you must seem. But you knew you would regret it if you didn't speak your truth now, maybe for the rest of your life.

"I know, but I need to. And you both deserve to know why." You swallowed hard. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears. "I–" you paused, taking a breath. "Things got bad again after you both left," you explained. Tamarack and Qui's shoulders fell with concern.

They understood exactly what you meant.

"And I just…I've been having a really hard time with everything. That shouldn't be an excuse to be mean to you guys, though. You're my best friends, and you just want to help."

The words spilled out, and you stopped yourself before you started rambling. "I guess I just miss you both a ton and didn't want things to change. So I was kind acting like an ass. I'm really sorry…"

Your voice trailed off. It may not be a grade-A apology, but it was what you had to offer to both of them. It was genuine and as vulnerable as you could be right now. Suddenly, Tamarack's arms were hugging you tightly.

"I'm sorry, too!" she exclaimed, tears thick in her voice. Looking over her shoulder, you found Qiu's wide eyes, just as surprised as you felt.

"For what?" you both asked in unison. Tamarack released her grip on you to wipe her tears. The moonlight made her red, glassy eyes glisten like rubies.

"I lied to you both," she muttered, not meeting your gazes. My dad didn't actually have an academic convention. I told Granny that so she wouldn't guilt me into staying in Florida," she sniffled. Your expression softened on her. "I just wanted to come home because I really missed you, too."

The admittance made your eyes water just the same, and you found yourself leaning into give her another hug. Qiu joined the embrace with an amused but tender smile, completing the circle that had been the three of you against the world for so long. After a few moments of quiet comfort, you separated, each taking a step back to right yourselves.

"Can we do my sleepover now and forget about all the drama for now? I'm cold and tired." Tamarack admitted with a watery laugh. It was everything you loved about her — her resiliency (except when faced with the cold) and her ability to move on.

You and Qiu laughed and agreed, grateful for the change in atmosphere. Tamarack promptly turned on her heel and marched onwards, leaving new trail boot prints in the snow.

Suddenly, it was just you and Qiu. The moment you'd been craving and dreading. The wind rustled through the trees as you met each other's eyes. Qiu opened their mouth to say something, but closed it with uncertainty written on their face as their brows furrowed.

"Sorry–" you both said simultaneously.

"No, you don't have to be. You–" you tried to start, needing to spit the words out before you lost your spine.

"No, no, I completely get it. I was–" Qiu interrupted, overlapping your words.

You stepped closer, trying to explain, heart in your throat. "You don't understand, Qiu. I—"

"I do though, I was such an asshole and you–" They were still talking, still trying to take responsibility for something that was never their fault. It was just like them. You clenched your fists in subtle frustration, squeezed your eyes shut, and—

"I love you!"

The words burst from you like confetti in a popped balloon. Heavy silence cloaked before you. One could hear a pin drop in the fresh snow if they listened. The words were thrown down like a weight.

You swallowed, unable to keep the fresh tears from gathering in your eyes. Qiu stood motionless, their breath fogged in the cold air between you, mingling with yours in the space.

"I-I'm in love with you," you reaffirmed in a shaky tone. "I love you, Qiu, and it hurts so much because I know I can't keep you. You're so smart and bright. You're going to be something, and I'm not." You sniffed and forced yourself to meet their gaze, even if your words caught in the admission. The fear that had been your constant companion was finally spoken aloud. The words started to come out steadier, though, like a river flowing. You continued on.

"We'll look back at this moment, at all the moments, and we won't be able to sit in this fort anymore, watch movies till 3am, gaze at the stars together. We both know you're bigger than any of that." You paused, trying to rein in your racing thoughts.

"My stupid, pathetic love for this town, because of you being in it, could never and should never hold you here." Qiu stared at you, not moving to interrupt now. You took the opportunity to continue.

"But I'm…so scared," you murmured with a cracked voice. The more profound truth of it all flowed from your lips.

Not because you didn't want to be honest with Tamarack, but because Qiu of all people needed to hear this. You needed to hear it spoken aloud.

"So scared of the future and if this is all I'll ever be, and even more scared of the reality that I've accepted it. That everyone will have moved on and forgotten. That I don't have dreams, and if I did, I'm not even sure I have the strength to go after them."

Qiu's image blurred in your vision as stubborn tears grew in your eyes for the third time that night.

"But…what scares me the most is that one day, I'll look up into the night sky, and it'll mean nothing to me, because the one person who made it mean something, any of this, isn't around," you sniffed, wiping your nose with a bitter laugh at yourself.

"The worst of all is that it's all been my doing. My stupid nonchalance and indifference. My naïve expectation that the world will wait for me." You took a shuddering breath, trying not to think about what came next and to just run head-on into it. "So…if I'm to move on even a centimeter…I have to start here."

Qiu's expression was hard to read, but they gave you a nod of encouragement. Your hands balled at your sides to stop them from trembling. You stood on a thinning line of your current life and everything after. It was time to jump.

"Qiu, I love you. I've loved you forever. I'll likely love you forever." The words began to fall like an avalanche that had been long overdue.

"When you leave and go back to Baxter and all your new friends and new life, I will still love you. When you are so happy being there and you don't even think about me, I will still love you. And ten years from now, when you are telling a co-worker about an old friend you haven't talked to in a decade, I will still love you," your voice broke, unable to hide it now. You squeezed your eyes shut as if to shield yourself.

"I love you…I love you."

Your throat clenched as you repeated those three damning words like mantra. The backyard was silent. You cracked open an eye to find Qiu staring at you with a tender surprise.

"Do you… Do you really think I'm that happy? That I'm happier without you?" Qiu's voice was soft, as if they were making their own confession.

"I'm miserable."

They let out a sad laugh, like that was a joke. "You know that saying, 'The grass is always greener on the other side'? That's what it's been like. I was always chasing that, thinking I'd find what I was looking for if I just was able to get out of Golden Grove."

Qiu paused, and their face became serious, revealing rare uncertainty. "Go somewhere completely different, where no one knew who I was and I could be anyone I want." Qiu looked away, their jaw clenching. "But I got down there and got exactly what I wanted. No one knew who I was, and I ended up falling back into how I used to be — Trying to be what everyone else wanted, just so I wouldn't feel alone."

They fell silent, as if embarrassed by this confession. The realization that Qiu was struggling just as much as you were seemed impossible, yet the truth was written in how they looked at you with such exhaustion that they were trying to hide.

"Then, I'd talk with you and Tamarack on FaceTime and feel more like myself than I did in days. But when the call ended, all that stuff would come back into sharp focus, and I'd just be left feeling alone. I'd end up just thinking about you and home for hours." They looked sheepish, as if revealing this was admitting a great weakness.

"So, I dug my heels in, told myself I was being a baby. That's why I was always so busy…Why I agreed to stay during Christmas break, because they needed me, and I didn't know how to say no again." Qiu closed their eyes with a grimace in self-recrimination.

They'd never spoken so openly about their own feelings in front of you, and you could tell it was just as difficult for them to talk as it was for you. It struck you then that maybe you weren't the only one hiding behind a carefully constructed façade this whole time.

"I know I've been an awful friend." They shrugged, not meeting your gaze. "But part of me figured you were busy with your own stuff and the other part…" they hesitated.

"The other part knew if I hung onto you like that, I would have been on the first flight back home last month for fall break and wouldn't have gone back."

Your eyebrows rose at their words. Your breath caught like the wind around you seemed to have. The small flare of hope lit in your chest needed to be tamped down, lest it burn rampant.

"But?" You asked tentatively.

The air stilled between you two. Qiu looked at you, and suddenly they were moving towards you, their footsteps in the snow purposeful, determined, and so very. And then, in a split second, they had crossed that distance, that gap, their eyes searching yours, their breath mixing with yours in the cold winter air.

Your heart was racing, your mind was screaming for you to move, run, or do something, but you were frozen. Qiu's hand grabbed yours, their touch gentle and grounding.

"But…" they sighed. "What I really want to do, I can't do here." Qiu's face grew determined. "I can't stay here in Golden Grove. I have to do this, and that's going to be hard, but I'd rather do this and know that maybe…," they trailed off again. Qiu lifted their free hand to brush away a tear sliding down your cheek. The touch sent a shiver through you.

"Maybe what?" You asked in a shaky breath.

"Maybe…maybe you can be by my side…even if we're a part. Maybe I can have one of the only things that made me love Golden Grove…"

They gave a self-deprecating laugh, showing a more vulnerable Qiu you were familiar with. "I'm not very good at this. I've never been as great with my words as you have…not for this kind of stuff." Qiu said quietly, dipping their head and shaking it. After a moment, they raised their eyes back to yours, warm as melted chocolate.

"Do you remember when we sat one night and tried to count all the stars?" Qiu suddenly asked. The change of subject made you pause.

"Yeah," you answered quietly. "I said that for every ten we counted, we got a universe point that we could use for something to go right. You said it was dumb," you gave a short smile. Qiu chuckled in response to the memory.

"Yeah…well...I lied," they admitted. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I guess we're all a bunch of liars," you jested. Qiu nodded with their own laugh, brushing a thumb over your knuckle. Only then did you realize you were still holding hands.

"I count them all the time now…I've always counted them," they shrugged, trying to appear casual, but failed miserably.

Qiu took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't know how many points I have now, but when I was younger, I wanted to use them on us always being together. Then, I decided I'd want my 'universe luck points' to be used so that you liked me as much as I had liked you."

They spoke the words with a heavy, weighted tone, but their eyes shone. You could feel your heart stop, thoughts stuttering. You both had been young when you made up the game.

Something to do at night outside or on car rides when bored. You never knew Qiu took it so seriously.

"It was kind of stupid. I hadn't done anything for you to like me or for you to stay my friend. Being able to count wouldn't help…but still, I kept counting as the years went by and…" they trailed once more off before speaking again. "As I got older and we were with each other through everything, I changed how I wanted to cash in on my points."

A soft chuckle escaped them, self-conscious but genuine. "I hoped that changing the wording wouldn't break some universal law, and then it would never happen."

Qiu's hand squeezed yours like that contact gave them the confidence they needed.

"But I started counting, hoping you loved me as much as I loved you. Love me as much as I love you." You couldn't breathe, the world spun as the words settled. Their eyes were so warm, so sincere to you.

Qiu Lin loved you back.

They took another shaky breath before continuing, "I couldn't tell you, though, because at a certain point, I knew I was leaving, that I had to, and I knew you loved Golden Grove more than anything. I'd never be so selfish to ask or so arrogant to assume you would follow me."

Qiu's words were rushed and earnest, tumbling from their lips in a very Qiu-like way. They spoke as if they were afraid that if they stopped, they would never get the chance to say these things again, just like you.

Your heart was in your throat, your eyes wide and hopeful. You wanted to speak and say something, but the words wouldn't come. All you could do was listen and hope that Qiu understood.

"Then, I was gone. I was with Baxter. Everything was a whirlwind. I met Micah and the rest, and they were great. At first, honestly, it felt good to be somewhere where no one knew who I was." Qiu's brow furrowed, their gaze dropping momentarily to the snow between you.

"But then on those lonely nights, I would look up at the same night sky that I knew you probably were, but I couldn't see any of the stars. I never wanted to sit and count more stars in my entire life, and I couldn't anymore. So…" They squeezed your hand.

"I hope I have enough universal points now, because I know it'll cost a lot." They laughed softly. Qiu was then finally quiet, their words exhausted.

The two of you just stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime. Your mouth opened and closed multiple times, trying to find the right response.

"So…what now?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The question held your uncertainty. All your hope you could muster.

Qiu's gaze softened. "I–I don't know…I guess we figure out what we want, what we really, really want," they said gently.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their words, at the absurdity of this moment. Here you were, standing in the snow, under the same moon that had shone down on you all those years ago when you began counting stars, and somehow, impossibly, your deepest wish had come true.

"God, we're dumb, aren't we?" you said, shaking your head. "Here I thought I was losing my best friend and the person I love most."

"You're not the only one," Qiu admitted. They squeezed your hand in theirs, their warmth seeping into your skin.

"I thought I had too, and I think I would have if you didn't come here and tell me how you felt." They gave you a soft smile. "You're always braver than me in that regard, y'know." Qiu's eyes danced with amusement, with a fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I don't feel very brave," you admitted. The world around you was silent, as if giving you this moment of perfect understanding.

Qiu pulled you into a hug, wrapping their arms around you and holding you close like they had done so many times before, but now held a new significance. You breathed in their scent, the warmth of their body enveloping you.

This felt right, you thought as your body relaxed into the embrace. You didn't want to let go, you didn't want to lose this feeling ever.

"You're so much braver than you think," They murmured before pulling back to look at you. "I don't know what happens now. I don't know what's next, and I don't think any choices should be made tonight. But I know I want to figure it out with you."

They leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering momentarily before pulling away. The world around you remained quiet, continuing as if you both weren't just changed in the best way. Funny how that works.

"I know that I'm in love with you, and I have been since before I could really understand what that meant," Qiu whispered, their eyes locked onto yours, full of a deep and true love. "As long as we have that, we can figure out the rest, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the emotion tightening your throat. They released you with apparent reluctance, stepping back with a soft smile.

"We should probably get back to Tamarack before she comes looking for us."

"Yeah," you agreed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

The weight of everything that had happened in the past few hours settled heavily on your shoulders, but you felt lighter than you had in months, years even. A weight that hadn't crushed you, but had released you, in a sense.

You and Qiu turned back towards the Tamarack's house, walking side by side, your steps in the snow in sync. You could see the warm lighting illuminating from her home, knowing she was waiting for the two of you. For some reason, it filled you with a complete contentedness.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't dramatic declarations of following each other to the ends of the earth. Of never, ever being a part. No Hollywood clichés of grand gestures and swelling music.

You hadn't needed any of that. Not really. You just wanted your best friend beside you, however they could be. To know you loved them and that they loved you. It was far more valuable than any romantic fantasy.

You would figure it out, everything. You would count the stars and fight for a future you wanted. Moving forward, despite the fear of failure, as long as you were trying and had your people who made trying worth it. It wouldn't be easy or quick, but it would be worth it.

As you glanced at Qiu, whose eyes met yours with pinkened cheeks, you knew it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Epilogue: Four Months Later

The warm air that greeted you was stark as you stepped out of the Prism Vista International Airport. Your jacket already felt too heavy under the California spring sun.

It was still winter when you'd left Golden Grove, but in the 'everything is brown, dead, muddy, and waiting for spring' way. The hustle and bustle of arriving and departing travelers and the chaotic symphony of car horns made you feel suddenly out of place.

But then you heard your name called over the crowd of moving people. You squinted, shielding your eyes from the sun to see Qiu waving their arm to make themselves known. Their face broke into that smile that still made your heart flutter. Seeing them made you feel silly for being so emotional over a simple change of scenery.

As you crossed the lanes, weaving between idling cars, the nervousness building during your flight disappeared. Qiu greeted you with a hug, and you returned with equal fervor, breathing in their familiar scent and letting out a sigh of contentment.

The two of you had started dating after your confessions, which was surprising to exactly no one. Still in that new relationship, figuring it out kind of way. The progression of your romantic relationship slowed slightly due to the long distance.

That's what made this spring break trip so special. You were coming to see their world for the first time, leaving the confines and safety of Golden Grove.

As the two of you separated, you finally noticed the man who'd been standing next to Qiu. He was tall, wearing a tailored purple suit jacket and dark hair, and his face was vaguely familiar despite the years that had passed.

"Long time no see," they nodded, using a smooth voice that sounded like a dog whistle, though it was deeper now.

"Woah! Baxter?" You exclaimed in surprise. He gave a casual smile that had you smiling back.

"In the flesh." He confirmed with a smirk, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Qiu mentioned they needed assistance picking up a friend today, and I was more than happy to oblige them. I'm glad I did."

His eyes held a glint that made you wonder how much Qiu had been telling the former Boy's Club co-member about you. Your eyes bounced between the two, your smile growing wider.

"I'm glad you did too," you replied sincerely.

The rest of the day was a blur as Baxter chauffeured the two of you to Qiu's dorm, which they shared with three other students. Tomorrow, Tamarack would be joining you, but for now, you had time to settle in with your partner.

Meeting Micah had been nerve-wracking, but afterwards, you could see why Qiu had grown fast friends with them. Their kindness and comradery was infectious. Hard to dislike someone who was just so likable and you were thankful that Qiu had someone in Prism Vista they could depend on.

The ragtag group of friends dragged you all over Prism Vista, showing you the campus and city highlights and their favorite food spots. The city was very different than Golden Grove. It was louder, more vibrant, and filled with a diversity of people and experiences that made your hometown seem even smaller in comparison.

However, rather than feeling intimidated, you found yourself curious and interested in the world Qiu wanted to introduce you to.

By evening, the group had brought you to the beach. The sun was just beginning to set over the far-off horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. While the others were hanging out, looking for shells, you found a quiet spot to sit in the sand.

Digging your toes into cool grains, you let the setting sun warm your face. With your eyes closed, you focused on the sensations around you – the gentle crash of waves, the distant calls of seagulls, Qiu's friends laughing down the shoreline, and the salty air filling your lungs.

Even with eyes closed, you still knew it was Qiu as they sat beside you.

"Doing your mindful practice?" Qiu asked, breaking pleasantly through the meditation. Your eyes opened slowly, and you leaned your head on their shoulder.

"Yeah, my goal is to do it once a day while I'm here," you explained with a relaxed hum.

