#<- came up with this tag for this... AU? Maybe

[chimcess]

⚔︎ Chapter 0: The Prologue Pairing: Taehyung x Reader Other Tags: Assassin!Taehyung, Assassin!Reader, Assassin!Jimin, Dad!Jimin, Assassin!Yoongi, Gang Leader!Yoongi, Assassin!Namjoon, Swordmaster!Hoseok, Chef!Hoseok, Pimp!Seokjin Genre: Assassins! AU, Exes!AU, Lovers to Enemies, Action, Comedy, Suspense, Martial Arts, Drama, Thriller, Romance (if you squint), Heavy Angst, Violence, 18+ only Word Count: 3.3k+ Summary: A former assassin awakens from a four-year coma after her ex-lover Taehyung tries to kill her on her wedding day. Driven by revenge for the loss of her unborn child and stolen life, she creates a hit list and embarks on a ruthless mission to take down everyone responsible. Warnings: toxic relationship, death, blood, pregnant woman being badly injured, guns, gunshot, this is just the prologue so there's not much here, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Chapters will start officially dropping July 5th. Thanks for reading!

masterlist || next

The chapel should’ve been silent.

It was an old place in a small washed up town just out of El Paso, Texas. Wooden and made for no more than fifty people at a time. Places like this were built for quiet. Women fanning themselves, whispered prayers, the stillness when they bowed their heads. A paster who spoke softly and with a slight lisp. But this one wasn’t still.

Light filtered through the fractured stained glass in strange, broken beams. The familiar colors—once soft blues and radiant golds—were twisted now, bleeding together in sickly smears. That light didn’t warm the room. It landed in slashes, casting jaundiced yellows and bruised purples across the pews.

Everything in that chapel was not as it should have been.

The pews were gashed and gouged, varnish long gone in patches where children’s fingernails had worn it away. Places where fingers once folded in reverence were now sticky with rot or worn bare by time. Whatever prayers had been whispered here—if they were ever answered—no one would know now.

When the police would come just ten minutes later, the church would be demolished a few short weeks later. The folks of Canutillo did not want to be reminded of the Two Pines Masacre nor the family that was butchered within it.

The air hung thick, not just with heat but with something worse. It clung to the skin, damp and cloying, as if the chapel itself was sweating. It stank of iron, fresh and metallic, and beneath it, something sweeter curled. Rotten sweet. Like fruit left too long in the sun, or perfume curdled by time. A scent that turned your stomach.

At the front of the chapel, just below the altar, the bride lay crumpled.

A tangle of limbs and torn fabric, folded in on herself like she’d been cast down from a height and left to break where she fell. One leg bent the wrong way beneath her. The other twitched, small and aimless. Her arms were pulled tight to her chest, fists curled as if she’d tried to hold something that was already gone.

What was left of her dress was soaked in her blood, shredded and barely able to cover her. It clung to her in blood-slick folds. The bodice had been split straight down the center

The blood came slow, thick. It soaked into the stone beneath her in sluggish waves. And still, somehow, she breathed. Just barely. Wet, shallow gasps that scraped through her throat like they hurt to take. Her skin glistened with sweat, her color all wrong—an almost bruised color and waxy.

Her face was swollen, broken in places. One eye sealed shut beneath a crust of blood. Her jaw looked fractured. Her lips cracked. The other eye fluttered—just enough to show she was still in there. Somewhere.

But it wasn’t hope in that eye. Hope had left long before the blood spilled.

What was left was something raw. Maybe fury. Maybe instinct. Maybe the thought of someone else, someone small and helpless, curled inside her. Someone she’d tried to shield. Someone she was losing now.

This place was supposed to be her sanctuary. Now it was a grave.

The stone floor around her was littered. Shell casings glinted in the crooked light, catching just enough glow to show they were fresh. Still warm. Red and white roses lay crushed beside them, petals trampled and turning brown, some plastered to the blood. The air reeked of gunpowder, sharp and bitter, cutting through the sweeter rot.

And in the middle of the wreckage, Taehyung Kim stood.

Nothing about him was out of place. The suit was charcoal, sharp at the edges, made to measure and too expensive for a place like this. The shirt beneath it was blindingly white, clean and untouched. Three of its buttons were left undone and you could see a thin, gold chain dangling from his neck.

The world around him was torn to pieces—blood smeared across the floor, bullet casings still spinning in the dust, the air thick with what had just transpired not even twenty minutes before—but he stood there like none of it had touched him. Not even in passing. He looked like a mourner. Maybe even a priest. But he wasn’t either.

He was the reason why the entire Groban family was gone, and the bride to be was laying on those steps.

The light caught his face in strange ways, shadows carving into the sharp lines of his jaw and beneath his eyes. His expression didn’t give anything away. No guilt. No satisfaction. Just… stillness. That dangerous, unreadable kind. Behind him, the crucifix hung crooked on the wall, blackened with time, the figure above warped by rot. Its arms stretched wide, but it didn’t look like salvation anymore.

It looked like surrender.

And then, Taehyung moved.

No hurry. No sound. Just a single step down the aisle, then another, cutting through the streaks of blood like he couldn’t feel them. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. He dropped to one knee beside her the way some men kneel before a proposal, or a grave.

Like it was familiar.

His hands rested on his thighs. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t try to help. He just watched. Quiet. Careful.

The blood had dried into a crusted line at her temple, cracking where it clung to the fine hairs around her face. Her lip was split, puffy, dark with bruising. Her dress hung in shreds, soaked and torn, the fabric stuck to her skin like a second, ruined layer. Her chest moved—barely—with each breath, and every rise and fall looked like a negotiation her body was losing.

Taehyung didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Whatever emotion passed behind his eyes was faint—almost nothing—but it was there. A flicker. Not guilt, not quite. Something murkier. Something harder to name. Maybe recognition. Maybe the aftertaste of a feeling he'd long stopped claiming.

She was still alive. Barely.

Her breath rattled in her chest, dragging in air with a sound that didn’t quite resemble breathing anymore. More like something breaking, slowly.

He reached into his jacket.

There was no urgency in the motion. He pulled out a handkerchief—folded tight, corners crisp. White, like the shirt. A monogram in navy blue stitched into one edge: T.K. Simple serif letters. A detail meant for someone who believed their things mattered enough to mark them.

He unfolded it with care. Almost like he was preparing for something sacred.

Then he leaned in and began to wipe the blood from her face.

The movement was slow. Precise. Her temple first. Then the curve of her cheek. The corner of her mouth. His hand barely touched her skin, the cloth gliding with an eerie gentleness—like he wasn’t cleaning a dying woman, but handling something fragile. Precious. A relic he didn’t want to break any further.

The handkerchief turned red instantly. It soaked up the blood like it had been waiting for it.

She twitched. It was the smallest thing. A spasm. A tremor. Enough to show she was still in there somewhere.

Her one good eye peeled open—just a sliver—and found him. Locked onto him like a compass needle. Even through the haze, even drowning in pain, she saw him. Really saw him.

And what was in her gaze wasn’t surrender.

It was fire. Small. Fading. But still alive.

Anger. Refusal. A jagged piece of something that refused to die just because everything else already had.

Taehyung smiled.

A twitch of his mouth. Not a grin. Not warmth. Just the echo of something old—some past life where he knew how to smile like a person. It didn’t fit here. Not in this broken chapel. Not above this broken body.

But he let it sit there anyway.

When he spoke, his voice was low, casual. Like they were sharing a memory.

“Do you find me sadistic?”

He asked it like it was a real question. No sarcasm. No menace. Just curiosity. Like he honestly wanted to know.

She didn’t answer.

Her mouth parted, but all that came out was air. A dry, ragged sound caught somewhere between a breath and a refusal. Her jaw clenched. Her eye never left him.

She never looked away.

His gaze drifted away from her, slow and unhurried, as if he were walking through a memory instead of a crime scene.

Down the aisle. Across pews littered with the dead—bodies collapsed where they’d fallen, limbs twisted awkwardly, some with eyes still open, staring at nothing. The light coming through the broken stained glass scattered in warped patches, crawling across the stone floor like shards of color spilled from a broken bottle.

And there, near the altar—Thomas Groban. Tommy Boy. Face down. One arm caught underneath him, the other stretched out like he’d tried to reach her in those final seconds. The gold ring on his finger caught a sliver of that fractured light—just enough to glint, just enough to remind anyone watching that once, not so long ago, he’d stood right here. Beside her. Holding her hand. Promising things like always and forever.

Now there was only silence.

Taehyung sneered at his mop of golden blonde hair. Tommy's blue eyes were curiously looking at him nearly twenty minutes before. Now he was staring at nothing but the cold wooden floor of the chapel and his own blood. He stared at the Groban boy for a while. Longer than the moment called for. Something flickered behind his eyes, but it didn’t settle into an expression.

Then he turned back to the bride. She was staring at him with unadulterated hatred. Taehyung knew that look all too well, and he had been on the receiving end of it quite a few times. Back then, though, he would call her a cunt and she’d laugh. Then they’d kiss and make up. Now, he knew how this was going to end, and there would be no laughter or kisses. There would never be another make up. Today was the end.

“In another time,” he said quietly, like the thought had come to him just then, “men like me were called kings.”

There was no irony in it. Just a simple truth spoken into the stillness. He let it hang in the air for a second.

“In this one?” His breath slipped out with a humorless laugh—dry, like old dust. “We get called monsters. Or CEOs.”

He reached again for the handkerchief, though by now it was ruined—red soaked deep into the white cotton, no part of it clean. Bending down, he adjusted his pants before reaching up to her face. He dabbed at her cheek and the blood smeared more than it cleared. Still, he kept at it.

She flinched, pain blossoming on her skin. Still, she held his gaze. Taehyung’s expression was blank but his voice seemed almost warm. Sweet, even. Like he was talking to a child. It reminded her of the times they would lay around the fire pit in his backyard and stare at the stars.

And his voice lowered, barely more than a breath. “But you,” he said, “you made it difficult.”

His jaw tightened. He swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have made me love you.”

He looked down. Not at her—just at the space between them.

“You know, kiddo…” he murmured, the nickname burning a hole in her chest, “I like to think you’re still aware enough to understand this isn’t sadism.”

His voice stayed calm.

“This is me at my most masochistic.”

She coughed.

The sound tore through the air—wet and sharp, like something inside her had given way. Blood slid from the corner of her mouth, catching on her teeth, her chin, her collarbone. Her lips moved again, slower this time. Straining.

He leaned in close, just enough to catch it.

“Tae…” she whispered.

It stopped him. Not for long. Just a moment. But it was enough to freeze the air between them, to crack open the part of him he’d been holding shut for too long.

He stood. Slowly. His hand moved to the holster at his side, pulling the revolver free in one smooth motion. The gun gleamed even in the fractured light—a sleek, polished silver that looked like it belonged on display, not in a place like this. Not surrounded by bodies and blood and ruin.

She would’ve recognized it.

She’d given it to him once, back when gifts meant something, back when she was his viper and he still believed he could tame her. Back when they were dangerous together—but not deadly. Back when he had loved her and made her world go round.

Now it was just another line they couldn’t uncross.

