#I’m saying call your mom and talk about something other than politics

[shego1142]

So to begin with there’s a lot of merit to “water is wet” type studies, which is that researching things that “seem obvious” is good for documenting stuff that might otherwise not be provable or useful later on when the “obviousness” has been lost to time.

Remember how no one knew how to make ancient concrete because it was “so obvious” that it was mixed with sea water it wasn’t worth writing down? Yeah, always write everything down. In triplicate or more so.

But also this isn’t just some big own to the maga cult

This is like… an actual serious and real issue. Trump is quite literally a BITE model cult leader and he is preying on the underprivileged, and the poor (as well as the abused) to lead his cult.

Am I saying all maga enthusiasts are poor little babies who can’t help themselves? No. Obviously I’m not. Also this doesn’t apply to all of trumps followers either, a LARGE percentage of them are actually very smart and very wealthy and they know that Trump is going to cater to the very wealthy elites.

But this isn’t about them.

This is about your great grandma who wasn’t able to finish school past 5th grade because she had to get married to someone 4 times her age and she was pregnant by the time she was 12. She isn’t really into politics and doesn’t understand most of what they’re saying when it comes to legal jargon, but her pastor tells her that Trump is an honest good hearted man, and she guesses that she doesn’t need to know much else.

This is about your paranoid and delusional uncle who had to take time off school to go to a mental hospital but he never really got better because mental hospitals are underfunded and oftentimes corrupt and he fell down a rabbit hole where he got redpilled so hard he doesn’t know which way is up and the maga cult has convinced him that he’s “more fun at parties when he doesn’t take those liberal pills.” He needs help, genuine professional help, but he’s stuck in a position where the only possible opportunity he has is to get worse.

This is about your mom, who does know it’s wrong, who is put on edge by trumps chauvinism and doesn’t really thing anything is wrong with a book about gay penguins, but the ever growing array of bruises on her arms, the black eyes and broken noses that she hides with sunglasses, the words “you shall not tell a lie” and “you must obey your husband” has her terrified that Susie May at the local polling station will be a Nosy Nancy and word will get back to your dad.

I’m not saying we should coddle people and absolve them of their crime, far from it.

But, in the words of Kamala herself, we exist in the context of what came before us.

It is absolutely ridiculous to pretend that Trumpism isn’t a failing of society as a whole.

People slipped through the cracks, communities have let the mentally unwell go without help, not having different options for education (we all know public schools have the potential to be fucked up beyond belief but it’s all anyone can afford

We can’t just say “haha you’re stupid!” And pretend like this isn’t a reflection of our society and the way it works. We can’t pretend that this isn’t incredibly sad. Or that it wasn’t intentional.

A lot of otherwise good people who are broken, beaten down, uneducated, and or don’t know how to deal with their emotions are following Trump because they are angry and they want their lives to change. They’re quite literally in a cult. They’re scared, paranoid, they’ve been lied to and controlled and manipulated. Many, many maga cult members are well and truly brainwashed and genuinely wouldn’t be making the decisions they’re making if they received the help and care they need.

Yes they’re are absolutely still the “leopards eating my face” club.

No I’m not saying that they should be allowed to get away with the shit they get away with, they’re doing horrible things and voting for horrible people who do horrible things.

But we have got to be more aware and more vocal about the fact that they’re in a dangerous and deeply harmful cult.

The first step to leaving a cult is understanding that you’re directly being hurt by said cult.

Most people who are trapped in cults don’t even realise they’re in a cult.

If we were able to raise enough money for your granddad to retire happily from his predatory 5 days a week 12 hour shifts at Walmart where he gets screamed at all day, little to no break, and isn’t allowed to sit down, he’d probably be way less likely to vote for Trump.

If your mom was able to get out of the harmful and abusive environment she’s grown up with and have breathing room, without being monitored 24/7, she probably wouldn’t vote for Trump.

The good ole southern boy just turned 18 who’s been in the closet ever since his daddy beat him for wearing his mom’s lipstick when he was 5 probably wouldn’t vote for Trump if he had the means of getting away from his parents but his dad’s the football coach and the history teacher and their underfunded home town public school had Trump merch hanging up in every other classroom, and the homework assignment come November is to tell everyone who you voted for and why.

My point is just that when Trump finally dies there will be a lot of people who will suddenly and without warning just… return to normal. It will literally be very weird for anyone with Trump supporting loved ones.

I’ve sat down and talked to my mom at length about why she wants to vote for Trump, when he’s so much like all the men in her life who’ve done nothing but abuse her.

She flat out said that he’s like her dad, and she said that her dad would have voted for him despite being a democrat.

Her dad physically, emotionally and sexually abused her, her older sister, her younger brothers as well as her mom, starting when she was as young as 3 and continuing for 5 years or more.

She wants her dad (who was abusive and has been dead for years) to be proud of her. To love her like he was meant to.

It’s genuinely a sickness.

I’m not saying that you have to play nicely with Trump supporters or anything.

Like, fuck that, go curb stomp nazis, call them weird and make fun of them if they’re being assholes to you or other people. It works.

But if you’ve ever met someone who’s an absolute sweetheart and wondered why or how seemingly nice people could be persuaded by the worst of the worst?

It’s because it’s a cult. Cults prey on uneducated people and that is not an own, that is a condemnation of society.

We owe it to our children, our friends, our families, our neighbours, to make sure that going forward people are far less desperate.

Check in on your loved ones, try to get the elderly or the mentally unwell people in your life out of the house and doing hobbies other than watching Fox News. Be a friend to the lost looking teens who have nowhere to go and nothing to do but be yelled at by their parents.

[luveline]

Hi lovely!

I saw you’re looking for Hotch requests and I think I requested one before but I forgot what it is oops.

Could I please have one where Jack calls R mom for the first time and she feels super guilty about it but Hotch is super sweet.

Thanks!

ty for requesting 💞 fem (mom and stepmom!) reader, 1.4k

You’re obsessed with your little baby, but you’d loved Hotch’s son for a long time before you had your own, and you’ve continued to love Jack as your own regardless. If anything, having a baby only cemented that you love him. 

Though you’d never disrespect his mother or what she gave up for him, you’re a parent to Jack. When Hotch is home, Jack is home, and when he isn’t you have Jack four days out of the week anyways, splitting him lovingly with his Aunt Jess. You take care of him and you love to do it; being his stepmother is a gift. You love Jack. 

And he loves to cuddle. 

“Rub my hair,” he demands sleepily, crushed as far into your neck and chest as he can be without pushing his brother out of the way. 

“Say please,” you say, already bringing your hand up where it’s sandwiched behind him to stroke the hair from his eyes. “Like this?” 

“Thank you.” 

He’s pretty much always polite when he’s not tired. Which has little to do with you and everything to do with Haley and Hotch, you’re sure, he’d been a picture of a golden child the day you met him and besides the occasional tantrum or naughty spell, he’s a grateful child. He says thank you for things you want no thanks for, when you towel dry his hair at night for bed, or when you help him into his socks. He once said thank you for a kiss on the cheek, as if it wasn’t something you’d wanted to do. 

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his brow. “Can I have a little kiss?” 

You kiss his brow when he smiles, letting your eyes flutter closed, nose still pressed to his skin. 

“I love you, mommy,” he says, wrapping his arm around your neck with a sleepy snuffle. 

You struggle to answer. The baby gurgles against your chest.

There has been a lot of mommy talk lately. Hotch is calling you mommy often now that the baby’s born, cutesy stuff like, There’s mommy! when you come back from a shower, or How’s your mom? when he’s home from work and he wants to hold the baby, but he wants to check on you at the same time.

He’s never called you Jack’s mom, but Jack’s six. He was bound to get confused, or to feel new feelings, though you weren’t expecting him to do it right now. 

Eventually, you figure you’ll do what’s best for Jack even if that best isn’t something you deserve. “I love you too, baby.” 

“Are you falling to sleep?” he asks. 

You have arms full of children and Hotch will be home any minute if what he said on the phone is true, so you won’t. “Maybe not yet, but you can sleep if you want to. I’m sure dad will wake you up when he gets home.” 

Jack settles in with the baby. Your promise gives him the solace he needs to sleep.

…What if Hotch is angry? 

You’ll tell him what happened, of course, because you don’t have secrets with each other, and even if you did this is something he’s owed, right? He’s been completely candid with you about everything, how he loved Haley, how he feels he failed her in more ways than her death, and how he loves her still. 

You don’t feel like you’re competing for his loyalty or affection, it’s simply clear that he respects Haley’s memory very strongly. What if you tell him what Jack said, and what you hadn’t said, and he’s furious? 

The door opens downstairs. Hotch calls hello, but with Jack and the baby both sleeping, you stay quiet in fear of waking them. You listen to him do a familiar dance, the click of the safe where he retires his firearms, the rushing water of the faucet as he makes himself a glass of water, and then a second you assume to be for you. 

You shuffle Jack from your chest gently, pulling the baby into the curve of your arm and depositing him with an overabundance of caution into the crib. 

You hurry to the door, finger on your lips, startling your husband on the last stair. 

“I need to talk to you about something,” you whisper. 

He gestures for you to walk back down with him. He’s unperturbed by your worry, two glasses in one hand so he can use the other to feel at your shoulder as you take the stairs in front of him. “What happened?” he whispers. 

“It’s–” You wince, descending the stairs with a distinct sense of nausea. “Can we sit down? I’ll make you something to eat.” 

“I’m fine,” he says, following you to the kitchen, where you sit in adjacent chairs at the dinner table. 

You brace your hands on a placemat. 

He laughs and takes them into his own. “Nothing you tell me is worth all this worrying.” 

“It’s about Jack.” 

His smile fades. “What about him, honey?” 

“We were upstairs… You know how he is, he climbed on top of me and we were cuddling because Noah finally fell asleep, and,” —it’s best to just tell, even if you feel clammy and guilty before you’ve admitted to it— “he called me mommy. I’d never tell him to, I promise.” 

Hotch brings his hands up slowly, yours raising with them where he’s holding your wrists. “What did he say?” 

“He said he loved me. ‘I love you, mommy.’” 

“What did you say?” 

Your grimace is apologetic, eyebrows pinched. “I said I loved him too.” 

“And you’re worried that’s not okay?” You nod. “It sounds to me that he was just telling you how he feels. When you wake him up in the mornings and you tuck him in at night, and you’re the person he goes to when he needs a bandaid, you must feel like his mother.” 

“But I’m not.” 

“No.” His dark eyes are relaxed, his brow only a shade of its usual downturn. “Haley is his mother, and she’d love how you treat him. He will always, always know who his mother is. But if he wants to call you mom, a woman who loves him and looks after him with the same tenderness as you do your own, then I think that’s okay, especially with Noah getting older… How do you feel about it?” 

“I love him.” 

He does that silly smile where he’s more happy than he’ll admit to, leaning forward, pressing your hands to his arm and then his lips. “He loves you,” he says. 

Hotch stands and offers a hug. When you take it, he sways you from side to side. “She really would’ve liked you, honey. It was me who let her down.” 

“But her baby calling me mom…”

“I know. It’s a conflicting feeling.” 

You let out a big sigh and slouch in his arms. You’re warm butter under his touch. He reacts accordingly, bending and cupping the back of your neck. 

“It felt awesome,” you confess. He might as well know. After the remorse, you were happy. Jack must really love you. 

“You’re very, very good to him. Just let him love you however he wants to, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget who his mother was, and how much she loved him.” 

You wouldn’t let Jack forget her either. 

Hotch leans away to dot a kiss to your cheek before he hugs you again. “How are they? The boys?” 

“Sleeping. Waiting for you to come home and wake them up. Maybe please don’t wake up Noah, he might sleep through the night tonight if we leave him alone.” 

“I won’t. I’ll see him in the morning.” His smile is audible. “I’m a little jealous, I think. Jack hardly ever says he loves me first.” 

“You clearly don’t cuddle enough.” 

“That,” he says, giving your hip a squeeze, ���is a low blow. But I’ll allow it.” 

“You’ll allow it?” 

Another adoring sweep of his arms on your back. “You can say what you want,” he amends. “Thank you for taking care of things while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t need to say thank you, you’re a family, but you appreciate the gesture. “You’re welcome, handsome.” 

[waitimcomingtoo]

Sugar And Spice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets jealous when a guy keeps coming into the bakery to flirt with you

Masterlist

“Can you watch the bakery for a second while I frost a cake?”

“I can do it but I have to warn you. I’m super charming so we’re probably gonna get a bunch of customers and sell out immediately.” You said and held up your hands in defense. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he watched you tie an apron around your waist. Something about you wearing something that had his last name on it made you even more endearing. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t doubt your charm but we haven’t had any customers all day.” He reminded you.

“That’s because you’ve been keeping me in the back. Go frost your cake. This place will be packed when you return. Just watch”. You said and shooed him okay.

“Okay.” He replied sarcastically.

You were only alone in the bakery for a few minutes before someone came in. It was a guy around your age wearing a hard helmet so you could only assume he was a coal miner.

“Hello.” He smiled at you as he walked up the counter.

“Hello.” You replied. “Welcome to Mellark Bakery.”

“Do you guys sell bread?” He asked you.

“Here? At the bakery?” You asked and stepped to the side to give him a full view of all the baskets of bread behind you.

“Okay, it was a dumb question.” He admitted.

“It’s okay. It’s probably the only question you can ask that I could actually answer. I just learned what yeast was a little while ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t usually work here?”

“I don’t. My best friends family owns the place. But his brother gave his mom a cold and then the whole family caught it. I’m just filling in until they’re better.” You explained.

“That’s a shame. I thought I’d have two reasons to come in here now.” The boy said with a coy smile.

“Two reasons?”

“For delicious bread and a chance to see the pretty girl working the counter.” He replied. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his flirting before smiling. You’d never had a boy flirt with you so boldly so it made you feel good.

“Well, thanks. How can I help you?” You asked him.

“My mother sent me to get that brown bread but I keep forgetting the name of it.”

“Isn’t all bread brown?”

“Well, yes.” He realized. “But she said this one is browner than the others.”

“I actually think I know what you’re talking about. Is it pumpernickel?” You asked and pulled out a loaf of pumpernickel bread.

“Yes! That’s the one. Look at you being smart. I’ll take a loaf of that.” The boy said. You didn’t really like the way he acted like it was shocking you’d say something smart but you didn’t say anything.

“Surely. Anything else I get you?” You asked as you handed him the wrapped up loaf.

“How about your name?” He smiled as he handed you the money.

“It’s Y/n. You?” You said through a nervous laugh. You weren’t entirely sure you liked the attention anymore.

“Hi. I’m Lycan.” He said and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lycan.” You smiled politely and shook his hand.

“It is nice, isn’t it? Will you be filling in all week?”

“Most likely.” You told him.

“Then I’ll be back. Thanks for the help.” He winked at you just as Peeta came out from the back. He saw the much taller and stronger looking Lycan leaving the bakery and stopped in his tracks.

“No problem.” You called after him. Peeta caught the way Lycan’s eyes lingered on you after he left the shop and he didn’t like it. He got a weird feeling in his stomach when he noticed that you were flustered.

“Who was that?” Peeta asked.

“That was Lycan. And he bought the last loaf of pumpernickel so we knead to make more. And that was a baking pun, by the way. But it would’ve worked better on paper.”

“Oh. Do you always learn the customers names?” Peeta asked as the weird feeling in his stomach grew. He was feeling jealous already and now that he knew you learned that guys name, it was even worse.

“Not always.” You shrugged. “But he asked my name so I asked his.”

“He asked your name? That was nice of him.” Peeta said through a forced smile. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you had caught the attention of the attractive stranger. Maybe because you’d caught Peeta’s attention years ago but still hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. I guess he was nice. He called me pretty.” You said and looked at Peeta as if you were expecting him to disagree with that statement. Peeta clenched his jaw but kept a straight face.

“You are pretty.” He insisted. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess because no one’s ever just called me pretty before. Except maybe my mother. But I’ve never heard it from a boy. It was kinda, I don’t know, nice.” You said as you stared out the window. Peeta was kicking himself for never vocalizing how beautiful he found you because now you had to cling to the compliment of a stranger.

“I think you’re pretty.” Peeta said quietly. Your head turned to Peeta and you had a surprised smile on your face. Peeta turned a deep red as he waited for your answer.

“You’re pretty pretty yourself, blondie.” You replied as you passed by him. You started to rearrange some of the baked goods but Peeta was still hung up on this stranger who called you pretty.

“Did you like that guy?” Peeta asked you and feared for the answer.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “It was nice to be noticed. But I don’t him enough to know if I like him.”

“Right.” He nodded and desperately tried to take his mind off it. You noticed the far off look in Peeta’s eye but didn’t understand what was bothering him.

“So how’s your cake?” You asked.

“Not good. I made the frosting a weird color. Can you go look at it and tell me if I should scrap it or not?”

“Sure. But if you go check on it later and there’s a piece missing, it wasn’t me.” You teased.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically.

“I know, right?” You laughed and went to the back. Peeta laughed as well but his smile quickly dropped when the door to the bakery opened. Lycan walked back in and Peeta gulped. He’d only seen him through the window before so now he got to see just how tall and handsome this guy was. Peeta nervously fumbled with the tie on his apron and felt a little insecure to be wearing it when this guy was covering in soot and dirt from being down in the mines.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Peeta asked him. Lycan was visibly disappointed to see Peeta there and was ignoring him as he looked around the bakery for you.

“What happened to the girl that was working here just a few minutes ago?” Lycan asked.

“Who’s asking?” Peeta asked without dropping his cheery smile. Lycan looked Peeta up and down and scoffed a little.

“I am.” He replied. “I wanted to ask her where she lives.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Peeta frowned.

“So I could see her again. I was planning on stopping by sometime. I figured she’d like that.” Lycan answered with a smug expression.

“Well I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t want me telling a stranger where she lives so…” Peeta trailed off and let Lycan fill in the blank.

“Hm. You must be the friend she mentioned. I guess I’ll just have to ask her myself. But why don’t you do me a favor and tell her I stopped by?”

“Surely.” Peeta replied. Lycan recognized the same word you had used and narrowed his eyes at Peeta.

“Thanks, baker boy. Bye.” Lycan smirked and left the bakery. Peeta blinked in surprise at the unexpected rude tone. If he was feeling insecure before, he was feeling even worse now that Lycan made it obvious that he looked down on him.

“Who was that?” You asked when you came out from the back.

“No one.” Peeta lied. “How’s the cake?”

“I actually like the grey color. You should leave it as it is.” You told him.

“But it was supposed to be a wedding cake. Won’t the customer be mad?”

“If I was getting married and my cake was baked by you, I wouldn’t care what it looked like because I would already know it was delicious. But you don’t have to worry about that because the cake looked great. Your cakes always look great. You’re the best cake decorator I know. So stop worrying about it.” You said and playfully smacked his chest.

“I’m the only cake decorator you know.” He said with a shy smile.

“That may be true.” You agreed. “But even if I knew more, you’d still be the best. You’re an artist. All your cakes are lovely. I promise.”

“Thanks for saying that.” He blushed. “We can have a grey cake at our wedding then.”

“Oh? Our wedding?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your wedding.” He quickly corrected. “I meant your wedding. I will make you a grey cake for your wedding.”

“What if my groom wants a white cake?”

“He’ll want whatever you want.” Peeta said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked skeptically.

“Just a guess.” He said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell you that if he was the groom, you’d get whatever and however many cakes you wanted.

“Well he better. My mother is already on me about finding someone and settling down. That’s all she thinks I’m gonna be apparently. A wife.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?” Peeta asked without looking at you.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against running off and eloping with you to get her off my back.” You joked. Peeta blushed at the joke and hoped there was some truth to it.

“Or maybe I’ll just marry this Lycan guy to shut her up.” You added, making Peeta’s smile drop. He was definitely jealous now and it was only gonna get worse.

The next day, you went to the bakery again and helped Peeta run the shop. He had you handling the customers while he stayed in the back to bake. Even though you had said it as a joke, you actually were bringing in a lot of customers and selling through baked goods fast. Unfortunately, you brought in Peeta’s least favorite customer.

“Oh no.” Peeta said when he saw Lycan through the windows.

“What?” You asked just as the door opened.

“Hello again.” Lycan greeted you and didn’t acknowledge Peeta in any way.

“Oh, hi, Lycan. What can I get for you today?” You asked him.

“How about you get me your favorite thing in the shop?” He asked with that smug look Peeta hated. Peeta rolled his eyes at the lack of manners but held his tongue.

“Well, that’s hard to pick. Peeta bakes everything and it’s all delicious. He’s an amazing baker.” You said and patted Peeta’s back. Peeta and Lycan made eye contact and gave each other tight smiles.

“Oh, so this is your friend who runs the bakery? Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday to see you?” Lycan asked knowing full well Peeta didn’t mention it. You looked at Peeta in surprise and Peeta gave you a sheepish smile.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention that.” He said quietly.

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I love the cinnamon buns Peeta makes. And we just frosted some so I’ll go grab one from the back.”

You went to the back to grab a cinnamon bun, leaving Peeta and Lycan alone together. Peeta kept his eyes down as Lycan stared at him with a smug expression.

“So how come you had her running the shop all alone yesterday?” Lycan asked with judgement in his voice.

“She was fine. She was only alone for a few minutes but she would’ve been perfectly capable of running the shop all day. She’s great at this stuff. She’s better than me and I grew up in this bakery.” Peeta defended you.

“I could tell.” Lycan snorted. “But running a business is no place for a lady. She should’ve been doing the baking while you handled the customers. A girl like that should be able to sit still and look pretty while you man the place, you know what I mean?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you mean.” Peeta smiled tightly. “She’s not the type to sit still but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her. And we “manned”the shop together all day. I just happened to be in the back decorating the cakes when you came in.”

“Oh, so you make all these? Where did you learn how to do that?” Lycan asked with a condescending smile as he looked at the cakes on display.

“My mother taught me.” Peeta said quietly.

“Oh, I see. My mother taught me that a man’s job involves getting your hands dirty but hey, what does she know?” Lycan shrugged.

“Clearly not how to teach her son manners.” Peeta mumbled. You came out from the back and Peeta relaxed.

“Here. One hot cinnamon bun.” You smiled kindly and handed the treat to Lycan.

“Thank you. It looks almost as good as you do.” He said with a much kinder tone than he had given Peeta.

“Oh. Thank you.” You laughed in surprise and looked over at Peeta. Peeta was too busy staring daggers at Lycan to notice.

“See you tomorrow?” Lycan asked you.

“See you then.” You waved as he left the shop. Once he was gone again, Peeta could finally breathe.

“I don’t like that guy.” Peeta shook his head.

“What? Why not? He’s so nice.” You said. As much as Peeta disliked that guy, he wasn’t about to burst your bubble and tell you Lycan had implied you could not and should not run the bakery by yourself.

“He’s too nice.” Peeta insisted. “And I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me?” You frowned.

“The same way every guy looks at you. Only he looks dumb enough to try something.” Peeta mumbled. You let out a laugh and Peeta was confused.

“What?” He wondered.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you call someone dumb before. Here I was thinking you were all sunshine and flowers.” You shrugged with an amused smile.

“I can be tough. You don’t think I can be tough?”

“Well, I’m sure you can be. I’ve just never seen it. I’ve only ever seen your good side.”

“I can be tough. I can be a real tough guy.” Peeta insisted but it sounded unnatural coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, tough guy.” You chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say something mean about me.” You said and gestured towards yourself.

“What? I would never do that.” He laughed but meant it.

“I knew it. You’re too sweet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re all sugar.” You said and squeezed his arm. Peeta blushed at the contact and felt a little better about himself.

“Here’s something mean. That guy just tracked mud all over the floors. Why are coal miners so messy?” He scoffed and grabbed the mop.

“Maybe because they’re in dirty mines all day? Just a thought.” You teased as Peeta cleaned the floor.

“This is just gross.” Peeta huffed. “And did you see his hands? They were filthy.”

“I didn’t notice them.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy flirting.” Peeta grumbled.

“Flirting?” You laughed. “I was not flirting with that guy.”

“Yes you were. I’ve never seen you bat your eyelashes like that before. And when’s the last time you warmed something up for a customer? You did that to flirt.” He half joked, half meant entirely.

“That wasn’t me flirting. I was just blinking because of all the dust he brought in.” You said simply. Peeta stopped mopping and looked up to see if you were serious.

“You really weren’t flirting with him?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“With a stranger? Who do you think I am?” You scoffed and grabbed the mop from him. You cleaned up the rest of the mud tracks before handing the mop back.

“Okay.” Peeta smiled. “Good.”

“Why’s that good? You didn’t want me to be flirting with him?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Psh. No. I don’t care who you flirt with.” Peeta quickly explained but even he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t you?” You asked and took a step towards him.