"I'm happy you're clicking with this therapist more than the last," they commented, their tone free of judgment.

"Yeah, me too," You agreed contentedly. You shut your eyes again, letting the feeling of the setting sun on your skin and the sand beneath your feet ground you. You listened to the waves lapping against the shore, the seagulls calling in the distance.

The last four months have surprised you. Finding the right therapist took time, with two false starts before landing on someone who truly understood your struggles. Qiu had been undertaking their own therapeutic journey as well. Together, you worked to understand yourselves better, communicate more openly, and stop hiding behind the masks you'd worn for so long.

It had not been pretty in some instances, and the road was far from done being traversed. There had been difficult conversations, moments of backsliding into old patterns, times when the distance between you felt insurmountable.

Qiu had stayed at Prism Vista for Christmas break, though they'd come home for Christmas Eve and Day, a compromise that had felt like progress for both of you. They were learning to say no and prioritize their needs rather than constantly bending to please others.

You were learning to reach out when the darkness crept in, to take small steps toward a future rather than remaining paralyzed by fear of failure. Now the idea of a future where you weren't hiding behind the safety net of being nonchalant and aloof, and where Qiu didn't feel the need to bend backwards for everyone, wasn't so daunting.

You'd even begun taking a few classes in person this semester, a choice that had allowed you to start making tentative friendships. Small steps, but significant nonetheless. You didn't feel so alone for the first time in a long time.

"I missed you," Qiu's voice broke the silence, their tone gentle and nostalgic.

"Missed you more," you admitted readily with a hum. "Long distance isn't so bad but…okay it really sucks, but at least we get to do stuff like this." You lifted your head from their shoulder to meet their gaze.

The waves lapped at the sand, and the warm air held the promise of summer. Golden hour had cast everything in a warm glow, including Qiu, their eyes sparkling affectionately.

"Yeah," Qiu agreed, their voice wistful.

Their hand reached down and tentatively grasped yours. The weight of it was familiar now and always comforting. You smiled softly, squeezing theirs in response. "I can't believe you and Tam are going to be here all week," they added.

"Right? Mom practically shoved me out the door this morning," you laughed, recalling the memory. "I'm pretty sure she's excited to have the house to herself for a little bit." Qiu chuckled along with you.

Your mom had been more than supportive of your decision to visit. In fact, she'd been your biggest cheerleader, helping you with the logistics and even offering to drive you to the airport. You'd been surprised by her enthusiasm, but grateful nonetheless.

It was a far cry from how things had been before and showed you how relationships could be repaired. The ocean breeze rustled through your hair as you both watched a surfer ride a wave off in the distance.

It felt surreal to you, like a movie scene. The colors were vibrant, the sun reflecting off the water like glitter under a spotlight. You felt Qiu's gaze on you, and your traitorous cheeks blushed.

"What?" you asked, feeling a little self-conscious. They shook their head, a soft smile pulling at the corners of their lips.

"Just happy you're here. And…really proud of you." You felt a swell of emotion in your chest, a mixture of happiness and pride.

Some days were still hard, but you reminded yourself that you had something and someone to fight for. When you messed up, you knew you'd be back on track in no time with the support of Qiu and Tamarack, but especially Qiu.

This person, this wonderful, amazing person who had stuck by you through it all, who loved you. It was almost dizzying. Sometimes you felt so much love for them and couldn't quite understand why you were so lucky.

Someone from behind shouted, pulling you out of your thoughts. Qiu's eyes were still on you, the warmth in their brown irises making your stomach flutter. Their cheeks held the slightest of dustings of a rosy tint.

At that moment, you knew that you wanted Qiu Lin beside you, no matter where you went or how your life looked in 20 or 50 years. The last sun's rays had sunk beneath the horizon, casting everything in a dusky pink glow. The sky was painted in vibrant pinks, purples, and blues, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment.

"Can I kiss you?" Qiu's words sent a shiver down your spine. This was still new and rare.

The two of you shared your first kiss under a snowy sky and a lam post outside their home on the night of Christmas. You were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up. However, seeing how red Qiu's face was gave you reassurance that they were feeling just the same then.

Now under a sun-kissed sky, you nodded, unable to suppress your smile. Qiu leaned in, their lips pressing against yours, gentle and tentative. It sent a spark of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but smile against their mouth, happiness impossible to contain.

You'd missed them, but to be here now, in California, under a watercolor sky— it felt right in a way you hadn't thought possible.

A teasing whistle and a chorus of "ooohs" erupted from behind you, causing you both to jump apart. Micah and Qiu's other friends stood watching the scene unfold, a few recording the moment.

"I'm gonna kill them," Qiu muttered under their breath, but the smirk told you they didn't mean it. Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't stop smiling, your joy too big to be ruined by a little embarrassment.

"Get a room! Not the public beach," a joking voice you knew to be Micah's voice rang out over the beach.

"You guys suck." You called out. It didn't have much bite to it.

"We'll be at the car waiting," another called out before their head of dark red disappeared from view down the beach path leading to the parking lot.

You sighed, knowing you needed to join, but not before stealing one more quick kiss from Qiu.

"Okay, we should go now," you said reluctantly.

"Yeah, let's head over to them," Qiu agreed, though their lingering gaze suggested they wanted to do anything but.

With a final glance at the breathtaking sunset and a warm smile, you both rose to your feet. You reached down to scoop a handful of sand. The grains fell between your fingers, and you watched, mesmerized as they fell back to the beach. It was another memory to tuck away and cherish, even though it was over.

Qiu stood at the top of the slope to the path, hand extended to you, their face relaxed and gazing at you fondly. You took their hand, squeezing tightly, not caring if your palm was sweaty, or maybe it was Qiu's. It was impossible to know.

Things still weren't perfect. Nothing ever is. You were all a bunch of dummies still, trying your best. Tamarack still worried too much, Qiu was too giving, and you were still stubbornly avoidant sometimes, but you'd learned so much in the months since that snowy night.

Grown in ways you hadn't thought possible in the short time. There would be hard days, mistakes, miscommunications, and things would not work out how you had wanted.

Still, in that moment, with the sunset painting a portrait and the sand between your toes, it didn't matter. What mattered was that you would work it out. You would try, and you would work with the rolling waves as best as you could.

And with people like Qiu in your life — people who saw you at your worst and still chose to love you and created spaces where you could always come home to yourself — you knew you could do it. You could face whatever came next.

Counting stars and collecting universe points along the way.

Big thanks to everyone who stuck around to read my first fully finished fanfic! I can't tell you how much your support and encouragement kept me going to complete this. It's been a very hard five months, so to be done had been a relief. I really hope you enjoyed this story and that I did it justice even with the huge gap in posting. Now on to other things in the Our Life fandom!

[doliacuddles]

IN SAFE HANDS, MY DEAR.

𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆:

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋, 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂�� 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀. 𝖠 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝗎𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌.

The music still echoes in your ears as the night unfolds in a delirium of fading lights. Your steps falter on the cold asphalt, with the remnants of an evening that promised to dazzle you but, in the end, has only left you with a torn dress and the bitter certainty of being alone amid the splendor. The heels are left behind, like a modern Cinderella whose happy ending never materialized.

The neon lights flicker, casting your silhouette in crimson and violet as you wander aimlessly. The night breeze slips through the fabric's tears, an echo of the desolation clinging to your chest. There are no princes or promises beneath this indifferent moon, only the memory of a sharp smile, of a pair of reddish eyes that gleamed with charming malice.

Ally has always been this way: a spectacle in herself, a hurricane of laughter and sharp words, an unshakable glow that never lets you glimpse the shadow she hides. You were warned, of course. That a creature like her doesn’t love, that her joy is a mask, that those who get too close only find the emptiness of an unspoken promise. But how can you resist? How can you not fall when her voice entangles your mind and her gestures dictate the rhythm of your heartbeat?

You stop. The city keeps spinning to its own rhythm while you remain at this intersection of doubts and longings. The headlights of a car illuminate your figure for a moment, revealing the trail of tears on your cheeks. You force yourself to breathe deeply, not to succumb to weakness, even though inside, everything screams her name.

And then, as if the night is answering your silent prayer, there she is. Appearing from the shadows, with her light and confident stride, with that eternal expression of one playing a game whose rules only she knows. Her eyes lock with yours, and for an instant, you feel the pull in your chest, the mix of fear and need. Her smile forms slowly, teasingly, as if she knows exactly what’s going through your mind.

There are no words, because there never are with her. Instead, a gloved hand reaches out to you, with a confidence so absolute that it’s impossible not to accept it. Her fingers close around yours firmly, with an unexpected warmth. It’s not a promise of love or comfort, but of something more: belonging, certainty in the midst of chaos.

You are hers. And this time, you’re not alone.

"Come, ma chère, you’re in good hands with me."

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

[ilovegyokeres]

Nights like this- Kenan Yildiz

Genre: Slow-burn romance, angst, fluff

Summary: You meet Kenan Yıldız by accident one winter night in Turin. What starts as a fleeting encounter slowly grows into something deeper as you cross paths again and again, navigating his rising football career, your own life struggles, and the uncertain line between admiration and something more. Over the course of a year—through winter, spring, summer, and fall—your relationship with Kenan changes in ways you never expected.

Winter in Turin was unforgiving that night. The wind cut through the streets like a blade, cold enough to sting your skin even through layers of fabric. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, exhaling a puff of mist into the air as you tried to shake off the frustration of missing the last tram. The streets were nearly empty, the late hour and bitter cold having driven most people indoors. Your phone’s battery was already in the red, and the idea of walking home through the freezing night was becoming less appealing with every passing second.

You sighed, kicking at a stray piece of ice on the sidewalk, when the hum of an engine caught your attention. A sleek, black car slowed as it approached, its headlights illuminating the frost-covered pavement. You didn’t think much of it until the passenger window rolled down, revealing a young man in the driver’s seat. He was wearing a dark hoodie, the fabric loose around his shoulders, and his face was partially shadowed by the dim streetlight. But even in the low light, you recognized him.

Kenan Yıldız.

The Juventus player. Rising star. The one whose name had been on every football analyst’s lips for months now.

Your body tensed instinctively, unsure if this was real or just some bizarre trick of exhaustion. Kenan glanced at you, then at the empty street ahead, before tilting his head slightly. "You look like you’re freezing," he said, his voice smooth but carrying the distinct lilt of someone who had spent years between countries, between cultures. "Need a ride?"

Your immediate instinct was to say no. It didn’t matter that he was famous, that he was a footballer you had watched on the screen countless times—he was still a stranger offering you a ride in the middle of the night. But the logical part of you knew that standing in the freezing cold for another hour wasn’t a great idea either.

Still, hesitation weighed on your tongue. "You don’t even know me," you finally said.

Kenan’s lips curled into a slight smirk, the kind that seemed almost second nature to him. "That’s true," he admitted. "But I figure you’re either a Juventus fan or just really unlucky to be out here alone at this hour. Either way, I don’t mind helping."

Something about the casual way he said it—like this wasn’t a big deal to him—made you pause. He didn’t seem pushy or impatient, just... offering. And maybe it was reckless, maybe you’d regret it later, but your fingers were already numb, and the idea of a warm car was too tempting to ignore.

You exhaled, finally nodding. "Okay. Just... don’t turn out to be a serial killer or something."

Kenan chuckled, unlocking the door. "No promises."

You slid into the passenger seat, the warmth hitting you instantly. As you buckled in, Kenan glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. "So, where am I taking you?"

You gave him your address, still half in disbelief that this was actually happening. Kenan didn’t question it, just nodded and pulled back onto the road. For a few moments, there was only silence, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it felt strangely normal.

"You don’t seem surprised to see me," Kenan remarked after a while, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before focusing back on the road.

You shrugged. "I mean, I recognized you. But I wasn’t expecting you to be out driving random strangers home in the middle of the night."

He let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well. I like driving at night. Less traffic, less noise." He glanced at you again, as if assessing something. "And I guess I saw you looking miserable on the sidewalk and figured I could do something about it."

You weren’t sure what to say to that. There was no arrogance in his tone, no hint that he expected anything in return. Just a simple statement of fact.

"Well... thanks," you said after a beat. "I appreciate it."

Kenan just nodded, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. "No problem."

The rest of the drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. When he finally pulled up in front of your building, you hesitated, unsure how to end this strange but oddly pleasant encounter.

Before you could overthink it, Kenan beat you to it. "See you around," he said simply, like it was inevitable.

You blinked. "Right. Sure."

You got out of the car, still feeling the lingering warmth against your skin as you watched him drive off. The whole thing felt surreal, like a fleeting moment you wouldn’t fully process until later.

But you had no idea that this wouldn’t be the last time you saw Kenan Yıldız. Not even close.

It had been months since that night, and you hadn’t expected to run into Kenan again. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

You were sitting in a small café, one of those places tucked away from the busy streets, when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. "Lost in the city again?"

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Kenan, standing at your table with a lazy smirk, his hair slightly tousled as if he had just come from training.

You stared for a moment, caught between disbelief and amusement. "I wasn’t lost the first time."

He chuckled. "Sure you weren’t." Without waiting for an invitation, he slid into the seat across from you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You do this often?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What, run into strangers I’ve given rides to?" He shrugged. "Not really. But maybe it’s a sign."

"A sign of what?"

Kenan leaned forward slightly, his gaze playful but unreadable. "That we should actually get to know each other."

And just like that, something shifted.

The easy banter turned into real conversations. The occasional texts turned into frequent ones. Over the weeks, the lines between chance encounters and something more blurred until Kenan became a part of your life in ways you hadn’t expected.

And maybe—just maybe—you were becoming a part of his too.

author’s note: pt2 ???🤔

[samsblades]

abstract (psychopomp) — sam winchester

cw :gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, idk just like a lot of feelings, animal death, some descriptions of injury, blood, crying, mention of character death, 1.9K words. listen to abstract (psychopomp) by hozier.

summary : sam realizes that he loves you as you hold a dying cat in your arms and cry over its loss.

your gasp startles sam. all had been quiet after the hunt, the cruel, clawed monster killed and the rumble of the impala filling the space in the silent air. the street is slick with fresh rain and clouds block the moon and stars.

“pull over,” you insist suddenly. sam glances over at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you’re very serious.

“what is it?” he asks, tearing his eyes from you to focus on the road. he’s already easing up on the gas.

“pull over, sam,” you repeat with more strength, voice imploring. he obliges, expression concerned as he swiftly brings the car to a stop on the side of the road. the tires screech from the effort because sam thinks something is horribly wrong. he’s worried about you, and that feeling only increases when you rush out from the car, leaving the door open as you run down the empty street back the way you came. it’s lit solely by a single flickering street lamp and the impala’s headlights.

“wait, hey, what are you–” he can’t get in a whole sentence before you’re gone. he puts the car in park and follows after you. greeted by the sight of you kneeling on the side of the road, back facing him, his frown deepens and he breaks into a jog. his long legs get him to your side in moments. you sit right underneath the orange light of the street lamp, your form illuminated by the gold of october leaves.

there’s something in your arms. something small and shaking and reflecting the light of the lamp. the smell of rain and grass is heady and delicate all at once.

your eyes are shadowed until you look up at him. then they’re shining with the threat of tears. sam crouches next to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

it’s a cat, its tabby brown fur marred with blood and these deep, horrible gashes. its blood stains the road and mixes with newly fallen rain. it shines in orange light above you. the cat’s eye glistens, and it’s still alive, barely, moving in your arms. clearly, the monster you just killed got to it, before you even arrived, and the poor creature’s been bleeding out slowly on the side of the road.

sam imagines that its body isn’t as warm in your arms as it should be. you hold it so gently, your hands so delicate and full of intention. with a pang to his heart, sam realizes that you just want to hold it as it passes. its eyes must’ve held fear as you gingerly lifted it into your arms. but that fear is gone as you softly, so softly, brush your fingers over the fur of its tiny head.

