#I know it's not supposed to be funny but still

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 5

Y’all begged for reader to get sick, so y’all got it, enjoy<3

cw: mentions of corpses and dead people, the boys going thru some serious shit, the word job uncensored, heavy nsfw mentioned, cursing, the usual, I’m not that satisfied with this part

SILENCE.

A miracle, honestly. No one’s ever been able to shut all five of them up at once before.

You start walking, still holding Mystery like it’s your turn to check him out of demon daycare. You don’t even look back at the others as you guide him past the couch, into the hall.

But he does.

And Mystery’s smile—wide, smug, sharp as sin—flashes behind the curtain of his hair. He doesn’t say a word, but his expression says everything. I win, suck my dick, she picked me, go cry about it.

Romance’s mouth is open. Jinu’s quiet, eyes narrowed in a rare flicker of actual surprise. He exhales through his nose, brushing a hand over the tiger’s head now lying empty on the rug without its girl. Baby’s face doesn’t show much emotion but the way he looks at Mystery says plenty. Abby just looks angry. Aggressive.

The hallway’s dimmer than the living room, not dark, just softer, quiet. Mystery doesn’t say a word as you guide him by the wrist, into your room. You let go of his hand as soon as you’re in. He stands by the door for a second like he’s unsure what to do with his arms now that you’re not holding him. So he puts them in his pockets, all casual-like. You don’t miss the way he adjusts his weight from one foot to the other.

You look at him, eyebrows pinched gently. “What happened?”

Mystery blinks at you, but you can’t see that. You can see his full mouth, the slope of his nose. His collar is stretched out and his shirt has blood on it. Not a lot. But enough to piss you off.

He shrugs.

You scoff gently. “All that?”

You walk toward him, slow and gentle, and he freezes like you’re about to stab him in the gut. Not from fear. Just… awareness. You get close, then closer, looking at his jaw, near a bruise starting to bloom. It’s not swollen yet.

“Who hit you?” you ask.

He blinks. Mouth opens slightly. Then closes again.

You sigh through your nose. “You’re such a boy.”

He smiles at that. Just a little. The kind that hides itself behind his lashes. Then he shrugs again, but this time it’s different. A little sheepish. A little charming.

“Some… girl.” he says finally. His voice is quiet, like always. Raspy and careful.

You nod solemnly. “Alright.” You motion to the bed. He sits slowly, like he’s not used to this. You sit next to him, legs tucked under you. You glance sideways.

He’s looking straight ahead. Shoulders stiff. But his hands—those long, elegant fingers of his—are sitting in his lap, not clenched, not guarded. Just… relaxed.

“Why do you let them drag you around?” you ask softly, tilting your head. “Abby’s always trying to make you do shit. He doesn’t even ask.”

Mystery smiles to himself. “He’s funny.”

Your heart does this dumb thing.

He adds: “He’s nice. When he’s not trying to throw me at walls.”

You laugh. “You literally bite him sometimes.”

Mystery doesn’t deny it. He just presses his knuckles to his lips and laughs once, soft and pretty and boyish. It’s not fair. He’s a demon. They’re supposed to be terrifying. Not the kind of person who makes you want to take a million blurry pictures of him just smiling at the floor.

“Do you like it here?” you ask suddenly. To get something out of him. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the soft buzz of the lights. Maybe it’s the warm silence. Or maybe it’s that no one’s here to interrupt for once.

A small nod.

“I like… you.” he says.

Oh.

Your lips part. But no words come out.

He glances away just as fast. He’s not very practiced in saying things out loud. He’s more of the “staring at you from three feet away” kind of guy.

But still. He said it.

You smile gently, genuinely. “I like you too, Mystery.”

He blinks at that.

You clarify: “Not like that.”

He hums. “I know.”

But the smile stays on his face, blooming a little brighter.

You reach for the edge of your comforter and throw it over both your legs. He doesn’t pull away when your knee bumps against his. You lean back against the headboard and close your eyes. You speak without opening your eyes, voice calm, soft, and laced with something deeper than just annoyance. “You know I’m still really, really fucking mad at you guys, right?”

Mystery doesn’t move.

“I mean it.” you continue. A pause. He still doesn’t say anything. You sigh and finally open your eyes. Your gaze falls to your lap, to the blanket over your legs, then to the edge of the bed where his knee bumps against yours. You’re not moving away. You don’t want to. “But,” you say slowly. “you’re also kind of… fun.”

That earns a shift. Just a tilt of his head. You peek over at him. You see the slight pull of a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Which is stupid,” you add. “because I should hate you.”

Another breath.

“You do?” he asks. His voice is a hush, barely more than a vibration in the air. But you hear it.

You stare at him for a long second. “I don’t know.”

And that’s the honest answer. The one you’ve been circling for weeks. You should hate them. You should be planning your next escape, counting the steps from the hallway to the elevator, scoping the back exits. You should be avoiding every dumb, cocky, boyish interaction and shutting down their flirtations with disgust. You should be making them regret every second of this. Instead, you’re here. Sitting next to one of them. Wrapped in a blanket. Letting your knee brush his like it doesn’t make your heart ache a little.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then he says, “Want to tell me something about you?”

You blink. You turn to him, almost suspicious. “Why?”

Mystery shrugs. “I want to.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You… want to know something about me?”

He nods.

It takes a moment to register that he’s not messing with you. Not prying to get intel. Not about to pull some demon trick out of his ass and suddenly chain you to the bed for betraying national secrets. He’s just asking.

“Uh.” you say. “I like watermelon but I’m too afraid to ask Jinu to bring some. I was a spoiled child. A popular kid, actually, if you know what that is.”

Mystery tilts his head, thinking that over.

“That’s… good.” he says eventually.

You nod slowly, eyebrows pinched. “You’re so fucking weird. What about you? You don’t talk about yourself.” you say. “You barely talk at all, but when you do, it’s never really about you. So… lemme think… what’s your favorite thing?”

Mystery breathes in. Looks at the wall. Then looks at you. A smile pulls at his lips. He pulls his legs up then leans in the tiniest bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret.

“You.”

Your throat tightens. Instantly.

He sits back like he didn’t just say that.

You clear your throat. “Okay. Thanks. Weirdo.”

He smiles into his knees.

Romance fucking crashes through the door, eyes glittering, hair wild, wearing one of those shirts that looks like he tore it in half on purpose just to show skin. Which, knowing him, he probably did.

“Hey.” he purrs, storming into the room. His voice is syrupy, sing-song, and far too cheerful for someone who’s about to commit physical assault.

You blink up at him, still under your blanket, utterly peaceful for once in your cursed new existence. You barely manage a “What the hell are you—”

Before Romance dives for Mystery’s ankles.

“Up, up, up, loser. Out. Pack your moody little silence and take it somewhere else.” he says, practically snarling as he wraps both arms around Mystery’s legs and yanks.

Mystery hits the floor with a dull thud. Hard. His skull audibly knocks the wood. You wince. That sounded like it could’ve cracked concrete. And somehow, Mystery doesn’t even flinch. Not a sound. Not a protest. The most he gives Romance is a blink, like this is fine, this is normal, he’s used to this.

Which, frankly? You don’t doubt.

“Ro,” you say flatly. “he’s literally bleeding.”

Romance stops dragging him halfway out the door just to look back at you, hair flopping over his brow, all breathless. “I know. Isn’t it tragic? He’ll survive. Barely. Maybe.”

Mystery’s arm limply lifts to give you a thumbs up from the hallway floor, face buried into the floorboards like it’s a nap mat. You gape.

“Romance,” you snap. “he was with me.”

Romance beams. “Exactly. That’s the problem. If I can’t have you, no one can. Didn’t you get the memo, sweetheart? You’re mine.”

“Excuse me—”

(Guys I know it sounds cringe but don’t take it the serious embarrassing maffia daddy way. Romance is panting and smiling and literally dragging a man away as he says it plz get the sweet vibe)

“Mine!” he echoes, dragging Mystery by the pant leg now with one hand and using the other to dramatically point at you. “My future wife. My muse. My moral downfall. My happy ending.”

Mystery finally moves—just a bit—using the momentum to flip himself over. “Dramatic.” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse.

“Ssshhh…” Romance shushes, tossing his hair. “You were hogging her, by the way.”

You stare.

Mystery is now lying spread-eagle in the hallway, just blinking at the ceiling. He has a small trickle of blood coming down from his temple. You feel awful. But he seems unbothered, as always. Honestly? If you asked him if he was okay, he’d probably just nod.

You sigh so hard your soul almost leaves your body. “What do you want, Romance?”

He wiggles his brows, then— “To take you out for dinner.”

“No.”

Behind Romance, Mystery finally sits up, dusting himself off, completely unfazed. There’s blood on his forehead, his shirt’s rucked up, and he still somehow manages to look like a fallen angel.

Before you can speak, Romance slams the door shut with one final wink, locking you in with the echo of his last dramatic declaration. “Remember, darling, you can run from your feelings, but you can’t run from me.”

The hallway goes quiet. You’re blinking in slow disbelief on your bed.

Romance.

Motherfucking Romance.

Him and his fuckass designer jeans. Delusional asshole. If he ever actually got you alone for more than five minutes without someone interrupting, you’re 90% sure the Earth would implode. Maybe the sky would crack open. Maybe he’d combust. Who knows. It’s Romance.

You exhale.

…god help you, you’re starting to find it endearing.

Meanwhile on the hall, Romance stares down at the mess he made—Mystery, still on the floor, half a smile tugging at his lips like this is nothing new, like he could do this all day.

And Romance, already smug from his “grand rescue” crosses his arms and juts out his hip. “Okay. Talk. What the hell was that?”

Mystery tilts his head, still on the ground. His hair is a mess around his face, his expression unreadable for half a second—until a slow, airy giggle bubbles out of him.

“What.” Romance says again, blinking. “What are you giggling about?”

Mystery pushes himself upright, arms dangling loose at his sides, as he rocks forward onto his knees. “We talked.”

“Come again?” Romance leans in.

Mystery doesn’t even answer. He just grins. The kind of grin that should be illegal on something with such a soft voice. Then he pushes Romance—two hands against his chest, not rough but sudden, catching him off guard.

Romance stumbles back a step, jaw dropping, then he pushes Mystery back. And then Mystery is running. Well—okay, it’s not quite a sprint. It’s more of a gliding skip, in socks, his laugh echoing soft and high, infectiously airy. Romance chases him.

Mystery yelps when Romance catches the back of his shirt and yanks, nearly tripping them both. They tumble into the wall, shoulder to shoulder, and now it’s all elbows and laughter and stomping feet.

They’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe. Mystery’s head tilts back, full smile, eyes finally visible as his bangs get shoved aside. Romance is breathless and loud, leaning into Mystery.

They’re a mess. Gorgeous, evil, boyish messes.

Romance slaps Mystery on the back. Mystery slaps him harder. They both nearly fall again.

It’s not like this all the time. Romance is extra, always. Mystery is quiet and weird. Their whole group? Horrible.

But this? This little moment?

It’s joy.

Unfiltered, glowing, stupid joy.

And Romance, when he finally hooks an arm around Mystery’s neck and ruffles his hair like they’re ten, can’t stop smiling either.

Mystery just wheezes. “Jealous?”

“Jealous?! I could have her if I wanted. You know that. I’m just—y’know. Pacing myself. Like a gentleman.”

They keep laughing. They don’t even realize Baby walked by, gave them a look of disgust, and just kept going.

They’re too wrapped up in it.

Wrapped up in you.

(A HORRIBLE time skip, which is only a few hours)

It’s dark, way past midnight. Like The lights are low, fridge humming. You’re barefoot in the kitchen, opening cabinet doors like you haven’t already scoured every single one twice. Still. You know there was a Snickers here last week. And if Baby didn’t eat it, then maybe Jinu moved it. Or Abby did baked it into a protein shake. Or Romance fed it to the tiger as a love offering. Or Mystery quietly tucked it into his pockets.

Where the fuck is the Snickers.

You exhale and lean into the counter, the cold of it pressing into your forearms. You’d been thinking about what Mystery said earlier. About you. Or rather, to you.

He really… likes you.

You’d brushed it off. Sort of. He wasn’t a talker. You weren’t a talker. Most of your connection lived in side glances and weird little moments. But it sat with you now, in the middle of the night, as you tried to mourn your lost chocolate bar.

And maybe… maybe he’s not the only one. You’d been brushing off all of them. Because obviously. They were demons. Liars. Idiots.

Sure, they absolutely knew what tits were. Big fans, actually. You figured they’d seen everything. Gotten their fill of tits and asses and whatever else humanity had to offer, but no. Lately, you’d started noticing their eyes higher. Up. At your face. At your eyes.

And that’s a lot for five grown, six-packed, emotionally constipated demons to carry in one apartment.

You hadn’t expected the conversation with Mystery to sit in your chest like this, all warm and alive. You just wanted to be with him to show the others that if someone’s nice to you, they get a little reward. And it shouldn’t surprise you, that maybe… just maybe, they’re not kidding. That they really do like you. In ways they haven’t liked anything or anyone in centuries.

It’s annoying. It’s flattering. It’s unsettling.

You hadn’t really taken it that seriously before. The boys flirting. The compliments. The weird glances. The bickering over who got to stand next to you, or who got to sit on the couch next to you when no one was even watching anything. It was so casual. So unserious.

And you’re definitely not supposed to feel whatever this is back.

A creak behind you makes you glance up, and it’s Baby.

He walks in like he owns the floor, the kitchen, the building, and the earth under it. Shirt and boxers only. No socks. Ruffling his hair with one hand. Half-lidded eyes like he just woke up but doesn’t give enough of a shit to explain himself.

He walks past you, brushing shoulders a little (which he absolutely didn’t need to do with how huge this fucking kitchen is), and opens the fridge, staring inside.

You narrow your eyes. “Not gonna wear pants or…?”

“No.” he drags out a bottle of something and sipping it straight from the cap. Then, without asking, without even pretending to ask, he throws himself onto the stool at the kitchen island, legs spread like he’s airing out his balls. He props his feet on the crossbar and manspreads. Not even pretending to care how much thigh is out. Boxers riding up. Shirt barely hanging on. Disgusting.

You glare. “Can you not?”

He shrugs. “You’re the one looking.”

You blink at him. “I’m not—”

He laughs. That raspy, bratty laugh that sounds like it’s made of smirks and smoke. “You’re funny.”

And yeah, he walks around like he doesn’t care. Always mean, always quiet, always evil. Like he’s not paying attention to shit. Like he barely even knows your name. But he does. He knows where you sit on the couch every time. He knows you like ice in your juice and not your water. He knows when you shower and how long you take. He always knows what room you’re in. He always knows when to shut up and when to look. When you’re not looking? He’s always watching.

You two don’t talk much. He’s not a talker. He’s the least chatty of the five, even less than Mystery, who at least giggles. Baby doesn’t even smile half the time. Just walks around like he’s above it all.

But sitting there like that, half-naked and shameless and still throwing you glances?

You made him learn something new about himself tonight.

He likes being slutty.

He won’t say it. Not in a million years. Not even if Gwi-Ma threatens to blow his eardrums out again. But he knows. And he’s leaning into it.

His knee bounces a little now. He’s watching you again. Chin tilted low. “Go on. Keep talking. I’m bored.”

He likes that you’re talking. He likes that you’re here. He’s not bored. He just doesn’t know how to say stay with me a little longer.

Because yeah.

He’s a dick. A bad person. A literal demon.

But he likes liking you.

You consider it. Then, “You know what? Sure, so I was actually thinking about, like, maybe getting back into painting? I used to paint. It was nice. Like, no one was ever gonna hang them in a gallery or whatever, but I liked it. There was this one I did that was just like, um… a peach. It was really ugly. I was proud.”

Baby raises a brow, head slightly cocked, one cheek squished in his hand as he leans into it. Silent, still slouched in his ridiculous spread, the little bottle now rolling on its side next to him, forgotten.

You keep going. “And I don’t know, I think Mystery would like painting. He seems like he would. I could teach him. That’d be cute, right? We could wear aprons and get paint on our noses and he’d giggle and I’d giggle and then Abby would come in and ruin everything—”

You glance over just in time to see Baby huff out a short breath of a laugh through his nose.

“—which is fair. Honestly, that’s what he’s for. And then Jinu would ask what’s going on, and he’d act so above it but he’d definitely be painting in five minutes.”

Another eyebrow from Baby. His lip twitches.

You’re so sweet.

He feels everything.

Of course he does. Super senses, duh. He knows your blood pressure is just a little higher right now because you’re excited. Knows your temperature’s up slightly from the late hour. Knows your hormones are dipping already. Felt the ovulation spike days ago—even Jinu went a little crazy, let’s not even talk about Mystery, and Romance had to disappear for like four hours to deal with himself—he also really wanted to make your mood worse when you were on your period, but for some reason he didn’t But right now, you’re fine. You took meds. He knows it’s gonna hurt when you wake up, though.

Baby is not a good man. He’s not kind. He’s not nurturing. He won’t rub your back or offer to help or remember your comfort food. He’s the guy that says “sucks” when you’re dying. He’s mean. He kicks Romance into walls for fun. He never shuts up about how stupid humans are.

But you?

You drive him insane.

He feels things he’s never felt before. Ugly, evil, messy things. Obsessive little loops in his brain. Dirty thoughts. Angry jealousy. That bratty kind of crush that makes him want to bite something. You’re his in his mind. Not even because you agreed—because he decided. Because you looked at him once and he saw it all. And now you’re here, arms folded, still talking about something like:

“—and I don’t know, I just think maybe when this whole kidnapping thing is over, if I ever get to go outside again, I’ll buy one of those tiny dogs. You know? They always have names like Mr. Pickles. Maybe I’ll get two. Or just one. Then he pees on the carpet and I cry.”

He’s leaning now. Both elbows on the counter. Chin in his hand. Legs sprawled. Eyes fixed on you in a way that says mine mine mine mine mine but doesn’t say it out loud.

You don’t realize it, but you just made him fall a little more.

He doesn’t talk. He won’t say it.

But god, he’s feeling it.

And here you are, chatting. Like he hasn’t fantasized about you more than any man should. About your thighs wrapping around him. About your neck in his hand. About your voice gone breathless. About you crying again—not sweetly like earlier, but whimpering, begging, fucked out.

It’s not cute in his head. It’s filthy. It’s evil. He knows that. And he’s so fine with it.

He watches you lean back on your heels and sigh and start talking again about god knows what now. Your favorite dumb little shows. The shape of pasta you like the most. You mention Abby somewhere in there. Your hands move when you talk.

He thinks about what they’d feel like curled into his hair. On his jaw. Wrapped around his—

He shifts in his seat a little. Like he’s adjusting his posture, but really? He’s giving himself something to do before he makes a mistake.

“You know what pisses me off?” you say. “The fact that Abby keeps putting the oranges with the vegetables. Like. No.”

Baby raises an eyebrow.

“Oranges. Aren’t. Vegetables. I know that! I passed high school! And I know that.”

Nothing from him. He just tilts his head slightly. Like go on.

“It’s kind of dumb,” you say. “but I think I like the tiger the most. Don’t tell the others.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Why.”

“He doesn’t talk.”

That makes him laugh, and god, god he’s pretty when he does. He looks down briefly, tongue sliding over his bottom lip, before he looks back up at you.

You are the softest thing he’s ever been near. And he’s the worst thing for it. He’s thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking. Has been for a while now. The kind of things that, if said out loud, would get Romance to blush and Abby to wince. Thoughts that are wrong not just because they’re vulgar—though they are—but because you’re you. Human. Kind. Angry, and smart, and hurt, and too real to be something he should touch.

But he wants to.

He always wants to.

And he’s convinced—because he’s Baby, and of course he is—that you want him too. That you must want him. That you’re playing some slow game of pretend or denial, but underneath all your eye-rolls and sarcasm is the same heat he feels when you look at him just a second too long.

You must feel it. Right?

Right?

…You don’t.

But that doesn’t stop him.

But when you pause your ramble to blink up at him and ask, “Are you even listening to me?” and laugh, softly, like you already know the answer—

He actually smiles back.

“…Yeah.” he says, voice low, head tilted, tapping the cap of his bottle against his knee. “I’m listening.”

And he is.

To everything.

You rub your eyes and let out the softest little breath—just a small sigh of existence, and it feels like it hits him in the chest.

“Anyway.” you say. “This tired me out. Like a lot. Jesus. You’re a good listener for someone who doesn’t talk.” You start walking toward the hallway, barefoot and slow, but you glance back over your shoulder to throw one last thing his way. “Good night. Don’t forget to put on pants next time, slut.”

“Night.” he says, lifts a hand, lazy wave, voice low and warm and just this side of teasing.

Alone.

Feeling.

Ugh.

He stares at the empty doorway for a second longer than he means to. Blinks. Sits back, arms folding, tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

What the fuck just happened.

He misses you already?

No.

He scoffs to himself. Lets out a tiny breath, more annoyed than anything. This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You tired yourself out from talking? Really? Who the fuck does that? What are you, a preschooler? You absolute dumbass. And why does he care what you do with your free time? Why does he care if you miss painting, or if you want a dog, or if your stupid face looked really cute when you got sleepy?

…It did look cute though.

Fuck.

He scratches the back of his head, then drops his hand with an irritated sigh. Then he stands up finally, arms swinging slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s not gonna follow you. He’s not gonna get all emotional and knock on your door like a loser. He’s not Romance. He’s not Abby. He’s not Mystery. He’s not even Jinu. He’s Baby. The one who kicks people into furniture and doesn’t apologize. And he’s not changing that because of a girl who talks about fruit and dogs.

Right?

He heads back toward his room with a little more energy than usual. And he doesn’t know it, not really, not yet, but this is going to be one of those nights where he lies on his back, arms behind his head, glaring up at the ceiling, and has to wrestle with thoughts he doesn’t know how to name.

Stupid. This is so stupid.

Okay, next morning.

Jinu’s reading emails at the counter like a professional, which would be really admirable if it weren’t for the fact that across from him stands Abby. Razor in one hand, shaving cream all over his face like a kid who just smeared frosting on himself.

“Jinuuu,” Abby says through foamy lips. “where do I stop?”

Jinu doesn’t look up right away. “I told you not to shave in the living room.”

“You also told me not to put a fork in the toaster and guess what I did yesterday.”

Jinu doesn’t even blink. “You can go more to the right.”

“Hm.”

Jinu looks up and gestures to his own jawline. “Stop here.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, but do it in the bathroom perhaps—”

Too late. The razor is gliding down Abby’s cheek. He makes a delighted sound.

Somewhere behind them, Romance is mumbling a song under his breath, turning an apple over in his hand. Baby is on the couch upside down, playing a handheld game and flips Jinu off for no reason.. And Mystery’s just… there. On the floor. Sitting.

“I think I have a cold.” you mumble, coming into the room. You look like hell.

You’re adorable, and they all stop breathing for a second.

Abby perks up immediately. “Wait, for real?” He walks over like he’s actually about to be useful for once. “Let me check. I’ve seen this in movies.”

You blink at him. He places the back of his massive hand against your forehead. Tilts his head. Frowns.

“…Hm.”

You sniff again. “Hm?”

“I dunno.” he says. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Yeah, no idea. I think you’re fine.”

“Am I hot?” you ask weakly.

“Obviously. But fever-wise, like—medically? I got no idea.”

You don’t even have the energy to insult him properly. Just swat his chest like, be fucking serious. And the thing is—they are. Serious. About you, anyway. Not about the world. Or schedules. Or being decent people.

Because outside of you? They are absolutely horrible. Actual villains. Jinu once cut a demon’s throat in silence and then got blood on his white turtleneck and didn’t give a single fuck. Romance has a list of people he’s cursed (and probably kissed). Baby killed someone in a bathroom and then stole their cologne. Mystery still hasn’t explained the pile of teeth in that little glass bowl in his room. Abby once body-slammed a priest for fun.

They’re evil.

But to you?

God, they mean well. So well it hurts.

They don’t want to be good.

They just want to be good to you.

Jinu doesn’t look up this time. “Y/N, rest. Bed. Now.”

The tiger rubs against your legs like a bus-sized housecat and then lowers itself so you can lean on it for support. You do.

And they’re trying.

Not because they care about humans.

Because they care about you.

Even if Abby is now dragging the razor down the side of his cheek and saying “ow” repeatedly with every stroke. Even if Jinu’s typing “Y/N medicine list” into a private document right now, pretending he’s not watching you shuffle toward your bedroom, the tiger walking beside you.

Even if they’ll lie to your face about everything else. Even if they’ve done this to you.

They still mean good.

For once.

About twenty minutes later, the sound of your door creaking open is lazy, half-hearted, no knock, no polite warning.

You’re curled up in bed. Hoodie on, nose pink, a mountain of tissues building up on the nightstand like a white flag of surrender. Derpy is pressed along your side, warm. The moment the door opens, the tiger lifts its massive head, glowing eyes narrowed, but it doesn’t move. It recognizes him.

Baby stands there in the frame, one hand on the door, the other shoved in his hoodie pocket. One brow is cocked. He looks like the embodiment of “whatever.”

“We’re going.” he says. No hello. No “how are you feeling.” Just a dull, half-grunted report.

You blink up at him from your pile of blankets. Your voice is quiet. “Going where?”

He shrugs. “Out. Don’t care.”

Your brows lift, sniffle dragging at your tone. “Then why are you telling me?”

He huffs. Exactly.

The others definitely sent him.

“I’m just here to check if you need anything.” he mutters, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe like the weight of standing fully upright is just too much.

“You were definitely sent.” you murmur, clutching the blanket higher.

He shrugs. “Told them you’d be fine.”

You cough gently into the sleeve of your hoodie. He watches that. Watches you blink tiredly up at him, tissues shoved under your arm, cheeks all soft and flushed from the fever, lips chapped and frowning. You’re small, quieter than usual, and visibly miserable.

“You look like shit.” he mutters.

“Thanks.”

“You want anything?”

“Sleep.”

“Cool.”

“You’re so kind.”

He snorts, pushing off the frame. The tiger growls lightly, just because it can. He flips it off.

You cough again, and in the hallway, he hears it.

And even though he’s halfway down the corridor now, even though you won’t see it, Baby rolls his eyes hard—and then turns the corner into the kitchen.

About another twenty minutes later, you’re still in your room but from somewhere around the house, you can hear:

“Bye, Y/N!” from Romance, who always has to say it first. His voice carries like a song. You imagine he’s fixing his hair in the mirror while he says it.

Then a quieter, lilting, “Bye…” from Mystery.

Abby: “Miss you already, babe.”

Jinu’s “Back soon.”

Baby doesn’t bother.

Then there’s someone hitting someone (again), the very clear sound of Romance singing and being absolutely cut off by someone burping loudly (probably Abby), and finally—

SLAM.

You don’t remember falling asleep after that.

Hours after, in the evening when they get back, Romance slips out of his shoes, throws his jacket at the wall (Abby yells “THE HOOK” but Romance ignores him), and beelines down the hall, already unzipping his hoodie. The moment he pushes your door open, he sees you bundled under every single blanket known to man—half of them not even from your bed. He recognizes Abby’s hoodie. One of Jinu’s coats. The tiger’s long, heavy body is curled against your side like a heating pad. There’s tissues everywhere. A bowl of soup, untouched.

You’re sweating, and pale, and your nose is pink, and your eyes are glassy. You blink slowly at him when the door opens. “…Romance?”

And he wants to melt.

He crosses the room instantly, sits down on the bed, one hand bracing on the edge of the mattress. “Baby.” he says, slow and low and too hot to be safe. “Ohhh, look at you.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Go away.”

“I would never.” He presses his palm to your forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up.”

“It’s fine.” you murmur, eyes slipping closed. “Just a cold.”

It’s not just a cold. It hasn’t been since this morning.

He can feel it. The exhaustion in your muscles. The weakness in your breath. The ache beneath your skin.

He wants to scream. He wants to pick you up and shake you and kiss your forehead and punch a wall and then cuddle you under every blanket in existence.

He does none of that.

The feelings in him are unbearable. Worse than the hunger. Worse than Gwi-Ma’s voice in his head. Worse than the years of rot buried in his gut. It’s like you’ve rewired his entire nervous system with a smile and a fucking tissue crumpled in your fist.

You sneeze.

Why is that cute? Why is you being sick still so sweet he can barely look at you without wanting to press his mouth to your skin?

What is wrong with him?

How can someone like him—someone full of filth and violence and hunger—feel like this for someone like you? You, with your snotty nose and bad mood and adorable raspy voice. You, who calls him a dumbass and refuses to look at his upper body even though you absolutely snuck a glance yesterday in the hallway mirror. You, who won’t love him back, probably ever.

He’s staring at you like you’re naked and willing and whispering his name between moans—even though you’re bundled in blankets and might actually be hallucinating. His fingers slip down to your jaw, your temple, the curve of your neck, tracing places you’re too tired to even flinch over.

You let out a little sigh.

He shudders.

His hand slips into your hair, brushing it back. It’s a mess, but it’s your mess. You’re real, you’re alive, you’re with him and that’s enough to short-circuit his entire system.

“God, you’re pretty.” he whispers.

Your only reply is a small wheeze.

He huffs a breathy little laugh. His fingers are threading slowly through your hair now, gentle and obsessive. Bedroom eyes going insane as he watches your lashes flutter, your dry lips part, your throat bob with every weak swallow.

You murmur something. He leans in.

“What was that?”

“…If you’re gonna sit here talking,” you rasp, eyes still closed. “at least go make me tea.”

“Yes ma’am.” He’s already standing, too fast, nearly trips over his own feet.

You crack one eye open, barely. “No demon magic.”

“Shit.” he groans dramatically. “There goes the secret ingredient.”

You lift a tissue to your nose with a weak sniff and give a tiny wave of dismissal. “Go, Romeo.”

He bows. Full-body. Right there at the door. Then he’s gone, practically skipping to the kitchen.

Because you asked for tea. You asked him to get it. You gave him a job, something he can do for you—and Romance, for all his flirting, all his filth, all his chaos, has always craved one thing:

To be useful. To be wanted. To be your something.

Even just the guy who makes you tea when you’re sick.

It’s pathetic.

He heads straight for Jinu’s room.

He leans his entire lanky-ass body in the doorway, arm stretched up to grab the frame, hair messy from running a hand through it a hundred times since you asked for tea.

“Hey, Jinu.”

Jinu, probably researching shit to be better at acting like stars, looks up with one singular blink. No change in expression. Nothing.

Romance still smirks. “Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m not your type, but I am beautiful.”

Jinu exhales through his nose. “What.”

“I need to know how to make tea.”

Jinu finally turns, squinting at him like he’s trying to make sure this is real.

Romance nods, dead serious.

“For Y/N.” he adds, and immediately softens. “She’s sick. She asked me. ME.”

“You don’t know how to make tea?” Jinu says flatly.

“No.”

“You’ve been alive for four centuries.”

Romance shrugs, smile lazy and smug. “I have other talents.”

Jinu stands without another word and gestures for Romance to follow.

In the kitchen, Romance is hovering behind Jinu, chin practically on the man’s shoulder as he watches him fill the kettle.

Romance leans his chin on his hand, watching the kettle as if it might hurry up for him. “You think she likes me?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

“Shut up and hand me a mug.”

Romance reaches for the prettiest mug in the cabinet—pink, with some dumb baby chick painted on it, definitely not theirs—and slams it proudly on the counter.

Jinu doesn’t even ask. He just pours.

“Thanks.” Romance says. “I mean it.”

Jinu just nods once.

And Romance takes the mug in both hands, lips tight, smile huge. Back to you. His sick little angel. Full pride in his step, tea in hand, and a whole dumb little smile on his face like ta-daaa, he doesn’t even make it two steps before freezing when pushing your door open.

Baby is already there.

On your bed.

Cross-legged.

You’re under a pile of blankets and cat, pale and sniffling and red around the eyes, cheeks flushed from fever. You blink slowly, dazed. “Hi.”

Romance almost drops the mug. “Hi.” He looks at Baby. “You were in the living room like thirty seconds ago.”

Baby blinks. “Walked.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

Romance sighs, stomping into the room. He slides the tea onto your bedside table—without even sloshing a drop, thank you very much—and turns to both of you with a palm on his hip. Then, with the world’s most obnoxious smirk: “Threesome?”

You blink blearily at him from under your mountain of blankets and giant tiger, one eye barely open, lip cracked and dry. Your voice is a croak when you whisper: “Shut… the fuck up.”

Romance laughs. Loud. Bright. Because even sick, even puffy-eyed and pale, you’re sharp. You’re fire. You’re you.

He sits on the edge of the bed, not too close, like the tea was already a risk, like maybe he’s being smart now. “God, you look awful.”

“Stop flirting.” you mumble.

You look worse than before. The flush on your cheeks is insane. Your lips are dry. Your breathing, shallow. There’s a tension in your brow you haven’t relaxed from in hours. The tiger lets out a soft huff and curls tighter around you, like even it knows something’s not right.

Romance swallows.

“Y/N…” he says slowly. “You, uh. You still with us?”

You blink at him. Then at Baby.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice hoarse, looking at Baby with bleary confusion.

“Sussie’s sleeping.” Baby mutters.

That’s not an answer.

“We’ll stay.” Romance says.

“Didn’t ask.” Baby murmurs.

“Didn’t say it for you, asshole.”

You don’t say anything, just sip your little tea. Well—more like wobble the cup against your mouth with both hands because your fingers are half-dead and you’re shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. The warmth helps, though. Kinda. Sorta. The heat seeps into your palms and then your cheeks and then your fogged-up brain, just a little.

“Be careful.” Romance says quietly, snatching the cup from you.

“I got it.” you rasp.

“You’re about to pour boiling water into your eyeball.”

You glare at him over your blanket, too weak to actually do anything but hold eye contact for a second and then blink slowly. “You’re about to get hit with this cup.”

Romance grins. Good. That means you’re not dying. Probably.

He gives it back to you anyway and you take another sip.

Romance leans forward like he’s gonna say something genuine, like maybe this is the moment, like maybe he’s going to try honesty for once, but instead he says, “You want me to tuck you in?”

You don’t even blink. “I’ll throw up.”

Baby smirks.

Romance holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, fair.”

They don’t admit they’re worried. Of course they don’t. That would mean facing the truth of how this all turned inside out, how you got under their skin and behind their ribs and became the center of a space they didn’t even realize was hollow.

You sip the tea, holding the mug in both hands, face buried behind it, nose red and skin clammy. Romance watches like he brewed it from scratch himself, the way he puffs up with pride when you swallow it without gagging. Baby rolls his eyes but doesn’t move.

You scared the shit out of them.

Even Baby, who doesn’t get scared, just… detached. He was with you in the kitchen the night before, he knew something was going on. But god forbid he say anything like, “Hey, Y/N’s not doing good, maybe we should take a look on her”

You let out a quiet, congested sniffle. Then you giggle.

Both of them tense.

You giggle again, slurred and sticky and sleepy, and quote—out of absolutely fucking nowhere—“’Til my soda pop fizzles out…”

And then laugh at yourself. Like, genuinely. You snort and press your cheek to the pillow, shoulders shaking gently with laughter, voice soft and woozy.

Romance opens his mouth like he wants to defend himself—he was going to claim it was a metaphor for sucking cock or something, really poetic—but then closes it again.

He can’t even be mad.

Baby’s eyes flick down to your face, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth like maybe he wants to laugh too, but he doesn’t.

You just turn your face away from them, still grinning.