He raised it. The barrel stopped a breath above her brow. Steady. Unshaking.

She didn’t move. Didn’t close her eyes. Her lips parted, working around one last breath, one last word, shaped with whatever strength she had left.

“It’s your bab—”

The shot cut her off mid-sentence. One sharp, shattering crack. The sound lashed through the wooden beams, rang off the stone walls, and bounced back.

Her head snapped back as if yanked by some invisible string, then lolled forward. Her eye, the one still visible, stared blankly ahead.. Her lips parted slightly as if to finish her thought, but no sound came. Her fingers, once tense, unfurled slowly, releasing nothing at all.

Taehyung stood over her.

His hand still held the revolver, lowered now, almost forgotten. The weight of it felt heavier than before. There was something tight in his chest, a pressure that wasn’t grief—not quite. And it wasn’t regret either, not in any clean, mournful way. It was rawer than that. Messier. A jagged sensation, like something vital had been torn from him, and only now did his body begin to register the pain.

The rage that had consumed him minutes earlier had burned out too quickly. All that remained were embers and smoke. Ashes in his throat. He’d come here with purpose, driven by a need to end something—to make her silence permanent, to settle old scores. Now it was done. The story had ended. But the weight didn’t lift.

His breath came low and steady, more habit than will. He looked down at his hands. Blood streaked across his knuckles. Must have blown back on him. Slowly, methodically, he wiped them clean on a torn handkerchief pulled from his pocket. The fabric, already covered in Y/N’s blood, soaked up the red greedily. He folded it neatly, each crease sharp, precise. He tucked it back into his coat.

He smoothed the front of his jacket. Adjusted the cuffs. Straightened his spine. A last defense against what was unraveling inside. And then he looked at her one final time.

That was all he would allow himself.

Her words clung to the edges of his memory, a whisper threatening to root itself deeper. He didn’t know if he believed her. He wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was just a final ploy—her last hand played too late. A lie meant to break his resolve. She had always known how to twist the blade.

But none of that could be undone now.

He would have to tell Namjoon. There was no avoiding that. His younger brother would be waiting just beyond the chapel doors—pacing the gravel path, fists clenched, rage simmering under the surface. Taehyung could already feel the tension pressing in from outside, a storm gathering breath, waiting to break. Namjoon had opposed this from the very start. He had argued, pleaded, demanded another way. But in the end, he'd relented—not because he agreed, but because Taehyung had asked him to.

None of them had truly wanted this—not in their hearts, not when stripped of loyalty and obligation. Not even Jimin, who perhaps had the most personal reason to see it done. Not even Yoongi, who had once loved Y/N with a quiet intensity that still lingered even when he said it hadn’t.

Brandi had wanted it. Eagerly. Almost too much. Her hate for Y/N had always burned wild and senseless, a deep-rooted bitterness that Taehyung had never fully understood. The others chalked it up to jealousy—said Y/N had something Brandi never could. But that answer felt too simple. Brandi’s rage was deeper than a simple jealousy, and Y/N had never stopped herself from biting back ten times harder when they would get into their spats. And now that Y/N was dead, she’d probably smile in the mirror and try her best to get back into Taehyung’s bed.

Not that he would ever put up much of a fight.

Jimin and Yoongi had followed for reasons far more transactional. Yoongi had secured control of Busan through his compliance—he played the long game and played it well. Jimin had been promised his freedom, the chance to leave the dirt behind and chase something gentler: Loretta Bell, the doctor with warm hands and soft eyes waiting for him in California. That was enough for him.

Namjoon had followed for only one reason: because his brother asked. Because Taehyung needed him to. That loyalty was a burden now, and it would cost them both.

Because this—this changed everything.

If what she said was true… If the child was his…

Then no one would forgive him. Not fully. Maybe not ever. Maybe not even himself.

Brandi would stay by his side—that much was certain. She always did. But her loyalty wasn’t born of belief or conviction. It was hunger. A calculated desire to win him over, to be the last one left standing beside him, no matter what it cost. She had always wanted to please him ever since he saved her from the shithole she called a life.

Namjoon would erupt. Taehyung could already hear the sharp edge in his brother’s voice, the disbelief curdling into fury. He would see this not as a necessary act, not as strategy, but as betrayal. As murder. As something that went past whatever moral line Taehyung had left.

Yoongi would go silent. That was his way. But silence didn’t mean peace. He had claimed he was done with Y/N, that whatever they’d once had was long extinguished. But Taehyung had never fully bought it. There was still a softness in Yoongi, buried under all the steel and shadows, and it had always been reserved for her.

If Yoongi even suspected the baby wasn’t Tommy Groban’s…

He would disappear without ceremony. Vanish deeper into the folds of the South Korean underworld, taking Lynn Easton with him. No more border runs. No more favors. Busan would swallow him whole. And it would take Taehyung years—if ever—to earn his trust back.

Jimin would be angry, too. Quietly, bitterly so. But he would compartmentalize it like he did everything else. He’d take the freedom he’d been promised and Loretta Bell’s waiting hand, and he’d vanish into the California haze, determined to start fresh. He wouldn’t look back.

Taehyung closed his eyes for half a second, then forced the thoughts away. He buried them deep, past the guilt, past the confusion, past the splinter of fear he hadn’t dared name. He couldn’t afford to unravel now. Not here. Not yet.

Y/N had always known how to twist him into knots—how to pull at the seams. Even dead, she still had a hand around his throat. She had been brilliant. Beautiful. Dangerous in ways he hadn’t seen coming until it was too late. A born liar who wielded the truth like a blade. She could say a thing so convincingly it felt like gospel, even when it was poison.

And now, she’d left behind one final snare. One last doubt. A whisper that would haunt him, nested in blood and smoke and silence.

Even in dying, she had made sure he wouldn’t walk away clean.

His footsteps echoed across the chapel floor—sharp, deliberate, precise. The sound reverberated through the wreckage, past shattered glass and stained wood. The air hung heavy with the acrid stench of gunpowder and blood, laced with fading incense and the ghost of prayers that no longer mattered.

He moved past her body, still at the altar. Past the ruined pews and broken vows. Past the promises whispered into darkness, too late to be kept.

He didn’t look back.

There was nothing behind him worth remembering.

Taglist: @haru-jiminn @fancypeacepersona @futuristicenemychaos @cranberrycupcake @mar-lo-pap @wannaghostbts @solephile @paramedicnerd004 @stargirl-mayaa

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[eithielk]

— Video game lover, literally.

⤷Kenma Kozume x Game Obsessed!Reader

⤷ Tags: fluff, first meet (?), college au (?)

⤷ authors note: not proofread, 1.7k wc

Kenma finally found his match—his perfect match.

—

Kuroo had dragged him out of the sanctuary of his bedroom, his video game left on pause; he only managed to grab his Switch in his desperate attempts to delay the inevitable.

He was forced to sit through a gathering, which Kuroo had forced him to attend, tucked away in the corner of the couch, as he sipped his apple juice. Watching other people mingle, they made it look so easy; it probably was—but he wasn't ready to try that level yet. Not today, at least.

Kenma shifted his eyes as little as possible, feeling uncomfortable with all the lights flashing above him. Much to his dismay, the couch was beginning to fill up as the rest of the spots became occupied by other people. The only empty spot remaining was the one beside him; he prayed it would stay that way.

But, just as his luck would have it, someone sat down, making him grumble to himself. Not that he wasn't used to things not going his way; his RNG had been bad recently; his recent plays would prove that.

His eyes avoided any eye contact; his body shifted to give him just enough space for no contact. The only remaining senses he had left that he couldn't shelter were his hearing. Amidst the chaos Kuroo had instilled earlier, with the male practically threatening to carry him out the door himself if it came to it, he had forgotten his headphones.

Now left to fend off the villains (small talk) that would fight him in battle, he braced himself for impact. Dramatic, I know.

Kenma had fully expected you to start a conversation with him, expecting you to be just like everyone else, so when his ears were met with silence, the only thing that echoed was the remix of 2000s indie-pop music. He was kind of taken aback, and somewhat glad, and at the same time curious. Kenma hadn't felt that much emotion since—well, since the 200-day Ayaka Banner.

His eyes widened when he realized the familiar soundtrack, fixing his posture almost—out of habit—just to catch a glimpse of what was in your hands. It was only your phone, but that wasn't what made him look; it was what was on your phone that caught his attention.

The familiar gateway arch, the soft hums of the soundtrack—oh yeah, he knew where that came from. He turned full geek mode the moment you pressed on your phone screen. You were playing Genshin Impact.

His eyes immediately locked on yours; his body subconsciously inched slightly toward you. Oh, how embarrassing it was; he looked like a kid watching someone play on their phone—except maybe for the fact that you were both adults, or in this case, overgrown children playing a gacha game.

You weren't oblivious; the moment you sat down and pulled out your phone, you knew he was hooked. A fellow player just like you—except maybe you did this on purpose.You were in a similar situation: a friend dragged you out of your shared apartment to go to a party with approximately 99% of people you didn't know—the 1% being your friend.

The moment you set foot in this place, you knew you couldn't leave for another hour or two, even if you had begged, not that you would have anyway, seeing as your friend knew all too well what things to bribe you with: a copy of a newly released game that  the shelves within the hour it was displayed.

You, being one of the unlucky few who couldn't manage to get your hands on it, your friend knew this, of course. Using it to their advantage, they pulled a couple of strings to get you a copy straight from the factory—or wherever games were made; you really couldn't care less.

As you continued to play the game, doing your dailies, you could feel the guy beside you lean his face forward. It was honestly kind of cute; from your peripheral vision, you could see he was watching you play while doing his best not to seem weird.

No words were exchanged until that point; you chose to play and let him watch in silence.

Sometimes you'd miss an attack and take damage, feeling irritated, and you could hear him wince—as if he were the one playing. You bit back the urge to laugh.

Finally defeating the boss, you relaxed your fingers and let out a sigh. Opening the chest to collect your rewards, your screen flashed with the list of items you received: 50 Primogems.

"How generous…" you groaned. You were doing this quest even before you went to the party, and only now did you finally finish it, and the rewards—you couldn't say you were surprised, honestly. You've been a player since the release, and this wasn't out of the norm for them.

You huffed, sighing as you exited the quest room, your character running around briefly before you opened the character menu. Kenma's eyes followed the screen, watching you switch between your characters.

Recently, you decided to build Kazuha, although you already had a build for him, you definitely could do better; his EM was too low for your liking—a measly 1,405 was good, but again—you could do better.

Enter. Fight. Collect. Repeat.

Your eyes locked on your phone as you played; your concentration wasn't gone unnoticed by Kenma. His eyes darted from your phone to you from time to time, convincing himself that it was out of pure curiosity.

Watching you so focused on a game he liked lowkey kind of made him happy—not that he'd admit it to you outright. It wasn't every day he'd meet someone as game-obsessed as him, and to find one at a party of all places. This was definitely a legendary find, probably a 0.003% chance. Maybe his RNG wasnt so bad afterall.

You stayed focused mid-battle, trying to fight off the stupid overgrown lizard for the third time now for the materials for his talents.Halfway through the fight, Azhdaha changed its element to Pyro. You shifted your body, positioning your elbows on your lap, your eyes locked on it—when suddenly your game paused.  Both of you let out an annoyed sigh, a little louder than intended.