“shhh,” you hush sweetly, quietly. sam wonders how everything could be this silent. sam knows it would be wrong if it weren’t, though. “it’s okay. i’ve got you now. you’re alright.” your voice is lulling and murmuring and trembling.

it slows in your arms. it stills. sam puts a hand over yours and he feels where its fur is soft and silky, untainted by blood. the cat doesn’t breathe in again.

sam looks at your face, and as a tear rolls down your cheek, past the shadow over your eyes, it catches the light. his heart aches. it aches and it aches and it aches.

for the sweet, small creature, innocent and swept aside by unnatural claws. discarded and truly nothing more than collateral damage. its tiny paws and darling brown ears and its good-natured animal heart which all deserved nothing but soft and unconditional love. cat hearts are small, sam recalls. about fifteen times smaller than a human heart. he doesn’t remember where he read that.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s begun to rub small circles over your back. while he has a soul full of compassion for the pretty tabby cat, his heart aches for you the most.

you look so distraught. you’re still crying. there’s a dead animal in your arms.

the way that you hurt makes him feel it too, makes him desperate to fix it for you. he wonders if the tip of your nose is starting to get cold like it always does when it’s windy outside.

and there’s just… your humanity. all he can see in this moment is how it shines. how you’re better than anything he’s ever known. 

he thinks that sometimes it feels like the two of you choose what you’re doing. and then he realizes that it’s tearing at your hearts. he remembers that he’d choose anything but this if he could.

he knows you would too. you’d always choose a home and a purring brown tabby cat and house plants over this view; mangled bodies of the innocent, blood in the road, and weeds through the concrete. then again, it’s that humanity of yours that keeps you going. you can’t just leave it all, knowing you could save even one life with the knowledge that you have. you keep him going too.

sam wishes more than anything that this wasn’t it for you. sam knows better than anything now that he loves you. and this is the moment he realizes it. in orange light and a dark blue sky. in a haunting shadow and a soft brilliance. 

you are the soft brilliance. in all of your pain and weariness and honest devastation over the loss of a small animal you never knew. that’s what makes him love you, so fully and truly and with no room for a drop of doubt.

he’ll remember this view. it’s fucked up and horrible. it’s the most genuine display of unconditional love and humanity that he’s ever seen. it makes him wonder if someday he’ll be you, and you’ll be the cat, curled up and cold in his lap. the blood drains from his face and he almost starts to cry with you.

but he loves you too much now to go back. it’s strange, he’s loved you a long time. a long time, and now he finally knows it. and he loves all of you. his love for you just rushes through his veins, it overwhelms his senses, it multiplies the aching of his heart.

he sits all the way down, pressed close against you as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and draws you to his chest. the cold wet of rain that’s stuck between the grooves and bumps of the asphalt soaks up into the thick fabric of his jeans. his warm hand smooths up and down your arm. the other stays splayed over yours and the poor cat, like he can somehow protect you both. that hurts him because one of you is already gone.

sam doesn’t just let you take the time to mourn. he mourns with you. he lets go of the part of him that fights to push it all away, to pretend it isn’t there, to just play through the pain. instead, he lets himself feel it. the loss and the sadness and all the wishing that this never happened. that so many things never happened. you always bring sam back to himself.

eventually, sam realizes you need a bit of help with moving on. as soft and quiet as he can, he peels off his jacket to wrap the cat in. you shouldn’t have to keep staring at its bloody wounds. the cat shouldn’t have to be so cold. he lays the jacket on the ground in front of you.

“here,” he murmurs. you inhale sharply, like you’re coming out of a daze. when you look up at him, your eyes still shine. ever so gently, you place the poor thing over the fabric of his jacket. sam wraps it up, safe and warm for you. he tucks it carefully into one arm, silently and sadly marveling at how small it is. then he holds out his other hand for you.

he exhales softly through his lips when your trembling hand meets his. you look so tired, so worn as he pulls you to your feet. but a bit of burden has been lifted since he took the cat from your lap. there’s streaks of blood on your clothes, smothered over your gentle, calloused hands.

your hand doesn’t slip from his as you walk back to the car. you open the trunk and pull out salt, gasoline, and matches. sam locks the car and you walk out into the grass until you can barely see the road. the lump of sam’s jacket, with the cat’s sweet head and closed eyes framed by the fabric and the rest of its body hidden away, is set gently on the ground. it’s silent as the two of you build up a tiny pyre of sticks and dried leaves.

sam softly covers the animal’s face when he sets it over the sticks. the cat receives a proper hunter’s funeral. sam lights the match and sprinkles the salt. he doesn’t want you to have be the one to set it alight.

you sit on the dewy grass and watch, rather than stand so you can be closer to the small thing. sam sits beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. he’s a bit cold without his jacket, but he doesn’t care. the heat from the fire reaches him, though it’s mostly swallowed up by the wind.

he looks at you, quiet and subtle in his movements. your features are lit up by orange light for the second time tonight. the fire flickers in your eyes and the shadows cast a haunted look over your face.

sam is afraid of losing you. he’s terrified. and he’s still glad he met you. all of his love and terror is poured into you. he won’t tell you that he loves you today. he’s unlikely to tell you tomorrow. he wonders if he’ll tell you the next day, or the next month or year. he will tell you. and before that, he’ll show you.

every moment from now, he’s utterly dedicated to you. to your humanity, love, passion, kindness, and soft, immovable goodness. he’ll hold you close and kiss that goodness and make sure that no one can touch it. he’ll make sure you know that it is seen and loved and honored so that you don’t ever feel that you have to tuck it away for the sake of looking strong. really, your strength is undeniable.

maybe any other day, you’d take a long, deep breath, then stand and walk back to the car before the fire flickers out. but sam’s understanding and willingness to do all of this for you is so unwavering and true that you don’t do anything at all. instead, you let yourself be.

the night is so slow. the clouds in the sky shift and swirl and reveal the stars sometimes. the moon shines bright and clear in the a.m.s once the storm clouds clear. tonight’s fire is stubborn and long lasting. it still sparks and crackles as the sky ever so slowly lightens. deep and heavy navy turns to soft purples and baby blue. the straggling clouds are wispy and sweet cotton candy pink as the sun touches the horizon. sam notices the lingering tears in your eyes as you gaze up at the honeyed tenderness of the morning.

the earth from a distance. see how it shines.

[obsessedtomone]

The Lonely Hitchhiker - Shigaraki x Reader Oneshot

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader Word count: 3k Words Setting: Modern AU - No quirks Tags: Spooky scary skeletons send shivers down your spine... CW: my typos because it's late Divider Credits: frenchkisstheabyss

It’s been a while since you’ve last seen any sign of civilization. You’ve been driving for about two hours now, the sky turning darker by the minute, despite the sun still painting the skies an orange-pink in the horizon.

You really don’t mind. It’s quiet here, out in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of the desert. The roads are long and empty, and your favorite music is playing on the radio of your beat-up car. You’re surrounded by just yourself and the wilderness, and you really love it.

Time passes with you jamming to the music. The sun is completely gone now and the sky has become pitch black while the road ahead is illuminated by your headlights. When you glance to your side for a second, you see yourself reflected in the window. You look like shit and it makes you smile, because you’ve been traveling for the better part of today.

But then you blink, looking ahead, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest. There’s a man walking down the road, not too far ahead. When did he get there? You’ve only looked away for a second. You squint and slow down just enough to give him a once-over. Black hoodie, hands in pockets, hood up, tight jeans and red shoes. A hitchhiker. Without a backpack. In the middle of nowhere. There is no doubt in your mind that you should just drive past. You can’t risk it being a sting operation and then having yourself getting kidnapped or worse. The next person will probably pick him up. Or he can walk for a few more hours by himself. In the middle of nowhere. Where late-summer nights can get insanely cold. Goddamn it.

Before your conscience gets the better of you, you stop your car abruptly, jerking yourself forward in your seat. Then you hit reverse and slowly back up, cursing yourself for testing the universe.

"Need a ride?" You roll your window down and smile uneasily. He stops in his step and mechanically turns his head to you. A flicker of shock passes his red-colored eyes, before his demeanor drops back to plain disinterest. And then he stares, making you swallow dryly.

White hair, dry lips, red eyes, scars. Yeah, there is no way in hell this guy is not a serial killer. Your smile twitches. His eyes narrow.

 "Sure," he replies dryly, voice sending the deepest of chills down your spine and making your hands clamp down on the steering wheel. What the fuck? That almost sounded… ethereal. Ethereal? “Right. Well, hop in. Door’s unlocked.” There’s an edge to the tone of your voice, but the guy doesn’t pay you any mind. He walks around the car lethargically, before pulling the handle and getting into the passenger seat. A wave of cold air floods right in, and your stupid old radio decides to lose its signal at the same time as he pulls the door shut.

“It must be freezing outside,” you laugh awkwardly. “How’d you even make it this far?”

He doesn’t reply to you at all, opting to just lean back and look out the window. You stare at him dumbfounded, before you shake your head and chalk it up to traveling fatigue. It’s better that he’s disinterested in conversation than a creep, you suppose. The static of the radio bothers you though, so you reach to twist the nub in an attempt to find a new frequency, but give up halfway. Silence with Desert-Man it is.

 "Uh. Seatbelt?" you ask, pressing your back against your seat, waiting on him before you start driving again. You watch as he goes through the motions of glancing at you, lips parting before he lets out a scoff. Then he proceeds to look down at himself, giving you the impression he might tell you to actually go fuck yourself, but he just quietly grabs the seatbelt and clicks it in place.

“Listen, I know there’s no police car that would drive this far out of town, but safe is safe. I had three different animals jump in front of my car today, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to make a pit-stop at the hospital that’s like, three hours away from here. Okay?”

There’s no reply from him this time around either, so you nod your head to yourself once, shift gears and start driving. "Where were you headed?" you ask, because you never learn.

"Nowhere," he replies. You feel the air vibrating as he does, the tone of his voice resonating with the high-pitched sound of the air coming from a cracked window in the back. It sends more deep shivers down your spine, making every hair on your back stand and brush up against the fabric of your clothes uncomfortably. 

How is it even possible for a human to produce such a strange sound? It's quiet, but loud at the same time. Serious and solemn. Eerie. 

And what does he mean by ‘nowhere’? ‘Nowhere’, like nowhere special? The place you picked him up from is ways out of the last town. Did he walk this entire time? Did he hitchhike and get dumped?

There's even less you see on the sides of the road, headlights still illuminating the road in front, while the motor whirrs the way old cars do, and you… 

You feel uneasy.

“So... uh,” you begin yet another useless attempt at small-talk, but when you glance at him, you notice he closed his eyes. His eyelashes are long and his hair is sticking out from under his hood. You’re wondering if the road bumps are bothering him, as he’s leaning against the frame of the door. “You from around here?”

It’s dangerous to keep looking at him, but for some reason, you can’t take your eyes off of his face. How can you, when his skin shines so softly? Almost as if he’s made of moonlight. There’s a scar on his mouth and a little mole under his lips. He also looks really dehydrated, you realize. What if he’s been walking all day and too awkward to ask for some water?

Suddenly, his eyes open and he catches you staring… at his lips. Shit.

“Eyes on the road,” he mumbles, and your head immediately snaps forward, face flushing red. You are not a careless driver. What’s gotten into you?

There’s silence for a second and you’re doing your best to keep your eyes glued to the road. But because you can’t help yourself, you clear your throat and then speak once more: “Must’ve been walking for a while, to get this far out of town.”

Another beat of silence.

"Something like that."

"Hold on." You reach for the unopened bottle on the side of your door and offer it to him. "Here. What's your name?"

It happens all too soon.

You're looking at him and he’s looking at you, and suddenly, from the corner of your eyes, you spot something on the road. You drop the bottle and your foot slams the brake—hard.

"Holy shit!" you yell. "Is that—Is that a person?!" 

The stranger ignores you, but you don't have time for that, because you're already unbuckling your belt.

"I wouldn't do that," he finally rasps, the moment your hand touches the door handle.

"What?"

You look at him and watch as his mouth curls into a chilling, honest-to-god terrifying smirk. 

But that's not the worst part. The worst part is the way his eyes seem to… glow, from behind his pale bangs.

You shake your head slowly at first, still reaching a trembling hand to the handle. Then you swing it open, stumbling one foot after the other to get the hell out of your car. The engine is still running, but that doesn’t matter, because you just saw a human corpse lying on the road and—

Where’s the body?

That can’t be right. You didn’t see it clearly earlier, but you could’ve sworn there was a mangled pile of human right in front of your car.

Shaky steps take you forward and you wrap your arms around yourself while you glance on all sides of the road. Nothing. 

Maybe it wasn’t a corpse. Maybe it wasn’t even human. It might have been an animal, now that you’re thinking about it. You check the sides, there’s tall grass. Could it have moved while the guy distracted you earlier? It’s not even cold outside, yet your teeth are chattering. This doesn’t make sense either. Your AC is busted. 

And in the first place, animal or not, why the hell didn't he exit freaking the car with you? Isn't the normal human reaction to help? At the very least join you? 

You’re biting your lip. It splits and you taste copper. 

Is he too tired to care? Or…

Or there really was nothing on the road and now he thinks you're fucking nuts. Holy shit. You were worried about him being a weirdo, but here you are, standing in the middle of the road and contemplating your existence. 

You shake your head briefly, turning to walk the walk of shame back to the car and when you look—

He's not in his seat anymore. 

He's not… anywhere, really. You begin circling around the car in a panic, shouting after him, but you can only hear the rustling of grass in return.

Holy shit, you are absolutely losing it. Where did he walk off to? You did not hear the opening of the passenger seat, nor the slam. It makes an obnoxious squeak when it’s opened. Not even the running engine can dampen it. What the fuck is actually happening to you? The radio is playing again, you hear it muffled from inside .

You circle around the car again, look into his seat through the window. Look in the back in case he’s playing a prank or plans to jump you. You even kneel to look under the car. Nothing. No one.

In the distance, beyond the tall grass, you feel something watching you. And that’s your cue to fuck off. If he decided he’d rather walk, then let him fucking walk. You’re out of here.

Defeated, you hurry back to your side and open the door, glancing at the empty space next to you. Your whole body is trembling when you sit down. There's no way you can keep driving like this, you realize. You need to call someone. Who to call halfway across the country, though? Anyone, you think. Literally—anyone.

Your shaky fingertips pull out your phone from your pocket. The screen lights up and you lean sideways to grab the door, slamming it closed and your phone shuts off instantaneously. You were halfway through your contacts list when it did.

"What the—No freaking way..." you whisper, pressing the power button harder before you resort to yelling, "Fuck! Come on! This can't be happening right now…"

Battery was at thirty seven percent. Why would it turn off? Why?!

"You shouldn't have done that." 

Your phone clatters against the floor. The radio stopped playing music a while ago, and instead there's static once again. It's cold. Colder than outside. 

"Now they know too."

You fearfully turn your head and raise your eyes to look at him. He's just staring at you, red eyes still glowing softly.

It dawns on you fast, then. That this must be a prank. It's slow at first, the way your face breaks into a goofy smile. Then you snort, little chuckles escaping you. Yeah, you're fucking losing it. You half-watch as his mouth forms into a scowl, too distracted by the ridiculousness of the situation. But then you look back to the road, and that delirious laughter of yours leaves you immediately.

 "What did I say?" His grit-laden voice sort of echoes in space, snapping you out of it. "Eyes. On. The road."

You're swallowing hard. He's not kidding. There are infinite pairs of eyes. Shadowy disfigured creatures straight out of a horror movie, staring at you. You release the hand brake and floor it.

"Wh-What the hell are those?" you ask, voice cracking, driving past countless faceless faces, swerving around the ones crawling on the floor. The guy ignores you, and you go ahead and yell, "Tell me! What are they? What’s going on?!"

"If you stop driving, you'll die," he says so simply, and your fear finally catches up with your adrenaline, tears spilling out of your eyes and making it hard to see. 

He grabs your wheel and helps you steer it, barely missing one of the creatures that you were about to hit.

"What do I do?" you ask, hands cramping tightly against the leather wheel. “Please.”

"Just focus."

"Will we make it?"

"Not if you keep talking. I’m serious. Focus," he repeats more sternly through clenched teeth.

You listen to him and keep driving for a good while, stressed and praying that the nameless shadows would stop sprouting out of thin air. Or that you'd find civilization once again. You eventually take a turn, and because your phone is dead somewhere on the floor, you have no idea where you’re going. The road turns into gravel and eventually there’s trees. The mangled shadows don’t let up, but you’re too stressed to give in and cry, or even think about anything but not getting caught by the mountains of evil.

You’re driving into a forest now, if the density of the trees is something to go by.

"Shit!" you whisper, having to slow down before your old car gives up on you on the harsh road. The guy remains awfully quiet.

But it doesn’t take your car breaking down for you to come to a stop. 

There's a massive wall of the things in front. Behind. Around too. They’re everywhere.

You can’t make a turn anymore.

"It's too late," he says flatly, devoid of any emotion. 

But you don't give up, putting the shift in reverse and—

Bang!

The back of your car hits something. One of the shadows. You stare in disbelief as hundreds of them start closing in on you. Against your better judgment, you place your trembling hand on his arm and look at him pleadingly. You hear countless bumps against the car. You don’t dare to look at them, lest you get swallowed by misery.

"I don't... I don't want to die." The guy looks at you and scoffs. Your fingers burrow into the material of his shirt. "Please. Please."

There's hands and eyes all over the windows, and you feel the pressure of their weight even before they crash in on you. 

Until something cracks.

"Please!" you scream, closing your eyes.

"You’re so annoying,” he says, and unlike the harsh tone of his words, his voice is incredibly gentle with you. “Open your mouth."

"What?"

He clicks his tongue and sneers at you, putting a cold hand against your cheek while unbuckling his seat belt using his other one.

"Now," he warns, and another crack appears in the windshield. You whimper and part your shaky lips. He doesn't wait for you and forces his icy thumb inside. "You have to make a contract with me. Or else you'll die. My terms." 

You’ll die? What about him? Won’t he die too?

He glances at the windshield before looking back at you, and you catch the sight of the things. They want you. Only you. And you can’t help it, you’re sobbing now, eyes screwed shut. So naturally—reluctantly—you nod. Because there’s this certain feeling in your flesh, in the depth of your bones, that if you don’t agree with him now, you’ll face a fate worse than death itself. Icier than his gentle, calloused hand against your face.

When you open your eyes, a grin too wide to be just happy splits on his face and he brushes your cheek, pressing his thumb against your tongue harder—until you feel it. Needles stab through every single cell of your being painfully, piercing through your tongue, through your soul. Like fire, it burns. It feels like you’re swallowing hot coal and he…He stares at you blissfully, glowing red eyes almost rolling back behind his lids from whatever pleasure he’s feeling. It looks like as much as you’re hurting, he’s feeling the absolute opposite. Then he releases you and then you cough.