“I don’t.” He gulped.

“All right then.” You smiled sadly and went back behind the counter. Peeta looked over at you and wondered if you had wanted him to say that he didn’t want you flirting with anyone else.

The next day, Peeta was hesitant to leave you alone in the bakery in case Lycan came back to ask you out. If he actually made a move on you, Peeta knew he didn’t stand a chance. There weren’t a whole lot of options for dating in your district so if he asked you out, you’d probably say yes. But Peeta couldn’t stay in the front forever and eventually had to go to the back to frost cakes. And as soon as he was gone, the wolves descended.

“Good morning.” Lycan greeted as he came into the bakery. Your heart started to beat faster when he came in but it wasn’t from excitement. His presence was starting to make you anxious and you didn’t know if you liked the attention anymore.

“Good morning. What will it be today?” You asked politely.

“Some more pumpernickel please. But only half a loaf. I had some of my worker friends over last night and we went through it. We just get so hungry being down in the mines all day. You know how real men’s work is. It’s brutal but hey, someone’s gotta do it.” Lycan shrugged and leaned on the counters that you had just cleaned.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“A smile. From you.” Lycan added. You gave him a tight smile back and realized you really didn’t like the attention. At least, not from him.

“Have a great day.” He said as you handed him the loaf and he handed you the money.

“Thanks. You too.”

“I already did. Because I got to see you.” Lycan said and pointed to you. You forced a smile back and watched as he tracked mud on the floor as he left. Peeta came out from the back a little while later and saw the mud.

“I see Lycan returned.” He said stiffly.

“He sure did.” You replied. Peeta rolled his eyes and grabbed the mop before looking at you.

“Don’t give me that look.” You laughed. “It’s not my fault Mr. Muddy Boots keeps coming in here.”

“Yes it is. I heard him telling you to smile. He likes you.” Peeta mumbled and mopped the floor. His jealousy was back and in full force so he kept his head down.

“Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“But he wasn’t being friendly to me. Only you.” Peeta pointed out.

“Okay, true. But that still doesn’t mean anything. He might just want to be friends.”

“No way. No guy wants to be just friends with a girl as interesting and funny as you.”

“What about you? You just want to be friends, don’t you?” You asked and smiled at his words but he didn’t see it. He was too busy keeping his head down so you couldn’t see how much he was blushing over what you asked.

“There. Finally clean. But if he comes in here and gets the floors muddy one more time, I’m gonna ban him from the bakery.” Peeta said to change the subject.

“Maybe he’s had enough of your baked goods and won’t come in anymore.” You shrugged.

“He’ll be back. Although he might stop buying things and just start coming in to stare at you.” Peeta grumbled, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you thought about what it would mean if this guy actually wanted to be more than friends.

“Do you actually think he likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course he does. And I can’t blame him. But I can be annoyed about how often he comes in here.” Peeta said and continued to avoid eye contact with you.

“But him coming in here means you get more customers.” You reminded him. “And what do you mean you can’t blame him?”

“Him coming in here means I have to look at his dumb face while he bumbles around and tries to flirt with you. All while making the bakery muddy. I wouldn’t mind losing him as a customer.” Peeta replied and conveniently ignored the second half of what you said.

“Well we should probably bake another loaf of pumpernickel in case he comes in tomorrow.” You shrugged and started to gather the ingredients. Peeta froze and watched you tie on an apron as jealousy burned a hole inside him.

“What?” You asked when you saw Peeta’s face.

“You want him to come back?” Peeta asked in a soft voice.

“I didn’t say that. But if he does, which I’m assuming he will, we should have bread for him.”

Peeta was quiet again for a minute as he looked at you. He didn’t think you liked this guy back until he watched you gathering ingredients to make something specifically for him.

“Do you, um, do you like him back or something?” Peeta asked you. He didn’t sound angry or anything, just sad.

“What I like is earning money. Which customers bring in. Customers like Lycan.” You said and headed to the back where the oven was.

“Fine. But just don’t bake that with love, okay?” Peeta called after you. He heard you laugh and felt a little better because it reminded him that no one made you laugh quite like he did.

“I’ll try.” You called back.

The next day, Peeta was ready for anything. He asked you to bake some muffins in the back while he dealt with the customers during the evening rush. He had made it through almost the entire day before he saw Lycan coming in to the bakery. He looked around for you as soon as he walked in before walking up the counter.

“How can I help you?” Peeta asked with a forced smile.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/n could help me. She here?” Lycan asked and peered behind the counter.

“She’s busy with the baking in the back.”

“Really? I thought frosting cakes was your job? Tell me, how do you make them look so pretty?” Lycan asked in a mocking tone.

“It takes a steady hand. And a clean one.” Peeta said as his eyes dropped to Lycans dirt covered hands.

“These are workers hands. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, baker boy?” Lycan said in a low voice as he leaned on the counter. Peeta gulped but was determined to stand his ground.

“I know about hard work. Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s any less important.” He replied.

“Are you serious?” Lycan laughed. “I risk my life everyday to get the coal that you use to bake your pretty little cakes. You’re not important. I mean, your work isn’t important. I know that, and she knows that.” Lycan whispered so only Peeta could hear. His words were getting to Peeta and he wasn’t feeling as confident as before.

“She’d never go for you.” Peeta said quietly.

“What other choice does she have? You?” Lycan scoffed. “I asked around about the two of you, you know. Everyone had the same thing to say. That the bakers boy absolutely adores her but isn’t man enough to do anything about it.”

“I could do something about it.” Peeta insisted.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t you?” Lycan asked him. Peeta opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had no answer to give.

“That’s what I thought.” Lycan snickered. “She’d never go for you either.”

Peeta looked down at the ground and believed what Lycan was saying. You came out from the back and immediately sensed the awkward tension. You first noticed Peeta’s sad expression and then Lycan’s smug smirk.

“Oh, hi Lycan. Back so soon?” You asked as you looked between the boys and tried to figure out what had just happened between them.

“I just needed to get some bread. And seeing your pretty face never hurts.” Lycan said and switched to a nice smile.

“Aw, thanks.” You said with a fake smile.

“You know, being a coal miner is really dangerous. Nothing like the easy job this guy has.” Lycan said and nodded towards Peeta. “When the boys and I go down into the mines, we never know if we’re gonna get to come back out. So I try to take a minute and appreciate the beautiful things in life as much as I can. And that includes you.”

“Aw, thanks.” You repeated in the same uncomfortable tone. Peeta looked up and saw that Lycan was staring at him with a puffed up smile. In other words, he thought he ate that.

“See you around, doll.” Lycan winked at you before leaving the shop.

“That was painful.” You said once he was gone.

“For us both.” Peeta mumbled.

“I think you were right. I think he may be more than just friendly.” You laughed nervously.

“What gave it away?” Peeta smiled sarcastically.

“I just don’t understand what he wants from me. I don’t even know what to say when he talks like that.” You said and grimaced at the memory of his little speech.

“He probably wants a wife. And he wants you to say it can be you.”

“A wife?” You laughed in shock. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“But he wants to. That’s why he keeps coming in here. He probably wanted to ask you out today but wouldn’t with me in here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say yes even if he did. So there’s nothing to worry about.” You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Peeta snapped. You were both surprised by his tone and stood in awkward silence following his exclamation. Peeta was too embarrassed to look at you so he kept his head down and played with the ties in his apron. He heard your footsteps coming over to him and suddenly, you were lifting his chin to get him to look at you.

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly. Peeta sighed and looked to the side.

“He works in the mines and risks his life. I work in a bakery and decorate cakes. He’s covered in soot and dirt and I end the day covered in flour and sugar.”

“So?” You laughed.

“So, he’s a real man.” Peeta insisted. “And that’s what you deserve.”

“Do you think I don’t see you as a real man?” You asked and wrapped your arms around Peeta’s neck. He turned bright red and finally looked at you.

“Look at me. And look at him. We’re not the same.” Peeta said softly.

“Just because he works down there and you work up here doesn’t make you any less of a man.” You assured him.

“It feels like it does. Especially when…”

“When what?” You asked when Peeta trailed off.

“When I thought you liked him. I assumed he caught your attention because he’s all big and tough and I’m just…soft.” He shrugged and gave you an embarrassed smile.

“He caught my attention because he’s annoying and dirty. And I happen to like that you’re soft.” You told him.

“You do?” Peeta asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. I like that you never have a mean thing to say about anybody. I like that you decorate cakes and smell like cinnamon all the time. And I like that you stop to pick flowers that you like. But you know what I don’t like?”

“What?”

“That guy. I don’t like how he thinks I shouldn’t run the shop by myself. I don’t like how he can’t compliment me on anything but my looks. I don’t like how he thinks his job makes him superior to us. And I don’t like that he made you feel bad about yourself.” You said. Peeta looked into your eyes and saw how serious you were. A smile tugged at his lips as he believed that he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He made fun of my cake decorating.” Peeta added with a coy smile.

“What? Now that’s too far. Let’s ban him.” You played along. Peeta laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“I never want you to think you’re not good enough ever again, okay?” You said as you rubbed his back.

“Okay.” Peeta reluctantly replied. You pulled out of the hug and rubbed his shoulders.

“If he comes in here again, I’ll tell him to back off. Of both of us.” You assured Peeta.

“Good. Because I’m not much of a fighter.” He said through a relieved laugh.

“I know. You’re a lover. Thats what I love about you.” You told him and went to go clean the counter. Peeta watched you for a minute with a content smile on his face.

“It is?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Amongst other things, but yes.” You replied.

“There are a lot of things I love about you too.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“Are there?” You asked with piqued interest.

“Of course. Dozens of things.”

“Dozens?” You pretended to gasp and looked over at him.

“Uh huh. A bakers dozen.” He replied with a coy smile.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Baking humor is my thing.”

“I know, I know. But I think that’s another reason Lycan bothered me so much. I thought he was gonna take you away before I got a chance to tell you any of them.” Peeta said simply. Your expression changed but he didn’t catch it as he went to change the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”.

“Well. It’s quitting time.” Peeta sighed and looked the front door.

“Right. We should go.”

The next day, Lycan came in bright and early in the morning. He was the first customer and walked in before you had even arrived yet. Peeta gulped when he saw him and hoped you’d get to the bakery as soon as possible. Then he remembered what you had said about what you loved about him and felt a little braver.

“Hey, Peeta. Just you today?” Lycan asked in a condescending voice.

“For now.” Peeta answered calmly.

“These are nice. You pick them yourself?” Lycan asked as he flicked one of the flowers Peeta had in a vase on the counter.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did.”

“I thought so. Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic. It’s no wonder Y/n doesn’t want you.” Lucan snorted. He hadn’t heard you entering the bakery from the back so when you appeared behind the counter where Peeta was, he gulped.

“Oh, hi, Y/n. Good morning.” He said nervously and hoped you hadn’t heard what he just said. You gave Lycan a big smile before turning to Peeta.

“Good morning.” You greeted Peeta before pulling him into a long kiss. Peeta was stiff with shock at first but then kissed you back as his hands found their place on your waist. Lycan watched this with a dropped jaw and angrily cleared his throat when he felt like it was going on too long. You pulled out of the kiss with a big smile and patted Peeta’s red cheek.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled as you wrapped an arm around Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta and Lycan were both silent as they processed what had happened. You made your choice loud and clear to the both of them and they were both too stunned to speak. Peeta finally smiled and took one of the flowers out of the vase to place behind your ear as a little thank you. You smiled in appreciation before looking at Lycan.

“So.” You shrugged. “What can we get you?”

Tag List 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @

@ilykitwalker @mayemperess @scenesofobx

[jaeyunluvbot]

a forest

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 vampire au, haechan x reader, lee donghyuck x reader, vampire!haechan x human!reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 19.9k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You didn’t think you’d ever end up back here.

The worn "Welcome to Evergreen" sign on the edge of town had greeted you as you drove into your hometown for the first time in years. As you lugged another box up the narrow staircase of your parents’ house, the familiar creak of the third step reminded you just how little this place had changed.

Your room was the same, too. The soft pink walls you’d painted in middle school were still covered with faded posters of bands you barely remembered liking. The bed was smaller than you remembered, and the air smelled faintly of something stale and pine-scented cleaner.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” your mom called from downstairs. Her voice was teasing, but it carried a hint of relief, like she was secretly glad to have you back under her roof.

You dropped the box on the floor with a dull thud and sighed, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Well, I’m glad to have you back anyways,” she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t entirely believe you. She backed out of your room, sensing your bad mood, and closed the door behind her.

You sat on the edge of your bed, surveying the unpacked boxes that were currently making their home on your bedroom floor. Coming back after school wasn’t part of the plan. You’d pictured yourself thriving in a big city, with a fancy adult job and a bustling social life. Instead, you were here, in a town so small you could drive from one end to the other in ten minutes, working as a nurse practitioner at the local hospital while you figured out your next move.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Your dad stepped inside, holding a tray with a glass of iced tea and a sandwich. “Thought you could use a break,” he said, setting it down on your old desk.

“Thanks,” you murmured, picking up the glass.

He hesitated by the door, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. “You know, it’s not so boring here. Things have been... interesting lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Just... new faces in town,” he said vaguely. “You’ll see.”

Before you could press him for details, he gave you a small smile and disappeared down the hall.

You sighed again, staring out the window. The late afternoon sun bathed the neighborhood in golden light, but instead of feeling comforting, it only made you feel restless. Your dad’s words lingered in your mind.

New faces? In Evergreen? You didn’t need much to know that didn’t happen often.

Still, you brushed it off and grabbed the sandwich, forcing yourself to eat. Whatever “interesting” meant, it wasn’t your problem. Not yet, anyway.

You spent the rest of the afternoon trying to cram all your newly acquired belongings into your already cramped bedroom, you’d have to talk to your parents about moving some of your old stuff up to the attic, but for now, you’d have to make do.

The next morning, you decided to head into town. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice—your mom had politely hinted that the fridge was running low, and since you were “new in town,” the errand fell on you. You had scoffed at this, sure that the town hadn’t changed that much in the time you’d been gone, but agreed to go anyway, thinking it would be nice to get out of the house.

The main street looked the same as it always had, with its little shops and small cafes that seemed perpetually frozen in time. The little grocery store was exactly as you remembered: narrow aisles, dim lighting, and the faint scent of lemons and floor cleaner.

You pushed a cart lazily through the store, tossing in the essentials—milk, bread, a few fresh vegetables. It wasn’t exciting, but it was familiar, and for a moment, you felt yourself relax.

That was, until you saw them.

At first, you didn’t realize why they caught your attention. They were standing by the refrigerated section, talking quietly amongst themselves. Six guys, all around your age, dressed more stylishly than anyone in Evergreen ever bothered to be.

One of them leaned casually against the freezer door, his bleach-blond hair practically glowing under the fluorescent lights. Another was crouched down, peering at something on the bottom shelf, while the rest stood nearby, their conversation punctuated by soft laughter.

They didn’t look like they belonged here.

You slowed your cart, trying not to be obvious as you stared. They were all... ridiculously good-looking, in a way that made your brain momentarily short-circuit. It wasn’t just their features—it was the way they carried themselves, confident and magnetic. Like they knew they stood out but didn’t care.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Giselle standing behind the counter, a teasing grin on her face. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she wore the store’s signature green apron, slightly crumpled as if she’d tugged it on in a rush.

“Giselle!” you exclaimed, your mood instantly lifting.

She came around the counter and pulled you into a quick hug. “It’s been way too long! What’s it been, like four years? You didn’t even come home for Christmas last year, traitor.”

“College, work, life,” you said with a shrug, though guilt tugged at you. “I know. I suck.”

“Yeah, you do,” she said, but her grin softened. “I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too.”

The two of you chatted for a while, catching up as she rang up a few customers. Giselle hadn’t left town after high school, choosing to attend the community college instead. She was still figuring out what she wanted to do with her life, but she seemed happy enough for now.

“So,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter once the store emptied out again. “How’s it feel being back?”

“Honestly? Weird,” you admitted

. “I didn’t think I’d end up here again. But here I am.”

She nodded knowingly. “It’s not so bad anymore, a little more lively. And hey, at least you’ve got me to keep you sane.”

You laughed. “True.”

Giselle straightened up suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she looked past you. “Speaking of weird...”

You turned to see a group of six guys walking into the store. They didn’t look like they belonged in Evergreen at all—stylish clothes, perfectly tousled hair, and an aura that practically screamed big city.

They moved through the aisles in a loose cluster, talking quietly amongst themselves. One of them, a blond with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, caught your eye briefly before looking away.

“Who are they?” you asked Giselle under your breath.

“They moved here a few months ago,” she said, lowering her voice as well. “Renting that creepy old house on Maple Street. No one really knows much about them, though.”

“They’re... not from around here, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she echoed, her tone amused. “I mean, look at them. What are they even doing here?”

As if on cue, one of them—tall, dark-haired, and absurdly good-looking—glanced in your direction. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, and you quickly turned back to Giselle, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“They don’t even shop like normal people,” Giselle added with a smirk. “Last week, one of them came in and bought like, ten cartons of eggs and nothing else. Who does that?”

You stifled a laugh, though your curiosity about the group only deepened.

“Anyway,” Giselle said, straightening up as one of the guys approached the counter. “Better get your shopping done before they buy out the whole store.”

You nod and turn away from the counter, pushing your cart toward the produce section. But even as you tried to focus on picking out the best of the minimal options, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about them was... off.

Back home, the afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen windows as you unpacked your haul, having snuck in a few of your favorite snacks, assuming your parents probably lived on old people food without you. The rhythmic sound of your mom chopping vegetables for dinner mixed with the low hum of the news playing in the background.

“Did you get everything we needed?” your mom asked, glancing up briefly.

“Yep, even remembered the oat milk you like,” you said, setting the carton into the fridge.

“Thanks, honey. It’s nice having you back, even if I know you’re probably itching to leave again.”

You smiled faintly, but your thoughts were elsewhere. The image of the group from the grocery store lingered in your mind—sharp features, cool demeanor, borderline inhuman beauty that almost made you uncomfortable.

“Hey, Mom,” you started, leaning against the counter. “Do you know anything about those guys who moved into the old house on Maple Street?”

Your mom paused mid-chop, pursing her lips slightly. “Oh, them. They’re quite the talk of the town, aren’t they?”

“I guess? I saw them at the store earlier. They definitely don’t seem like locals.”

“They’re not,” she confirmed. “Your dad and I talked about them when they first moved in. Apparently, they came from the city. No one really knows why they picked Evergreen, of all places.”

“Hmm,” you said noncommittally, though your curiosity only grew. “They don’t seem that bad though…” You say carefully, probing your mom for answers.

Your mom looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “They’re strangers in a small town. That alone makes people suspicious. And then there’s the fact that they’ve been keeping to themselves, never really talking to anyone. That’s not normal, Y/N. People who move to places like this usually want to blend in. Not act like they’re hiding something.”

You frowned, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “But they haven’t done anything wrong, right?”

“Not yet,” she replied, her voice curt. “But you know how this town is. We’ve seen it before. People move here with secrets, and the next thing you know, something bad happens.”

You let that sink in as your mom continued preparing dinner. Just then, your dad walked in, tossing his briefcase on the floor of the entryway as he removed his coat. He worked as the town’s lawyer, the only lawyer in Evergreen. He was the one people came to when they needed advice or representation, and with that, he got to hear a lot of the gossip that ran through the town.

“What are we talking about?” he asked, looking between you and your mom.

“Those new guys,” your mom said, her voice pensive. “Y/N saw them at the store. She was asking about them.”

Your dad sighed, taking a seat at the table. “Yeah, I’ve heard the gossip. They paid for the house in cash, a whole year upfront. Weird, right?”

“Seriously? That’s a little... suspicious, don’t you think?” you said, surprised at the amount of concern in your voice.

“They don’t talk to anyone,” your dad continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “They don’t seem to have any real connections in town, and nobody knows where they came from. That’s not normal. I’ve had some clients asking about them, too—people want to know who they really are. And I don’t like it when people start acting like this in a town like ours.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. Your dad wasn’t the type to get involved in small-town rumors, but when it came to newcomers—especially ones that paid cash for a house without a word about their past—he was taking note.

“Do you think they’re dangerous?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He met your gaze with a serious expression. “I don’t know. But something doesn’t add up. People like that don’t just show up in quiet places like this without a reason.”

You felt your stomach turn, a mixture of unease and curiosity gnawing at you. You hadn’t expected your parents to be so wary, but it made sense, considering your dad’s profession. He knew who was who in town, and he’d probably heard more than most.

“I don’t want you getting involved with them, okay?” Your mom’s voice brought you back to the present. “We don’t need more trouble around here.”

You nodded, swallowing the unease that had settled in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

As you helped your mom set the table, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about those new arrivals. You had no idea what they were hiding, but you were starting to get the sense that your parents’ suspicions weren’t without reason.

As you slip into bed that night, the boys’ faces flash through your mind, each one the picture of beauty. All strikingly different looking, but with the same harsh look on their faces. They continued to haunt you until you fell asleep, alarm set for early the next morning, your first official day of work.

You woke up to the sound of the aforementioned alarm blaring in your ear, the sunlight barely streaming through the curtains as the sun was rising. You rubbed your eyes, taking in the familiar comfort of being back in your childhood room. It was strange, yet reassuring.

You made a quick breakfast, pulling on your scrubs, and heading out the door, feeling the weight of the day ahead. The thought of your first shift at the Evergreen Community Hospital made you both nervous and excited. The town was small, the hospital even smaller, and you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of cases you’d deal with. 

The drive to work was quick, your beat up car easily navigating the familiar roads that wound through the outskirts of Evergreen, lined with quaint houses and large swaths of farmland. The hospital sat at the edge of town, easily visible from the main road. It was nothing like the big hospitals you had imagined working at, but there was something reassuring about the comfort of small-town life, even if it was starting to feel a little stifling.

As you entered the hospital, you were greeted by the familiar faces of the nurses and doctors. Everyone seemed busy, but they offered you friendly smiles as you walked in, and you immediately fell into the easy routine of the hospital’s quiet rhythm. It was a far cry from your hectic days interning in a hospital in the city, close to your school.

After a brief orientation and introductions to your coworkers, you found yourself in the emergency room, helping patients with all sorts of complaints—mostly minor cuts, sprains, and routine checkups. But as the hours passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

It started with a patient—a middle-aged man who had come in with complaints of aching muscles and lightheadedness. As you examined him, you noticed surefire signs of blood loss, clammy skin, excessive sweating, and shortness of breath.

Frowning, you remove your hands from his body, turning to make note of his symptoms. When you finish charting his information, you turn back around to face the man. 

“Have you had any major incidents lately, or experienced significant blood loss?”

The man frowns, “Not that I know of, I think I’d notice if I was bleeding out.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips and glancing back over to the computer, “Well, whatever happened, you’re exhibiting symptoms of blood loss, I’d like to run a few more tests and have a doctor check you out.”

The man groans and asks how much longer he’ll be here, with you offering a small bit of comfort before the doctor enters the room.

The next few patients were similar. Blood loss beyond what should’ve been normal, cuts that healed unusually fast, and complaints that didn’t quite add up. It was unsettling, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. The night shift was getting busier, and there were patients waiting to be seen.

Around late evening, as you were taking a break in the break room, you found yourself scrolling through your phone. You had decided to check in with Giselle, who had been texting you all day. She had been asking how your first shift was going and if you had run into any “interesting people” at work. You smirked as you replied, telling her about the strange blood cases you had been seeing.

Just as you put your phone down, the hospital doors opened with a soft chime, and a group of people entered. You glanced up and immediately froze.

It was the strange group of men from the store. But this time, there was one more.

He didn’t stand out at first. At least not in the way you expected. He wasn’t as tall as the others, nor as imposing, but something about him made you pause. His hair was tousled, just the right amount of messy, like he’d tried to look casual but still came out effortlessly cool. His eyes—dark, yet somehow shimmering—caught yours the moment he walked through the door, and there was an unmistakable familiarity to the way he looked at you.

The moment your gazes locked, you felt your breath catch. He didn’t smile, but there was something in the way he stood, in the way he held himself—like he knew exactly what he was doing. The magnetic pull of his presence was almost suffocating. You couldn’t look away, and that unsettled you more than you’d care to admit.

He was different. While the other guys seemed to carry an almost intimidating aura, this one… he wasn’t threatening, but you felt oddly compelled. And it wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way he seemed to slip into your mind, uninvited, like he had always been there. It was as though the moment he entered the room, the space had shifted.

You tried to focus, trying to ignore the way your pulse seemed to quicken when he casually glanced at you again, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The other members of the group, noticing the attention he was getting from you, didn’t seem fazed. But you could’ve sworn there was a flicker of amusement in their eyes.