Your phone was about to die.

Frantically, you checked your pockets for a charger. Your hands touched empty spaces as your hope slowly slipped away, like a dimming light—plop.

Your eyes widened at the charger thrown onto your lap. Your eyes darted to the boy next to you, who had his face turned away, his hands covering part of his mouth. He said, "You can borrow mine." As the words left his lips, the tips of his ears turned a slight shade of pink.

You looked back down at the charger; a small smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you."

During those two hours of gaming, you barely spoke—only grunts when your character was hurt, or a tiny chuckle when you outwitted the enemy.

The two of you stayed bunched together on one corner of the couch, sharing only that.

Kuroo managed to find Kenma on the couch, sitting close to someone other than him. The state his friend was something you'd only see when he was in his room. Kuroo's eyes remained fixed on you left.  The other guests started leave, but the both of you stayed comfortably on the couch in silence.

"Hey, is he your friend?" Your eyes remained fixed on your phone, not daring to look up, knowing would be a pair of eyes staring back. Kenma looked up, seeing Kuroo across the room, an unfamiliar expression on his face. Kuroo turned to his friend, smirking and giving him a thumbs-up, mouthing "Good luck," since they were too far apart to hear each other. "Nope."

Your head turned slightly toward the boy beside you, half-meeting his gaze. "Do you play...?" It was low and sounded hesitant, making you feel self-conscious. Kenma's eyes moved from the screen to you, a brief moment of eye contact before he looked away, nodding slightly.

Kenma grabbed his phone from his pocket—this was probably the longest he'd gone without using it. You watched as he unlocked his phone and loaded the game, bringing your focus back to your own screen as you waited.

After a couple of seconds, he nudged you slightly, sliding his phone toward you to show his UID. You scanned the numbers for a moment before furrowing your brows. A strange laugh escaped your lips as you scratched the back of your neck.

Kenma tilted his head, curious about what you found funny. His eyes darted to your phone screen, noticing your in-game username, then your adventure rank, AR 60, he noted, recognizing you'd been grinding on the game far longer than he expected you to—and finally, your UID.

"Ah."

He was in Asia; you were in America.

Your conversation fell silent when you both realized the obvious dilemma: your account was in America, meaning he couldn't play with you since his account was registered in Asia. Kenma's mouth opened to speak but fell short; his words wouldn't come out. You looked at his expression, your eyes dropping to his lips, which formed a scowl. You couldn't help but laugh.

The sound of your laughter echoed in Kenma's ears, which now colored a slight pink—he was doomed. Unable to help himself, he chuckled as well, despite not knowing why; he just did.

"Too bad, huh?" he replied, his voice slightly overshadowed by your laughter.

"No, it's—we can still play." You pointed, exiting the game as it loaded back to its home menu screen. Your fingers hovered over the button labeled 'America'.

"I have an account in Asia."

His eyes darted to your face as those words left your mouth. Those six words were like a gift from the heavens—like God himself had come down to earth and kissed him on the forehead. He didn't understand why, but hearing you say that made him happier than he wanted to admit. The opportunity to play with you was again made possible, and he honestly could thank his luck.

His eyes watched your movements closely as you brought your phone close to hide part of your face; your eyes looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

"...but I havent been playing on it, so im only on AR 55.."

Oh, he was doomed—so doomed.

Kenma Kozume finally found his perfect match.

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader|

| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak}

Chapter 14: Uninvited | wordcount |10.5k|

| a/n | we’re back. the party is here. the spiral is spiraling. the shitshow is shitshowing. love u. see u on the other side.

“You don’t slam the door. You don’t cry. You just walk. Out of the bedroom. Out of the house. Out of the fucking story he tried to write you into without asking.”

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, fighting, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, intoxication, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, possessive sex, guilt, jealousy, toxic dynamics, messy friends, uninvited guests, heartbreak, minor manipulation, soft!Tommy . (we have a Joel POV in a 3rd person here as a new format to clean things up) series warnings after the fic.

reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory

All of your muscles ache, and one of your wrists still has a faint red mark on it. It’s inconspicuous enough. It could’ve been a burn. It could’ve been a too-tight hair tie. It could’ve been Joel fucking Miller’s belt, pulled snug while he pinned both your arms behind your back and made you beg for mercy. You rub soft circles into the skin, just to feel the sting. You’re in your own bed. Sore, tired, and annoyingly happy. Like, dangerously happy. Like, happy enough to think that this thing that you and him have going on could actually work out. Your dad showed up at Joel’s house fifteen minutes after you rushed yourself out of his bed. You’d quickly re-braided your hair, washed the sweat and lipstick off your face in the ensuite while he sat on the edge of the bed. Quiet. Watching you like he hadn’t just wrecked you six different ways into next week. He’d handed you a glass of water and helped you back into your clothes. Kissed the top of your head after brushing his teeth, and ran his fingers hrough his hair like that would make him look un-fucked. Then he held your hand, loose, not possessive, not guiding, just steady. Walked you downstairs and back into the yard like you were just a couple of neighbours decorating for a block party. Totally harmless, acting like none of it meant anything. Or maybe acting like it meant too much. Your dad’s car rolled up just as you’d taped the last balloon to the gutters. He had his windows down. A/C on full blast. Some tragically confident dad rock anthem was thumping out of his blown-out speakers, rattling the siding of the house, making the balloons dance. Bryan Adams, or Journey…you think. Honestly, it all sounds the same to you. You just know that it had power chords, mumbled lyrics and chest hair. He parked on the driveway crooked, killed the engine with an overly dramatic sigh, and jumped out, holding a flat of beer in one hand and a party-sized bag of tortilla chips in the other. There was a pack of hot dogs shoved under one of his arms, and he had a bag of hamburger buns tucked under his chin. He looked ridiculous. But everything was normal. Eerily so.

“Alright, I come bearing gifts.” He dumped everything out on the very fold-out table that Joel had you bent over an hour prior. You tried your best, but you physically could not contain the cringe that came over your face as you watched the groceries hit the table. After the second trip, he glanced between you and Joel and gave you one of those particular dad looks. One that said, ‘I’m not saying anything right now, but I'm considering it. “You doin’ okay, Birdie?” he asked. You blinked back at him. “Yeah, of course? Why?” “You look a little flushed, is all,” he replied. “Oh, yeah. I mean, we’ve been out here all day. Sunburns probably just setting in.” He just hummed back a response and popped open one of the coolers to check on the ice situation. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just lobbed a live grenade between you and Joel and then walked away whistling. Joel just scratched the back of his neck, like he always does when he’s anxious. “Make sure those beers stay cold overnight Miller,” your dad added. “And Birdie, do not let Karlie near the damn punch bolwl unsupurvised.” he turned to look at you, dead serious “I mean it, we don’t need a repeat of last time.” ‘Last time’ was the yard party where Karlie spiked the lemonade with gin. She had to run around knocking solo cups out of literal childeren’s hands once she realized how badly she’d fucked up. Guess she just forgot that kids also liked lemonade. Stupid. I love her dumb ass so bad. “Oh, one more thing,” Dad chuckled, “bought somethin’ called ‘party canons’.” You looked back at him like he had three heads, “the fuck is a party canon?” Your dad just shrugged and said, “Guess we’re gonna find out tomorrow night,” and went straight back to unloading the rest of the groceries.

After a solid five minutes of awkward and uncomfortable silence, he turned to Joel, one eyebrow raised high. “I’m trusting you Miller,” your heart fucking stopped, “Keep her out of trouble, alright?” Bro has no idea. Joel gave him the barest of nods; you could practically see the knife twisting in his chest. You could feel it in your own. Then your dad just smiled, sincerely, and walked back toward the car. 

Went home, taking the chaos with him. And now, back in your room the next day, your makeup isn’t done, and your hair is still half damp from the shower. Your cellphone buzzes on the vanity.

(2:45 PM) Sarah: Are you gonna pick me up or am i stuck with grumpy?

Before you can even type out a reply, Joel’s name lights up your screen.

(2:45 PM) Joel 🤠: she wants you to get her, just ride with me

Of course, she asked for you. Of course he’s now coordinating this like its just a normal family carpool and not the worlds most high-stakes game of hide the deadly fucking secret. You sigh and respond to him first.

(2:46 PM) You: sounds good ☕

Then Sarah.

(2:47 PM) You: your dad is just gonna drag me along with him 🙄 (2:48 PM) Sarah: good luck with that, so sorry smh 😣

You’re about to throw your phone down again when it buzzes again.

(2:50 PM) Joel: come here for 3:15, wear that green dress, the one with the straps. (2:50 PM) Joel: Please

You move over to the closet and stare at it. The green dress he’s asking for is in there. You just stand and contemplate for five minutes whether or not you’re going to wear it. In what world do you just listen to what a man tells you to do? You leave him on read. But you do decide to play nice. You reach for the damn dress and throw it onto your bed.

//

By the time you make it out of the house, he’s already standing at the passenger side with the door swung open. Typical Joel, ever the gentleman…except when he’s really not. You brush past him and climb in, trying not to think about the way his eyes travel up and down your body as you sit down. The dress slides up your thigh when you try to get comfortable, and you pretend not to notice just how much of your leg is showing. Joel jumps in next to you and pulls the seatbelt over your shoulder. He buckles you in, not even looking at you. You don’t protest. Probably because you’re too damn fixated on the way that his hand drags across your lap as he does it. For fuck sakes, how does he make everything hot. 

He’s insufferable.

“You look nice, Bird,” he drawls. “Do I not always look nice?” He snorts, shakes his head once and mubles “Brat.” He puts the truck into gear and heads out of the driveway, and you drive with the radio playing faintly, harmonizing with your breathing.

Ten minutes go by, and he hasn’t said a word. Not even since your fingers started dancing up and down the seam of his jeans, like you were playing a new little game called ‘Let's See How Much Joel Miller Can Take Before He Loses His Mind’ You push. Drag your nail just a little bit higher…higher. Till your knuckles are brushing dangerously close to the bulge that is very clearly there now. He tenses so hard you could practically hear the vertebrae fusing in his spine. Then suddenly. The blinker comes on. He grabs your wrist and veers into a pullout so damn fast your heart literally skips a beat. Gravel crunches under the tires. The truck sits idle in the shade of a lonesome tree. Then he throws it into park and looks at you. Really looks at you. With frustration, and hunger, and need in his eyes. You swallow. “Sorry, I—” He leans toward you slow, voice low in his chest, “You wanna fuck around?” You look at him, smug as you can manage in the moment. “Dunno, depends…do I?” His hand comes up to your face, he grabs your chin. Not too rough, but not gentle either—only enough to still your mouth. “I’m not playin’ games right now, kid.” Oh hell no.