The window on your side breaks. Hands grab your shoulders and wrap around your neck, trying to pull you to them. You’re screaming now, holding onto him, and he has you. He doesn’t let them take you away, wrapping his own arm around you and pressing you flat into his body. The grip of the hands immediately disappears.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers low into your ear, and you snap them shut. You feel his entire body tense up as he’s pushing you back, like he’s reaching to grab something. Then he releases you and you almost start crying again, eyes still closed while you hear the telltale sound of him opening the passenger door.

Moments later, the restless slamming and dragging of hundreds of hands and bodies against every surface of your car comes to a stop. You hear him entering the car again.

"You can look now. Don't freak out."

And you finally open your eyes again. Albeit slowly.

There’s nothing anymore, save for darkness, the rustling of the trees and one of two working headlights illuminating the path ahead. Two of your windows are missing. You swallow empty and look at him. 

He was leaning his head against the headrest while you did a weather check, eventually bothered enough by the staring to open his eyes and glance at you.

"What did you… do?" you ask, feeling as if it’s somebody else asking. 

"Tch. Isn't it obvious?" He rolls his eyes, and you notice that his irises aren’t glowing anymore.

"Are we—are we safe?"

 His head drops sideways and he looks at you in disbelief. "What do you think?"

"Stop being a smartass!" you shout, and he sighs.

"Yes! We're safe, you fucking moron! It's your fault you even got yourself into this in the first place! You think I'd go through all that trouble—" He stops mid-sentence, but you're too distracted by the sight of... Rot? Decay? Piles of dead bodies or their remnants, together with any greenery around, completely turning into dust. "If you're gonna freak out now—"

"What are you?" you ask, voice too small, still feeling the burn against your tongue. It’s a mark. You’re sure of it. You can feel it.

Now you’re staring at him wide-eyed and afraid. He’s not human, you belatedly realize.

His mouth snaps shut and then he smiles, red eyes narrowed into slits, sending a familiar shiver down your spine.

"Me?" he asks, slowly reaching to hold you.

Oddly enough, his hand isn’t cold anymore. 

“I’m yours now.”

[nan-not-found]

"Only One Who Knows"

Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader | Inspired by "Only One" by Yellowcard Word Count: 996

Ah, my first Fumikage x Reader fic. I was nervous to write this as he's only become a recent fascination. I never really paid attention to his character but I ended up seeing some Fumikage/You posts and I see the appeal now 😂

I hope I wrote him ok 😵

Credit for the art below goes to LUCASOAK.

The first time you walked away from Tokoyami, it wasn’t storming — not on the outside, at least. The air was still, thick with the tension of words left unsaid.

You’d made your choice. Or at least, that’s what you told him.

And he, being who he was, didn’t fight it. Didn’t beg. Didn’t raise his voice. He just looked at you with those gold eyes — unreadable and endless — and said:

“If this is what your heart commands, then I will not be its adversary.”

But you saw the flicker in his shadow. The way Dark Shadow shrank in silence behind him.

The way Tokoyami’s hands stayed clenched long after you were gone.

Now, months later, he stood across from you again — under a sky split by twilight and streetlamps, the city humming low in the background.

A mission gone wrong. A team pulled back together.

Fate, or cruelty, or maybe just the universe’s way of laughing.

You were both older. Stronger. And still trying to pretend the past hadn’t burned through both of you.

His voice was low. Controlled. “You did well today.”

You nodded. “So did you. I saw you take out that Nomu with one shot.”

He shrugged. “Dark Shadow and I have... evolved. As have you.”

You looked away, clutching your arm where the bandage was still fresh. “Yeah. I guess I had to.”

A silence fell between you. Heavy. Familiar.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you said, finally.

“I always knew I would,” he replied, without hesitation.

You looked at him. Really looked.

He was taller now, feathers sleeker, his frame toned. But it was the same Tokoyami — shrouded in discipline, carved out of restraint. And yet, underneath it all, the same fragile ache still flickered.

“You never hated me for leaving?”

He didn’t flinch. “No. But I hated how quiet it got after you did.”

You swallowed hard. “Me too.”

You ended up walking side by side down an empty alley, past shuttered shops and flickering signs. Neither of you said much. And yet, your footsteps fell into rhythm as naturally as they always had.

“Why’d you come back?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Wasn’t really a choice. I saw the reports. Knew people I cared about were in danger.”

He glanced sideways. “Still care, then.”

You stopped walking.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

You turned toward him, hands balled into fists. “You think it was easy for me to leave? You think I wanted to forget the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t a walking weapon?”

Tokoyami didn’t raise his voice. He never did. But when he looked at you, it was like the shadows themselves leaned closer.

“I don’t think anything. I only feel what remains.”

You stepped closer before you could stop yourself.

“I thought leaving would protect you. From me. From what I was becoming.”

“I didn’t need protection,” he said quietly. “I needed you.”

Your breath caught.

“I was breaking,” you whispered. “You couldn’t see it, but I was falling apart.”

“I saw,” he said. “I just wasn’t fast enough to catch you.”

A car passed behind you, washing everything in its headlights — briefly illuminating the way he looked at you, like he’d been saving the last piece of you in his soul this whole time.

“I tried to forget you,” you admitted, voice shaking. “I trained until I couldn’t walk. Took every mission they threw at me. I stopped listening to the songs we used to play. I deleted the pictures. Burned the letters.”

He stepped forward slowly, like you were a ghost he wasn’t sure would stay.

“But I still dream of you,” you whispered. “I still hear your voice when I close my eyes.”

His hand lifted — hesitated — then gently touched your cheek.

“I have loved you in silence,” he said, “and I would do it again, if that’s the only way I can keep you.”

Your eyes stung. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to come back,” you breathed. “And I don’t deserve to.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Then let me be selfish.”

Your tears slipped silently down your cheeks. “It’s not that simple.”

Tokoyami exhaled, voice rougher than before. “It never was.”

You ended up in an old rooftop garden — one of the few quiet places still untouched by the city’s noise. It smelled like moss and iron and summer rain. You sat side by side on the ledge, legs dangling, the city stretching wide beneath your feet.

“Do you remember the night we first kissed?” you asked.

He nodded. “Under the winter moon. You were crying.”

You laughed, a dry, shaky sound. “God. I was so afraid. Of how much I felt for you.”

“I wasn’t,” he said. “I knew.”

You glanced at him. “How?”

He looked up at the stars. “Because every time you were near me, the shadows quieted.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“I don’t know how to fix us,” you said. “I don’t even know if I can.”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable but unmistakably him.

“Then don’t fix it,” he said. “Just start from where we left off.”

You bit your lip. “You’d really take me back? After everything?”

He touched your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You were never gone from me.”

And then — finally, after all the time and pain and silence — he kissed you.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that burned. It was the kind that healed. The kind that said, you are still the only one, and you always will be.

When he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper.

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t vanish again. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s messy.”

You nodded, eyes still closed. “I won’t run. Not anymore.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, the shadows stopped flickering.

End.

Masterlist

[bexxa12]

STUDIO SECRETS|| JJ x Y/N

{Summary}

Jungkook, a musical prodigy whose voice captivates millions, finds himself drawn into a world beyond the spotlight. His path crosses with the enigmatic daughter of his esteemed producer, a woman whose secrets run as deep as the melodies he crafts.

CHAPTER 2

WC: 2,128

As they packed up the studio, the conversation turned to the future. 

"Maybe one day, she'll join me here," Mr. Kim said with a wistful smile. "We could run this place together, make a real difference in the industry." 

Jungkook couldn't help but picture a young, feisty version of Mr. Kim striding through the studio, her hair in a messy bun, arguing about the finer points of a contract with the same fervor she'd use in a courtroom.

Her passion for justice was palpable even in the way he recounted her stories. Jungkook was captivated by the image of this young woman who mirrored her father's determination in a different arena. 

It was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the music world they inhabited, but it was a reminder that their work, too, had the power to influence and shape lives.

They walked out into the night, the city's neon lights bouncing off the wet pavement after an unexpected shower. 

The air was clean and cool, a stark contrast to the stuffy confines of the studio. Jungkook took a deep breath, feeling the tension of the day's work melt away.

"Congratulations again," Jungkook said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Your daughter must be over the moon." Mr. Kim's eyes crinkled with a proud smile. 

"Oh, she is," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "But she's already planning her next move, the relentless little thing. She's going to be a force in the courtroom, mark my words."

Jungkook nodded, feeling a strange kinship with the young woman he'd never met. 

"It's incredible," he said. "To be that focused, that driven."

Mr. Kim's smile grew. "It is," he agreed. "But it's not all seriousness with her. She's got a wicked sense of humour. You'd like her, I think." The comment lingered in the air, and Jungkook found himself hoping it was true. 

It was a strange thought, considering he had never met her, but the idea of sharing a laugh with the daughter of the man who had become so pivotal in his career was oddly comforting.

With that, they climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against their skin. As Mr. Kim pulled out of the parking lot, Jungkook felt a strange sense of peace. 

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the music of their creation playing softly in the background. It was a stark contrast to the quiet intensity of the studio, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

Mr. Kim's eyes remained focused on the road ahead, his hands steady on the steering wheel. Jungkook knew that despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the producer's mind was racing with thoughts of the next steps for their project. 

Yet, there was a serene calmness to him tonight, a subtle glow of pride that seemed to emanate from within.

The car pulled up to Jungkook's apartment building, the headlights illuminating the familiar facade. 

"Thank you," Jungkook said, his voice sincere.

Mr. Kim waved him off. "You're welcome. Now, get some rest," he said firmly. "We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Jungkook stepped out of the car, the cool evening air washing over him. He took a moment to appreciate the quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city. As he watched Mr. Kim drive away, he felt a strange sense of loneliness, despite the buzz of excitement from their successful session. 

Jungkook climbed the stairs to his apartment, the sound of his shoes against the cold marble echoing in the empty hallway. 

When he stepped inside, the stark contrast of the sleek black and white interior hit him like a wave of cold water. The space was meticulously clean, a stark reflection of his own disciplined nature.

The living room was dominated by a black grand piano, its glossy surface reflecting the muted glow of the city lights outside. 

The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, framing the urban jungle like a living painting. 

Jungkook's apartment was a sanctuary, a place where he could shed the weight of his public persona and be himself. The monochromatic scheme was deliberate, a canvas for his vibrant thoughts and emotions to play out without the distraction of colour.

He tossed his jacket over the back of a sleek white couch, the material whispering against the leather. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the minimalist design that mirrored his own meticulous nature. 

The only splash of colour came from the framed posters of his favourite jazz musicians adorning the walls, their soulful eyes seeming to follow him wherever he went.

Jungkook made his way to the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The shower was his sanctuary, a place where he could wash away the grime of the day and let the hot water soothe his weary muscles.

As the steam began to fill the room, Jungkook let out a sigh of contentment. The warmth of the water and the quiet solitude of his apartment were a balm to his soul. 

He could feel the stress of the day melting away, the lyrics of their newest track playing in his head like a lullaby. His body grew heavier with each passing moment, the call of his bed growing stronger.

When he emerged from the shower, the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and mint, the remnants of his favourite shower gel clinging to his skin. He padded over to the bedroom, the plush carpet cool under his bare feet. 

His bed beckoned, the crisp white sheets a promise of rest and rejuvenation. He slipped into the soft embrace of the pillows, the gentle hum of the city outside acting as a soothing lullaby.

He thought of Mr. Kim's stories about Y/N, her spirit and drive resonating with him in a way that transcended the walls of their creative haven. 

It was a strange comfort to know that even someone as successful and stoic as his mentor faced challenges in balancing career and family.

With a yawn that stretched his jaw, Jungkook reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow over the room. 

He scrolled through his messages, his eyes lingering on a group chat with his bandmates, filled with their typical banter and updates on their own solo projects.

The room was silent except for the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows, a soothing backdrop to his racing thoughts. He set his phone down and closed his eyes, the melody of their latest creation playing on a loop in his mind.

The next day, Jungkook woke early, the lyrics of their song still playing in his head. He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of well-worn jeans and a plain black T-shirt that hugged his toned frame. 

The anticipation of returning to the studio was a palpable force, pushing him out the door and into the damp embrace of the city streets. The rain had cleared, leaving a freshness to the air that mirrored the excitement in his chest.

As he stepped into the studio, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint buzz of electronics greeted him. Mr. Kim was already there, his eyes bright with the same eagerness as Jungkook's.

Mr. Kim looked up from his mixing board, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ready to tackle the verses today?" he asked.

Jungkook nodded, his heart racing. The studio felt like a second home now, a place where he could shed his celebrity skin and just be an artist. 

They spent the morning refining the verses, each line a delicate dance between Mr. Kim's sharp instincts and Jungkook's raw emotion. It was a symphony of give and take, a tapestry of sound that grew more intricate with every passing hour.

The producer's eyes never left the sound waves on his screen as Jungkook laid down his vocals, his voice a rich blend of grit and soul that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the booth. 

The intensity in the room was palpable, the air thick with the potential of a masterpiece in the making.

But as the final notes of the chorus faded, Mr. Kim's phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Without looking up from his work, he reached over to silence it, but Jungkook's hand stopped him mid-motion. 

"Take it," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "It might be important."

Mr. Kim stepped out of the control room, the door clicking shut behind him. Jungkook watched him go, curiosity gnawing at the edges of his mind. 

Alone in the booth, Jungkook decided to take a break. He slipped off his headphones, letting the silence wash over him. 

The sudden absence of music was deafening. He stepped out into the main studio area and took a seat on the worn leather couch, the coolness of the leather a stark contrast to the warmth of the booth. 

The space was bathed in the soft glow of the mixing lights, casting shadows on the floor like a dance of spirits.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, echoing down the hallway. Jungkook's heart skipped a beat. He didn't recognize the gait, and it was too early for anyone else to be in the studio.

The door opened, and Mr. Kim entered, a figure following closely behind. Jungkook's curiosity grew as the newcomer stepped into the light.

Jungkook couldn't help but admire the young woman who walked into the studio, her heels clicked rhythmically against the floor, a beat that seemed to sync with the silent melody of the studio. 

Jungkook took in her attire, the tailored skirt that whispered around her legs as she moved, and the sharp lines of her blazer that spoke of her unwavering determination.

A stark contrast to the casual clothes and sneakers he was used to seeing in the creative space.

"Jungkook," Mr. Kim said, turning to Jungkook, "This is my daughter, Y/N." Jungkook rose from the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He had heard so much about her, but seeing her in person was like watching a character from Mr. Kim's stories come to life. 

She was beautiful, with a sharp jawline and piercing gaze that could cut through the densest fog of doubt.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand. Jungkook took it, feeling a jolt of energy pass between them. Her grip was firm, a promise of the strength that Mr. Kim had hinted at in his anecdotes. 

"Dad's told me a lot about the music you're making here."

Jungkook nodded, unable to find his voice. Jungkook felt his cheeks warm slightly, his grip on her hand tightening for a brief moment before releasing. 

"I've heard a lot about you, too. Your father's proud of your law school achievements." he managed to reply, his voice steady despite the nerves that danced in his stomach.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of her studies, and she couldn't help but share her latest victory in the mock court. 

"It's intense," she said with a small laugh, "but I wouldn't trade it for the world." Jungkook nodded, intrigued by her passion.

Mr. Kim's smile grew wider as he watched his daughter's excitement. 

"But she can't stay for long," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "Her law firm's expecting her."

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with determination. 

"I just wanted to drop by and see you," she said, turning to her father. "But I do have to leave for my work placement soon. The partner I'm working with is a real stickler for punctuality."

Jungkook studied her as she spoke, noticing the way her eyes danced when she talked, the way her hands gestured animatedly as she spoke. There was a fierce passion in her that was impossible to ignore. It was easy to see why Mr. Kim was so proud of her.

As she turned to leave, she paused and looked at Jungkook. "Your voice," she said, "it's incredible. I've heard snippets of what you're working on here, and it's going to change the industry."

Jungkook felt his chest tighten with emotion. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. "Your support means a lot."

Y/N's smile was genuine, her gaze holding his for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to her father. "I've got to go, Dad," she said, her voice a mix of regret and excitement.

Mr. Kim nodded, his eyes reflecting the same warmth as his daughter's. 

"Drive safe," he said, giving her a quick hug. Jungkook watched as she grabbed her bag, the fabric of her blazer whispering against her skirt. She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and looked back at Jungkook. 

"See you around," she said, her voice filled with the promise of future encounters.

[pollunam]

Flaws. Part 12.

Anders sat beside me, our fingers intertwined. The road led us forward, winding and turning. When I speak of the road, I speak of fate, and when I speak of fate, I speak of the man with whom I fear nothing, Anders Lassen, the man I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting twice.

Soon, I dozed off, resting my head on his shoulder. While I slept, the car carried us away from the city, the day turned into late evening, and the world prepared for slumber. Winter was approaching, the air grew colder, and the nights darker. The car’s yellow headlights illuminated the bumpy road, casting strips of light ahead. The landscapes outside the window changed, occasionally revealing distant villages and small towns, while the wind howled, singing a lullaby. Listening to it, one by one, people extinguished the lights in their windows and threw off their fluffy blankets from their beds. Here, life wasn’t in a hurry, its flow could be physically felt when you stopped running, imitating the locals who leisurely wandered to buy fresh vegetables on Sundays. The war left its marks on London, but it hadn’t reached this place, this land guarded by mythical knights, whose images immediately appeared in my mind when a distant, old castle showed up in the window.

