#I'm a monster lover lets be real

[caycanteven]

Listen... LISTEN...

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

And my, my love had been frozen. Deep blue, but you painted me golden.

Warnings: 18+, mdni! there will be smut in the future chapters. enemies to lovers, 'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope, allusions to unrequited love, mentions of death, injuries, allusions to self hatred, mentions of bullying, this story is set post s4, Vecna and the upside down are gone. slow burn. ‘hate’ sex. fwb kinda thing but they’re ‘enemies’. mean!reader, mean!Steve, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

♡

Prologue ⭐︎

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I’m not around

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Chapter five ⭐︎'Cause you know it could never be

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Chapter seven ⭐︎ Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life

Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops

Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl

Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Chapter eleven ⭐︎ Yeah, I know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass

Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck

Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?

Chapter sixteen ⭐︎ Hold me, love me, touch me, honey

Chapter seventeen ⭐︎ What am I supposed to do? If there's no you.

Chapter eighteen ⭐︎ Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

Chapter twenty four ⭐︎ I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay

The Epilogue ⭐︎

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else. 

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black. 

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials. 

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one. 

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison. 

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am. 

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it. 

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for. 

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house. 

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing. 

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval. 

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading. 

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents. 

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him. 

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.  

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it. 

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering. 

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone. 

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose. 

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing. 

8:59. 

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly. 

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm. 

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy. 

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock. 

But today is the day where everything comes to a head. 

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters. 

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty. 

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance. 

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning. 

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing. 

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet. 

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you. 

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears. 

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat. 

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action. 

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long. 

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly. 

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence. 

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed. 

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence. 

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester. 

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months. 

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare. 

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats. 

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. 

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me. 

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere. 

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it. 

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published. 

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach. 

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening. 

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to  catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet. 

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return. 

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung. 

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others. 

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you. 

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose. 

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game. 

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester. 

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance. 

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw. 

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried. 

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind. 

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone. 

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall. 

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?” 

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above. 

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach. 

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face. 

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare. 

But you hadn’t. 

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you. 

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer. 

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them. 

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected. 

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad. 

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with. 

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual. 

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him. 

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect. 

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class. 

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off. 

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him. 

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here. 

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?” 

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face. 

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind. 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you. 

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium. 

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time. 

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten. 

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need. 

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is. 

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord. 

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare. 

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy. 

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door. 

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation. 

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently. 

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door. 

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door. 

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend. 

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it. 

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold. 

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike? 

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom. 

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours. 

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with. 

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you. 

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one. 

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how. 

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting. 

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.  

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground. 

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once. 

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something. 

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it. 

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this. 

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you. 

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder. 

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud. 

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing. 

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage. 

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published. 

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume. 

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs. 

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye. 

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago. 

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently. 

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste. 

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days. 

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.  

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species. 

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago. 

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is. 

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago. 

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads. 

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads. 

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared. 

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive. 

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch. 

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear. 

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow. 

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes. 

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak. 

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood. 

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric. 

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even. 

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world. 

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all. 

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students. 

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style. 

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him. 

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You. 

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success. 

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing. 

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you. 

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours. 

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence. 

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different. 

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside. 

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her. 

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research. 

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh. 

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer. 

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity. 

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional. 

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes. 

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice. 

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim. 

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete,  well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features. 

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday. 

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task. 

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed. 

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening. 

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door. 

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in. 

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day. 

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips. 

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance. 

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person. 

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you. 

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?” 

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe. 

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came. 

Heeseung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it. 

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches. 

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost. 

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you. 

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway. 

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to. 

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes. 

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego. 

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.” 

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now. 

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly. 

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life. 

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heeseung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all. 

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way. 

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it. 

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course. 

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited. 

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance. 

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands. 

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you. 

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas. 

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper. 

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same. 

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry. 

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read. 

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry. 

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it. 

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this? 

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page. 

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information. 

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these. 

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads. 

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up. 

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all. 