“Okay, whatever. You’re sooo boring.” You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “old ass man.” He turns your face toward him, “You just don’t know when to quit it, huh?” His thumb drags across your lower lip. “Stop actin’ like I’m not willin’ to wreck you, right fuckin’ here in this truck.” You should feel smug. You don’t. It feels like your whole body just dropped by two degrees. “Joel—” “Gotta be real clear with me, darlin’. ‘Cause I swear to god, if I move this seat back and throw you in my lap, I ain't gonna stop when your phone rings.” Your mouth goes dry, eyes dart to the dash to check the time, then to the traffic whirring past you on the highway. You have exactly 10 minutes until Sarah’s flight lands. Joel sees it. Smirks. He lets go of your face, still close, breathing your air. You’re looking at him, mouth open. Reeling from that fucking voice, the grip, that threat you maybe definitely liked too much. Your hand is now back in your lap like a good girl. But your mouth has other ideas. So you lean in slowly. He sees it. Stays steady, then leans into it.

Your mouth hits his, It’s not rushed, not soft either. It feels necessary…like biting down on something to keep from screaming. His hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers on your pulse point, mouth slanting over yours like he needs this just as much as you do. Like maybe it’ll level him out.

You kiss him hard. Once. Twice. Bite his bottom lip, just because you can. He exhales hard into your mouth. Then you break the kiss and pull back, eyes still half-lidded, you whisper, “Okay, now I can behave.” He stares back at you for a full sixty seconds, you can see him fighting with himself, weighing if he should just turn the truck off and say fuck it or not. But he just nods, “Good.” Kisses you again, quickly, and then rests his forehead against yours. “You’re going to get us both killed.” You giggle as he reaches for the gear shift and puts the truck back into drive. Then he laces his fingers with yours like nothing happened at all. “Alright,” he says, throat rough. “Let’s go get her.” You’re both quiet for a minute, just the hum of the engine and something loose rattling in the glovebox. “So,” you say, voice lighter than you feel right now. “What the fuck are we doing?” He exhales like he’s been waiting on that question since last night. “We need a plan, Joel.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “For what?” “For this. Us. Not getting caught. Not like…blowing up both of our lives.” You lean your head against the headrest, staring out the windshield, watching everything blur past. “Is this the best time to be bringin’ this up?” he asks. “I don’t think there’s ever going to be a good time.” “Sure, guess not. Was secretly hoping for a relationship strategy conversation on my way to pick up my kid from the airport anyway.” “I’m serious, Joel.” “So am I,” he shoots back. “Okay, so what do we do then. We just sneak around, don’t tell anyone? Hope that this stays all neat ‘n tidy and secret until we just…what? Just quietly stop?” You watch the cogs turn. His fingers flex on the wheel. The thumb of his other hand taps anxiously against your hand in time with his thoughts. “Let's just get through the party. One thing at a time.” “Okay,” you hum, “So nobody finds out.” “That’s the idea, yup.” “Not Sarah, not Tommy. Not my dad.” “Think we’re a bit late on Tommy, but yeah. ‘Specially not your dad.” You nod slowly, pull your hand from his, and cross your arms. “So what’s your move when she’s here? You gonna act normal? Just look at me like I barely exist?” “You know I can’t do that, Bird.” “Then we might be fucked.” Joel Glances over. His voice drops again. “Unless you help me not screw this up.” You don’t reply right away, just hum. Reaching down to adjust the hem of the dress, he told you to wear. “Okay, cool. One thing at a time, then.” A small smile tugs at your mouth. “But don’t get used to me being obedient.” “You didn’t seem too obedient last night.” You glare at him. He laughs under his breath and pulls into the arrivals lane. “I was so, don’t even start.”

He parks the truck and looks right into your eyes, “You’re right,” he hums, “you were a good girl f’me.” You choke when he says it. He’s grinning, showing off his dimple as he unbuckles your seatbelt and pushes your door open. Just as Sarah walks up to the truck. She’s got her carry-on dragging behind her, iced coffee in one hand, sunglasses sliding down her nose. She beams when she sees you. “Oh my god, Bird, hi! I wasn’t sure if you were actually coming!” Before you can even get the door open again, she’s pulling you in for a hug. Warm and tight, all sunshine and excitement and absolutely zero suspicion that you’re fucking her dad.

You let her squeeze you until you’re worried about oxygen. Mostly so you don’t have to look at Joel right now. “Of course I came, baby,” you say, grinning. “You asked for me.” “I’m glad you did, thanks for putting up with him,” she chirps. You laugh, it sounds real…you hope. “Anything for you, Sarbear.” She opens the truck, eyes the bench like it's a puzzle, and slides into the middle without hesitating. Thank fuck. You’re all crammed in the truck now, Sarah’s already talking about the plane, the guy next to her with salami breath, the cat in one of those backpacks with the plexiglass windows. You shift closer to the door and force your legs to stay still. Joel has one hand on the steering wheel and one stretched out across the back of the seats. His arm brushes Sarah's hair with every turn. Sometimes his knuckles brush your neck, too. You swear he’s doing it on purpose, try not to flinch. Sarah keeps chattering the entire drive home. Oblivious. Radiant as ever. Safe. You, on the other hand, are barely holding it together. You can feel his eyes on you every time he checks his right mirror. You keep thinking about the grip of his hand on your face. His mouth on yours. That fucking belt yesterday. Same one he’s wearing today, by the way. By the time he parks infront of the house, you’re sweating and it’s not because the a/c in the truck sucks.

You jump out so Sarah has room; she’s already rattling out party instructions, reminding Joel to check the propane, telling you she’s going to have to steal your lip gloss as she makes her way to the front door.

You don’t follow her into the house. Joel looks at you as he rounds the truck. “I’ll be back. Gotta change,” you say just above a whisper. His brow furrows immediately, actual disappointment hits his face. Then he flicks his eyes down to the dress. “Into what?” he asks, dropping his voice down.“You’re already wearing the dress, why are you changing?” “Because I hate listening. And you don’t get to tell me what to wear, cowboy.” “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than you. “No shit.”

You close the door behind you and let out a sigh that feels like it has been stuck in your chest since Sarah got in the truck. Your dad isn’t in the house, maybe at the store, maybe already at Joel’s place, micromanaging the yard before people start to show up. . It’s just after 4 PM now, people are set to start showing up around 5:30. although nobody ever really listens. So it's probably already started. You walk into the kitchen and pour yourself a finger of whiskey and toss it back. Yes. At 4 PM. I need all the courage I can get, okay? Then you reach into the fridge and grab a beer before heading up the stairs. The green dress is halfway off by the time you make it to your bedroom. You kick the door open and let it fall to the ground like it was never supposed to be on you in the first place. You walk into the bathroom, put the beer down on the side of the tub, and turn the water on. You already showered this morning, but you’re feeling sticky, and all you can smell is Joel’s cologne mixed with whatever body spray Sarah has on you, and right now it's not comforting. It’s fucking naseating. You hop in before the water is even warm and crack your drink. Shower beers hit so hard in the summer. You stand there and let the water cascade over your skin, Thinking about the hold he had on your neck, the way he dragged his thumb across your lip. The way he praised you last night. All those filthy words he panted in your ear are echoing off your skull, making you dizzy. ‘Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like I do’ ‘You’re bein’ so, so good for me now.’

Fuck

You almost cave and reach for the damn shower head, just the memory of last night has you aching. It’s embarrassing. You sigh, turn the temperature lower. Chug half of your beer, and slump down to the shower floor. You sit there until you feel like you have brain freeze, hoping that it will reset your nervous system somehow. Eventually, you crawl out, wrap yourself up in a towel, and walk into your bedroom. You stop to stare across the street through the break in the curtains, twirling the moth pendant, tangling the chain. Joel’s house is buzzing. There’s movement, life. It’s not just him in there anymore, not just the two of you. Not just secrets and ghosts. What the fuck are you…what are WE doing? You let yourself spiral for a bit, really let yourself feel it. The guilt, the shame, the excitement. All of it. You’re not sure if it's about him. About the dress. Or about the way your heart keeps misfiring when you think about the way Sarah was looking at you with those sparkly brown eyes. His god damn eyes. But you’re having doubts. Stuck there, watching the house, wondering if you’re even strong enough to do this. Whether people find out about you and Joel or not. Every push and pull is so strong, the currents are cursed.

Why does something so bad feel so good? Your father would be mortified; he’d never trust him again. He’d probably kick you out of the house, make you get an apartment. Sarah would be crushed. It would destroy her…It will destroy her. Because you don’t know how to stop him, this whole thing feels like a drug binge. 

You’re in too fucking deep now. But you’re so happy with him, the pros outweigh the cons.

For now.

You reach into the closet and grab a different dress. The one that always gets you compliments at the bar. It’s simple, dark, a little low-cut for you, with a slit up the thigh. It makes you look like you could simply look at a man and have them bark. It’s perfect, not too showy, but just enough to get Joel’s attention. You get dressed slowly, throw the matching red set of lingerie you picked up last week at the mall on under the dress. Just because. Just in case. Then you do your makeup slower. Not war paint. Not fuck you makeup. You want to look sweet, like a fox. Cute, but could rip your face off if necessary. You skip foundation, just conceal your dark circles. You put a bit of glitter in your inner corner, swipe a smudgy brown line on your upper lid, and add mascara. You finish the look off with just enough blush to look sun-kissed, a bit of bronzer, and lip gloss. You make a mental note to throw the gloss in your purse to give to Sarah later, just like she asked. You give yourself a blowout, even though it's 90 degrees out. You look good. Great even…but you can’t fool yourself, you can see something weird happening behind your eyes. You should move, leave, go across the street to the party. It’s gotta be in full swing by now. You’ve been sitting at your keyboard for the last twenty minutes watching, playing Für Elise over and over, avoiding leaving. Just staring at the people flooding into the back gate of the Miller house. You’ve seen at least 20 people already, minimum.

Thank god your dad bought enough drinks for a 3-day slow-pitch tournament, because it looks like everyone brought a plus one. You see Karlie walk into the driveway with her new boyfriend, Kyle. You haven’t met him yet, but from what you’ve heard, he’s nice enough. Now that she’s there, you have to go over because you know Karlie and—

(5:45 PM) Karlie: Uhhhhhh earth to bird???? Where are you? sarahs asking

Called it.

(5:46 PM) You: having an existential crisis. Sorry (5:48 PM) Karlie: well…have it faster. get over here xo

Your halfway out of the door when your dad’s voice bellows from the living room, scaring the ever loving shit out of you. You jump and throw the dumb sequined Party City hat across the foyer. “Hey Bird, headin over now?” “Yeah,” you say, clutching your chest, walking toward the room. “I’ll be over there soon. Gotta grab more chairs from the shed.” “Cool.” He looks for a second and gestures at you with a forced smile, “You look…nice.” Smart man. “Thanks. See ya there,” you say, closing the door. It’s not as hot as earlier, thankfully. The sun is a bit lower in the sky, but it’s still scorching, cicadas still screaming. You take a deep breath as you walk your way across the road and right into whatever fresh hell Sarah and Joel Miller have waiting for you.