“Y/N, wake up,” Lassen whispered when the car stopped.

I looked at him questioningly, then out the window, but in the darkness, I couldn’t make out anything.

“What? Where are we?” My sleepy mind didn’t want to think, my body ached and felt sluggish, still immersed in sleep.

“We’ve arrived, let’s go,” he stepped out of the car and opened the door for me. The driver kindly retrieved the suitcases and exchanged a few words with Anders. I stood aside, the wind biting through to my bones, but I was happy to feel the wild, frosty freshness shaking off the remnants of sleep.

Anders easily grabbed our suitcases.

“Shall we?”

I nodded, hiding my hands in my pockets. We walked along a path leading to a little stone house, part of which was covered in ivy, like a soft green blanket, hiding it from misfortune. Its tendrils fell in shaggy curls onto the long window. Lassen moved one brick in the fence and took out the keys.

“Welcome,” he said, placing the bags by the door as he walked into the dark room. “Don’t take off your coat, it’s pretty cold. I’ll start a fire.”

The switch clicked, and the hallway light buzzed. The cozy cottage was decorated in flawless English style, with paintings on the white walls depicting hounds hunting or silhouetted against the blue sea, and colorful, slightly worn rugs covered the floor. I followed Anders, admiring every detail of the interior. The focal point of the living room was the fireplace, with flames hiding behind iron grates. A basket of firewood stood next to it. In front of the fire, a sofa was casually draped with a blanket, and an empty cup rested on a table. Closer to the warmth, a chair and ottoman were positioned, with an open book lying on the ottoman, cover facing up. It seemed as though someone had just been there, only to vanish into thin air. Along one wall stretched a dark wooden cabinet, its shelves filled with books of all shapes and sizes, from large and thick to small and thin.

“Whose house is this, Anders?”

He turned to me, raising an eyebrow over his glasses.

“Mine, why do you ask?”

It seemed my face expressed every possible version of surprise.

“Really?”

“Don’t tell me you thought I brought you to someone else’s house, tracking down the owner and figuring out where he hides his keys?”

“No, not exactly,” I stressed the last word. “I just didn’t expect it to look like this.”

“And what did you expect?” He turned back to the fireplace, striking a match.

I walked around the room, continuing to examine the little details that offered glimpses into his life. At the entrance to the room, there was a small table with an empty vase on high legs, and at the end of the hallway, a staircase and another doorway, probably leading to the kitchen.

“Something less refined, more restrained, maybe like a cave or a hut with only a bed.”

Anders finally got the fire going, and the logs crackled pleasantly, filling the house with warmth and life.

“So, a cave?” He rubbed his hands together, shaking off wood chips. “Do you like this version better, or should we go look for a cave?”

“I like it very much. What’s next?”

Anders smiled with satisfaction, “Let’s take a look.”

As I thought, the next room was the dining room. A wooden table, a couple of chairs, and glass doors leading to the backyard, shrouded in the night’s mist. Dark brown beams ran across the ceiling, harmonizing beautifully with the white walls. Then, with pride, Anders led me to the second floor. The stairs creaked slightly, as though whistling a tune.

The bedroom was spacious, with windows partially hidden by ivy, just like in the hallway, as though the house shyly peered out at passersby. The bed was perfectly made, with carved lamps hanging above it, and a wardrobe stood by the entrance. Anders pulled a wool sweater from it and handed it to me.

“It’ll definitely be warmer than your dress.”

I gladly pulled on the huge sweater, which scratched my skin slightly.

The house had a unique atmosphere of warmth and calm, as if it were inhabited by a kind gardener or a family that always sat down for dinner together at the same time, never breaking their harmony. I looked again at Anders, who was watching me closely as I slowly walked around the room, touching the blanket, the window handles, and the heavy curtains.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like seeing you here and watching the surprise on your face.”

“I really am surprised, but it’s very nice. You have such a wonderful place.”

“Actually, this house once belonged to my parents, but they decided to return to Denmark, so they left it to me.”

“They did a wonderful job here.”

Anders nodded softly, “Thanks. I think we should warm up and have some tea, what do you say?”

“Yes, that sounds good.”

Suddenly, I felt a sense of awkwardness bordering on embarrassment. Perhaps because we hadn’t seen each other in so long, perhaps because it had been a very long and emotional day, or maybe it was just that without the scrutiny of eyes on the ship, the quiet home setting felt too sudden and unfamiliar.

Anders set the kettle on and leaned against the kitchen counter, while I sat, stubbornly avoiding looking at him, choosing instead to gaze out into the dark window, wondering how beautiful it would look in the morning. The silence was broken by the kettle’s whistle, and a steaming cup appeared before me, releasing a sweet herbal aroma. Anders sat across from me, still observing every flutter of my lashes.

“Don’t you want to say something?”

“Like what?”

“You look like a scared kitten,” his voice was soft.

“I’m just tired.”

He didn’t believe me, of course, but didn’t ask any questions. The house was still cold, and I warmed my frozen fingers on the cup, stupidly staring into my tea, as though playing a staring game with it. Where was the confident, fearless Y/N I once knew? Why was she acting like such a coward now, when she was needed most? Though, I understood perfectly well that, in part, it was even funny to experience the tingling sensations of those butterflies when everything felt so new and desirable, afraid to scare them away with any movement.

Anders stood up, the chair scraping loudly across the floor, and extended his hand to me.

“Let’s sit by the fire, it’ll be warmer.”

I probably felt feverish from his touch, but I was happy to go along with it—the soft sofa and the fire. Anders tossed another log onto the fire, then sat beside me, pulling the blanket over us. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders, leaning his head back against the sofa. I listened to his steady breathing and the crackling of the fire, which sent a faint warmth over my legs. Somewhere, a clock ticked.

“Are you warm enough?”

I shivered at his words, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was close to it, but you’re trembling, and you obviously don’t plan on falling asleep.”

“I haven’t finished my tea yet.”

He laughed, “Well, don’t rush.”

Anders got up and disappeared behind the doorframe. I sighed, realizing that the fever I had caught when meeting him would never end. Maybe I had really lost my mind, maybe this was all a dream, and I had drunk too much ale and was now delirious. Lassen returned, holding several blankets and pillows.

“Are you done with the tea?”

Honestly, I had forgotten about the tea.

“Are you kicking me out onto the floor because I once kicked you out?”

“Only if you want to sleep on the floor.”

While Anders worked on setting up a sleeping area, I went to the bathroom, grabbing my things. The mirror reflected a new me, one I didn’t entirely recognize, but I definitely liked her. Changing into pajamas, I came downstairs and stopped by the living room, peeking inside. Anders was humming to himself while closing the window curtains, and I didn’t notice when I smiled, feeling an incredible surge of tenderness.

“All good?” he asked, not turning around, then turned and his face relaxed.

“Yes,” I answered.

A room separated us, but it didn’t feel like much of a distance when we met halfway, diving into a kiss. It wasn’t greedy or demanding—it was long-awaited and tender. Anders’ hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me into an endless oblivion, in which he whispered, “I’ve waited so long for you,” and as he said it, it was the softest.

“If someone had told me that the girl who would step aboard the ship would come back home with me, I would have started this mission many years ago,” Anders caressed my cheek, never breaking eye contact. His words carried me to the stars, flipping everything upside down, making me hold my breath. They were like a sunrise and the most colorful sunset. They healed everything.

“If someone had told me that, one day, I would step off the ship with you, I wouldn’t have believed them, and even now, I don’t always believe it’s true.”

Anders hugged me, stroking my hair. “It’s all true, and it doesn’t matter when it happened.”

The light had been turned off, filling the room with non-existent ghosts, where the shapes of the furniture looked like monsters rising from the underworld. I snuggled up to the already-sleeping Anders, suddenly feeling a rush of energy, resting my head on his chest. The fire hadn’t died down yet, pleasantly filling the room with warmth, and the heavy blankets acted as a fortress, keeping the treacherous cold at bay, as if it were a master of the house. Still, I couldn’t fall asleep, watching the flames dance slowly, dying down in the stone arches. Suddenly, there was a loud noise, like something large had fallen to the floor. I stood up cautiously, scanning the room—ghosts would be the last thing I needed as a neighbor. Maybe it was the floor creaking from the heat, though the sound seemed different. I threw off the blanket, standing up in a way not to wake Anders, but I hadn’t realized that he slept lightly like a predator. Lassen jerked awake, opening his eyes.

“What happened?”

“There was a strange noise, didn’t you hear it?”

“No.” He reached for his glasses.

It was amazing how easily he woke up from my movements but hadn’t heard the noise that shook the whole house.

“Where exactly?”

“I don’t know. Something fell somewhere.”

Anders rubbed his eyes, putting on his glasses, his face pleading for rest, but he heroically got up.

“I’ll go check.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you,” I jumped up after him, wrapping the blanket around myself like a cocoon. There were several reasons for this: First, it was warm. Second, it felt safe. Of course, being near Anders wasn’t so scary, but the blanket rule was inviolable. Anders raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“So the sound was that scary?”

I just nodded, following him. He checked the first floor and found nothing, which was a good sign, and then continued on. Now the stairs creaked like an old witch. I held my breath, tiptoeing to peer around Lassen’s back, but the bedroom was also fine—no signs of supernatural interference. I felt ashamed for making such a fuss, but it seemed Anders didn’t mind; he kept searching for the source of the sound.

“Has this happened before?”

“I can’t remember.” He rubbed his face with his hand, staring out the window as the night slowly began to fade. Its retreat was hard to notice, as if it wasn’t retreating at all, but waiting for its turn, slowly leaving behind pale light.

Then, again, that noise rang out, this time less distinct and somewhat metallic. I jumped onto the bed, nearly shrieking in terror. Lassen laughed loudly, as though he hadn’t wanted to sleep a few minutes ago. He folded in half, causing my boiling anger to flare up.

“What’s so funny, damn it?”

Lassen almost gasped for air, “I didn’t know you were afraid of something. Let me remind you, you almost broke someone’s hand in the bar, killed people more than once, not accidentally, not even screaming when they took a bullet out of you.”

“It’s completely different, and I’m not afraid of that even now.”

“Well, yeah, not being afraid of something at all is sacrilege,” he smiled.

“Could you, if it’s not too much trouble, please find out what it is?” I asked sarcastically.

“It’s outside, no need to worry.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe an animal wandered in, got scared of something, and started causing a ruckus.”

I squinted at his completely unfazed face.

“Okay, then. Fine.” I jumped off the bed, padding downstairs, eager to get back to my blanket fortress.

Anders lay back down next to me.

“You’re so funny,” he smiled, kissing me on the nose. “Now, sleep,” he blissfully murmured, closing his eyes.

[h50europe]

MERTHUR - Innuendo

Merlin leaned his head against the window pane, lost in thought. The passing cars and headlights failed to distract him from the vivid memories that played out in his mind. The haunting image of Arthur dying in his arms played on repeat, as though he was reliving the tragic moment over and over again. Despite the passing of time, the memory remained fresh and raw, leaving Merlin lost in a sea of emotions.

Merlin had been trying to persuade himself that the feelings he and Arthur had shared were nothing more than a passing fancy. However, despite his efforts, it felt like his heart had been torn out of his chest or his soul had been ripped to shreds. The pain was real, leaving him wondering if their connection had been something more profound than he had allowed himself to believe.

Merlin was at the end of his rope, utterly exhausted and unable to tell when he had last slept. He closed his eyes and gave in to temptation. He knew he would be hurt even more if he got involved in this mind game. Only, by now, he had become addicted to that bittersweet pain that burned hot through his veins.

Merlin's heart skipped a beat as he heard Arthur's voice. He slowly opened his eyes only to find himself in his old sanctuary - Cauldron Manor. He had created this place in his mind to feel close to Arthur. The memories of their time together flooded his mind, and for a moment, he felt like Arthur was right there with him. It was a bittersweet feeling, but Merlin couldn't help but smile as he reminisced about the good old days.

"Don't you think you've had enough today?" asked his friend as Merlin poured himself another glass of whiskey.

"Nope, I don't think so. I wish this stuff would get me drunk for longer than just a few hours," Merlin replied, embittered. He emptied the glass in one gulp and slammed it on the sideboard.

"Must have been one of those days," Arthur stated dryly.

Merlin turned around, "When isn't it one of those days? Huh?"

"Sorry, I was trying to show compassion."

"Compassion... Don't you think it's a little too late for that? If you had a shred of compassion, you wouldn't have left me alone then. You wouldn't have died in my arms." Merlin's eyes began to glow. He was seething with anger. The kind of anger you feel when you know something inevitable is coming, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Merlin had turned away from Arthur and closed his eyes. A tear forced its way through his long lashes and ran down his cheek. The anger had given way to a pain that threatened to tear him apart. His chin quivered.

"Then why in the world aren't you just coming back to me, Arthur. Find your way out of the darkness. Let me be your beacon," Merlin whispered.

"I would have done it long ago if it were that easy. But I don't know how."

"God, Arthur, it drives me crazy not knowing where you are or what I can do to reach you."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that. Merlin, you know how much I love you, right?"

"Of course I do. I didn't mean to..." Merlin's voice failed. He waved his hand, and Arthur disappeared.

It had been a foolish idea. Today he was in a very dark place, and instead of feeling relieved that Arthur had been around, even if it was an illusion, it almost destroyed him.

"I'm yours, Arthur. Until the end of time," Merlin whispered as another tear ran down his cheek. "I wished you were much more than just a figment of my imagination."

Cauldron Manor vanished, and Merlin was back in the reality of the shabby motel room, thunder rumbling in the distance. As he gazed out the window, the sky grew darker, and lightning flashed across the horizon, illuminating the now empty streets. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, but he didn't know what. The storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil he felt inside, and he wondered how much longer he could stand being alone with his thoughts.

It was still raining hours after Merlin had fallen into a fitful sleep fully dressed when lightning struck near a cave that had once been a druid's lair. A short time later, a hand emerged from the muddy ground.

Merlin snapped his eyes open, "Arthur!"

He didn't know if this had been a dream or a vision. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred. Merlin ventured into the rain on a hunch, not caring about getting wet. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he spotted someone in a red shirt approaching him. The man seemed familiar, and the closer he got, the faster Merlin's heart raced. He whispered to himself, "No, no, it can't be true. Arthur? Is that really you?"

[fairys-dream]

"Logan and Creed escape, and talk about their happily-ever-after…"

its done. im moving on to other things. wow....1st fanfic complete.....after what? 3 months? goddamn i need to practice this shit. i have soooo many more i wanna write v_v;

read it under the cut too if u want⤵️⤵️⤵️

Leaving no room for risk, they rushed out to where Creed’s truck was parked. 

Creed and Silverfox were the only members allowed vehicles. Silverfox being less cared for by the program, and Creed obviously not having a reason to leave as long as they kept paying him and ignored his…violent ‘mishaps’. 

Creed opted for hiding out in one of his more casual homes, about a 3 hour drive out, which just so happened to be an old hunting lodge in the woods. 

3 hours of listening to various homemade cassette playlists in Creed's stereo, 3 hours of Logan having an iron grip on Creed's hand as he fought off his inner paranoia that they were already being trailed, and 3 hours of Creed hoping he was making the right move.

The combined stress in the air faded as they drove up a discrete rocky driveway, Logan smiling at the sight of the lodge coming into view, illuminated by the truck's headlights.

“This actually yer’s or are we trespassin’ on some poor guy's shack?”

“It’s mine, didn’t kill nobody fer it either. Didn’t wanna give away the location of any of my good places so soon.” 

They got out of the truck, Logan following Creed as he went to unlock the front door. 

“An’ I prefer to keep my work an’ home separate. They’ll be on our tail soon, but since their best tracker ain’t around to help, I reckon that’ll give us some time.”

Logan smirked.

“Ya sure ‘ya didn’t pick this place cuz of me?”

Creed paused. 

“...Was just the closest.”

…

Sniff sniff-

“ Partly cuz of you. I ain’t lyin’ though, it is the closest.”  

----------------------------

Inside, it was clear the lodge was meant for one person. 

The living room and kitchen were conjoined, the other 2 rooms being the bedroom and bathroom. Furniture was the bare minimum; couch, coffee table, television, a couple shelves. The walls had a couple posters, and several sets of antlers (presumably hunted by Creed's own hand).

Logan sat down on the couch as Creed started looking through the cupboards in the kitchen.

“Fuck, haven’t stocked up here in awhile…you good with beef soup?” 

“Mm, sure. I’ll eat whatever.”

“‘Kay, comin’ up.” 

Creed lit the stove and emptied the cans into two pots, leaving them to heat up as he went to join Logan on the couch. 

A large arm wrapped around the smaller feral’s waist, pulling him flush against Creed’s side, Creed’s head laying atop his. 

The blonde nuzzled his face against Logan’s mess of dark hair, breathing in deep.

“Yer hair always smells so good …nice an’ soft too…”

Logan chuckled. 

“Were ‘ya always this affectionate an’ cuddly?”

Creed continued rubbing his face against the top of the other's head, beginning to purr. 

“Ya make me like this. Make me soft . Yer a dangerous guy t’ be around.”

“Yeah, I bet I’m a real threat to yer tough psychopath reputation, bub.” 

Logan reached a hand up to scratch Creed's cheek, Creed leaning into the touch. 