Romance watches you closely. You’ve gone quiet again. Almost too quiet.

And then you pet Baby’s knee.

His head snaps down, and he stares at your hand.

You’re rubbing your palm over his jeans, slow and distracted, like you’re comforting a pet or a plush toy. Like it’s unconscious.

Y/N ARE YOU WITH US???

Baby swears under his breath. He’s a cocky little shit, always has been, but something cold wraps around the back of his neck and slithers down his spine. You’re sick. Out of it. And still somehow found a way to crawl under his skin with the simplest gesture. He just looks at your hand. Small and warm, barely applying pressure, and the pads of your fingers brushing against his knee make his stomach ache in a way he doesn’t have words for. He wants to swat your hand away—wants to climb into your touch. Both.

You make it hard to be who he was before.

“Y/N?” Romance murmurs after a minute.

You don’t respond. You’re asleep, finally. Still breathing softly, hand still limp on Baby’s knee, tea now cooling on your bedside.

Romance exhales, deep. “She’s out.”

“Good.” Baby mutters.

And in both their heads, you’re perfect.

“Well,” Romance mutters, brushing your hair out of your face tenderly, looking at Baby. “you can go now.”

Baby doesn’t move.

Romance doesn’t look at him again, just keeps his eyes on you, makes a little tsk sound like he’s doing the responsible thing, like he’s offering Baby an out. “You know. Since she’s sleeping. Nothing else for you to do.”

Still nothing from Baby. Not a twitch.

Romance dares to glance sideways, just briefly—and sure enough, there’s the baby-faced bastard still sitting cross-legged, unmoved, unmoving, with that flat expression he always wears. His face doesn’t give away anything. But his eyes? Murder. Absolute murder.

Romance smiles wider, cocky, charming. He can feel Baby getting mad, and he thinks it’s funny. He enjoys this. He thrives in this.

But Baby’s jaw flexes once. That’s all.

Romance leans back on one elbow, shifting on the bed like he’s relaxing. “C’mon,” he whispers with a little grin, “don’t you have something else to do? You usually do.”

Baby blinks slow. Looks at him like he’s already dug the grave and picked out the headstone.

Still doesn’t move.

Romance raises a brow, eyes darting meaningfully toward the door. “You’re not gonna just sit there all night, right?”

You stir, only slightly—just a twitch of your fingers against Baby’s knee. Your breath hitches, your mouth opens a little in sleep. You let out the tiniest whimper, almost like a sigh.

Both boys freeze.

Then, Baby’s hand moves. Very slowly, like he’s been planning it for ten minutes, he reaches down and brushes your knuckles with his pinky. Barely a touch. It’s the gentlest thing he’s done in a decade.

Romance’s nose twitches. His teeth grind together behind that ever-pleasant smile.

This bastard’s not leaving.

Baby’s not playing. He’s not pretending to be calm. He is calm. He’s decided. He knows what he wants.

Romance shifts again on the bed, eyes narrowing just slightly, almost daring Baby to move. To try something. But Baby’s already seated comfortably.

The air between them is thick now.

And in the middle of it all, you, nestled in your blanket cocoon. Eyes closed. Cheeks flushed from fever. Breathing soft and warm.

Baby doesn’t move. Won’t.

Romance finally leans back, resting on his hands, gaze flicking over you again. “…Fine.” he whispers. “Stay. See if I care.”

Baby doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t grant that the statement deserves acknowledgment.

And for now—for tonight—Romance lets it go. But only because you’re still petting Baby’s knee in your sleep. And Romance is pretty sure you don’t even know whose knee it is. But Baby? Baby will remember this forever.

Romance shifts just a bit, reaching for the edge of your tea mug, planning to at least fix the angle or—hell, maybe steal a sip just to spite Baby—when a thump hits his hip.

He blinks. Looks down.

The massive tail of Jinu’s absurdly huge tiger is curling around. Slowly. Firmly. With intention.

He whispers a warning. “Hey. Don’t.”

Thump. The tail swipes again—harder this time. A very clear get out.

Baby’s already watching, elbow on one knee, cheek in his palm, smirking just a little. Not enough to be obnoxious. Just enough to be smug.

But the tiger doesn’t give a single fuck. It shifts its enormous body a little, tucking its legs tighter around you like you’re its favorite person on earth (you are), and then gives one final, long, sweeping tail-whip that knocks Romance right off the side of the bed.

Whuff.

“—fucking hell.” he curses under his breath, barely managing to keep the crash quiet as he hits the carpet with a heavy thud, limbs flailing.

Not a sound leaves Baby’s mouth, but his shoulders shake, and there’s pure joy in the way his eyes light up.

He’s delighted.

He’s—

The tail turns.

Baby’s expression dies in slow motion.

THWUMP.

The tail slams into his side and sends him toppling backward off the mattress, legs flying up before he hits the floor beside Romance in a graceless pile of limbs and insulted pride.

Romance bursts into actual laughter this time—quiet, wheezy, biting down on his knuckle so he doesn’t wake you—but he’s definitely enjoying every second.

Baby glares at him, scrambling upright.

As Romance starts to get to his feet, Baby trips him. Right in the ankle.

Romance goes down like a shot, muffling a yelp into his sleeve.

But they get out of your room, barely. Shut the door so gently and so quiet.

And once they’re on the halls, Romance pushes Baby back by the shoulders, slamming him into the opposite wall. “You’re a fucking brat.”

“You’re a jealous dick.” Baby mutters, voice low and smug, his hair in his eyes, hands shoving back with equal force.

“Yeah?” Romance huffs, smiling with too many teeth.

Baby’s done. He grabs the front of Romance’s shirt and shoves him again, this time harder.

Across the hall, Abby appears in the doorway of his room, holding a donut(??) and a dumbbell. Mystery’s already standing next to him, hair messy, smile tugging at his mouth.

“Five bucks says Romance loses.” Abby mutters, snorting.

“Twenty on Baby going too far.” Mystery whispers.

Jinu comes between them and shoves them apart, done with their shit. “Chill.”

Romance points an accusatory finger. “He started it—”

“No, no. Both of you. Shut up.”

Romance has his fist raised.

Baby’s mid-shove.

Both freeze.

Romance lowers his arm. Baby shrugs, as if to say whatever, but lets go of Romance’s shirt. Romance straightens his collar. Baby brushes tiger hair off his sleeves.

They don’t say anything, but the tension is dense as they shoulder past each other. Romance bumps Mystery’s shoulder as he passes, but Mystery just smirks.

When they’re gone, Jinu turns to your door and knocks once, out of habit, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he eases the door open a crack, just enough to look in.

Yeah.

There you are. Nestled deep in the blankets, wrapped in what looks like four layers of sweaters and socks and the literal massive striped beast that is his tiger. You probably don’t even realize your hand is still resting where Baby’s knee was earlier. Your cheek’s warm with sleep, your lips parted slightly, breath even and soft.

He stays there for a beat longer than necessary.

And then, gently, he pulls the door shut.

Click.

When he turns around—

“Jesus—”

Abby and Mystery are right there.

Pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, looming behind him with their heads tilted at the same curious angle. Abby is so close he’s practically breathing down Jinu’s neck, while Mystery, half-hidden behind his hair, looks like he just wandered over.

Abby grins, unbothered. “How is she?”

“Fine.” Jinu mutters, brushing past them, but the smallest breath of relief sneaks into his tone. “Sleeping.”

Mystery just hums, barely audible. Satisfied. “Still sick?”

“Still sick.” Jinu confirms.

They follow Jinu as he walks back toward the main hallway. And Abby—being Abby—slings an arm over both Jinu and Mystery.

“So,” Abby starts, swaying them side to side. “what’s the schedule for tomorrow?”

Jinu sighs without stopping. “Rehearsal at ten, until three. The hunters have a show after that, we’ll be there.”

Abby laughs, still all warmth and big limbs and zero boundaries. “You’re such a good leader, Jinu. So organized. So brave.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you want a kiss?”

“I want you to vanish.”

“Damn, someone’s cranky.”

Jinu stops in front of the kitchen and leans both hands on the counter, head dipping briefly like he’s calculating how he can possibly make another day of a boyband work. Abby hops up to sit on the counter beside him like a damn toddler. Mystery slides into one of the barstools, turning a soda can slowly between his palms.

“She’s gonna be fine?” Abby asks, and for once it’s not a joke.

Jinu looks up, serious now. Nods once. “Yeah. Just needs rest.”

“Cool.” Abby says, kicking his feet. “Cool cool cool.”

Then he throws an arm around Jinu again, absolutely wrecking the quiet. “Okay, I’m off.”

“Brush your teeth.”

“Alrighty.”

Mystery stands too, and with that, the two disappear down the hall, the echo of Abby’s cackling trailing behind.

Jinu stays in the kitchen for a beat longer, eyes drifting to the hallway again. Quiet. Heavy.

And then, with a low breath, he turns off the lights and disappears too.

The next morning is… quiet?

They really do try for you.

It’s early. Jinu is already dressed. Silent steps. That’s how he moves. You’d never know he hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. That every time he shuts his eyes, he dreams of blood and old fire and the way you looked that night you cried into his chest, whispering that Abby was so nice.

He rolls his eyes a little at the memory, like he could shake the warmth out of his chest.

He moves to your door, pauses—listens.

Nothing. Or, more accurately, quiet breathing. One heartbeat slower than usual. Subtle shift in temperature, enough for him to smell how your body’s still trying to fight the fever.

He knocks once, gently.

Then opens the door.

And—oh. Yeah.

God.

You look like shit.

Honestly? You’ve stolen his creatures. That bird used to only perch on Jinu’s arm. That tiger used to… be dumb, okay, no big deal. Now look at them. Pets. Snuggle buddies.

Jinu’s eyes shift toward the two creatures also on the bed with you: his fucking bird perched smugly on your pillow and his massive tiger beast curled protectively around the bottom of the bed, tail twitching in rhythm to your breathing like he’s syncing himself with you.

You’re out of it. You look horrible.

He can’t even lie to himself about that. Your skin’s blotchy, your nose is red, and your mouth is half open with the driest breath in existence leaking out. Your hair is a mess. There’s a single tissue stuck to your hoodie’s sleeve.

Still, Jinu thinks you’re so beautiful it borders on physically uncomfortable.

And that just pisses him off.

Because this is wrong, isn’t it? The whole situation. He’s a demon—a real one, not the edgy-cute stage version. Four-hundred-plus years of destruction and indulgence and war crimes you probably couldn’t pronounce. He’s not built for… small, human kindness. He wasn’t made to witness someone cough into a tissue like a drowned kitten and feel something flutter in his chest.

So he stands there. Staring.

A long moment passes.

You look awful.

You look beautiful.

Then you stir. You don’t even open your eyes fully, just shift and let out a hoarse groan, squinting through a mess of hair and exhaustion, croaking something like, “…I feel like the inside of a shoe.”

Jinu’s mouth twitches. “I see. You planning to get up?”

You stretch. “Mmmmmyeah. Maybe.”

He doesn’t move. Just stays in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you as you finally, finally crawl out of bed. Every movement is wobbly and pitiful and you mutter a long string of complaints.

You pass him on your way to the bathroom, and he wordlessly falls into step behind you.

He just waits by the doorframe as you go into the bathroom and start your process, brushing your teeth, groaning at your reflection, attempting to wash your face while moaning “oh my god”

Jinu leans on the doorframe, watching with his arms folded.

You glance at him through the mirror. “You don’t have to stand there.”

He doesn’t move. “You could collapse.”

“I could collapse harder if you keep staring at me while I floss.”

His eyes flick away—finally—but he doesn’t leave. “Hurry up.”

You give a little smile around your toothbrush. It’s small. Tired. But god, it means something.

“Drink more.” he says without looking at you.

“I will.”

“Eat something when you can.”

“Kinda hard when I wanna die.” you joke.

He turns his head slightly to look at you. “Try not to.”

He watches your reflection while pretending not to. You rinse. Cough. Grab a towel and dab at your cheeks. You frown at the sight of yourself. Your voice, soft now: “I really do look like shit, huh?”

He says nothing for a moment. Then: “Not to me.”

You freeze. Turn a little. Look at him. But he’s already offering his hand.

You blink at it.

Then blink at him.

“…No.”

“Suit yourself.” he murmurs, retracting it just as easily, no offense taken.

Truthfully, he didn’t expect you to take it. You’re sick, not helpless. And you remember. You remember how this hand helped abduct you. How it’s choked the air from lungs that weren’t yours. You remember exactly who he is, even if you’ve started sleeping under blankets shared with his creatures and letting his music echo off your bedroom walls.

So he walks ahead, silent and patient, letting you shuffle behind like a very cute, very annoyed little ghost haunting him.

Abby’s shirtless, sweat on his temples like he just finished a run. He’s leaning on the counter, drinking from a carton you’re pretty sure he didn’t buy, and when he sees you, he gasps dramatically.

“Y/N! You’re ALIVE?”

“I’m trying.” you croak.

Mystery is perched on the counter, hoodie sleeves past his knuckles, swinging his feet lightly and watching you walk in with wide eyes. He doesn’t say anything—he never really does—but he waves. It’s slow and kind of awkward. It makes your stomach feel warm. You wave back.

Baby’s already seated at the island, chewing something that might be a cereal bar but looks more like some kind of demon jerky. He glances at you once, then away, uninterested—or pretending to be.

Romance? Romance practically LUNGES for you from the table, knocking his chair back with a loud screech.

“There she is!” he croons, reaching for your hand. “God, I was starting to think I dreamed you. I almost wept.”

You bat his hand away. “Touch me and you die.”

He grins. “There she is.” he says again, like he’s proud.

There’s something cruel about being sick in someone else’s home—especially when it’s your kidnappers’ home.

Especially if it’s Romance, who’s next bullshit is “Need someone to check your temperature, sweetness? I’ve got very gentle hands.”

Jinu is nudging you toward a stool. “Sit. Don’t engage.”

“I’m not.” you groan. “He engages himself.”

Behind you Abby grabs Baby by the hood, yanking it back.

You blink. “Pull up your pants, Abs.”

He does it with a wink, smug as ever.

Jinu hands you a cup of tea, gently placing a cool palm on your forehead. “Shh. Drink.”

You sip. It’s perfect. Too perfect. “You drug this?”

Jinu’s brows lift, mock-offended. “Would I?”

You stare at him.

He sighs. “Okay. A little.”

Behind him, Baby tosses a pillow at Abby’s head. Abby’s throwing hands. Mystery hisses. Romance sings something off-key but beautiful before touching the ends of your hair.

You jerk, groggy, sick, pissed. “Touch me again and I will throw you off this counter.”

“Mmm, promise?” he purrs. He’s already leaning in too close. “You’re so warm. You sure you don’t want me to feel your forehead with my lips? That’s what they did in the olden days—”

You slap his hand away so hard he makes a sound.

Abby leans in over you, plucks the cup out of your hand. You slap his hand, too.

“Hey!” you growl.

“Relax.” he drawls, setting the cup in the sink. “You’re not even strong enough to wipe your nose without breaking into a sweat. Sit down and let us take care of it.”

“I don’t want any of you to take care of anything.” you snap, slipping off the stool and nearly falling in the process.

Romance stands like he’s ready to catch you. Abby’s already got one arm behind you, steadying you without looking like he’s trying to.

They don’t look scared. But they are.

They fucking are.

You stumble to the fridge and yank it open.

Romance follows. “What do you want? Eggs? I’ll make you the most sensual omelet you’ve ever had—”

You grab the butter.

“…You want butter?”

You grab bread. Open the drawer. Butter knife.

Abby steps in, yanking the knife out of your hand before you can spread it. “Whoa there, killer. Not with those hands. Let men do the heavy lifting.”

“Oh my god.” you mutter, swaying slightly, gripping the edge of the counter.

Romance sees it first. His flirty grin falters for half a second. “Hey—breathe, okay? You’re looking a little, uh… soft around the edges.”

“One foot in the grave already.” Baby snorts.

“Stop following me.”

“Not following,” Romance purrs. “just… admiring. From a respectful—ow—Abby, you dick!”

“What are you even trying to do?” Baby asks from behind his phone.

“Make food.” you mutter.

“You’re barely standing.” Jinu says, clearly trying not to scold. “Let me.”

“No.”

You pull out an egg and nearly drop it. Your hand’s shaking. Not a good sign.

“Hey—hey—okay, time out.” Jinu says gently, stepping in. “You need to sit.”

“No.”

“Sit.”

“No.”

You make it to the stove and slap their stupid hands away when they try to take the egg. Your vision keeps doing that fun little tunnel thing, and your heartbeat’s way too loud in your ears, but damn it, you’re doing this. Your hands, burning hot and trembling, manage to crack the egg against the pan. The sizzle is satisfying. The shell falls half into the yolk.

“Fuck.” you whisper.

“Cute.” Romance whispers back.

You’re so sick. So goddamn sick. And you hate it, hate being this weak in front of them. They don’t deserve to see you soft or struggling. You want to snap at them. You want to win. But when you reach for the butter knife to scrape out the shell—

Abby steps in, easily plucking it out of your hand. “I got it, sicko.”

“Give it back.”

“No.” He expertly flips the egg like he’s been waiting to do this all week. He probably has.

“Fuck you.”

“After breakfast.”

Romance high-fives him over your head.

“Stop—” you grumble, swatting at them like flies, your knees buckling slightly. Jinu’s hands are immediately there, one at your lower back, the other curling around your arm. You hate how good he smells. Everything that could’ve been safe if not so wrong.

“I’m not sitting.” you insist.

He frowns—he worries. You can see it behind his smile. Behind him, Mystery glides in and wordlessly drags a chair behind you. You don’t even hear it. He just… appears. He nudges it with his foot. You don’t want to take it. You want to fight it. You—

You sink anyway.

“You’re so annoying.” you murmur.

He smiles.

You cough again, harder this time. Your whole body shakes. The chair feels too far from the earth. You’re definitely going to die here.

Romance drops to a crouch at your feet and rubs gentle circles on your thigh. “You okay, angel?”

You swat his hand again, but this time, it’s weak. He takes the hit like it’s a gift.

A hand smacks the back of his head—hard. Abby.

“Not helping.” Jinu mutters, carefully setting the plate you started, now finished by them, in front of you.

You eye it warily.

He puts a fork in your hand and curls your fingers around it. His thumb presses lightly against your palm. His eyes are so warm. There’s this depth to them—like he’s hurting with how much he wants to take care of you.

You take a bite, slowly.

And it’s… good.

Fucking hell, it’s good.

Romance watches your lips as you chew. Abby watches your throat. Baby looks away before he can be caught caring. Mystery’s standing behind you now. You feel his presence.

You stand up again.

“You’re done?” Jinu asks, voice calm—but watching you like you’re about to leap from a balcony.

“Yup.” Your knees wobble. “I’m gonna—uh, yeah, I’m going.”

“Going where?” Abby’s voice cuts in from the other side of the counter. “To the grave?”

You keep going. Even after Romance tries to physically block the hallway with his body.

“Out of my way, sex pest.” you murmur, shouldering past him. Your knees almost buckle. The hallway tilts a little.

No one says anything for a second. You think you might’ve won. You think—maybe—they’ve given up.

And then a shadow looms.

Big.

Solid.

“Alright.” Abby says, stepping in front of you, voice suddenly way too gentle. “You want a hug?”

“What? No—no. Fuck off—”

He wraps around you like a blanket of brick walls.

Jesus CHRIST.

His arms lock under yours, arm pressing across your back, muscles flexing around you. You get maybe half a breath in before you’re completely enveloped. Shoulder to shoulder. Stomach to stomach. Trapped.

His chest is against pressed into you. That absurdly hard, stupidly broad chest. You can feel each muscle—each one!—agaist you. His heartbeat thuds against you. His chin drops lightly onto the top of your head, his breath warm in your hair.

And it’s… weirdly… nice?

“Oh my god.” you breathe, forehead against his collarbone.

He chuckles softly. “Yeah. I give good hugs.”

“Let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

“Abby—”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” he says, nuzzling lightly into your hair. “And I mean that with my whole chest.”

You roll your eyes. “Your whole chest, huh?”

“Mmhmm. Want a feel?”

You elbow him in the ribs. You might as well be elbowing concrete.

Then—without even asking—he lifts you off your feet.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you’re nothing.

Like you weigh nothing.

“What—put me down.” you croak, arms flailing. You start to struggle, but it’s pathetic. He’s carrying you down the hallway. And he’s so annoyingly strong. You can feel his arms under your thighs, his chest against your side, his skin warm and golden and—

This is so unfair.

“Abb—“

“Shhh.” he coos, bouncing you slightly. “Relax. Enjoy it.”

You peek back at the kitchen and wave limply. Just a little wave.

Only one person waves back, Mystery. A tiny little wave, like he’s five years old again. He’s… sweet. When he wants to be.

Jinu, of course, is already walking up behind Abby. “Be gentle, Abby.”

“I am gentle.” He angles you slightly so Jinu can see your face—and okay, yeah. You’re flushed. Your breathing’s shallow. Your eyelids keep drooping against your will. You are not doing well.

Jinu steps closer, walking beside the two of you now like he doesn’t trust Abby not to throw you over a shoulder and sprint off into the night.

Jinu sighs again. “Just… gently. Please.”

You groan. But your head tips forward again. Your body’s giving out. And even if you’ll never say it, the hug was perfect.

Abby grunts as he shifts you in his arms to reach for the doorknob, his biceps flexing under you. “Alright, angel. Bed time.”

“I can walk.” you mutter, voice hoarse.

Abby opens the door to your bedroom with his hip, stepping inside with all the careful grace of someone who is definitely not used to being careful.

“I don’t want to drop you.” he mutters, even though you’re practically melting in his arms. “So if you could, like, not pass out and slip through my fingers, that’d be great, baby.”

“Don’t drop her.” Jinu says, gently but firm, like he’s repeating it for himself as much as Abby.

“I got it, man.”

“Abby.”

“Fine, dad.”

Abby kneels beside your bed, careful not to jostle you too hard. You feel like you’re floating. He lowers you down like you’re made of something breakable, easing you onto the mattress.

“There.” Abby says softly, smoothing your hair out of your face with a weird gentleness that doesn’t match the rest of him. “See? Easy.”

You blink up at the ceiling, dazed. “Fuck off.”

“I can take her pulse.” Abby offers, one brow raised. “With my tongue.”

“Out.” Jinu says, tone flat.

Abby laughs, full-bodied and boyish, and backs up with hands raised. “Alright, alright. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

But the mood isn’t light. Because the two of them are hovering over you like you’re going to die any second. You’re human. You bleed. You sweat. You suffer. And they don’t know how to fix it. They can break necks and shatter bones with their bare hands, but you? You’re burning up, small and human and coughing into their expensive linens, and that terrifies them.

They’ve seen plagues. They’ve watched blood pour from mouths in alleyways. They’ve watched humans die under curses that had no names. They’ve fought things that smelled like death—rotted meat and smoke and something wet underneath the skin. They’ve seen it all.

“We’ll be outside.” Jinu finally says, voice low. “If you need anything.”

Then they leave. Abby first, rubbing his hands down his face like he’s trying to wipe off feelings. Jinu closes the door behind them with one last glance at you. He stops Abby in the hallway.

“Plans canceled today.”

Abby quirks a brow. “Like… all of them?”

“Yes.”

“You’re cancelling hunter hunting?”

Jinu sighs. Gwi-Ma’s gonna whoop his ass. “Not permanently.”

Abby leans against the wall, running a hand through his hair. His body is built to move—shoulders made for sprinting into chaos. Stillness doesn’t suit him. He shifts, fidgets. He’s never known how to sit with the quiet.

He hates that it’s not a person doing this to you. He could kill a person.

This?

This just waits.

He’s hugged thousands of fans. Dozens of flings. But that hug, god, that fucking hug.

You scared the fuck out of him. You always scare the fuck out of him, but this time it’s not because you flipped a knife at his neck or cursed him out mid-interrogation. It’s because you looked fragile. Small. Like you didn’t have enough fight in you to breathe.

He’d laugh, if it didn’t make him sick. He’s always been a fighter. They trained him like a dog. Fed him blood and steel and told him he was born for this. So he became what they wanted. Strong. Dangerous. Impossible. He kept himself like that, too. Like maybe if someone just touched him hard enough, they’d forget he’s held the dying, carried teammates in body bags, was once alone for three months in a bunker with only his brother’s corpse for company. (AN: guys I’m making lore up let me live)

But you fell asleep in his arms and he felt your heart beating against his ribs and it made him want to scream.

He’s used to bodies. Muscle. Bruises. Warm, worn-out people who only wanted the heat of him, not the truth. Sex without eye contact. Fights where he laughed through the blood. That was his rhythm. That was the pulse he built himself around.

If you asked for it? Right now? He’d take his clothes off without hesitation. Drop to his knees, spread his arms. He wouldn’t even expect to fuck. He’d just let you have him. Lay his body down like an altar and say: Here. For you. Everything. Take it. Please.

He thinks about you all the time.

He thinks about your mouth.

He thinks about you between all of them, sleepy and spoiled and worn out, covered in bruises from them, not because they were cruel—but because they couldn’t help it.

They’d worship you.

He’d lie down and let Mystery bite your shoulder while Romance made you sob and Jinu held your hand. Part of him thinks about you sandwiched between them, body warm and pliant, face tucked into someone’s chest while another pair of arms holds your hips. He imagines you being spoiled, worshipped by every single one of them. He’d let Romance kiss you while he held your thighs open. He’d let Baby whisper dirty things in your ear until you cried. He’d let Jinu fuck you slow and sweet. He’d even let Mystery leave marks down your chest because you’d like it.

As long as he got to hold your hand while it happened.

He’d share you.

He’d beg to.

Meanwhile, the big bathroom is a fucking sauna. Steam coats every tile. Water pours hot and endless from the tap, the kind of heat that could flay skin off if you weren’t a demon.

Romance is submerged to the neck in scalding water, chains still on, one leg perched on the tub’s edge. His hair’s wet, sticking to his cheekbones, lips parted.

Jinu knocks once.

“Come in.” Romance calls. “Clothes optional.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jinu opens the door just enough to be heard. “You’re staying home today.”

“Ugh.” Romance closes his eyes and sinks further into the bath, water lapping at his jaw. He doesn’t need to be told why. He just lies there, letting the water burn around him as Jinu leaves him alone.

Romance acts like he’s all flirt and friction. And maybe he is. But when no one’s looking, he sinks like stone. Into beds. Into bathtubs. Into any warmth that might feel like arms.

He wants to be touched. Wants to be kissed. Wants to be laughed at and hated and clung to. He likes hard, witty mouths, people who make it fun. And you do that—god, you do—but right now, you’re barely able to keep your head up.

But every time you enter a room, he has to pretend he’s not head over heels and a complete fool for you and his dick isn’t twitching. Pretend he’s not imagining what you’d sound like if he made you cry in a good way. Pretend he doesn’t want you bent over every surface in the house while the others watch.

Fuck.

He never had a heart that worked right. It wants too much. It wants you. He’d share, too. Gladly. Not even out of generosity. Out of need. He wants to see you loved in every way, all at once, until you forget what pain even is.

He’d take your lips when Abby’s done kissing your neck. Because he wants to be in the middle of it. Wants to have one of your hands in his, your back pressed to someone’s chest, your lips to someone else’s shoulder, and him—him—between your thighs, giving you something none of them can.

He wouldn’t even ask for much. Just a piece.

He thinks about it. Thinks about watching your face as someone else makes you fall apart—and his hands on your thighs, holding you open for it. He’d ruin you like worship, make you cry from love.

But if it meant keeping you? He’d do worse.

He should be shot.

He shifts in the tub, arms draped on either side, head tilted back. If he closes his eyes, he sees you under them. Crushed between Abby’s chest and Mystery’s hands, Jinu whispering comfort against your ear while Baby holds your chin and makes you look.

He should hate that he’d let them have you too. That he’d beg for it. That the thought of someone else making you cum while he watched with hands wrapped around your waist to keep you from running makes him throb under the water.

But he doesn’t hate it.

He dunks under the water.

On the other side of the apartment, the balcony is high above the city, wind cutting across Baby’s face, cigarette dangling from his lips. One leg hooked over the railing like he might jump just for the thrill of it.

Jinu opens the sliding glass door and says, “Put it out.”

“No.” Baby replies, not looking.

Jinu steps closer, arms crossed. “We’re staying in.”

“I don’t have plans.”

“I know.” Jinu stares at him for a long time, then quietly steps back inside and closes the door.

Baby stands alone. Mouth tight. Smoke curling upward.

Now he thinks caring is a disease. And he caught it. Somewhere between watching your hands shake and hearing you curse Romance under your breath.

He doesn’t even remember what he used to be. All he remembers is being a sweetheart, a betrayer, a backstabber.

Now he just watches.

He watches them love you. Abby with his muscles. Romance with his filth. Jinu with his hands. Mystery with his silence.

But he doesn’t know what to do with what he feels. Sometimes, he just wants to kiss your wrists. Other times? He wants to fuck you hard enough you forget your name.

Now his cigarette’s just ash, long dead in his fingers. He’s leaned against the railing, the city sprawling beneath him. He’s been watching people move. Living. Laughing. Going to cafes and touching each other.

He used to think he was above it. Above needing people.

We know who fucked that up, I’ll give a hint, you.

It’s awful.

He’s awful.

And he’d still share you.

Uuuuh, yeah, we’re back there.

Because he knows—deep down—they’re all thinking it too.

They want your moans like a melody. Your body like a feast. Your soul like a throne.

He wants to be the one you look at after. When it’s all done. He wants to see your eyes glazed and ruined and still full of that stupid, angelic light. He’d sit at the edge of the bed. Light you both a cigarette after. Pretend it doesn’t make his chest hurt. If he had to share you to get that? He’d do it.

One more cigarette. Then he’ll go in.

He’s said that five times now.

Not like it hurts him.

He flicks ash off the balcony, watching it float.

The library is mostly unlit, save for a reading lamp glowing like a firefly. Mystery is curled on the shaggy rug beside Derpy. He strokes the cat’s spine in long, precise lines. The thing purrs like a car engine. He doesn’t speak when Jinu enters. Doesn’t look up.

Jinu says, “We’re not leaving today.”

Mystery nods once. Doesn’t break rhythm. The cat shifts its weight. Settles in closer.

Jinu hesitates, as if wanting to say something else. Then walks away.

He doesn’t know love like they do. Not really. But he knows obsession. He dreams about biting you. About bruising your neck. About pulling your hair until you scream and then whispering thank you against your spine.

He’d learn. If it meant keeping you.

Now the tiger has fallen asleep with its tail wrapped around his thigh, and he’s just… still. Still, and listening. He’s always listening. For your breathing. For your coughs. For Jinu’s footsteps. He tracks every movement like a dog waiting for its master.

He doesn’t speak to the others, not about this. Doesn’t need to. He feels their desperation like it’s stitched into his own skin.

He’s worse than them.

Because he’s already accepted it. The obsession. The longing. The things he’d do.

He dreams of you at night, whimpers when you’re gone too long, curls up at your door when no one else is looking. He’s feral. He knows it. He’s okay with it.

He doesn’t just want you.

He needs you.

He would share. Of course he would. He already does. Their touches are his. Their kisses, his too. Every time you smile at one of them, he stores it away like a treasure. He doesn’t get jealous.

He gets off on it.

He’d kneel beside your bed and press kisses to your ankle while the others made you moan.

He wants you every way.

In Jinu’s room, the door clicks shut behind him. He exhales slowly. Then he sits. On the edge of his bed, hands resting on his knees.

He sees how close you are to slipping through their fingers.

You’re not a mission anymore. Not the little help. Not a toy.

You’re the thing. The one. He’s never hated the human body more than this moment—how helpless it is, how breakable. How much it can be taken away. And now you’re sick and small and soft, and it’s his fault you’re not in your own bed with people who love you.

He thought he was past this. Feeling things like this. He’d survived war. Massacres. Curses. Whole countries in collapse. He’d seen viruses rip through entire cities, heard the way people screamed when it reached their children first.

He hadn’t cried for any of it.

And now? Now he can’t stop thinking about the way your lips trembled when you whispered “I’m not going to tell you anything.” Even while they hurt you. Even while you bled.

He’s not the type to share.

But he would.

He would—god, he would—if it meant keeping you.

And the boys would kill each other for you. Or worse—share you. Hold your wrists. Your thighs. Your secrets. One of them between your legs while the other whispers in your ear. He’d take what he could get. If that meant Romance pressed against your other side in the dark, if it meant Abby’s hands holding your waist, if it meant Mystery’s mouth at your throat while Baby whispered filth in your ear—

If you were safe through it all?

If you stayed?

He’d say yes.

There are five demons in this apartment. They wear cologne and expensive shoes now. Laugh too loud, flirt too hard, eat cereal straight from the box. But underneath? They’re rot and ruin stitched into beautiful boy-shapes.

Gwi-Ma made sure of that.

They’ve been tortured. Starved. Burned alive and brought back. They’ve heard screams from rooms they weren’t allowed to enter, and held friends who didn’t have faces anymore. Gwi-Ma didn’t just control them—he owned them.

His pretty little monsters.

His pet projects.

His failures.

Jinu would rather earn a piece of you—an inch, a sigh, a touch—than hoard what was never his.

But the thought of you in all their arms at once? That thought ruins him. Not with jealousy. With need.

He tells himself it’s a dream.

But it’s not.

It’s a plan. One he’d never say out loud.

Gwi-Ma broke Abby’s hands once. Told him his strength meant nothing if it wasn’t used in service of darkness. But now with that strength, he can’t stop touching you. Hugging you. Grinning when you hiss at him, even when you’re pale and shaking. It’s not flirtation. It’s desperation.

Sleep isn’t rest for him. It’s a rerun of things he should’ve stopped. Missions he should’ve aborted. Screams he didn’t quiet fast enough. People he held together with his bare hands while they bled out, whispering that it was okay even when it wasn’t.

And that gets dulled, because yes, fuck, he thinks about you. Laying across his bed, sleepy, shirt off, one leg hooked around his waist. Thinks about Romance on your mouth, Baby on your chest, Jinu murmuring praise into your throat while he holds your thighs open.

He’s imagined you under him, hands tangled in his hair, voice cracking as he whispered, “Does that feel good, baby?”

But more than that? He’s thought about Romance kissing your neck while he did it. Mystery behind you, mouth against your shoulder. Baby watching, lip bitten raw.

Gwi-Ma didn’t torture Romance the way he did the others.

No. Gwi-Ma liked Romance.

Which was worse.

Romance learned to seduce. To arch his back for power. To purr for mercy. He kissed. He let people touch him. He sold parts of himself until he didn’t know which piece was his.

When you’re strong, he teases.

When you’re weak, he aches.

And when he touches himself late at night, face buried in a pillow to muffle the sound, it’s not some stranger in his head.

It’s you.

On your knees between them. Or spread out across Mystery’s lap while Abby feeds you his fingers. Or smiling at Romance from under Jinu’s arm as Baby growls at the edge of the bed.

He’d let Abby take your mouth. He’d let Jinu fuck you first. Slow. Reverent. He’d let Mystery watch in silence, eyes hungry and dark. Baby laugh at you.

He wants you any way he can have you. He wants you to fight. To cry. To cling to his wrist while he makes you see stars. Wants to pin you down and ruin you—only to kiss you afterward, slow and shaky, like he’s saying thank you.