You quickly looked away, pulling yourself together. It was just one of those things, you told yourself. He was attractive, sure, but that was it. There was no reason to dwell on it.

Still, as you walked back to your station, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was different from the others. There was something familiar, yet foreign about him. Something about the way he moved, the way he stood in that room. It was like he was meant to be there… or maybe he was always meant to be there. And that thought unsettled you more than anything.

As the night went on, you found yourself picturing the strange man in your mind, feeling a sort of magnetic pull towards him, one you couldn’t seem to make sense of. It wasn’t like this with the other members of the group. No, with them, you simply felt a quiet curiosity, but with him there was an undeniable attraction that was tugging at something deep inside of you.

When your shift finally ended, you felt an odd mixture of relief and frustration. You tried not to think about the man who had inexplicably captured your attention, but as you walked out of the hospital doors into the cool night air, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to him. Why did he stand out so much?

It was as if something was drawing you toward him, but you didn’t know why—and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

You make the exhausting drive home and hop in the shower, hoping to wash away the confusion and strangeness of your day.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that you’re not in your room anymore.

You’re standing outside, the moon high above, casting an eerie silver glow over a darkened street. The town feels different, the air thicker, heavier, as if it's holding its breath. You glance around, but everything’s too still, too quiet.

And then, you see him.

The guy from the hospital. The one who made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, the one you can’t stop thinking about. His back is turned to you, but the second you step forward, he turns around, as if he’s been waiting for you the entire time. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest. His eyes—dark, almost black—pierce through you with an intensity that makes you feel like you're standing in front of a flame. There's something... predatory in the way he watches you, like he’s a hunter, and you’re the prey.

"You're not supposed to be here," he says, and his voice is so smooth, it sends chills down your spine. It’s like he’s speaking directly into your soul, not your ears.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The words are stuck, tangled in your throat. His lips twitch into a smirk, almost as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

Suddenly, he steps closer, so close that you can feel the heat from his body, the dangerous magnetism of him drawing you in.

"You’re curious, aren’t you?" His breath brushes your skin as he speaks, and you can’t look away from his eyes. You don’t want to. But you’re also terrified.

Before you can say anything, he reaches out and gently touches your face. It’s too gentle for someone who’s staring at you like he wants to devour you whole. And just as his fingers graze your skin, you feel... something.

A jolt. Like a live wire running through your veins, making your heart race even faster.

And then, just as quickly, it’s gone. The heat, the tension, the undeniable pull between you and him—vanishes like it never existed.

You gasp for air, feeling dizzy, and suddenly, you’re back in your room. You’re breathing hard, your sheets tangled around your legs, the faint morning light creeping through your window.

What the hell was that?

Your pulse is still erratic, your mind a mess of confusion. You didn’t even get his name. Why does he feel so familiar? Why does your heart keep pounding like it’s still trapped in that dream?

You roll over and groan into your pillow, trying to shake the image of his smirk, his dark eyes, the feeling of his touch. You’ve had weird dreams before, but this one... this one was different.

Shaking your head, you try to push the thoughts out of your mind. But no matter how much you try to ignore it, you can’t get him out of your head. You’ve never even talked to him.

So why is it that when you close your eyes, all you can see are his eyes—those dark, mesmerizing eyes?

The next day had been one of those long days at the hospital—the kind where the fluorescent lights seem to bore into your skull and every step feels heavier than the last. You had thought about going straight home, but a nagging headache and the idea of another haunting dream convinced you otherwise. A quick stop for some caffeine at the local coffee shop felt like the natural choice.

The small bell above the door jingles softly as you step inside. It’s quiet, save for the low hum of an espresso machine and the soft chatter of a barista with the only other customer in the shop.

And then you see him.

At first, you’re not sure it’s him. His back is to you, dressed in an oversized black hoodie and sweats, leaning casually against the counter. But there’s something so distinct about his presence, the easy confidence in the way he moves. He turns slightly to glance at the pastries on display, and your breath catches. It’s him—the guy from the group of strangers you saw at the store. Only, he’s even more striking up close.

The barista hands him a drink, and he steps to the side, giving you a clear view of his face. His features are sharp yet soft, the kind that draw your attention and refuse to let it go. His eyes briefly meet yours, and for a fleeting second, it feels like he knows something about you that you don’t.

You quickly avert your gaze, stepping up to the counter to place your order.

“Just a latte, please,” you say, fumbling with your wallet.

“You’re working late, huh?” a voice pipes up beside you. You glance over, and sure enough, he’s still there, holding his drink, leaning casually against the counter.

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the ID badge still clipped to your scrubs. “You’re a nurse, right? Those shifts are brutal.”

“Nurse practitioner, but yeah, they can be,” you reply cautiously.

“I respect that. Saving lives and all,” he says with a smile that’s just a little too perfect, a little too practiced.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I don’t think I saw you at the hospital today.”

His grin widens, almost as if he’s amused by your speculation. “Nope. Not a patient, promise. I’d remember if I was.”

There’s something playful in his tone that makes your guard falter, if only for a moment. “Do you just hang out in coffee shops at night and chat people up, or am I special?” you ask, your voice laced with sarcasm.

He laughs, a light, melodic sound that catches you off guard. “You’re definitely special.”

Before you can respond, your drink is ready, and you quickly grab it, grateful for the excuse to leave the conversation. But as you turn to leave, he steps slightly closer—not enough to invade your space, but enough to make you notice.

“I’m Haechan, by the way,” he says, his voice dropping just a fraction lower.

You hesitate. There’s something about him that’s simultaneously disarming and unnerving, like he’s trying to charm you but isn’t quite hiding the fact that there’s more to him. “Nice to meet you,” you reply stiffly, not offering your name.

His smile doesn’t waver. “See you around, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen at his comment, quickly turning and leaving the coffee shop, willing yourself not to think about how he could possibly know your name.

You walk out into the night, your heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain. The dream from the night before flashes in your mind, and for a split second, you wonder if he somehow knows.

But that’s ridiculous...right?

You’re beginning to see a pattern, though you wish you weren’t. The blood loss patients all share the same eerie story—waking up dazed, no memory of what could’ve caused their symptoms. They come from all walks of life: a college student, a local farmer, even a retired teacher. No clear connection. No logical explanation.

You jot down your observations in a small notebook you keep tucked away in your bag, trying not to let the unease get to you. It’s just...strange. But there’s nothing you can do about it yet, so you try to go about life as normally as possible, even if your nights are haunted by dreams of him.

The dreams always feel too vivid. Haechan’s piercing eyes, his crooked smirk, the way his presence sets your nerves on fire. You wake up most mornings confused and on edge, unable to shake the way his voice echoes in your mind like he’s right there with you.

You’re trying not to think about him when Giselle drags you to the town’s outdoor shopping market. She’s determined to make you forget about work for a while, even if it means forcing you to eat fried dumplings at her favorite stall.

It’s working—at least until you see them.

Haechan and another guy you vaguely recognize, Jaemin, are leaning casually against a bench on the other side of the street. They’re dressed too well for the casual market atmosphere, their dark clothes and sharp features making them stand out against the pastel storefronts and strolling families. But it’s not just how they look—it’s the way they’re both staring.

At you.

“Uh, Y/N?” Giselle nudges your arm with her elbow, her voice low. “Why are those guys looking at you like that?”

“I have no idea,” you mutter, your pulse quickening.

Before you can even think about walking away, the two of them start heading toward you. You tense instinctively, clutching your shopping bag tighter as Giselle frowns beside you.

“Hey,” Haechan greets, his smile disarmingly warm. His eyes, however, are locked on you, glinting with something unreadable.

Jaemin nods in acknowledgment, his expression more neutral but still sharp, like he’s analyzing every move you make.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering.

“You’re new in town,” Haechan states, tilting his head slightly. “Well, not new, exactly. You grew up here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you reply cautiously, unsure how he knows that.

He smiles again, wider this time. “It’s funny how things come full circle, isn’t it? Leaving just to end up back where you started.”

You blink, taken aback. His words feel loaded with meaning you can’t quite grasp, like he’s speaking in some kind of code.

“And you’re...” Jaemin glances at Giselle, raising an eyebrow. “Not from around here?”

“Uh, no, I am,” Giselle answers, her tone clipped. She shifts closer to you, clearly not loving the attention. “Lived here my whole life.”

“Interesting,” Jaemin replies, though it’s unclear what he actually finds interesting.

Haechan’s gaze doesn’t waver from you, and you feel like you’re standing under a microscope. “It’s a nice place,” he says, almost absentmindedly. “Quiet. But I guess every town has its secrets, doesn’t it?”

“Okay,” Giselle cuts in, her voice sharp as she grabs your arm. “Well, it was great meeting you guys, but we have to go.”

Haechan chuckles softly, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

You barely manage to nod before Giselle pulls you away, her grip firm as she steers you down the street.

“That was so weird,” she mutters once you’re out of earshot. “What’s their deal? And why were they staring at you like that?”

You shake your head, still trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admit. But even as you say it, Haechan’s cryptic smile lingers in your mind, as if daring you to figure it out.

A few weeks later, you’re on your way home after a late shift. The quiet hum of the countryside at night wraps around you like a heavy blanket. The air is crisp, carrying the faint smell of wet grass, and the silence is almost eerie. 

The drive is the same as every other time you’ve done it before, but this time, your car starts to stall, making all kinds of weird noise and jerking to a stop.

Your car sputters one final time before the engine gives out completely. Groaning, you slam your hand against the steering wheel.

“Fuck me,” you mutter under your breath, flipping on your hazards and stepping out. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you inspect the car, but honestly, what are you even looking for? You don’t know the first thing about fixing an engine.

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you glance at the screen. One bar of service. Perfect.

You shiver as a faint breeze picks up, tugging at your jacket. The road stretches on endlessly in both directions, illuminated only by the weak beam of your hazards. No other cars. No streetlights. Just you, your useless car, and the creeping unease you’ve been trying to ignore since your car broke down.

Then you see it—two headlights approaching from the distance, growing brighter as they near. You squint against the light, shielding your eyes with your hand. The car slows, its sleek, dark shape pulling up beside you.

The passenger window rolls down, and you’re greeted by a familiar voice.

“Need a hand?”

Your heart jolts as you recognize Haechan sitting in the driver’s seat, his elbow casually resting on the edge of the window. His hair is slightly tousled, and he’s dressed in all black, which only adds to the air of mystery around him. His smile is easy, but there’s something unsettling in the way his eyes seem to take in every detail of you. You also notice that his skin is unusually dull, almost dead-looking.

“Haechan?” you say, surprised. “What are you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he replies smoothly, his gaze flickering to your car. “Late night joyride?”

You fumble for words, feeling slightly exposed under his unwavering attention. “No. My car broke down. I was on my way back from work.”

He hums, stepping out of his own car. You notice how quiet the night becomes in his presence, the air seeming to thrum with something unspoken.

“Let me take a look,” he offers, walking toward your car with a confidence that makes you feel like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You trail behind him, hugging your arms to your chest as he pops the hood. He peers into the engine, his face partially obscured by shadows.

“How do you even know how to fix this?” you ask skeptically.

Haechan straightens, wiping his hands on his pants as he turns to face you. “Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of car troubles,” he says, his smile playful but not entirely reassuring.

Before you can press further, the sound of another car approaching pulls your attention. You glance back to see faint headlights in the distance. When you turn back to Haechan, you catch the briefest flicker of something—unease?—cross his expression. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual charm.

“Good news,” he says, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “It’s nothing serious. You should be good to go now.”

You blink at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You glance at the car, then back at him. Something about the way he showed up so conveniently, so effortlessly, gnaws at you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, feeling a little dazed. “I guess I’ll get going then.”

“Drive safe,” Haechan replies, his tone light, but his eyes linger on you for a beat too long.

As you get back into your car, the engine rumbles to life as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. You glance in the rearview mirror, but Haechan is already climbing back into his own car. His headlights flash as he pulls away, disappearing into the night like he was never there at all.

The whole encounter leaves your stomach churning, and as you drive off, the thought won’t leave your mind—what was he even doing out here? Why did his previously luminous skin look so dull?

You wake up to the smell of coffee and the low hum of voices drifting from the kitchen. Sunlight streams through the curtains, and for a moment, you consider staying in bed a little longer, but the memory of last night pushes you up. After a quick shower and throwing on some sweats, you make your way downstairs.

Your mom is at the stove, flipping pancakes, while your dad sits at the table, his laptop open beside his plate. They both glance up as you enter.

“Morning, honey,” your mom says brightly. “Pancakes will be ready in a minute.”

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some coffee. You sit at the table across from your dad, who’s already eyeing you curiously.

“You got in pretty late last night,” he says, his tone casual but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you reply, blowing on your coffee. “The car broke down.”

Your mom turns sharply from the stove. “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure her quickly. “It was on that long stretch of road just outside town. Nobody was around.”

Your dad’s brow furrows, his lawyer instincts kicking in. “And you stayed out there by yourself?”

“No, I didn’t,” you say, cutting him off before he can worry too much. “Haechan showed up and helped me.”

Both of them pause, exchanging a glance that makes you feel like you’d said something wrong.

“One of those boys?” your mom asks, her tone teetering between disbelief and unease.

“Yeah,” you say cautiously, knowing exactly where this is going.

Your dad leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “What was he doing out there at that hour?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But he fixed the car. It was fine after that.”

“Hmm,” your dad mutters, clearly not buying it.

“He’s weird,” your mom says, flipping the last pancake onto a plate. “I’ve seen him around town with those other boys. They’re… I don’t know. There’s something off about them.”

You sigh, setting your mug down. “They’re just new to town. You’re making it a bigger deal than it is.”

“Maybe,” your dad says, but his skeptical tone suggests otherwise. “Still, this isn’t the first time your car’s acted up, is it? I think it’s time we get you something reliable.”

Your heart sinks. “I don’t need a new car. It’s fine.”

“It broke down on an empty road in the middle of the night,” your mom points out. “What if Haechan hadn’t shown up? What if no one had?”

“I just… I don’t want to get rid of it,” you say, your voice quieter now.

Your dad softens, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “I get it. You’ve had that car for years. But it’s not safe anymore. We’ll help you get something newer, something you can count on.”

You bite your lip, feeling conflicted. The car holds so many memories—your first drive to college, late-night trips with friends, the sense of independence it gave you. Letting it go feels like letting go of a piece of yourself. But the thought of being stranded again, of the creeping unease from last night, convinces you.

“Okay,” you say finally. “But I’ll pay for half of it.”

Your dad chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

Your mom sets a plate of pancakes in front of you, giving you a sympathetic smile. “It’s for the best, sweetie.”

You nod, trying to focus on the food instead of the ache in your chest.

“So,” your dad says after a beat, his tone shifting back to skepticism, “did Haechan say why he was out there?”

“No,” you admit. “He just showed up, fixed the car, and left.”

“Strange,” your mom says, sitting down beside your dad. “You be careful around him, okay? I don’t want you getting too involved with those boys.”

You don’t respond, cutting into your pancake and chewing slowly. The truth is, you’re not sure what to think. About the car. About Haechan. About any of it.

It feels almost fake, the way you keep running into him. First at the hospital, then on the side of the road, and now here—again—at the small café you frequent on your days off. He’s leaning casually against the counter, scrolling through his phone, as if he belongs there.

You try to tell yourself it’s nothing. Small towns are like that. People cross paths all the time. But when he looks up and catches your gaze, his lips curve into a knowing smile, like he’s been expecting you.

“Thanks again for helping me out the other night,” you blurt, stepping closer. “I didn’t get a chance to properly thank you.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “It was no big deal, I promise.”

“Well... let me do something to make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink?” you offer, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

Something flickers in his dark eyes, and for a second, you think he’s going to say no. But then he shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

You lead the way to the small bar just down the street. It’s quiet for a weeknight, a few scattered regulars nursing their beers while soft music hums from the jukebox. You settle into a booth near the back, and a waiter comes by to take your order.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” you say, glancing at Haechan.

He raises an eyebrow. “Make that two.”

The drinks arrive quickly, but as you take a sip of yours, you notice Haechan barely touches his. Instead, he leans back against the booth, watching you with a lazy sort of curiosity.

“So, what’s it like working at the hospital?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s suppressing a grin.

“It’s... busy,” you say carefully. “You meet all kinds of people. See a lot of weird things.”

“Weird, huh?” He swirls the drink in his hand, the ice clinking against the glass.

You nod, not wanting to elaborate. But the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room—makes your pulse quicken.

“You smell really good, by the way,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but deliberate.

Your hand freezes halfway to your drink. “Oh... uh, thanks?”

“It’s... unique,” he adds, tilting his head like he’s studying you. “Like vanilla, maybe? Something sweeter.”

You can feel your cheeks flush. “Okay, well, that’s... kind of an odd thing to say.”

He laughs, the sound warm and rich, and for a moment, you almost forget how unsettling the comment was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird. Just... making an observation.”

You sip your drink, the chill of the gin soothing the heat creeping up your neck from Haechan’s strange comment. The bar is quiet, the low murmur of conversation blending with the soft music in the background. You shift in your seat, Haechan’s still watching you, his gaze intense in a way that makes you feel like he's dissecting everything about you, but you try to ignore it.

“So, uh…” You bite your lip, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “I shouldn’t really be talking about this, but I’ve had some weird cases lately at the hospital. Like... blood loss cases.”

Haechan leans forward just slightly, his eyes lighting up at the mention of it. “Blood loss? Like, what kind of blood loss?”

You frown. It’s hard to explain, but the way he’s asking makes you feel like he’s almost too interested. Too curious.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging it off. “It’s not like... they’re missing any blood or anything obvious. But a lot of patients are coming in, saying they woke up feeling off, but they don’t remember how they got hurt. And there’s this weird pattern with it.”

Haechan tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “That’s... weird. What do you think it is?” He leans even closer, his voice a little too smooth.

You hesitate, unsure why you’re even talking about this with him, but you keep going. "I don’t know. At first, I thought it was just... coincidence. But it’s happening too often, and none of them have any injuries to show for it."

“Hmm,” he hums, tapping his fingers on the rim of his glass. “That sounds pretty crazy. You ever think maybe it’s something... supernatural?”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by his suggestion. It’s such a random thing to say, especially from someone you’ve just met. You chuckle, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Supernatural? Really? I’m a nurse, not some kind of paranormal investigator.”

Haechan smirks, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m just saying… Sometimes things aren’t always as they seem.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your mind racing. He’s definitely not taking you seriously, but why does it feel like he knows something more than he’s letting on?

“I shouldn’t even be telling you all this,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s just... strange. And no one’s really been able to explain it.”

But Haechan leans in a little closer, his smile now playful, but there’s an underlying intensity in his voice. “Oh come on, I’m not gonna bite. You can tell me. What do you think’s going on with all these people?”

His eyes are focused, almost too focused, and it feels like he’s reading you, waiting for you to spill your suspicions. Something about the way he’s prying is starting to make you uneasy.

“I don’t know. It’s probably just some weird coincidence,” you say, though you’re not even convinced of that yourself. You’re starting to feel like you’re playing into his game.

“You sure about that?” Haechan asks, his voice lower now, almost as if he’s coaxing you into revealing more. “I mean, there’s gotta be more to it, right? All these patients... No injuries but still blood loss? That’s gotta be something worth looking into.”

You shake your head, feeling the unease settle in your stomach. “I think... I think it’s just a weird coincidence. You’re probably right, though. I’m probably overthinking it.”

Haechan gives you a sly grin, clearly satisfied with your answer, though you’re not sure why. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Or maybe you’re just not seeing the bigger picture yet.”

“Maybe,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. You can’t shake the feeling that he knows something—or that he’s trying to get you to talk about something you’re not ready to acknowledge.

The silence stretches for a moment as you both sip your drinks, the tension lingering in the air. But as you sit there, you can’t help but feel like you’re being drawn into something much bigger than just a simple conversation about weird hospital cases.

And when the night ends, and you drive home alone under the dim streetlights, you realize you never once saw him drink from his glass.

The night air was cool, and the shadows cast long and quiet around them. The group of friends had gathered in the usual spot—an old, dilapidated barn just outside of town, away from the prying eyes of anyone who might ask questions. It was one of the few places they could talk freely, and tonight, they needed to.

Haechan leaned against the rotting wooden beams, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared off into the distance, his thoughts miles away. Jaemin, Chenle, and Jeno were all present, but none of them spoke right away. They were all waiting for him to break the silence, to say something about what was bothering him.

Jaemin caved, and spoke, his tone casual but laced with concern. “You’re acting weird, man,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What’s going on with you and that girl?”

Haechan’s jaw tightened at the mention of you, and he instinctively glanced down at the dirt beneath his feet, avoiding their gaze. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Just... it’s nothing.”

But the others weren’t buying it. Chenle’s sharp gaze flicked over to him, a smirk on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been obsessed with her ever since the other night. We can see it. You can’t keep going down this road, Haechan.”

Jeno, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, his voice low but serious. “You’re making this complicated. You’ve got enough problems as it is. Don’t let it get worse.”

Haechan rubbed the back of his neck, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I just... she’s different. I don’t know why, but she feels different from everyone else. I can’t stop thinking about her. She makes me feel... I don’t know. Normal.”

Jaemin clicked his tongue, an exasperated expression crossing his face. “That’s exactly what you need to avoid. Normality doesn’t work for us, Haechan. You can’t afford to get attached. She’s a human. You’re not. I don’t even need to tell you what happens when you get too close to one of them. You know the risks.”

Chenle chimed in, his voice suddenly serious, all trace of teasing gone. “And let’s not forget about the blood thing,” he added, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still drinking human blood. You know Mark’s not going to let that slide if he finds out.”

Haechan’s stomach churned at the mention of Mark. The older vampire was their leader, the one who kept everyone in check. He was the one who insisted on sticking to the "cruelty-free" lifestyle—drinking only animal blood to stay under the radar of the humans. It was a rule, one that everyone else followed, but Haechan had been struggling to adhere to it since he was turned.

“I... I don’t know what to do anymore,” Haechan admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I keep telling myself I’ll stop, but every time I see her, it’s like I lose control.”

Jeno crossed his arms, his voice firm but sympathetic. “Look, Haechan, you can’t keep doing this. Mark’s already on edge about everything, and if he finds out you’ve been breaking the rules, it’s not just your neck on the line—it’s all of ours.”

Jaemin leaned against the barn wall, his eyes sharp. “Exactly. We’re already walking a tightrope here, you can’t afford to make it worse.”

Haechan’s gaze dropped to the ground, guilt and frustration swirling inside him. He’d always been a bit of a rule-breaker, but this? This was different. He was walking a dangerous path, and he knew it.

“I’m not trying to mess things up,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. “I don’t want to lose everything... I don’t want Mark to find out, but it’s hard.”

Chenle took a step forward, his voice a little softer now. “We get it. We really do. But you’ve gotta think about the bigger picture here. If Mark finds out, it’s not just your secret on the line. It’s all of ours. The last thing we need is him going off on us.”

Jaemin nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah, and you know Mark’s not going to let this slide. He’s got a lot on his plate, but if he finds out about this... it’s gonna get ugly.”

Haechan closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I’ll stop,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try. I just don’t know how long I can keep this up. Every time I see her, it’s like... everything else fades away. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Jeno softened, the sharp edge in his voice melting away as he placed a hand on Haechan’s shoulder. “We’re just trying to look out for you, man. You’ve gotta keep it together. For your sake, and for all of us.”

Jaemin, always the one to lighten the mood, flashed a grin. “Just stop drinking people’s blood, and maybe we won’t have to worry about you getting caught.”

Haechan gave a small, wry smile at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it, but his friends were right. He had to stop. He had to get a grip before things got out of hand.

As they all fell into a heavy silence, Haechan couldn’t shake the feeling that the choices he made in the coming days would determine everything—not just for him, but for everyone he cared about.

You didn’t expect to see him again so soon, but when you walk into the only restaurant in town one night, there he is, sitting at a corner table, his eyes looking distant, his shoulders slouched in a way that’s uncharacteristic of him. His usual energy is absent, replaced with an almost palpable exhaustion. The sight makes your heart tighten in your chest.

You freeze for a moment, hesitating. Haechan has always been lively, the kind of guy who never seemed to take anything too seriously, always throwing out a joke or a playful comment. But today, his face is pale, his hair messier than usual, and his eyes—those eyes that usually spark with mischief—are dull, almost sunken.

You approach cautiously, unsure of what to say. You know you shouldn’t pry, but something inside you nags at you.

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual, but the concern slips into your voice. “You okay? You look... I don’t know, you look kinda rough today.”