“What’ll they think when they find out the scariest soldier in the force likes t’ purr like a big ol’ kittycat? ”

“Ain’t doin’ nothin’. This cat’ll kill ‘em ‘fore the thought leaves their mouth.” 

“Hm, cute. ”

Creed gave a sharp nip to Logan’s fingers, snickering as the other flinched and pulled his hand away. 

As Logan traced over the bite mark with his non-bitten fingers, he felt his mind slightly sober up from being lost in this whole…Creed thing. 

He felt something , he just didn’t know why. Only a couple of days ago he was dead set on Silverfox, where’d all this suddenly emerge from?

And why did he already know it?

“...hmm…”

“Hm? What?”

“Just…so…we were…we were a thing before.”

“Yeah. You rememberin’ any o’ it?”

“No, nothin’ yet, just…familiar.”

“Well, that’s at least somethin’, I guess.” 

Fer the best. Lots o’ shit I pulled that he’s probably better off not rememberin’…

----------------------------

They ate their midnight dinners directly outta the pot. 

"We're gonna have to go back fer Fox an’ North at some point"

Shit. 

Creed was hoping he wouldn't make that realization. Not so soon anyway.

"Naw, they love it there."

"They don’t . They hated it as much as we did."

"I loved it."

"Alright, as much as me, then. ‘Ya didn't get the same ‘special treatment’, so ‘ya don’t get a say in this."

"Cuz I didn't need it. I kick ass and don’t need t' be brainwashed into doin’ it."

" Hrmm ..."

"C’mon, let yerself relax fer a bit, yer a free man!"

"Creed-"

"Yeah, I know shorty, I know."

Creed gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, giving him a sincere look. 

"We'll get ‘em out later, promise."

Sniff Sniff....

"...truthin'."

" Barely. But, if it'll help ya sleep at night,”

Logan snorted.

Hah, it’d take it a damn miracle fer somethin’ to help me sleep at night…

“-I'll see what I can do. Don't put yer money on me bein’ able t' pull this shit off twice, though.”

Creed nervously poked at the bits of beef and vegetables in his pot with his fork. 

“Don’t even know if we’re really pullin’ it off once yet..."

Logan could sense the stress the other was feeling. Creed was always the plan guy, and he was damn good at improvising on the spot if they needed it, so he trusted in his ability to figure something out. 

Still, they were under a lot more pressure than usual. This wasn’t just the usual live or die situation, this was the rest of their lives. 

Logan put his now empty pot on the coffee table in front of them. 

“Let’s not worry about all that tonight then. I’m sure they’ll manage without us fer at least, what, couple ‘o days?”

“Couple ‘o days now, huh?”

“Could use a real vacation.”

Creed’s pot joined Logan’s, Creed wiping his mouth with his hand, then wiping his hand onto his trousers.

“Maybe you could think up a way t’ spend it this time.” 

“Hm. I might have some stuff in mind.” 

Logan leans forward and presses his lips against the other's, kissing him slow and deep.

Creed hums contently, Logan's tongue helping to calm his nerves.

After they pull apart, Logan smiles up at him. 

Creed affectionately bumps his shoulder against Logan's, returning the smile. 

And it's the most comforting sight in the world.

[mrsparkjimin18]

Part 1: Threads of Twilight

The rain beats relentlessly against the windshield, a steady thrum of drops blending with the low hum of the engine as the car speeds down a dark country road. Pressing your tiny hand against the window, you watch as the world blurs in streaks of silver. The headlights of the car cut through the darkness on the long and desolate road, but the storm outside appears to swallow everything beyond their reach.

Your parents' voices are muffled by the rain, yet what you do hear sounds urgent, tense. Their words seem jumbled, and you can’t quite make them out, but you sense the fear in their voices. Your mother’s voice trembles, like she’s trying to tell you something important, but you don’t understand. Your father’s voice is rising in a sharp, yet comfortable tone all at once, trying to reassure her and keep the panic at bay.

“Angel,” your mother says, but her voice quivers, as if she’s speaking more to herself than to you. “It’s…it’s important. You have to understand. Your name is more than just that, more than just a name, it’s who you are. You’re destined–”

“Don’t,” your father interrupts, his tone pleading, desperate. “She’s too young to understand. We don’t have time. We need to–”

Suddenly a flash of bright light pierces through the windshield. You squint, but the light isn’t just bright – it distorts the world around you, twisting everything like a fevered dream. The edges of the windshield seem to melt, and the familiar hum of the engine becomes muffled, as though the very air itself is thickening. Then, just as your body tenses in anticipation of the crash, everything around you becomes a sea of white. Your parents’ voices continue, but their words drown in the noise of your panic.

And then….everything goes white.

So bright, so blinding, it takes away everything – the sound, the sight, the air. You attempt to squeeze your eyes shut, but it makes no difference. You’re being consumed by the light, almost drowning in it.

When you finally open your eyes, the world has stopped. The car is gone, the storm has passed, and everything feels…wrong. Rapidly blinking, you try clearing the fog from your mind, but then through the haze, you see them.

Your parents. Their bodies lie motionless on the road, covered with white sheets. The flash of ambulance lights flicker in the dark, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The world feels distant, unreal, as if you’re watching it from far away.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your hands tremble, and strangers surround you while gently lifting you into the ambulance. You don’t understand, not yet, and maybe you never will. You just can’t comprehend the situation, but you can feel it – a deep, emptiness within you, like you’ve lost something important.

The world outside fades as you’re taken further away from everything you knew, leaving only unanswered questions behind. Who were you before this? And why did the light take everything you had in the world away from you?

The city is alive with the usual hum – a harmony of car horns, distant chatter, and the occasional barking dog. Yet, tonight, the air feels heavier, as if the world is holding its breath. You sit on the chaise lounge in your window, cradling a lukewarm cup of tea, staring out at the streetlights illuminating golden circles onto the pavement below. The tea cooled quite a while ago, but you didn't notice. Your mind is elsewhere, stuck on something intangible.

The name Angel has followed you as long as you can remember.It was given to you by  your parents, a name that seemed to reflect the way you’ve always tried to live – too good for the world around you. Over the years, it became less of a name and more of an identity, even your friends added their own interpretations – kind, helpful, selfless, and radiant. But lately, the name feels strange, almost like a mask. You’ve begun to wonder if it’s really who you are, or someone you’ve only been attempting to portray.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a shift in your reflection on the window – not your face, but the ghostly outline of something just beyond. You flinch and turn quickly, scanning the room but see nothing. 

“Not again,” you murmur to yourself, shaking off the uneasy feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and this isn't the first time.

When you were young the shadows appeared harmless, but now they seem to shift in ways they shouldn’t – elongating and twisting as if they’re alive, slipping just out of sight when you notice them. Sometimes when you walk down the street, you see other things more clearly than you ever have – faces in the crowd that are too perfect, too sharp, their edges seem to ripple as if their true form is just out of reach.

Before you have a moment to dwell on it, a sharp knock interrupts the quiet. You frown, setting your mug down. It’s late, definitely too late for a visitor, but the second knock is firmer, insistent even.

When you open the door, the man standing there is not like any other you’ve ever seen before. His face, with sharp lines and captivating angles, has a jawline that could cut glass like a diamond, and dark eyes that appear to see right through you. He’s dressed impeccably in black, with an air of elegance not befitting to your humble doorstep. Briefly, you wonder if he’s lost or if you’re merely dreaming – until his lips form into a small, knowing smile.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, his voice smooth and low, like a melody you don’t realize you’ve heard before. “We need to talk.”

You freeze, your heart nearly pounding through your chest. Everything about him feels off – like he’s an actor playing a role that’s a little too perfect, too rehearsed. A chill slithers down your spine, the kind that sets your teeth on edge, as if your body knows something your mind refuses to accept. The hairs on your arm stand, yet you still can’t bring yourself to close the door. His gaze holds you captive, unnervingly familiar, as though he’s peering into your soul and searching for something you’re not sure of.

You’ve seen him before, a small voice whispers, though you don’t know where or how.

“Y-you…must have the wrong person,” your tone is uncertain yet defensive.

He steps closer, uninvited, and your instincts scream for you to slam the door shut, but you remain frozen in place. Something about him – his gaze, his presence – feels magnetic. Dangerous even.

“Oh…I’m not mistaken,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet laced with shadow. “You’re exactly who I’m looking for.”

You hesitate, attempting to sound braver than you feel, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays you. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what it is you want, but I think you should leave.”

You back away and begin to close the door, but he jams the door with his foot.

For a moment, he studies you, his expression unreadable before his lips twitch into a smirk. “You don’t know what’s coming…don’t fight it, Angel, you’ll need me…”

Before you can reply, threaten to call the police, or pretend like you’re calling for your imaginary boyfriend to come to the door, he turns on his heel and disappears down the street leaving you breathless and admittedly unsettled.

That night, your dreams are vivid and unfamiliar. You find yourself in a dark hole of oblivion, an endless space, and the man is there calling your name and reaching his hand out for yours. There’s something surprisingly intoxicating about the way he looks at you – like he knows every secret you’ve kept buried in your entire existence. 

When you wake, your heart is pounding, and his face lingers in your mind as though the dream wasn’t merely just a dream at all.

“Get a grip,” you mutter, shaking off the feeling as you prepare for the day ahead. No matter how hard you try, the image of him refuses to fade.

In the days that follow, life resumes its normal rhythm – work, errands, the occasional phone call from a friend – it’s all painfully normal. You begin to convince yourself that the man, whomever he may be, was just another strange, passing encounter, though the memory of his presence lingers like a shadow at the edge of your subconscious – until the day it doesn’t.

Late one evening after dinner and drinks with a friend, as you walk home the streets are unusually quiet, when you sense a presence. It’s not him – this is colder, heavier, like you’re being smothered. You make a rushed glance over your shoulder, only for a split second, and you swear you see a figure surrounded by light, its face obscured by the blinding glow.

“Angel,” a voice calls – sharp, commanding. A chill slams deeply to your bones, freezing you where you stand. The air feels heavier, pressing against your chest, and your skin prickles like unseen hands are reaching for you. You don’t dare turn around or even respond. Fear consumes you and your instinct to run kicks in. But the figure is fast, too fast, and just when you think you’ll be caught, a sudden rush of heat floods the air around you. 

“You?” is all you can utter as he appears out of nowhere, creating a barrier between you and your pursuer.

The figure lunges toward the man from the other night, and he meets him with impossible speed – one moment he’s in front of you and the next he’s a blur, only a crack of wind following his movements. You see a flash of something, maybe claws, raking the air, but he blocks them effortlessly, his expression eerily calm. You stumble back, the sound of their blows reverberating like thunder in your chest.

He turns to you, his gaze steady, his expression more serious than the first encounter you had with him. Terror churns in your stomach, but it’s tangled with something else – relief? Anger? You can’t decide whether to thank him or scream at him, with a trembling voice you manage to ask, “What the hell was that?!”

“There’s no time to explain, right now we need to go. You’re not safe anymore, Angel. They know what you are.”

“What I am?” you echo, your voice shaky. “What does that even mean? Who are they? Who are you? What is going on?”

“I’m Hoseok and it’s a long story,” he says, his tone softer now. “But if you want to survive, I need you to trust me and believe that you’re part of something much bigger than you could ever imagine. That's exactly why I need your help.”

You should run. Every rational fiber of your being screamed for you to run, but something about Hoseok’s gaze – a flicker of desperation – rooted you in place. You’d spent years avoiding trouble, but this time, it felt wrong to just walk away. Why?

Despite the whirlwind of emotions – fear, anger, disbelief – you nod. Because as much as you want to deny everything you’ve witnessed, deep down, you know he’s telling the truth. And something about him, against every logical cell in your brain, makes you want to believe.

The walk back to your apartment is silent and the tension between you and Hoseok is thick enough to slice with a knife. The streets feel darker than usual and the distant hum of the city does little to calm your frayed nerves. Hoseok walks in stride beside you, his pace measured all while his sharp eyes continuously scan the surroundings.

When you finally reach your door, your hand trembles on the doorknob, your pulse roaring in your ears. Every fiber of your being tells you to run inside and slam the door in his face, and yet, you don’t…you can’t. Hoseok stands there, his eyes dark and unreadable, yet unrelenting. The silence stretches between you like a taut, frayed string, until it snaps and you finally step aside.

“Just for a minute,” you murmur, though you don’t even believe it yourself.

He sweeps past you, moving with eerie precision as he checks the darkest corners of your place. Once he’s satisfied, he nods, giving you the ‘all clear’.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” you mutter, shutting the door behind you.

A ghost of a smile curling on his lips as he turns to you, “Habit.”

The word lingers in the air, deceptively simple, yet it holds so much meaning – or maybe nothing at all. You want to push, demand an explanation, but holding your tongue seems to be all you can do. Instead, you watch him as he lowers himself into the corner of your sofa, his gaze sharp and continuously searching.

“So…what now?” you ask cautiously, folding your arms.

“Now?” Hoseok sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “Now you and I will coexist for a while.” His voice remains calm, like this is the most natural thing in the world. The words settle over you like a boulder, heavy and impossible to ignore. You want to scoff, call him insane, but deep down, something about his certainty terrifies you more than the unknown.

“Excuse me,” you laugh.

“I’ll stay here…for your safety and mine.”

Your instincts begin screaming, telling you to reject this mad idea, but he continues talking, as if he can read your mind, sense your resistance. “You don’t understand what is going on around you, what you’re involved in yet. You’ve seen them…Him…the angel and it wasn’t random.” His tone drops lower, softer, almost regretful in a way, “If I leave, they’ll come for you again. If I stay, there’s less of a chance they’ll come back.”

A pit forms in your stomach, nausea setting in, “Why me? Why are you so convinced I’m part of…whatever this is?”

He meets your gaze, “Because you were there and you’re still…alive.”

Your throat tightens like a fist, the taste of acid crawling up like fire, you swallow hard against it, pushing it back down. Your mind cycles through a million questions all at once and you know he’s not telling the truth – at least not everything – but the way he speaks, so calm and certain, lets you know there’s more to this than you’re aware of.

“I don’t need your protection,” you insist, but the tiny waver in your voice betrays you. “You can go.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his dark eyes unreadable. “You need to understand, Angel, that you’re already in this, whether I stay or go…just know that if you push me out, you won’t like what happens next.”

The way he says your name – Angel – sends an inexplicable chill down your spine. It sounds almost reverent, as though he knows more about its meaning than he’s letting you know.

“Stay or go…it doesn't matter to me,” you snap defensively, even though deep down, you know it’s a lie. Your thoughts are a mess, frayed at the edges, but beneath it all there’s a voice whispering – Keep him close. Enemies closer.

“Fine,” you finally mutter, wrapping yourself in your fleece blanket as you sink into the chaise lounge opposite him. “Stay, but don’t, for a minute, think that this means I fully believe anything you’re saying or trust you. However, you did save me from whatever that was…and I’m grateful, I guess.”

He doesn’t gloat or argue. Instead, he simply leans back, nodding as though he knew you’d come to that conclusion eventually. “Good choice.”

You’re unsure whether you feel relieved or trapped, the room feels smaller now, the shadows heavier than they once were. You try telling yourself it’s because you want answers – because you deserve answers – the truth eats away at you quietly. You’re unsure if he’s good or bad, ally or enemy, but for tonight, his presence brings you an odd sense of solace.

But you know he protected you tonight – from the angel – because no matter how you look at it, something was off about its voice, the way it called your name.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of fragmented moments. Hoseok stays close, a quiet, watchful presence in the darkened corners of your home. You tell yourself you’re fine, that this is all temporary, maybe even just a bad dream, or maybe the answers will all come together eventually. But, even as exhaustion drags you under, the last thing you remember is the flicker of his gaze, even as the room fades into a shadow.

When you wake, the aroma of coffee hits you first. For a brief moment, you brush last night off as another nightmare – until you hear the clink of a mug being set on the kitchen counter.

Sitting up, you rub your eyes, stunned when they finally focus and you see him. Hoseok is standing in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs as though it’s his house as well. The morning light filters through the window, highlighting his sharp facial features and the effortless grace in his movements.

“You’re still here?” you ask groggily.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, offering a faint smile.

You get up slowly, crossing the living room to lean against the kitchen island. “Why are you making coffee in my kitchen?”

“Because you’re going to need it,” he replies, sliding a mug toward you. “We have a lot to discuss and not much time.”

You take the mug, its warmth grounding you. “I suggest you start talking then.”

He leans against the counter, his gaze steady. “What happened last night wasn’t random. The angel that came after you…he’s part of something bigger. And now that they’ve seen you, they won’t stop until they have you.”

“Seen me? Have me?” you echo, confusion tightening your chest. “I mean, what are the chances that my name’s Angel and now angels are after me?”

“You’re…special,” Hoseok says carefully, as if he’s choosing his words with precision. “You’ve always been able to see things most people can’t. That’s not an accident, Angel. There’s a reason for it.”

The name feels different now, heavier with meaning. “Why? What reason? What are you so hesitant to tell me?”

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But there’s something else…something they’re after. A relic, powerful enough to tip the balance between angels and demons. And I think you’re the key to finding it.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, your grip tightening on the mug. “Me, the key? This sounds insane.”

“Maybe,” he admits, “but it’s the truth. You’ve been pulled into this whether you like it or not. And if you want to survive, you’ll help me find it before they do.”

You stare into the dark liquid in your mug, swirling it around, trying to ground yourself in its warmth. The morning sun filters through the curtains, golden light pooling in the corners of the room, but the conversation has left an unsettling chill crawling down your spine.