He’s so fucked up over you he could scream. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lies in his room now, hips twitching, rock-hard and pathetic, whispering your name into a pillow he’ll never wash again.

Baby’s inside in his closet. He’s just hiding from the world, okay? From the others. From the idea of you slipping through his fingers. From the truth.

Because the truth is this: Gwi-Ma kept him in a cage. Metaphorically, luckily. Called him “pretty” when he obeyed and tortured him when he didn��t. Hurt people hurt people. His body is his own now, sure. But his heart? Completely ruined.

Until you.

He watched you sleep for three hours once. You didn’t know. You never will. He counted every breath. Timed the rise and fall of your chest.

He’d ruin you if he wasn’t careful. So he isn’t careful. Not in his mind.

You, shaking under him. Mystery holding your wrists. Romance laughing like a sin, Abby growling into your throat, Jinu whispering, “You’re okay.”

He wants it.

He wants all of it.

He’d never tell you. Never admit it. He’ll keep being an asshole and smoking when he shouldn’t. But if you asked him, really asked him?

He’d lie down like a good dog and beg for it.

For you.

For forever.

Mystery can hear it. That soft, sick inhale. The occasional whimper. The way your legs shift under the sheets. He catalogues it all. Commits it to memory.

He’s thinking of before. Of cages and chains and words that peeled the skin off his sanity. Gwi-Ma didn’t torture him the same way as the others. He made him like it. Made him crave his praise. When he disobeyed, he’d withhold it. Let him sit in the dark for days, whispering, “Good boys don’t make noise.”

He didn’t speak for two years.

Now? He still barely does.

But with you? You never force him. Never rush him.

Now he wants to curl around you like a beast. Wants to press his body to yours and watch you melt, soft and needy. Wants to feel your fingers in his hair, tugging when he growls at the others to wait their turn.

But if you looked him in the eyes and said you wanted them too?

He’d bare his neck and kneel.

Because love isn’t something he understands.

But obedience?

That, he’s mastered.

And if you command it—if you want him—he will follow.

Anyways, after putting you to bed, they didn’t know what to do with themselves because Jinu canceled everything.

You were bundled in warmth, finally resting, and without you, they were aimless. Disarmed. Feral with no leash.

Romance made it ten minutes before his shirt was off and his hand was halfway down his pants on the living room couch, claiming he was “just adjusting.” Jinu told him to go to his room.

Abby, meanwhile, was baiting a fight. No real reason. He’d made three laps around the kitchen, opened every cabinet twice, and then leaned into Baby’s space with a grin that was absolutely asking for violence. “Hey, brat. Bet I could knock your smug little ass out before you blink.”

Baby smirked. “Try it and you’ll eat through a straw.”

Two seconds later, they were flipping chairs.

Mystery got involved because he always did when someone hit Abby too hard—and then Romance jumped in just because he was bored. Suddenly fists were flying, Baby was biting, Abby was laughing like a psycho, and Jinu walked in with a mug of tea only to stop cold at the sight of four grown, supernatural men having an all-out wrestling match on his imported persian rug.

“Do you have brain damage?” he asked no one in particular.

Romance bitched about Mystery grabbing his hair.

Mystery bit him harder.

Baby slammed into the wall.

Abby shouted, “LET’S FUCKING GO” as he body-slammed Mystery into the floor, both of them laughing like murder was foreplay.

And when you stirred upstairs—just barely—coughing soft, your voice cracking like glass—

All five of them froze.

Like dogs hearing the front door open.

Abby spent the next hour shadowboxing the kitchen. Shirtless. Again. Kicked a hole in the wall by accident and then slapped Baby across the head. It devolved into a full-on brawl that ended with Jinu pulling them apart and Romance dramatically holding an ice pack on his own crotch for no real reason. He got thrown over the couch three times. Baby blew smoke into Jinu’s face.

Now, it’s the middle of the night. Around two am, and you hear your door open.

You blink yourself awake. Everything aches.

Mystery is the one standing there, half-lit by the hallway. Pale. Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair still messy from earlier. A bruise blooming on his cheek. A faint trail of blood down his shoulder—likely Abby’s elbow. Or the wall.

You sit up, weak and slow. “C’mere.” you whisper, patting the bed beside you. “You okay?”

He hesitates.

Then nods. One sharp, clipped motion.

You scoot over, blanket rustling. Every move takes effort. Your body feels like dying. But he moves forward anyway. Just sits at the edge of your bed.

You whisper. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not mine.” he murmurs.

You smile faintly. “Figures.”

He doesn’t reply, maybe that was his version of a laugh.

You fall back asleep, lips parted, really out of it. But with him near.

Mystery stays perched at the edge of your bed. Your fever warms the air between you and there’s something fragile about this moment. You curl into yourself in the night, shivering once, and he moves instinctively, slow and quiet, pulling the blanket over your shoulder. His knuckles brush your cheek. You’re still burning.

He stays long after you’re gone to dreamland. Watches the way your chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm. Memorizes it. Commits it to muscle, to blood.

And then right before sunrise he leaves.

You never even stirred.

Still in the middle of the night, the kitchen’s lit low with the soft glow of Jinu’s laptop screen. He’s sitting there, brows furrowed, typing one-handed while scrolling through symptoms.

He’s on his fifth medical site. A cold, probably. Flu, maybe. Something worse? No. Don’t go there.

Next to him, Abby’s half-leaning on the counter, one hand absentmindedly draped over Jinu’s back, palm flat and warm. It’s not romantic.

Jinu sighs. Doesn’t even look over. “It’s a cold.”

“Cool.” Abby says. And slaps him, hard, once on the shoulder like a congratulation. “Doctor Jinu, blessin’ us.”

Jinu rolls his eyes. Doesn’t shove him off.

They sit there for a while in silence. Then footsteps. Bare. Light.

Baby walks in. He’s wearing black sweatpants and one of Jinu’s old hoodies that falls off one shoulder. No phone. Just himself. And an expression like he hasn’t slept in a week.

He stops at the fridge, opens it, stares like maybe it’ll reveal the meaning of life.

Jinu nods to him. Abby says, “Yo.”

Baby grunts.

Jinu looks up. “How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

“Didn’t look fine when Mystery nearly dislocated it earlier.”

“…still fine.”

And that’s the whole conversation.

He pulls out juice. Drinks it straight from the bottle. Abby flicks the back of his head. Jinu side-eyes him but doesn’t argue.

And then somehow… they’re sitting together. Abby sprawled across two chairs. Baby across from Jinu. No one saying much.

The stillness is nice.

Boyish.

They learned how to lock out each other’s noises, their brain ignores the little thing when it comes to each other.

That said, Romance put on a whole performance for himself. Candles. Oils. All just foreplay for his own fantasy. Because he couldn’t go into your room. That would ruin everything. You were sick. Vulnerable. Innocent.

But his imagination wasn’t.

Romance lay in steaming water, AGAIN, one hand lazily dragging over his chest, the other… buried in bubbles, making him whimper your name.

My point with this is that the others simply don’t hear his bullshit anymore. They could listen to Romance jerk off, but they won’t. Their brain ignores it at this point.

Anyways, he imagined you walking in, catching him, asking if he was okay. That shy little look you gave when you pretended not to notice how insanely hot he was. He imagined offering you a seat between his legs, whispering, “You’ll feel better with me, baby.”

He came so hard he nearly drowned himself.

Laid there after, gasping, fucked-out, and a little mad. He dried off lazily. Dragged himself to his room. Laid there on the bed with the sheets tangled around his legs and one arm slung across his eyes.

Romance has known a hundred bodies. A thousand beds. But the thought of your fevered breath against his neck? Made him ache like he was seventeen again. Like nothing had ever been taken from him.

And hours later, Abby’s snoring on his stomach. Jinu fell asleep with the laptop on his chest. Baby’s curled like a cat in the corner of the couch. Romance is face down on the bed, still kinda wet. Mystery fell asleep too, Derpy in the bed with him.

And you, in your room? You wake up in the morning to sunshine. A little less hot. A little more alive. But the bed’s empty beside you.

And when you listen carefully? The apartment sounds like boys. Shuffling. Grunting. Distant laughter. Cereal boxes dropping. Someone yelling “STOP DOING THAT WITH YOUR TOOTHBRUSH.”

You don’t even move.

Your body’s drenched in sweat, pillow humid with it. You feel disgusting. Hollow. Your mouth tastes like someone poured your own snot into it, stirred it with dust, and then punched you in the tonsils. Your muscles ache. Your sinuses are gloop.

But the fever’s lower. You can tell.

You don’t even get time to sit up.

There’s a crash.

A scrape.

A—“Shitfuck—ow, why is this—”

Boom.

Your door slams open. Hard.

Romance is clutching the doorframe with all the grace of someone who fell into it, and is trying very hard to look like he meant to. His shirt’s unbuttoned. And he’s already smiling.

“Baby,” he says, voice still soaked in sleep and sex. “you’re alive.”

You stare.

You are:

✔️ Sweaty

✔️ Coughing

✔️ Still dying

✔️ Not in the mood

He walks in. No knock. No asking. No hesitation. Just Romance. He makes his way toward the bed like you summoned him. Like he’d been waiting for the signal. The second your consciousness sparked back into your bones, he’d been on the move.

You try to sit up, weakly. “Romance—”

“Oh, don’t say my name like that.” he purrs. “You’ll make me blush.”

You roll your eyes. He sits at the edge of your bed without asking. Leans forward, elbows to knees, gaze crawling all over your face.

And that’s the thing about Romance. He is romantic. Too much. Speaks slow. Stares long. Makes everything he says sound like a prophecy. His voice is angelic. You know he flirts with everything—chairs included—but it still feels real when he talks to you.

“I was worried.” he says softly. A beat. “I mean. Not really. I knew you’d be fine. So stubborn. So—” his eyes flick to your chapped lips, then to the flushed color in your cheeks. “—hot.”

You scowl, half-hearted. “Fever.”

“I know.” he sighs dramatically. “And still. So soft. You should see yourself.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m in love.”

You groan. You try to pull the blanket up over your face. Romance moves faster, grabbing it and folding it down neatly like he’s tucking you in.

“You should drink something.” he whispers. “Tea? Water? There’s like seventeen kinds of ginger root downstairs. We can grind them into a potion or… I don’t know. You could just spit in my mouth. That works too.”

You shove him. Weakly.

Behind him, somewhere down the hall, you hear a loud: “Romance, did you break her door again?”

“Noooo~” he yells back, singsong.

It was absolutely him.

He looks back at you. “You’re still hot, by the way.”

“Still a fever.”

“Makes me want to catch it.”

“Get out.” you mutter, but your voice is soft.

Romance leans back just enough to stretch, arms above his head, shirt pulling up to show just a sliver of toned stomach. He catches your eyes looking. Smirks. Then he stands. Winks. He leaves your door open on purpose.

And you’re too tired to close it.

You should be furious.

You should be screaming. Trying to escape. Plotting revenge.

Instead?

You’re curled in a nest of too-soft blankets in an overpriced bed, and you’re thinking about—

Children.

Them.

As children.

But it’s not even weird. It’s just soft. Too soft. The fever’s dragging the walls of your mind down with it, and everything’s tender. You’re so weak for children. The idea of them as children… that vulnerability, that innocence—that before—oh fuck.

You sniff. You blame the fever.

But you keep thinking of little Mystery

What was he like? Before all this. Before the growling. Before he got so good at keeping his mouth shut and his hands fast and bloody.

He probably had a brother.

You know he did.

Older, maybe. The kind of sibling who always walked a little ahead, glancing back with just enough impatience to let you know he still cared. You imagine Mystery with short, wild hair. Smudged cheeks. A boy who ran barefoot. Skin scraped on rocks. A mouth full of laughter. Not growls.

He wasn’t shy.

Not at first.

He talked. He laughed. He ran too fast, climbed trees too high. He was probably the one who came home with bloody knees and half a frog in his pocket, holding it up proudly.

Until something happened.

Until everything happened.

And he went quiet.

And god, Baby. That little shit was always like this. You just know it. Mouth too quick, eyes always rolled. The kind of kid who got away with everything. You imagine him with dimples and a wild mop of hair, already giving attitude at age five. Pulling at skirts, rolling his eyes, stomping his little feet with purpose.

He was raised by women. You can tell. Aunties. Sisters. Maybe a mother who smacked him upside the head with a slipper and told him to fix his face before she did it for him. She loved him to death though.

You think of him—tiny, five maybe—stomping around a dusty house full of women. Sisters. Cousins. Aunties. Every last one of them rolling their eyes at his tantrums but loving him anyway.

He was probably spoiled.

Probably screamed when they cut his hair. Probably kicked every adult in the shin when they tried to pinch his cheeks.

He was loved.

Deeply.

You cannot unsee baby Abby with chubby cheeks. This little menace had cheeks. Chubby, kissable ones. You know it.

The kind of toddler who’d get swarmed by old women trying to pinch him and hated every second of it. Probably ran around with a wooden sword and no pants, demanding someone “duel him” at age three.

He was a mama’s boy. You just know.

You bet he climbed on everything. Fences. Trees. Horses.

Probably fell off them all, too.

He was soft once. Chubby hands in his mother’s. Wide eyes looking up in awe at the men in armor. You think maybe he wanted to be like them. He was born with that fire. But back then, he wasn’t scary.

Oh, Romance was noble-born. Absolutely.

He was the adored son. The perfect heir. Son of a nobleman with land, money, horses. You bet his mother dressed him in silks before he could walk. You bet his father loved him.

Romance was adored.

Told every day that he was handsome and smart and destined for greatness.

He probably kissed a boy in a courtyard once. And a girl the next week.

Romance loved everything. Always has.

You can imagine Jinu so hard to be good. To be useful. The perfect son. The perfect brother. You think he made hard choices even as a child.

There had to be a time when he was small. When he clung to someone’s leg. When he cried too loud and got picked up and held close and told it was okay.

He was clever. Beautiful. Eventually he got what he wanted. He always did.

You’re supposed to be plotting their downfall. You’re supposed to be spitting in their water bottles and flipping them off every chance you get.

Not lying here imagining them as kids. Imagining their mothers. Their little hands. Their lives before they were monsters.

But you can’t help it.

I literally got memes from THREE different people, thank you so much babies💋

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy @gl00muraaii @boo-shalala @stxrrielle @vixyvlo @ny0000mw00m @loreleis-world @mshope16 @littlemissfix-itfic @fandomhoedamien @spiderset @azzberry @aerrz3 @tatsuri-zomushiki @theferretkids @apelepikozume @scpdragon @justanindiangirl12 @fuevrois @soggumm @ri-eveowe @lucifers16ducks @elixua @xh01bri @greensunflowerjuna @valeriele3 @lovely-maryj @c0sm1cp0tat0 @wantstoliveinfantasy @i-am-here3 @naarra @confusedparticle @itsberrydreemurstuff @asphodeloss @x-w-a @nosbaby07 @prorpy @blobbyblobblobblobblob @ryukumi @ryuucollapse @rainbowcupcakes23 @nnasv @aika-3 @thegirloftheirdreams

[dakusan]

F i r s t F r e n z y II

Vampire!Han Jisung x Reader | Blood. Biting. He fucked you like he was starving and drank you like you were his last meal

🔞synopsis: The hunger didn’t stop. It got worse. Now that you’ve signed, Jisung’s gone full feral—feeding on you like you’re his last meal, fucking you until your legs shake, and whispering “mine” like it’s a prayer he can’t stop saying. But outside the bedroom? He’s still Jisung. Which means Nocté Labs gets the world’s most love-drunk, freshly-bonded disaster of a vampire trying to act normal while everyone (Hyunjin, Jeongin, Felix—everyone) tears him apart for being so obviously obsessed. Blood-drunk. Soul-drunk. Love-drunk. And yeah—he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

💌a/n: OMG. i still can’t believe i had to make this a PART 2 💀. I'm still not over it. anyways—part 1 is HERE, read that first or you’re gonna be so confused why jisung is literally feral over some neck-biting. this one? this one is softer, somehow messier, and way too much fun because blood-drunk bf!jisung is my roman empire now🩸 p.s. if you don’t reblog, hyunjin will absolutely roast you personally. p.p.s. if i ever disappear, i’m probably coding vampire contracts with seungmin p.p.p.s. yes, you can scream in the tags. pls do.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | unprotected vaginal sex (piv), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, riding, cockwarming implications, and overstimulation | Vampire feeding during sex – neck biting, blood drinking | Possessiveness & praise | Rough sex – hard thrusts, bouncing on his lap, bruising grip, dirty talk | Reader referred to as "baby" & "good girl" repeatedly | Mentions of blood in sexual context (licking/sealing bite, blood-sweet kisses) | Slight lightheadedness from feeding | Soft, playful aftercare & domestic fluff afterward

📌 Please read responsibly. Stretch. Stay hydrated. Don’t call yourself a Capri Sun—Jisung will fight you.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Desire — ATEEZ « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:55 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

“Absolutely not,” Seungmin said flatly, flipping through the half-scribbled draft Jisung had shoved at him.

Jisung sat slouched in the chair across from him, hoodie half-zipped, legs spread like a sulky teenager. “Why not?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, holding up the crumpled sheet of paper. “Because this isn’t a legal agreement. This is—” He squinted, reading aloud, “‘Rule #1: Don’t freak out if I get bitey during sex (actually maybe do, it’s kinda hot).’”

Jisung groaned, leaning back in his chair. “It’s supposed to make her comfortable, Seungmin. I don’t want her reading some super serious Luxe Health contract like she’s signing her soul away.”

“She is signing something about her blood,” Seungmin deadpanned.

“Yeah, but—” Jisung gestured vaguely. “She’s human! I can’t just shove a 20-page legal doc at her. She’ll panic. I want it to be… I don’t know… funny.”

Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “why do I even bother.”

“You want funny?” Seungmin finally said, flipping open his Luxe Health-issued tablet. “Fine. But we’re keeping the legal baseline intact. No Luxe Health vampire is getting flagged for ‘casual feeding misconduct’ because you thought it was cute to doodle smiley faces next to the signature line.”

Jisung perked up. “So… you’re helping me write it?”

Seungmin gave him a flat look. “Only because Minho will have my head if you try to do this yourself and accidentally write, quote, ‘Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.’”

“…Okay, but that is an important rule,” Jisung muttered.

Seungmin ignored him, already typing. “We’re making this legally binding but… fine, I’ll allow your dumb little ‘fun rules’ section at the end if it keeps her calm.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of them sat hunched over Seungmin’s tablet, Jisung leaning way too close, adding commentary while Seungmin scrolled through Luxe Health’s official templates.

“Okay, clause one,” Seungmin said, tapping the screen. “Feeding frequency. I’m putting down ‘no more than three controlled feedings per week unless mutually agreed.’”

“Make it say ‘as much as she wants,’” Jisung said instantly.

Seungmin sighed. “That’s not how—”

“Please.”

Seungmin gave him a long, judging stare before typing. “…Fine. But if she faints, you are filing the medical report.”

“Deal.”

“Clause two: Bond safety. She has to know about soulbond risks.”

Jisung perked up. “Okay, but can we add a little note like, ‘Don’t worry, you’re already stuck with me anyway’? With a smiley face?”

Seungmin did not look up from the screen. “I hate you.”

By the time they finished, the “formal” document had somehow turned into:

THE BLOOD DOLL AGREEMENT (v1.0, Seungmin-Approved) ✔️ Feeding limits: “Whenever she’s cool with it (she’s the boss).” ✔️ Emergency care clause: “If I ever hurt you by accident, I’ll fix it immediately and hate myself forever.” ✔️ Emotional safety clause: “Tell me if I’m being a dumbass. (I will probably still be a dumbass, but I’ll listen).” ✔️ Seungmin-mandated boring legal paragraphs. ✔️ Special Jisung Section:

“You can say no anytime. No guilt, no whining.”

“Neck kisses are not always feeding. Sometimes I just like your neck.”

“Post-bite cuddles required.”

“Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.”

Seungmin signed off with a long sigh. “I can’t believe I just legalized this.”

Jisung grinned, snatching the tablet. “You’re the best, Seungmin. Really.”

“Don’t thank me. Just… for the love of Luxe Health, don’t show this to Minho.”

The restaurant was way fancier than anything you’d expected Jisung to pick. Candlelight, soft jazz playing, crystal glasses that looked way too expensive for him to be casually swirling water in.

But the real shock?

Jisung.

Standing by the table in a perfectly tailored black suit jacket, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, no tie, hair pushed back just enough to look sharp but still messy enough to scream him. His rings caught the candlelight every time he fidgeted—because oh yeah, he was nervous as hell.

You stopped mid-step, grinning slowly. “Well, well, Mr. Responsible Adult. Look at you.”

Jisung’s ears immediately went red, but he smirked anyway, sliding a hand into his pocket like he was trying to look smooth. “Don’t get used to it. The second this dinner’s over, I’m back in hoodies.”

You laughed, taking your seat across from him. “Shame. You look good in a suit.”

The smirk faltered just a little, his blush darkening as he sat down. “Stop saying things like that if you don’t want me to forget why we’re here.”

You tilted your head, amused. “And why are we here, Ji?”

His cocky facade cracked instantly. “…Right. That.”

The waiter came, took your order, and left—leaving Jisung tapping his rings nervously against the table.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re acting like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“…Technically, Luxe Health would consider it a crime if I hadn’t filed paperwork,” he muttered under his breath.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” he said way too fast, pulling something from his jacket pocket.

You stared as he slid a sleek Luxe Health tablet across the table toward you. “…Ji, what is this?”

He winced. “Okay, please don’t freak out, but—uh—it’s a contract. Kind of. But, like, not scary! Seungmin approved it and everything.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A contract? For what?”

Jisung took a deep breath, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. “For you to… officially be my blood doll.”

You blinked at him. “…Your what?”

“My blood doll,” he repeated, his voice softer, his eyes darting between yours and the tablet like he expected you to throw it back at him. “Look, it’s not—okay, that sounds bad, but it’s not bad. It’s—it just means I’d only feed from you. You’d be… mine. Officially. Protected. Luxe Health would register you, so no other vampire can touch you.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “…You’re asking me to sign a vampire feeding contract at a fancy restaurant.”

“Yes,” Jisung said immediately, leaning forward, desperate. “But, like, a nice one. It’s not just legal crap, I—I made it… uh… comfortable.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Comfortable?”

He nodded frantically. “Look at the special section. Please.”

You scrolled, your lips twitching as you read aloud:

“Post-bite cuddles required. Neck kisses are not always feeding. And Rule #5: Kiss me after feeding, or I’ll be sad.”

Your grin broke into full-on laughter. “Oh my God, Ji.”

His face turned scarlet, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Seungmin told me this was stupid. I wanted you to feel safe, okay? Not—”

You cut him off with a soft laugh, reaching across the table to tug his hands away. “Ji. It’s not stupid. It’s… actually kind of sweet.”

He blinked, lowering his hands slowly. “…Wait, really?”

You smirked, leaning forward. “Yeah. But you didn’t have to drag me to a fancy dinner to ask me this.”

“I—” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted it to be special. You… you’re special to me.”

Your grin softened, your chest warming. “…So, if I sign this, I’m officially yours?”

His rings buzzed faintly as his hands clenched in his lap, his voice low. “…Yeah. You’d be mine.”

You tilted your head, teasing again. “And you’d be mine, right?”

His blush deepened, but he smirked faintly. “You already have me. Completely.”

You tapped the sleek tablet with your finger but didn’t sign it yet, leaning back in your chair instead, smirking at him. “Before I agree to anything,” you said, crossing your arms, “we need to revisit something.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “…What?”

You raised an eyebrow. “The other night. You, in the kitchen, at three in the morning, chugging a blood bag like it was Gatorade.”

Jisung’s ears immediately went red, his cocky suit-boy façade cracking in an instant. “Oh my God—”

“No, no,” you cut him off, leaning forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Explain. Because I thought you were just a little bitey, not… full-on vampire fridge-raiding at ungodly hours.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I knew you were gonna bring that up.”

“Of course I’m bringing it up!” you said, trying not to laugh. “Ji, you looked like a kid sneaking ice cream before dinner. Except, you know… it was blood.”

Jisung dropped his face into his hands with a muffled, “I hate everything about this conversation.”

You bit back a grin, leaning closer. “So? Why the blood bag if you have… me?”

His head snapped up at that, eyes going wide. “Because I’m not an asshole!”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I don’t wanna overfeed from you!” he said quickly, his hands flying in a frantic gesture. “You’re human, I can’t just drink whenever I want—you’d get dizzy, or sick, or hate me, or—or—”

You raised an eyebrow. “So instead, you sneak around in your own kitchen like some secret vampire raccoon?”

Jisung groaned, slumping in his chair, muttering, “Seungmin warned me you were gonna make fun of me.”

You laughed, reaching across the table to nudge his hand. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s cute.”

“…Cute?” he echoed, looking skeptical.

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile. “You’re careful. Even when you’re starving. That’s… very you.”

He stared at you for a second, then looked down, trying to hide his shy smile, his fingers drumming against the table nervously. Your eyes glanced down at the tablet again. “Once I sign this, you won't be scavenging for blood bags in the fridge at 3AM right?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and serious now. “…If you sign that, I won’t need them. You’d be all I need.”

Your heart skipped, and for a second, all the teasing warmth in the air softened into something heavier, deeper. You bit your lip, glancing back at the tablet. “…Then maybe I should sign.”

Jisung froze, watching you like his whole world depended on it. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. But only if Rule #5 stays,” you said firmly, crossing your arms.

Jisung blinked at you, looking so relieved he almost smiled—but then froze, realizing you still hadn’t signed. “…Wait. You’re still holding the tablet. Why are you still holding the tablet?” he asked cautiously, eyes narrowing.

You leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “Because, Ji, you just casually dropped vampires are real on me yesterday in your kitchen at 3AM while you were drinking blood like a Capri Sun. I have questions before I sign something that literally makes me yours.”

Jisung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Fair.”

You leaned forward, fingers laced under your chin. “Okay. First question. Vampires are real. Like, actually real? Not just you? There’s more?”

“Yes,” Jisung said instantly, nodding. “A lot more. There’s—uh—different types, but you don’t need to worry about that. Luxe Health regulates everything.”

“Luxe Health,” you repeated slowly. “Like the hospital stuff you told me you ‘worked in medical research’ for?”

He winced again. “…Yeah. Sorry about that. ‘Lead Hemalchemist & Magical Encryption Architect’ is my real job title and it doesn’t exactly sound like a normal human job.”

You blinked, processing. “…You’re a vampire scientist.”

“I—yeah. Basically.”

You stared for another beat. “Holy shit, Ji. No wonder you were so bad at explaining your job before.”

Jisung buried his face in his hands. “Please stop making fun of me.”

“Okay, next question,” you said, ignoring him. “This whole blood doll thing—what exactly does it mean? Because I feel like I need to know if I’m about to be some vampire version of a pet or… I don’t know, a blood ATM.”

Jisung’s head shot up instantly, his expression horrified. “What?! No! God, no—it’s not like that. It’s—it’s…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. “It’s… trust. And safety. It’s a way of saying you’re mine, but not in a bad way. You’d be registered with Luxe, which means you’re protected. No other vampire can touch you. Ever. And I—” His voice softened, his rings buzzing faintly against his fingers. “I’d only feed from you. You’d be… everything to me.”

You blinked, your teasing faltering for a second. “…So it’s… kind of like… dating? But with paperwork?”

Jisung let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Except with bite marks and way more cuddles.”

You smirked despite yourself. “Okay, that part doesn’t sound too bad. But—Ji—this is huge. Like, vampires are real, and now you’re asking me to basically sign up to be your… whatever this is.”

“My blood doll,” he said softly, almost shy.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile softened. “You know that’s the dumbest name for it, right?”

He shrugged helplessly, leaning forward on his elbows. “Yeah, but I don’t care what it’s called. I just want you.”

Your heart skipped again, his voice quiet, honest, almost raw.

“…You really mean that,” you said softly.

“More than anything,” he said instantly, his eyes locked on yours. “You have no idea how hard it’s been not saying anything. I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—for so long.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by how open he was being, then finally let out a breath, glancing back at the tablet and back at him, eyeing him up and down, still holding the tablet and now smirking again. “Okay, one more thing before I sign this. How the hell did you even become a vampire? Like, did you piss off the wrong one? Did you—what—trip and fall into someone’s fangs?”

Jisung groaned instantly, sinking a little in his chair. “Oh my God, do we have to—”

“Yes,” you said firmly, grinning. “Because if I’m about to sign up for this whole ‘blood doll, yours forever’ thing, I need to know how you ended up like this.”

Jisung muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Seungmin was right, this is humiliating, before finally dragging his hands down his face.

“…Fine. But you’re not allowed to laugh.”

You tilted your head, already fighting a smile. “No promises.”

Jisung sighed dramatically, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “So. It started at a club,” he began, voice resigned. “Three years ago, I was cocky, stupid, and definitely two shots past making good decisions.”

You raised an eyebrow, already grinning. “Shocking.”

“Shut up,” he muttered before continuing. “Anyway, she was—uh—this girl in a red dress, dark eyes, hot as hell, and I thought I was being smooth. Asked if she wanted to dance. She asked if I tasted good.”

You snorted, covering your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t laugh yet,” Jisung groaned, his ears turning red. “So we ended up at my place, things got heated, neck kissing, whatever—and boom, no warning, she bit me.”

You blinked. “…She just bit you.”

“Yup. Full-on fangs. And I—uh—” His face went scarlet. “…I panicked. And bit her back.”

There was a long beat of silence before you burst out laughing, nearly knocking over your water glass. “YOU WHAT?!”

Jisung groaned louder, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked! She bit me first! What was I supposed to do, just take it?!”

“You bit her back? Like—with your human teeth?”

“Yes! I was drunk and angry and—shut up!” he said, his face red enough to match the tablecloth.

You were crying now, wheezing. “What did she do?!”

“She laughed so hard she fell off the bed,” Jisung grumbled. “And then she vanished. Poof. Gone.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in your laughter, but your shoulders were shaking. “Oh my God, Ji. That’s… that’s the dumbest vampire origin story ever.”

“Yeah, well guess what?” Jisung shot back, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “I woke up twelve hours later on the floor, naked, with the sun trying to kill me and hearing my neighbor cry about his failed Tinder date through the walls. So, yeah. Best night of my life.”

You were gone now, laughing so hard people were starting to stare. “Oh my God, I can’t—”

“And before you ask, yes, I ended up in the ER. Yes, I yelled at the blood bags. Yes, Chan found me like that.”

You choked on a laugh. “Bang Chan?”

Jisung groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “He showed up, looked at me, and literally said, ‘You bit back, didn’t you.’”

You were crying again, your grin wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. He gave me these rings so I wouldn’t burn alive or implode. Then hired me. The end.”

You stared at him, still laughing, shaking your head. “Wow. All this time, I thought maybe it was, like, tragic or romantic, but nope. You got laid, got bit, panicked, and turned yourself out of spite.”

Jisung muttered, pouting now, “Seungmin told me not to tell you.”

You leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “Oh, I’m never letting you live this down.”

“Great,” he mumbled, sinking lower in his chair, ears still red.

The waiter chose the perfect moment to appear—right as you were still wiping tears from your eyes from laughing at Jisung’s tragic-not-tragic vampire origin story.

“Your entrees,” the waiter said smoothly, setting down two steaming plates between you.

You grinned, still holding the Luxe Health tablet in your hands. “Thanks.”

Jisung, however, barely glanced at the food. He was staring at you, his chin propped on his hand, pouting so hard it was almost comical.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He tilted his head, rings tapping against the table. “Are you gonna sign? Or are you just gonna hold that thing all night and keep making fun of me?”

You smirked, setting the tablet just slightly out of his reach. “Mmm, maybe I like watching you beg.”

Jisung groaned, dropping his head dramatically into his hands. “You are evil.”

You laughed, picking up your fork. “Relax, vampire boy. Let me eat first.”

His head shot up instantly, scandalized. “Eat first?! You’re seriously making me wait?!”

“Yes,” you said simply, popping a bite into your mouth. “Because I can. You’re the one who wants me to sign your vampire boyfriend paperwork, remember?”

Jisung let out a low whine, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “Please. I’ve been waiting for this for three years, don’t make me suffer through dinner too.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, chewing slowly just to mess with him. “Three years, huh?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, voice dead serious. “Do you know how many times I almost told you the moment we reconnected? How many times I had to stop myself from biting you every time you laughed too close to me? Every single day since we reconnected has been torture. Please just sign before I lose my mind.”

Your grin softened just slightly at how honest he sounded, though you still teased, “Wow, dramatic and hungry.”

“Both true,” he muttered, glaring at your untouched signature line.

You finally picked up the tablet, twirling the stylus between your fingers. “…You’re sure about this, Ji? Like, really sure?”

His rings buzzed faintly against his skin as he leaned closer, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Your teasing grin faltered, replaced by a softer smile. “…Okay, then.”

And with one smooth stroke, you signed your name.

For a second, Jisung just stared, like his brain short-circuited at the sight of your signature glowing on the screen.

Then his rings buzzed sharply, and he let out a breathless laugh, sitting back in his chair, completely dazed.

“…Ji?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you, and the cocky smirk was back, but softer this time, almost reverent. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked back. “And you’re mine.”

The waiter came back a second later with drinks, catching Jisung still staring at you like you’d just rewritten his entire world.

“Everything okay here?” the waiter asked, glancing between you.

“Yeah,” Jisung said, not looking away from you, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Perfect.”

The second the apartment door shut behind you, Jisung’s self-control cracked like glass.

You barely had time to slip your shoes off before his hands were on you—pulling you close, kissing you like he’d been starving for this exact moment. And maybe he had been, because there was nothing careful or measured about it; it was hungry, desperate, his.

“Ji—” you gasped against his mouth, your fingers gripping his shirt as he practically walked you backward toward the bedroom.

He groaned low in his throat, his rings buzzing faintly where they slid along your waist, up your ribs. “You signed… you’re mine now—”

“Yours,” you agreed breathlessly, tugging at his unbuttoned shirt as you stumbled into his room.

That word—yours—made something snap in him. He kissed you harder, practically lifting you onto the bed, climbing over you like he couldn’t get close enough. His hands roamed, frantic, tugging your shirt off like it offended him just by existing.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your throat, slower for a second, almost reverent—until his lips hovered right over your pulse, and his breath hitched.

The hunger was there, thick and heavy in his voice. “Can I?”

You tilted your head for him, your voice soft, certain. “Do it, Ji.”

The first press of his fangs was gentle—a soft scrape, almost testing—and then he sank in with a low, wrecked groan, his hands gripping your hips like he was holding himself back from losing it completely.

Your gasp turned into a shaky moan, your back arching as heat shot through you, the pull of his mouth sending a dizzy rush straight to your core.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned against your neck, feeding deeper now, drinking slow but hungry, each swallow sending little vibrations into your skin.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him closer. “Ji—”

At that, he growled softly, his hips pressing into yours, hard and already straining against his pants.

“Mine,” he muttered against your neck, his voice low and wrecked between swallows. “All mine now—fuck—”

“Yours,” you gasped, your hips shifting under him. “Always.”

He pulled back just enough to lick over the bite, sealing it gently, his lips smeared faintly with your blood. His pupils were blown, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you.

“Still good?” he rasped, thumb brushing your jaw almost nervously despite the way his body was practically trembling from restraint.

You smiled up at him, flushed and wrecked already. “More than good. Ji… fuck me.”