Haechan doesn’t look up immediately. He fiddles with the cup in front of him, the steam rising from it, though you notice he doesn’t drink out of it.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, almost too quickly, his voice lacking its usual playful tone. He forces a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just, uh... didn’t sleep well last night.”

You don’t buy it. There’s something off, and it’s more than just lack of sleep. The way his hands tremble slightly as he adjusts the cup. The fact that his usual playful demeanor has been replaced with a quiet, almost hollow version of himself. You sit down across from him, unable to help yourself.

You approach cautiously, unsure of what to say. You know you shouldn’t pry, but something inside you nags at you.

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual, but the concern slips into your voice. “You okay? You look... I don’t know, you look kinda rough today.”

Haechan doesn’t look up immediately. He fiddles with the cup in front of him, the steam rising from it, though you notice he doesn’t take a sip.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, almost too quickly, his voice lacking its usual playful tone. He forces a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just, uh... didn’t sleep well last night.”

You don’t buy it. There’s something off, and it’s more than just lack of sleep. The way his hands tremble slightly as he adjusts the cup. The fact that his usual playful demeanor has been replaced with a quiet, almost hollow version of himself.

Haechan stands up abruptly, and for a moment, you think he’s going to leave. But then, he glances at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and asks, “Hey, do you want to see something?”

You pause, a little surprised by the sudden offer. You’d been expecting him to just slink away like every other time you’d spoken, but now he’s offering you something entirely different. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. The thought that he’s acting strange nags at the back of your mind, but something about his tone makes you feel like this could be important—like he needs you to come along, even if he’s not saying it outright.

“Uh... sure,” you say, your voice unsure, but you can’t stop yourself from agreeing. You can tell he’s not okay, and maybe, just maybe, this could be the thing that makes him feel better. He’s not the type to open up easily, so you’re willing to follow him if it’ll help.

Haechan gives you a small, almost wistful smile as if he’s relieved by your answer. Without saying much more, he leads you out of the café and toward the familiar black car parked by the curb.

“Get in,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing.

You hesitate, your eyes flicking to your own car parked further down the street. “Are you sure this is—?”

He cuts you off with a soft chuckle. “It’s fine. Just trust me.”

You’re not sure why, but you say nothing, sliding into the passenger seat. There’s a strange sense of calm that washes over you, a strange trust you’ve never felt before.

He turns the key in the ignition, and the car hums to life. The sound of the engine fills the quiet, but the unease in your stomach doesn’t go away. Your mind races—this isn’t something you should be doing, not with someone you barely know, and certainly not at this hour. If your parents knew...

But you don’t say anything. Maybe it’s because you want to help him, or maybe it’s because part of you feels drawn to him in a way you can’t explain.

The car rumbles through the empty streets as you leave the small town behind. The houses grow fewer and farther apart, and the night seems to stretch on forever. The moonlight casts long shadows on the dirt roads, and everything feels eerily quiet.

“Where are we going?” you finally ask, breaking the silence.

“Don’t ask questions,” Haechan replies with a smile, though it’s softer this time, like he’s actually trying to ease your nerves. “Just trust I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

You don’t ask any more questions as you drive further into the night, your thoughts swirling. You can’t help but wonder what he’s up to, why he’s so different tonight, why he’s asking for your trust so earnestly. But you also don’t want to let him down. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been so closed off, and the little cracks you’ve started to see that make you want to understand him more.

After what feels like an eternity, Haechan pulls the car into a dirt road that leads to a vast patch of farmland. The land is empty, the crops long gone, the farmhouse standing abandoned and dilapidated, a shadow of its former self.

He stops the car and turns off the engine, the sudden silence feeling even heavier.

“This is it,” Haechan says, his voice softer now, almost distant. “I come out here sometimes. It helps clear my head.”

You look around at the forgotten farmland, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. It’s so quiet out here, the only sounds the distant rustling of the trees and the occasional chirp of crickets. You get out of the car, feeling the cool night air hit your face, and step beside him, unsure of what you’re doing here, but too curious to leave.

He glances over at you with a small smile, his eyes a little brighter in the dark, like the stars overhead. “You ever just look up and feel small? Like the world’s so big, and you’re just a tiny part of it?”

You can’t help but nod. “Yeah, I get that sometimes.”

Haechan takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he looks up at the night sky, his expression unreadable.

“You make me feel normal, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes flick to you, his lips curling up slightly. “Like maybe I don’t have to be so... different all the time.”

You feel a flicker of something in your chest at his words. There’s an undertone there, something you can’t quite place. The way he looks at you... it’s not just a casual glance. It’s like he’s seeing something in you that you don’t quite understand yet.

“Different?” you ask, your voice unsure, but you feel the need to ask. It’s been a question on your mind since you first met him, since you first noticed how... unusual he is.

He chuckles softly, a sound that doesn’t quite match the heaviness in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

You try to meet his gaze, but there’s a wall there, something he’s not letting you into. The thought lingers in the back of your mind, and for the first time, you wonder just what it is he’s hiding.

But instead of pressing, you just nod, turning your gaze back to the stars. The silence between you stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, it feels strangely intimate, like you’re both floating in the same stillness, sharing something neither of you can fully name.

Eventually, Haechan sighs, and the weight of the moment seems to shift.

“Thanks for coming out here with me,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know why, but it helps. Being around people who make me feel... not freakish.”

You smile softly, unsure of what else to say. He’s said enough for now, and maybe, for the first time, you realize that the pieces of him that have been hidden behind walls are starting to crack just a little. Maybe soon, he’ll let you in. But for now, this is enough.

You glance up at the stars again, feeling a strange sense of calm.

“Yeah,” you reply, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

The night lingers on, and you both stay there, staring up at the stars, with the unspoken words between you both hanging in the cool air.

Haechan can’t shake the feeling that he’s dying.

It’s not dramatic, but it’s close enough. His body aches, his mind feels foggy, and no matter how much he tries to sleep or eat—nothing helps. He’s been cutting himself off from the blood, trying to prove that he can do this, trying to fight it. The cravings are there, gnawing at the back of his throat, but he’s trying—trying—to ignore them.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Doesn’t want to fall back into old habits.

But the hunger is relentless. It claws at him when he’s alone, when he’s trying to focus, when he’s near you.

Being around you is the only thing that makes him feel normal, the only thing that pushes away the hunger for just a moment. The more he sees you, the more he needs to see you. It’s like a fix, a quiet peace that settles over him when the two of you are together.

“Dude, you okay?” Jaemin’s voice cuts through the haze, a sharp note of concern in it that Haechan can’t ignore.

He looks up to see the group’s concerned faces staring back at him. Jeno and Chenle are also watching him, arms crossed, silent.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Haechan says, but his voice is strained. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for days. He’s not fine. His body feels like it’s burning from the inside, and no amount of water or food can quell it.

Jaemin doesn’t buy it. He walks over, looking him up and down. “You don’t look fine. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Haechan rubs his eyes, trying to clear the exhaustion. “I’ve been busy, okay? Just haven’t had time to rest.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push. “It’s not just that, though. You’ve been acting weird. You keep disappearing. And every time you come back, you smell… different.” He leans closer, sniffing the air dramatically, earning a roll of the eyes from Haechan.

“Cut it out, Jaemin,” he mutters, swatting at his friend’s hand.

Jeno, who’s been unusually quiet, finally speaks up. “Look, we all know you’ve been… trying to stop. But you can’t just cut off the blood supply like that and expect to feel good. You’re messing with your system, Haechan. You need it.”

“I don’t want it anymore,” Haechan snaps, the words coming out sharper than he intends. He exhales, trying to calm himself. “I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

He pauses, looking at his friends, feeling the weight of their gazes. “It’s just… It’s hard, okay? Especially when I’m around her.”

Jaemin, ever the curious one, raises an eyebrow. “Who? Y/N?”

Haechan’s heart skips, just a little, at the mention of youe name. He’s never admitted it aloud, not even to himself. But the truth is, you are the only thing that makes it all feel bearable. You’re the reason he’s still standing, still breathing, even if it's just in fragments.

“I don’t know what it is,” he mutters, his voice quiet now. “She’s just… different. Every time I see her, I feel like I’m finally able to breathe again. And I know that’s messed up, but it’s true.” He laughs bitterly. “I can’t explain it. It’s just… something about her pulls me in. I just… need to be near her.”

Jeno and Chenle exchange a glance.

“I still don’t get it,” Chenle says, shaking his head. “What’s so special about her? I mean, she’s just a human.”

Haechan’s jaw tightens. “She’s not just a human.” His voice softens, almost wistful. “She makes me feel normal. Not like... this.”

Jaemin claps his hands together, leaning in, trying to lighten the mood. “Look, man. Just don’t go overboard. Mark’s been asking about you. He knows something’s up.”

Haechan’s stomach drops at the mention of Mark. Mark has always been the level-headed one, taking care of them whenever they needed it and trusting them implicitly. If he finds out what’s going on with Haechan, it’s all over.

“I’m not doing anything crazy, alright?” Haechan says, quickly. He stands up and brushes himself off, trying to hide the nerves that flood through him. “I’m just... keeping my distance, okay?”

Jaemin’s grin is sly. “Well, if you don’t want Mark to find out, you better chill with all the Y/N stuff. It’s obvious you’re way into her.”

Haechan looks at him, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in his chest at the thought. He’s not into her. Not in the way Jaemin means. But he’s still drawn to her, more than he’s ever been to anyone. And that’s the problem.

“I’m not into her,” Haechan mutters, though even he knows it’s a lie.

Jaemin just shrugs. “Whatever, dude. Just don’t let it get out of hand.”

As Haechan walks out of the room, he can’t help but think about his friends’ words. They’re right, in a way. But when it comes to you, everything feels different. And he can’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

You’re starting to get used to it—the rides, the late-night drives, the feeling that Haechan is always around. It’s no longer as weird as it once was, almost making you feel safe, and maybe that’s what gets to you the most. The strangeness you’d once felt when you first met him has been replaced with something… comforting. You can’t put your finger on it, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like things are just a little bit easier.

The first time he offers to drive you to work, you’re reluctant. You hate being dependent on others, let alone someone you barely know. But your car’s practically falling apart, and the idea of breaking down again isn’t exactly appealing, so you give in.

And just like that, he starts picking you up every morning. It’s like an unspoken routine, and after a few days, it’s almost like you’ve always had this. He’s always there at the same time, always with that casual smile and a way of making even the silence feel comfortable.

“You really don’t have to do this, Haechan,” you say one morning, standing at your front door and looking at your car. “I’ll be fine.”

He looks at your car with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna last long.”

You huff a little, but it’s not a serious protest. In truth, you’re kind of relieved. Your car is definitely on its last legs. He’s there every day now, picking you up, and it becomes a sort of comfort. Something you look forward to as you climb into the passenger seat, the world outside your window slowly passing by as you talk.

You talk about work, about random things. It’s easy to get lost in conversation with him. And somehow, the more you talk, the more you feel like you’re peeling away the layers, getting to know him. Even if you’re not asking direct questions, it’s like you’re discovering the little things that make him tick.

But then there are your parents.

They start to notice, of course. They’re always watching, always concerned, and you can tell when the questions start. You’d think they’d be relieved you weren’t driving around in your old car anymore, but they’re more skeptical than anything.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that boy lately,” your mom says, casually, but you can see the look in her eyes. The concern. She doesn’t have to say much for you to know what she’s thinking.

“He’s just helping me out with my car, Mom,” you respond quickly, brushing it off.

“Are you sure that’s all?” she presses, narrowing her eyes in that way she does when she’s trying to get to the truth. “You don’t really know him, do you?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the flicker of doubt in your chest. “He’s just a friend, Mom. Really.”

Your dad doesn’t even try to hide his disapproval when the topic comes up over dinner. “So, now you have a personal chauffeur?” he says, his tone sharp and skeptical. “What’s he after?”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Nothing, Dad. He’s just a friend.”

But the concern doesn’t fade. If anything, it makes it worse. Your dad watches your every move when you leave the house, and you can feel the tension between him and Haechan the first time they meet. It’s like a silent standoff, and you’re not sure what’s making your dad so antsy, but it’s there. And that only makes you feel more conflicted.

“Be careful, alright?” your mom says quietly, her eyes following you as you walk out the door. “You don’t know who his friends are. Or what he’s really like.”

You don’t respond, but the unease lingers. It gnaws at you, even though you try to push it away. You tell yourself it’s nothing. Your parents are just overprotective.

The truth is, you don’t know what to make of Haechan. You’re still figuring him out, and as you spend more time with him, you start to see sides of him that make you think maybe your parents are right to be worried. Sometimes he says things that don’t make sense, or acts in ways that are just a little too charming, too… perfect. It’s like he knows exactly how to make you feel comfortable, exactly how to make you feel like the world’s a little less complicated when he’s around.

You don’t know why you’re so drawn to him, but you are. And that’s the scariest part.

One night after work, Haechan pulls up to your house as usual. You’re tired, your legs aching from standing all day, and you can’t wait to get inside and collapse into bed. But when you see him sitting in the car, looking at you with that familiar, almost concerned look, you feel a tug at your chest.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer than usual. “You look kind of wiped.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, trying to brush it off. “Just a long day.”

But he doesn’t seem convinced. “You sure?”

You nod, but he’s still looking at you with that too-knowing gaze. It’s like he sees right through the walls you’ve built up.

“Alright, well… get some rest, okay?” he says, a little too carefully.

You smile and nod, but as you turn to open the door, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching you a little too closely. It’s not unsettling, though. In a strange way, it makes you feel… seen.

The next morning, it’s the same routine. The same car, the same comforting silence between you two. You slip into the passenger seat, already feeling like this is your new normal. The world outside is a blur, and for a while, it’s just the two of you, the road, and the easy conversation that flows between you.

Maybe your parents are right to worry. Maybe Haechan isn’t exactly what he seems.

But right now, none of that matters. Right now, it’s just you and him. And for the first time in a long time, that’s enough.

You’re working your usual shift at the hospital, dreading returning home, since the house was empty, your parents having gone on a weekend trip to the coast. Something about having the house to yourself felt wrong, as if you weren’t supposed to be there.  You were checking on patients and trying to stay on top of your never-ending to-do list. The night is quiet, almost eerily so, when suddenly you get a call for a new patient who’s been brought in after a car accident. You rush to the emergency room to help.

The whole thing happens so fast. A small fender-bender turns into chaos when the injured man starts bleeding uncontrollably, and the pressure to get him stabilized is on. The room’s filled with frantic activity, the beeping of machines, the distant sounds of nurses and doctors hustling around. You’re running on autopilot, focused on getting everything right, keeping your head in the game.

Then, as you step back, you trip on one of the many cords snaking around the patient, losing your footing and crashing into a nearby medical cart. You hit your head against the metal shelf hard enough for a sharp pain to shoot through your skull. The force leaves you dazed for a moment, and you stumble, but manage to catch yourself before you hit the ground.

You’re stunned, disoriented, but you quickly shake it off. It’s just a small bump. Nothing serious. You finish helping with the patient’s stabilization, and the team moves the man into the intensive care unit. Still, your head throbs, and when you bring your hand up to it, you feel the sticky warmth of blood.

The rest of the night is a blur of patients and responsibilities. You try to stay focused, but every time you move, the pain in your head intensifies. By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted and ready to head home.

Today had been one of the rare days you were able to convince Haechan not to pick you up, he had seemed sick and you quickly assured him you’d be able to make it to and from work in one piece. 

The drive home is silent, your head still pounding. You pull up to your house, your neck aching, your vision blurry. You’re halfway to the door when your phone buzzes with a message from Haechan.

Haechan: “How are you? You okay?”

You smile despite yourself, not realizing how much you’ve come to look forward to his messages. He’s always checking in, and you appreciate it. But you’re also annoyed with yourself for not letting him know how much you need him around more often.

You text back: “Long shift. Bumped my head pretty bad, but it’s nothing. Just a little dizzy and tired”

It’s only a few minutes after you send this text when you hear a car pulling up in front of your house. You step out to check, and to your surprise, Haechan’s car pulls up right in front of your house. He looks frantic, eyes wide, hands gripping the wheel tight. When he sees you, his face softens, but the panic doesn’t fade from his eyes.

“Haechan? What—”

Before you can finish the sentence, he’s out of the car and at your side, looking you up and down. His gaze settles on your head, and you realize you’ve got a thin trickle of blood running down the side of your face. His breathing quickens as he reaches for your head, his hand trembling slightly as he touches it, almost as though he’s afraid of hurting you more.

“Y/N… what happened?” His voice is strained, like he’s struggling to stay calm. You’d never seen him like this before.

“I’m fine,” you insist, swatting his hand away gently. “Really, it’s just a little bump. I’ve had worse.”

But he’s not hearing you. His eyes flicker to your neck, his gaze darkening as though something inside him is fighting to stay under control. You notice the strange way his chest rises and falls, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth are grinding. His usual charm and ease have disappeared. He’s nothing like the confident, carefree guy you’ve come to know. In this moment, he looks almost… afraid.

“I can’t… I can’t be around when you’re like this,” he mutters, voice low, just above a whisper. He takes a step back, his eyes darting all over you as though he’s trying to pull himself together.

Before you can ask him what the hell is going on, he grabs your arm and pulls you gently but firmly towards his car.

“Come on,” he says, his voice now forceful, but not in the usual playful way. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

You don’t protest. Part of you wonders if you should, but you don’t. There’s something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—and you know, deep down, that he’s not just being dramatic.

As he drives, you can feel the tension in his movements, like he’s doing everything to keep himself in check. The car ride is silent, the only noise being the hum of the engine and the occasional deep breath from Haechan.

He pulls up to the familiar spot—an empty field, the stars overhead. He cuts the engine but doesn’t get out, staring at the dashboard, his fingers gripping the wheel again. You’re unsure if you should break the silence or let him speak first, but before you can make up your mind, he turns to you.

“I… I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, his voice cracking as though it’s something he’s been holding in for a long time. “I don’t care how crazy it sounds, but I can’t.” He pauses, his eyes shifting away from yours. “I know what I am. I know I’m dangerous.”

He takes a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry. But you can’t get hurt, not like this.”

You don’t say anything right away. What do you say to that? You’re still reeling from the intensity of the situation, your head throbbing from the bump and the tension in the air.

But there’s something in his eyes that keeps you from running. You know, deep down, that whatever this is—it’s not just some passing thing. There’s more to it. And despite the fear, you want to understand.

"I don’t know what you're talking about," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s eyes flicker to yours, his gaze softening just a fraction. “I know… but I’m going to do everything I can to protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

And for the first time, you wonder if you should be scared. Or if, somehow, you’ve already let yourself fall too far into this strange world Haechan is dragging you into.

The car ride is tense, Haechan’s grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. His eyes dart from the road to you, his jaw clenching as if he’s fighting an internal battle. You’re too shaken to speak, and the headache from your injury is dull but persistent. You try to ignore it, but the silence between you feels suffocating.

When you arrive, it’s not where you expected. It’s not the familiar abandoned farm or some quiet spot you can retreat to. No, this place is sleek, almost eerie—like it’s frozen in time, hidden away from the rest of the world. The house looms in front of you, dark windows reflecting the dim light of the street lamps.

He doesn’t say a word, but when you hesitate, his eyes lock onto yours, almost desperate.

“Please. Just come inside. I just... I just need you to let me take care of you.”

You blink in confusion, but something in his gaze makes you step out of the car and follow him to the door. You can’t explain it, but you trust him. Even though you know something’s off, something about him is different. And right now, you don’t know what else to do.

The door opens before he even knocks, revealing a dimly lit hallway and a sense of discomfort that hits you instantly. The air smells faintly of something... metallic, almost. The atmosphere is heavy, like something is watching you from the shadows.

Before you can even ask where you are, Haechan’s hand grips your wrist tightly, pulling you inside, and the door slams shut behind you.

A few guys are already there—Jaemin, Jeno, and Chenle—sitting on the couches, their expressions sharp as they see you. They glance between you and Haechan, and you can practically feel the tension rise. There’s something about their eyes, the way they’re looking at you, that makes you uncomfortable.

“Hyuck, what the hell are you doing?” Jaemin asks, his voice cold but laced with concern. “What’s going on?”

Haechan is a mess—sweat dripping down his forehead, his body trembling like he can’t control it. His hands are shaking as he pulls at his shirt, his eyes wild. “Can you just help her?” His voice cracks, and you can feel the desperation pouring off him. "Just help me."

The other guys exchange glances, but they don’t argue. Instead, Jaemin stands and walks toward you, his demeanor softening.

“You’re hurt. You need to sit down,” Jaemin says calmly, taking your arm gently. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

You feel like you’re floating as he gently guides you to sit on the sofa.

The room feels too small. The air is thick with tension, and you can’t help but watch as Haechan paces back and forth, his hands trembling at his sides. You’ve never seen him like this before. He looks... wrecked. There’s something unsettling about the way his eyes dart around, as if he’s on edge, like he’s trying to hold something back.

Jaemin is standing near the window, his brows furrowed as he watches Haechan closely. His hand hovers near his phone, as if he's debating calling someone, but before he can make a move, the door creaks open. Mark steps in, his presence immediately calming the room. He glances at you first, his eyes soft but guarded. Then, his attention shifts to Haechan, who freezes at the sight of him.

“Mark,” Jaemin says, his voice tight. “He’s not—he’s not good right now. It’s... it’s bad.”

Mark doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps further into the room, his eyes flicking between you and Haechan. The look on his face is unreadable, and he moves with an air of authority that quiets the room. He’s in charge here, even without saying a word.

Haechan’s breathing is shallow, and his eyes lock on Mark as if the mere sight of him is grounding him, just a little bit. But the frantic energy is still there, visible in the way he’s gripping the edges of the nearest table. “Help me, Mark,” he mutters, voice rough, like the words are clawing their way out of his chest. “I can’t—she’s so close, I can’t—I need her, I need to—”

“Hyuck, shut up,” Mark interrupts, his voice low but firm. He walks over to Haechan and places a hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the table. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Haechan freezes, the words hitting him like a slap. He looks at you for a split second—his eyes wild, confused, desperate. But Mark is there, pulling him away before he can get any closer. You’re not sure what to think, or what’s really going on, but you feel a knot tighten in your stomach.

Jaemin steps closer to you, his gaze softening. “You don’t have to worry,” he says quietly, though there’s an underlying tension in his voice. “We’re just trying to help him. He’s... been going through something, and he’s not himself right now.”

You want to ask what’s really happening, but before you can, Mark cuts in. He doesn’t want to give anything away, and you can see it in the way he’s controlling the situation. “We’ll take care of him,” he says, his voice as calm as he can make it. “You don’t need to get involved.”

Haechan looks like he’s about to lose it again, his eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name. He seems so... torn. There’s a part of him that’s trying to fight whatever is inside him, but it’s so clear now that he’s struggling. And you can’t shake the feeling that whatever is going on, it’s something more than you’re seeing.

“I can’t... I can’t go back to how it was,” Haechan whispers, his voice almost lost in the room. He doesn’t seem to be speaking to anyone, just to himself. “I can’t.” He repeats, as if trying to soothe himself.

Mark doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he nods, as though trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We’ll figure it out. But you need to pull it together before you hurt her,” he says, his voice stern.

Then, he turns to Jaemin and you, his expression hardening. “Take her to another room,” he orders, voice calm but firm. “I need to keep him away from her until we get this under control.”

Jaemin doesn’t argue. He gently takes your arm, guiding you toward the door without another word. You glance back at Haechan one last time, and something in his eyes pulls at you, but you don’t have the chance to react. Jaemin shuts the door behind you.

Inside the room, you can hear Haechan’s frantic breathing getting louder, mixed with Mark’s calm but firm instructions. It’s clear they’re trying to hide something from you—and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s not just about Haechan’s emotional state. But whatever it is, they’re not letting you in on it.

You want to know what’s really going on. You want to understand what’s happening to him. But you’re starting to realize that, no matter how much you care about him, there are some things you’re never going to know.

You sit quietly in the car, the weight of the situation still settling over you like a thick fog. Jeno is driving, Jaemin sitting in the passenger seat. The silence between you all is thick and uncomfortable. You’re still trying to process everything that happened back at the house—Haechan’s erratic behavior, his trembling hands, the frantic way he kept looking at you as if he couldn’t control himself. You’ve never seen anyone like that before, and it unsettles you more than you can put into words.

Jaemin glances back at you, his voice soft but trying to reassure you. “He’s just... going through a tough time,” he says, his words careful, as though he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you. “It’s not like he’s always like that. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”

You nod slowly, though your mind is racing. You can’t stop thinking about the way Haechan looked at you, the desperate, almost tormented look in his eyes. What was going on with him? Why did he act like that? And why were they trying so hard to hide whatever was really happening?