“A relic?” you repeat, your voice quiet, nearly a whisper. “What kind of relic could possibly do that?”

He leans back in the chair opposite of you at the table, his gaze never leaving yours. Even in this moment of calm, his presence hums with an otherworldly vibration – like a predator patiently biding its time.

“The kind angels would kill for,” he answers finally. “And demons would burn entire worlds to possess.”

You blink as your throat begins tightening at the weight of his words. “And what does any of this have to do with me? I don’t know anything about relics, or angels, or…” Your voice falters. Demons.

He slightly tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” The words spill from your mouth before you can stop them, immediately regretting the sharpness in your tone. Yet, he’s calm – too calm – still, his eyes glint with the faintest hint of amusement.

“Whether you want to accept it or not, you’re a part of this now,” he says, his elbows braced on the table as he leans forward. “They’ll come for you, whisper lies, use every trick they have to turn you against yourself, so you need to be ready.”

You swallow against the lump in your throat, your mind racing as you process what he’s saying – turn me against myself?

“So what then?” you ask as you grip the handle of your mug so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white. “I-I just help you find this relic and hope I survive? That’s your great plan?”

Hoseok’s smile sharpens, not with malice, but certainty, “Survival isn’t hope, Angel, it’s your choice…your choice.”

The room falls eerily silent, the wind outside seems to pause as if waiting for your response, like the world is holding its breath. You stare at him, searching his face for an inkling of doubt, a crack in the smooth confidence he wears as armor, yet you find none.

After a long, suspenseful moment, you set down your mug with a soft thud, breaking the silence, “Fine.”

His brows slightly lift in surprise, but he doesn’t interrupt as you rise from your chair and begin pacing the small dining room. 

“But, if I’m going to do this…if I’m really going to help you…I need answers…All of them. No more cryptic half-truths, no more games.” You stop pacing, turning to face him, “If I’m part of this…I deserve to know why.”

With an unreadable expression he studies you for a long moment, then he slowly rises from his chair. His movements unhurried, yet there’s intensity in him now, and the air shifts around you as he steps closer.

“Answers come with a price, Angel,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, “but I can promise you one thing…you’ll know everything when the time is right.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him intimidate you, even as the low rumble in his voice sends shivers dancing along your skin.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, your voice maintaining steady, portraying the opposite of what you feel inside.

“Good.” The corners of his mouth twitch with approval, or maybe amusement.

He steps back, the tension in the room easing just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Then we start tonight,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get some rest, you’ll need it.”

Rest? You almost laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion, but your resolve hardens as he makes his way to the living room. You don’t know what lies ahead, what the relic is, or why you’re so important, but you know one thing for certain – you’re not going into this blind.

And whatever happens…you’re not backing down.

The days following your decision to help him pass in a blur of silence and unanswered questions. You find yourself watching him, the way he moves through your home with an unsettling ease, as if he’s always lived in it, as if he belongs there. He keeps himself busy, reading your books that you forgot you owned, sketching strange symbols into a leather journal, but you know he’s waiting, watching your every move.

And then there’s his voice, always calm and controlled, except for those moments when you press him for answers. That’s the only time you catch a glimpse of the frustrations bubbling just beneath his surface.

“You’re still not telling me everything,” you say one morning, the words sharp as you set your fork down after playing with your food for the last ten minutes.

Hoseok, also seated at the table, lays his fork down before wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin, without looking up. He slowly exhales, a measured sound that grates on your nerves. “We’ve been over this,” he says, his voice low and tempered, “you already know what’s at stake.”

“The relic,” you mutter, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “The balance between angels and demons, you’ve said it a hundred times now, but what I don't understand is why me? Why am I the key?”

Finally looking up, his dark eyes lock onto yours, “You think I haven’t been asking myself the same question?” he retorts, his tone edged with a smidge of irritation. “But you are the key Angel, and that’s not something we can ignore.”

You’re not sure why but his words sting. “It doesn’t make sense,” you insist, “I’m just…me. I’m not special, I don’t have powers and I don’t even know what any of this means.”

His chair scrapes as he stands, making his way around the table to sit next to you. There’s no longer a softness to his gaze, only sharp and unyielding determination. “You don’t have to understand it yet, you only have to accept it.”

“Accept what?” you demand, your voice shaking. “That my life’s been stripped away from me because of some stupid relic I’ve never seen? That I’m suddenly a pawn in this cosmic war that I never signed up for?”

Hoseok’s jaw tightens, but rather than snapping back, he softens. “No,” he murmurs, “that you’re more than what you’ve been led to believe.”

His words hit you harder than expected and a long silence lingers between you two. For a long moment, the noises around you are heightened – the faint hum of the fridge, the steady rhythm of your breathing.

“My mother…” The words catch in your throat but you force yourself to continue, “She said something to me, before the accident…before she died. Something about my name, that it means something, that it’s who I am.”

Hoseok’s expression shifts just slightly, but enough that you notice a change in his demeanor. He stands, walking away, running a hand through his dark hair as if trying to steady himself. “Your name isn’t a coincidence, Angel, it’s a clue.”

“A clue to what?”

“To you,” he replies, “and to what you’re capable of.”

The weight of his words settle like stones in your chest, “What I’m capable of?” you echo faintly.

“You think this relic is some lifeless artifact buried in the ground? It’s not…It’s power, ancient, raw power. And you…” he gestures toward you with a deliberate slowness, holding your gaze with an intensity so strong you shudder, “are tied to it. Whether by blood, fate, or by something unexplainable, you’re it’s compass…it’s guide…it’s anchor.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest, rapidly thumping as you take in what he’s saying and search for the words to respond. 

“That’s why they’re after me?” you whisper, “The angels. The demons. They want to use me to find it.”

Hoseok nods. “And if they do, it’s over, this world, everything…it’ll all burn.”

It feels as if the floor has been ripped from beneath you, leaving you suspended in a free fall with nothing to pull yourself back up. Your mind races with half-formed thoughts, doubts, and fears. None of this makes sense, but deep down, without being able to justify or explain the feeling, you know he’s right.

He must see the turmoil in your face and his expression softens as he steps closer, his voice dropping to a gentle tone. “I know it’s hard to hear and I know you didn’t ask for any of this, but you’re not alone in this anymore. I’m here, Angel, to help you, guide you, we’ll face this together.”

You don’t know if you should believe him, but something in his voice – something in the way he looks at you – makes you want to.

“What if I fail?” your voice barely audible, a faint whisper.

“You won’t” he says, his tone firm, “because I won’t let you.”

And for the first time in days, the silence that follows feels a little less heavy.

Over the next few weeks, Hoseok establishes a relentless training routine, forcing you to confront fears you didn’t even know existed. Mornings are spent identifying supernatural signatures – the unnerving chill that angels bring versus the heavy, magnetic pull of demons. Afternoons are a brutal crash course in survival tactics – defensive maneuvers, combat drills, and endless sparring sessions that leave you breathless, bruised, and teetering on the edge of exhaustion.

“You need to move faster!” Hoseok snaps during one particularly grueling session. You stumble back, narrowly avoiding the blunt edge of his practice dagger as it whistles past your side. “In a real fight, hesitation will kill you.”

“I know!” you gasp, frustration boiling over. Sweat drips from your temple, the ache in your limbs compounding with every strike. “I’m trying!”

“Trying isn’t good enough.” He steps forward, unrelenting, his dark gaze locking onto yours, the weight of his focus pinning you in place. “You’re afraid. I can see it. You think you’ll fail but fear doesn’t stop them. It won’t stop angels or demons…and it won’t stop me.”

His words sting, sharp as any blade. You flinch because he’s right. There’s a tight knot of doubt in your chest, and no matter how hard you fight, you can’t shake it loose.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, the admission barely audible. It’s meant for you, a secret confession to the void, but Hoseok hears it.

Something shifts in his expression, almost imperceptibly. The steel in his eyes softens, though his voice remains firm. “You can, because you don’t have a choice.”

It’s not comfort you need – it’s conviction. In his blunt, unwavering belief, you find something to hold onto.

“Again,” he orders, stepping back.

Gritting your teeth, you square your stance and nod, shoulders rolling into place. This time, you meet his strikes head-on.

Later that evening, every muscle in your body aches. Regardless of your exhaustion, Hoseok’s training is merciless, pushing you far beyond your limits. But the bruises are worth it. Small victories are beginning to surface – you dodge quicker, react faster, anticipate his movements before they land.

Until you don’t.

He lunges, fast and fluid, catching you mid-step. Before you can recover, the world tilts, and you’re pinned against the cold mat beneath him. His weight hovers just above you, arms braced on either side of your shoulders. His face is so close you can see everything – the sharp gleam in his eyes and an unreadable flicker of tension, the smooth, perfect skin of his jaw.

“Stop telegraphing your moves,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. As his breath brushes your skin an uninvited warmth curls through you.

Unable to speak, you only nod, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.

“Get up,” he says at last. The pause lingers longer than it should, and when he pushes himself away, you roll onto your knees, sucking in a shaky breath. Your fingertips twitch where they brushed his arm in the fall, and there’s an intensifying heat you can’t shake.

That night, your exhaustion pulls you into a deep sleep. However, the dreams are anything but restful.

Hoseok is there, his face close, closer than ever before. You feel his hand brush against your cheek, smooth and sure, before trailing down to tilt your chin upward. A smoldering gaze in his eyes, dark and heavy, pinning you in place just as firmly as his hands do when they find your hips.

“You don’t have to fight me,” he murmurs, his voice low and impossible to ignore.

You open your mouth to respond, to protest, to push him away, but he kisses you before the words come. His mouth moves against yours with deliberate precision, and the heat that coils through you is enough to make you gasp. Everything feels too real – the weight of him, the silkiness of his skin, the way his hands linger and pull you closer – so real that when you wake, your chest is heaving, your skin is flushed with heat, and an arousal between your thighs that can’t be ignored.

You sit up, pressing a trembling hand to your face.

“It was just a dream,” you mutter to yourself, trying to steady your breathing. But the memory clings to you, vivid and unshakable, as if it really happened.

The next day, Hoseok introduces grapples and holds.

“It’s not enough to fight,” he explains, circling you like a predator stalking prey. “Sometimes, survival means escaping.”

He’s behind you before you have a chance to process his words, his movements swift and effortless. One arm slips around your neck while the other locks your wrists. He’s squeezing, gently yet firm, the restraint sends your pulse racing, breath catching in your throat.

“Get out of it,” Hoseok instructs, voice calm, unnervingly steady.

You squirm, straining to remember the steps he taught earlier – shift your weight, twist your hips, leverage the weak points of his hold. But each attempt only presses you closer to him. His chest is firm against your back, his breath grazing the curve of your neck – each sensation unraveling your focus, reminding you of your dream.

“Focus, Angel,” he says softly. His tone loses its usual sharpness, dipping lower, almost as if he can read your thoughts. The way he says your name makes your spine tingle.

You should move. You’re supposed to escape, but for a fleeting moment, you don’t. You freeze, heart hammering against your ribs, you want to stay just a little longer in this moment, in his embrace.

“What are you waiting for?” he murmurs.

His words snap you out of it. Summoning every ounce of resolve, you shift, twist, and wrench yourself free, stumbling forward. Your skin burns where his hands lingered, your breath ragged as you turn back to face him. He’s watching you, unreadable as always, though something lingers in his expression – something softer, curious.

“Not bad,” he says, though his voice sounds different. Less instructor. More… something else.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, he doesn’t look away. That searching look makes something twist in your stomach, and you feel the heat creeping up your neck.

The growing tension doesn’t end when training does. In the silence between drills, when night creeps in and exhaustion settles over you, the awareness lingers. You catch yourself watching Hoseok more often than you should – not with suspicion or curiosity anymore, but with something else. Something warmer. The way his shirt clings to his frame when he spars, the way his hair falls into his eyes when he’s distracted, the rare moments his lips quirk into a half-smile – all of it draws you in, piece by piece.

And sometimes…you think he notices. You’ll catch him watching you, his expression hard to decipher, his gaze lingering a second too long. The look always makes your stomach flip, a warning and a temptation all at once.

It’s dangerous – this growing attraction. You know it could get in the way of everything. You should be focusing on survival, on training, and on the task at hand, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the pull.

And it’s growing stronger every day.

Tonight feels different. Hoseok pushes you harder, forcing you to tap into the energy you’ve been avoiding.

“Again,” he commands, his voice sharp.

“I can’t!” you yell, your whole body trembling with exhaustion.

“Yes, you can!” Hoseok’s eyes blazing as he steps forward. “You’re holding back because you’re afraid. Stop fighting it.”

Your chest heaves, frustration and anger bubbling over. “What do you want from me?! I’m already giving myself, losing myself, to this war!”

Rather than answer, he moves closer, his presence overwhelming. “I want you to stop running from who you are.”

Before you can respond, he cups your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle. Your breath hitches as his thumb grazes your lip, the tension between you snapping like a taut wire.

“You’re not powerless, Angel,” he murmurs. “Not in the way you think.”

His mouth crashes against yours – not soft or tentative – it’s consuming, raw, and it leaves you breathless. It’s like the world tilts on its axis as you lose yourself in it…in him.

When he pulls away, your pulse is racing, your mind spinning.

“You’re ready,” he says, his voice dark and sure.

“For what?” you whisper as you step back, attempting to create space between the two of you.

He smiles, something dangerous and knowing in his expression. “To stop pretending you’re human.”

The silence between you feels alive, electric, almost dangerous. Hoseok doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, instead he just watches you with those dark eyes that seem to unravel you slowly. You’re still reeling from the kiss, your lips tingling, your pulse a frantic staccato in your throat.

“What are you doing to me?” you whisper, your voice breathless and shaky.

Hoseok’s smirk deepens, slow and knowing. “Nothing you don’t already want…desire.”

Your body feels traitorous, heat pooling low in your stomach as he steps closer. He doesn’t rush – he moves like a predator who knows his prey can’t escape, his every motion deliberate. When he finally reaches you, his fingers brush along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“Why are you fighting it, Angel?” His voice is a purr, dark silk wrapping around you. “You’re stronger than this…stronger than them, but you cling to your humanity like it’s going to save you.”

“I am human,” you bite back, but your conviction falters when he leans in, his breath brushing against your ear.

“No,” he whispers, his tone laced with something wicked. “You’re mine.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, your knees suddenly become weak. Before you can protest, his hands meet your body – one pressing against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, while the other tangles in your hair to tilt your head back. His mouth claims yours again, harder this time, deeper.

It’s not a kiss meant for tenderness – it’s a claiming, a seduction that leaves no room for doubt. You whimper against him, your fingers clutching at his shirt as the room feels like it’s spinning. He tastes like danger and sin, and you hate how much you crave more.

Hoseok pulls back only slightly, his lips hovering over yours as he studies your face. “Tell me to stop.”

You can’t.

He grins, that devilish, calculating grin that makes you want to slap him and pull him closer all at once. “That’s what I thought.”

Before you can find your voice, his hands slide under your shirt, his palms scorching against your skin as he pushes the fabric up. You shiver as the cool air teases your body, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off him. His mouth trails down your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin, leaving you trembling.

“You’re holding back,” he murmurs against you, his voice reverberating through your chest. “What are you afraid of, Angel? Me…or yourself?”

“Stop talking,” you demand, surprising yourself.

Hoseok chuckles, low and dangerous. “As you wish.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your breath catches, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he carries you down the hall. You’re helpless in his embrace, but you don’t feel fear, only anticipation that simmers through you like a slow-burning flame.

When the door opens, the room transforms. It’s as if the space recognizes him – recognizes you. Each candle bursts to life, flames blooming one by one in a wave of golden light softening the shadows. The air is thick with the scent of wax and something smoky, spice and seductive – like him.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, barely audible, but he hears you.

He lowers you onto the bed, his movements deliberate and measured, as though savoring every second. His gaze is molten, drinking you in, but he doesn’t pounce like you expect. Instead, he steps back just enough to look at you fully, his fingers going to the buttons of his shirt.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, the command in his voice soft but unyielding.

You don’t. You can’t. You watch as he slowly undoes each button, the fabric parting to reveal the sculpted lines of his chest, the faint markings that seem to glow against his skin. Your pulse stutters. He’s not just a man. He’s something other, something more.

And you want him.

His shirt falls to the floor, and he returns to you, his hands sliding up your thighs to your waist. The pressure of his touch burns, sending ripples of heat through your veins. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, lifting it with slow deliberation, knuckles grazing your ribs as he pulls it over your head.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, reverence lacing his voice as his fingers trace the line of your collarbone. “You’ve hidden yourself for so long. Do you know how extraordinary you are, Angel?”

Your breath hitches as he lowers himself to you, his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder. It’s soft at first, but then his mouth begins to move, trailing fire across your skin. He nips lightly at the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, making you gasp and arch toward him.

“Sensitive here too?” His voice a dark murmur as he presses his lips to the hollow of your throat, letting his teeth scrape just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Yes,” you whisper, fisting the sheets with your hands.

“Good.”

He takes his time exploring, kissing a line from your neck down to your sternum, pausing to trace the curve of your breasts with his tongue through the thin fabric of your bra. Your body responds instinctively, a moan slipping from your lips as you’re unable to hold back any longer. He looks up, his smirk sinful, eyes glinting like he’s won something.

“You don’t need to hold back, Angel,” he says softly. “Let me hear you.”