//

You click the gate shut, and it might as well have been the gates of hell. The yard is already half full. Beer bottles litter the folding tables scattered around the patio. There's a gigantic pink blow-up flamingo floating in the middle of the pool. That was one hundred percent a Kev purchase. You could bet money on it. Nobody’s actually in the pool, but about 10 people are sitting around it, legs dipped in, throwing back drinks and laughing. You do a 360 to see how many people you recognize. There are a few kids from high school there, not from your grade, obviously, Sarah’s. A few people your dad's…or Joel’s age. But no kids, thank god. You see Sarah before she sees you, she’s already got Karlie on her hip, unsurprisingly. When she turns around, she sees you walking through the yard and audibly squeals and runs in your direction. You brace yourself just in time before she barrels into you, arms flung around your shoulders. “You changed!” she says, pulling back to look you over. “Oh my god, Birdie, you look unreal.” “I was sweating through the other one,” you say, trying to laugh it off. “Well—thank god you did. This one’s even better. Like…someone's gonna fall in love with you better. You force a smile. “That’s the idea.” You toss the cowboy on her hat and she squeaks in excitement, “Oh my god, I love this, such a vibe.” “Your dad has a matching one, could probably force him to go grab it.”

She lets out a laugh, straight from her belly. “You did not.” You gleam back at her, “Sure fuckin’ did.” She links arms with you. Straightens out the hat. “C’mon, come say hi to everyone. Tommy’s already had two margaritas, he’s singing Bob Dylan. It’s awful.” She starts pulling you toward the back of the yard, talking a mile a minute. Karlie catches up to you and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Hey baby, you look radiant as ever.”

“You guys are gonna give me a bigger head than I already have,” you say, “You both are looking like total knockouts yourselves.” They both smile back at you as you make your way across the yard. Karlie starts talking about her new job, and Sarah’s rambling about some guy that she ghosted last year, who might be here tonight. You let yourself be pulled. Let yourself smile. Let yourself blend. Everything feels easy, normal even. Like old times, back when things were so, so, so much simpler. But while you're laughing at Sarah’s stories and accepting a plastic cup from someone you barely know, you feel it. The heat of a stare.

Heavy. He’s at the grill, pretending to listen to someone, flipping the burgers blind while he gawks at you. It looks like all of the thoughts have left his pretty head, which is honestly fair. The dress you’re in is soft, barely-there cotton, the neckline is low enough to make any man with eyes look twice. His mouth is probably dry right now because you look good. Sun-warmed and smug. Cool breeze incarnate.

You don’t wave. Don’t say anything. Just let him look. Until the person he’s with literally snaps him out of it, and he drags his eyes away like it physically hurts him. You bite back a giggle and don’t look back. Just keep walking, arm-in-arm with Sarah, your smile practiced to perfection now. As time passes the crowd gets thicker, people are hap haphazardly hucking bocce balls and you’re trying your best to not break an ankle on them, from tripping, or from getting nailed in the achilles by some dumbass with bad aim and too many margaritas in him. I’m talking about Tommy.

Eventually, Mel appears, hips swaying to whatever half-decent playlist someone is managing—same person who’s also reconnecting the dodgy Bluetooth every 15 minutes like an absolute saint. When she spots you, she waves like she’s been waiting for you all day. You raise your cup in greeting. “Holy shit,” she says, pulling her sunglasses down her nose just to get a better look. “This is what we’re wearing now?” What did I say about this dress getting compliments? You give her a lazy smile, “Just keepin’ it festive.” “You looked like a person when I saw you last week. This? This is, like… a weapon.” “Just trying to ruin a man's life,” you shrug. Tommy slides up beside her, handing her a fresh drink like he’s been assigned to hostess duties. His eyes drag over you, but with less surprise and more trouble.

“Didn’t even recognize you in that dress. You clean up alright.”

“High praise,” you say, “coming from a man who once wore Crocs to a funeral.”

“They were black Crocs.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“You see this?” he says to Mel, hand on his chest. “Disrespect. This is what I get.”

Mel snorts into her drink. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” Tommy mutters, and gives you a sideways smirk that’s almost fond.

You settle in beside them, easy. Comfortable. For a moment, it feels like you could do this forever. Laughing with people who make you feel like you haven’t totally lost your mind. Sarah’s off being dramatic with Karlie and her boyfriend in the grass. Everyone’s just… chill.

You sip your drink. Lean into the back of a plastic lawn chair.

And then your eyes flick over to the grill.

He’s fucking staring again.

Still pretending to flip burgers that have been done for five minutes. This time, your dad’s next to him, and he’s not paying attention. Your lips curve. A great idea comes into your head. You tilt your head. And then, without a word, you stand. You watch him as he hands your dad the spatula out the corner of your eye.

“Need ice,” you announce casually. “Cooler’s dying.”

“Garage freezer,” Tommy offers, waving his cup. “Last door on the left,”

“Got it.” You hand your drink to Mel, toss her a wink, and walk across the yard in your bare feet, shoes long forgotten on the patio somewhere. Your dress swaying around your thigh through the slit. You make your way through the sea of people and into the house. The garage door clicks shut behind you, It's cooler in there. You don’t turn the light on. Just take one slow breath. You know you only have about 45 seconds before Joel walks through the door, so you get to work. You reach up under your dress, hook your thumb in the sides of your panties, and slide them down your legs. Step out of them and tuck them into your hand, soft and red and completely not coming home with you tonight.

The freezer creaks when you open it, just enough to be heard over the thud of your heart. You lean into it and reach for a bag of ice, the plastic sticks to your palm, then right on queue— The door opens, then closes again. You feel his breath on your neck. Then his hand. Flat against the wall above your head. You turn your head, just barely. Not all the way. “This what we’re doing now?” Joel’s voice. Right at your ear. “Getting ice? Yeah. Super scandalous, I know.” “Paradin’ around in that fuckin’ dress like you ain’t goit any idea what its doin’ to me.” You’re facing him now, eyes meeting his. He’s already too close. Covering you like a human canopy. “Do you not like it, Mr. Miller?” “Said to wear the green one,” he drawls, “Don’t call me that.” “I did wear the green one. You don’t get to pick.” His jaw tightens. His eyes flick down—quick, sharp, and hungry. “Who did you wear this for?” You pause, let it hang in the air for a second. “I wore it for whoever's watching.” His nostrils flare. Free-hand flexing at his side. “You keep talkin’ like that, Bird. We’re gonna have a real problem.” “Don’t we already have a problem?”

You drop the ice bag on the ground. Turn back like it’s nothing. Like your heart is not currently jackhammering behind your ribs.

His hand slides down the side of your arm. Slow. Barely grazing. Like he’s mad at himself for needing to touch.

“You look like you’re in pain,” you whisper.

“I am.”

“Poor baby,” you coo. Then you grab him by that damn belt and tug him forward, rough, until your bodies are flush. 

His hand flies to your waist. Dragging down. Discovering the slit in your dress. Fingers brushing your thigh. Then higher.

His breath catches.

“Birdie—” “Oh. Right. Forgot to mention.”

You hold out the lace in your hand. Thumb brushing over it. Teasing.

“These are for you.” You press the fabric into his palm. “Put it in your pocket.”

He stares at you like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs.

You guide his hand to the front of his jeans. Push the lace into his pocket yourself.

“Just so you remember who’s yours.”

He swallows. Hard.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. You’re gonna need him.”

You pick up the ice bag, lean up on your toes, and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“See you out there, Miller.”

He doesn’t let you leave, just pulls you back in and kisses you like he’s been starving. Like he’s been waiting hours to taste you again and can’t afford to waste a single second.

You gasp into it—just a little—and he takes that too.

His mouth is hot, rougher than usual, tongue sweeping yours like he wants to leave a mark. One hand fists the side of your dress. The other buries in your hair. You feel it in your knees. In your spine.

You kiss him back hard, breath catching in your throat, and just when you’re about to let it really spiral—

“Hey! Anyone seen the bottle opener?”

You both freeze.

He pulls back an inch, forehead against yours. Breathing hard.

“We can’t keep doin’ this,” he mutters, voice wrecked.

“Then stop.”

He brushes his knuckles across your jaw and spins you toward the door himself.

Then you leave, walking back outside with legs that aren’t steady, and a mouth that tastes like him.

You drop the bag of ice into a cooler like nothing happened. Head straight back over to your people and take your drink back from Mel. She gives you a look…One of those silent, eyebrow-raised ‘girl, I know what just happened in that garage’ looks—but bless her heart, she would never say a word. You tip your cup back and finish the drink. Sitting down on the grass in the circle of friends that’s settled, Karlie and Sarah are still gossiping. You’re just trying to ground yourself, breathing. Trying to pretend like the garage just didn’t exist. Someone passes you a plate eventually. You get up and pile it with food that you barely taste. Everyone and their mom is spread across the yard now. Some in the pool, drinks tucked into patchy lawn chairs. Karlie’s now trying to teach Sarah how to roll a joint with a pencil. Tommy’s playing DJ again, and Mel’s staring like she’s in love with him.

It’s fucking working!! You’re finally feeling settled, calm, okay. When you hear the gate click open. You glance over, squinting into the sun. A woman steps through. Brunette. Late thrifties, maybe. She’s wearing low-rise jeans and a shirt that probably looked better on the hanger. The neck is a little low for a garden party—but who are you to judge right now? Her hair is curled but frizzing, sunglasses perched on the top of her head. Her makeup is done, but only barely holding up in the heat. She’s got a bottle of Barefoot Moscato in one hand and something mean in her smile. You blink You don’t recognize her, but for some reason, something in your stomach shifts. The vibe is…Off. “Oh,” Sarah says, looking in her direction. “I guess she’s back from Boston.” You turn toward her. “Who?” “Dads girlfriend.” Every nerve in your body fights back the look of disgust twitching on your face. It clicks. Boston. The woman from the other day. The car. 

The one Joel said had already left. The one he swore he ended things with. You inhale sharply, trying not to show it. She never fucking left. “Didn’t know he had a girlfriend.” “Yeah, Tess,” she says, rolling her eyes. “She moved a few months ago, they’ve been on and off since Christmas, I think.” So that’s why he stopped fucking talking to me back then. You hum, looking down at the grass, catch yourself twirling the necklace, and then stop. Unfortunately, Sarah keeps talking. “It felt kinda…weird? Like she picked Boston after I started school…like so she could stalk me even though she’s not in school and we’re in totally different cities.” She laughs, like it's some ridiculous observation. Like it didn’t just make you want to throw up. Then Sarah frowns.

“Wait, if she��s here, why isn’t she staying at the house?”

You glance back toward the gate and regret it. She’s now walking straight toward your group. Shitshow starting in 3…2…1 “Heyyy,” Tess says, stopping just short of you all. Her voice is bright. Too bright. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Everyone turns to look. Sarah gives her the flattest smile humanly possible. “Hey…Tess. What a surprise!” Tess laughs. “Yeah! I’ve been around for a few days. Just laying low. Thought I’d come by to surprise everyone.” You keep your mouth shut. Just sip your drink, eyes to the ground still. You just sit pretty and try your best to look unbothered. Tess’s eyes fall on you, they linger a second too long. There’s calculation there, curiosity. Maybe something even a little more nefarious. “You must be…?” she asks, eyes narrowing in a way that could read innocent if you squinted just right, condescending if you didn’t. “I live next door,” you say. “We’ve probably waved at each other.” “Nice to formally meet you,” she says, in the fakest fucking syrupy voice you’ve ever heard, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Joel’s mentioned you once or twice.” You school your expression fast. Everyone heard it in her voice, the pettiness. Especially you. This bitch is going to ruin my fucking life if she doesn’t shut up.