Jisung let out a low, wrecked laugh, pressing his forehead to yours for half a second before kissing you again—messy, desperate, blood-sweet.

He tugged his shirt the rest of the way off, your hands already pushing at his sweats, and then he was sliding them down, finally kicking them off as he moved between your legs.

“Wait.”

He froze immediately, his dark, blown-out eyes searching yours, panic flashing for a second. “What? Are you okay? Did I hurt—”

You smirked, tugging him down by the waistband of his sweats. “I wanna suck you off first.”

For a second, Jisung just stared—like you’d just short-circuited his already hunger-fried brain.

“…Wait. What?”

You shifted, pushing at his chest until he sat back slightly, straddling his hips to get him to sit against the headboard. “You heard me.”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, his ears turning red as his hands hovered uselessly at his sides. “…You—right now? Like this?”

You grinned, sliding between his legs, tugging him fully down onto the bed. “Exactly like this.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair as you settled between his thighs. His cock twitched, already hard and leaking against his stomach, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he let out a low, wrecked groan.

“Baby, you don’t—fuck—you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut him off, stroking him slowly, teasing, watching his head drop back against the pillows. “You’ve been so good to me tonight, Ji. Let me take care of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his rings buzzing faintly against his fingers as he gripped the sheets, trying not to thrust into your hand already.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips twitching as you leaned down, licking a slow stripe along the underside of his cock. “God, you’re gonna kill me—”

“Not planning on it,” you murmured against him, kissing the flushed tip before taking him into your mouth.

The sound Jisung made was downright filthy—a choked-off groan, his hips jerking despite the way he immediately tried to hold still for you.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hand flew to your hair, gripping gently but tight enough to show how close he already was to losing it. “Baby—holy shit, feels so good—”

You hummed around him, taking him deeper, and he cursed loudly, his head thunking back against the headboard.

“God, you look so—” he cut himself off with another groan, his hips twitching helplessly as you bobbed your head, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit. “So pretty like this—mine—”

You pulled off just long enough to smirk up at him, breathless. “Yours. Always.”

The way his eyes darkened at that was almost dangerous.

“Fuck—if you keep saying that, I’m gonna—” he choked out, his grip tightening in your hair. “I’m gonna cum so fast—”

“Then cum for me,” you said, voice low, wicked, before taking him back into your mouth—deeper this time, your tongue sliding along the thick vein underneath as you sucked harder.

“Fuck—” Jisung groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his thighs tensing under your hands. His hips twitched despite his desperate attempt to stay still, his rings buzzing so hard they almost hummed against his fingers.

You hummed around him deliberately, the vibration making him let out a broken, wrecked sound that went straight to your core.

“Baby—shit, you’re—” His words cut off into another groan as you took him deeper, your nose brushing his lower stomach, gagging softly around his length. “Oh my God—” Jisung’s grip in your hair tightened, his other hand bracing against the sheets as his self-control snapped another inch.

You pulled back just barely to breathe, stroking him quickly with your hand before sinking down on him again, even deeper this time, letting yourself choke a little as you swallowed around him.

Jisung lost it.

“Shit—baby, I can’t—” His hips jerked into your mouth helplessly now, short, desperate thrusts he couldn’t hold back, his voice low and broken. “You’re so good—fuck, you’re so good for me—taking me so well—”

You moaned around him at his words, and that set him off further, his thrusts a little rougher now, his cock sliding deep into your throat as you let him use your mouth, gagging softly but not pulling away.

“God, mine—” he groaned, his head tipping back, his fangs glinting as his lips parted, panting. “All mine—you look so fucking perfect with my cock in your mouth—shit—”

Your eyes watered from the depth, drool slicking your chin, but you didn’t stop, sucking harder, hollowing your cheeks as you stroked what you couldn’t take, letting him thrust shallowly into your mouth.

“Baby—fuck—I’m gonna cum—” Jisung warned, his voice hoarse, frantic now.

And finally, he let out a loud, wrecked groan, his hips jerking as he spilled into your mouth, his head dropping back as he panted your name, almost whimpering with how hard it hit him. You swallowed every drop, licking him clean as you pulled back, your hand giving him a few more lazy strokes before letting go.

Jisung slumped against the headboard, flushed and wrecked, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His rings buzzed faintly as he dragged a shaky hand through his messy hair, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Holy… fuck.” he rasped, voice rough.

You grinned, crawling up to straddle his lap, kissing him softly, deliberately licking the corner of his mouth where a little bit of your blood from earlier still lingered. His hands immediately gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and to your surprise—his cock twitched against you again, already hardening despite how recently he came.

“…Ji?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

His dark eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth curving into a dangerous grin.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

Your heart skipped, heat pooling low in your stomach at the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He sat up straighter, his hands sliding up your sides, fingers brushing under the hem of your dress. “Take this off for me, baby,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking your skin, “wanna see you.”

You tilted your head, teasing despite the way your pulse was already racing. “What if I don’t?”

His grin widened, his rings buzzing faintly against your skin as he leaned in, kissing your jaw, then down your neck. “Then I’ll do it for you.” Before you could reply, he was already tugging at your dress, pulling it up and over your head with quick, almost impatient hands. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, his gaze trailing over you now, taking in every inch like he was trying to memorize you.

You were still in your panties, straddling his lap, and you felt him twitch under you as his eyes lingered on your tits, his breath catching.

“Ji…” you teased softly, but your words turned into a gasp as his hands came up, cupping your breasts reverently.

He leaned forward, closing his mouth over one nipple, sucking softly at first, then harder when you let out a quiet moan. His other hand squeezed your other breast gently, thumb circling your nipple.

“Ji—oh my God—” you gasped, your fingers digging into his hair as you rocked slightly on his lap, feeling his cock growing harder against you.

He groaned against your skin, switching to your other breast, sucking and licking like he was starved for you. “Taste so good everywhere,” he muttered, voice muffled, his fangs barely grazing your soft skin. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You whimpered as you shifted on his lap, grinding against his cock through your panties, making him hiss low in his throat.

“I'm insane for you,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his pupils blown wide.

Then his hand slid down, between your thighs, pressing against your clothed clit, rubbing slow circles that made your hips jerk.

“Already so wet for me,” he rasped, pushing your panties aside now, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “You want me to make you cum on my fingers first, baby?”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” you gasped, rocking into his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone as he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right while his thumb rubbed your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Ji—oh my God—” you moaned, your head falling back, your hips rolling against his hand.

He groaned softly, watching you, his cock twitching hard under you as he fucked you with his fingers, his mouth still trailing kisses over your tits. “Gonna cum for me? Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers, baby—”

“Ji—” you gasped, your walls fluttering already, heat building fast.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb circling your clit faster now, his fingers thrusting deeper. “Cum for me, baby—let me feel it.”

And you did, moaning his name as you clenched around his fingers, your thighs trembling around his hips.

Jisung groaned, pulling his fingers out slowly, licking them clean without breaking eye contact, his voice wrecked. “You taste so fucking good.”

You were still catching your breath when he gripped your hips, lining his cock up against your entrance. His voice dropped, darker now, hunger and need mixing in his tone.

“Now I’m gonna fuck you, baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock this time.”

Jisung didn’t give you much time to catch your breath.

The second his cock pushed into you, both of you groaned—loud. He filled you to the hilt in one slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips tight, holding you still as he buried himself deep inside.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his forehead pressing briefly to your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. “You feel so good—so fucking tight, baby—”

“Ji—” you gasped, rocking slightly against him, already needy.

His head snapped up, his dark eyes locking on yours, and you barely had a second to inhale before he growled low, almost feral, and started moving.

He set a brutal pace immediately—his hips snapping up into you hard and deep, making you bounce on his lap with every thrust. Your tits moved with each impact, and Jisung’s hands came up to hold them, thumbs brushing over your nipples again before sliding back down to grip your ass.

“Ride me, baby,” he groaned, helping you move, guiding your hips as you started to bounce on him, meeting every thrust. “Fuck—yeah, just like that—taking me so good—”

“Ji—oh my God—” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as you moved faster, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.

His rings buzzed against your skin, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide. “You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind—”

And then he tilted his head, his gaze darting to your neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Ji…” you panted, breathless, “do it—”

You didn't have to tell this man twice. He surged forward, his mouth latching onto your neck as his fangs sank in again, making you gasp, your hips stuttering as pleasure and the dizzy rush of his feeding hit you at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung groaned against your skin, drinking deep, his thrusts growing even harder, rougher, like tasting you only made him hungrier. “God, you taste so good—mine, mine—”

You whimpered, your walls clenching around him as you bounced harder, your body trembling as the pull of his feeding mixed with the relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Ji—oh fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled against your neck, his voice low and wrecked, blood-sweet. “Wanna feel you cum all over me while I drink you—”

That tipped you over.

Your orgasm hit hard, your whole body shaking as you cried out his name, clenching around his cock as he fed, drinking deeper, groaning into your skin as if your pleasure made you taste better.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he panted, finally pulling back just enough to lick over the bite, sealing it gently. His lips were red, his chin slick, and he looked feral—but so fucking gone for you.

“Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up again,” he muttered, snapping his hips up hard one last time before groaning loud, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your uneven breaths and the slow creak of the bed as Jisung’s hips finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around you like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go. His rings buzzed faintly against your back, the vibrations softer now, almost soothing instead of frantic.

You shifted slightly, running a lazy hand through his damp hair. “You alive there, vampire boy?”

A muffled groan came from your shoulder. “Barely. You wrecked me.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wrecked you? Ji, you just fed on me and almost fucked me through the mattress.”

Jisung let out a weak, breathless laugh against your skin, finally pulling back enough to look at you. His lips were red, his chin still faintly slick from where he’d fed, his hair a mess, and he looked gone—but in the softest way.

“You’re perfect,” he said, still panting slightly. “Literally perfect. I don’t deserve you.”

You snorted, flicking his shoulder lightly. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I like you enough to let you use me as your personal Capri Sun.”

His jaw dropped, mock-offended. “Capri Sun?! Baby, you’re—no, no, you’re not a juice pouch, you’re—” He gestured wildly, still inside you, clearly too brain-fried to find the words. “—you’re like… the world’s best vintage wine. Rare. Expensive. If anyone calls you juice again, I’ll fight them.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me,” he shot back, his cocky grin slipping through the post-sex haze.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “…Yeah. I do.”

Jisung blinked, his grin softening instantly into something warmer, quieter. “…Say it again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t hear me the first time?”

“I heard,” he said, his voice low and a little shy now, “I just… wanna hear it again.”

You softened, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “I love you, Ji.”

His grin turned into a full, bright smile, his hands squeezing your waist gently. “I love you too, baby.”

For a second, it was quiet, soft, almost too sweet—until your stomach growled loudly.

You blinked. “…Okay, maybe I need food before I pass out.”

Jisung immediately perked up, sitting back slightly (still very much inside you, which you noticed). “Say no more. Snacks. Bed snacks.”

You laughed as he reluctantly slipped out of you with a soft groan, helping you settle under the covers while muttering to himself.

“I’m making you ramen. And ice cream. And maybe… toast? No—wait, you like toast at night, right?”

You giggled, pulling the blanket around yourself. “Ji, you’re acting like you didn’t just drink half my blood.”

“That’s exactly why I’m feeding you,” he called from the kitchen, already rummaging through cabinets like a man on a mission. “You need sugar, and I need to prove I’m a responsible vampire boyfriend.”

You smiled to yourself, curling into his pillow, still blissed-out and warm.

THE NEXT MORNING

Jisung knew he was late the second he stepped out of the elevator into the main Nocté Labs conference room.

And he also knew he was fucked when every single head turned toward him at once.

“Morning,” he muttered, running a hand through his still-messy hair, tugging nervously at the collar of his hoodie. (Yes, he wore a hoodie to a meeting where everyone else was dressed like they were about to sign vampire peace treaties.)

The smell hit before the comments did.

Hyunjin wrinkled his nose first, lounging lazily in his chair, tapping a pen against his notebook. “Wow. That’s not even subtle.”

Felix beamed instantly, his bright smile way too knowing. “Oh my god, Ji—you finally did it!”

Jisung froze, his ears immediately turning bright red. “What? No—I didn’t—”

Seungmin, without looking up from his tablet, raised a brow and cut in flatly, “You smell like sex and blood. And Rule #3 specifically states that blood dolls are supposed to be eased into feeding, not turned into personal buffet tables overnight.”

“I DIDN’T—” Jisung started, only for Changbin to snort from his spot at the table, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“Sure you didn’t. You’re practically glowing. And you’re late.”

Minho, sitting next to Chan like the ever-judgmental executioner he was, tilted his head slowly, scanning Jisung with a look that made his skin crawl. “You fed and fucked in the same session, didn’t you?”

Jisung sputtered, his face now fully crimson. “WHY DOES EVERYONE KNOW THIS?!”

Hyunjin smirked, leaning back in his chair, unbothered. “Because you smell like her. Everywhere. Everything about you screams I just made her cum so hard she passed out. Congrats, by the way.”

“HYUNJIN!”

Felix just giggled, way too delighted. “Don’t be embarrassed, hyung! You look happy! She’s your soulmate, right? Seungmin was literally waiting for this to happen.”

Seungmin finally looked up, adjusting his pendant, his voice dry as ever. “I wasn’t waiting for it to happen. I was waiting for you to handle it responsibly. Which you clearly didn’t.”

Jisung groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I hate this. I hate all of you.”

Chan, who had been silent the whole time, finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking, his voice calm but way too amused for Jisung’s liking.

“Ji,” Chan said, leaning back in his chair, “congratulations on the bond. But next time? Don’t show up to a meeting smelling like round two. Or three. Or however many times you went at it.”

Jisung wanted to die.

“I’m going home,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“No, you’re not,” Chan said casually, flipping to the next page of his briefing. “You’re sitting down, you’re writing your report on that new venom modulation formula, and you’re doing it while not texting her every five seconds.”

Jisung froze mid-step, scowling. “…I hate this job.”

“You love this job,” Chan replied easily. “Now sit.”

Jisung plopped into his chair with the most dramatic sigh he could manage, slouching down like a sulking teenager. The rest of the table ignored him—at least, for the first ten minutes.

Chan had the agenda up on the main holo-screen, Minho sat stone-still, eyes scanning every document like a predator waiting to strike, and Seungmin was already tapping notes into his tablet with military precision.

The meeting started smooth—too smooth.

“—hybrid gestation serums are stable at sixty-three percent success rate,” Seungmin reported, scrolling calmly through the data. “We’ll need an updated list of donors cleared for secondary trials.”

“Good,” Chan said, leaning back slightly, his tone all business. “Minho, updates on containment?”

“Handled,” Minho said simply. “The rogue incident in Singapore has been neutralized. Retrieval clean. No leaks.”

“Perfect,” Chan nodded, moving to the next file. “Felix, post-bond stabilisation reports?”

Felix, sitting bright and cheerful as always, gave a sunny little thumbs-up. “Four successful sessions yesterday, one couple cried a lot—but no venom relapse, no psychic overload, everything’s syncing fine.”

“Good work,” Chan said again, his voice sharp and clean.

Even Jisung had almost forgotten he was dying of embarrassment… until—

“So, hyung,” Hyunjin cut in lazily, not even looking up from where he was twirling his pen, “did you at least clean the bite marks off her neck before you sent her home?”

The entire table froze.

Jisung’s head snapped up, his face turning bright red instantly. “HYUNJIN—”

Minho’s pen paused mid-scratch, his sharp gaze lifting slowly, almost intrigued. “He didn’t.”

“I—THAT’S NOT—”

Felix, of course, gasped dramatically, grinning like Christmas came early. “Oh my god, hyung, you didn’t? She went home with marks?”

“SHE’S MY BLOOD DOLL, IT’S FINE!” Jisung blurted before realizing what he just said out loud.

Seungmin, who had been typing steadily through the entire conversation, finally set his tablet down with a sigh so heavy it could have crushed a human spine. “Rule #12: ‘All visible bite marks are to be properly healed or glamoured in public settings to avoid legal scrutiny.’ Did you even read the contract you made her sign?”

“I READ IT! I—” Jisung sputtered, his ears turning scarlet. “—I just… forgot.”

Minho tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice far too calm. “Forgetting rules that protect her safety? Should I be concerned?”

“NO, SHE’S FINE!” Jisung yelled, sinking further into his chair, practically vibrating with frustration.

That’s when Chan—Bang Chan, Supreme Leader of the Bahng Empire, usually the embodiment of calm control—let out a quiet chuckle.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” Chan said casually, leaning back in his chair with the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Let him enjoy his first proper bond.”

Jisung froze, eyes wide. “Wait—you’re taking my side?!”

Chan smirked, shrugging lightly. “I didn’t say that. You’re still an idiot. But you’re a happy idiot, which is… rare for you. So I’ll allow it.”

Hyunjin snorted into his hand, Felix giggled outright, and Seungmin muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “unprofessional circus.”

Minho simply sat back in his chair, still watching Jisung like a hawk, but even he looked faintly amused—though you’d have to be insane to point it out.

The meeting did continue after that… technically.

The rest of the morning crawled by in what could only be described as “productive but humiliating.” After the meeting, everyone returned to their respective offices.

Jisung tried to focus on his coding, tapping furiously at his keyboard as strings of glowing bloodcode streamed across the monitor. He was almost managing to forget the teasing—until Jeongin showed up.

The younger vampire wandered into the office sipping from a blood pouch like it was a juice box, leaning casually against Jisung’s desk.

“Hey, hyung,” Jeongin said with a bright, innocent smile that meant he was about to ruin Jisung’s life.

Jisung didn’t look up. “No.”

Jeongin blinked, pretending to be confused. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“I can feel it,” Jisung muttered, typing faster, his rings buzzing faintly as he worked.

Jeongin tilted his head, sipping his pouch. “Sooo… is it true you bit her and forgot to heal it? Hyunjin says she’s probably walking around looking like she just came out of a vampire porno.”

Jisung froze mid-keystroke, slamming his head lightly onto the desk with a groan. “I hate all of you so much.”

Jeongin grinned, unbothered. “Don’t worry, hyung. She probably likes it. Girls love a good bite mark, right?”

“Jeongin, leave.”

“No can do. Felix told me to remind you to log your feeding report or Seungmin’s gonna yell at you again.”

Jisung threw a pen at him. Jeongin dodged, still grinning.

By noon, Jisung was deep into debugging a venom encryption formula, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, rings faintly humming as he worked. He didn’t even notice the door opening—until the smell hit him.

Warm. Familiar. You.

He turned so fast his chair nearly tipped. “Baby?”

You stood there, holding a takeout bag, smiling. “Thought you might forget to eat if I didn’t show up.” For a second, Jisung just stared, blinking at you like you’d descended from heaven itself.

“Hyung, you’re drooling,” Jeongin said helpfully from the corner, still sipping his blood pouch.

Jisung shot him a murderous glare before crossing the room in three strides, pulling you into a quick, tight hug. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

You grinned, holding up the bag. “I wanted to. Besides, you fed on me last night. Gotta make sure you don’t starve and code yourself into a coma.”

Felix’s voice piped up from the doorway, bright and teasing. “Aww, look at our little power couple!”

You blinked as more heads started poking into the office—Hyunjin lounging against the doorframe with his usual lazy smirk, Seungmin looking disapproving as always, and even Chan peeking in from the hall.

For one full second, the room was quiet.

Then Hyunjin broke it.

“So this is the famous Capri Sun.”

You blinked. “…The what?”

Jisung groaned loudly, burying his face into your shoulder. “Don’t ask. Just—don’t.”

Felix giggled outright, Minho’s faint chuckle could be heard down the hall, and even Chan cracked a grin.

You raised an eyebrow at Jisung, amused. “I really want to ask.”

“Don’t,” he muttered again, pulling you closer, glaring at everyone else over your shoulder. “She’s mine. Nobody talk to her.”

“Possessive and embarrassed,” Hyunjin teased, waving lazily. “Cute.”

Seungmin sighed, already walking away. “At least heal the bite next time. Please.”

You tilted your head at Jisung, smirking. “You really didn’t heal it?”

“BABY,” Jisung groaned, hiding his face in your neck again, his ears bright red. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“Leaving?” you echoed, laughing.

“Lunch in my office. Door locked. No witnesses.”

You sat cross-legged on his desk, eating ramen from the takeout bag while Jisung sat in his chair, turned toward you, his knees brushing yours.

He was watching you like you were the only thing in the room, chin propped on his hand, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“…What?” you asked, grinning at him.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, almost shy. “Just… I really love you.”

You softened instantly, reaching out to tug him closer. “I love you too, Ji.”

His grin turned wicked again as he leaned in, whispering against your lips, “Good. Because after work… I'm hungry, like very hungry. Work makes me hungry.”

You laughed, kissing him softly. “God, you’re insatiable.”

He smirked, kissing you back. “Only for you, baby.”

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog , @girlsymptoms , @bookswillfindyouaway , @jasperlvskz , @geekymommakerry , @dazzlingjade , @alisonyus , @pluto-rose , @crazy4books1 , @b3autyist3rror , @felixleftchickennugget

[whyvaine]

Heyyy could I request gamer/streamer Megan trying to impress fem reader? I think it’d be funny lol, thank youu!

don’t clip that chat!!— megan skiendiel

⌖ pairing: streamer! megan x reader

⌖ synopsis: megan’s a confident streamer until her crush y/n shows up. now she can’t aim, can’t speak, and chat’s clipping everything

megan was cool.

well. at least online.

to her chat, she was rizzgan: twitch partner, semi pro aim demon, and full-time menace. she was fast-talking, quick-clicking, and somehow always got away with saying the most messed up things on stream. people loved her for it. she was chaotic but in a charming, “please post more tiktoks of this” kind of way.

but all of that fell apart the moment y/n showed up.

it was supposed to be a normal stream. a chill 4 hour ranked session with her usual trio. megan had even done her eyeliner that day. her setup was glowing, the music was on, and everything was fine

until her mod dm’d her:

“yo. y/n’s in chat 😭”

megan blinked.

froze.

no.

no no no no

and then she saw it, glowing in her chat feed like it was sent straight from hell.

y/n: hey meg :)

she didn’t even get the chance to respond before she got headshotted on stream. her character’s body dropped dramatically.

“NOOOO okay, no, that didn’t count, i got distracted!” megan protested, half laughing, half freaking out, trying to recover. her voice cracked.

“by what? the wall you were staring at?” yoonchae teased in her headset.

her mouse slammed down on the mute key.

chat, predictably, was already exploding.

y/n sent one message and you DIED??

that’s wild she folded IMMEDIATELY

don’t fold now queen 😭😭😭

SOMEONE CLIP THAT

“don’t clip that chat,” megan grumbled, pulling her hoodie up to cover her face. “actually no one clip anything for the rest of the stream. everything from now on is off limits. illegal. banned.”

someone clipped it anyway.

—————————————————————————

the next few rounds were worse.

megan, usually sharp and reactive, was suddenly off.

her aim was terrible. her timing was off. she threw a flashbang at herself twice. twice.

y/n sent another message:

that was a cool move :) didn’t know people flashbang themselves like that haha

and megan just leaned back in her chair, covered her face, and dramatically whispered, “i can’t do this.”

chat was screaming.

—————————————————————————

that should’ve been the end of it.

it wasn’t.

the next day, y/n showed up in person.

“thought i’d come hang while you streamed,” she said casually, smiling like she wasn’t megan’s #1 weakness, holding two iced coffees and wearing megan’s merch hoodie.

megan short circuited.

“yeah uh cool, that’s cool,” she said, definitely not panicking. “yeah just uhm sit wherever.”

y/n sat behind her gaming chair. close. too close. megan could feel the warmth of her presence and the smell of her shampoo and it was absolutely ruining her.

she fumbled every match that stream.

“you good, meg?” her teammate asked halfway through. “you’re, like, walking into the walls.”

“yeah!” she said, too quickly. “i’m great. totally fine. never been more fine in my life.”

“y/n,” yoonchae said, voice suspicious in comms, “are you there in person?”

megan slammed the mute button so hard her mic cracked.

—————————————————————————

her downfall peaked when y/n leaned forward resting her chin lightly on megan’s shoulder and whispered, “how do you revive again?”

megan froze mid game. her character stood perfectly still in an open hallway.

“uh. it’s E,” she said.

“thanks,” y/n replied sweetly.

and megan, completely overwhelmed, accidentally alt-tabbed out of the game.

chat lost it.

clips were already being made with titles like:

megan gets distracted by pretty girl and forgets how computers work

she’s so gone for her 😭

—————————————————————————

after stream, megan collapsed on her bed dramatically.

“i can never stream again,” she muttered into her pillow. “i’m retiring. i’m done. my legacy ends here.”

y/n sat cross legged at the edge of the bed, sipping her drink. “you were cute.”

megan lifted her head like a zombie. “what?”

“when you got all flustered. and muting every five seconds. and flashing yourself. very cute,” y/n said casually, with a tiny smile. “i’m surprised chat didn’t ship us harder.”

megan stared at her.

y/n tilted her head. “what?”

“do you like me?” megan blurted.

y/n blinked, then laughed. “i thought that was obvious.”

it wasn’t.

it really wasn’t.

megan looked like someone had unplugged her entire soul.

“oh my god,” she whispered. “this whole time i’ve been trying to impress you and i looked like a clown”

“a cute clown,” y/n offered.

megan buried her face in her hands again. “don’t clip this either.”

—————————————————————————

chat the next day was a war zone.

WAIT YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER NOW???

we’ve been shipping this for MONTHS

she rizzed y/n by FLASHBANGING HERSELF TWICE I’M SCREAMING

her name is rizzgan after all😭

and megan, wearing the exact same hoodie y/n had on the day before, just smiled into her mic.

“don’t clip that chat.”

—————————————————————————

[loserlvrss]

( ɪˈfemərəl ) ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 you and the popular twitch streamer, 𝙃𝘼𝙀𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉, had dated for years, breaking up because of a misunderstanding. and now you're haunted by the ghost of your failed-relationship, doubting whether you should reach out again. however, it all comes crashing down because of one sweatshirt and a tweet. 이동혁 &𝔣em! 𝔯ea.❛angst, half-smau, eventual fluff, streamer!au

or alternatively┊life gives you a second chance with the man who understood, and never sought to change you.

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬───language, emetophobia, panic disorder, severe depression & anxiety disorder, mentions of food & not eating, argument, self-loathing, drinking / alcohol usage, perental truama / mentions of being an orphan, skinship, crude humor ⟡ est. wc : 1600THOU+ CLiCK4MORE (part two coming soon)

001: Whoever You Became and Whoever You Thought You Should've Been 

You've always been sure of yourself. That was never an issue. You always knew what you wanted and how to achieve the goal effectively. Yet, now you can’t even decide what to eat for breakfast—so you go without food most days.

The little girl you were would be disappointed in the mess she was looking up to. She’d be disappointed to have watched the walls of her castle crumble. She’d be disappointed to know that fairy tales were just stories made up by lonesome adults. You feared, she’d just be disappointed in you. You weren’t the person you thought you’d be by now. Well, actually, you thought you weren’t much of anything anymore. In reality, you’d lost all sense of whoever you became and whoever you thought you should’ve been.  

Yes, you knew that you’d been walking a fragile line; within everything. Your social life was crumbling, your career on the verge. The thought of romance was non-existent. You genuinely felt like you couldn’t breathe right anymore. Nothing was satisfactory. You never thought you’d watch things fall apart but, here you were watching it replay again and again every night. You couldn’t unsee or un-feel it no matter how hard you tried. 

You knew the risk taken but, sliding down a steep hill wasn’t in the 5-year plan. You, of course, couldn’t even regret what happened. You couldn’t regret giving it a try because, isn’t that what life is about? New experiences?

Yet, you still do. You still crave what you had and lost.

You were so confident but it seemed like everything changed just as quickly as it started. 

“Y/n! C’mon, dance with me!” A voice called out as a sashaying—painting worthy—woman made her way through a small crowd. She had smooth black hair and complimenting sharp features. “Please!” She begged, gripping your hand within hers and pulling you into the pile of people she’d just weaved between. 

Unfortunately, the beat-heavy music, that has been doing a decent job and drowning out your thoughts, had subsided into a slow-dance. Still, that didn’t stop her and she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling yours up to mirror hers. 

We swayed to the music as she started speaking, “He’s not even here but, he’s still on your mind.” She didn’t roll her eyes visibly, however, audibly, it got the message across. “He’s not even worth your time anymore, babe! Who the fuck even is he? No one, exactly! Stop with the sad girl shit,” She pouted, “it’s supposed to be our hot girl summer.” 

“But I wanted taken-girl summer.” 

“No such thing!” She replied mockingly, “You’re too good for him anyways, I mean, look at you! You could have anyone you want crawling at your feet, yet, you still want him—a fucking twitch streamer? Oh my god,” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, more in sadness than confusion. The funny thing is, Alexa liked your relationship with Donghyuck. She was your number one supporter but, overnight, she became his number one hater. And, it’s not like you could blame her, it’s exactly the best friend thing to do. 

She was right though. Right now, you both were supposed to be celebrating her brother’s birthday but, here you were sulking over someone who wasn’t even close. Truthfully, you were sulking over him every and anywhere you went. It was pathetic, you knew that. It’s been months since you broke up. However, in hindsight, a few days wasn’t even allowed to compare to the two years you’d spent together. You wished that the hypothetical bad days outweighed the good ones but, they don’t compare. 

Donghyuck was always good to you. 

You weren’t always a vulnerable person, having to grow thick skin to survive. However, all it took was one funny boy to fuck up your life. He held part of your heart (still) and part of you would still give the rest back. Part of you would let him walk back into your life just as quickly as he left. 

You wanted to say that you and him were never getting back together but, that’s a door you feared would never fully close—no matter how long you stayed apart. 

“He’s not just a streamer, Lexa. You’ve got it wrong.” 

She cocked her head, “Tell me then, what is he?” 

You didn’t want to reminisce. You didn’t want to cross back over the bridge you worked so hard to crawl across. He was a core-memory you couldn’t escape and you knew leaving it in the past wouldn’t be so easy. You were his but he wasn’t yours. He still had a tight grip on what you wanted to do and where you wanted to go, even if you’ve fallen so far down his list of priorities. 

“He was good to me an—”

“Most people are good to you, y/n! You’re fucking y/n!” 

You bit your lip, “This was different, he understood me.” 

She huffed, readjusting her grip unnecessarily, “And? Anyone who understands you gets to call you their girlfriend for two years? I’ve known you for fifteen! What does that make me? I’ve seen this play out before, y/n, can’t you just listen to me this time?” 

You and her were much alike, externally stubborn, and you knew that if the roles were reversed she wouldn’t be acting all high and mighty. 

“You’re better without these stupid men who let you go!” She explained adamantly, trying to drill the message in deep, “You always get better.” 

Except, this time you couldn’t swallow your pride. He was different. He felt real in comparison to the flings you previously had and lost. He did understand and never looked at you like a hopeless girl he could save. You weren’t his challenge to fix. 

Because of that, he was the first person you could truly say that you loved. 

“When?” Your eyes glossed over, heart beating a physical pain throughout your chest. “When do I get better, Alexa?” 

She sighed, “When you let yourself.” 

You finally stopped abusing your bottom lip, letting it go. “What if this time it’s different?” 

She pat your cheek with the palm of her gentle hand—even if sometimes it wants to slap some sense into you. “It’s not. You’ll get over him, just give it some more thought.” 

But that’s all you’ve been doing. Giving him a thought, then another, and another, and another. It was a never ending loop you couldn’t escape the helpless feeling of. 

The rush of adrenaline was a scary thing. 

You tried a solemn smile, “Yeah, okay.” 

The only way to get her to stop was to agree—even if she knew it was fake. Somewhere deep down you heard her. 

And, it’s not like you didn’t want to move on, you just never thought you’d have to. If you’re being honest, you never thought you’d watch the two of you breakup like you did. You thought that if you ever broke up, it would have had to have been because of something awful. Yet, it was the complete opposite and maybe that’s why it hurt more than a little. You broke up mutually because even though it’s said that opposites attract, you weren’t so sure. Too different from one another to go on. You know now that the feeling inside of you for those years was only too good to be true. You should’ve known the storm would roll in at any second, sabotaging a sunny day. You should’ve known the whole thing would hit the fan and splatter against the wall. You should’ve known you would let your demons win. Donghyuck knew everything about you, and you should’ve known that to let him in meant letting them in as well. 

You hate how fast you switched sides, and how easily you gave in. That wasn’t like the old you but, you didn’t even know who the old you was anymore. And now, you had much less of a clue who the new you happened to be. 

You also had no insight on him. Sure, you could’ve pulled up one of Heachan’s (his online persona) streams. But, you gave him nothing, and got nothing in return. You acted like strangers so well one would think you’d actually never known each other. Just two people in the same circle. 

You didn’t want to yearn for a boy who didn’t even want you anymore. But, all you wanted was him. 

002: Fuckass Streamer Award Goes To…

You smiled, replying, “thank you,” as you read over the (specific) comment that was complimenting the selfie you used for engagement purposes. “It was after Alexa’s brother's birthday party—my running to the convenience store drunk, fit.” You read over the comments a little bit more, some saying that you were too dressed up to just go to a 7-eleven. “I take my outfits very seriously guys.” 

You took a bite of the food at your side, scrolling through your music options. You didn’t plan on posting the stream to YouTube so, you weren’t really concerned with what was played. 

“Are we fucking with Niki, chat?” You switched back to your Discord, “Oh my God, Jisung’s obsessed with me!” 

You clicked, finally answering. A ping! filled your ears, making you jump. Then a familiar voice filled them instead, singing along to the song that you had just started playing: Lowkey. Your heart rate was through the roof, hand clutching your chest. “Oh my God! I almost stabbed myself!” The voice laughed through the attempt at hitting a higher note. “Remind me to turn that off later, okay?” 

"Hey! You ignored me, and then decided to flame me on the main."

“Well, don’t be so easy to flame then, emo boy. I didn’t need you to scare the fuck outta me—like Freddy did you.” You laughed loud, putting the fork down, turning Jisung’s voice up. He still hummed along while trying to hold the conversation. 

The chats messages were out of control, some thirsting over his deep voice, others reminiscing past streams you two did. Honestly, you’d met a lot of people through Heachan, Jisung one of them. They played first-person shooter games or League, and occasionally Haechan would teach you, putting his hand over yours and pressing the keys. It made your heart thump, a shooting pain in your chest. 

You were just glad no one needed to choose sides after the breakup.  

The song changed to: Sugarplum Elegy. Jisung took a second to actually acknowledge the chat’s messages (for him, obviously), greeting them. 

Then he went silent when he realized, knowing that he was probably testing the waters, you tried to play it off, leaning back in the chair so your chat could (hopefully) not see your eyes glossing over. “H-hey, what if we played a game, Ji?”  

He cleared his throat, “Yes? Okay! Yeah,” He shouted, dragging out the end, “What should we play? Roblox? Minecraft? COD? Stardew?” 

You hummed, ooh-ing at his options until they peaked your interest, “Roblox! Roblox!” Your fingers started clicking against the keyboard, he was doing the same, pulling up the game. “Although, when we do an in-person stream, we need to play a scary game again–like when you and Donghyuck played Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe Poppy’s Playtime Chapter Three.” 

You must’ve not realized the words that came out of your mouth; too intrigued by the games you scrolled through. But, the chat started speeding by again, and the air felt stale, static heard over the other end of the call. 