You don’t speak again during the ride. You’re too lost in your own thoughts, and the unsettling feelings swirling inside of you only grow stronger as you get closer to home. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and the anxiety is starting to eat at you.

When they pull up to your house, Jaemin turns to you. “We’ll talk more later, okay?” he says, his voice calm, trying to soothe you, but it’s not enough. You’re too shaken to feel comforted right now.

You just nod again, muttering a quiet “Thanks,” before getting out of the car. You can still feel the strange weight of the night in your chest, and as you step inside your house, the sense of unease doesn’t leave.

You spend the rest of the night in your room, trying to distract yourself, but the thoughts of Haechan and his strange behavior keep resurfacing. Every time you close your eyes, you see his face—wild, desperate, almost unrecognizable in his struggle. It’s hard to shake the feeling that something isn’t right, and your heart sinks as you realize that whatever’s going on with him, you don’t know if you can handle it.

That night, sleep comes, albeit it fitfully. It’s filled with a nightmare that feels too real. You’re standing in a dark, empty room. It’s cold, and the walls feel like they’re closing in on you. And then you hear him—Haechan’s voice, low and almost... threatening.

You turn, but before you can move, he’s there. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, but it’s not him. Not the Haechan you know. He’s angry, wild, and you feel his hands on your arms, gripping you with a strength that’s too much, too much for you to break free from. His grip tightens, and you scream, but he doesn’t let go. The fear you feel in the dream is real, too real, and you wake up with a start, your breath shallow, heart racing in your chest.

You sit up in bed, your skin cold with sweat. The room is dark, and everything feels wrong. You can still hear his voice in your ears, feel the pressure of his hands on your skin, and you shiver. The nightmare lingers, the fear still gripping your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The morning after everything happened, you drive yourself to work. The ride is quiet, but your mind is a storm of thoughts. You can’t shake the image of Haechan’s face—the way he looked at you last night, desperate and frantic. The nightmare lingers like a shadow in the back of your mind, and you’re not sure which is worse: the vision of his hands on your arms in your dream or the fact that you don’t know what’s real anymore.

You turn the key in the ignition and start your car, the engine humming to life, but it feels like everything around you is in slow motion. You still can’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched, like Haechan’s presence is hovering just behind you, pulling you into his orbit. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and you try to focus on the road ahead, pushing away the feelings of dread.

The hum of the engine is almost soothing, but it doesn’t stop the nervous tension in your chest or the pounding. As you drive, you think back to your parents, how they didn’t miss the change in your mood. You can feel their worried glances from the moment they saw you this morning, having arrived home late in the night, after you had already surrendered to sleep. They know something’s wrong, and it’s only a matter of time before they ask.

When you pull into your driveway after work, you’re relieved to be home. But as you step inside, your mother’s voice calls out from the kitchen.

“You’re home late,” she says, sounding concerned. “And you look... shaken up. What happened, honey?”

You swallow hard, trying to hide the unease still lingering inside you. “Nothing, Mom. Just a long day,” you lie, but your voice is too tight for her not to notice.

She walks over, setting a hand on your shoulder, looking you up and down like she’s trying to see through the mask you’re wearing. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks, her voice soft but insistent. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine, really. Just tired, that’s all.”

Your dad walks into the room then, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. “You look pale,” he observes. “Like something’s bothering you. Did something happen at work? Or... is it about that boy? Haechan, right?”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of his name. You can’t look them in the eye. “I’m fine, Dad. It’s just... I’m not feeling too great.”

They exchange a look, one you can’t quite place, but you know they’re worried. And it’s not just because of your sudden change in mood. They’re worried about something else.

“Has he been bothering you?” your dad asks, his voice low but laced with concern. “That boy... Haechan. He’s always been nice, but you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Has he done anything that made you uncomfortable?”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. The last thing you want to do is talk about what happened, but you can’t lie to them either. You’re so tired of pretending like everything is fine. But you also can’t bring yourself to tell them the truth—not the whole truth. Not yet.

“I... I don’t know,” you admit, your voice shaking. “He just... he’s been acting weird. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but something’s off. Last night, I—” You stop, biting your lip, trying to hold it together. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

Your mom pulls you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly. “We’re here for you, sweetheart,” she says, her voice gentle. “But if you feel like something’s wrong, you need to let us know. You don’t have to keep it to yourself.”

You nod against her shoulder, unable to speak. You want to tell them everything—the truth about Haechan, what happened the night before, how terrified you felt in that moment. But you don’t. You don’t know how.

Later that night, you can feel your parents’ eyes on you as they discuss what’s going on. You hear bits and pieces of their conversation from your room—how they don’t trust Haechan, how worried they are about you being around him, and how they think you should stay away from him for your own safety.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling more isolated than ever. You should have been scared, but the truth is, you don’t know what you feel anymore. You’re confused, lost, and you just want to forget it all.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, a message from Haechan. It’s a simple, “Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry about earlier.”

But you don’t answer. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain that you’re scared of him, and that you’re not sure why.

You feel your heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

You’ve been avoiding him.

It’s hard to do, considering how often you bump into him when you leave work, when you’re at the store, when you’re just out trying to live your life. But you’re doing it. For your own sanity, you’re keeping distance, and it’s making you anxious too. You can’t escape the nightmares and the visions of him in pain—and the overwhelming urge to help him. But something’s off. You can feel it in your bones.

The more you avoid him, the more anxious you become. But every time you see a message from him, your heart drops. What is it? Why is it that, despite being scared of him, you can’t seem to stop missing him?

Little do you know, he’s just as anxious without you around.

Every night, he finds himself staring at his phone, waiting for a message that doesn’t come. The loneliness gnaws at him like a hunger, and it’s not a hunger he can satisfy. He knows something’s wrong with him, but he can’t quite put it into words. He’s starting to lose control of his thoughts—his need for you growing sharper with each passing day. There’s no explanation for it. No reason why he feels this empty. But the truth is, he can’t stand being apart from you.

One evening, as Haechan paces around the house, restless, Mark notices.

“You’re a mess,” Mark comments, leaning against the doorframe of the room where Haechan is pacing back and forth. “If you keep this up, you’re going to crack.”

Haechan glances up, the exhaustion and anxiety clear in his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” he admits, the words falling from his lips like they’ve been waiting to be said for far too long.

Mark stays quiet for a moment, taking in Haechan’s state. “You’re obsessed,” he mutters.

“I’m not obsessed,” Haechan snaps back. “I—I need her, Mark. I can’t keep pretending like this isn’t—” He cuts himself off, his voice breaking. “I think she’s my mate. She’s... the one.”

Mark’s eyes widen slightly, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s heard of this before—vampires finding their mates, that one person who becomes everything to them. It’s rare, but it happens. And when it does, it’s all-consuming.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Mark says, though there’s no malice in his voice—just disbelief. “You’re saying you think she’s... the one? Like, the one-one?”

Haechan nods, his chest tightening. “I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s... it’s different. I know it doesn’t make sense, but she’s... I’m empty without her.”

Mark rubs his temples, his own frustration evident. “This is a mess, Haechan. You’re scaring her. And if she finds out you’re keeping tabs on her, she’s going to run from you for good. You need to talk to her.”

“But what if—what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Haechan’s voice cracks. “I can’t lose her. I—” He swallows, his hands shaking slightly. “I need to see her. I need to talk to her. I have to make her understand.”

Mark steps forward, placing a hand on Haechan’s shoulder, his grip firm but supportive. “Then go talk to her. But you have to do it right. No more creeping around in the shadows. No more avoiding her. If she’s your mate, you have to let her decide, too. But you have to be honest with her. No more hiding.”

Haechan nods, a weight settling in his chest. He knows Mark is right, but the thought of facing you, of telling you everything, terrifies him. He’s never felt this vulnerable in his life.

“I don’t want to scare her,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I get it,” Mark says, his expression softening. “But you can’t keep running from it. If she’s really the one... you can’t hide from her forever.”

The next day, Haechan finally decides to take Mark’s advice.

He drives to the cafe you’re always at after work. He parks across the street, watching you through the window, trying to steady his nerves. His hands are sweaty on the wheel, his heart hammering in his chest. What if you don’t understand? What if you don’t feel the same way?

He watches you for a long while, and then, as if on cue, you glance up and meet his gaze through the glass. Your eyes widen in surprise, but before he can wave or approach, you look away, clearly uncomfortable.

He feels a sharp pang in his chest, the space between them growing ever wider. No more running.

Taking a deep breath, he steps out of the car and walks across the street, determination pushing him forward. He reaches the door to the cafe and pauses just before entering. He looks at you again, and this time, when your eyes meet, there’s no hesitation.

You stand up from your seat, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you is thick with unspoken words.

“I... I need to talk to you,” Haechan finally says, his voice rough but steady.

You blink, looking at him in confusion, but you nod. “Okay,” you say softly, not sure what to expect.

Haechan swallows, gathering every last bit of courage. “I’ve been... avoiding you. And I know you’ve been avoiding me, too. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you. You... You’re not just anyone to me.”

Your heart skips a beat as you watch his expression soften, his vulnerability clear in his eyes. “I need you, more than you know,” he says, and even though it sounds insane, he means it with everything in him.

You stare at him, too stunned to speak, trying to process what he just said. You don’t know what to say, how to respond. 

You’re lost in the chaos of your thoughts when he speaks again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please, just listen to me. I’ve never felt like this before, not with anyone. You’re... everything to me.”

You search his eyes, looking for some sign that this is some cruel prank. “We barely know each other, Haechan, you sound crazy.”

Haechan’s face falls at your words, but he doesn’t retreat. His eyes are full of emotion—vulnerability, desperation, and a deep sense of yearning that you can’t ignore. He steps closer, his voice trembling with sincerity. “I know how it sounds. But I swear, I’m not joking. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You back away slightly, heart racing. This doesn’t feel real. You’ve known him for only a short time, and yet, here he is, spilling his soul in front of you, and you’re left trying to understand what he means.

“I get that this is... overwhelming,” Haechan continues, his voice raw. “But I need you to understand—I’ve been running from this. From you. Because I was scared. Scared of how much you mean to me, scared that you might think I’m some kind of monster. But I can’t run anymore.”

You blink, trying to process everything. “Monster? What are you—”

“I’m a vampire,” he cuts in quickly, his words coming out in a rush. “And so are the others—the ones you met. I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I can’t keep lying to you. You have to know the truth.”

Your mouth goes dry. A vampire? You think it’s some kind of twisted joke, your mind scrambling to come up with a response. But when you look into his eyes, there’s no trace of humor, no playful glint. He’s serious. He’s telling you the truth.

“No way,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s... that’s impossible.”

“I know,” he murmurs, taking a hesitant step closer. “It sounds insane. But everything about this, about us, is real. The pull you’ve felt, the connection—it’s not in your head. It’s because you’re... you’re my mate.”

You freeze at his words, your mind going blank. Mate. It’s a word that doesn’t belong in your reality. How could it? How could he be saying this to you? How could you be his?

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” you whisper, the words barely leaving your mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want you to be scared of me, but hiding it from you, keeping this from you... it’s been tearing me apart. I need you to understand. You’re not just anyone to me. You’re everything.”

You can’t think straight, your heart beating erratically in your chest. You want to run. You want to scream. You want to slam the door in his face and pretend none of this ever happened. But something—something—keeps you standing there, frozen, listening.

“Is it true?” you ask, barely able to keep your voice steady. “What you said about being your mate... do you really mean that?”

Haechan nods slowly, the rawness in his eyes never leaving. “Yes. I do. And... I know this is crazy, but I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. You’re the one I’m meant to be with. And I know it’s all happening too fast, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You swallow, feeling your throat tighten. You want to push him away, but the truth is—you can’t. You feel it too. That strange pull. That undeniable connection. Even though everything in you is screaming to run, to walk away from him and everything he’s telling you, a small part of you wants to stay.

“But... what does that mean?” you whisper. “What does it mean for us?”

Haechan takes another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “It means that I need you. And I know this is a lot for you to take in. But you feel it too, don’t you? You’ve felt the pull. You’ve felt what’s between us. I can’t pretend anymore. You’re my mate, and that’s something I can’t deny.”

You feel your heart race at his words, but your mind refuses to catch up. You’re still trying to grasp what he’s telling you. “I don’t know what to do with this, Haechan. I don’t know how to... handle this.”

“I understand,” he says softly. “I didn’t expect you to just accept it. I’m not asking you to decide right now, but please... don’t shut me out. Please, don’t make me lose you.”

You stand there in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Your heart aches, your mind spinning. You want to believe him, you want to make sense of everything he’s saying, but the truth is, you feel like you’re drowning.

“I... I need time,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I need to think about everything. I can’t just... I can’t just jump into this.”

Haechan’s face falls, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “I’ll give you all the time you need. Just... don’t forget that I’m here. I’ll wait for you, no matter what.”

You nod slowly, your chest tight with the weight of everything. The space between you feels suffocating, yet you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

As Haechan turns to leave, you feel the sting of something you can’t name. You don’t know where this will go, or if you even want it to, but part of you knows—no matter how much you try to push it away, this thing between you two isn’t something you can ignore forever.

Haechan had never felt so isolated.

The moment you told him you needed space, a crack formed in his chest, widening with every minute that passed without you. He tried to pretend it didn't bother him, tried to convince himself that it was for the best. He didn't deserve you—not after everything he’d kept hidden, not after he’d shown you the truth of what he was. But it didn’t stop the hurt.

So, he did what he always did when things got too hard: he locked himself in his room, away from the world, away from the other guys. He could feel the tension in his bones, a gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t the kind that could be filled with food. It was you. He wanted you more than he wanted anything else.

For days, he didn't leave. He didn’t eat. His thoughts were consumed by you—by the way you’d looked at him when you said you needed space, the mix of fear, confusion, and something else. You didn’t understand him, not really, and it hurt more than anything. He could still see the way you’d looked at him when he confessed. He had been so sure. But now, sitting in his dimly lit room, he wasn't so certain anymore.

Meanwhile, you weren't faring much better.

You missed him. That was the truth of it. You hated how much you missed him. Every night, you lay awake, the silence of your room pressing in on you, as your mind replayed the last time you saw him. You wanted to hate him for what he’d done, for the secrets, for everything, but you couldn’t. You still felt that pull toward him, that inexplicable attraction that gnawed at you when you were awake and haunted your dreams when you slept.

The dreams had taken a turn, and you couldn't quite explain it. You would dream of Haechan—only this time, he wasn’t the monster you feared he was. Instead, he was tender, soft in a way you hadn’t expected. He would hold you, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, loved even. In the dreams, he wasn’t hiding anything from you. He laid himself bare in front of you, the words spilling out of his mouth in whispered confessions of how much he cared for you, how much he needed you.

You woke from those dreams more than once, your chest tight, your heart pounding, and your mind spinning with thoughts of him. How could you move forward after everything he’d said? You couldn't just pretend like things were normal again. But at the same time, you missed him more than you cared to admit.

Then one night, as you were finishing your shift, you spotted them.

The guys. Standing outside the hospital, looking like they were waiting for something, or someone. Your heart skipped a beat, and the air felt heavier. You couldn’t stop yourself from walking over to the door and pushing it open, a quiet curiosity drawing you toward them.

They looked at you with a mixture of urgency and hesitation, but it was Jeno who stepped forward, his expression serious.

“You need to come with us,” Jeno said, his voice a little softer than usual. “Haechan’s been... he’s been falling apart. He won’t talk to anyone, and he can’t stop thinking about you. He needs you, Y/N. Please. He’s suffering.”

You could feel the heat rush to your face, your heart clenching. Haechan had been suffering? The thought of him like that twisted something deep in your chest. It was clear he wasn’t handling everything well, and as much as you hated to admit it, neither were you.

“I don’t know...” You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know if I can just—”

“Please,” Jeno interrupted, his gaze softening. “He’s in a bad place, and he won’t get better unless you see him. We’re not asking you to fix everything. We just want you to see him, to talk to him. He needs you more than you know.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You wanted to say no. You wanted to keep your distance, to protect yourself from whatever hurt might be waiting for you. But the truth was, you couldn't bear the thought of him being alone in his pain, not after everything he’d shared with you.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go.”

The drive to his place felt like it took forever.

You stared out the window, your thoughts a jumbled mess of uncertainty, confusion, and the remnants of something that might have been affection. The other guys didn't say much as they drove, their presence quiet but comforting in its own way. You could feel the tension radiating off of them, but they didn't push you, didn't ask anything more than what they had already said.

When you finally arrived at the house, your heart pounded in your chest. You hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the car, your legs shaky. As you walked inside, you found yourself wondering if you were making the right choice.

You cautiously made your way up the stairs towards the room Mark had pointed out to you. Once you reach it, you stand perfectly still, debating on if you should even knock.

And then the door opened.

Haechan stood in the doorway, his usual cocky smile nowhere to be found. He looked different—drained, like he hadn’t been sleeping or eating. His eyes were tired, and he wore the kind of expression that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t explain.

“You came,” he said, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. It felt like a lifetime ago that you had last seen him, and now, standing in front of him, you didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your emotions at war with each other. He looked at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to read you, to figure out what you were feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I never should’ve kept this from you. I... I didn’t want to scare you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “You scared me, Haechan,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know what to believe.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I need you to know... I never wanted to hurt you. I just... I didn’t know how to handle this, how to explain what I am.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to process everything. “You’re a vampire,” you said, the words tasting strange on your tongue. “How am I supposed to handle that? How do I trust you after everything?”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he said, his voice full of guilt. “But I need you to understand something... You’re not just anyone to me. You’re... everything. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You had wanted to hate him, wanted to push him away, but something in the way he looked at you, something in the way he sounded, made it impossible to deny that there was something real between you.

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, his eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

You took a shaky breath, your heart racing. "You... You think I’m your mate?"

“I know you feel it too,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t expect you to understand all at once, but I can’t deny it anymore. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for. I don’t want to lose you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a flood of emotions, a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else—something that you couldn't ignore. You didn’t know how to move forward, but you knew one thing: you couldn’t stay away from him anymore.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

Haechan nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Tentatively, you stepped into his arms, your body pressing against his cold, hard frame. The relief that washed over him was almost palpable, and for a brief moment, he almost crumpled under the weight of it.

But then, something shifted in him. The scent of you, so close, was intoxicating, and your proximity was making everything more intense. He suddenly became hyper-aware of how long it had been since he’d eaten. His hunger had never felt sharper.

You felt the change in him immediately. His body stiffened, his breathing shallow as he pulled away slightly, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice soft but filled with concern. You studied his face, your fingers grazing over his features in a gentle search for answers.

His face flushed, and he quickly looked away. “Nothing,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, almost panicked. “It’s just... I’m just happy I can finally hold you.”

But you weren’t convinced. Your brow furrowed, a mix of concern and frustration crossing your face. “When was the last time you ate? Or—drank, I guess.”

There was a pause, a moment where he weighed his options, wondering if he could lie to you. But when he saw the genuine worry on your face, the possibility of keeping the truth from you vanished.

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his words muffled but heavy. “The night before I last saw you,” he mumbled, as though he was ashamed.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed him gently away, a frown tugging at your lips. “That was almost a week ago! Haechan, why haven’t you eaten?”

He lowered his gaze, looking almost childlike, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. “I thought you were rejecting me,” he confessed quietly, the words laced with vulnerability. “I didn’t think I deserved to... I didn’t want to take anything from you.”

You sighed, exasperation mixed with tenderness. “You starved yourself for a week over this? You’re crazy,” you said with a soft laugh. “I’m flattered, I guess, but seriously, you need to take care of yourself.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his hands tightening around you, pulling you closer. “Just a little longer... Please, I just need to be with you. I need to hold you.”

Your heart ached for him, and you gently ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him as best as you could. “Haechan...”

A hesitant silence hung between you, and then, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Would—would it help if you drank from me?”

You cringed slightly as the words left your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the awkwardness of the request.

You felt him smile against your skin, his breath warm against your neck as he chuckled softly. “Are you serious? You really don’t have to... I can get it somewhere else,” he teased, his voice low and gentle, but there was an underlying note of something else in it—gratitude, longing.

But still, your heart pounded in your chest, unsure of what to do next.

You hesitated for only a moment before finding the courage to speak again, your voice softer this time, filled with a quiet resolve. “If we’re together, you can drink from me. I trust you.”

Haechan’s body tensed at your words, his heart racing in his chest. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze searching yours for any trace of doubt. When he saw none, he slowly nodded, his lips curving into a soft, almost sad smile.

He adjusted you carefully, his hands gentle as he tilted your head slightly to the side, exposing the sensitive pulse point at your neck. His breath tickled your skin, and you could feel the heat of his body, the tension in him as he hovered, his mouth dangerously close to your skin.

You could hear him whispering softly, but the words were too faint to make out, lost in the hum of your own heartbeat. The sound of him so close, so intimate, made you shiver with anticipation and a strange sense of comfort.

Then, as if to steady himself, Haechan pressed a soft kiss to the spot where your pulse beat the strongest. The tenderness of the gesture made your breath catch in your throat. And without warning, his lips parted, and you felt the sharp sting as his fangs pierced your skin.

For a brief second, there was only pain, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by an overwhelming wave of warmth that spread throughout your body. It was as though the world shifted, your senses heightened in a way you never thought possible. A pleasant tingling ran down your spine, making you feel lightheaded, and yet... anchored at the same time.

Haechan’s grip on you tightened slightly, but his touch remained gentle, as if trying to soothe you through the intensity of the moment. His mouth moved with slow, careful precision, drawing from you in quiet, almost reverent pulls. Each motion sent another surge of warmth flooding through you, and despite the strange circumstances, despite everything, you felt connected to him in a way you couldn't explain.

As his fangs withdrew, there was an ache, but it was nothing compared to the sensation that had built up within you. He licked at the small wound, his touch soft and tender, as though apologizing for the intrusion.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were darker than before, but there was a new softness in his gaze, an emotion you couldn't quite place. He caressed your cheek, his touch lingering as he whispered, “Thank you... I’ll never hurt you, I promise.”

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his words wrapping around you just as much as the warmth still blooming in your veins. “I know,” you murmured, your voice shaky but certain. “I trust you, Haechan.”

And in that moment, despite all the fear, all the uncertainty, there was something undeniably real between you both. Something that neither of you could deny.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 wow omg this one is so long. its also so bad but i rewatched twilight and had to write this. might write a continuation later on, possibly smut

masterlist.

[blushweddinggowns]

It had started as a rough few weeks. A rough few weeks that turned into a rough few months. It was weird, because in all honesty when it came to social standings, Will was doing a lot better here than he ever did in Hawkins. There were no Zombie Boy stories following him here, and he even managed to get a few girls to have a crush on him. He…still wasn’t quite clear how that worked out and he really wasn’t a fan of it. But they were also the only people he could talk to at school. He was way too paranoid of getting close to any guys. God forbid he got another crush on a friend, having none of them just seemed like the better course of action. 

It didn’t help that Mike had basically stopped acknowledging that he existed after they moved. He didn’t write to him, he didn’t call him, and it felt like the only time he heard his voice was when he politely asked for El over the phone. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Especially when he still put in so much effort to get ahold of El all the time. He’d resent her for it if he could, but the only one who was having a worse time than him with the move was her. Maybe Mike was a shitty friend to him, but at least she had someone to talk to. 

But whatever. Lucas and Dustin cared, and so did Eddie and Steve. And when Jonathan wasn’t busy being high as hell, he had him too. Even Max called him more often than Mike did. Even when she was just trying to get ahold of El she’d take the time to ask him how he was, a courtesy that his best friend from freaking kindergarten couldn’t even offer anymore. 

So maybe Will didn’t have many friends in California yet, but he didn’t feel very lonely. 

Just a little heartbroken. 

But he could get past it. Especially when some of his favorite people were only one phone call away. Sometimes it made him feel a little guilty, that Steve and Eddie were his go to for talking about his problems. Especially since Jonathan was always trying to get him to open up. Even when he was zoinked out of his gourd he never failed to ask Will how his day was. Though…he did have a hard time following the plot when Will told him. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Jonathan always wanted to help. But what could Will say? I’m depressed because I’m in love with my best friend who doesn’t care about me? And oh yeah, I’m gay? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. If Jonathan of all people hated him for that…he’s not sure he could recover. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

It was kind of pathetic, but he’d fantasize about it sometimes. Coming out to his family, everyone smiling and saying they’d love him anyway, no matter what. And if he was being honest with himself, it was technically possible, right? His brother had never said a bad word about Steve and Eddie. His mom never failed to shut the homophobic crap down when his crappy sperm donor had still been around. But it was different when it was your own kid, right? Will wasn’t quite sure. But he did know that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

So he called who he always did when he had a problem. It only took a few rings before someone was picking up, Steve’s familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Will sighed, flopping face first into his bed, the phone pressed to his ear. 