Tommy discreetly gives you a knowing look. Sarah just shifts her weight, visibly uncomfortable but not making actually any connections. Thankfully. You lock eyes with Karlie, like maybe she could Thanos snap you out of this situation. “So…is Joel here?” she asks, looking around the yard like she hasn’t already searched for him three times. You don’t say anything else. Not when she asks about him. Not when she eyes you up again like she’s already decided something. You just hold onto your drink, force a smile, and pray to God that your face isn't betraying you. As soon as she turns to “go mingle,” you quietly excuse yourself. “Drinks gettin’ low,” you murmur, even though it’s not. “Be back in a sec.”

Nobody stops you. You slip around to the far side of the yard. Passing a cluster of coolers and half-empty chip bowls. You’re heading toward the patio, where there's less and a little more shade. You pretend to dig through the ice chest even though you’re not really looking for anything. You just need a minute to breathe, it feels like something is pressing down on your chest. You grab something out, crack it open. Don’t even taste it. Just let it slide down your throat. She knew who you were. She walked right up and smiled in your face like it was a joke. Joel never even mentioned her name. Not once. You drag a hand down your face. ‘“Thought I’d come by to surprise everyone.” Yeah, well. Color me fuckin’ surprised then. “Joel mentioned you once or twice.” Joels got my fucking underwear in his pocket right now. You glance back at the party, scanning for him. No luck. Of course, he’s not out there. Your mind starts racing faster. What the fuck is this? You breathe through your nose. Try to blink the burn out of your eyes. Nobody around you seems to notice. Nobody cares. No one comes up to you. They’re all laughing, lounging, having a grand old time while you fall apart next to a case of Bud Light. The yard is too full, the heat is too loud. Every laugh feels like it’s directed at you, even though you know it’s not.

Your anxious hands are peeling the label off your drink when you hear a voice behind you. Nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” You don’t jump, just whip your head around. Tess is already there—too fuckin’ close for comfort, too casual. Holding her $8 wine like it’s an offering and not an omen. You take a sip of your drink. Let your eyes skate past her like she’s just scenery. “Didn’t realize I needed a chaperone.” She laughs softly. “No, ‘course not. Just thought you might want company. It’s… a lot out here.” You blink once and then look at her fully. “You know,” she says, “It’s funny. I pictured you a little differently.” She flicks her eyes down and gestures toward your dress. “You’ve been picturing me?” She shrugs her shoulders. “Joel said you were his friend's little girl, back from school in…Canada?” she hums, clicking her fingernails on the wine bottle. “Didn’t mention you were so…grown.” You stare. She doesn’t blink. “Yup, that's me. Grown adult. What are we doing here?” you ask. “What?” she tilts her head. “I’m just tryina’ be friendly, I love your dress by the way!” “Right.” You stare back toward the yard, yearning to disappear into the crowd, or even drown in the pool. Tough choice, but you’d take either over this. She follows your gaze and takes a sip straight out of the bottle. Okay. Very classy. “This place hasn’t changed much,” she says. “Same playlist, lights are new, I guess. Joel gets all nostalgic when Sarah comes home. It’s kind of sweet to see that he set the yard up nice.” You nod, barely. “Yeah, can thank me for the decor.” “Oh, well, good job! Kiddo.” “How long have you been in town again?” “A few days,” she says. “I didn’t want to make a big entrance.” “Could’ve fooled me.” She smirks, “Well,” she says, brushing her hair off her shoulder. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to check in. It’s been a few days. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome.” “And are you?” She stays quiet, just takes a long sip from the bottle and looks pleased with herself. You’re about to walk away—about to toss your drink and put this whole fuckin party behind you. When a different voice cuts through the tension like a hot knife.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Theresa?” Government name…damn. You both freeze. There he is, Joel. Standing a few feet away, staring at Tess like he’s regretting his whole life. He’s not smiling. There’s no softness. He’s just got this look on his face like he’s been listening the entire time. Tess straightens, adjusts her top. Not even trying to look surprised. “Of course.” She walks toward him like she’s walking into a boardroom—measured, confident, lips twitching like she won something. But Joel? Joel looks at you first. Just a second, but it lands. You’re not sure what the look on his face is. But you don’t like it. You watch them leave, hanging back for a minute after they disappear around the corner, spiraling again. Your chest still feels tight, you’re too warm. Your eyes are stinging with something you’re still not ready to name. Is this a test? A warning shot? Did he plan this? Is this some fucking hazing ritual? Am I the punchline at my own funeral? You slam down the rest of your drink and open another, just so you have something to swallow. Hoping it will push down the burn in your throat before it turns into something even worse. When you push off the railing and make your way back to the yard, everything is the same. Nothing came crashing down, nobody is in a panic. Nobody feels like you do right now. You can’t decide if that makes it easier or harder to pretend. The music has changed from dad rock to a playlist filled with early 2000s pop-punk. The speaker is struggling to keep up with the bass, and it lowkey sounds a bit haunted… in a cool way. Your friends all have a new round of drinks. Sarah’s back by the pool, doubled over laughing as Mel tries to straddle the giant flamingo in the deep end like it's a mechanical bull. Tommy’s holding back laughter with tears in his eyes. You look over to the grill to see if Joel’s back from talking with Tess yet. He’s not. You lock eyes with your father, who gives you a salute with the spatula he’s holding and then goes back to drinking his sweaty Corona. His sunglasses are still on even though the sun’s dipped halfway behind the trees now.

You smile. Wave. Say hey to someone’s cousin. Laugh at a joke you don’t hear all the way. Keep playing the part. Even though your chest still feels hollow. Even though your stomach still feels sick.

// Joel didn’t mean to make a scene. But when he heard her voice, that sugar-coated, too-sweet bulshit aimed straight at her like a loaded dart, something in him just snapped. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Theresa?” He didn’t even wait for a response. Just turned and started walking, fully expecting her to follow. And she did. Just like a lost dog. They round the corner of the house, into the slim stretch of shade that cuts between the patio and the fence. It’s quiet there. The music is muffled. The hum of laughter and splashing faded behind them. Out of earshot, out of eyesight. She speaks first. “Didn’t think you’d come get me so fast, what was that about?” That voice. He used to like it. Now it just scrapes. “What are you doin’ here, Tess?” She smiles. Tilts her head like she’s being told to explain why she showed up to her own birthday. “Sarah invited me.” “No, she fuckin’ didn’t, she barely knows you.” She shrugs. “Okay, no. But it’s not like I crashed. I just…showed up. I wanted to see everyone. You.” “You said you were going home the other day. When I told you to leave the house, you forget that?” “I was going to. But I found somewhere to stay in town. Figure, maybe I’d hang around a bit. I wasn’t happy with how that happened.” “So you’re what? Stalking me now?” That makes her lose her composure a bit, even if she tries not to show it. “Jesus Christ. Joel. Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” “Showin’ up at Sarah’s party, talkin’ to people like that. Like you’ve got a place here—” “I did have a place here. You forget that?” He laughs, it’s harsh and joyless. Tess folds her arms across her chest. “You didn’t tell me she was livin’ next door.” Joel doesn’t flinch. But something shifts behind his eyes. “Didn’t realize you needed an update on my neighbors.” “Oh cut the bullshit, Joel. You think I don’t see it? The way you looked at her when I walked up?”

“Don’t bring her into this, Tess.” “She’s already in it, I thought you were smarter than this.” She steps forward, voice low, venom tucked under her tongue. “You realize what this looks like, right? You. Her. Her dad, Jesus, Joel. She’s gotta be twenty years younger than you.” His nostrils flare. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re worried about what it looks like. You just don’t like that it’s not you.” That hits. Probably harder than she expected it too. She steps back. “Wow,” she says. “You really think this is about jealousy?” “Is it not?” “No, Joel. This is about you making the same fucking mistake you always do.” “Yeah? And what’s that?” She doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at him. Her eyes search his face, like she's trying to figure out what's left of the man she used to love waking up next to.

“You always get in too deep. You let people think you can handle it. And then when you decide it’s too much, that it’s not convenient anymore. You disappear.” Joel’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the tendons strain in his neck. “This is none of your fuckin’ business.” “It is if you plan to put her through the same hell you’ve put me through.” “You know nothing about her—” he shakes his head, “We’re not having this conversation.” “I might not know her, Joel,” Tess says. “But I know you.” He doesn’t say anything, just lets his breath steady. It’s tight, fuckin’ ugly. And he wants out of it desperately. So he nods. “I can’t fucking believe you came over here to try to start a fight in front of all these people.” he shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, “You said what you wanted to say. Now leave, Tess.” She scoffs, “What, leave the party? Or skip town?” “Yes.” Tess snorts. “You’re so good at saying alot without saying fucking anything, huh?” Joel turns on his heel and walks toward the yard. Keeping his eyes down. The music fades back in, he can hear Sarah’s laugh carry over from the pool. He should feel grounded by it. Steady. But he doesn’t. Halfway back to the patio, he hears her footsteps behind him. “Joel—” He keeps moving. “Wait—can we not end it like that? Please?” He turns his head just enough to look at her. Stays silent.

Her eyes are too wide now, too soft. She takes a step in. And before he can react, she’s wrapping her arms around him. It’s not much. Barely there. A half-hearted, two-second squeeze. Still enough to make the air go stiff. Joel freezes. Keeps his hands to himself, stays still, unmoving. But he doesn’t stop her either.

“I just—I just wanted to say goodbye the right way,” Tess murmurs against his chest. “Please…Just let me have that.” He stares straight ahead, right at Bird. She’s walking toward the house. Alone. Drink in one hand, face fuckin’ unreadable. She doesn’t look over, doesn’t stop moving. She walks straight onto the patio, up the porch steps, and into the house—like she didn’t see anything. But Joel knows better. Because if she hadn’t seen it, her shoulders wouldn't be that straight. Her Jaw wouldn’t be locked like that. She didn’t look because if she did, it would have ruined her fuckin’ night.

And he let it happen. He fucked up like he always does. He didn’t call after her. Didn’t chase. But his chest aches like he’s just missed the last chance he’ll ever get to fix it.

//

As soon as the bathroom door closes, your body goes rigid. You don’t even bother turning the light on at first. Let the dark hold you for a second, your breath catching in your throat. Then—click. White, harsh overhead bathroom lighting. A mirror in front of you that doesn’t miss a single fucking detail. You look fine. Perfect. Hair still curled, lips still stained like you’d been eating pomegranate. Your dress is still sitting just right on your hips. Every inch of you looks like you still belong outside with a drink in your hand and a joke on your tongue. But your chest feels so heavy. Your throat is fucking aching, the muscles straining. And your eyes—fuck. You stare at your reflection like she might start talking first. You lock the door. Grasp the edge of the sink like it’s going to hold you together. Breathe. Don’t cry. Not yet, Bird. Not over this. “It was just a hug,” you mutter to yourself. “It was just a fucking hug.” You don’t believe it. You saw how she held him. You saw how he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t look for you. You close your eyes, grit your teeth, and press your palms flat to the sink. “It doesn’t mean anything,” you whisper. “She brought cheap wine and bad energy. That’s all she brought.” But the silence doesn’t argue. It just sits there. Dense and unbearable. 