“What? What happened?” You asked, still oblivious. Well, that was until it practically smacked you like a train. You had to pretend like you weren’t in the middle of its wreck. 

You heard Jisung audibly swallow, also pretending (for your sake) that he didn’t hear it either, “No, nothing! You just scrolled past a suss-ass game. Speaking of, what do you want to play?” 

“What about…I don’t know, one of the well known ones? Then chat can join too.” 

“Well, yes.” He should’ve just said duh! “But, which one? Natural Disaster Survival? Dress to Impress?” 

“Wait! Natural Disaster Survival! I’m so good at this one!” He typed for a second, and then an invitation popped onto screen, you pressed it, the loading screen taking over momentarily. 

It should’ve been funny how you could relate almost anything back to Donghyuck. The first time you played this game—even the first time you played Roblox—was with him. 

You bit your lip trying to focus on the game instead of the looming thoughts of him in the back (and front) of your head. Mostly, because if you thought about him too long, you’d start to wonder if he ever did the same. But, you couldn’t even get close to watching a video he uploaded or stream of his to read between his lines. Still, you wondered, if you ever reached out, would he reply or would it be radio silent? Would it give you the closure you think you crave? 

You shouldn’t hold your breath. 

For now, you were just two people who used to be more. And, you don’t know why that made you so sad. To think you used to share every dark and twisted secret—to hold the words so closely. To think you could’ve been so much more almost kills you. Sometimes you feel like you didn’t give it a shot, but in reality, that’s all you did. 

You guess that you both wanted something the other couldn’t give…or maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe he gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted and that's why it was so goddamn hard to get over this speed bump. You know it would be easier to loathe him, to pretend like he did something terrible and unforgivable. Although, he wasn’t like that no matter how many times you imagined it. No matter what you told yourself, it was never convincing enough. Every scenario ended with you being the bad guy in your story. Every scenario led back to him, and as much as you wanted to hate it, that was what got you through the night.

It’s said that time heals all, but how much time exactly until it becomes something deeper than surface level? 

“I win!” Jisung shouted. 

You had, obviously, died earlier; the chat mocking your statement about being good at the game. But you just wanted to brag to Jisung—the man who was good at every computer game. It was annoying, actually. 

You started playing a different game, Jisung shouting, “Y/n! Y/n, I think they’re e-dating! That’s against the rules, let’s report them!” He laughed like he was scheming, “I did it! I reported them! Haha, losers!” 

“At least they have someone—you and I are shit outta luck, buddy.”

“Damn…” He sighed, “I’m looking—”

“You’re great and all, but I’d actually rather date anything else.” You interrupted. “I think Jaemin, Mr. Pussy Slayer himself would be better.” 

He scoffed, “Bold of you to assume I was talking to you! Bro’s before hoes, Y/n.”  

Your jaw dropped, “Oh my God, and the fuckass streamer award goes to…” You yelled down the mic, “Just say i’m fucking ugly next time, damn.” 

Laughter erupted over the call, filling the tense air with something lighter. The chat spammed L’s, TMI’s or random romantic-confessions to each other. Then your MOD’s started spamming, no dating in the chat otherwise you get banned (jokingly) as retaliation. 

They calmed down and so did your shared laughter, Jisung admitting that he had to leave to film a video—which you complained about not being invited to. Then, you said your goodbyes, ending the call. 

“Guys, I should leave too.” You pouted your lip out, “I’ll be back soon, promise.” 

You turned off the stream and almost sighed in relief, though it felt all but relieving. Honestly, you felt nervous, guilty even. Your hands shook as you shut down everything, turning off the lights and leaving the room with a shut door. 

You couldn’t let the thought go. Does he feel the same way you do? Has he been kept up at night wondering if you loved someone else? Does he remember all the firsts and lasts you two had, like you can’t get out of your head? Do his thoughts echo your name, like his replays on yours? You felt like a scratched record, repeating what you already knew; what you feared most, how much you do regret it.  

You said you wouldn’t—that you couldn’t—you decided mutually that it was for the best that you went your separate ways, and to not dwell on the past. But, here you were, doing the opposite. Would he think it was as pathetic as you do? 

You hated how much he lingered on your nerves and flowed through your veins like a pretty poison. You hated how you had to meet someone so good you know you’ll never have better. And, you hated how much his thoughts and emotions were a mystery—a mystery you craved solving. You knew that if you died tonight, you’d regret not reaching out. Unfinished business or something. But, what if you didn’t die during the night and had to face the consequences of your actions? What if you had to face him again one day? Would you be able to? So many hypotheticals you weren’t sure you really wanted the answers to. 

The ghost of your failed-relationship will always haunt you, and it only gets worse in the dead of the night when you’re alone with your thoughts. The cold moon always mocked you, never answering your silent pleas for someone to fix what you couldn’t turn back time to—something you used to desperately cry out for. Now, you know no one is listening. And it should be humbling, yet you don’t care how many times you have to keep his sweatshirt over your body to get even a bit of sleep. 

At least you were sleeping now. 

But, you never thought you’d have to imagine ways to figure out how to make someone miss you. You never thought you’d want to make him suffer like you were. However, you never thought you’d feel lonely like you used to feel his heartbeat against yours. 

Nevertheless, it’s always the one who got away, wasn’t it?

003: Plotting an Evil Scheme

Periodically, You’d go through the stages of grief. Sometimes you would even go through them so fast it felt like you were listening to a crazy, heavy-metal song. One moment, you’d go from crying, to accepting, to being happy it happened, to sad it ended. More often than not, you’d linger on the last. 

Every time you almost broke the distance, your finger would land on Alexa’s contact, because if you asked her to, she’d talk you out of it. And, at first she was sad that it ended as well. You knew she didn’t want to tell you no but, she still did because she had more loyalty to you—knowing it was what you needed. 

Now, she believes it’s what you still need. 

DND.  SOS

HEY GOOGLE!  The sza album?  🔥🔥

DND. Fuck off.

HEY GOOGLE! I'm just kidding What's up babes??

DND. What do you think is up I'm about to break down

HEY GOOGLE! You want me to come over?

DND.  No, what I want is for it to stop hurting so bad

HEY GOOGLE! You're going to make me cry

DND.  Then we'd be crying under the same stars How romantic  Just kidding!  No romance here at my place.

HEY GOOGLE! You're throwing a pity party again

DND. This time you're uninvited  Good night, Alexa.

HEY GOOGLE! Y/n  I didn't mean it like that You're just always sulking over Haechan It makes me sad I just want to see you happy again

You couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t know how to be happy again. You honestly just felt like you were here—there was no other way to describe it. It was just a comatose feeling, neither swinging one nor the other way. Honestly, it felt like you’d just been taking a never-ending bad trip. 

You stared at the spinning fan above your head, watching as it rounded and rounded the same path. You couldn’t not see yourself in it—relate to its mannerisms of the inanimate object which obviously couldn’t feel as you did; that couldn’t feel in general. 

You thought breaking up was hard, but the battle truly began the moment you realized you were alone, after so much time of having someone there. Memories were silhouetted where the paint wouldn’t cover—where the pain still lingered. 

You turned to your side, staring out at the blank wall; the fan making your head feel dizzier than usual. Your stomach turned with it…or maybe it was just the thoughts. Reality was, you couldn’t tell much anymore. You thought you had it figured out but, here you were, steps back once the sun went down. Funny how the darkness worked with your imagination.  

If only these four walls could talk, you probably wouldn’t be wondering how he felt. You’d probably be in a much different situation if only the plaster had mouths. Though, you’d rather they didn’t narrate everything they’ve seen since his absence. 

You closed your eyes, and it always seemed like the perfect opportunity for your memories to mock you. Honestly, you wish you couldn’t dream anymore—but, that would mean you’d have died, and that created more hypotheticals you couldn’t deal with right now.  

“Love,” A tender voice called out, and you quickly went to find it, “My daughter! Where are you?” She called again once you reached the entrance of the house. The woman embraced you, wrapping her strong arms around you and kissing your cheek. You did the same, slightly delayed from shock. 

You don’t even know if she realized what she said, but you could see it written across Donghyuck’s face when you turned around. You watched as his mother sashayed past him, adjusting the bag of food in her hand. 

Donghyuck’s mother was enlightened by him shortly after you two had started talking. He told her about you being practically homeless, what put you into the system at fourteen. You never lasted very long with the families you were placed with, always being sent back like you were just a free-trial. Eventually, you lost all hope of finding one that would actually want to adopt you. Then years went by, you turned of age and suddenly you were out in the big, scary world. 

“Did she just…” He trailed off, watching tears threaten to spill from your eyes. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and hugging your arms around yourself–trying to stop the faucet to the waterworks. 

Donghyuck pulled your wrist free, then closed the distance between the two of you. You sniffled softly, and he kissed the crown of your head. You didn’t have to tell him how much it meant to you, because he knew how hard you took rejection and how fast you absorbed any kind of parental figure. He knew you looked at his mother like a superhero. He knew you almost envied their mother-son relationship; how close they were, while yours were deemed unfit by the court because they didn’t want to clean-up. 

It still stings that they didn’t want you enough to get their shit together. 

Still, Donghyuck’s mother didn’t realize it but, those little words that probably had no meaning to her, that were just subconscious, were as deep as Mariana’s Trench to you–they were as much of a mystery as it was too. Words that satisfied a small part you’d thought you lost. It almost felt like fireworks were going off as it replayed. It almost felt like a part of your heart was clicked back into place. 

Oh, how you had so much to lose. 

“Why do you only have Doritos? What on Earth is Prime? Didn’t I teach you how to cook?” She rambled, scolding her son and catching both your attention, “Come here! Why do you have nothing to eat, Donghyuck? How are you even alive? Come help me cook something…you’re lucky to have her, oh my gosh.” 

Sirens woke you up; metaphorically, and as they flew past your window. You gasped for breath and wondered if your subconscious mind knew that you practically died every night, holding your breath like it was the last before taking a plunge. Though, they long passed by the time you turned over, the familiar fan still spinning. 

You shivered but your body felt like every fiber was set aflame. You kicked off the blanket in an attempt to regulate, the cool air not soothing any part of you. You just wanted to peel your skin off, feeling sticky and sickly, a cold sweat covering your pores. You groaned as you pushed yourself into a seated position. Your stomach churned again with the same kind of agony as before you miraculously fell asleep. 

You thickly swallowed, though now it was just lumped in your throat, and got from the drenched covers. Anyone who would see this out-of-context would think you were sick or having a terrifying nightmare, when the reality was much different. This was one of the good dreams; now bittersweet. And, you tried not to ask yourself about the elephant in the room but, you couldn’t help wondering if she’d still think of you the same way. 

It was sickening. You thought you could throw up.  

Maybe, in hindsight, that was because you already felt like doing so. But still, the knife of rejection cut you deep, straight into your heart you could physically feel it–spreading around your chest in the form of a burning sensation with little sharp sparks of pain here and there. You potentially thought that you were having a heart attack. 

It didn’t fade but the anxiety of a critical situation did. You knew the feeling all too well. You knew the pain like the back of your hand. It’s said heartbreak takes a toll on people. However, they didn’t tell you it would feel like dying. So, what a surprise you got when you woke up drenched in a cold-sweat for the first time. Then again, and again. Until eventually, it became your normal routine to fall asleep, wake up early in the AM and wash up. You wouldn’t fall back asleep no matter how hard you tried but, you were used to the scattered feeling throughout the day. 

HEY GOOGLE! I’m sorry y/n Just text me when you wake up

DND. Another day  Another slay

HEY GOOGLE! not funny. did you have that dream again?

DND. All lowercase??  You must really feel comforting right now

HEY GOOGLE! you bet i do🥰 try to get some more sleep

DND. And you stop watching crime documentaries at 3am Go to bed

HEY GOOGLE! You first

DND. Funny🫤

You practically peeled the clothing from your body. The sticky sensation gave you sensory-overload and made you mentally-gag. Then you put them into the basket, already filled with a week's worth of washing before stepping into the turned-on shower. 

The water ran over your skin but today it didn’t make you feel any less dirty–any better. It wasn’t soothing like it usually did. Honestly, it made you feel worse. Why’d it get to fall so freely and you couldn’t? Why were you envious of inanimate objects? 

Your body lowered to the ground, knees coming up to your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs, placing your head against them; it was already heavy from the water droplets. 

You wanted it to make you feel better. 

Maybe living in Hell would be better than purgatory–there, at least, you’d know where you stood. Maybe feeling something would be better than nothing. But, everyone wants what they can’t have, and you were no exception. Honestly, it made you feel like a spoiled brat. You couldn’t look at yourself without thinking it–without being jealous of the people who get to walk around with him in their mind without feeling a sense of betrayal. 

You could hear a part of you plotting out an evil scheme, saying, if you can’t have him, no one can. Does that make you crazy? 

Well, that’s got to be better than numb. 

004: Your Burden to Bear

Were you grasping at thin air? Were you just holding onto a false sense of security? You guess you haven’t really accepted what you know has happened. You wondered a lot but, most of all, you wondered how long you’d fight yourself on the edge of a cliff. Afterall, it was just a matter of time until you toppled over the edge into a treacherous cavern. Would you even hate the free-fall as much as you hate looking across the trench? Because the other side looked so close but you refused to look down. 

You opened the fridge, the artificial light illuminating a sliver of the kitchen. It was now around half-past five, which seemed like an acceptable time for adults to wake up–though, you’d been up for much longer. 

Your eyes scanned the few options on the shelves, lingering on the pink-capped Soju for longer than they should have. Instead, you grabbed the bottled water, twisting off the top as the door swung closed quietly. 

Honestly, you wished you realized what you had before it was all in the past-tense. How can you feel lucky to have known him but still appalled by that exact thought? But, that’s the age-old story, isn’t it? So, maybe Alexa was right. Maybe you shouldn’t be throwing yourself another pity party. The silence just knew every way to get to you; to weave its way into your brain chemistry and alter it. 

You leaned against the countertop, sighing out, then taking a drink, only now realizing you felt overly parched. 

You wondered how many goodnights were just goodbyes in disguise. You wondered if you ever met face-to-face again, would it just be another one in the making? 

Maybe ripping off the bandaid and airing out the wound would be better than letting it fester in the dark. You, purposefully, haven’t even searched out a picture of him since Hell broke loose. You couldn’t help but feel like you’ve been dragging it on because you wanted what you knew and not change.  

Did what Alexa’s been saying for months finally make a dent in your unstably-stone mind? Well, each step you took you always back-tracked once you got deeper down one of your rabbit holes. 

Fuck, you’ve got to get out of your godforsaken mind, because you’re really starting to think that you wont ever reach the other side like Alexa says you will. You’re really starting to fear a full-body takeover by someone who probably hasn’t given you a second thought, when it seems all you do is give him a second, third and fourth. 

Right now the Soju felt like it would satisfy your insatiable thirst–but, you’d leave it, going back to your room. One thing you refused to do, no matter how sad you got, was turn to alcoholism. Look where it got your parents. That’s a guilt you didn’t (couldn’t) live with. But, you’re sure they don’t live with it, it would just be your burden to bear. Actually, it looked like it would be exactly like it is now anyways, so did it really matter if you drank or not? You’ve already lost your sense of self.  

You put the bottle on the side-table, turning to the mattress and taking the covers off of it. You bunched the sheets in your arms and carried them to get washed, because last night was especially bad for you, despite it being a good dream. 

You shoved them into the washing machine and went to drag your dirty clothes out of the bathroom. If you were going to wash one thing, you might as well do the others. You then turned it on, after putting a rightful amount of detergent. 

You backed against the wall, watching as it began to fill. You thought if you lost track of time you’d stand there for the full fifty minutes–yet, that didn’t seem like the worst way you could occupy your time. 

However, it was cut short when the keypad to your apartment door started singing individual notes with each press of the password. Two options ran through your mind: you were going to die because somehow a murderer got the password to your door, or it was Alexa. 

“Look who it is.” The black-haired woman motioned for you as you rounded the corner to meet her. “I brought you this, please eat it.” 

In her hand were two things, an iced-coffee, which was for herself, and a bag from a nearby grocery store. She handed you the bag and went to explain the contents. 

“It’s just a fruit platter because, I don’t know, this is the only thing I see you eat nowadays.” She also handed you her other things (keys, wallet and coffee) to hold while she took her shoes off. She laid them in an orderly line against yours and went to take her necessities back. “Yeah, I pay attention to you.” 

You laughed but it was honestly kind of nice. You knew she cared about you–at least, it’s been fifteen years, so you hoped she did. Alexa’s been the only thing keeping you together. You know it probably doesn’t look like you’re coping but, without her it would be much worse. 

“I can’t believe you promised to stream at six in the morning–with me. Who the fuck does that?” Alexa rambled, going into the kitchen. You could hear things hit the countertop, a cabinet then opening. “You remembered, didn’t you?” She called out. 

Reality was, you simply didn’t find space inside your brain for that information after you put it out to the world. Another reason you probably wouldn’t be a functioning human being without her. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be awake this fucking early! It’s like seven hours I’m missing right now!” You wondered what time it was now. She had a habit of being late, and you hadn’t even started setting up the stream. 

You found your way into your guest-bedroom (makeshift office), switching on the light and illuminating your setup. You turned your computer on, logging everything back in–which, thankfully, you hadn’t done much of the opposite yesterday. Flicking to the bottom of the screen, it was 5:55am, which just meant the stream was going to be later than planned but, it was almost not going to happen. 

You pulled up Twitch, logging that in too and pulling up your just chatting screensaver. The waiting room was already starting to fill, almost 40k people at its peak. You turned on music for them, watching as they spoke indirectly to each other. 

Alexa joined you a few minutes later, sitting down in the chair next to you. She placed the fruit platter in the middle of you two, handing a fork to you. 

“Ready?” You asked, and she nodded. 

A smile plastered her face as you took the waiting screen off, unmuting and then greeting the chat. She followed your lead, saying hello to them as well. 

She got comfortable quickly, despite not being a streamer. “You guys know what this bitch did to me?” Her head turned briefly your way, “She made me get up at five for this stream! She’s lucky I like her, chat.” Her hand went up into view with her five-fingers out to exaggerate the time she had to wake up. 

“I remember you guys being very interested in Alexa and I’s friendship, and that’s how this stream came about. I don’t know why we said we’d do it at six in the morning–must’ve been something to do with most of the viewers' time-zones, or something.” You shrugged, stabbing a piece of watermelon with the fork, “Ask us questions.” 

You read over the chat trying to pick out a good one, chewing the fruit slowly. Alexa pointed to the screen, sharp-black stiletto nails tapping it–it was one-hundred percent someone saying something rude about the two of you, but it only caused a giggling fit. 

Eventually, Alexa found a question worth answering, “I mean, this question doesn’t have anything to do with our friendship but, I like to brag.” She laughed, a competitive glint in her eyes, “How many languages do we speak? Well, I speak English, Spanish and Korean. An interesting spread, I know.” 

“I technically speak more!” You butt-in, which earned you a daring look. “English, French, Japanese and Korean.” 

“You don’t speak French, you can only read it!” She huffed, “So, we basically speak the same amount.” 

“Isn’t reading harder?”

“For your dyslexic ass!” Alexa slammed her fork down dramatically, making you laugh. She then perked back up just as quickly, almost like a light had gone off inside her mind, “You know what she did to her French teacher?” 

Your hand shot out, cupping her mouth before she had the chance to spit it out. She licked it (what did you really expect?) but she's done worse, so you didn’t flinch away. 

“No, no…that’s not a story for chat. Only Belle and Jisung know–should I tell them what you said to our English teacher instead?” Her eyes narrowed and she slouched down, surrendering. You slowly backed your hand away, ready to slap her mouth again if she started telling the mortifying story. 

“How’d we meet? What about that? Can I tell them that?” She asked, her sharp eyes beaming into yours. You nodded, leaning back into the chair and putting more fruit into your mouth. 

She smiled, “Alright, this was, what? Fifteen years ago?” She grabbed your hand when you confirmed, “The teacher sat us next to each other. She was a little introvert–I know, hard to believe.” 

“Basically, she called me a little bitch because I wouldn’t introduce myself to the class, and then, I don’t know how, we became friends.” You mumbled the rest, “Where’d she even learn that word, we were like seven.” 

“No! I didn’t say that! I was a little saint at that age.” 

Your eyebrows rose, “A saint with a biting problem, maybe.” 

Her mouth hung open, then she mimed biting your arm through the sweatshirt you were wearing. You both giggled at each other again, playfully pretending to be piranhas. 

“But honestly, Alexa’s so scary that no one fucked with us during school. Mostly because of her biting reputation–” She smacked your arm, “Sorry, resting bitch face–But! She really helped me, and I owe her so much.”

She mimed wiping under her eyes dramatically, throwing her arms around you in a side-hug, “Stop! I love you–don’t actually stop, I love compliments–but, I love you so much, Y/n!”

“I really don’t know where I’d be without her.” 

“I know, I keep you in check.” She said as she broke from you, dusting her shoulders off confidently, “I’m just the bestest-best friend in the whole world.” 

Your eyes rolled at her, despite knowing it was true. Then, you went to read the chat some more; them awe-ing over your long-lasted friendship. 

“Well, this turned into me and Alexa bickering like a married couple instead of a Q&A,” You stated, “But, what’s my favorite song? Ooh, that’s so tough. At the moment it’s We Can’t Be Friends and Past Life. Obviously they’re so good but, honorable mentions are Dear God and Did You Like Her In The Morning. Shameless plug for my playlist, by the way.” 

You turned to Alexa, who looked like she was deep in thought, “I’m taking this so seriously, it’s not funny.” She explained, calmly looking off-screen to somehow focus herself, “W-what was the one song you played all the time? Please remember my an–”

“Try Again?” 

“Yes!” She shouted, “I loved it so much!”

Your finger shot up abruptly, “Clip it and send it to Jaehyun, Alexa’s a fan.”

The chat spammed ‘done!’, Alexa sitting back and nodding. She first heard the song, soon after your breakup, when you two went for a drive because you refused to be home alone. It was really therapeutic, yet dangerous, to cry and sing along to it–which is something Alexa always let you do. 

The other questions you answered were cliché things that honestly, you were expecting. Mostly things like, your favorite memory, who’s older, and etc. 

After a while, you ended the stream, saying your goodbyes to the chat after answering the (stated) last question: when are you two getting married for real?

Alexa grabbed your shoulder, rubbing down your arm soothingly. You were an anxious person, it’s always been like that; worse due to your introverted nature but, with someone you never had to worry. And you hated that you became dependent on that reliability. 

“Mom wants you for dinner, please come over later.” Alexa got from the chair, “She misses you, and so does Saja.” 

You waved her off and got up too, “Alright, I’ll be over at like…four, to help cook. Okay?” 

She jumped excitedly, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she hugged you close, “Perfect! I’ll buy wine!” 

“I got it.” You said, “I’ll pick up her favorite on the way.”

“You’re an angel, Y/n. I’ll tell her you’re coming!” 

She left, probably to go back to sleep as if she didn’t just drink a large coffee, and you repeated the steps to renew the room for the next use. 

You know why when she left the feeling of having no air crashed upon you. You almost clutched your chest, though, you also knew the feeling wasn’t something abnormal. It’s always funny the physical toll that anxiety takes on people because, at first, you always thought you were dying, sending you into a deeper frenzy. Now you know, if you were going to die, it wouldn’t be from that. 

005: Pictures Like Memories 

You walked the wine aisle, searching out the perfect one. Alexa’s mother was a woman of class, red being her favorite–though it couldn’t be too sweet or too dry. Though it needed to be bitter enough to give her a buzz after a while. Alexa, however, liked what she could afford. And, during highschool (when you shouldn’t have had a fake) that consisted of bottom shelf alcohol. 

You grabbed a pretty gift bag, specifically designed for wine, as well as a little green sweater with embroidered flowers. It had caught your attention, putting a small smile on your face–and your therapist used to say you should hold onto the little things that made you happy. 

That was before the small things turned bigger.

Alexa’s mother was the only other person who treated you like a daughter, so you never felt bad buying the best for her–she deserved it. She’s stated on multiple occasions that if she was able to adopt you back then, she would’ve. But, she was going through a messy divorce, soon falling into financial hardship. She could barely afford to keep Alexa, much less another kid and her fees. 

Still, she did the best she could for you. She let you stay over whenever you could, she’d even pick you up from school with Alexa, and buy you presents for Christmas and your birthday. As far as you knew, she was practically your mother; more of one than your biological one that is. 

You loved her dearly, and it broke your heart that you watched her cry with you. You never wanted to cause her sadness, just as much as Alexa but, you watched them both fall out of love with him too–and, that, you felt a guilt for. 

You’ve had your fair share of boyfriend’s throughout your life to cope with the abandonment. Most lasted only a couple months max, the rest, less. However, it seemed like Donghyuck had a special way of creating space in his heart for anyone. And, that, he did for everyone he met. Maybe, that’s why it killed you more than anyone else ever has because there was always someone after. 

However, now you know there’s not. And, you hate that you only got so close. It felt like you gave up–you hate giving up. You hate how you didn’t even put up a fight to the proposition…if only you could go back in time. 

“Excuse me?” You looked from the shelf to where the voice came from, whether or not it was talking to you, “Hi.”

Your eyebrows rose, and you fought with the urge to pretend like you didn’t hear him or be nice and greet him back. Did people even still meet like this? But, you didn’t really like talking unnecessarily, more of a listener, especially men you didn’t know. 

He approached you, and your posture straightened–mostly because you were on edge. “This may be forward but, I think you’re really cute. Can I have your SnapChat?” 

You huffed out a laugh, trying to play it cool. You swore you could see Alexa’s murder-documentary-watching ass trembling in the corner of your mind. “I’m sorry…” You said the first thing that came to mind, “I have a boyfriend.” 

"But, y-you hesitated. I swear I'm not trying to be creepy–"

You pulled out your phone, “Look, I’m sure you’re great.” Then scrolled through your camera roll. Alexa would literally kill you if she saw you still had these pictures, but right now you were glad you couldn’t delete them. You turned the screen around, an obvious picture of yourself and Donghyuck being more than friends. “But, I’ve been in a relationship for years now.” The man flicked his eyes from the phone to your face and then back to the phone. He made a disgusted sound, mumbling something about how you weren’t even that cute anyways and other things you’re sure you didn’t want to catch. 

After he turned the corner, the shuffling inaudible, you readjusted the bottle in the crook of your elbow, looking down at the screen. You had to choke down the tears that threatened to spill and turned off the phone. A shallow breath left your lips and you made your way to the front desk.

“Did you find everything okay?” 

You looked to the clerk, trying to focus yourself back down on Earth, “Yeah, thank you.” 

He smiled, ringing up the items you placed on the wooden counter, "Do you want to use this right away?" He picked up the little sweater and gift bag. You nodded, and he put them together.

You pulled out your wallet, then your ID and handed it to him. He looked it over for a moment, and within that moment you thought he wouldn’t let you buy the wine. But, he handed it back and you paid. 

He then handed you your items and you waited by the door for your Uber. 

Traffic was the same as usual, excruciatingly slow. Eventually though, you came to a stop in front of the house Alexa’s mom had bought a few years ago. She was the definition of better on her one, and you wondered if you could ever be too. However, she wasn’t in your DNA the way she was Alexa’s. 

You walked to the front door, rang the doorbell as solely the way of announcing you had arrived, and went inside. You walked through the house and into the kitchen, where loud music and even louder talking was going on. 

“Honey!” Alexa’s mom’s dog, Saja (though she wasn’t much of a lion), jumped from her spot on the ground as you entered. You put your bags onto the surface next to you so you could pet her. “I was so happy when Lexa said you’d be coming!” She grabbed your face, pulling you up-right and planting a kiss onto each of your cheeks. “I missed you so much!” 

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I don’t come around often anymore.” 

She steadied your head to look into her eyes, “Don’t be. You can now.”

Alexa emerged from behind you with the bottle of wine already in her grasp, “What the Hell! This is so cute!” She held up the sweatered-bottle, “Mom, look!”

Her eyes broke from yours, then to the bottle. You watched as they lit up with admiration. She pulled you into another hug, then went to find the opener. 

Alexa ushered you to sit down at the island in the meantime, and she resumed cutting onions next to you. 

“Was the rest of your day okay?” She asked, almost awkwardly. You laughed quietly, “Did you sleep some more after the stream?” 

“It was fine, Alexa. Did you sleep some more?”

"You bet your sweet-ass I did!" She started to giggle to herself, going back to focusing on not chopping her fingertips off as well, "Best nap I ever fucking had. I swear, it felt like I died and then got revived." 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you figured it was just a notification from YouTube saying that Belle had uploaded; she was the only notification you still had on. But, it was weird when another came right after it. 

While pulling it from your pocket, you pressed the side-button, the notification revealing itself with your face-ID. 

You couldn’t have said this day would arrive. You couldn’t have said you’d react the way you did–the way you were. Frozen, staring down at the notification that illuminated your screen. It just had to be one thing after another today, didn’t it?

But you put it out into the universe, didn’t you?

HYUCK Hey I think we should talk. 

Alexa tried to look over your shoulder, coming around the island, but you quickly turned it off and shoved the phone under your thigh. 

“What is it?” She asked, placing the knife against the cutting board, “What? You never hide, I’ve seen the worst photos of you. What is it?” Her face deadpanned, and that’s when Alexa’s mom came back with the bottle opener and three fancy glasses. 

She must’ve sensed something was wrong, stopping what she was doing as soon as she reached to be directly across from you two. “What happened?”

Alexa turned to her, “She’s not telling.”

“Nothing happened!” You (unconvincingly) stated, “It was just…YouTube. Jisung posted.”

YouTube my ass, Y/n!” She held her hand palm up to you, “What’d someone say? Was it Twitter?” 

You hesitantly started to grab your phone from under your leg, explaining in the process, “I turned those off a long time ago. I-it was a text.” 

“From who?”

Alexa snatched the machinery from your hand as soon as it was in her view. You watched nervously, awaiting her outburst once she got the password through. Suddenly her eyes were wide, and the phone was being shoved into her mother’s hands. 

“I’m going to kill him!” She shouted, getting from the stool to pace the hardwood, “How much prison time is murder?”

You released your lip, trying to crack a joke, “Should we ask Siri?”

But, she didn’t find it funny, actually she grabbed the phone back from her mother who was now approaching you with open arms. You felt them wrap around you from the side, and she kissed the top of your head. 

“My love, it’s okay. Don’t respond–you hear that Alexa? Don’t answer him!” Her daughter grumbled but put the phone down without (hopefully) doing any damage. 

Alexa’s mother broke away from your hug and went to open the wine, “You need this more than ever.” She stated, putting your phone into her back pocket and filling a glass until, practically, the rim. 

You had no idea how quickly something could shift–honestly, you willed the phone to ring so many times, yet, the time you didn’t, it does. The world never seemed to work with you, always against, and right now it felt no different. So conflicted. In a few drinks, however, you’d probably be crying on the floor. 

006: A Damn Sweatshirt 

It had been two days. You didn’t get another text, and it took everything in you to not disappoint Alexa and her mother by replying. However, you were never good at controlling your mind. 

You stared at the open messages. You could re-sight the last texts you’d sent to each other–texts you’d often find yourself reading, like an idiot, to get to sleep. 

Now, laid out was not a confession like you wanted. Actually, laid out was more confusion. What’d he want to talk about? Well, if you replied, he’d answer that. But, you still couldn’t find the right words to say back.  

You turned off the phone again, laying it face down against the mattress. Tears rolled down the sides of your temples, joining it as splotches. If you knew way back when, all the distress this would cause you, would you do it the same again? The question to re-open the door lingered in your head. Your hand was already on the handle, all you had to do was pull. 

You turned your back to the phone, though it didn’t last as long as you wanted it to. Honestly, you have no idea how you lasted through last night. The night before Alexa didn’t give you your phone until absolutely necessary. And, even then, she threatened you. 

HYUCK Hey I think we should talk.

Y/N Okay, talk then.

You didn’t know why you expected an answer right away, especially after you hadn’t replied for days. It was also half past three in the morning. You hated how this was going to turn into a game of chase, like you were a bunch of cats and dogs. It almost made you wish you were face-to-face. 

Just as the phone was about to turn off by itself, the screen illuminated once again. Your heart stopped beating and beat all too quickly at the same time. 

HYUCK Have you been on twitter recently?  You were wearing my sweatshirt. In that one stream with Alexa.

Y/N Oh  Obviously I can't lie since there's ss. Sorry, you can have it back. If that's what you want.

HYUCK But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to know how you are. I asked Alexa about a month back,  but she blocked me on everything. I can't blame her. 

Y/N Not well, Donghyuck.

HYUCK Oh

You hadn’t realized the hoodie (that you were wearing now) was that recognizable. Of course, you usually tried not to wear it in streams for a different reason; the reason being that it would tell Donghyuck all that needed to be said aloud. 

You hated that Twitter was practically harassing him, while you peacefully remained blind behind your turned-off notifications. He reached out to you because of a hoodie, not because he really wanted to. 

You felt sick. Your hands immediately started to shake. How come you wanted this, but now you really can’t handle it? Maybe you should’ve stuck to pity parties. In reality, maybe you shouldn’t have manifested all of this to the moon. She’s always been tricky, but apparently she listens. 

What’s next? The walls are going to talk too?

HYUCK Honestly Me neither, Y/n.

Y/N What does that mean then? For us

HYUCK What do you want it to mean?

Y/N Don't do that. I can't be the one to make the decision again. I already regret the last one.

Mutuality was taken lightly–when it was leaned more on one side from the beginning. You thought whatever you could’ve said wouldn’t have mattered. You would’ve still broken up because it’s what you were both convinced the other wanted. What you were convinced the other wanted.

Except, it was pushed onto your shoulders more than his…or so you thought. You felt it more than he did. You said the words–agreed–and made the mistake to end it, but he vowed to keep it that way. And, for a while, it seemed like he did. Well, until he texted Alexa to ask whatever he needed to ask, and she didn’t respond. 

You felt like you could’ve gotten some kind of concrete closure months back. But, that’s not her fault, the message didn’t even reach her eyes. 

You guess, you’re not so different after all.

Y/N I wish I could read your fucking mind, Hyuck. Spell it out for me. Tell me you've moved on and I'll stop. I'll take off your sweatshirt  and you'll never hear about me again.

HYUCK Then I'd be lying to you. But I'll tell you want you want to hear, if you answer one question.  If it was any other day of the year,  would we have broken up?

Y/N I don't understand what you're asking me. Do you want me or not? 

HYUCK Right, fine. Spell it out. I haven't been the same without you, and I don't know why that is. Obviously, you must still love me too.

Y/N Too?

HYUCK You must be stupid to think I'd ever  fall out of love with you just like that. Y/n, you had me a wrapped  around your fucking finger. Have** I just want to know what was so special, that I still can't get you out of my head.

Y/N Oddly enough, I'm not glad to know that the feeling is mutual.  It kinda makes it worse. We wasted months. I cried for months.  And it was this fucking easy? 

HYUCK I'm sorry.

Y/N That pisses me off, Donghyuck. You're pissing me off.

HYUCK You didn't reach out either. At least I tried eventually. What were you going to do?  Wait until you felt better? Until you got over it? 

Y/N Eventually it would've gone away.

HYUCK If the feeling's mutual, then you don't truly believe that.

Y/N Don't tell me what I believe.