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

God, he was such a dad. Will wouldn’t be shocked if he started wearing socks with sandals by the time he hit twenty-three. He went straight to the point, “Do you think that living happily ever after is like a real thing? For people like us?”

Steve laughed, “It better fucking be after all the shit we’ve seen.”

“I don’t mean the Upside Down stuff,” Will sighed, “I mean like…y’know. The gay.”

Steve snorted, “The gay? I’m going to have to tell Eddie that one.”

Will rolled his eyes at the redundant statement. He had learned a long time ago that telling Steve something meant telling Eddie something, and vice versa. He sighed a tiny smile on his face, “Oh what, like he’s not already next to you listening in?”

“...touché.” 

Will laughed, turning over to stare at the ceiling, “I’m serious though. Like…is it even possible? It’s not like everyone gets to magically find their soulmate at eight.”

“Is that such a bad thing though?” Steve asked, “Because no offense dude but honestly? I think you could do a lot better than Mike-”

“Be nice,” Will interrupted, torn between being defensive for Mike’s sake and amused at Steve never failing to find a way to come at him.

“I will when he starts being nice to me.”

“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Will laughed, “I’m starting to think Eddie’s right to call you a brat.”

Steve gasped, loud and scandalized. He’d been hanging out with Robin too much, “Me?! Never!”

Will could barely hear it over the receiver, but he could hear Eddie’s faint voice coming through, Yes he is!

And it was making him laugh even harder. Will missed this, so much. He missed having a place where he could just say whatever he wanted, with no worries. Even now he was looking over his shoulder, anxious at the chance that his mom or a sibling could come bursting in at any moment to catch him in the act of being comfortable. It was a confusing and weird feeling, and probably a little unfair to assume they’d prefer him to be sad and quiet over happy and queer. But he still did.

But for now he was safe. And he might as well take the chance to speak on all the things he couldn’t with anyone else, “But what if I don’t want to do better than Mike? Like…it’s stupid but do you think that um, I would ever have a chance?”

The answer was a strong no, but sometimes Will just needed a reality check from someone else’s mouth. 

Steve sighed, “I think the odds are pretty low bud. All jokes aside, even if he was playing for our team, I’m not sure if he’s the type who could even accept it. Y’know?”

Will did know, unfortunately. And if he’d never met Eddie and Steve there was a solid chance he’d be that guy. The truth stung a bit, but it was necessary, “I know, I know. But…do you think he would accept me? If he ever found out?”

“He fucking better. Otherwise I’ll-”

Will heard a shuffle on the other end, paired with something that sounded suspiciously like whining before he heard Eddie’s voice, “Will? You there? Sorry about that. I had to take the phone away before he started talking about beating up a child.”

Will grinned, happy to hear Eddie’s voice, “You made the right call. Do you think they’ll ever get along?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Eddie sighed, “And I know Mike’s not perfect, but if he’s okay with us why wouldn’t he be with you?”

“But it’s different when it’s a friend, isn’t it?” Will asked, “I’m not even sure if my mom would accept it, let alone him.”

“Well first of all, you don’t have to tell anyone shit, okay? But I can promise you that Joyce would be fine with it. And so would Jonathan for that matter. And I don’t even know if El is aware of what homophobia even is.”

It all sounded a lot more believable out of Eddie’s mouth than what was going on in his own head. But still… “What if they don’t though? What if I tell them and they kick me out or something? Or make me go to therapy?”

“Okay, on the off, off chance that you tell them and Joyce suddenly became a monster overnight, we’ll go to plan B. Steve and I will drive up there to kidnap you and you can live in Indy with us.”

Will grinned. He could live with that, “Can’t we just make that Plan A?”

“No, because your family loves you, as they should by the way. And this won’t bother them, I swear. Plus, telling them on your own terms is a lot less awkward than getting caught in the act.”

Will didn’t even want to know what Eddie was alluding to with that one. Poor Wayne, “But what if we’re wrong?”

He wanted to believe him, he really did, but stranger things had happened outside of gay people being disowned. 

“Will, listen to me,” Eddie said, his voice confident enough to make Will perk up, “I swear on Steve’s life, okay? There is no way in hell anyone in that house is gonna reject you for this.”

Will blinked, a little shocked at just how much faith he had in his family. More than he did, “Really?”

“Really. Trust me on this man, you’re going to be fine.”

They hung up pretty soon after that, mostly because El started knocking on his door for the phone. The conversation made him feel a bit better, but also…nervous. Could he really tell them? Would it all just work out? Just like that? Will wasn’t so sure. 

He decided against doing it right away despite Eddie’s own confidence. But he did start to drop a few feelers. He started with Jonathan, waiting until he was high enough for him to forget the conversation if it didn’t go well. And that wasn’t a long wait. 

He found him and his new friend sprawled out in his room, Fast Times playing in the background as they both stared into space. Though Will wasn’t quite sure he could count what Argyle was doing as staring. He’s eyes were barely open, and Will was 90 percent sure he was passed out. But that was good for him, now was as good a time as any. 

Jonathan smiled at him as he wandered in, his words kind but slurring, “Hey! What’s up? You never come in here. You wanna watch something or…?”

Will shook his head, his heart aching a little at the way it made his brother frown. Maybe he really had been neglecting him, too caught up in his own head to spend time with the closest thing he had to a Dad. 

It made him feel a little bad, but that wasn’t what he was here for, “No thanks. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure!” Jonathan said, way too excited at the prospect of a simple question, but maybe that was the weed, “What’s up?”

Will shrugged, casually leaning against the door. Or at least he hoped it looked casual, because his heart was beating a mile per minute, “Steve said that his and Eddie’s anniversary is coming up soon. Do you think I should send them something?”

Jonathan tilted his head up to look at him, his eyes bloodshot with a tiny smile on his face, “That’s like…so nice dude. You’re always so nice. How are you so nice?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Will pressed, hope fluttering in his chest, “To be, y’know, celebrating them like that?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Nah man. It’s like…romance. Y’know? It’s sweet.”

“Yeah dude, gay guys are cool,” Argyle agreed out of nowhere, his eyes still closed,  “Good for Stu and Eggie. Gay people got like, the best hair.”

Will didn’t really know what to do with that one. But Jonathan was impressed. He jerked his head back to stare at Argyle, his voice in awe, “How’d you know he had good hair? I never told you he had good hair.”

“I bet they both have good hair,” Argyle sighed, “They alway do.”

“Are you like, psychic?” Jonathan asked, like that made any sense at all.

“Shit, you think I could be?”

Will watched as the two of them started to debate the idea, his brow raised. God, weed sure was a hell of a drug. He left them to it after that, deciding to slowly back out of the room. But he was going to chalk it up as a positive. 

preview for the next chapter (kind of) of this fic

[nerys-nerie]

Ethan Landry x MILF!Reader

Would you look at that it’s my yearly post, anyway.

Warnings: Mentions of Masturbation, Ethan being a stalker(what’s new?), I’m not sure if that’s it. I gave you a last name. It’s your husbands.

And I’m already writing a part two, with smut, so I’ll post that soon. This is for those people that told me they would like to read this. I’m not about to edge them so here it is.

I tried not to make it long because someone said not to like the last one.

————————————

Ethan heard a knock at the door. It was you. You were standing there with the food you’d just made for his family. You grinned when you saw him.

“Ethan, it’s so good to see you. How’s college going?” You asked kindly while walking in the door.

“It’s good.” He hoped you couldn’t hear the nerves in his voice.

“Good, good.” You rubbed his arm and walked to the dining room to his mother. You gave her a big hug and set your dishes down near hers.

Ethan watched the interaction with a small huff. He couldn’t believe after all these years he still couldn’t talk to you like a normal person.

You were his neighbor, well more than that. You were his middle school infatuation that led to his high school obsession and the current love of his life. You also happened to be his mom’s best friend, with two kids, and a husband. And you were about to enter your thirties.

It wasn’t his fault your curves just called to him. The way you walked, talked, and even the way you breathed had him hard. He could just smell your perfume and he suddenly found himself in a private setting pumping his cock to you.

He’s only ever looked at someone else when he was drunk and they kind of looked like you. It was so embarrassing for him when he was drunk and making out with a girl. He said your name so desperately that even in the girl’s drunken state she knew it wasn’t her he lusted for.

He apologized to her profusely but still, that's as far as they went. That’s as far as he’s ever gone. Ethan doesn’t exactly have the best luck with women so the man was still a virgin.

Ethan suddenly remembered he needed to put the pictures of you that were on his bed currently needed to go back under his bed. Yes, pictures. Not all of them are dirty ones, some are just you walking to get the mail. The dirty ones are from you accidentally leaving the curtain open when you were getting dressed.

Sometimes the little shit would notice you and your husband about to get freaky so he would knock on the door and ask about something only you would know. He was a constant cockblock if he could help it.

He watched you talking to his dad. He was always watching you. He watched as your husband placed his hand on the small of your back and how your little boys clung to your legs.

His father looked at him for a moment. Bailey pointed everyone’s attention to Ethan and began to brag about how good his grades were in college.

“It’s nothing.” Ethan shrugged and tried to look at his dad but his eyes were always on you.

“Don’t downplay your achievements.” You leaned out and touched his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Your husband didn’t say much, he just stared down your shirt. He looked up and saw Ethan staring at him. He smiled at the boy politely.

“I’ll try not to [Name].” Ethan accidentally lets your name slip.

“Mrs. Sharp.” His mother corrects him.

“No, no it’s fine. [Name] is fine. Mrs. Sharp makes me feel so old.” Your eyebrows furrow as you beam at him.

“You’re not old.” Mr. Sharp insists.

Ethan would’ve said it too if your old husband didn’t beat him to it. Your husband had to be at least ten years older than you. He couldn’t protect you if someone broke into the house. He’d take too long to get off his ventilator. The curly-haired boy prays Mr. Sharp would need a ventilator soon so that statement would be true. Ethan on the other hand could protect you, kill for you.. hell, he’d die for you if it meant you’d kiss his cold lips before he left this world.

You look at your husband and kiss his cheek. “He has to say that or I’ll divorce him.” Your face hurt from smiling and laughing at old people's jokes.

You wished you could go home and sleep. God, you were so tired. It was hard raising two boys basically by yourself. Not to mention you and your husband weren’t exactly the happy couple you pretended to be. You had a huge argument right before this while you were stressing about cooking.

“Let’s eat.” Officer Bailey stated suddenly. It wasn’t suddenly you had just zoned out for a bit.

You put back on your polite face instead of your dissociative one and sat down to eat. Ethan made sure to sit right next to you. Your husband was on one side of you and Ethan on the other.

His father noticed that.

One of your sons looked around. (I am not naming your kids so get used to thing one and thing two.) “Mommy, where are the eggs?”

You looked around for a moment and noticed you’d forgotten the deviled eggs at your house. Your head was placed in one of your hands as you let out a disappointed sigh at yourself.

Your husband looked at you sharply, silently telling you to straighten up.

Ethan noticed that and placed a hand on one of your thighs. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine. I just forgot about the deviled eggs at home. I’ll go get them. You guys can start without me.” You start to stand up to leave.

“Do you want help?” Ethan asked and reached out for your arm with a soft touch.

“I’ll help her.” Mr. Sharp gives Ethan a stiff smile.

“Thank you, dear.” You say with another cheek-hurting grin. Fake, of course. You’d rather not be left alone with him.

Ethan stares as the happy couple leaves. His mom, dad, Richie, and Quinn seem none the wiser about it. They’re just stuffing their faces.

“Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” Ethan gets up and pretends to go upstairs before making a beeline to the front door. He could hear shouting already when he stepped off of his family’s freshly cut lawn.

He peeked into the window. Why were you crying? Ethan saw red. Your hand was bleeding and you were trying to clean it at the sink while your husband just huffed. He took a swig of alcohol in a finely cute glass.

Your house looked expensive and so did everything inside it. It looked like one of those magazines with everything modern on the inside.

Ethan watched as you picked up broken glass from the floor as you cried. Your crying only seemed to annoy your husband further. Ethan didn’t realize how tired you looked before when you were all smiles and laughs. Now with your face frowning and crestfallen he could tell.

He felt the need to comfort you above all else. Your tears made him frown too, but they also filled him with rage.

Mr. Sharp decides he’s had enough of your crying and picks up the deviled eggs you’d made and starts taking them over. Ethan quickly hid so he wouldn’t be seen.

Once he had walked past Ethan, Ethan decided that he needed to comfort you. He knocked on the door that was left half open by your husband slamming it.

You looked up at who entered the door. It was Ethan. You wiped your tears away when you made eye contact so he wouldn’t see you crying. You gave him a big smile. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Couldn’t wait for the deviled eggs so you had to get them yourself?” It was a shitty attempt at a joke you knew that.

Ethan kneeled in front of you and grabbed your bleeding hand. “[Name].”

Your bottom lip wobbled when he said your name. Ethan couldn’t take it anymore seeing your sad face. He hugged you.

You took some deep breaths but eventually ended up crying into his chest. It had been a very long week for you. Long marriage really.

He didn’t shush you he just stroked your back and hair. You couldn’t see his face but it was holding a silent rage.

Ever since he was young you would take care of him. When he fell over on his bike and scraped his knee in front of your house when he was fourteen. You came out and put a bandaid on him. You ruffled his hair and gave him a quick peck on his forehead. You treated him with such care when he was a teenager.

Another time when he got arrested after he was pulled over and had alcohol in his car when he was sixteen, you were there to pick him up. His parents were too angry and wanted him to stay in jail for a night before they picked him up. You felt so bad you bailed him out as soon as you were told. In your mind, Ethan was a good kid who had made a bad decision. You let him stay over that night and baked him cookies.

There were more times he could remember but the one thing he kept noticing in all these happy memories was that your husband wasn’t in them. He used to go on long work trips when he didn’t get airsick and his heart didn’t give him problems. What if he took your husband out of the equation? Permanently.

He’d have to be smart about it. He’d have to get away with it. He could wear a mask. Like the mask and costume, Richie has in his shrine. That’s a Ghostface costume though… Ghostface wouldn’t just kill one person. He’d have to kill multiple people before your husband for it to seem like the serial killer was back. He could do that if it meant you were free. Ethan found himself not even feeling guilty as he made a random list of people he could kill for you.

—————————

Please don’t hate this <3

Have nice day!!! 😊

(I don’t know how to tag people. Sorry.)

[morganski-19]

The One With Mother’s Day

Eddie trips out of his room, rubbing at his eyes, to answer the door. Someone choosing nine in the morning on a Sunday to knock very loudly on their front door.

“Yeah,” he says blearily as the door swings open.

“Eddie, it’s so nice to see you again.” Karen Wheeler says from the other side of the door. “I remember Nancy saying that you moved in with her about a year ago.”

Eddie tries to blink the tired away. “Mrs. Wheeler, hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming to visit.” He steps out of the way so she can enter the apartment.

She walks in and stands awkwardly in the walkway between the kitchen and the living room. “Well, I didn’t know I was coming here until this morning. Is Nancy home?”

“You drove all the way from Indiana to here, that’s quite the trip. And yeah, she’s probably up, hold on a second.”

“Well, it’s been forever since I visited Nancy, and I thought since it’s Mother’s Day, I might spend the day with my daughter. My other kids are either too busy with school or too far to drive so suddenly.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Eddie mutters as he knocks on Nancy’s door. “Hey, Nance, you up?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Eddie looks back at Karen with a polite smile. “Could I come in for a second?”

“Sure,” Nancy responds suspiciously.

Eddie quickly opens and shuts the door behind him. “Your mother’s here.”

Nancy sits straighter in the chair by her window. Shutting her book and placing it on the small table beside her. “What. She didn’t tell me she was coming.”

“She apparently didn’t even know she was coming until this morning. It’s at least a five-hour drive from home.”

“She got up at four in the morning just to come visit me. Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about Mother’s Day and her other kids being too busy or something. I don’t know. She looked, ok? Like every other time I’ve seen her. But like, with that crazed fluster she would get when Mike’s friends were over, and your dad refused to get off of that lazy boy he had.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “This could go one of two ways, and I’m not sure either of them will be good.”

She gets up and heads to the living room. Where her mother still stands, hands rubbing together anxiously. “Nancy, I’m sorry to show up out of the blue, I didn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night with a phone call.”

“That’s ok,” Nancy says with a partially fake smile, giving her mom a hug. “Eddie said you just drove here this morning, you must have left pretty early.”

Karen shrugs. “Yeah, well, you leave early enough, you miss all of the traffic. And the highways are so nice to drive on when no ones around. But, anyway, how are you doing, it’s been a while since we talked.”

“Pretty good. Just working a lot, trying to be able to write something other than stupid tabloids and junk articles. But mom-.”

Eddie groans in the kitchen, opening the empty coffee container. “I’m going to rob Steve and Robin’s for coffee.”

“Ok,” Nancy replies as he shuts the door.

“Steve and Robin still live across the hall,” Karen smiles. “That’s so nice. Do Jonathan and his college friend still live across the street?”

“Argyle,” she reminds. “And yes, they do. Mom-.”

Karen claps her hands. “Oh, I am starving. Why don’t we go out to breakfast? You know, catch up, my treat.”

“It’s Mother’s Day, shouldn’t it be my treat?” Nancy eyes her mother skeptically. Wondering why she really showed up out of nowhere. Got up in the middle of the night just to have a surprise visit.

“Just spending the day with me would be a treat. Go on, get ready, I’ll just wait out here.”

Nancy nods and returns to her room.

-

When Eddie uses his spare key to go into Steve and Robin’s apartment, he expects them both to be asleep. Robin never gets up before noon if she doesn’t have to, and Steve always has the weekends off, so he should be relaxing. Instead, Steve’s sitting in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and fingers pinching his nose, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He barely notices when Eddie enters the apartment.

“No mom, I haven’t seen her since college.” Steve sounds utterly exhausted. “Because we never really talked then either other than that time you came to visit me. Maybe because I’m happy being single. It’s a perfectly respectable job, and I love it. I didn’t want to work with dad.” He sighs as his mom drones on about something. “I didn’t call for this, I called to wish you a happy Mother’s Day. You know, it’s late where you are so how about I let you go. Love you.”

Steve hangs up the phone, placing it face down on the table and letting his head fall into his hands. He stays like that, frozen.

“That didn’t sound fun,” Eddie breaks the silence. Spooning a serving of coffee into a plastic bag.

Steve huffs out a laugh, fixing the glasses on his face and sitting back on the chair. Crossing his arms and shaking his head, avoiding eye contact. “Oh you know, just normal chats with my mother. She can’t go one conversation without trying to set me up with some rich family’s daughter she knows.”

Eddie winces. “Never a nice rich boy in that mix.”

The glare Steve gives Eddie is tired and chilling. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie sits across from Steve. “Sounds like it sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” Steve sighs, looking at his phone. “I love my parents, I really do. But sometimes it’s hard to. Especially when they keep trying to set me up with people I don’t even know or get me to change careers. I just wished they respected me more than they did.”

“They should, you have a job you love and so what if you’re single. That’s a pretty great deal if you ask me.”

Eddie’s phone dings.

Nancy: Me and my mom are going out for breakfast

Eddie: Cool, have fun

Nancy: I will try

“If it makes you feel any better, Nancy’s mom showed up unannounced and now they’re going out to breakfast.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Like she drove here this morning?” Eddie nods in confirmation. “That’s not good.”

“Yeah, I know. Still don’t know why she’s here.” Eddie’s stomach rumbles. “God, I’m starving.”

“I haven’t eaten yet, you want to go get something? Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

Eddie smiles. “I do not. Let me get changed, I’ll meet you in five.”

-

Nancy thanks their waiter when he brings them their food. Silently piercing the yolk of her egg and watching it run over to her hashbrowns. Karen talking for the both of them.

“Have you talked to your brother recently? Him and Will are settling in well over in New York, their place looks nice. Small, but nice. I’ll have to take a trip out there some time to visit them.”

She just nods along to her mother’s ramblings. Watching as she pauses to take a bite and just continues. Always dodging around the subject of why she’s here whenever Nancy tries to ask.

“It’s so nice that they’re still together after all these years. Not that being alone is anything bad. I miss the single life. Well, I never really had that much of a single life. I met your father in high school and that was that. Part of me wishes I had a few years to explore, like you did. Get to live life before having a family.”

“Yeah,” Nancy interrupts. Coldly. “Why are you here mom?”

Karen looks taken aback. “Is it wrong to visit my daughter?”

“No, it’s not. But you’ve never just drove here on a whim. There was always at least a phone call, booking a hotel stay. Not waking up at four in the morning one night and deciding to drive five hours to come visit me.” Nancy softens her face. “This isn’t like you, what’s going on?”

Karens mouth twitches as she places down her silverware. Fiddling with her napkin. “You know how it was you father’s and my anniversary last week.”

Nancy nods, listening.

“Well, he forgot, again, and I didn’t want to make the plans again this year. I wanted him to surprise me like he did when we were young. With none of the kids in the house anymore, it gets kinda lonely me and him. When I asked that morning, he scrambled to make plans but couldn’t get a reservation anywhere until last night. Where we basically had a silent meal, paid, and left. No surprises, no anything.”

“I’m sorry, mom. I know how dad can be with the romantic stuff.”

Karen sighs. “Any stuff. If it wasn’t me doing everything, nothing would get done. We haven’t even slept in the same bed since Mike went off to college, and that was years ago. I thought maybe we could try and rebuild what we had. Guess I was wrong.”

Nancy frowns. “I didn’t know that.”

“How could you? You never really came home once you graduated, on to bigger and better things. Not that I blame you, I am so proud of you and the life you’ve built here. I just, didn’t want to bore you with the problems in my life. In my marriage.”

“You could have. I would have listened.”

“I appreciate that.” Karens pauses, closing her eyes. “I’ve decided to leave your dad, Nancy. That’s why I came out to visit you.”

Nancy can’t say she’s surprised. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“Don’t be. I haven’t been happy in years, we all knew it was coming. I just don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

“Whatever you want,” Nancy smiles. “You get to do whatever you want. Go back to school, get a shitty part time job. Get back out there and find a man you deserve. Find new friends, anything. You get to build a new life.”

Karen smiles, tears shining her eyes. “Well, that’s all true, I guess. Thank you for not judging me for this.”

“I never would.” Nancy goes back to her breakfast. “So, what else would you like to do while you’re in town. I have tomorrow off too.”

“I don’t know. But I am excited to find out.”

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 2

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

T // WC: 1.7k // pool day fun and one iffy convo // pt. 1

“TT, it’s going to be fun,” Momo did her best to comfort you, taking your hand she walked to in the to the entrance of the public pool.”

“What if no one likes me?” You grumbled. “I’m not as parenty as the other adults.”

The loss of your brother showed up in more ways then one in your life. The way the grief can creak into the everyday folds of your knew life with Momo was challenging, and on top of it all, you had to learn how to be a good parent on the fly.

The transition from fun aunt to mother figure had been challenging. Especially, when discipline had to come out to play. Momo wasn’t a bad kid, but she had been through a lot and her emotions ran all over the place, depending on the day.

So far, this summer has been such a relief for you both. As she relocated after her suspension, it was honestly a blessing in disguise. There was a community around the school district your brother was zoned for that you never knew was there. Momo made some new friends that she seems to love more and they loved her equally as much.

But youngest like a poser, that you’re pretending. You were constantly comparing yourself to other parents. What worse lace could exist for you to continue this new horrible tradition than a day at the pool.

The wholes are side of your swimsuit and how scrappy it was despite being a one piece felt too much, not at all something a mom would wear. You tugged the sleeves of the knitted wholey cover up you were wearing over your hands. It was made to give a dramatic end sleeve effect. Like very chic sweater paws.

“If you stay on your best behavior, you’ll have nothing to worry about.” Momo beamed up at you.

Despite being very cute, you took her bag off her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“Go play.” You said in a deadpan tone.

“But what did i—“

“Now! Go play with your friends. Don’t make me tell you again.”

She huffed before giggling as Janine was already running towards her. Her soaking wet curls shining in the sun.

You whined as they started squealing at one another before skipping off.

“Hey!” A voice stopped them from your side, “don’t run around here or you’ll fall and bust your head open!”

You smiled your best polite smile.

“Someone’s looking rather fancy for a public outing at the pool.” Sheila looked at you over her shades.”

“What can I say,” you smiled, “I dress to impress.”

Being in with a group of parents really had its perks. They saved you a set and it was nice and cozy. Not too much sun and not too much shade.