You slide down the bathroom door, fingers trembling now, heart somewhere near your stomach. And that voice inside you…The one that's always been waiting for the other shoe to drop starts talking again. Starts screaming.

Of course, she’s here. Of course, he didn’t tell you she would be here. Of course, this is how it ends. Of course, of course, of course.

You don’t want to cry, to crack. But you do. Sharp tears, one after the other. Sliding down hot, unwanted. You wipe them away fast. “You’re fine, Bird, you’re just drunk” you say to yourself, “You are fucking fin—” A knock at the door interrupts you. You put your head in your hands. Another knock. Then a voice.

Tommy. “Hey…you alright in there?”

Your heart is still pounding, eyes still wet, mascara running. You think about staying quiet. Pretending you’re not in there. But then— “I watched you walk into the house,” Tommy says gently, through the wood. “I know it’s you.” You sigh, reach for toilet paper to wipe under your eyes, even though you know it’s completely useless. “It’s all fine,” you lie. “I just needed a minute.” A moment passes. Then, softer, “Bird. Open the door.” You hesitate. Don’t even stand up, just reach your arm above your head and unlock it. It creaks open, and Tommy fills the doorway. He sighs, steps overtop of you and turns around. He locks the door again. His cheeks are pink from the sun and too much tequila. He doesn’t look smug or pushy…just worried. Soft around the edges.” “Hey,” he says. “Hi,”

He crouches down, leans against the vanity, and stretches his legs out so that they’re caging you, shoes sitting flush against the bathroom door on either side of you. “You alright? Don’t lie.” “Totally” He raises a brow. You roll your eyes at him. “Okay, mostly.” He sets his drink down on top of the garbage can and rests his forearms on his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says. You look over. “Why?” “For the other week. For the picture. For threatening to tell your dad. For being insane. I was just drinking, and pissed, and—jealous.” Your eyes go wide. “Really Tom? You were that jealous ?” “Yeah,” he says, like it's obvious, “Not even about you, really. Just… the way you looked at him, the way you left with him. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that; it’s always been like that with him.”

You stay quiet. Your voice is still too heavy in your throat.

“I’m not trying to make it worse,” he adds. “Just felt like I owed you the truth. I shouldnt’ve said any of that shit, shouldn’t have threatend to blackmail you.”

You nod once. “I appreciate it.” He shifts a little closer. “Sure you’re alright, little Bird?” You sniffle, try to laugh it off. “Just need a minute.” He watches you, eyes going even softer now. “Y’know, if things were different, I always thought…” You level him with a look, cocking your head. “Really, Tom? Now?” He lifts his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay, not the time, my bad. I’m just sayin’” You huff a laugh, reach your hand forward, and flick his forehead gently. He smiles, and you shake your head as you let out a heavy sigh. “I should get back out there before someone thinks I died.” “Take your time,” he says, “You want me to hang out here with you for a bit?” You honestly consider it, but shake your head instead. “I think I’m good…just needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy.” “You’re not.” “I mean. Even if I am, I’m hot enough to get away with it.” Tommy grins. “That’s the spirit.” He starts to get up with a groan, you can hear his knees pop. Before he’s fully upright, he leans over you, kisses your head. Your fucking eyes start watering again. His hand is on the lock now, but he looks back down at you. “Look… I’m not sure what’s going on out there. With him. With her. But you—” he sighs, shaking his head, “you didn’t deserve that.” You look up at him, throat tightening like a vice. “I think maybe I did,” it comes out meek, squeaky.

“You didn’t,” he says, firm. “Joel’s just…Joel. He just thinks with his feet, he runs. I promise it’s not you, Bird.” You bite your lip, try not to let the tears start falling all over again. “He told me she left.” Tommy shrugs, grim. “He probably thought that he was protecting you. That, or he’s just a god damn idiot.” You try to laugh, but it's bitter. “I vote idiot.” He smirks. “Glad we agree.” He clicks the lock, reaches for the knob, looks down once more. Hey. Just…don’t let her win. Whoever she thinks she is.” You nod, voice small. “Thanks, Tommy.” “You’re tough. Even when you’re not.” Then he slips out the door. You give yourself five whole seconds. One deep breath. Two.

Then you stand yourself up and open the door. You don’t even take a full step out before he’s right there.  

Joel, posted up in the hallway, like he’s been waiting. Eye’s locked on yours. He searches your face, sees it still flushed from crying, jumps his eyes the closed bathroom door behind you. Then back again.

“What the fuck was that?”

You flinch, jump backward a bit, and hit the door. “What?” “You and Tommy. In my bathroom,” he shakes his head, “do you think I’m an Idiot?” Your mouth drops open. In full disbelief. “You think I was fucking him in there? You have got to be kidding me right now.” He says nothing. His jaw is locked, his eyes are dark and pissed. Arms folded. Mouth drawn so tight that it looks painful. You almost laugh in his face. You’re so stunned, so florred, that you almost let out a fucking laugh. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing?” you scoff, “Oh yeah. Totally, that's it, Joel. You caught me! After everything you put me through tonight, I was really in the mood to fuck your brother.” He opens his mouth, but you’re already moving past him. “Go fuck yourself.” You’re in the hallway now, stomping back toward the back of the house, blood roaring in your ears, deafening. “Bird—” “No. Just no. You don’t get to be mad. Not after that circus act out there. Not after you two got all cozy, right in front of me.” He catches your wrist, the one with the mark still visible from last night. “Don’t fucking touch me.” “You wanna yell? Fine, be my guest. But you’re not doing it out here. Not when the whole damn neighbourhood is in my back yard.” He’s steering you toward the back bedroom before you can twist out of his grip. Slams the door shut behind you. You spin on him, furious. “What the fuck is your problem?” “I’m not doin’ this with you where anyone could walk in on it.” “Why? Would that add a little more shame to the humiliation package?” You gawk at him. Disbelief morphing into something sharper. “You really invited her here, just to see how I’d react?” “Jesus Christ, you really think I’d do that?” “She’s been here for days, Joel. You told me she left. You lied. You let her look me in the face and smile like it was a fucking joke.” He doesn’t respond quickly enough.

“Joel. I don’t need your half-baked coward routine and cryptic fucking stares. Say what you want to say.” “I had no idea she was gonna show up—” “You didn’t even warn me.” He shakes his head, eyes black. “Didn’t think I had to.” You laugh in his face, cold and hollow. “Oh, of course not. That would require you to treat me like a real person you actually respect. Not some child that you keep in your back fucking pocket.” His nostrils flare. A look you’ve never seen comes over his face. There's something mean rising behind his eyes. “This whole thing—” he gestures vaguely, between both of you—” was a mistake.” There it is. You stop breathing. “What?” “You. Me. I should’ve never—” “You’re not doing this. Not at your grown age.” Your voice cracks, but not from the pain. From pure, hot rage. “You don’t get to rewrite this now just because it’s inconvenient.” “You’re not ready for this,” he says, voice even. “Oh, Jesus Christ, spare me the lecture. You’re not the victim here.” You take a step closer to him, chest heaving. Every nerve in your body is buzzing. “This is what you do, right? You pick someone easier. Someone younger. Someone who won’t ask for anything real. And the second, it feels real—” “You’re a kid, Bird.” That stops everything. The words hit like a slap.

Not because you didn’t know he thought it. But because now, he said it out loud. In a real way. He said it like a weapon. Dead silence. You’re not even shocked anymore, just devastated. “That didn’t seem to stop you from putting your hands on me.” He tries to say something, but the words don't come out. “High school was years ago. Even for me, Joel.” You step back. “Try acting like it.” You turn for the door. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t walk out on me.” But you already are. You don’t slam the door. You don’t cry, can't. You just walk. Out of the bedroom. Out of the house. Out of the fucking story he tried to write you into without asking. You run into Sarah on the way to the gate. Fuck my life. “Hey, Bird! Where have you been? I thought you disappeared—oh my god, are you alright?” Her eyes go wide with worry. You use every ounce of energy you have left to keep yourself from sobbing into her arms, “I’m okay, baby. I just drank too much, I have to go to bed.” She looks back at you with her big brown doe eyes, unconvinced. “You’d tell me if you weren't okay, right?” “Of course, I’m just—-I just have to sleep it off.” It comes out steadier than you could even hope for. “How about you come over tomorrow? Movie night?” Her face switches up, brightens. “Okay, Birdie. I love you to the moon. I’m here if you need me, okay?” “I love you most.” You choke, “I’m so glad you’re home.” She kisses you on the cheek, and you hope she can’t feel the tears left over there. You wrap your arms around her, giving a good squeeze.

And when you get home… When you lock the door behind you, and rip off the dress that used to feel like power but now feels like regret— You pull the curtains shut and lie down. You don’t want to scream. You want to forget. You don’t want an apology. You want a time machine. You don’t cry. You can’t, not anymore. You just lie in the dark like someone carved the future out of you with a dull knife, thinking. I never want to fucking see him again. TAGS! @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredol l@leenieweenie12 @orodaeh

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst, unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's, reader is mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, grinding, spit, cumplay, possessive/rough sex, praise, phone sex, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneaking around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops it’s a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights, emotional devastation, petty ex energy, Joel is the problem

[blind-dates-fest]

Hello, Blind Dates Fest fans!

Hopefully everyone's summer is off to a fabulous start and we all have some rest and relaxation planned.

A couple of months ago we all came up with some great and wonderful new characters and had a lot of fun introducing them to the world. (You can re-read all of this year's festival submissions here!)

But now summer's happening, and it's a great time to send them on another adventure - maybe with a friend?

Enter Blind Dates: Friendship Fiesta!

Write a piece using an original character and their canon friend, or celebrate your writing friends by writing a crossover piece for your OC and a friend's OC! Do your friends write for different fandoms? No problem! Obviously OCs need vacation plans, too - write an AU where they're in the same universe.

The characters you use for this fest do not need to be previous Blind Dates entries (although it would obviously be great if they were.) This is a small and informal challenge to give us something to work on during the month of June!

You may publish your finished piece on the site of your choice and provide a link to the blind-dates-fest blog. If the post is here on Tumblr, tag us in it so we can see it! You can look through the tag #fest submission here on this blog to get an idea of how these posts are usually formatted. (And please, this fest is pro read-more. Please use one if you are publishing here on tumblr.)

What is Blind Dates, anyway? Blind Dates is a festival/challenge that takes place during February and celebrates creating and writing original characters! Blind Dates: Friendship Fiesta is an additional summertime event encouraging writers to expand horizons for thier original character. The guiding principle is to do something new, and possibly challenging, and to serve as writing practice. It can also be a low-stakes excuse to try out a new character in a fandom you don’t usually work in in a small and manageable way.

Do I need to sign up? Nope! This fest is designed to be low-stakes and informal. There’s no penalty for thinking this was a great idea a few months ago and not having time or energy now.

You can read more at our Festival FAQ.

[anyroomsrio]

wip wednesday

Many thanks to @royal-chandler, @dizzymisslizzie, @suseagull5914 for the tags this week!