HYUCK Then tell me what you want to hear. I'll say it.  Do you want me to hate you?  Do you want me to be the bad guy?  Whatever you want, Y/n. 

Y/N I just want you to honestly  tell me if that was the end for us. If so, then I'll leave us in the past.  I mean it this time. 

HYUCK That'd never be the end for us.  But that's not what you want to hear, is it?

Truth be told, part of him was right, because part of you didn’t want to hear that. Part of you didn’t want to see, that’d never be the end for you two, written across your screen. Part of you wished he’d hate you and rip the rest of the heart he owned into pieces. But, the other part of you was drowning in conflicting emotions.

You could see the storm rolling in from the distance and you were stranded on a life-boat, surrounded by nothing but open ocean. You feared you’d soon see their depths. 

Y/N No, but it's what I needed to hear.

007: Everything Looks The Same Blurry

You weren’t on top of the world now that you were enlightened. Still, you pretended like you hadn’t swung the door open and crashed a hole into the plaster. You thought you’d know how to feel but, you felt just as–if not more–clueless than before. You fought with the urge to drive the distance to see what he meant face-to-face. Though, you feared that would make everything worse. Maybe letting it fester was a better option in hindsight. 

That’d never be the end for you two didn’t have to mean you’d date again, right? It could mean you could be civil; maybe even friends one day. But, you still couldn’t get it out of your sponge-like mind. Everything inside of you wanted to further question Donghyuck, ask what the fuck he wanted, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that. 

Not when it seemed he didn’t know either.

It should be easy to type but every time you hit a letter you erase it just as quickly. It’s like you know nothing you say would ever be enough to air-out what you’ve been feeling for months. The silence in the night also should’ve made this easier–you become reckless then. Yet, you still erased what you tried to say. 

Your stomach turned again as you sat at the marble-island of your kitchen. Your phone was in your hands, but all you were doing was staring at it through teary eyes. The words blurred together…but everything looked the same blurry. 

It’s been months…is what you told yourself to keep you alive. You were happy then, you could be happy now. Though, the memories flashed like a badly timed montage every time you closed your eyes–or left them open. You couldn’t escape no matter how far you ran because it seemed they had the stamina of a gold-medalist.

Donghyuck wasn’t even that far away, and that wasn’t easy to know. You both sought out where you reside now when you were still together. Obviously, you two didn’t want the distance, and now you’re not sure if you still do. 

It’s frustrating how unsure of everything you actually feel. You just wanted a sense of security, even if only for a short amount of time; maybe that would help you feel less like you were chasing a spirit. 

Your phone pinged in your hand, and you reluctantly looked down quicker than you thought you would. It wasn’t Donghyuck, the man you suspected it to be, but another creator asking if you’d join their stream. 

Was this all you were good for? Was this your cycle nowadays? It was getting repetitive. You hate boring but, that’s what your life is now: stream, try to sleep, make unrealistic choices, and repeat. 

Of course, you agreed, writing out a cookie-cutter cheerful message back. Exclamation marks and words you dragged out too many letters. You were getting too good at pretending for the camera. You were afraid that the life would drain from inside your eyes–or you just deserved an Oscar. You wondered if Donghyuck would notice, but you had to stop the thought before it buried you up to your head in its relatives. 

You didn’t want to be a sob story, especially without knowing the root of the problem. But, you could jump into any conclusion and, in that moment, it would be convincing enough. You could go on and on about every little thing you think you’ve done wrong or wish you could take back. 

You were reaching your limit. You felt like you were going to word vomit…or maybe just vomit. 

At this point, you’re not sure closure would be sufficient. Maybe committing arson and burning down what you two built would cause some sort of erasure–yet, no matter how hard you think you do, you don’t want to forget. You don’t want to lock up the memories and throw away the key. However, what if it turned out to be one-sided? How would you handle another fracture in your heart from him? 

The devil never did bargain, and you were bad at making deals. 

You feared you’d never be mentally prepared enough to know the answer to the many, many questions that flowed through you like a poison. You also feared you wouldn’t really have a choice in the matter but, time will tell. 

You could feel the road was splitting, and a new question emerged; go off towards a cliff, or continue floating in the storming ocean? You feel like you were blindly leading yourself into the dilemma with your eyes wide open. Would all this questioning be worth it in the end? Or would all this eventually fade into nothing but a past-tense? You were about to wear your heart on your sleeve when it should remain in your chest. In reality, you could probably think this out logically, but nothing about love is logical and you’re scared to admit that you’re scared of that. You don’t want to wait for nothing at all, but you don’t want to let go of the what-if’s because, what if? What if he cut so deep, it’s now engraved into your code? 

You have nowhere else to run. You had to make your choice now and get into the driver’s seat. You’d soon free-fall off the cliff, or go down with the ship and meet the depths of the ocean. You were cornered, and this would be your only retreat, because living in turmoil isn’t better than Hell. 

As much as you wanted to be okay with never knowing, you, simply, were not. You’re sure you could eventually choke it back but, deep down, there’s nothing worth fighting for then. That’s something that sat in your throat like a drug that wouldn’t stay down; love isn’t love if it’s not worth fighting for. 

It’s time to wake up now and face the reality of the matter. You dug your grace, isn’t it time you laid in it? Isn't it only fair that you realize the mistakes you’ve made, and let the fire burn around you and the silhouettes of what you won’t forget? You crashed the burden upon yourself, and now you have to accept the gravity whether you want to or not. 

008: Damage Control

The dramatics were getting…well, just that, dramatic. You convinced yourself you didn’t want to cope, while also convincing yourself you had to figure out a way to cope. You were running in circles, on the same old track, and that was getting annoying. 

Whether or not mentally you were in the best place tonight, Alexa was dragging you out to meet some of her online friends. She wasn’t even a streamer, or online figure per say, but since she was strongly associated with one, and her extroverted personality, she effortlessly connected with people of the sort. 

She always looked out for you, ever since you were young. She was the sister you never got a chance to have. You were grateful she tried her very best to be understanding–even if she didn’t understand. Underneath, you were so different but similar in many ways. You probably wouldn’t have been friends under normal circumstances, though it seemed the world placed exactly who you needed in exactly the right moments. 

You pressed your hands together, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. Alexa had her arm linked with yours, smiling from ear to ear. She was gorgeous–always so beautiful, it made you wonder if anyone had ever seen you the way you see her. 

“Y/n,” She stopped, placing her other hand against your bare arm, “You’re going to be okay, just take a breath.” Her words were comforting in themselves, but the truly solemn look on her face told the rest of the narrative. 

You forced a smile, “Okay…” You shakily agreed. 

Then she went back to leading you to the entrance of the building. Outside was a woman, looking down at her phone and typing away with cherry-red nails. She had soft features that genuinely just made her look nice–and the smile that plastered her face when she spotted the two of you, just confirmed your suspicion. Her hair was an ashy blonde, styled in effortless waves. She wore a white-ruffled dress that hugged her frame tightly, and similar black heels to yours. 

Alexa dragged you the rest of the way, and with the speed she was going, it made it almost impossible for you to not trip; you stumbled, earning laughs from the two as you concluded your journey. 

The woman’s hand replaced where Alexa resided moments before, “Are you alright?” She asked, steadying you. 

You nodded, and pulled the girl into a quick squeeze, “Yes, It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.” 

“I know, we live so close–and played Among Us so often, I’m surprised it’s taken us this long!” 

You glanced at Alexa, who was now bringing the woman into a hug, holding her tightly for a moment, “Yeah, well, Minjeong is my friend.” She shot you an annoying look of competition, but you just brushed her off. 

Appearing in your view from behind the two girls was another dark-haired person. This time, however, it was a personably-familiar face. 

You brushed past them, a smile pairing with your actions, “Well, Jaemin’s mine!” You embraced the man, and Alexa huffed, crossing her arms in a fake pout. You shoved the girl playfully, linking arms with her once again. 

Jaemin and Minjeong said their hello’s and then the four of you fully realized you were blocking the entrance to the karaoke bar. The rest quickly linked arms with you and Alexa, giggling as you pushed each other through the exasperated sighs of other customers. 

You eventually found the room that Alexa had rented for a few hours, just to have a, so called, party, for no apparent reason.

The room was dimly lit, with a table and booth-like bench facing the stage. TV’s lined the walls, as well as flashing lights and speakers. Minjeong and you sat together, Jaemin already checking out the microphone and music options; flipping through the binder. 

Minjeong turned to you, “Do you know if anyone else is coming?”

You shrugged a reply, “Probably–Alexa does whatever she wants in the moment.” 

As the saying goes, speak of The Devil, said girl appeared with a tall black-haired man at her side. She also had a tray of alcohol and shot glasses, which you laughed in disbelief at. 

“Look who I found!” She shouted, placing the tray against the table. 

“Jisung!” You stood up, briefly embracing the streamer over the table, “How’s it been? How’s my favorite emo boy?” 

“No, I found Tito’s.” Alexa grumbled, pouring it into the short glasses, “But, Ji’s cool too, I guess.”

Jaemin joined the circle for the shot, swinging his head back in the process. You scrunched your face at the smell of your least-favorite alcohol, nonetheless, taking it easily.  

“A shot? Without me!” Another man entered through the door, and suddenly everyone was yelling happily, “Some friends you all are!” 

You fully emerged from the table, embracing the other popular League of Legends streamer on your way to join Jaemin in singing Rocketeer, which you saw him cue up. 

“That’s all I get, Y/n? I’ve known you forever, and I don’t even get a hello?” He turned around, laughing out at his statement, “Only Alexa gives me this treatment.” 

You grabbed the microphone as the music started, “I’m sorry, Chenle! This is my song!” You practically pleaded before you sang the chorus down the mic like rent was due and you were lacking the funds.  

You and Jaemin finished the song with an impeccable performance–you were surprised he even knew it in the first place–your rapping skills outshining and earning the most outrageous cheers. Minjeong and Alexa tag teamed Britney Spears’ Toxic next, then Jisung and Chenle took turns for a while. In the meantime, you had another shot with Jeamin, then another with Alexa, and Minjeong, then Chenle and Jaemin.   

You were five shots deep and almost at the period of seeing stars when another man entered with his hands shoved down his pockets. And you think even if you had amnesia, you’d still recognize him. Your eyes went wide and you gripped Alexa’s arm, turning away and back like he was just a figment of your fucked-up imagination. It had to be some kind of joke. But, you watched as he spun on his heels, a sickly look falling on his face. 

Your eyes stuck to Alexa, who was just as shocked (if not more) than you were. She glanced your way with a look of disapproval. Yet, it didn’t matter, everything you convinced yourself of was crashing upon you. 

You practically jumped the table, a concerned glint on the faces that hadn’t seen who entered and just as quickly left. You stumbled over and through the door faster than Alexa–or anyone–could protest or try and change your mind. 

You were dead-set on stopping the man, locking your sights on his turned back and grabbing his arm. He didn’t fight, like you compelled him with a firm touch to obey and turn around. He avoided eye-contact with what seemed like the remains of his will-power.  

“Hyuck…” There was a nauseous look on his face, one you’d seen reflected back at you countless times, “W-why? How?” You couldn’t seem to get any words out; at least, nothing of substance. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Y/n.” 

You caught a glance of your hand so naturally holding his wrist, and you thought you might lose your mind. The feeling–taste–that your name from his lips gave you was a sense of doom, like he was a reaper coming to finally save you. 

Take you.

A pit formed where all the happiness from earlier faded, “I’m going to leave, go back inside and enjoy your night.” 

The words appeared and left too quickly for you to think about taking it back, “How the fuck am I supposed to do that!” You yelled, cocking your head, “How am I supposed to enjoy my night after this?”

He finally looked into your eyes, teary and holding back. If they were the window into one's soul, his were crystal clear. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known. I promise, I’m sorry.” 

Apologies you didn’t want to hear. How were you supposed to water a rotting grave? How were you supposed to save something that was already dead? You wanted concrete closure, but you put your foot in the closing door, holding it open. Questions lingered–like they always have–in the air and clung to it like frost. 

His heart was heavy, and it weighed on your mind. 

But, did yours do the same for him? 

He turned from you, making your hand fall back to your side, “Wait! That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious, Donghyuck?”

He didn’t turn back but you could hear him perfectly fine–as if there were no other sounds in the raging world. “What do you want from me then?” He asked. You huffed out at his audacity; that stupid question again. “You looked happy in there–I’m happy you’re going out with your friends.”

“Fuck off…nevermind.” You crossed your arms, “You’re not.” 

Months of yearning for this to be the words that rolled off your tongue. Why couldn’t you just say it? You’ve been drowning in it, suffocating with the thought: him. You wanted him.

“I’m not, what?” He turned again, a dissatisfied look on his face, cheeks glistening (only a little) under the neon signs. 

"Being honest with me." 

He mirrored your arms with his, "And, you know me so well?" 

your eyebrows rose, and as if it was a tidal wave crashing onto you, you gawked. Of course you do–as much as you wished it wasn’t true. "How could you think I don't?" 

A familiar voice called from behind, grabbing at your shoulders to turn you away from Donghyuck. “Y/n! That’s enough!” 

His words were covered by Alexa’s, and you could barely comprehend what his reasoning was. 

“Because, you never called.” 

“What?” You looked over your shoulder as Alexa ushered you away, shouting. “What did he say, Alexa?” 

It might’ve been the alcohol but, you quickly realized that that was the most you’ve spoken in months, and you were very much still tangled in the webs he spun. The side-effect of love was a broken heart, and you should’ve known there were consequences. 

Now, your stomach twisted, yet, this time it felt different. You covered your mouth, and Alexa got another horrified look on her face when she noticed. Your breath was starting to shallow, and you shook within her grasp. Tears spilled from your eyes as you huffed for air, only causing the nausea to worsen. 

She turned to you, even with the threat of being thrown up on, “Calm down,” Her hands ran up and down your arms as she looked into your eyes nervously, “It’s fine. He’s gone now.” 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? 

But, somewhere deep down, you still knew what his gaze felt like against you. 

You were losing vision by the second as the feelings got deeper inside of you. You were losing the battle against yourself. Your knees were about to give out from under you, still, you couldn’t muster up the strength to reach out for Alexa; your own stone heart was making you feel like a million pounds. Everything was spinning and blurring together like a water-colored painting from Hell.

For a moment, nothing mattered. Your mind had gone blank, completely and utterly taken over with blending thoughts–seconds, minutes. You couldn’t stop spiraling. Was this what the depths of the ocean looked like? Or, did you stumble off the edge of the cliff? 

Only one person truly knew what you needed in the midst of the chaos. And, was that really comforting to know? 

Donghyuck wrapped his arms around you, holding you steady enough to stumble towards the nearest building. You could hear Alexa echo concern for the situation unfolding, stating that she had it under control. However, he was more concerned with the fact that you’d be mortified throwing up in front of onlookers when you finally came to. 

“I need you to try and work with me here–try and focus on breathing–I’ll do the rest.” Whether or not Alexa wanted to bicker with him, she let go. She once trusted him too. You nodded hesitantly, hyper-aware of the way his hands felt like fire on your waist. The way it felt like something chemically charged with his nerves on yours. 

Then, you practically peeled yourself from his arms…voluntarily? Well, it must've been. Hurdling through the bathroom door and gripping the porcelain. You’re not only lucky that you made it, but that it was also a single stall.  

Alexa clambered in quickly after, shoving Donghyuck from her way and taking your hair into her hands. She shot him a challenging look, and he backed away with his hands up, surrendering. 

“Oh my God,” You mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m really—”

“Why are you apologizing right now?” She stated, not asked, “Just throw up, you’ll feel better.”

You feared you never would. You feared this would end up in flames–whatever, this was. You feared that you’d just lost him entirely. At least with no contact he lived in your mind. But, miscommunication leads to fallout. And, that's exactly what you did. 

“Hyuck,” Alexa quickly refocused on the task at hand, glaring into you hunched over the toilet still. You were barely audible over the chatter outside the door. “Will you take me home?” 

“What! You don’t mean that, you’re drunk!” The dark-haired girl shouted into your ear, “I’ll take you home—call you an uber, something.” 

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” You were laying your armor down, “You need to go back inside,” You tried to joke, “And handle damage control.” 

And you needed to claim your belongings in this wreckage. 

She protested some more, pulling your neck straight by your hair. But, all you were focused on was his answer. You knew it would tell you things you weren’t sure you wanted to know anymore. If you were prepared for the answers that haunted you? Only time would tell. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

009: To Sink or Swim

Unfortunately, you sobered up quickly. It was a family trait of yours that the high never lasted, and that’s why your parents kept going back for more.

You felt bad for leaving your friends—especially Alexa—without an excuse. But, you couldn’t lose him again. You wouldn’t survive it. 

And, that's how you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, looking out the window into the distance. You were just trying to distract yourself from the deafening tension casted over you. 

You held your breath, mumbling, “Thank you,” 

The rhythmic tapping against the steering wheel stopped, his voice taking over the silence, “I couldn’t just…” He replied slowly, dragging it out to a critical pause, “leave you like that. I couldn’t just let go.” 

“I’m sorry,” You laced your fingers together, “For being a burden.” 

“Why—what’s there to be sorry for when it’s not true?” 

You sighed, “I don’t know…you name it, and I’m probably sorry for it.”

In reality, you couldn’t list the amount of things on two hands, or even four. What a twist of fate this has become. You felt like every fiber that made up you had a reason to be sorry. It was parasitic. You couldn’t help but think that you’d mutually been through too much as adolescents. You were a student, focused on big future plans, and he was a career-driven twenty-something year old. You didn’t have time for romance, and frankly, neither did he. But, he was your heroine; the drug that’s too easy to start and too difficult to quit. It was your fault you both got derailed and addicted to the feeling, chasing a high you’d never live down. 

Donghyuck briefly turned his head, then looked back to the road, “Y/n, can I ask you something?” He quizzed. You hummed lowly, almost wishing he didn’t hear your approval to go on. “Did we—no, wait—were we on the same page, you know, when we broke up?” 

It was so easy for him, huh?

The rain started pouring down metaphorically, soaking you with the doubts that you thought you already casted away, “Wha-what did you mean then?” You swallowed the bile in your throat, “Back then?” 

“Did we both want that, for real? Is that what you really thought?” 

Your head slightly turned his way but you were too stunned to go any further. So, you opted for looking straight out the windshield, and your cheek found place between your teeth. 

“Is that not true?” 

He stuttered for a moment, the anticipation killing you. “N-no.” You’d never felt air so cold before, “I thought I told you I haven’t been the same since.” It’s like he knew every way to torture you, to keep you shaking from his side-effects. Because you were so damn affected by him. “You asked me what that meant for us…do you think that maybe we could at least be friends? Because, without you in my life at all, I swear, isn’t what I want.” 

“Hyuck,” 

“But, I understand that it might be too much. I mean, we used to…you know. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know what to do.” 

Instinctively, your hand reached out and sat against his arm, “You’re rambling.” You cut him off. 

“I’m confusing you,” He stated, more to himself than you, “Okay, Y/n. I’m saying I can’t live without you.” 

Your eyes went wide. Everything felt like it had started spinning, your stomach (once again), your mind, you were spiraling into a state of oblivion. This was the depths of the ocean, you were sure of that. It was cold and dark and silent, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe without water filling your lungs. 

If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked. Donghyuck has never had anything to hide from you, and you’ve always known it was only a matter of time until the questions were answered. 

“Don’t take me home.” You blurted, and if he wasn’t already at a complete stop, the car probably would’ve jerked, “I can’t be alone, Hyuck.” 

You were so tired of feeling so. 

It seemed like everything was in the process of crashing down. And you were sick of wishing you could breathe underwater. Everything you thought you knew about yourself was a one-way street that was paved in a straight line but the destination just got further the closer you got. 

Were you just losing your mind? You thought that if you screamed, no one would hear you—though it seemed he didn’t need words to. And, isn’t that what you wanted? You guess you better hold your breath and learn to swim. 

Otherwise, you’ll drown. 

010: I Want You to Sleep Alone, If Not With Me

It wasn’t gone, you hadn’t gotten better. You guess, it was only a matter of time until you finished what you started—for better or for worse. You were both walking a fragile line. One wrong move and you’d topple to opposite sides. But, maybe, strangers were better than lingering friends or reflections of lovers. 

You wondered from time to time, if you just deleted his number and pretended he didn’t exist, would it give you the sense of security you desperately craved? Or, did you know what you truly wanted? You couldn’t tell anymore. 

Tears, silently, rolled down the side of your face. 

Gravity was never something you were fond of; the center of it, the way it holds you down, anything. You were never fond of tearing yourself open, but it’s hard to care when you’re bleeding out. 

You weren’t drunk anymore but, part of you wished you still were. Maybe then you wouldn’t be laying on your ex-boyfriends couch crying as he sat on the floor, back to you. You wondered if he noticed (he did), yet, you couldn’t blame him for the internal conflict it caused. How would you react if the roles were reversed? You weren’t even sure what to do, so, how could you even begin to predict his next move, let alone, what was running through his mind?

You two were like a storm cloud over the calm ocean; or a cliff with a deep cavern. You wondered which metaphor suited your failed-relationship best but, reality was, you knew the answer. You knew where you resided. You just wished it was the eye instead of the winds.

He hadn’t spoken another word to you since you laid on the cushions. Truthfully, you don’t remember how you ended up in this position. You don’t remember what possessed him to bring you to his house over any other place—maybe familiarity? Maybe you didn’t want to remember so then you could make up whatever scenario made you feel less for him. You knew you were headed down a one-way street you wouldn’t be able to turn back around on. You had to choose whether to see it through and live with the outcome or hit the brakes. 

But, maybe, Hell together was better than Hell alone.  

You looked at the blank TV, then down a little to the glass coffee table that had various half-drank water bottles. You wondered if he had someone over. You wondered if she was a better fit for him. You wondered if the cherry in her chapstick tasted better. You wondered if she made him sleep through the night. You wondered who she was. 

Or, maybe, you were just delusional. But, jealousy was one Hell of an emotion to play with. 

Your voice broke, “Did…you have someone over?” 

He didn’t speak for a moment. You could tell he was pondering a response and that made you wonder if it would be the truth. 

“Jeno and Aeri came over,” He sighed, “But, don’t get the wrong idea, Y/n. I meant when I said I haven’t been the same. And the thought of anyone else trying to take your spot is…” 

You managed to push yourself upright, Donghyuck turning around with the sound of leather against skin. You looked away, to the kitchen; sleek, modern and clean. His mother had been over recently, too, you figured. 

You quickly wiped the tears away, hoping—but knowing—he’d already seen them, “You keep saying that,” You mumbled through an exasperated breath, utterly defeated by the past couple hours, “But, what does it mean exactly?” 

Again with the question that pissed you off, “What do you want it to mean?” Frustrating you beyond belief. He knew you were barely holding on, your capability to comprehend cryptic words minimal. At the moment, you fought with yelling back at him; it seemingly the only way to get your thoughts across. 

Since the first page in the story of your relationship, Donghyuck and you would never yell at each other. And, if you did, it would die just as quickly as it lived. He was good at getting over it and initiating apologies. He knew you hated confrontation and didn’t trigger you. He knew you could work it out civilly, so, why did it seem like fighting was the only option now? 

But, at least you were on the same page now. 

“Are you making shit up in your head again?” He glanced at the way you were looking away from him, “Don’t do that.” 

“I-I’m not making shit up! I’m trying to figure out what you mean, Hyuck!” Sometimes anger, frustration, sadness and everything in between overpowers your better sense of judgment—or maybe you yelled because he knew all the ways to bring you back to Earth. 

Sunshine…your sunshine.

“Don’t yell, I know that’s not what you want to do. Let’s not fight.” 

“No!” You could feel the fear enter your body, but maybe this is what you wanted from him, “No, Donghyuck. You don’t get to do that.” However, he got harder to read the longer you’d been away. 

“Do what?”

You scoffed, “Pretend.” 

He looked up at you, the inside of his lip being bitten, “Then neither do you, Y/n. Just fucking say it.” 

You, once again, let out an annoyed sound. Why should you—why shouldn’t you? What harm would it really do that’s not already been done? You had already broken up after devoting years of your life to each other. Cut the red string that attached you to him. Hell, a few days ago you two weren’t even on speaking terms. 

You guess you owe it all to a fucking hoodie. 

It was selfish but, when it came to Donghyuck, that’s all you could be. That’s all you could grasp on to; your jealousy, your envy; for the clothes that got to lay against his skin. For the people who could look at him without feeling vertigo. 

You reached the top with him, and now you were holding a stone-heart while sinking towards the ocean floor. 

“I want you to sleep alone for the rest of your life…if not with me.” 

011: The Very First Page of Lingering Lovers, Not The Last

Lingering lovers. It’s true, you were aching from the first and last time you spoke. However, some time within those painful days, you’ve realized what you failed to see in the past. You understood what you were feeling; under it all you’ve always understood the countless nights that seemingly lead you nowhere. He would always be your Holy Ghost, and that is, to feel it, is the only way to get through it. And, to admit it, only made you better for it in the end. 

Of course, you were still the same old you—with the same old patterns. You were about as predictable as rain. However, you didn’t manifest to the moon anymore. 

The phrase circled you like a bunch of ghosts you couldn’t fight, much less, banish. The phrase that shouldn’t have left your lips, yet clawed their way to the tip so easily. 

You want him to sleep alone for the rest of his life…

Your palm fell flat against your face, your forearm overtaking it after a second. Disappointment collided against the ghastly words, and honestly, it just made you want to pick a side. You’d been playing both the sinner and the saint for so long. 

And now, It blew up in your face. 

Why’d it have to be so humbling to say exactly what you didn’t mean to say? Drunk words are sober thoughts, except you weren’t drunk anymore. And, you feared that was no excuse. 

If not with you. 

You sat up, almost brutally slow, a pained groan leaving your lips as you felt sweat drip from your body. You fought with texting Alexa but you knew she had gone out the night before, her makeup still in your bathroom—actually, she was probably still dancing away, or at Chenle’s house by now. You couldn’t hate her for living the life you both promised but, she’d never had someone reach so deep and tangle her wires like Donghyuck did you. 

You were better after the fall, you knew you were, but that didn’t stop the tears from pricking your eyes. He’s still everything you’ve ever wanted.

You felt the cold paneling press against the soles of your feet, the image of something grabbing your ankles flashing through your mind. Then, you made your way to the bathroom, carving out the same path like clockwork. Déjà vú was all you saw in the person staring back at you—your wretched reflection.

You know it’s said that pain won’t last forever but you were so lonely it hurt. And, the swirling thoughts made the hauntings worse. 

You scoffed at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “You’re so fucking ugly when you cry,” You mumbled as you practically slapped the tears away, “Always crying for someone who doesn’t give a fuck about you anymore. Losing all your goddamn friends, for what? Fucking snap out of it!” 

You didn’t realize you had your phone clenched in your fist until the buzz caught your attention. Your heart rose into your throat and sank to the floor all at once. Before you could even comprehend who it was, you brought it up to your ear, quickly answering. 

The voice stuttered, like they were convinced you wouldn’t pick up at this hour. And, honestly, you couldn’t even blame them. 

A breath left your lips, and slowly they started to speak, “Y/n? Why are you awake?” 

Your head cocked subconsciously, “Why’d you call if you didn’t want me to answer?” 

“Can I be honest?” He sighed, and you hummed in response, “I just wanted to hear your voicemail.” 

And, suddenly, it was silent. It made you wonder if everything you’d been thinking for the last month was untrue. Maybe he did mean it when he said that he wanted you in his life, even if not romantically. And, now you’re starting to think you meant what you’d said a little more than you thought. 

You were believing more and more that you were going to die on this ocean floor but your mermaid potions at ten never worked. 

“Wh-why?” You need to hear it—you need him to say the words you’ve craved so desperately, “Why’d you call me, Donghyuck?” And, maybe he was just a couple inches away, filling his lungs with water just as much as you were. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know why I did it. It was just too late when it started ringing. I know you would’ve freaked out if I hung up, especially this late. I j-just didn’t think you’d answer, so I let it ring…a-and maybe, maybe I wanted you to answer.” Your tears remained silent but by no means slowed. “Y/n…I can’t stomach you loving someone else.” 

Your stomach replaced your heart, the bile burning your esophagus as it rose. Sure, you knew you needed to hear it put simply, but it didn’t stop you from feeling sick and used. He had count of your scars and knew just what strings to pull to make them all reopen. 

The cold cup of coffee you kept reheating, vowing to drink it. 

The sequence of events was like an acid trip. Headlights shined through the windshield, blinding you, but only until it passed in the opposite direction. Where you were headed was also a blur. However, it was only a few minutes away in reality. Your brain was swirling with the ghosts you so inconsistently wished you could get rid of. The ghouls that made fun of your state, slurring your questions and thoughts together until eventually it'd drive you crazy. 

Your eyes felt heavy, the edge of the road seemed so easy to collide with, though you didn't shift the wheel like it screamed for you to do. 

You pulled into a familiar driveway, the lights of your car illuminating a very monotonously looking man—face frowning and hands together. In reality, you wondered if you looked the same. Two reflected souls tethered together so tightly. 

In reality, it was a once in a lifetime event. A supermoon. The dying of a star. An eclipse. A supernova that would consume everything around it.

Cold as the air was, your skin felt hot when they collided. You closed the door lightly, the noise making his body shift to face you. You knew you couldn't escape your history by burying what you didn't want to remember, because even fossils can be rediscovered. And, heartbreak didn't have to be messy, but looking at his face close up again made you think it ought to be for it to stick. It's true, you loved him to death. You just feared that that would be the death of you.

You hated how indebted to his shadow you actually were.

As if the mood couldn’t further, droplets started to paint the sweatshirt you hadn’t gotten the chance to take off. The realization sunk in, and the nausea came back. It’s crazy what a piece of fabric did to you—for you—swinging the door right off its hinges, you couldn’t even close it now if you tried. 

You were two people holding onto what you lost, and maybe you could meet again down the line. 

Maybe it’d be different this time.  

"I've missed you so fucking much, Hyuck." 

He slightly motioned for the front door, looking up at the crying sky, "Why don't we go inside, pl—"

"No, I'm not going inside." You shook your head lightly, looking down at the pavement, "I'm sorry but I need to stay out here and keep my head clear. Just for a second."

You couldn’t tell if the rain had just fallen onto his skin or if he was crying, and honestly, you couldn’t tell if you were as well. All you did know was that your emotions were fighting a vigorous battle against each other right now—a battle you were no longer good or evil in. 

“I love you so much…” He grabbed your face like he was about to plead you to change your mind, “I’ve loved you since that stupid day we streamed The Sims together, Y/n, please. I can’t lose you.” 

There was no one better. He was your redemption. He was your eternal sunshine. He was between every shade of black and white. No matter how many bridges you burnt, he’d build another just to get back to you. 

Your past, present and future life. 

“Please,” You just couldn’t let him go, no matter how hard you fucking tried, “Don’t leave me alone again, Hyuck.”

He pressed his lips to yours and it’s like the world stopped moving. If your life was a puzzle, then he was the missing piece. He was the X that marked the spot. He was the ghost that haunted you and will always remain as a stain on your heart. 

But, even ghosts can move on into the afterlife.

© soph 2025. reblogs ────& feedback r appreciated ૮´ ꒳`ა thnx !

🐻📦ˊˎ- since i just neglected to post the chapters, i made it a long-fic instead. this is just part one still though! also, this was kinda proof read, so, sorry for mistakes lolz

𝔱ags┊@kstrucknet @k-films @blossomnet @starlit-network @neocity-net @bbangbies @blue-jisungs @hhaechansmoless @dinonuguaegi @worldwidecutiemaya @chenlezip @nctrawberries @mmjjh1998 @luvs4haechan @nctfreak @hyuckluvr-com @cookiehaos @kiszjuli @yesohhsehun @spacejip @bettyschwallocksyee @desssss-0 @nctubatu | fill out form to added for part two

[revelboo]

If anyone wanted him continued? I’ll gladly take more Geomodus.

I like the socially awkward ones 💕

Feelings

Geomotus x Reader

• “I like this world,” he murmurs as he makes meticulous notes on his datapad and you look up from your food. “If you were to die, I’d like it to be here. The odds of you being preserved as a fossil are substantial.” Fighting the urge to snort, because he never manages to hear how it sounds when he says things like that, and you nod slowly. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d find him really unsettling. “Low oxygen and high sedimentation,” he adds like you’d asked for details. You never do, but he always feels the need to give them.

• “So some future Cybertronian finds me fossilized millions of years later and sticks me on their shelf,” you say, gesturing at the specimens on his shelves and his hand stills before a servo starts idly tapping on his stylus. Suddenly not liking this conversation. Not wanting to think about you being gone. He’d brought it up, but it bothers him. If you were fossilized he could keep you forever. But it wouldn’t really be you.

• “I’d remember where you were entombed and come to retrieve you,” he says, head turning to stare seriously at you. How can he not hear that? Because that’s kind of aww and eww at the same time. “Cybertronians live a very long time compared to organics.” You suppose it’s sweet he’d want to keep your fossilized corpse around. Maybe. It’s mostly creepy, but you know he doesn’t mean anything by it. Has trouble with this sort of thing. With understanding how to interact with people.

• “So you’d keep me with all your other rocks,” you mutter and he can’t really tell what you’re thinking, but he wants you with him. Wants to know where you are. To keep you. “Or would I get a special shelf? You’d probably prefer me as a rock, huh?” You’re smiling like something’s funny, but he’s not sure what the joke is. Servos tapping, he rocks back in his chair, itching to get up and move around. Pace until he doesn’t feel off balance.

• “I’d be lonely if you were a rock,” he says, optics flitting around the room, like he’s uncomfortable with this conversation suddenly. ‘I love you, too,’ you say and his servos flex. Reach for you and stop. Sketching over you an inch from your skin. And when you don’t move, he repeats the fidgety gesture. The third time, his servo ghosts against your arm and then he’s turning back to his reports, losing himself in his dirt and rocks and things he understands. But you’re used to being alone together, the silence never uncomfortable.

[bbywhitefox123]

rafe and Catherine giving the birds and bees talk to mason and Bradley

Summary: rafe has the talk with mason and bradley after catherine caught mason watchimg porn.

Warnings: idk

Masterlist

Catherine didn’t scream when she opened Mason’s door. She didn’t slam it, didn’t throw the laundry basket across the room — though she really, really wanted to. Instead, she stood frozen for three full seconds, staring in horror as her fourteen-year-old son fumbled to close his laptop and pull the covers over himself, looking like a deer in headlights and red as a tomato.

“Jesus Christ, Mason!” she hissed, spinning on her heel and practically speed-walking out of the room like the walls were on fire.

The laundry stayed on his floor. She would never go back in there. That space was dead to her now.

That night, she was still pale and shaky as she sat on the bed, arms crossed, legs tucked under her silk robe. Rafe had just gotten out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, rubbing his hair dry when she said: “I caught Mason. Watching porn.”

Rafe blinked. “…Like, porn porn?”

Catherine leveled him with a look. “Do you think there’s a softer version of porn he could’ve been watching?”

And then, to her complete disbelief—he laughed. Loud. Big, chest-deep laugh, like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all year.

“Rafe,” she warned, horrified. “It’s not funny! He’s fourteen! He’s still supposed to be into Legos or—whatever. Not—videos of people doing God-knows-what to each other.”

“He’s fourteen,” Rafe said, flopping back onto the bed, still grinning. “You know what I was doing at fourteen?”