“Hey hey,” look who it is.” Sheila introduced and everyone called out to you from their chairs.

“Someone’s looking all special!”

All the moms oohhhed and ahhed in appreciation.

You swallowed ignoring how hot your face felt.

“Hi.” You waved with a smile as you took your seat.

“Hey, I’m Monique.” She took of her shades, “Janine’s Mom.”

“Oh my god Hi,” you instantly perked up. “I’ve heard your name a lot over the last week.”

Janine and Momo exchanged numbers which were actually your number and Monique’s number, so you’ve only heard her voice several, several times, as she said, hold on let me get Janine.

“It’s nice to put a voice to a face.”

“Likewise.” You nodded with a smile and pulled your book out of your bag, just in case.

“What is it that you do again?”

It was nice to be able to talk about something like work and not.. your brother or how hard the transition is with Monice coming to live with you.

“Lawyer, started out with the criminal justice stuff and somehow ended up in the corporate conglomerate stuff, representing companies as they do who fuck knows with whatever they and such.”

“You know more than me, so I will not ask too many questions.” You both laughed.

“Heeheehee,” a strong voice mocked you from above, blocking the sun.

“You held a hand over your eyes and waved with the other. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me and get your butt out here in this pool.”

“Why.” You scoffed and clipped the shades from your shirt, putting them on.

“We take turns chaperoning the kids.” He crossed his arms.

“Marvin please, give her a break. She just got here. It’s probably Sheila’s turn.”

He stormed off with a groan and waved Janine off.

“Sheila’s not getting in the pool is she?”

Monique tapped her nose with a smile and you laughed.

45 minuets or maybe one glorious hour into your book. A little voice broke your focus.

“TT can I have $20.”

“Why do you need $20.” You turned the page of your book not looking up.

“Because of the concession stand.” She huffed, giving her eight year old logic.

“But I packed you something.” You fake pouted back, grabbing the cooler bag.

“I mean, I brought these grapes,” you pulled them out and put them back in the bag, rummaging some more, “I cut up some strawberries and other fruit, making sure there were no stems or nasty bits because you hate that,” you put them back in the bag, “and then, I woke up extra early and made those ham and cheese balls you love so much.” You sighed dramatically.

“I packed all your favorites, but if you want to eat soggy fries drenched in a weird cheese sauce, I guess I can give you the money.” You put your hand in your purse.

“No-I’ll-take-these-thanks!” She eagerly snatched the goodies out of the bag, running off to be eat with her friends.

Victory.

You went back to your book.

“Nice one.” Monique said to you over her kindle.

You both read in silence.

Monique was pretty swell. She was the easiest to be around compared to the other mom’s.

“Thank you for the other day,” you were about to ask her for what but she explained further, “for keeping Marvin out of trouble at the cookout.”

“What.” You laughed. “I didn’t do anything. We just talked for a bit.”

She smiled at you.

“Marvin doesn’t just talk for a bit.” She went back to her book.

You were about to say something. To get some more answers, confront her, ask her to give it to you straight or interpret what she was implying, but Marvin plopped down between you both.

“Water.” He huffed.

Crushing the water bottle loudly in his hands, he pulled at the fabric of your cover up with his other hand.

“You need to take this off and get in the pool. It’s your turn.”

“Why do I have to go?” You smacked his hand away.

“If I have to drag you into the water I will.” He pointedly looked at you, “I already had to drag Sheila out there and I’m willing to drag you in too.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine.”

The water wasn’t too bad, the screaming kids not so much. But it was nice to see Marvin be around the kids.

“My turn!” A boy that was more hair than boy squealed as Marvin dunked him under the water and refused to let him go as he thrashed around for a minuet. He came above the surface of the water with a gapped grin, one of his front teeth missing.

He swam away back to his friends in glee.

“What a fun game.” You tried to be sarcastic but your grin was too wide and you were already laughing.

“You never went to the pool as a kid?” He splashed water on you.

You slammed the surface of the water back with both hands, getting way more water on him.

“Of course I did!”

“Well, I apologize if you don’t seem like the type, Ms Bougie.”

“I like to take care of myself, and I was raised by a woman who liked to take care of herself and her family. She had standards and she raised me with standards.” You defended. “Why is that a crime?”

He looked down at you with a smile, less mirthful than before.

“It’s not.”

Despite the chill from the water and the slight breeze every few minuets a warmth started to spread throughout you.

“When,” he started and quickly stopped, looking away from you for a second before putting a hand into a fist and pushing into the palm of the other. “You don’t have someone at home who takes care of you?”

“If that’s your way of masking if I have a boyfriend,” you started carefully, “then no.”

He looked at you as if he didn’t believe you. You would have laughed if it wasn’t sort of sweet.

“I did.”

His eyebrows rose, but he showed no other sign of suprise. Nodding in some sort of appreciation is what you guess what the nod meant.

“He doesn’t help you take care of Momo?”

“He left because of Momo.”

You started floating in the water, giving half of your attention to mindlessly floating in the water with a sigh.

He followed suit, crouching down in the pool, letting his legs flow at a bent angle so he could be at the same eye level as you.

“If he’s willing to leave you like that, with all your going through,” he locked eyes with you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

You nodded giving him a silent thank you.

He made a step towards you.

“I just—“

“Daddy!” Janine jumped in her dads arms. Her face pulled taunt with a frown and her bottom lip sticking out.

“TT” Momo solemnly swam to you.

She rubbed her eyes as you pulled her into your arms.

“You tired?” You looked over to see Marvin murmur comforting words in Janine’s ear.

You gave him an apologetic smile.

He gave one back and made his way to the steps of the pool to take Janine home.

You kissed Momo on the head.

“Time to go home kiddo,” you moved her hair to the side to see her face. She was already fast asleep in your arms, giving her a light kiss on the head, you made your way out the pool.

[tartarusknight]

The Fallen King and the King of the Freaks | Part 3

Ao3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Steve wasn't planning on actually becoming friends with Hellfire. Not after the obvious way he made them uncomfortable. So, after Eddie helped him, he said to himself that he was done... then Billy picked on him again, and Eddie came to the rescue again. Honestly, it was like Eddie became his white knight.

And Steve... Steve could take care of himself. However, he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be their friend. He hated the way he jumped at the chance to just go to watch them playing a game like he couldn't even stop himself.

Steve didn’t understand why he offered to go watch them after swimming. No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he did it.  He wanted to go. He loved listening to stories. He loved hearing people talk about something they were passionate about. So, it sounded nice. But when lunch was over and he tosses his untouched meal, he regretted it. They were just pitying him and he didn’t need to force his shit on anyone else.

So, he decided he’d just ignore them until they forgot about him completely. It was the day after Hellfire, so he’d have an entire week to become a background thought. It shouldn’t be too difficult… most people only knew Steve’s top layer. People left him behind all the time, Hellfire wouldn’t be any different. After all, everyone who had learned who he was, left him. His parents were gone more than they were around. Nancy called him bullshit after he let her in. Tommy and Carol, his best friends from elementary school, had used him to become more “powerful” and “cool”. Hellfire would be the same way; he knew they would.

Except, they didn’t just let him disappear. Grant would wave at him in the hallways with a kind smile. Gareth had the same free hour and suddenly Steve didn’t sit in the library alone. Eddie would constantly find him during lunch and offer a seat which Steve had turned down with a polite smile. Always saying he needed to work on school shit. (Which was never a lie. His head swam, trying to keep up in class after Billy bashed his head in.) However, the first real interaction with Hellfire was with Jeff.

It was Saturday and Steve stood in the supermarket. The kids were coming over later in the day and Steve got a call from Lucas’s mom asking him to not buy her son junk food. And well, Steve knew how to cook. However, his house was completely void of any food. He hadn't felt the need to cook if it was just himself lately… After that night Steve’s stomach rebelled against most foods.

He was staring blankly at the meat section for, what could’ve been, a long time when a hand dropped on his shoulder. Steve flinched away and his body went into fight mode before he noticed Jeff. He dropped his hands and gave the other an extremely fake grin. “Hey man,” he smiled and Jeff looked him over as if he could see right through Steve.

“I thought it was you. Your hair is very distinguishable.” He joked and Steve let out a small chuckle.

“Well I’m called The Hair for a reason,” his voice didn’t hold much joy in it and he winced.

“So, what brings you here?” He asks lamely.

Jeff shrugs, “gotta pick up stuff for my mom. Same for you?”

Steve huffed a laugh, “nah, she’s not in town. But I’ve got a few of the kids coming over and need to make them something that their parents would approve of.” He over-explained but Jeff just nodded.

“Struggling with a plan?” He asked like he wanted to talk with Steve. “Not a big cook?” He asked when Steve didn’t respond.

It makes him smile, “oh I know how to cook. When your al-” he stops himself with clearing his throat. “Nah, just not really feeling meat at the moment.” He gestures and when his gaze hits the bloody meat he shudders.

“There are lots of meatless options out there.” Jeff offers and Steve freezes, he hadn't even considered that. After all, he was told every meal needed a good amount of protein. “My sister doesn’t eat meat. So we’ve learned how to work around it. It’s a little different but still,” he shrugs and Steve’s brow furrowed. “It’s a little hard to get the hang of right away but with practice, you should be able to get it down.”

That makes Steve frown, “I don’t really have the time to experiment.” He swallows and looks back to the meat selection.

Jeff nudged him with his shoulder, “If you want I could help. I’m not that busy today.”

Steve felt something swell in his chest. “Really? I don’t want to be a-”

Jeff scoffed, “please I’d love to help. Showing off to King Steve. It sounds like fun. Plus, then I have an excuse to leave the house.” Steve nods and Jeff gestures him to follow. Jeff puts things in Steve’s basket with an explanation to what he’s planning and Steve just nods. He also helps Jeff get the stuff for his mom before heading to his house.

He only has a few moments alone in which he grabs out his stereo and sets it on some rock station he figured would be more Jeff’s speed. Then he cleans the dust off his counters and waits for the other. It doesn’t take too long and Jeff takes off his shoes politely before he follows Steve into the empty shell of a house. “Okay, are you ready?” Jeff questions and Steve nods. They work together, Jeff giving him instructions. However, they also talked about music, Steve mostly just listened as Jeff explains some songs that he likes. It’s nice. It’s like having a friend and it makes Steve’s hands shake. He didn’t want to let them in. And yet he let Jeff into his house.

They end up making Vegetarian Enchiladas. It’s filled with corn, beans, and zucchini. Topped with cheese, avocado, tomato, and parsley. However, Jeff makes them look normal and Steve hopes the kids won’t notice. “I’ve got two younger siblings. My sister doesn’t do meat and my brother refuses vegetables. I’ve gotten really good at making a vegetarian meal that he will eat. Don’t worry the kids will just think you made them normal enchiladas.” Jeff says and Steve leans against his counter, so fucking thankful.

“So, you cook normally?” Jeff questions as Steve grabs them both out a soda he got for the kids.

He nods, “yeah. My mom’s not one to cook” at least not for me. “So, I’ve learned.” He does look at Jeff and his shoulders slump. “Thanks for the help, man. It was really appreciated. Honestly, it’s a big help. I have to repay you, or something.” He states and Jeff looks confused.

“No need, it’s not a big deal.” He stated but people weren’t nice without wanting something in return. Not many people were kind as they grew up.

Jeff seemed to see Steve’s confusion and sighed. “You know what, how about you bring cookies or something to Hellfire’s next meeting. You’re still stopping by after swimming, right?”

It was a chance to get away from going. Steve could just say, no man something came up. But instead, he grinned, “yeah of course. Any allergies?”

“Grant’s allergic to tree nuts,” Jeff offers, and Steve’s phone rings. “But I’ll get out of your hair, just remember they cook for 12 minutes at 400.” He reminded and headed out. Steve went to the phone as the door to his house shut. Why couldn’t he let go of the Hellfire club?

@zerokrox-bloglog @cyranyxx @adaed5 @the-redthreadd @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaringceyoustopcaring @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshitorthisshit @failedstarsandgoldencloudsds @bisexualdisastersworldd @deadlydodoss @anythingyouwanttobee @nburkhardtt @bestwifehaverr @thehumblefigtreee @megzdoodlee @swimmingbirdrunningrockk @mightbeasleepp @bxlthazarar @autumnal-dawnn @nelotegreitic @chillichatss @nonbinary-eddie-munsonon @the-daydreamer-in-the-cornerner @eddie-munson-is-my-wifewife @a-little-unsteddiedie

(Sorry if I missed any of you!!! Please remind me if I did!)

(No actual Steddie but just some good old CC content. I want more than just Steve and Eddie to become friends. I want the whole CC to adopt the jock&lt;3<3)

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - one hundred and four | kiddo

“Hey dad.” You said as you sat next to the bed after you, Intak, and Yunho made your way to the hospital.

He opened his eyes. “You’re here?”

“Yeah. Intak called me.”

He nodded, his eyes tearing as he smiled.

“Are you mad?”

“No, kiddo. I’m glad you’re here.”

You nodded, trying not to cry. “So the surgery’s tomorrow, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He nodded again. “Your mom is worried.”

“You know how mom is.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

He nodded again. “Thank you, kiddo.” He reached his hand out and put it on yours. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

You nodded.

After sitting with your father for a while - he had recounted the particulars of what had happened in his classic dry way of talking about situations or people - you supposed little had changed since you left. You returned to the waiting area, and before you could even steel yourself for your mother’s vitriol, the first words out of her mouth to you were:

“You could have just done what I’d asked and you’d be where your brother is right now.”

Intak looked away, not wanting to be used as a battering ram.

“Yeah, I could be second chair.”

He turned to you, you apologized with your expression. You had nothing against him, second chair was perfectly fine, but it wasn’t to your mother. It was obvious she wanted a fight. Intak nodded, seeming to understand that it wasn’t personal.

“At least he has the wherewithal to stick with something!” 

“I was sticking with bass, but you sold it.”

“And you sold the violin I bought you!”

“Is that what matters to you? I can pay you back now, if you want. I have the money. I work for Wonderland Entertainment now! A real job that I like where I get to make the kind of music I want to make and I even get paid well for it!”

She looked at you, shocked.

“What? You’re surprised? That I might have had plans for myself other than what you wanted for me, and that those plans worked out? I play the instrument I want and I make money because of it, mom! And you can’t tell me shit, because I’m not miserable like you wanted me to be!”

“I didn’t want you to be miserable, I wanted you to be--”

“Even if I was making all the money in the world from playing violin, I would never have been happy! I didn’t want to play the fucking violin! I just wanted to make my own choices and live my own life!"

She was speechless for a moment and then switched gears. She scoffed. “And you’ve brought Yunho too. Are you going to tell me that you’re pregnant next?”

“Oh, my god mom, no! Is anything that you don’t want always the worst thing that could possibly happen? Is me trying to make my own decisions the worst thing that could possibly happen? You get that I’m an adult right? You can not speak to me like this!”

“Excuse me?” A nurse asked politely. “I don’t want to interrupt but if you could take this argument somewhere else, there are people waiting to hear about their loved ones and hearing you argue could be stressing them out.

“Maybe we should go…” Yunho said from behind you as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s."

You turned on your heel and walked towards the door, Yunho right behind you. You stopped for a moment and thought, and turned back to your mom.

“You know… You don’t have to like it or even understand it, mom. You just have to accept it and love me anyway because I’m your kid. I didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t want the life you tried to design for me.”

Yunho opened the door for you and you walked through it.

“T/n…” Intak started as he followed both of you out the door.

  previous | main cast | masterlist | next

a/n: Of course t/n’s mom would pick a fight IN the hospital 🙄

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🎵

Any comments, reblogs, or asks are appreciated! I love talking with you guys and seeing what you’re saying about the chapters, it keeps me going 🥰

@luvvvx • @iamthehotdemon • @hrts4hanniehae • @rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @anythingrelatingtojinyoung​ • @jaytheatiny​ •

[cecilysass]

Shine On (2/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 2: Nice Catching Up

Farrs Corner, Virginia Eighteen days later February 20, 2015

Mulder meant to finish the job before she came over. But it got away from him, like everything seems to these days.

So when she finally comes back—the long-anticipated visit home—there are still stacks of books all over the living room, all these untidy towers of hundreds of books. Cryptid encyclopedias, profiling and behavioral analysis monographs, texts about mythology and religion, science, art, language, history. They’re everywhere, chaotic, precariously balanced, piled, heaped, stacked.

“In the middle of a project, Mulder?” she asks as she walks in, gazing blankly around the room.

“Yeah,” he says with forced enthusiasm. “I’m finally reorganizing the books.” He says this like reorganizing the books is something they’d long planned to do, instead of a recent, impulsive middle-of-the-night idea. “I’m organizing them by topic so I can find things more easily when I need them. Good idea, right?”

“Sure,” she says, staring warily at the piles. He hopes she’s not noticing how many of her books still remain in his collection. “Good idea.”

The way she says this chills him, because it’s just so polite. The same distant tone of voice she used sometimes way, way back, when they were brand new partners in the Hoover building.

“Can I take your coat, Scully? Did you want something to drink?”

“Oh,” she says, running her palms anxiously down the front panels of her sleek pale blue coat. “I don’t think so. I don’t mean to stay long. I just need that box of bedding.”

“It’s right there,” Mulder says, gesturing behind a tower of books. “Behind the psychology section.”

“Right,” she says, craning her head to see it. Her eyes meet his again, and they’re soft and reluctant. “Then… I should probably go.”

“No,” he calls out quickly. A furrow appears in her brow. “I mean … please. Scully. Just stay and have a drink. You haven’t been home in so long.”

“It’s not my home any more,” she points out softly.

“I know,” he replies. “Really. I’m not confused about… anything. I just want to talk to you. Sit down for a bit. I have tea. Or that apple cider from Trader Joe’s you like.”

She seems to hesitate. “There are books all over the couch.”

“I can move them. Hold on.” His voice is calm, but inside he’s churning. He moves to the couch, begins moving books. “Just stay a while.”

Her lips lift into that small, closed-lip smile he’s missed so much. “Okay. Just a little while.”

***

She’s clutching her mug of tea, telling him about work, and he can’t help but notice how physically straight and formal she is right now. It almost looks like she’s bracing herself, worried the couch is going to trap her somehow, like it’s going to try to bundle her up in his Aztec blanket and hold her there.

Mulder doesn’t like this body language. It looks too much like she doesn’t live here anymore.

“So things are really much the same at Our Lady of Sorrows,” she finishes. “Some good days, some bad.”

“It sounds like overall you’re still satisfied at the hospital then,” Mulder says.

“Yes,” Scully says, nodding. “I’d say that’s accurate. I wouldn’t rule out doing something else someday though.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says, another tiny smile. “But you know. You have to stay open to extreme possibilities.”

He returns her smile. “And uh… all the other parts of your life are good, too?” He can’t bear to ask her any more directly than that. He picks up his own mug and takes a sip to give himself something to do.

She bites her bottom lip. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I have a nice new house. Very contemporary. I get together with friends from work occasionally. I see Mom regularly.”

He wonders what she means by “friends from work.” He knows what it meant back when they were “friends from work.”

“What about you, Mulder?” she asks. “What are you doing these days?”

“I told you,” he says. “I’m reorganizing the library.”

“Besides that.”

I miss you terribly everyday. I spend hours cataloging each one of my mistakes. I ponder all the big questions, like: is there any future where I might be with you again? Is there any alternate reality where I could have made you happy? Is there any world where we have our son and live together as a real family, and that grief that’s always in your eyes isn’t there?

“I write articles,” he says. “I’m thinking about a book.”

“That’s great, Mulder,” she says. Again, that false encouraging tone.

If she still lived here—if she was still his Scully—she would have considerably more to say about these messy piles of books and this aimless underemployment. She would have some dry comment. She would be suggesting constructive ideas. She would be pushing him to do better.

This Scully sounds like a stranger. Like she has no place in his life to have an opinion. Like she has no place in his life to care.

There is an awkward pause.

“Well,” she says. “I think it’s probably time I take off.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. Don’t beg, he tells himself. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she says, looking around for a coaster on the coffee table and setting her mug down. She stands up, smiling courteously. “It’s been very nice catching up with you, Mulder.”

The innocuous sentence hits him like getting socked in the stomach. He feels his face flushing red hot. He swallows, unable to politely respond.

“Okay,” he says, too shortly. He stands, too. “Sure. Ever so nice.”

She’s lifting her coat from the coat rack, but turns around to regard him stoically. She seems to debate asking her next question. “Is there a problem?” she says carefully.

Mulder hesitates. He knows he shouldn’t say anything else. Just let her go. Let the visit end pleasantly. “No,” he says with effort. “I … guess not.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s only …” No. He just can’t hold it in. “Look, I’m sorry,’” he snaps. “It’s just … it’s fucking hard to hear ‘nice catching up with you, Mulder’ come from your lips.”

“It is nice catching up with you.”

“We didn’t used to be people who ever had to catch up,” Mulder says bitterly. “We used to know everything about each other, we used to be everything to each other, and excuse me if I just can’t stand talking to you like we’re old college chums.”

“You invited me to stay and have tea.” Her pitch has dropped a full octave. “You suggested we talk. I was doing what you asked me to do.” Her voice breaks midway through her sentence, and he realizes she’s got tears in her eyes. She closes them, evidently trying to calm herself. “I have to go, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice trembling. “Yeah, okay.”

“I… I’ll see you, all right?” she says, practically a whisper.

“Will you?”

Someday there will be a last time, he thinks. A time visiting him will just be too much trouble. A time she’ll decide her attention is better spent on other things, on other people.

“Of course,” she says. She walks over and picks up her box of bedding. “Of course I will. I always will.”

He watches her turn and hurry out the door. He remains frozen in place near the couch. He doesn’t trust himself to do anything to respond. Not to say good-bye, not to walk with her to the porch, not even to wave. He might do something unbelievably stupid, like tell her he still loves her. Or try to stop her from leaving. Or shout obscenities at her in anger.

Instead, he focuses all of his energy on listening. He listens as her car door opens and closes, her engine starts. There is the rough clatter of her tires down the gravel drive. Faintly, he can hear her car door opening and closing again as she lets herself out the gate and closes it up again. Then finally there is the sound of the motor of her car growing gradually more distant. Far away from him again.

Mulder lets himself sink down again on the couch.

In a flare of angry self-hatred, he kicks the towering pile of novels nearest him. They tumble sloppily into a messy heap on the floor. He watches this destruction morosely and thinks about how good she smelled.

He wishes he’d remembered to wish her a happy birthday.

***

About thirty feet outside, between two bushes, Jackson sits, hugging his knees, his back pressed uncomfortably against the wooden frames of the side of the farmhouse. Between the branches of the bush he has a clear view of the red-headed woman driving away.

It’s not a very good hiding place. All day long, since he arrived this morning, he hasn’t had to worry too much about hiding. The man inside—the man who lives here— has been distracted, concerned about the woman’s visit, thinking almost nonstop about what she’ll say and do. Jackson’s been able to circle around the house cautiously, trying to examine everything with his eyes and with his mind.

Which is good, because he’s nervous.

Just now, if the red-headed woman had looked up towards the house as she rushed out the door—if she’d turned back to give it one last careful look—she’d easily have seen Jackson there, crouched, watching furtively at the side of the house.

But she didn’t look back. Not even once, quickly.

She only wanted to get in her car and go, go, go. Her mind was so loud Jackson didn’t even have to really use his shine. Her mind broadcast inside his brain without him trying at all.

Jackson watches her car closely, holding his breath, until she’s completely driven away, until he can’t see any sign of her car anymore.

She’s pretty, Jackson reflects, even for a mom-aged lady. Her car is nice, fancy, like she’s got some money. And even though she’s not a kid, even though she’s an adult, with an extremely complex mind— it’s easy to know her thoughts. The easiest it’s been for anyone he’s ever met.

What’s really weird, though, is that with her, it’s really more than thoughts. Something strange was happening with Jackson and her feelings, too.

He felt these little explosive bursts of her emotions, wracking his own body unexpectedly like fireworks and then quickly fading. That’s never happened before. It’s interesting, but it’s also upsetting, like having your own emotions pushed aside by someone else. Her feelings fade, but they don’t entirely go away. They leave a kind of residue for a minute or two.

And just now? She was very, very upset, in about fifty different ways Jackson can only barely sort out. She was angry, for one—angry at the man inside for not being fair to her. She was really guilty, hoping she’s doing the right thing by leaving. She was sad, so sad, wishing she could go back inside and be with him again. Jackson wonders why she doesn’t just go back. He felt her wishing hard for something she thinks is gone now. She’s grieving it. Almost like you grieve for parents that have been shot.

And mixed up in all of this, Jackson feels how much she loves the man inside the house. That’s just this big, enormous feeling, like a tsunami of emotion. More than he can cope with, really. It makes his head hurt. He rubs his temples slowly, trying to massage the feeling away.