His hands work the clasp of your bra, slipping it away before his mouth replaces it, hot and demanding. You gasp again, your back arching as his tongue circles your hard nubs, nibbling and teasing with his teeth, until you’re writhing beneath him. The candles flicker wildly, their flames mimicking the storm building inside you.

His hands roam lower, skimming down your waist, kneading the soft curve of your hips before he begins to peel away the last barrier between you. His touch is firm but deliberate, like every inch of you deserves attention. When you’re bare beneath him, Hoseok pauses, taking you in again, his thumb brushing over your hip bone with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his mouth hovering just above yours. “How alive you are? How free you’re becoming?”

You nod, unable to form words.

Hoseok rewards you with another kiss – deeper this time. He claims your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that leaves you dizzy, but he doesn’t stop there. His kisses trail downward again, past the valley of your chest, down your stomach. Each press of his lips burns hotter, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

When his mouth finally reaches your sensitive bead, your head snaps back, a startled cry escaping your throat. Your body jerks, but his hands anchor you in place, spreading your thighs wider as he lavishes attention where you need it most. He’s thorough, merciless in the way he teases and tastes you.

“Look at me,” he commands again, his voice thick with desire.

It takes effort, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. The sight of him – his dark hair falling into his face, his lips glistening as he works you to the edge – nearly undoes you.

“You’re so close,” he says, smirking against your skin. “Let go, Angel. Let me take you there.”

You finally let go. 

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath him as the candles flare brighter, heat pulsing through the room like an extension of your release.

Hoseok doesn’t give you time to recover. He rises again, claiming your mouth with a kiss so deep it leaves no doubt who you belong to at this moment. You taste yourself on his lips, a wicked reminder of how thoroughly he’s worshiped you already.

Then he settles between your thighs, teasing your entrance with his fingers, readying you for him. When he pushes into you, the stretch is exquisite. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t falter. He moves slowly at first, deliberate, as though he wants you to feel every inch of him.

“You’re not weak,” he breathes into your ear, his movements growing sharper, his thrusts deeper. “You’ve never been weak.”

Each roll of his hips drives you higher, the fire inside you building again, faster this time. You cling to him, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“I see you, Angel,” Hoseok groans, his pace unrelenting. “All of you.”

The words break something inside you. Your second release crashes into you like a lightning strike, the pleasure blinding, overwhelming, but you don’t shatter. You expand.

When the world settles again, you’re still in his arms, panting as the candles flicker gently with a soft glow. Hoseok’s weight presses you into the mattress, grounding you, but his hand brushes tenderly over your hair, his voice soft.

“There you are,” he murmurs. And he’s right. You’re not lost. You’ve been found.

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Twenty Nine

“Because I like the way you say my name.”                The sentence replayed through your mind over the last few days – and the thought of Ghost not ripping Soaps throat out confused you even more. ‘Was Ghost okay with Soap flirting with me?’ ‘Was Soap trying to get Ghost and I to have a threesome with him?’ These thoughts ran over and over in your mind, and you couldn’t tell anyone if there was anything that happened on base. Your mind was occupied with other scenarios going on. Dangerous scenarios.                The last few days were just laying low, but really the team was letting you recuperate from you being drugged. It still didn’t make sense how this affected you and not the man who claimed he was your dad. You do remember asking Alejandro about it and he went on to tell you how it affects people differently and then started on the affects, but then your mind soon shifted to other ‘things’ – not hearing a word he said.                Ghost held you tighter at night and made love to you, passionately. You didn’t dare bring up anything regarding Soap – not wanting to come off that you wanted him or wanted him to even think you were interested in him, but there was that nagging feeling of why Ghost was so calm about it.

               “Price wants to see all of us in the briefing room in five,” Rudy said to me. After my incident with the drug ‘Dust’, Rodolfo insisted that I and everyone else here call him ‘Rudy’. He said he felt like he was in trouble when people called him Rodolfo due to his mother using that when he did something wrong.

               I get up from the empty cafeteria table, the same table Soap approached me at just three days prior and made my way to the briefing room. The base was quiet, and it was eerie considering we were the only ones here. The staff that cooked, was gone for the rest of the day and it was something about this place that just creeped you out – especially when it was quiet.

               You pushed open the doors to the briefing room and everyone had made sure their eyes were on you. You looked around to see you were the only one left. Your eyes find Ghost and he nods his head towards him – letting you know there was an empty seat beside him. You made your way over there to him and sit down. He places his arm on the back of your chair, and you lean in towards him.

               “You smell nice,” you whisper to him as you take in his scent. You always loved the way Ghost smelled – a hint of cologne and his natural musk. Manly and dominant. The chair beside you slides back just a bit when a body took its seat.

               You removed your eyes from Ghost and looked over to see Soap. Your heart started fluttering and your body stiffened. Sure, if you weren’t in love with Ghost, you’d give Soap a shot. He was funny and caring, but you were in love with Ghost and the thoughts you were having of just Soap and of Soap an-

               “Harley, you with us?” Price’s voice rang throughout the room.

               Your head shot up and eyes wide, “hm?” you pause looking like a deer in headlights, “Oh! Yes sir. Sorry,” you chuckle out a nervous laugh as your face flushes.

               You could see Ghost eye you out the corner of your eye, but also took note that Soap cocked his head just enough to see you and placed a small smirk on his face.

               Fuck.

               Price began speaking again, “We have received intel from Laswell that Michael and his men were spotted in Las Almas selling the drug ‘Dust’, but its not just that,” Price pauses, “We have also received word that he is in the slave trade with young girls.”

               Your head shot up. Price nodded to Gaz and Gaz flipped the light switch to the room. A projector was on pointed at the wall, as the pictures of Miachel and his men illuminated the whole room. “From what we know, Michael sells this drug and also administers it to the girls,” he pauses again, “The same drug that was ingested into Harley.”

               Ghost removed his arm from around you and placed it on your thigh, squeezing just a tad to reassure you he was here, and you were safe. You placed your had on top of his and gave a light squeeze back. Soaps breathing became heavier, and you eyed him out the corner of your eye.

               The temperature of the room heated up and you eyed around to see if anyone else was feeling the effects of the Mexico heat. Nobody. Your mind soon picked up where it left off prior to Price interrupting them – To be sure, Ghost would have a problem with sharing you, he was possessive, and you admired that about him. But he gave the okay for Soap to see you naked and touch over your body, even if it was for medicinal reasoning, Soap didn’t suffer any broken limbs.

               But his blue eyes when he stared down to you as you lay there in his lap and how softly he brushed the piece of hair out of your face - “Because I like the way you say my name.”

               “Harley,”

               “Harley…,”

               You felt an arm on the back of your chair again.

               “Harley LeAnne Traywick!”

               You flutter your eyes and shoot daggers at the man who just said your whole name. Price glared at you with concern over his face, “Harley, are you okay? You’re really flustered”.

               You clear your throat as the temperature of the room just went up to the degree of Hell, “Y-yes sir.”

               “The drug can still have an effect on her Captain,” Alejandro spoke up, “I would give it another day and she should be good to go.”

               Price nodded his head and proceeded with the presentation he was giving – you missing over half of it. You go to lean into Ghost as his hand was on the back of your chair to realize his hand was still on your thigh. Your body stiffens as Soap leans close to you and whispers in your ear loud enough to where only you and Ghost could hear him, “What’s got you so flustered Lass?” Soap says dangerously low.

               Ghost squeezes your thigh a bit harder as the hand behind you rubbed soft circles on your shoulder. Thank God you all were sitting at the back of the briefing room so no one could see what was going on, but you just knew everyone could feel the tension. It was suffocating.

               “You think something is on her mind Johnny?” Ghost teases on. Your breath hitches in your throat as you just got your answer.

               “Oh, I’m sure LT,” Soap teases back.

               You clear your throat not realizing it was loud enough to stop Price from explaining the mission you didn’t comprehend any of, “Yes Harley?”

               Color drained from your face as you realized all eyes were on you, “C-can I please be excused so I can get some water?” you stutter out.

               “Very well,” Price agreed, “Lets all take a break. Meet back in five”.

               You quickly stand up and b-line for the door – feeling two sets of eyes on you. You quickly powerwalk your way to the cafeteria and into the kitchen. The industrial restaurant stye refrigerators were stocked with bottles of water, you assumed for the kitchen staff. You grab one hoping they wont mind.

               You crack open the seal to the bottle and chug the bottle of water – your head getting a slight headache from the coldness of the water and how hot your body was. You walk over to the stove and place the water bottle on it as your hands grip the sides of the stove. You close your eyes and lower your head. The thoughts of what happened in the briefing room replayed over and over. Ghosts hand on your thigh while Soap wrapped his arm around you from the back of the chair and softly rubbed your shoulder. Them teasing you and making your knees weak – thank God you were sitting down.

               Your body stiffened when you felt a body press against you and their hands finding your waist. “You okay little mouse?” his voice deep and raspy. Ghost. You quickly turn and wrap your arms around his neck as he grabs your ass to pick you up and sets you on the stove – your face almost level with his.  

               You reach at the bottom part of his mask and pull it up just enough it goes over his lips as you quickly press yours to him. A soft moan escaped from your mouth and traveled over to his as he pulled you closer to him. “Simon,” you breathe out breaking the kiss.

               “Yes love?” he replies as he kisses your jaw and makes his way down your neck.

               You arch your back as he hits those sweet spots you love so much, “I really hate to bring this up, but I’m confused on what’s going on with you and Soap.”

               Ghost stills and slowly pulls away from you with lust filled eyes. “I told you, I like when you call me Johnny, Lass.”

               You gasped as he emerged from behind the wall leading into the kitchen. You swallowed hard as you gripped Ghosts arms harder, not knowing you were doing it. Your eyes darted from Ghosts to Soaps – Soaps eyes telling the same thing as Ghosts, lust.

               “I-I don’t understand,” you say softly, slowly shaking your head.

               Ghost reaches up and cups the side of your face, “I know you have been thinking about Johnny these past few days,” he says dangerously low.

               You gulp.

               You go to speak, but Ghost cuts you off, “I know you have been thinking about the both of us these last few days.”

               “Gh-ghost, I-I just want y-you,” you stutter, “I promise.” That last sentence coming out as a whisper.

               Ghost presses his lips to yours, “Its okay,” he says reassuringly.

               You look back and forth between Ghosts eyes to find some sort of falter and found none, “I feel like this is a test.”

               Ghost and Soap both chuckle, “Baby,” Ghost starts, “You have had everyone you love ripped away from you. Let us love you the way you are meant to be loved.”

               You furrow your brows as tears form in your eyes as they dart over to Soap. His eyes are still filled with lust, but now also with the same soft look he gave you the other day when your head was in his lap. “Trust me Harley,” Ghost continued, “Johnny used to be all I had until you came along. You two are all I have,” his voice becoming shaky.

               You swallowed as you had never seen this side of Ghost. The emotional side of Simon Riley.

               “I don’t have any either Lass. Ghost is all I have,” Soap pauses, “unless you’ll have me too.” Soap saw the hesitation and the fear in your eyes as he approached you. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Ghost stepped aside to allow Soap to take his place. You look over to Ghost and see his eyes glassed over. This sent you over the edge as tears spilled down your face. Ghost was opening up and being vulnerable with you, and that meant more to you than anything.

               He had no one. You had no one and Soap had no one, but at the end of the day, you all had each other. “Trust me,” Soap said bringing your eyes back to his ocean blue ones. You sniffled as you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. You were scared, but deep down you knew that Ghost and Soap would fight until their last breath to keep you safe.

               You opened your eyes to find Soap still between your legs and Ghost leaned against the counter across from you and Soap, his arms crossed over his chest.

               “O-ok,” you go to say but stutter, “O-okay,” finally getting it out, sniffling. Soap wrapped his arms around your waist as you wrapped yours around his neck. He wasn’t as tall as Ghost, so you had to hunch over just a bit. Ghost walked up and kissed you on the top of your head and then walked towards the opening of the kitchen.

               Soap pulled back and grabbed your face as his blue eyes stared into your green ones – creating this teal-colored world. You swallowed hard as he pressed his lips to yours and by instinct, wrapped your arms around his neck deepening the kiss. All air was sucked from your lungs as his tongue danced with yours. This new teal world making your heart flutter.

               Ghost voice made your heart jump out of your chest, “We need to get back to the briefing room.”

               Soap helps you down from the stove and you grab your bottle of water. You walk up to Ghost and wrap your arms around him, “Are you sure this is okay?” you ask not knowing how he was feeling after witnessing you with Soap.

               He leans down and grabs your face, pressing his lips to yours, “I promise love, I’m okay. I have you baby.” You press your lips to his once more before pulling his mask back down as you all head back to the briefing room.

               “I have a question,” you say as you stop turning to look at them both. They looked at each other before cocking their eyebrows back at you.

               “Have um,” you hesitate, “Have you two done anything…like with each other?”

               Soap throws his head back and laughs and Ghost answers before Soap could, “Negative.”

               “Theres nothing wrong with men being with men Lass,” Soap approaches you and gets close to your ear – his hands on your waist, “We just prefer the nice, warm, wet pussy that you are going to share between us.”

               You gasped as you caught a glimmer in Ghost’s eyes that made you swallow hard. “Have you two ever done this before?” you pause briefly to ask better, “Shared a woman?”

               “No baby,” Ghost answers as he starts walking to the doors of the cafeteria. “You are the first.”

               You follow behind him and Soap, watching them as they walk. They both walked with confidence and knowing that they both could snap someone’s head without any remorse - especially over you, sent butterflies deep into your stomach.

               All three of you walked back into the briefing room and sat back in the same seats as before. Ghosts hand gripped your thigh again as Soaps arm snaked around the back of your chair and continued to rub soft circles on your shoulder.

               “Alright, lets make a plan on how we should infiltrate this ‘safe’ house,” Price said quotating ‘safe’.

               And this time, you were ready.

[starcrossedlovrs]

Marauders meets My Chemical Romance: The fan fiction: “I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love” by me, starcrossedlovrs (AO3). Rating: Mature. Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence and Major Character Death

In a world where darkness lurks beneath the surface, Sirius Black grapples with guilt and addiction while haunted by his brother’s transformation into a vampire. Alongside his friends, they confront supernatural threats and their own inner demons. As they delve deeper into the shadows, their bond is tested by a dangerous pact. Can love and loyalty prevail against the darkness threatening to consume them?

Chapter twenty-two “Take My Hand” (the penultimate chapter):

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city streets as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin stood outside their flat. Their meeting had just concluded, the weight of their plan to bring down Voldemort still heavy in the air. Tonight, however, was meant to be an escape—a brief respite from the looming danger.

Sirius swung a leg over his beloved motorbike, its chrome glinting in the moonlight. He glanced back at Remus, whose eyes, now deeper and more intense since his transformation, reflected the moon’s light.

“Ready to go, Moony?” Sirius asked, his voice a mix of excitement and concern.

Remus nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Always ready for an adventure with you, Padfoot.”

Grinning, Sirius revved the engine, its roar a comforting reminder of their countless journeys together. As Remus climbed on behind him, he felt the familiar warmth of Remus’s arms wrapping around his waist, and the reassuring weight of Remus resting his head against the back of his leather jacket.

They sped through the empty streets, city lights giving way to the dark, open road. The biting winter air was invigorating, each breath a sharp reminder of their mortality and the preciousness of these stolen moments. Sirius expertly navigated the winding roads, the motorbike devouring the miles as they left the city behind.

“Where are we headed?” Remus called out over the wind.

Sirius turned his head slightly, his voice carrying a note of mischief. “It’s a surprise! You’ll see.”

He felt Remus’s laughter vibrate against his back, a sound that always warmed his heart.

They rode in comfortable silence, the rhythmic thrum of the engine and the rush of the wind their only companions. The landscape transformed from urban sprawl to rolling countryside, fields blanketed in snow and trees adorned with frost.

After an hour, Sirius guided the bike off the main road onto a narrow, snow-covered path. The motorbike’s headlight pierced the darkness, illuminating their way forward. They soon arrived at a secluded clearing by a frozen lake, the moonlight reflecting off the ice like a mirror.

Sirius killed the engine, the sudden silence almost disorienting. He helped Remus dismount, their breath visible in the frigid air. The clearing was peaceful, untouched by the turmoil of the outside world.

“Thought you might like this spot,” Sirius said, his voice soft and warm.

Remus looked around, taking in the serene beauty. “It’s perfect, Sirius. Thank you.”

They spread a thick blanket on the ground near the lake’s edge and sat down. As they nestled together, Sirius could feel Remus’s body heat seeping through their layers of clothing, a comforting contrast to the cold. They talked about everything and nothing—their childhoods, hopes, and fears. They reminisced about their days at Hogwarts, the pranks they pulled, and the deep bond that had grown between them over the years.

“I’m glad we have this time,” Remus said, his voice tinged with melancholy. “With everything happening, it’s good to remember what we’re fighting for.”

Sirius reached out, taking Remus’s hand. The touch was grounding, a reminder of why he kept fighting. “We’ll get through this, Moony. We always do. And when we do, we’ll have more nights like this.”

Remus squeezed his hand, drawing strength from Sirius’s unwavering confidence. “I know we will. And until then, I’ll cherish every moment we have.”

If you want to continue reading, here is the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56978692/chapters/144893479

Join me for the finale this Thursday as we conclude the first book with the final chapter, “Demolition Lovers”.