“Don’t you dare tell me—”

“Doing a lot worse than watching porn,” he said smugly. “At least he’s not doing it in public.”

Catherine groaned, burying her face in a pillow. “I’m traumatized, Rafe. I saw things. I saw him. I can never unsee it.”

“You walked in on your son being a normal hormonal teenager,” Rafe said, then paused, thoughtful. “Could’ve been worse. He could’ve been watching it on the TV. Speakers on.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, but underneath it all, she was trying not to laugh. “What are we gonna do? Just ignore it?”

Rafe looked over at her. “Nah. I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“The talk.”

“The—oh God.” She covered her face again. “The talk. The birds and the bees? I was hoping I could skip that and just let Sex-Ed do its job.”

“Babe,” Rafe said gently, “you’ve got two teenage boys. You think you can avoid it for much longer?”

“I was hoping we’d make it to college.”

Rafe chuckled again and stretched an arm behind his head. “I’ll talk to them. You want me to?”

“No, but I don’t want to talk to them either,” Catherine said. “Just don’t say anything scarring. Or detailed. Or—Rafe!—don’t tell them your stories. You were a menace.”

“I’ll keep it PG-13,” he promised, smirking. “Just enough to make them uncomfortable.”

“Please make it educational,” she muttered.

There was a beat of silence. Then Catherine sighed dramatically and flopped against his chest. “Our baby was watching porn.”

“Our baby’s taller than you now.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

🌥️

Rafe sat at the kitchen table with his second cup of coffee, bracing himself. He’d already sent Catherine out for a “walk” to their bedroom that suspiciously involved noise-canceling headphones and iced coffee. Which meant he was alone. With the boys. And the talk.

“Mason! Brad! Downstairs. Now,” he called.

Thudding footsteps followed. Mason strolled in first, tall and self-assured, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl like this was a team huddle. Bradley trailed behind, holding a book and looking vaguely nervous.

“Why do you sound like someone died?” Mason asked, crunching into his apple.

“Because something did,” Rafe muttered, then nodded at the chairs. “Sit. Both of you.”

They sat.

Bradley glanced around. “Are we in trouble?”

“Nope,” Rafe said. “This is… educational.”

Mason’s grin spread. “Shi— Yes. Is this the talk?”

“Yep,” Rafe said. “Birds, bees, anatomy, respect, real stuff. Figured it’s time.”

Mason leaned back. “I mean, Dad… you do know I know things.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What kind of things?”

“I’m not twelve,” Mason said. “I’ve been online. I’ve had Sex-Ed. I know where our stuff goes.”

Bradley made a face. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Mason laughed. “I’m just saying—I’m informed.”

“Being ‘informed’ isn’t the same as being smart about it,” Rafe said. “So shut up and listen.”

He turned to Bradley, who was fidgeting with the corner of his hoodie.

“You okay, bud?”

Bradley shrugged. “I just think it’s weird we’re calling it the birds and the bees. Birds don’t—like—have penises. And bees reproduce asexually sometimes.”

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I read it in this book called—.”

Mason groaned. “Bro.”

“Okay,” Rafe said, dragging a hand down his face. “This isn’t about birds. Or bees. It’s about people. Human beings. Which includes you two knuckleheads.”

Bradley blinked. “But not you?”

Rafe smirked. “I’m a retired knucklehead. Let me talk.”

He looked between them, serious now.

“Look, you’re both growing up. Things change. You start noticing people in different ways. You’re curious. And honestly? That’s normal.”

Mason nodded like he was a seasoned vet. “Yep.”

“But what matters,” Rafe continued, “is respect. Consent. Communication. It’s not just about sex—it’s about being ready, being smart, and not being a jerk.”

Bradley raised a hand. “So… like… what if someone likes you, but you don’t like them back?”

Mason snorted. “That’s never been my problem.”

“Zip it,” Rafe said. “That’s a good question. You don’t lead people on. You’re honest. And respectful. Got it?”

Bradley nodded slowly.

“And Mason,” Rafe turned. “Don’t confuse confidence with knowing everything. Be safe. Ask questions if you need to. Don’t act like a know-it-all just because you watch p— things on the internet.”

Mason gave a lazy salute. “Got it, General.”

Rafe stood, clapped them both on the back. “Alright. Talk over. Go back to whatever you were doing. Just don’t be idiots, okay?”

Bradley went for his book. Mason tossed the apple core in the trash.

“Hey, Dad?” Mason called as he walked off.

“Yeah?”

“…So is it true that girls can—like—squirt?”

Bradley screamed.

Rafe nearly dropped his coffee. “Uh— Yeah— Wait, no. Okay! That’s it. Ask your mother.”

“No!” came Catherine’s voice from somewhere upstairs. “Absolutely not!”

Rafe winced, turning toward the ceiling like he could see through it. “Baby—”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. You said you were going to keep it simple!”

The boys froze.

Bradley looked horrified. “She heard us?”

Mason just shrugged. “She hears everything.”

A second later, Catherine stomped halfway down the stairs, wearing an expression of pure maternal betrayal. Her eyes zeroed in on Rafe.

“You were supposed to talk about condoms, respect, communication—not—” she waved vaguely in the air, “that.”

“It was a question!” Rafe said, hands raised in defense. “He asked. I panicked.”

Mason, not even sorry, lifted a hand. “To be fair, it was a good question.”

“No, it was not!” Catherine barked. “You are fourteen.”

“You should be flattered,” Rafe muttered, trying not to laugh. “It means he’s not afraid to ask—”

“I am afraid!” Bradley cut in. “I need therapy!”

Catherine pointed at him, wide-eyed. “See?! Traumatized!”

“I handled it,” Rafe insisted. “It was fine. I gave them the talk. I was educational. I used phrases like ‘communication’ and ‘knucklehead.’ I was very fatherly.”

“You let Mason ask if girls squirt!”

Rafe’s mouth opened—then closed.

Mason smirked. “Dad said I should ask you.”

Bradley, flatly: “Why would you say that?”

Rafe was already backing toward the stairs. “I panicked! I thought she was asleep!”

Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I was asleep. Until someone decided to have a frat house conversation on speaker volume.”

“Can I go now?” Bradley asked desperately.

“No,” Rafe and Catherine said in unison.

Then Mason raised his hand again. “Okay, but like, since we’re all here—”

“Don’t.” Catherine glared. “Not another word.”

He slowly lowered his hand.

Catherine sighed and finally looked at both boys. “Look. Sex isn’t just something that happens in movies or in locker rooms. It’s personal. It’s emotional. It can be messy—figuratively and literally.”

Bradley turned green. “I hate this,” he whispered.

Rafe clapped both boys on the back again. “Alright, we’ve done our part. You’ve been educated.”

“Lunch will be ready in an hour,” Catherine said dryly.

“Can I have mine earlier?,” Rafe muttered under his breath with a smirk, his hand sneaking around her waist.

“RAFE!”

🌥️

Sunday Lunch at the Cameron House was the one sacred time in the Cameron household where nobody screamed, threw food, or cried over a broken iPad.

For about six minutes.

The table was filled with plates of roast chicken, potatoes, and salad that Lara claimed to hate but still ate, sulking. Maisie was humming to herself, dipping a dinner roll into her juice for no reason except that she could.

Catherine took a deep breath, savoring the moment of silence.

Rafe carved another piece of chicken, passed it to Mason.

And then—

“Hey, Dad,” Mason said, totally casually. “Can I get a condom?”

Catherine choked on her water. Bradley froze mid-bite. Lara dropped her fork.

Maisie blinked. “What’s a condom?”

“No,” Catherine said immediately, pointing her fork at Mason. “No. Absolutely not. We are not doing this at the table.”

Rafe cleared his throat. “Uh—”

Mason shrugged, chewing like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade. “What? I’m being responsible. That’s what the talk was about, right?”

“It was about not asking for condoms next to the mashed potatoes!” Catherine snapped.

Bradley stared down at his plate like it could transport him somewhere else. “Can I be homeschooled?”

Lara looked at Catherine. “What’s a condom?”

“It’s a raincoat,” Catherine said flatly.

Maisie nodded. “I thought so.”

Rafe held up both hands. “Okay, okay—let’s calm down. Mason’s not in trouble. I mean… yeah. It’s awkward, but it’s also good he’s thinking responsibly.”

“Thank you,” Mason said smugly.

“Don’t thank him!” Catherine hissed.

“I didn’t say you could use it,” Rafe added, stabbing a potato. “I said you could have one.”

Catherine stared at him. “What is wrong with you?”

Bradley, deadpan: “You’re all insane.”

Maisie poked at her roll. “I still wanna know why a raincoat is bad.”

Mason leaned back in his chair, poking at his chicken like he was just musing out loud.

“So… I shouldn’t use one?” he said casually. “Got it. Very responsible.”

Catherine snapped her neck toward him. “What?! No! Mason—use one! Always!”

Bradley looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “Can I eat somewhere else? Like in another country?”

Rafe rubbed his hand down his face. “Mason. That’s not what I said.”

“You literally said—”

“I meant—” Rafe glanced at Catherine, who was giving him the death glare of all death glares. “I meant you can have one, but you can’t just go—go using it like a hobby. It’s not a fidget toy.”

Lara, chewing slowly, narrowed her eyes. “So if it’s not a raincoat, what is it?”

Maisie chimed in. “Is it something Mason shouldn’t be trusted with?”

“Correct,” Catherine and Rafe said at the same time.

“Okay, good,” Maisie nodded, picking up her roll again. “Then I won’t ask to borrow it.”

“OH MY GOD,” Bradley muttered, pushing his plate away.

Mason, totally unbothered, took another bite. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Catherine stood up, having had enough. “Rafe. Kitchen. Now.”

Rafe glanced at the kids—Mason was still chewing like nothing was wrong, Bradley was lowkey traumatized, and Maisie was now making a napkin hat for her juice box.

“Y’all finish lunch,” he muttered, standing.

He followed Catherine into the kitchen.

She whipped around the second they were far away from the kids.

“He’s just like you.”

Rafe blinked. “Mason?”

“Yes, Mason. God, Rafe, if you don’t talk some sense into that boy, he’s gonna end up just like we did—begging to hit it raw and then a baby daddy at nineteen!”

Rafe scratched the back of his neck. “Technically, you were the one who told me—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.”

He wisely didn’t.

Catherine crossed her arms, pacing the tiles. “I mean, did you see how smug he was? ‘So I shouldn’t use one? Got it.’ Like this is a game. It’s not a game, it’s sperm and consequences!”

Rafe bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “Sperm and consequences?”

“Don’t make fun of me, I’m panicking.”

He stepped forward, hands on her waist. “Hey. Hey. Look. He’s not that bad.”

“He’s fourteen and trying to flirt with adult responsibility like he’s got a clue. You know that look in his eye? That reckless, cocky, Cameron thing? That’s you, Rafe.”

“…Kinda proud of him, actually.”

She smacked his chest.

“Talk to him, Rafe. I’m not doing grandbaby math at thirty-seven.”

“Alright,” he nodded, hands up in surrender. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Catherine sighed, leaning into him, her forehead against his shoulder. “God help me, I love you both. But you’re going to be the death of me.”

Rafe kissed the top of her head.

“We’ll just make sure the next one gets some of your genes too.”

Catherine pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, brows lifting. “Next one?”

Rafe gave her that cocky, boyish grin—the one that got them into most of their messes to begin with.

“I mean…” he shrugged, casual as hell. “You’re not on the pill. I’ve been raw dogging it for like years now. Odds aren’t exactly in our favor.”

Catherine blinked. “You absolute idiot.”

“A very sexy, fertile idiot,” he corrected, smirking.

She groaned, but there was a flush rising to her cheeks. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Rafe leaned in, murmuring against her jaw.

“You love me. You love this chaos. You loved it at seventeen, and you love it now.”

“Yeah, well,” she muttered, even as her fingers curled into his t-shirt. “At seventeen I didn’t have stretch marks and four children.”

“At seventeen you didn’t have that ass either.”

She swatted him, hard. “We are not making another one.”

He kissed her, slow and smug. “Too late, probably.”

She stared at him, breathless and flushed, and then laughed. Rafe grinned.

Then, from the dining room Mason yelled “Bradley just asked Siri what ‘pre-cum’ is!”

Catherine groaned and shoved Rafe toward the door.

“Now. Go be the parent you’re so good at pretending to be.”

Rafe gave her one last kiss on the cheek before heading out. “On it, Mrs. Cameron.”

☁️

The room was dark except for the soft blue glow of a galaxy projector spinning lazily on the ceiling. Mason was sprawled on his bed, hoodie still on, one leg hanging off the mattress. Bradley sat cross-legged with his headphones in, probably watching some documentary about neurons or frogs that give birth through their mouths.

Rafe knocked once and pushed the door open. “Alright. Time to talk.”

Mason pulled his headphones out. “I thought we already did talk.”

Bradley looked up and groaned immediately. “Please, no. I just recovered from lunch.”

Rafe pointed at him. “Which is why you’re leaving.”

“What?! Why do I have to leave?” Bradley protested, scandalized. “I’m the responsible one!”

“Exactly,” Rafe said. “You don’t need this conversation. You’ll be a virgin until you’re twenty-five and married to a biologist.”

Mason cackled. “You so would.”

Bradley shoved his pillow at Mason before stomping out dramatically.

“If I hear anything inappropriate, I’m telling Mom!”

Rafe waited for the door to close behind him before turning to Mason, who was already sitting up and grinning.

“So,” Mason said, rubbing his hands together like this was his meeting. “Let’s talk condoms. And positions. Also, is it true that—”

“Nope. We’re not doing a Reddit thread,” Rafe said, raising a hand. “I’m here to make sure you’re not an idiot, not give you a subscription to Playboy Premium.”

Mason leaned back smugly, arms behind his head. “I mean, I already know most of this stuff. Me and uncle Topper watched—”

“Jesus, don’t finish that sentence.”

“Relax, dad,” Mason laughed. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

“Famous last words before your mother ends up pacing the kitchen saying you’re just like me.”

Mason smirked. “I am just like you.”

Rafe sighed. “I know. That’s what keeps me up at night.”

“So… does that mean I can have my own room?” Mason asked casually, like it was nothing. “Y’know, for when I bring girls over?”

Rafe blinked. “When you bring girls over?”

“Yeah,” Mason said, all confidence. “I mean, I’m basically at that age.”

“You’re fourteen, Mason.”

Mason shrugged. “You were younger when you started hooking up with girls.”

Rafe’s jaw dropped. “How do you know that?!”

“Uncle Top.”

“You’re not getting your own room so you can turn it into a frat house. If anyone’s sneaking girls into this house, it’ll be me and your mom—because this is our house.”

Mason grinned wide. “So you’re saying I have to sneak them in. Got it.”

Rafe groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m going to lose all my hair.”

“Want me to text you if anything happens so you don’t walk in or something?”

“No! I want you to go to sleep and focus on math and not getting anyone pregnant.”

Mason pulled the covers up like he was tucking in for a bedtime story. “Can’t make any promises.”

Rafe pointed at him on the way out.

“You better. Because if you think I’m scary, wait until your mother finds out you’re asking for condoms and room keys like it’s a damn hotel.”

Mason smirked, and Rafe slammed the door behind him.

Bradley sat just beside the boys’ bedroom door, knees pulled to his chest, his tablet glowing in the dark as a narrator softly explained cellular mitosis. He didn’t even flinch when Rafe stepped out — just looked up like he’d been expecting him.

“He’s gonna do it anyway,” Bradley said, voice quiet. “Even if you say no.”

Rafe exhaled, heavy, leaning against the wall beside him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bradley turned the tablet screen off and looked up at his dad. “He thinks it’s a joke.”

Rafe nodded. “He does.”

There was a long pause. The house felt too quiet, like the calm before another storm.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Brad added. “You were a senior when you started with Mom, right? That’s five years from now for me to be your age when it happened.”

Rafe rubbed his hands over his face, guilt knotting deep in his chest. “Yeah.”

“Did you ever want something else?” Brad asked.

Rafe turned to look at him, eyes a little more tired now. “Yeah,” he said. “I did. I wanted a lot of things I never got to try.”

“Because of me?” Brad asked.

That question hit Rafe straight in the gut.

He crouched down in front of his son, hands on his knees.

“No,” Rafe said, firm. “Never because of you. Or Mason. Or any of you. I don’t regret having you. But I do regret… not being smarter about when. And how.”

Bradley blinked. “Mason doesn’t get that, does he?”

Rafe gave a tired laugh. “No. He thinks being like me is cool, a joke. But I lived that joke and it wasn’t funny.”

“So… I shouldn’t be like him?”

Rafe looked his son straight in the eye.

“Be better than him. Be better than me. You’ve got the brains for it, and you’ve got time. Don’t blow it trying to be a grown-up too fast.”

Bradley nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Rafe reached out and ruffled his hair — something Mason never let him do anymore — and stood back up.

“Get some sleep, Einstein. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

Bradley smiled a little. “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, bud.”

As Rafe walked down the hall toward his and Catherine’s room, he glanced back at the closed door to Mason’s room. For a second, all he saw was himself — drunk, high, reckless, stubborn — thinking life would always bend to him.

But it didn’t.

It bent for Catherine. For the baby. For the choices Rafe made too young with no plan. And he’d do it all again for his family, but God, he hoped Mason didn’t have to.

Not like that.

[torikuri]

Heluuu!!! I just wanted to say that your fics (am I right??) are very well crafted and actually suits Sebastian's image. Might I be a little bold and request you to make a longer (prefereably nsfw, or nor if you don't want to) fics of him and the reader? It's completely fine if you don't want to though!! No pressure hehe 💗💗💗

thank you anon <333

asking me to write smut is such a dangerous thing because i’ll always follow through on it.. licks my lips while smirking.. this one’s a smidge longer than my usual drabbles, but when i get back to speed again you’ll get much.. longer fics LMAO

a/n: contains content that is nsfw. minors dni! literally smut without plot </3 the reader is represented as female here. lowkey very self-indulgent?? like one mention of the reader being ’such a good girl’

a dove who flew too close — sebastian michaelis x reader

the darkness is.. alluring.

alluring and beautiful, seemingly not threatening to the naked eye. it lures you in, and then doesn’t let go.

that’s what sebastian’s like.

to think there was a time when you hated sebastian. maybe you still do — maybe. you aren’t exactly sure.

sebastian, being the cheeky demon he is, would say that you don’t hate him; or that you aren’t afraid of him anywhere. in both, he finds you as a naive dove, flown too close to a predator’s nest.

not that it matters to him now - not when you’re muffling your needy whines against the pillow, arching your back to meet his teasing thrusts.

life’s funny in that way, sebastian supposes.

his fingers grip your hair a bit more harder at a particularly deep thrust, pushing your head more against the pillows as your cunt greedily swallows more of his cock, like it can’t be sated.

maybe you can’t be either.

it doesn’t look like you can, atleast — there’s drool leaking out of your slack mouth, and tears wetting your lashline, eyes almost rolled back.

then again, sebastian knows theyre not tears of sadness or pain — not when youve been moaning his name again and again for the last hour. not when youre moving your hips to keep up with his pace.

the demon knows you’re overstimulated; of course he does. but what’s a few more rounds of ecstacy?

”such a good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs in that silken tone that makes you shiver, placing a few hot, open-mouthed kisses against your already marked throat, ”you can take more, mm? just for me, darling.”

yes, that’s right. just for him.

there’s a small voice at the back of your mind that’s telling you that you should’ve heeded your parents words as a child — to keep away from people who were like him.

that they were dangerous.

but it’s difficult to remember that now, when he’s kissing your blissed tears away, keeping you snug as a bug against his pistoning cock.

demons don’t mate. not usually — certainly not with humans, atleast. but when sebastian finally comes inside of you, cock still hard against your warm walls and sharp canines sunken against your neck, he supposes he could keep you.

just for a while longer.

just for a while.

forever.

and so, he starts again — muffling his grunts against your neck and letting your wanton moans fill the space, tongue lapping up the blood sprouting from the marks he left on your neck.

the darkness is... captivating.

enchanting and beautiful, it appears harmless at first glance.

it draws you in — and once it does, it never lets you go.

such is sebastian michaelis.

and you were a dove who flew too close.

[livedtough]

There was a sense of sadness in the idea that he was no longer so outnumbered, that his family had dwindled since the moment his father died, and would continue to when his last sister died, something that was bound to happen sooner than later. It was possible, he supposed, that she would still manage to outlive him, maybe even likely with the way he lived his life, but he wasn't sure. Maybe that was the final price to pay for his sins. But that was an issue for another day. He hoped, anyway. "We could have had a beer, talk about the girls in our lives." That would have been nice, wouldn't it? But her father was gone, too. They were all gone. He smiled, looking down at her, at the spot she elbowed. "But don't worry, I'm not underestimating you." He wasn't underestimating her sister, either, though, or his. He was sure he'd lose her. How, though, he wasn't quite sure. "I don't mean on things like that. Not on any issues, but...you know, the big things. Man versus woman. They'd take you away." She considered it, and though he may not have been so sure. Still, he didn't think they'd be on separate sides. Funny, how he thought it was both. "Good. I'd hold you to that."

He watched her as she went to her laptop, as she started to play the song that mattered so much to her. It didn't matter what she played it on, he just wanted to listen to it. If it was important to her, the rest didn't matter. He leaned against the counter, watching her as she tapped at the computer. "That's beautiful," he said, arms crossing over his chest, smiling at her. He was glad she had that, that she had, and that she still did. He smiled as it played, exhaling a soft huff of laughter. "I think I've heard this one. There's a lot to catch up on, but I've heard this."

Cara nodded, laughing lightly, “Good point. Maybe that would’ve given you and my dad something to bond over - the fact that you were both so greatly outnumbered and, when we all dug our heels in, you didn’t stand a chance. Still true of me, by the way.” She gently elbowed him in the side as if to emphasize her point. Then he was agreeing that, if they went up against all of their sisters, they’d definitely end up on the losing side, adding they could get to her. That she might enter the fight thinking she was on his side, but he’d seen the sort of sway his sisters had, just as she’d seen the sway Ari had. “Oh, yeah, I hadn’t even thought of that. I suppose it would depend, then, what we were taking sides on? Would it be a matter of things like coffee vs. tea or good pizza vs... that? Or would it be a matter of the older siblings trying to get the younger siblings to fall in line?” She pretended to consider it for a beat before laughing again, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “At the end of the day, I’m yours. Might not always agree with you, but I will always be on your side.”

Cara pulled out her laptop, rambling because she’d never shared this with anyone, “Sorry, I don’t have anything else to play it on. Growing up, my mom used to sing this to Ari and I. Then as we got a little older, we’d all dance to it together. And then when we were all grown up... It was a way of cheering each other up after having a bad day at work or getting bad marks on a test.” With that being said, she hit play, and ‘Build Me Up, Buttercup’ by the The Foundations blasted through the tiny laptop speakers.

[iznyangwoni]

DEMON HUNTERS | enhypen smau !

chapter six

it can’t get any worse than this. It’s what you try to tell yourself. Out of everyone in that damn group of demons, it had to be Jungwon the one you had to share a schedule with, of course. Just your luck. You don’t usually hate photoshoots, sure, they’re not your favorite thing and they do feel more like a side quest rather than your actual job, but they’re still fun. You get to dress up, feel all pretty for a few hours, but this? No, you can’t do this with Jungwon and have fun.

It takes all of your energy to not summon your sword and just stab him in the chest. And talking about chest, fuck. Why can’t you keep your eyes off of it? They have him wearing a simple denim button-up, the first three buttons undone, showing the necklace of the brand, and way, way more.

You both manage to keep it together the first thirty minutes of shooting, you don’t talk and only look at each other when told to. You can tell he also can’t wait to kill you. Funny thing is, his hatred look is making the photographer only want more and more pictures of the two of you looking in the eyes. Makes you want to vomit.

After a while, it’s obvious he can’t contain himself anymore, he just whispers, so that no one else but you can hear. “If they make me look at you once more I swear I’m killing that photographer first and then you.”

If he wasn’t so serious while saying it you would’ve found him almost funny. “The feeling is mutual,” The poses are getting more annoying each time. Right now Jungwon’s elbow is resting on your shoulder. “Can’t wait to get you all alone so I can finish my job this time.” You say, when the pose changes again and no one can see what you’re mouthing. “As if you could take me.” “Oh I can take you.”

Its down to the last few shoots, now facing each other. Its been hours, the staff seems pretty tired already, and so are you, honestly. Still, your lack of energy doesn’t make you any less hateful towards the guy in front of you. Jungwon’s hand goes towards your cheek just as told, not really touching it. Then, when the photographer is distracted talking with someone else, you feel something sharp against your skin.

Your eyes widen for just a second, Jungwon’s smirk only gets bigger. Did he just cut your cheek? You want to punch him so hard right now, but you manage to stay calm. “Fifteen seconds.” His brows furrow for a second, confused at what you’re saying. “I give you fifteen seconds to run. After that you’re dead.” He smiles again, dimples showing. “Oh that’s plenty. Make it ten.”

The flash of the camera stops your words, you turn towards the stuff, the photographer seems thrilled. “Perfect! Just like this, you two! So much chemistry, so-“ You stop listening, you can’t hear another word about this. When you turn back around, Jungwon is no longer next to you, instead, he’s at the door leading to the underground floor. He’s holding ten fingers up. Ten seconds.

Before anyone of the staff can come up and fix your hair or makeup, you start walking impatiently towards him, your steps are heavy, your sword already in hand and, when you reach the floor, he’s already there, waiting for you.

“You idiot, scarring my face on comeback day? You must have a death wish!” Your weapon hits right next to his head, he jumps over a few boxes, keeping distance from you. “C’mon, if anything i just made you look less boring.” “Less boring!?” When you try to go for his chest, he holds up a tray he found on the floor. Really, fighting in the props room is the worst.

“Yes! You know how many of you i’ve seen? All of you hunters are the same.” You don’t want to hear him, if he knew other hunters, then it must mean they weren’t able to kill him. “Oh my god, a bad demon! you must die, blah, blah, blah. We need to turn the honmoon gold, blah, blah, blah.” His voice gets higher when he makes fun of the way hunters are supposed to talk. He’s distracted, so this time you make it in time to hit his arm, cutting his sleeve.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Before you can cut his arm off, he teleports behind you, a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his cold fingers around your neck. “Oh, I know.” You try to take his grip off your neck, your fingers trying so hard to make him let go, but its only harder when you’re also holding your sword. “Why do you hunters keep trying when the honmoon won’t ever turn gold?”

Those words freeze you, the weapon falls down with a loud thud of the metal. Your heart rate picks up and, in a state of anger, you hit him with your elbow, making him let go of your throat. You don’t pick up the sword, instead you just hit him, making him fall on the floor. “You’re lying.” “For once, i’m not.”

You don’t know what’s gotten to you, but you straddle him, you fist closed tightly as you hold it up, ready to punch him just in case. “Yes you are!” Your other hand is keeping him still by his shirt. “Why do you think no one did it in over five hundred years, then?!” You shake your head, it can’t be real. The whole reason you do this is, the whole reason you’re born, it to reach that goal, it can’t be a lie.

You’re about to punch his face when the door suddenly opens, you look up, scared it might be some employee. Instead its just one other demon, Jay you think it is. He’s looking down at you and Jungwon. His eyebrows rise, then furrow again, and that’s when you realize you’re still straddling Jungwon’s lap.

“Am I interrupting something..?”

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[razorblade180]

New Accessories

Hu Tao:*writing*

Zhongli:No birthday plans? *sips tea*

Hu Tao:Nope~ and that’s fine. It’s not like I’m not celebrated by loved ones other days.

Zhongli:Hmm, a very pleasant way to go through life.

Hu Tao:I’m sorta wise beyond my years.

Knock knock knock

Hu Tao: We’re open!

The door creeks open only a little bit after the sound of someone fumbling with the doorknob. Zhongli walks over to help the visitor by opening the door further. On the other side was a rather impressive chocolate cake held by Chongyun. Zhongli looked over at his boss to see her practically dancing behind the counter with joy. It appears wisdom took a backseat to youth. As it should honestly. Zhongli quietly stepped out.

Chongyun:Happy Birthday!

Hu Tao:Ehehe, thank you~ That cake looks gorgeous! Xiangling outdid himself! Her new friend from Fontaine must be sharing every kind of secret.

Chongyun:I fear Xiangling is sharing some back. I think your birthday dinner might be a little…exotic.

Hu Tao:Oh boy…I can’t say they don’t make things interesting. Maybe the chocolate is an apology.

Chongyun:Has your day been busy?

Hu Tao:The opposite! The only scary thing has been boredom! Feel free to keep me company. I can’t eat this by myself.

Chongyun:Before that, I have my own gift. *pulls out small box* We had a conversation about your hat ornament and how you didn’t mind jewelry, remember.

Hu Tao:Oh!? Another Chongyun original?

The current branch in her hat was currently gold, a cute and uniquely symbolic way on Liyue betrothal. Funnily enough, most haven’t noticed, making it really funny to walk around her friends. Yunjin and Zhongli noticed; Shenhe was also a pleasant surprise. Everyone else, not so much. That was fine. Hu Tao found it hilarious and it avoided water works from Xiangling.

Hu Tao unwrapped the ring box to see her new jewelry. She was partial to silver and alloy metals, this wasn’t either to her knowledge. In the box was a shiny black ring with intricate golden engravings of a plum blossom. That actually had a hue of red in the center of the flowers. Only one thing came to mind.

Hu Tao: This looks so expensive it’s scary.

Chongyun:I don’t know how much this would go for. The base was volcanic rock from Natlan Aether helped me get.

Hu Tao:*red* VOLCANIC!?

Chongyun:Yeah. Thankfully I didn’t waste as much as I thought I would. Carving into this was a lot more challenging than I anticipated.

Hu Tao:…What the heck am I supposed to do for your birthday!!?

Chongyun:It’s not a contest.

Hu Tao:You gave me the coolest ring I’ve ever seen! Am I going to have to find a spirit that won’t flee from you now?

Chongyun:*eyes widen* That could be interesting. Wait, don’t go looking for evil spirits as a present!

Hu Tao:I kid, I kid. Seriously though. Thank you for this.

Chongyun:You’re welcome.

The way the ring caught the light was almost hypnotic. Hu Tao was beginning to think Chongyun might be missing his call as an artisan. A side hustle never hurts. She took her red gem ring off her left ring finger and moved it to her right. Now the new ring had the perfect home. Fits perfectly too. Hu Tao couldn’t help but grin. She looked back up at Chongyun to se him bright red and frozen.

Hu Tao:Chongyun? What’d I miss?

Chongyun:N-Nothing.

Hu Tao:….*smirks* What? Don’t tell me you’re surprised. Isn’t this the finger you wanted it on? Why else would it fit~

He remained silent, but that didn’t stop her from walking from behind the counter and getting closer. Hu Tao placed a hand on the flustered boy’s chest. His heart was absolutely jumping for joy. She knew hers were doing the same. It was impossible not to giggle.

Hu Tao:All this progress and you’re still this shy.

Chongyun:Please spare me.

Hu Tao:Hmm, make me an offer.

Her hand gently reached for the side of his face as he tried to look tough, only to appear more adorable. Chongyun was still very much emboldened by her light hearted teasing. All Hu Tao did was left her heels slightly off the ground and he leaned in to greet her with the only present she appreciated the most from him. Few things were as wonderful as a kiss from a fellow dork in love. Her heels fell back to the ground and the kiss ended with the biggest smile on her face while he sheepishly grinned.

Chongyun:You might be a hazard to my health.

Hu Tao:What else is new?

Xingqui:*opens door* Happy Bir-

H&C:*bright red*….

Xingqui:Ah, wrong address. *closes door*

Chongyun:Don’t act like nothing happened!!! That’s worse!

Hu Tao:You can come in!!

Xingqui:I’ll just stay outside with Mr. Zhongli.

Hu Tao:HE’S JUST STANDING THERE!?

Zhongli:*peeks inside* I forgot to grab my tea…

[sarotati]

Hi Sonna welcome to the fandom. It always nice to see more people get into rotbb especially when it’s mean more Cheong Myeong and reader fic 😂

I have this idea where the disciple gang ask the reader what does she love about Cheong Myeong? And she answers hard by going on a long rambling passionate rant over what she loves about Cheong Myeong😂 and she sincerely mean all of it and their reaction is pretty funny 🤣 like they are so shocked and caught off guard by her and her answers. Like she said she loves his personality and his training methods etc and she looks so proud when she done after they ask to stop. Oh and Cheong Myeong hear everything and is all flustered by it.

I kind got this idea from a chapter of For my derelict favorite. If you want to see the chapter. The series on webtoon and it chapter 34

Incase you’re wondering who are disciples gang are? I mean Yoo Iseol, Baek Cheon, Yun Jong , Jo Gul and maybe Tang Soso if you want to include her in as well.

Also ps are you a webtoon reader? or a novel reader?

There's No Actual Reason [Chung Myung x Reader]

Summary: "...So, what do you love so much about him?"

WC: 3.2K

A/N: this time I tried the second person's perspective, it's fun to do but it kinda needs more focus on it andddd I hope you don't mind. I really enjoyed writing this chapter and so I hope you like it the same way I did! Also I'm both a webtoon and novel reader, I'm on ch.1385 if you're wondering!

This chapter contains: fluff, unresolved tension(I guess that's what it's called?) lemme know if I missed anything!

✦

“Eh…?”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head from where it had been resting on your hand, looking toward the person you thought had spoken to you—Jo Gul.

Yes, who was better at jumping between random topics than Jo Gul?

You glanced around. The other disciples were all looking at you with a mix of curiosity and expectation, which confirmed that the question had indeed been directed at you.

You scratched your head and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What’s this all of a sudden…?”

Jo Gul simply shrugged.

“Just curious.”

You exhaled softly through your nose as you leaned back against the rock behind you. This was supposed to be a drinking session to unwind, after all. They’d managed to sneak a few bottles of alcohol and climb up the mountain in secret—though Hyun Young probably wouldn’t have minded anyway since he knows Chung Myung will come too.

You scratched your head again and looked up at the sky as if trying to organize your thoughts.

“What I like about that man? What kind of question is that?”

Luckily, Chung Myung hadn’t shown up yet—which was strange since he usually came running whenever alcohol was involved. But it seemed the Sect Leader hadn’t let him leave yet.

“Honestly, I think I would’ve asked that if Gul-ah hadn’t.”

“Is it really that strange?”

“It’d be stranger if it were't strange.”

You looked in surprise at Baek Cheon, who spoke his thoughts, and at the other disciples who nodded in agreement. But honestly, you should have expected that. Looking at it from another angle—who would really love that violent bastard in that way you do?

You brought the cup to your lips and threw your head back, downing the strong liquor all at once. The burning sensation in your throat had become a familiar thing over the past few years.

You let out a dramatic sigh and slammed the cup down onto the ground.

“Argh! Obviously, that’s not a question I can answer! If there’s some specific reason why you love someone, how can you call that real love!?”

You clenched your fists with intense passion, and the disciples leaned back in their spots with slightly twisted expressions. It seemed like they found what you said completely unrealistic—which, honestly, wasn’t wrong.

Seeing their faces, you fought to hold back your laughter. They sighed in resignation at your amused expression, but you weren’t about to let it go that easily.

“Still… well, he’s got beautiful eyes, you know. Undeniable.”

Yoon Jong spat out his drink and choked. Jo Gul smacked his back, but he just looked even more shocked by what you’d said. And that wasn’t even the end of it.