Jackson knows who the woman is, of course.

He recognizes her, at least her mind. He wonders if that’s why he is able to feel her feelings and see her thoughts so easily.

It feels weird, seeing her. He always thought that if he ever met his birth mom, he’d want to talk to her right away. But he doesn’t have any urge to chase her down the driveway and introduce himself.

He’s just so afraid. It’s hard to understand, because closed adoption or not, he thinks she’d want to talk to him. In his visions, she’s usually calling for him—not his name, but a name he somehow knows is supposed to be him. So he thinks she wants to see him. She seems to want it very badly, at least sometimes.

But what if when she looks at him, it’s with the same huge sadness she’s feeling about this man inside the house? What if it isn’t what he imagines, meeting this woman? He doesn’t want all that right now. He can’t handle it.

Besides, he’s not supposed to see her. That isn’t why he came. She wasn’t the name he was given.

He doesn’t recognize the man inside, the man she fought with a few minutes ago. When he reaches out to poke his shine into this man’s mind, it’s like a forest at night: it’s dark, disorienting, full of paths that lead unknown directions. He sees a few things he understands: the woman’s face, their conversation just now, the man’s devotion to her, his anxieties. But he sees lots he doesn’t understand, too. The man is very complicated. And broken, Jackson thinks. He has cracks that make his thoughts difficult to follow.

He knows the man’s name. Fox Mulder. He wishes he knew more about who he was, exactly.

Because that’s the man he’s supposed to see.

***

[durarara-brain-rot]

not to be a stupid yume on anonymous but... how do you think shizuo would react to someone calling him attractive?

Not stupid at all lmao!

I’m going to go into different complements cause I had the idea now lmao!

- first off he would either not believe them or he would not process it till way later unless it was very obvious.

- if someone called him handsome he’d probably just figure it was like a more casual and polite way to refer to him, he’d probably see this much like how I imagine his mom or grandmothers use the term for him and his brother. “Oh you two are so handsome.” Or “my you’re growing up so handsome.” (He doesn’t process it as anything serious cause his grandma normalized it so much.)

- If someone compliments his appearance other than his features he’d probably raise an eyebrow and look down at himself before saying a polite but curt “thanks.”

- If someone compliments his physical features he’d probably not process it for a while. Someone could be like “your eyes are pretty” and this man would let it go in one ear and out the other. If he did catch it he would be taken aback by it and just stare at them in disbelief.

- If someone compliments his strength he’d find it weird and he’d probably get a bad taste in his mouth. He doesn’t see himself as strong just someone who lacks control.

- If someone compliments his personality he’d stare at them before shaking his head and chuckling and saying something degrading about himself usually about his temper!

- This is all different if the compliment is coming from someone who he is close with!

- if a friend is saying it he’d laugh and brush it off if he processed it in time. If he didn’t he wouldn’t address it.

- if it was a very close friend he’d probably get quite and wouldn’t really know what to say.

- If it was someone he knew liked him but he didn’t know how he felt about them he’d 100% give a polite thank you (cause his parents and grandparents raised him right) but quickly change the subject

- if someone he liked complimented him he would just kinda internally combust into flames. I’m talking he’d go full red in the face all the way up into the tips of his ears as he tries to remain calm.

-if it’s someone he hates, murder

[agathasangel]

the supply closet (jen barkley x fem!reader NSFW)

warnings: fluff and smut, legal age gap, alcohol

word count: 1.2k

summary: you’re an intern for a prestigious campaign managed by jennifer barkley. you don’t quite fit in with the other interns, but you think that’s what jen likes about you so much.

No one could deny that you were a hard worker, maybe even a bit of an overachiever. Even then, you didn’t think you would get this internship. Everyone else there came from influential political families, and they all seemed to know each other. You also found yourself to be the only intern that really took the job all that seriously.

You were working under Jennifer Barkley, and she was the best. She was not only the best in her field, but working for her was pleasant. More than pleasant, actually. She seemed to really like you.

“I gotta say, it’s nice to have you around. Kinda refreshing to see someone here who actually cares.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barkley. That really means a lot coming from you.”

“Seriously, it’s rare. And the fact that you even got this internship without any family connections is very impressive. You work so hard, why don’t I take you for drinks tonight, unwind?”

“Thanks, Ms. Barkley. I’d like that.”

“Call me Jen.”

She took you to an unfamiliar bar, fancy and filled with people who were older and more professional looking than you were, people like Jen. You also noticed how expensive the drinks were.

“I’ll cover the bill, don’t worry,” said Jen with a wink. You thanked her and she got two tequila shots, and you got to talking. You told her about school and she questioned you on what you wanted to do once you graduate.

“I’ve applied to grad school, I’m still thinking about what I want to do career-wise. I’m pretty sure I want to go into politics in some way though.”

“You should. You have a lot of potential, you’re smart, you remind me of myself at your age. You care so much about everything. Don’t lose that like I did.”

“Wow, Jen. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

You started talking more about your lives and families. Jen had some crazy stories, and then she asked about you.

“What about you? You have family, a boyfriend, anything?”

“Well I have a pretty average family, definitely nothing as interesting as yours. And I’m single. And, um, very gay.”

“Ah, I see.”

You told her more about your mom, your dad, and your brother as she ordered more drinks for the two of you. You were starting to feel pretty tipsy, and you think Jen probably was too, based on how her behavior was changing.

“Put your hair down, I wanna see it. Oh, you look so pretty!”

“Thank you Jen! You’re so nice…”

“I’m really not that nice. I just like you. ‘Cause you’re cute and smart. And cute.”

“You’re nice to me though. The other interns don’t really talk to me, but you always do.”

“That’s because they’re entitled idiots. You gotta learn to work with people like that, this town is full of them.”

“I know. But I still like you more…”

“I like you more too.”

Jen put her arm around you and her head on your shoulder and you giggled.

“Is it okay that we’re out together? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Of course it’s okay. We’re just two adults grabbing drinks after work. You’re a beautiful girl, but I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do, I’m not that kind of boss.”

“What if… what if I did want to do something?”

“Then we should go somewhere a little more private. I’ll call a car.”

Jen lived in the biggest, nicest house you’ve seen in your whole life.

“Wow, it’s… beautiful. I can’t believe you live like this, that’s… wow.”

“I’ll get us some more drinks, okay hon?”

Jen did just that, pouring glass after glass of wine for the two of you. She leaned in to kiss you, grabbing your waist and you eagerly accepted. You drunkenly made out for a while before transferring to the bedroom.

“Let’s get some rest, okay baby?”

You woke up next to Jen, and she was already awake, dressed, drinking a Gatorade and tapping away at her phone.

“You up?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a gatorade. If I’m hungover, you definitely are. We gotta get to work soon. Get dressed.”

You accepted the bottle and changed back into your work clothes from the day before, as Jen’s eyes scanned your body.

“God, you have such a nice body. I wish we had more time here so we could… I know. I’ll give you a call while we’re at work to meet me in the supply closet. We can… continue this there. We’ve gotta be quick but it’s better than waiting a whole eight hours. How’s that sound? Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

You spent the first part of your day at work impatiently waiting for Jen’s call. All you could think about was her. Finally it happened, and you excused yourself to “grab some more pens”. Jen was in there waiting for you with a smug smile on her face.

“Hey there, babe.”

‘Hi, Jen.”

“How you feeling? You ready?”

“I’m feeling good now that I’m with you,” you say in an attempt at flirting with the older woman.

“God, you’re the cutest thing.”

And she started kissing you as her hands travelled up and down your body, unbuttoning your shirt and feeling your breasts. You take your shirt off and kiss her back harder as she backs you into the wall. Jen breaks the kiss as her mouth travels down to your neck, sucking hard as her hands move to your waistband.

“I’m gonna ruin you. I’m gonna mark you all up, and you’re gonna love it.”

Jen fingered you, fast and rough and you had never felt anything like it before. You couldn’t possibly have imagined that just her fingers could make you feel that good. You were trying not to make any noise but the feeling of Jen’s fingers inside you and her mouth on your neck made it incredibly difficult. You found yourself softly moaning and repeating her name until she had to use her free hand to cover your mouth.

“Wow, so wet and excited just from my fingers? So needy that you can’t shut up? Or do you want someone to catch you getting fucked by your boss in a supply closet? You want the whole office to know what a desperate slut you are?”

You let out another moan as she shoved a finger in your mouth and went harder. You tried to grab her, desperate to be closer.

“Are you close, baby?”

You nodded your head as she took her hand from your mouth and put her arm around you, moving you away from the wall and sitting next to you.

“That was fun.”

“That was amazing, Jen.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, people are gonna start wondering where we are.”

“Yeah. I wish we could just stay here together.”

“Me too, babe. You’re gonna want to put a scarf on, by the way. I marked you up pretty good.”

You took out your phone and looked at your reflection. She was right.

“I’ve got one in my office, come with me.”

You popped your collar and ran behind Jen to her office. When you got there she took the scarf out of her drawer and wrapped it around your neck.

“Jen? Why couldn’t we have done that stuff in here?”

“It’s more fun in the supply closet. Come home with me after work, okay?”

“I would love that.”

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

Ending Unplanned

Aron has gotten to know most of the incubi over the last three months of them living with her, except for Sam, until finally the two talk. Before she knows it, their tense and awkward relationship starts to turn into something more complicated. On top of that, her health issues cause more issues for her than ever before, bringing up repressed memories of her childhood.

Title from Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield

Also posted on Ao3

Chapter One- Unwritten

YALL!!!! FINALLY THIS IS FIC BEING WRITTEN AFTER MONTHS OF PLANNING!!!!! This chapter is pretty lame, its just setting the tone of her relationship with each incubus and introducing Melody, an OC owned by @tr1n1ty32069

That being said, I hope you like the fic! The plot set up is W E I R D so I just did the order of events when Sam and Aron get together.

I am unwritten

Can't read my mind, I'm undefined

I'm just beginning

The pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Unwritten- Natasha Bedingfield

“I’m home!” Aron called out as she walked into the mansion, dragging her suitcase behind her. 

It had been about three months since she’d moved into the mansion with Melody, and met the incubi. She inherited it when her beloved grandfather, Harold, tragically passed away. 

When she and Mel arrived at the mansion, they found a group of wounded incubi brothers laying on the marble floor. That caused a chain of events, from being kidnapped by devils to being chased down by a succubus princess. It had been pure utter chaos those first few weeks.

Since it had been about a month or two since they’d found a routine that worked for everyone, she felt comfortable saying yes when her mom asked her to go with her to Florida, where Aron grew up. Melody was also invited, but she had to stay for work.

They’d spend a week there, seeing family and going to the beach, and as fun as it was, Aron was just glad to be home.

Her dark purple hair was a mess from being in the car for so long, her neck sore and her eyes heavy. 

“Hey!” Melody called out as she and the incubi walked into the grand lobby. Based on her outfit and lack of her typical trad-goth makeup, Aron determined she’d just gotten home from work in the last hour or so.

Mel quickly went to Aron and gave her a hug, which she returned. “How was the trip?”

“Exhausting,” Aron sighed. “But it was fun.”

Aron gave Matthew and Damien hugs as they all talked. James was being polite as usual, asking basic questions regarding the vacation. Even though they weren’t close, they’d developed some sort of friendship. She couldn’t help but appreciate him, as he had made Melody unbelievably happy. She deserved the best, and James was giving her that.

She was closest with Damien out of the incubi, then Matthew and Erik. Her and Damien would read together occasionally, as she was helping him learn along with James. They’d sit outside and talk for hours about things he wanted to try in the human world- which she’d make a mental note of to surprise him with later.

Matthew and her made a pretty chaotic duo, to say the least. Aron could think of more than one time that she’d heard James tell Matthew not to slide down the railing of the stairs, only for her to go up there and do it with him. Or the times she’d snuck a taste of brownie batter before he was finished, which led to a full fledged food fight.

Her and Erik were insufferable. It wasn’t like Aron had never been hit on before, but Erik’s teasing remarks were constant. She couldn’t help but flirt back! However, the two couldn’t be any more platonic. It was something she’d briefly worried about, that she was misunderstanding his signs, but thankfully the two both wanted nothing serious with each other. He’d make her try on clothes and put on mini fashion shows, hyping her up with praises the whole time.

Sam was the only one she didn’t really have any sort of relationship with. They were cordial…sometimes.

Aron didn’t know what exactly she’d done to piss off the demon, but she could only assume it was a clash of personalities. She didn’t really have any issues with him, other than the fact he kissed her when they first met, using his powers to drain her of energy. However, she’d accepted the fact he was doing it as a means for healing, not for the hell of it. So she forgave him.

But, they never really talked much after that. They bickered a lot, usually about stupid things like chores. They got along well enough in group settings, but that usually meant just not talking. If they were alone, it was usually tense and awkward. He didn't seem to like her very much, which was fine with her. It was irritating, but she had more important things to worry about.

The only real positive interactions she could remember between the two of them always had something to do with the other incubi- a good example would be them laughing and joking as Matthew was being taunted by Simon Tabby. Or the time James confidently corrected Sam’s grammar, only to be wrong. They had a field day with that.

But those moments were few and far between. The times they argued over grocery orders was much more memorable.

Soon, the group conversation began to slightly overwhelm Aron. “Okay, thank you all for not burning the house down while I was gone, but I’m going to my room now,” she told them, starting to walk away with her suitcase dragging behind her. “You can come with me if you want, Mel.”

Melody walked with Aron towards the stairs, the two pausing when Erik offered to help with the suitcase. She happily let him, too tired to pretend to want to carry it herself.

Once they were in her room, Aron flopped down on her bed with a sigh of relief. She was glad she could simply take a breath and calm down after life being so hectic recently.

Now that she was taking a moment to breathe, she found herself thinking of Harold. She’d been grieving him, the fact he was gone took a while to actually register in her mind. But it had a bit after Diana left them alone.

Now, she felt guilt creeping in. Spending his money felt wrong, living in his home felt wrong. He’d given her so much during her childhood, even when he physically couldn’t be there.

And here he was again, taking care of her, without even being alive. 

She already put a large chunk of the money she inherited away in savings accounts, but the rest was still more than enough for her to take care of herself, Melody, and the incubi. 

It just so happened she’d recently had to quit her job at the hospital in the demon districts because of ongoing health issues she’d been having, like seizures. It’s a little to treat patients when you’re unsure of whether or not you’ll be able to walk that day.

Because she had to quit, she was so worried about whether or not she’d be able to afford anything without completely relying on her mother. As much as she appreciated the help, she didn’t want to need it. 

But now, that would never be a worry. That made her feel worse.

Obviously, it’d be different if her financial issues had been solved because of winning the lottery or something, but this was different. Now, every dime she spent, she’d have to remember that it was only hers because her grandfather was dead.

“I’m bored,” Aron mumbled, rubbing her face with her hands as she shook off the thought.

Melody hummed. “What do you wanna do?”

She shrugged, thinking for a moment before raising her eyebrows in thought. “I mean…we live with incubi. The possibilities are kinda endless.”

“Aron,” Melody chuckled, likely already knowing what she was going to say. “No.”

She huffed. “Well yeah, obviously I’m not going to do anything with them. But I’m just saying there's no need to be bored when you live with literal sex demons!”

“Yeah. You know what? Maybe you should,” she suggested. “If you start having sex with one of them, maybe you’ll stop hooking up with your ex’s.”

“Oh my god,” Aron laughed. “I’m gonna stop that anyways.”

“Mhm. Sure you are,” she replied, tone filled with sarcasm.

She giggled in response and closed her eyes as Melody scrolled on her phone.

The rest of the day went as usual. Matthew and James made dinner, which they all ate as a group before calling it a night. Aron laid down, hoping to be able to sleep all night after a long two days of sitting in the car.

Still her mind raced as she thought of her grandfather and the incubi. Her new life.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

For several years now I’ve been wanting to buy a knotted dildo (why do they never have smaller ones) but my dad often helps me with finances because I’m really bad at math and I would be super embarrassed if he found out. I doubt he would be mad at finding out I’m a monsterfucker, but it WOULD be super awkward, especially since a lot of knotted ones are labeled “dog” I don’t want my family to have an even worse impression before I can explain! Maybe it would be easier if I could drive and try to find in-person shops and pay in cash, but I have a health problem that makes me driving illegal sometimes, so that’s not a practical option. I know you aren’t supposed to use things that weren’t designed to go inside of your body, but I’ve been using an old detachable razor handle for years because of this. I don’t know what to do! I don’t think my dad pays much attention to what I buy but if something is flagged as unusual by the bank, they will sometimes call him about it. I’m not sure what I should do. I haven’t even bought a regular sex toy because I’m self conscious about this, let alone one like that!

I’m the “my dad helps me balance my checkbook and I’m terrible at math but I want a dildo” anon, and you don’t have to post this part if it’s too uncomfortable. That’s why i didn’t include it in my first ask. But the only time I had a friend offer to help me buy one that friend later died before it could happen so… I don’t really have anyone around to ask for assistance in… this. I know these aren’t your usual confessions, but i don’t really know where else to confess to this. The only other friend I think might possibly have helped me, moved a state away and i don’t want to bother her about it. I joke about being a freak sometimes but I really doubt my older family who might have heard me say that actually expects me to consider “freaky” something beyond oral. I’m not… I’m shy and wasn’t raised by people who were into much extreme stuff (my parents didn’t even swear around us until we were all over 16, and even now they don’t do it much! There are slurs I didn’t even know existed until senior high and my parents never used them! For obvious reasons. Which is good, but gives an idea of what I mean when I say not extreme. Even my grandparents are/were like this) so I’ve been told that it’s surprising when i tell a friend about these things for the first time. Coming out as demisexual wasn’t nearly as stressful to be honest, that might be weird but admitting my (admittedly not super exciting among this community) kinks feels shameful and humiliating for some reason. Telling a close friend is different I guess. My parents aren’t conservative people, not politically or in many other ways, but they definitely don’t know much about kinks. I can say that with confidence, I’ve read the romance novels my mom had lying around and I’ve seen them react genuinely shocked when something a little crazy happens in a show we’re watching. I just think I might have super vanilla family (in the 25 years I lived with them the most spicy things I encountered were those romance novels and what might have been lube) and I’m sure they would react, if not badly, just awkwardly. It would be super uncomfortable. They are the kinds of people to hear about that, look slightly horrified, say “okay” and just avoid talking about it after that, but every time a conversation gets too close to that everyone is awkward and avoids it. It’s like when someone is trying to talk about politics and everyone has to kind of bite their tongue or a shouting match will start while we’re trying to watch the mandalorian, just less aggressive, so not exactly the same, just similarly uncomfortable. This one also got longer than I meant it to. I don’t expect that my parents would disown me or anything, but it would change some things (although because my mom and I accidentally shared a kindle account when I was in highschool I’m pretty sure she knows I’m into monster romance novels) sex isn’t really a taboo topic, but it’s also not a comfortable one

[gaffney]

USER GAFFNEY MAY WE GET HALLWAY / 9-LINE HCS FOR PRIDE MONTHS? doesn’t even have to be headcanons, just anything you want to say about them.

talking about them is like my favorite hobby so i love this ask. i'm gonna start with hallway and then write up another for 9line later

alright so you know how there’s this stereotypical family dynamic on tv that’s always like kids: mom can we go get ice cream mom: no you’ll ruin your appetite kids: dad, mom said we can go get ice cream dad (without bothering to double check): ok let’s go get ice cream mom (holding dinner): literally what the fuck

that’s jesse & charlie with the ducks. they’re team dads where the kids only listen to charlie when jesse’s not there lmaooo. at least until that part in d3 where charlie has a meltdown and the ducks are like wtf and file for emancipation…

BUT fulton & julie are always team charlie. guy & portman are always team jesse. russ, kenny & connie switch sides based on who knows how to bribe them better. averman plays both sides bc he's always trying to start something. adam tells charlie “of course i’m on your side” and then turns around and tells jesse the exact same thing while charlie’s still standing there going wtf. dwayne actually takes both sides which never makes any sense

jesse’s never called charlie spazway because he thinks it’s a stupid nickname (and being the king of GOOD nicknames, he’s totally right) and also because he’s been picking charlie’s butt back up whenever he trips since kindergarten so he knows that it bothers charlie more than he lets on. also, i wanna point out how in the novelization jesse never doubts charlie’s ability to take the last shot and even says “you’re our man” so all of the above is actually canon bc jesse believes in charlie’s capabilities as a player 

also in the novelization jesse is the only other duck who also executes a triple deke so i like to hc that he practiced them with charlie 😌

they look for each other first!! d2 being a great example—when charlie is asked to round up the ducks, the person he starts with is jesse. when jesse doesn’t want to start the flying v because he’s still pissed with bombay, he looks charlie’s way because he doesn’t know what to do. and then there’s a couple of background scenes where you can see them look @ each other whenever something happens like they want validation. it’s cute

no one on the team talks about it but everyone knows jesse has a soft spot for charlie. this is also canon because in d2 there's that montage where everyone's paired off while adam's got his arm in a sling, right. it's hard to see but off to the side there's jesse, charlie & an unknown (who i assume is averman because everyone else is accounted for) as the only kids working as a trio (probably bc adam's out of the running and luis is trying to learn how to stop). anyway you can see jesse yank at the hockey stick that's connected to averman, causing averman to fall flat on his face, but is just letting charlie skate around peacefully lmao. it's true jesse hall plays favorites

also bombay pairs them off for drills so they can bother each other instead of bothering him this is 100% true

their families are close and charlie & casey spend a lot of christmases with the halls. jesse’s dad thinks charlie is literally the best kid in the world (he is) bc charlie’s always polite and considerate and helps jesse with his homework. casey thinks jesse is literally the best kid in the world (he is) because jesse’s kinda polite and considerate and helps charlie with his homework. at least until jesse's dad and casey get called into the principal's office because apparently they've just been copying each other's notes and playing video games

also for two people who are pretty emotional and combative, i think it’s pretty telling how they’ve never gotten mad at each other despite having conflicting views. jesse doesn’t pile on top of charlie to try and make him feel bad (like peter/karp do) despite being one of the first people to walk out on bombay. charlie doesn’t try and stop jesse from taking a stand against adam despite wanting to put the past behind them by accepting him into the team. like, even when they don’t agree with each other’s takes, they respect each other and i think that’s huge 

anyway you know how you’ve got that one person who can basically read you like an open book (even after you haven’t seen them for a while) because they grew up with you and have been there for the weirdest shit? that’s charlie & jesse. like, fulton would be the best man at charlie’s wedding, but jesse’s the one who’d know charlie wouldn’t want a wedding in march because that’s when his grandpa got stung by a bee and died bc of an allergy or whatever. yes, charlie’s absentee dad is anthony bridgerton, you heard it here first

jesse isn’t a fan of pda unless he’s the one to initiate (which he does!!! sometimes!!!), but he never says anything when charlie blatantly disregards this and goes full-on clingy panda anyway. when confronted by this by the other ducks who totally think this is unfair, he acts like he has no idea what anyone’s talking about 

charlie literally stopped talking to jesse for the entirety of d3 because he was still upset about him moving or rejecting the scholarship or whatever the reason is that he's not there, which is why the ducks never bring jesse up because i simply reject the canon where everyone ignores that he ever existed. when they make up, the team barely sees charlie for weeks bc he's holed up in jesse's room

SPEAKING OF. i’ve talked alot about charlie’s personality transplant but i think the problem with him taking center stage in d3 is that every conflict that spawned didn’t seem like it’d be a conflict d1/d2 charlie would have, except for his resistance to change (aka bombay/his father figure leaving). bc he was never the ducks’ ringleader. and not to dunk on his skills bc i am a nhl player charlie conway truther, but canonically he was never a great player either (to the point where it seems like in d2 he already made a full switch to assistant coach). he also never held a grudge against ‘cake-eaters/preppies’ – that’s all jesse. the writers were clearly aware of it and i think that’s partly why the movie’s a little jarring at times, because they had to “level up” charlie and pretend that person was always him (and i think this is also the reason why jesse was cut from the movie altogether). he even starts wearing pinky rings like jesse!!! anyway, all this to say that i think the writers are cowards, but i really do headcanon that charlie’s simply trying to emulate jesse in d3 because he (at first) doesn’t know how to lead the ducks without jesse there to take charge and also he misses him 😔  

lastly some random stuff i basically always refer to in my fic: charlie always steals jesse's shit. jesse likes charlie's curly hair. they know how to read each other's body language but suck at actual verbal communication. i also think the idea of jesse hitting on linda because charlie never introduced them bc REASONS is hilarious, as per my latest fic. and that's it for now!!! stan hallway besties and boyfriends