I'm back with my magical realism "Give Alex A Hug" fic, where Alex meets his younger self at various stages of life. This is a super rough draft, but I'm trying to stay motivated/accountable to write.

So! Here's older Alex meeting his 22-year-old self:

Younger Alex swings his legs off the edge of the dock. “Three things are needed to start a fire. Fuel, heat, and oxygen. That’s just textbook.” “Right.” He knows his younger self needs to process this in whatever way makes sense. He tries to remember that he was caught somewhere between wanting Henry back and trying to push it to the farthest corners of his brain. “So, you've got fuel, which is the initial spark. And then there’s oxygen, which is communication or emotional depth. And then there’s heat, which you know.” Younger Alex quirks a suggestive eyebrow, playfully. But it’s hollow, and it disappears just as quickly as it came. There’s a beat of silence before younger Alex continues. “But then there’s the chemical chain reaction. It’s all those elements coming together, it’s shared experiences.” Younger Alex stops short. Alex feels something burn in his throat, his eyes starting to water. He sort of wants to push it away, but he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should let his younger self see that he learns not to push all the vulnerability away all the time. “Having Henry here, at the lake house. It confirmed what I’ve known for a long ass time. I just –” Younger Alex hangs his head, there’s a soft, muffled sound. “I didn’t know it would burn me alive. That I was the forest, and he was the fire.”

Other WIPs:

I'm pretty sure I'm settled on my wanderlust prompt pick, and I've started brainstorming plots. Very excited for this!

The RomCom event is also around the corner and I'm pretty set on the Serendipity Inspired AU (it's a loose AU; I'll share more soon.)

AND I think I have a crack fic or two brewing involving Henry getting turned into a cat. So. A bit of everything!

no pressure tags for: @miharaikko @porcelainmortal @onpurposewrites @theprinceandagcd @orchidscript @worldofvillainy @les-corps-beaux @songliili and the most open tag for anyone else that would like to join / share! (I love seeing what you're all up to.)

[morangoowada]

Part 1 of Brazil Danganronpa

[forgettable-au]

Something about hands....

Pssttt if you haven't seen it already, check out the new forgettable-au amv These are some of the still frames from that animation hehe

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

another post for @bttfjanaury! this one's @itsthemorph's mermarty au and very predictably i got carried away with it LMAO.

yap session and bonus stuff below the cut:

once again i came up with an entire backstory for this au, and if i were a fanfiction writer i would genuinely consider writing it since it's a lot less visually comedic than the weredoc au (and comedic in general, it's played a little straighter than "man turns into dog and is thoroughly inconvenienced by it") (unfortunate [in reference to visuals] bc i enjoy drawing mermarty a great deal more than weredoc GBJKGJ) bc i really like the premise but i'm pretty bad at fleshing out a narrative in enough detail to last the whole story so bullet points it is:

doc has decided to take a break from his time-travel-related research and go on vacation! the fresh coastal air might jostle a couple ideas into place, and while he is a nuclear physicist and not a marine biologist he wouldn't mind checking out some of the local aquatic life

and by local aquatic life he meant like normal fish and stuff. a nice mollusk or two even. so when he ends up fishing an entire boy out of the water instead he's understandably very shocked

before doc can move past the "where did he come from??" thought to register his more fish-like qualities, the boy makes a run (a swim?) for it. fortunately or unfortunately for doc, he ends up being able to register the fish-like qualities after all since he gets dragged into the water along with him. the moment doesn't last too long, though, and the fish-boy is gone as soon as doc realizes the guy has a fish tail instead of legs

doc gets back on the dock (haha), thinks about the whole ordeal for a bit, and decides that the best course of action is just to assume he hallucinated the whole thing in a fit of heatstroke or something like that. he's here to relax and get his thoughts in order so he can continue working on his time machine! there's no time to investigate fairy-tale creatures or whatever supposedly living off the coast of california!

it's not shown in the comic but i imagine doc has a little portable radio next to him as he was fishing, so some time passes before he catches a glimpse of something shining in the water underneath the dock

he looks through the cracks in the dock and lo and behold, it's the same boy from earlier! doc greets him, and the boy immediately disappears under the water. doc thinks he's scared him off until a few minutes later where he pokes his head out and says hi back

they get to chatting and doc learns a couple things:

1. his name is marty!

2. he was trying to get doc to realize that he forgot to put bait on his hook but got his hand caught on it, and was trying to get his hand unstuck from the hook without ripping it open before doc ever had the chance to see him, which he obviously failed at

3. both the being seen and ripping his hand open, because in his haste to get away after being seen by doc he ended up doing that anyways. so there's like a lot of blood coming out of his hand now? but like don't worry about it. it'll be fine. he thinks.

4. he really likes whatever it is that's playing on the radio

doc insists on patching up his hand and initially marty refuses but lets him do it eventually, and marty tells doc that for a land dweller he's actually surprisingly nice. doc says nah anyone would want to help out someone hurt, especially if they're the one's who caused it. and marty's kind of confused by that because his family's always warned him of how dangerous humans are, which he kind of never thought too hard about until now where his time off this particular coast has really proven them correct, because he's encountered a bunch of humans over the past couple weeks and they've all tried to kill him or catch him. doc's the only one who's actually bothered to say hi!

after learning that particular not-at-all-concerning tidbit, doc asks him to elaborate because there's a lot to unpack over there, but someone else walks onto the dock before marty can get a word in and he takes off

marty does not return, even once the other guy leaves, and when doc packs it up to return to the place he rented out for the vacation he overhears a conversation among a group of men about spotting something weird in the water earlier and that it kind of looked like a mermaid? and that if any of them manage to catch it they'll all be rich as thieves. and another guy in the convo goes no you're thinking of rich as kings, you're mixing it up with a different analogy. and the first guy goes no i'm not i said what i said

so now this vacation is doing anything but clearing doc's mind. he's really worried about that little fish guy

there's a couple more ideas i had but halfway through writing out this bullet list i've realized that if i were to actually write this as a fanfiction, i'd probably want to keep those a surprise. so what i just wrote out is kind of the equivalent of one chapter

edit after thinking about it a bit more: since most humans have been trying to kill him, marty really has no incentive to let a guy know that he's wasting his time fishing with a baitless hook. so a. he's still pretty optimistic that most humans aren't out to get him, even if his experience off this particular coast says otherwise, so he was trying to be nice anyway or b. (which i think is a lot funnier) he has started to pull on people's lines as a way to fuck with them. i think if i wrote this i'd change it to this one

i based mermarty off of a guppy fish! specifically this kind of guppy fish:

i was searching up kinds of fish and he just had the vibe of this thing. although now i think i should've made him a flying fish instead. for the pun

alternate ending to the mini comic:

the other one makes a little more sense since just approaching a guy whose species doesn't know about your existence unprompted is pretty stupid even for marty (and also i thought it was funny that the hook didn't have anything but doc ends up catching something anyways) but i still think this one's funny too

[hrtzbeat]

Rei meets Aces older brother...?

contender for the dumbest thing i've ever drawn

[robinson-graves]

[sits up suddenly from my coffin] anybody fuck with my super danganronpa 2 x guy who didnt like musicals au

[mizuribbons]

from my time being in many different fandoms and encountering countless more i have seen a surprising amount of "flower shop with an extremely mentally ill florist who falls in love with a customer" aus. i mean, i see why. it's amazing, and i love this concept, it's just perfect. but also it's pretty fucking specific and there's way more of these than expected.

[korolation]

Over the centuries, there have been several efforts to break The Barrier and rekindle relations with monsterkind. However, all reconnaissance missions have ended in failure, with every group having never returned from the mountain, regardless of their strength or size. Eventually, these efforts were given up, with most believing monsters to be long dead and that the expeditions were ultimately pointless.

The unknown fate of the various reconnaissance groups has led to many conspiracies and urban legends, with some saying that monsters still do reside in the mountain and had killed them all off, while others cite some other mysterious phenomenon as the cause. But there is one thing they all agree on:

Those who climb the mountain never return.

[i3utterflyeffect]

King turning into a selkie and having to ask the kids he nearly killed for help is so funny. And he's stuck with his cape, which he really doesn't like. He's stuck with a constant reminder of being at his lowest! Horrible!

Gets better after it sheds though since now he can take it off and store it somewhere safe.

Anyways, I think Ash might start Rocket Corp after leaving. Probably decided to move somewhere more remote at first (the farm village) and then meets Mitsi.

Hey... How fucked up would it be if Onyx or Scarlet killed her by accident? Wasn't being careful while doing arson and now your older siblings wants you dead because you killed their closest friend.

Alternatively she just survives in this au.

yeah... the cape definitely feels like it's just a jab at a freshly closed wound! Even though selkies are pretty uncomfortable without their coats I think I could see him actually putting his away. Uncomfortable with what it represents for him!

(also i wanted to add a comic of purple getting Parent Coat Blanket and learning what it means but i realize that only works if Alan is a selkie... damn)

and yeah!! ash moves out to the village and despite being a little bit shy (and out of place— people were still a tad standoffish) immediately hit it off with Mitsi, and the two became very good friends! They still make Rocket Corp— and Alan is very proud that they're doing well for themself! Misses them visiting though... they did it more frequently before things got so busy.

also OHGH... i hadn't considered that... i was thinking mitsi just lives (non-murderous siblings, no deaths), but it would be really fucked up if they did it on accident!! especially when the two learn that, considering they left to protect the people around them... both horrified by what they've done! fall off the grid completely except for when they're desperate for supplies, probably...

[namelessprince]

ok all the characters i have figured out for dsmpd au below the cut:

ranboo as the wisperer

tubbo, quackity, and fundy as the rest of the pd

sam as the mentor

tommy as ashe

techno as mark

phil as Dead Wife(best friend in this au lol)

the egg as overlord (B.A.D. militia more like bad's militia)

dream as mal

ok now random characters ive thrown in different places:

schlatt as david bell (seriously considered making him origami)

purpled as cantrip

sapnap as doug

karl as professor cross

wilbur as lightspeed but with wordsmiths powers

puffy, foolish, eret, and callahan as the rest of watch (callahan is like their bacon man. in a way <3)

connor as le frog but hes literally just c!connor. that guy is always in situations

george as clarence bcus lol

and ofcourse. slime as fartbo

[egginfroggin]

I feel the need to simply talk about the Dying of the Light AU with regards to Emmet's powers and why I wrote The Sun in Flight with such an emphasis on heat.

Of course Reshiram is a fire-type Legendary and as such is extremely powerful, and this extends somewhat to Emmet, as well. I wanted to emphasize the sheer intensity of Reshiram's fires, and did so by having Emmet describe it as "unbearable" and "incinerating," because Emmet himself can melt glass and sand.

And this is where we get to the main inspiration that set off all this hot-themed prose: a few tags on the reblog that inspired this au talked about Emmet possibly having a castle of glass, to mirror Ingo's castle of ice in Iced Tracks. Here's the thing.

Glass is made from melted sand -- or more accurately, silica, which is abundant in sand.

Sand melts at about 3,090 degrees Fahrenheit, or 1,700 degrees Celsius.

For comparison, lava is about 2,200 Fahrenheit.

LAVA.