“Ah~ have you seen that lovely pink shade like plum blossoms? Pink wasn’t really special to me before, but for some reason, it’s incredibly charming when in his eyes!”

You laughed as if you were daydreaming about his eyes at that very moment. For some reason, Baek Cheon felt a churn in his stomach. He looked at the other disciples, and they wore similar expressions, confirming it wasn’t just him.

He looked at you, as if he was about to say something, but you didn’t notice and kept going.

“And the way he trains—”

Yoo Iseol covered her mouth in rare shock, and Tang Soso looked like she was about to pull her hair out by now.

“Sajo, no—!”

“It’s so hard, and every time I think I’m going to die, but I don’t, which is kind of unfortunate because I'll have to do it again... But think about it! He could just focus on himself, but he wants you to get stronger! Because he doesn’t want you to die! Because he wants you to live long and for him to spend nore time with you! Isn’t that so incredibly sweet? Oh, my poor little heart!”

“Samae, I don’t think it’s quite like that—”

Yoon Jong shut his mouth immediately and without hesitation when you shot him a glare. Yoon Jong shouldn’t have been scared of something like that since he was used to facing the devil named Chung Myung, but the sharp shift in your tone and presence from deep admiration to threatening intent was overwhelming.

“Say that again, Sahyung, I dare you.”

“Sorry—”

“So as I was saying…”

You went back to praising him as if nothing had happened, at an impressive speed. Whether or not you were even breathing between words was up for debate. It seemed like you’d just been waiting for someone to ask you that question.

“His personality is so complicated. Just when I think I really know him, I realize what I knew was just a drop in the ocean! I always have to stay on my toes because I don’t know what he’ll pull next—”

“Isn’t that the opposite of stability?”

“Yes! It’s like heaven for a woman like me since I get bored most of the time. And he’s so honest, he always says what you really need to hear! Isn’t that right, Sasuk?”

You looked at the man with a meaningful smile. Baek Cheon coughed awkwardly and looked away. That wasn’t a memory he was eager to revisit.

“He’s loud, but I love people with strong passion, even if he acts angry most of the time. So what? It’s not like there’s anyone perfect in the world. Honestly, I hate people who pretend to be perfect! It’s lying and hypocrisy! And they’re boring!”

The disciples exchanged nervous glances, while Hye Yeon, who had been listening silently, turned his gaze up to the dark sky as if he was having a moment of enlightenment. Or frankly... it was more like an existential crisis.

“Everyone knows he loves money, but has he ever been stingy about spending for the sect’s sake? It’s much harder to give something up when it’s something you truly want. A man who always puts others before himself and shields them when there’s danger. It’s hard to get close to him, but every moment of that process and everything after is worth it. He doesn’t care about women, but he never looks down on them either.”

You looked at Yu Iseol and Tang Soso for a moment. There was a flicker of realization in Tang Soso’s jade-green eyes. Yu Iseol gave a small nod of agreement, her expression as calm as ever.

You smiled.

“And he’s so beautiful!”

Your excitement returned with full force after having softened for a brief moment, and the disciples’ eyes twitched as if they were about to enter a meditative trance if not for your interruption.

“His black hair, those random little knots in it—every time I notice them, I get the urge to run my fingers through and untangle them myself while admiring the pearly shine on each strand!”

“Samae, stop—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Sahyung! You can’t ask someone a question and then not let them answer it when it doesn't suit you!”

You clenched your fist threateningly, making Jo Gul shrink his neck in fear. He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

“Speaking of the question! What kind of clever question was that, huh?! Sahyung should already know how amazing Chung Myung is! How could anyone not want to love and protect someone that precious?!”

How many people could actually listen to someone gush about Chung Myung without getting indigestion? Even after hearing all those good things about him, loving that man still seemed like an impossible task. Somehow, you were probably the only woman on earth who could manage it.

The disciples listened tensely, sweat beading on their faces as you rambled on about everything you loved about Chung Myung.

Yu Iseol averted her gaze for once, and Tang Soso looked around like she wasn’t sure what to say. Jo Gul fiddled awkwardly with the hem of his uniform, Yoon Jong looked up at the stars, and Hye Yeon quietly chanted a Buddhist prayer.

Baek Cheon massaged his temples like he was trying to get rid of a headache because... what had he just seen?

It was dark, but as a martial artist, there was no way he wouldn’t notice. Between the densely grown trees behind the rock you were leaning against...

Thanks to a light breeze just a moment ago, Baek Cheon saw something flutter quietly behind a nearby tree trunk.

There was no way Baek Cheon wouldn’t recognize that green hair tie and ponytail. It looked like the other disciples had seen it too. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

Only you hadn’t noticed it, since you were sitting with your back to the forest and were too busy talking.

“So…”

You paused for a moment when Tang Soso caught your attention. She’d succeeded in stopping you at that point.

“Sajo, why don’t you tell Chung Myung Sahyung that?”

The disciples all nodded in unison, even though they knew it was pointless since the man already knew by now. But at least they could hear the reason from you directly and maybe get you to quiet down for a bit.

“…”

You looked at them in silence, pressing your lips together for the first time in several minutes, your gaze dropping down as you poured yourself another cup of alcohol.

Well, no one had hoped to silence you like that. Tang Soso waved her hands quickly, her tone apologetic.

“Sajo, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to! Okay—?”

“…He doesn’t want that.”

Tang Soso fell silent when you answered calmly. It wasn’t a quiet filled with heartbreak or sadness or anything like that. It was simply serious.

“I don’t think he wants to hear any of this. And I cherish what we already have. I don’t have the strength to ruin everything over some trivial feelings.”

“…”

“He doesn’t need me in that way. He needs a friend to support him. Forcing something onto someone under the excuse of love is a despicable thing to do. How could I do this to him knowing that?”

You let out a sigh at the end, and a small smile found its way to your lips. Strangely, you didn’t seem bothered by it at all, your friendship with him was enough to you even when you in fact wanted more.

Unlike you, the other disciples had slightly wrinkled faces, as if they’d taken it upon themselves to feel frustrated on your behalf.

That was kind of funny, so you decided to tease them.

“What do you think, Sasuk~? Isn’t this sajil just so mature? Why not praise me instead of acting like a drama queen?”

“I’m not acting like a drama queen!”

Baek Cheon exhaled in frustration, his eyes watching your amused expression before glancing off toward the trees behind you.

He caught sight of a shadow slipping away. If he hadn’t known he was there, he wouldn’t have noticed his ghostly movement.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. But honestly, he was far too curious about what would happen tomorrow. He even thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep from all the overthinking.

—

Baek Cheon almost rubbed his eyes.

That was just how unbelievably absurd the scene in front of him was. But he held himself back; his dignity as the dae Sahyung of Baek line wouldn’t allow him to rub his eyes like that.

Except… there wasn’t much dignity left to protect when his jaw practically hit the floor. Luckily, no one commented on it—the younger disciples didn’t dare, the Five Swords and Hye Yeon, who were usually the type to make fun of him, weren’t in any better shape.

You weren’t doing anything unusual.

When everyone woke up in the morning, they started training as usual, and you were no exception. None of the six missed the fact that Chung Myung hadn’t glanced your way even once, but it wasn’t especially noteworthy.

But now, when the disciples had gathered in the dining hall for lunch. When you went to sit in your usual spot at the table with Tang Soso, Yoon Jong, Jo Gul, Hye Yeon and of course… Chung Myung.

While it wasn’t the first time, today felt a little different. The only empty seat was the one next to Chung Myung. Had Tang Soso and the other three conspired for that? What evil people.

No… that wasn’t the real problem.

Chung Myung still hadn’t looked at you, and yet, Baek Cheon almost spat out his food when he saw that faint red tint creeping up the back of Chung Myung’s neck like ink spreading across a surface.

And had he been chewing that bite for a whole minute now? Why wasn’t he eating with the usual ferocity like just a moment ago?

‘What am I even seeing right now?’

Baek Cheon really didn’t want to believe this…

„…His eyes are so beautiful…!“

Chung Myung accidentally swallowed his bite wrong when he’d just been trying to swallow his saliva absentmindedly.

He used to look at you without thinking, completely natural—and hadn’t noticed anything. But was that what you’d been thinking every time?

Of course. Damn these unnecessary emotions. It wasn’t like he had time for things like that… And yet, why couldn’t he calm down even knowing you weren’t planning to bring it up and talk about it, that you just wanted to keep things the way they were between you two?

Wasn’t that exactly what he’d wanted to hear at that moment? It was supposed to reassure him, knowing he could go about his days as usual without worrying about messy complications.

Anyway… what was wrong with you? Was there something off in your head to fall for someone like him? Every woman in the world ran from him as soon as they realized what kind of dirty personality he had, so how could you do something like this?

“Chung Myung-ah?”

God… Somehow, he managed not to flinch or jump up and run away. He didn’t want to turn toward you. He didn’t want to look at you.

“You’ve been acting weird for a while. Why aren’t you eating?”

Your tone was so casually curious. Damn it. Why did you have to make him suffer like this while you were all calm?

The four sitting with them went silent as soon as they heard that, and he could feel their eyes drilling into his head. These bastards…

“I-I’m fine.”

He forced himself to answer. And somehow, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t. His voice was drowned out by the chatter of the other disciples in the hall, and it became obvious just how uncharacteristically low his tone was.

Your eyes twitched when you noticed it.

“Heh, let me see your face.”

Chung Myung flinched when he felt your hand grab his forearm. What a solid grip you’d trained up! …He'd be proud of his hard work in any other occasion but could you please take it off him now?

“…Stop it, what are you doing?!”

“Let me see your pretty face, you bastard! Why are you depriving me of that view?!”

Normally, yeah… it sounded like you were just joking around to mess with him… But this time, it felt different. Those words weren’t just meaningless teasing to him anymore like before.

Of course, if Chung Myung weren’t in the worst mental state right now, you wouldn’t have been able to get away with it.

Miraculously—and this was unprecedented—you managed to push Chung Myung to the ground. He couldn’t miss the fact that you’d placed your hand on the back of his head to keep it from hitting the floor. That moment only lasted a second before you pinned his arms beside his head.

Chung Myung was completely caught off guard.

It was hard to breathe. He was afraid to move even a little and accidentally get his sides to come on contact with your legs that were settled firmly on either side of his waist. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, scrutinizing his face carefully.

“Chung Myung…”

Chung Myung felt his heart pounding like drums when you looked at him with that mischievous smile.

“If this were like usual, my head would’ve hit the ceiling by now. You didn’t even come to drink with us last night, you bastard who can’t act.”

You laughed. Chung Myung thought he was hallucinating when you leaned in closer. Your face was only inches away, and the distance kept shrinking until he felt dizzy.

You pressed your forehead against his. It was just a few brief moments, but in his mind, it stretched on endlessly.

Your eyes were fixed on his, and for some reason, he felt like they were consuming him. It felt like he was trapped in a narrow space where there wasn’t enough air.

His jaw trembled when he felt your faint breath hitting his lips, and the tip of your nose brushed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Just as I thought.”

Chung Myung felt like he's going to panic, what the fuck did you find out—

You lifted your head and grabbed it dramatically as you shouted.

“Oh my God! Chung Myung is sick!! Soso-ya!”

The hall, which had been completely silent for the past 35.21 seconds, exploded into noise the moment your words echoed.

“Chung Myung is sick?!!!”

“What?! Do imoogis even get sick?!??”

“I lived to see this day! Mom!!”

Tang Soso rushed over with a confused expression, but her face went blank when she saw Chung Myung.

‘Did his skin really change color? Why is he so red?’

Chung Myung stared up at the ceiling like a dead fish. His life was flashing before his eyes.

“Ah… What is this? What a beautiful river…”

“Ahhh!!! Chung Myung-ah!! Don’t die, we still need you!!!”

You grabbed Chung Myung by the collar and shook him, but your actions only made the chaos worse.

~

You watched the door to the medical hall in silence. Chung Myung had been taken there, and Tang Soso had chased the disciples away, saying patients needed space to recover first and foremost.

Your foot tapped against the floor repeatedly, arms crossed over your chest, your mind somewhere else entirely…

“Samae…”

“Shh.”

You silenced Yoon Jong the moment he called for you. Your mind was too busy thinking about things that were… very important.

Yes, important things… The image of Chung Myung pinned under you, his confused and red face for reasons you didn’t quite understand, a thin layer of sweat sliding down his trembling skin… It was engraved on the walls of your mind, and you’d make sure to remember it forever.

Chung Myung, the strongest man in the world, for some reason had looked weak beneath you. Yes, that was an extremely important that might not ever happen again.

“No, Samae…”

“Ugh, what?”

You turned toward him with irritation, one eyebrow raised, but found Yoon Jong handing you a handkerchief with a grimacing face.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Uh… Oh.”

After a moment of staring, you took the handkerchief with a slightly awkward nod. You wiped your nose and chin and glanced back toward the medical hall.

‘But how did he fall in the first place?’

You thought silently, you knew very well that Chung Myung was able to beat hundred men even when having a light fever, but he fell when you pushed him? Your eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance like there was something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

But a faint smile formed quietly under the handkerchief covering your mouth. There was something interesting here—and you were determined to find out exactly what it was.

✦

A lil addition~

• after that incident, they called you "the only disciple that can push CM down". CM snapped when he found out.

• BC always thought that CM had something weird for you but he wasn't sure what it was. CM himself didn't even notice it.

• you teased CM for a week after that, sometimes to the point where he ended up beating you but it was worth it.

• CM became so frustrated once and ended up kissing you to shut you tf up. Of course he was drunk. (Cringe ik)

• after that CM went into seclusion.

[reijisteacup]

The way I started happily tweaking when I saw the open ask box 😋

Anyways welcome back

Here's my outrageous silly ask

How would they react to their so talking to their friend over the phone and the so saying she was gonna get them pregnant (full biological female btw 😋)

Sakamaki's

Shu Sakamaki: He lifts one earbud out, raising a brow like he must’ve misheard. “…What did you just say?” You’re still giggling with your friend. “I’m gonna get him pregnant, fr.” Shu leans in, lazy voice deadly calm. “...You know, I might let you try. But you better take responsibility when I’m the one crying at 2 a.m.” Will absolutely flip it into a sleep-deprived pregnancy fantasy just to mess with you. But deep down? He’s now fantasizing about you taking control. And he’s not okay.

Reiji Sakamaki: He drops the tea cup. “…Excuse me??” He glares like you just violated every law of God and science. “Would you care to elaborate on how exactly you intend to accomplish that feat?” You try to brush it off, but he’s already scribbling out a diagram like, “Was this a metaphysical reference? A threat? An invitation?” His eye twitches for a full hour. Expect a full PowerPoint presentation titled: “Reproduction: Why You’re Not Getting Me Pregnant, But Also Let’s Discuss Hypotheticals.”

Ayato Sakamaki: “HUH???” He practically launches across the room. “YOU’RE gonna get ME pregnant??” He’s flustered. Loud. “YOU DON’T EVEN GOT THE—! HOW WOULD THAT EVEN—?!” Your phone friend is wheezing with laughter. Ayato’s face is beet red. “Don’t joke like that, Chichinashi!! I’m the one who’s supposed to knock you up!!” …But the image is now burned into his brain and he has conflicting feelings.

Kanato Sakamaki: His head snaps toward you like a possessed doll. “…Pregnant?” He walks over slowly. “Are you planning to defile my body with your lies now?” He is offended. Deeply disturbed. But then he clutches your shirt. “If I were pregnant… you’d stay with me forever, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t leave?” It gets dark fast. You might wanna hang up.

Laito Sakamaki: “Oh~? Bitch-chan’s feeling bold today~” He hears you giggling to your friend: “I’m gonna get him pregnant.” Cue dangerous laughter from across the room. “Ufufu… I didn’t know you had a breeding kink for me,~ how adorable~” He will never let you live it down. But you best believe he’ll lean into the fantasy until you’re red in the face. “Tell me, where should I put my legs, hmm?~”

Subaru Sakamaki: He CHOKES on his drink. “WHAT THE HELL—?! W-WHAT DID YOU JUST—?!” Subaru is scarlet. “I—THAT’S—YOU CAN’T—YOU DON’T—!!!” You try to calm him down but he’s already in a full panic spiral. “WHY WOULD YOU EVEN JOKE LIKE THAT—WHAT IF SOMEONE HEARD—OH MY GOD.” He’s yelling into the void while punching walls. Completely, utterly, tragically shook.

Mukami's

Ruki Mukami: He pauses mid-page of his book. “…You’re going to what?” You say it again for your friend. “I’m gonna get him pregnant.” He sighs. Closes the book. “This level of delusion borders on blasphemy.” But he gets up, saunters over, and tilts your chin up. “Do it, then. Show me how.” Oh no. You’ve awakened something. Expect possessive dominance and three hours of questioning: “Is this how you see me? Helpless beneath you?” Spoiler: He likes it.

Kou Mukami: “Ah~ Neko-chan, you’re so funny!” He laughs sweetly at first, waving it off like it’s nothing. But internally? ⚠️MALFUNCTION⚠️ His entire worldview is collapsing. YOU'RE the predator now?! He starts clinging to you harder. “…You really wouldn't, right? You wouldn’t violate my purity like that, right?” Suddenly he’s clinging to your arm, fake-pouting. “I’m too pretty to be pregnant!” You’re not sure if he’s joking. You’re scared.

Yuma Mukami: “WHAT THE ACTUAL F***?!” He goes FULL farm boy meltdown. “You tryin’ to plant some seeds in me now??” You’re DYING laughing, but Yuma looks genuinely traumatized. “Damn Sow, what kinda cursed-ass witchcraft you planning??” He can’t stop picturing it. It’s haunting him. He refuses to sleep next to you for a week. But also… you catch him blushing when he looks at your hands. He’s not okay.

Azusa Mukami: “…You… want to get me… pregnant?” He just stares at you. You smile. “Yeah. You’d be cute, all soft and hormonal.” He blushes. “…That sounds… kind of nice…” AZUSA IS INTO IT. HE IS SO DOWN. “You’d… take care of me? Feed me… strange cravings?” You were joking. He’s planning names.

Tsukinami's

Carla Tsukinami: He freezes. “…You dare utter such an impossible suggestion?” Cold. Sharp. But his eye twitches. “Do you view me as… lesser? A vessel for your whims?” You start laughing and Carla’s ego is demolished. He takes it personally. Begins a week-long lecture on divine biology and supremacy. But… next full moon, you catch him watching you. Quiet. Curious. “…If you could… would you?”

Shin Tsukinami: “You WHAT??” He flips the table. “I’M the one with the fangs! You can’t just—WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” You try to explain it’s just a meme, a joke, but he’s losing his mind. “If anyone’s getting pregnant, it’s YOU!!” Now he's on a mission to reassert dominance. That night, he traps you against the bedpost and growls: “Say it again. I dare you.” (…You do.) (And it ends exactly how you imagined.)

[radioiaci]

"Baffling, isn't it? But I suppose not all are smart enough to know bad meat when they see it. I ensured that they knew after that, the warning signs. Otherwise, some other poor soul might have suffered the same fate." He chuckles, amused by the thought of throttling someone to save a future someone from a culinary crime. Alastor would not put it past himself to be capable of such a thing.

Ears swiveling forward, the radio demon gives a nod.

"I would be happy to. When I will not be looked upon with funny expressions for being covered in cats, anyway. Maybe think about what sort of dish you might enjoy? I specialize in southern flavors, but I'm quite practiced in a variety of tastes and cuisine." Bragging - as he tends to do, especially when it comes to his own personal talents. Alastor cannot help it. He has an ego.

"You know - You seem to take quite an interest in me, and yet I still know less than I'd like about you. Aside from your work, I imagine there are still things that you might enjoy sharing." Perhaps there is a bit of prompting in the topic. Angel Dust is a bit of a mystery to him, even now, when they have shared space and time. But surely there must be more.

More, he thinks, than Valentino may have access to.

Angel’s manners can’t be described as barbaric in any sense, though he’s not been the most polished gentleman in all his years, he wasn’t in a desperate position this time. It wasn’t like it had been days to make him tear through what was put in front of him like a ravenous dog. Instead, while he may be slow, he is far more casual, being able to take his time and enjoy something shows a rather cheerful disposition. Small bops of his head and sways of a nonexistent rhythm were signs even without the usual telltale.

He had him at clouded eyes- immediate reaction of a wrinkling nose. Which, if anyone knew what Angel puts in his mouth in or out of work, really said something.

“They even missed tha’ biggest red flag. How do ya miss a bad fish- everyone knows about the eyes, an’ it’s kinda hard to believe you’d miss the entire body lookin’ off- much less when ya cut into it…!” Clearly this appalls him. Some things he can understand, some fish facts he knows are more of a highly trivial and obscure variety. But this is fucking up on a level he fears that the Sicilian part if his Ancestry may very well show up at any moment to riot.

With that, he may be disgusted, but holds interest in it. Very adamant interest. Leaning forward to listen in with a scrunched smile. Worries seeping away, and the fork finding its way to his mouth.

That smile takes on some other qualities when Alastor adds those kind words to the conversation, he usually reacted well to praise. It really did something to make him feel better- more worthy or whatever bullshit feelings that rattled around in his fried little brain.

“Heh! You think so, huh? Flattery will definitely get ya places.” He teases. “That’s good, though. It’s been nothin’ but a pleasure spendin’ time with ya. I raised tha’ bar from what I’m hearin’ though. I’ll definitely keep it in mind. Gotta keep it up to snuff, and all.”

Joking aside, he doesn’t want to disappoint, naturally. But he finds himself less worried the more time passes. Even mistakes and short comings do not appear to be met with displeasure or scorn. The sweater being a prime example.

“Maybe I can see your skill sometime, when ya got your clothes back. Hmhm! “

[my-castles-crumbling]

grown - july 17 - black brothers - trans!regulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 435

He’d had nightmares about seeing Sirius again. He had so much anger–so much regret–but most of all, he was terrified. What would his older brother say when he realized how much had changed? That, quite literally, he wasn’t the same person anymore?

Would he even recognize him anymore? Did he want him to, or was he filled with too many emotions that he’d never get past them?

It was a cool day in April. A random coffeeshop in London, busy with the end of the workday.

Gray eyes met gray, and both faces lit up with recognition.

Fear, terrible, gnawing fear, swept through his body.

“Reggie?” Sirius asked, disbelieving, as he looked him up and down.

“Sirius,” he gasped. “You–your hair’s grown.” 

It was a stupid thing to say. Obvious, first of all, and also the last thing they needed to talk about. But Sirius, ever the positive one, laughed. Then he said, “Yours hasn’t.”

Regulus tugged self-consciously at his short, dark curls, face twisting into a grimace. “Yeah.” Technically it had, he supposed, but since his hair had been shoulder-length when Sirius’d left and now it was only to his ears, it was an objectively funny joke.

And then, the look formed in Sirius’s eyes. The one that warned about questions that Regulus dreaded answering. Hurtful statements and gut-wrenching preconceived notions.

He steeled himself as Sirius opened himself to speak.

“What should I call you?”

He gasped softly. “What?”

“What–” Sirius swallowed uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot. “Erm, maybe I’ve assumed. You know what they say about that,” he flashed him a grin. “But…I thought you were…maybe not? Erm, I was asking, do you still use the same name?”

It took Regulus a moment to process, to realize that Sirius was asking what he thought he was asking. “Regulus,” he said softly, heart thrumming in his chest as warmth pooled in his stomach. Was it really as simple as that? God, everyone else in his family had been so….

“Regulus? Like the star?” Sirius grinned happily, pointing a bit to himself. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he grumbled, unable to stop himself. “Everyone else is named after stars, too.”

“Hm. Sure. Suits you, though,” his older brother beamed. “Can…will you tell me about you? I’d love to know who you are, now. You’ve no idea how much I missed you.”

He fought the odd wave of nostalgia that surged through him. He’d forgotten what it was like. To have a brother. “Sit?” he asked, gesturing to a wobbly table.

They sat in the little coffee shop, catching up, until it closed.

[andy-15-07]

heyyyy!!!! I recently read Pedro pascals interview and saw that he said how much he hates bullies… :(

Could I possibly request a story of Pedro pascal helping younger reader from bullies :D

Somebody on My Side

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 958| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller Masterlist

You didn’t say anything on the drive home.

Pedro kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, one hand gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. The silence in the car wasn’t the good kind. It wasn’t peaceful,it was heavy.

You sat curled against the window, hoodie pulled over your head like a shield, headphones in but nothing playing.

He didn’t push. Not yet.

He waited until you were home,shoes kicked off by the door, bag dumped in the hallway,before he gently called, “Mi amor, can you come sit with me for a second?”

You hesitated in the hallway.

He was on the couch, arms stretched open,not demanding, just… waiting. Patient. Soft.

You slowly walked over and curled up beside him, tucking your legs under yourself.

Pedro wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

You shook your head.

He nodded, quiet. “Okay. But I can tell something happened.”

You swallowed hard. The words burned in your throat.

“I just…” you mumbled, eyes fixed on a loose thread on your sleeve, “I wish I could be someone else.”

Pedro stilled. “Why would you say that?”

“They’re right,” you muttered. “I’m weird. I’m annoying. I’m not like the others. I talk too much. Or not enough. I say the wrong things. I wear the wrong stuff. I look stupid. They,”

“Hey,” Pedro said gently, but firmly. He turned toward you, hand resting on your arm. “They said that to you?”

You shrugged, like maybe if you didn’t confirm it out loud, it wouldn’t be real.

His voice got softer. “Y/N…”

“I tried to ignore them,” you whispered. “I tried not to let it get to me, but it’s every day, Pedro. It’s the way they laugh when I walk past. Or the way they whisper behind me in class. I don’t even have to do anything wrong. I just exist and it’s,funny to them.”

Pedro took a slow breath through his nose. “I want you to listen to me. Really listen. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

He reached for your hand.

“I don’t care what those kids say. I don’t care if it’s one person or ten,they’re wrong. They don’t get to define who you are. You’re not weird. You’re not annoying. You’re not anything other than exactly who you’re supposed to be. You hear me?”

You blinked fast, willing the tears not to fall.

“They made me feel like I don’t matter,” you whispered. “Like I could disappear and no one would notice.”

Pedro’s expression broke.

“Don’t you ever say that,” he said, voice thick. “Don’t you ever think that. You matter to me. You matter more than I can ever explain. You’re not invisible, and you’re not alone. I see you. I see how strong you are for walking in there every day, still being you, still holding your head up even when it’s hard.”

You bit your lip, finally letting a tear fall.

He reached up to wipe it with his thumb.

“I wish I could go in there and tell them off,” he said, half-joking, but you could tell he meant it. “But I can’t do that. What I can do is be here. Every day. Every minute. To remind you who you really are.”

“And who’s that?” you asked, voice small.

Pedro smiled, warm and sure.

“You’re kind. You’re smart. You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You’ve got this big heart that you try to hide, but I see it. You care so much about the people around you. You’re creative. Brave. And honestly? You’re one of my favorite people in the world.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “You mean that?”

He cupped the side of your face, nodding. “With everything I’ve got.”

You leaned into his hand.

“I hate them,” you mumbled. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I do.”

Pedro nodded slowly. “You’re allowed to be angry. What they’re doing is cruel. But you know what? You’re not like them. You’ve already won because you don’t go around hurting others to feel better. That makes you stronger than all of them combined.”

You let out a shaky breath, whispering, “I’m just so tired of pretending like it’s fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend around me,” Pedro said softly. “Never.”

There was a long pause. You looked up at him.

“Do you ever feel like that? Like you didn’t fit in?”

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh. “All the time. Especially when I was younger. I was this awkward, skinny kid with too much energy and too many feelings. People didn’t always get me. But I found my people. I found the ones who did.”

He touched your chest lightly. “And you will too.”

You sniffled. “You’re my person.”

Pedro smiled gently. “You’re mine too.”

You rested your head on his shoulder.

“Will you stay here for a bit?” you whispered.

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he said, arms wrapping around you like armor. “Always.”

Later that night, Pedro surprised you with takeout and your favorite movie queued up.

He threw a blanket over both of you and pulled you close again, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

“I was thinking,” he said casually, “maybe we could find something new for you to try. Like a club or something. Somewhere with people who see you the way I do.”

“Like what?”

“Art club. Theater. Chess. Anime club. Whatever speaks to you.”

You smiled faintly. “I don’t really know who I am yet.”

Pedro ruffled your hair. “Then we get to figure it out together.”

You looked at him for a long time.

And for the first time all week, your chest didn’t feel so heavy.

[dodger432101]

May I please request, a fic or the like of the Reader and Lux encountering the Doctor (Specifically the 14th incarnation) 20 years or so AFTER Lux’s return? Specifically because, both Celeste and Nyx recognized him (although not Donna) due to the blue Police Box and the odd light that emanates inside this strange man. Yet the Doctor isn’t actually after Lux or his demigods, but trying to find Donna’s daughter, Rose.

[It's really funny to think of them meeting the other Doctor instead of the one Lux and reader encountered]

Today was supposed to be a normal day, not outstanding from the rest of your week, but it seems some higher power wants to liven things up. You're at Palazzo with your little family. It's a maintenance day so the picture house is closed to the public, perfect for a visit from the God of Light and his girls who love to show off their abilities to grandpa Pye. You sit on the bottom row of the theatre seats, watching your daughters dance around Reginald while performing every trick they know. Lux is on your lap, cuddled up to you. While this building was no longer under his control (his harbinger has settled over your house, keeping watch whenever you're all out) he still feels relaxed in here. He lets out a lazy sigh, leaning more of his weight onto you.

And then someone else enters the picture house.

Lux dissipates into the light, hiding himself in case it's just someone who missed the closed sign. You can hear two people talking, a man and a woman, and suddenly you get a rush of dread in the form of memories from years ago, the day you lost Lux. It couldn't be him again, right? Surely there wasn't a reason for him to come back. You stand in front of your daughters as these two people walk into the theatre. It's.. not them. Though something still makes you wary of that man. Something about him keeps you on edge, even when he strolls over with a friendly “Hello! Sorry for intruding, saw the sign and all, but we’re looking for my niece,” He points to the ginger woman next to him. “Her daughter. Has anyone else come in?” The way he’s dressed, the curious look he gives the room and you and your daughters has the hair on the back of your neck standing up. It can’t be, it can’t be him, it looks nothing like him!

Mr Pye -the cordial, warm man he is- smiles at the man and shakes his head. “No, you two are the only other people who have come in, I’m afraid.” You and that man have been having some kind of staring contest since he spoke, each becoming more cautious of the other the longer he’s been here. He looks like he’s ready to leave, but then Nyx peeks at them from behind you and the woman coos at her cute little face. They both crouch down to her level, and she moves to stand next to you. Then she points at the man.

“You’ve got a similar light to dad’s.” It causes Celeste to move onto the other side of you, nodding in agreement.

“What does she mean by that?” The woman looks between the man and Nyx.

“I don’t know.. What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Nyx happily walks over to stand in front of him. “Means our dad has light, and yours is similar, silly!” You can see him narrow his eyes at her, turning his head to the side as he scans her face.

“Who is your dad?”

Celeste has joined her sister, giggling at his question. “You must know, you've met him!” That has the man up on his feet, the woman following suit as he takes a few steps back. It's him. That Time Lord is back.

You quickly get in front of your daughters. “I knew it, I knew there was something off about you. Why are you here again? Are you here to separate us again? Was 5 years not enough?!” Your sharp tone has them backing up further. “You've been lucky, I know what you've encountered, and it's always been one at a time. How would you cope with multiple at once? What if I summoned every God I know the name of to this room?” So far they've just looked confused, but at the mention of Gods the man's eyes widen.

Luckily for them, Lux fades into visibility and stands next to you, patting your leg with a nervous chuckle. “Relax, angel, I don't think it's the same Doctor.” There's more than one?

“There's more than one?!”

Your God decides he needs to shift into his human form, giving you a hug as he sighs lightly. “Yes sunshine, there is, we met the newest one. That's the previous incarnation I believe.”

“That cartoon just became a man.”

The both of you look over, giggling at their surprised expressions. “Right, yeah, you never met me, did ya Doctor?” Lux unwraps his arms from around you to bow. “Lux Imperator, God of Light, truly a pleasure!” Then he looks at the woman. “And you must be.. uh, Amy?”

“Wrong ginger.”

“Donna.”

“There you go.”

Sensing that the tension has somewhat lifted, Celeste pokes her head from behind your leg. “So that's not the Doctor that you nearly killed, dad?” You have to stifle a laugh at the worried look that rises to Lux’s face.

“That wasn't intentional by the way!” Then he poofs back to the toon form to mumble to his daughter. “No it's not, starlight, and please don't mention that.” The kids look disappointed, knowing they're not meeting the Time Lord their dad “fought”. Now they're no longer interested in this new Doctor, and go back to playing.

Donna is soon dragged over by them. Seems they like showing off only to humans and Gods. “You must be another member of the Pantheon.” The Doctor slowly comes closer, seemingly still a little wary of you and Lux.

Your lover isn't as worried, grabbing his hands up at you so that you pick him up. “I am. Though don't you worry, I’ve been on my best behaviour! No tormenting the human race, I'm just living my best life with my little family.” He rubs his cheek against yours, smiling at the laugh you let out. The Time Lord relaxes, even smiles at the display before he looks at Donna and your daughters.

“I'm curious, sorry in advance, did you have those two with the cartoon or the human?”

“Neither, actually.” He looks back at you, eyebrows raising. “Lux.. wasn't here when I had Celeste. I didn't do well with his disappearance.” You subconsciously hold the God in your arms a little tighter. “He'd been gone for so long, I was starting to think I wouldn't see him again. So I started wishing, every night, for him to come back.” Lux nuzzles up closer to you, knowing this is a tough subject for you to talk about. It puts a smile back on your face. “I guess I should've been more specific. Definitely got something of him back, they're both so similar to their dad in their own ways. I'd only had Celeste for a month or two before he came back.” You nudge him with your head, and he squishes the side of his face against you. “Nyx came after that, Cel was about a year old by then. Getting pregnant while missing the father of the baby wasn't the most fun experience, but.. Having her with me made that last stretch of time without him easier.”

Lux pokes at your shoulder while he grins at you. “It's like I knew just what you needed!” He starts squirming in your arms as you dance your fingers over his side.

“You knew nothing! You were as surprised as I was when you found out I had a child!”

He wiggles out of your grasp, which only puts him in the line of fire from his daughters. They chase him around the theatre before he's cornered and tackled. “Well, I have no qualms with leaving him be. You'll keep an eye on him, right?” You look over to the Time Lord and nod.

“He won't be getting up to any mischief while I'm around. Same with the kids. I'll keep them in check.”

The Doctor nods back at you then turns to Donna. “This was quite the fun detour, eh? We better actually go find Rose, she could be anywhere by now.” Cel and Nyx wave them out, continuously saying bye until they're out of sight. You let out a sigh of relief when you hear them leave, finally able to truly relax.

Lux is suddenly right next to you, back to being in his human form. “Threatening a Time Lord.. No wonder the Pantheon accepted you so quickly.” He gives you a proud smile and a kiss on the cheek before Nyx clears her throat. Both kids are smiling quite smugly. “Yes, ok, that Doctor wasn't so scary. You're lucky that was the nice one.” They don't look very convinced about that, but they go back to playing with Mr Pye anyway. You sit back down, the God of Light situates himself in your lap (thankfully in toon form), and it's like there was never anyone else in here but you five.