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed. 

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission. 

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.” 

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like— 

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?” 

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze. 

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all. 

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet. 

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation. 

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend. 

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, ��Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided. 

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, “Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds. 

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even. 

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you. 

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much. 

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss. 

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say. 

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears. 

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours. 

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it. 

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing. 

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands. 

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value. 

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors. 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment. 

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it. 

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home. 

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you. 

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected. 

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind. 

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you. 

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works. 

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires. 

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting. 

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public. 

And then you make your way to the university library. 

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft. 

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website. 

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery. 

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between. 

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand. 

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels. 

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes. 

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents. 

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start. 

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page. 

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die. 

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date. 

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off. 

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity. 

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind. 

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name. 

The taste of blood. 

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash. 

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire. 

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts. 

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading. 

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book. 

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays. 

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire. 

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase. 

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality. 

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours. 

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you. 

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you. 

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave. 

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home. 

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound. 

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library. 

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint. 

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.”

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small. 

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another. 

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon. 

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them. 

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence. 

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.” 

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.” 

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable. 

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag. 

Sacred Monsters. 

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story. 

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you. 

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.” 

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him. 

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you. 

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect. 

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse. 

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks… 

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be. 

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end. 

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why. 

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now. 

 But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end. 

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives. 

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door. 

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look. 

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. 

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread. 

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes. 

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit. 

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist. 

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. 

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always. 

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence. 

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush. 

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is. 

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease. 

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense. 

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime. 

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads. 

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page. 

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat. 

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop. 

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred. 

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families. 

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it. 

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied. 

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now. 

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you. 

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems. 

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business. 

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain. 

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area. 

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers. 

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay. 

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings. 

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard. 

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing. 

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off. 

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now. 

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe. 

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside. 

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here. 

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response. 

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung. 

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room. 

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building. 

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange. 

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe. 

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you. 

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains. 

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away. 

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again. 

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction. 

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door. 

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now. 

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat. 

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear. 

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.  

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm. 

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel. 

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit. 

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come. 

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette. 

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person. 

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth. 

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit. 

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it. 

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true. 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would. 

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking. 

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions. 

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything. 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight. 

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck. 

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck. 

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics. 

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss. 

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory. 

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness. 

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would. 

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks. 

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel. 

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being. 

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat. 

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper. 

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck. 

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain. 

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air. 

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up. 

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you. 

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

[sojumamii]

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧always a brat ˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

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summary: no matter how hard he tries,megumi is always gonna be a spoiled brat that hates to share, especially when it's you he's sharing.

tags: megumi x fem/afab! reader, childhood friends to lovers, slight slight angst mostly cute fluff, flustered pining megumi, jealousy (cute), dad gojo, nanami is so cool (derogatory) this is me wanting cute megumi content bc i miss him too much. Honestly I gave a huge backstory about you and megumi's childhood LMAO enjoy

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It wasn't so long ago that a neurotic white haired lanky man showed up at your doorstep, alongside a bored, odd-haired child to explain curses, and the art of jujutsu sorcery.Yadayada some bad people were looking for you because you have a powerful gift yadayada Gojo can help nurture your talents and keep you from being caught by those bad people because he's a big strong guy who supposedly ruined the world (idk the freak kept yapping for so long) yadayada you may or may not die but you'll be helping people, and not have to be around mean family members who think you're weird for seeing scary monsters they don't believe are real. (showed them)

The whole time this child-highjacker was talking you couldn't help but stare at the young boy about your age hiding behind him, not really out of fear but of disinterest, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Gojo catching on concluded his speech and gestured towards Megumi,"Ah! This little handsome punk right here is Megumi Fushiguro another cute stray i've taken under my wing! You're probably about the same age, first grader? Sooo! I'm sure you're gonna be best friends in no time!" he yelled animatedly, smile wide and mischievous.

Megumi scoffed in response, turning and walking away to a nearby car. You gasped at how so blatantly rude he was to your face, your face painted with obvious irritation. At your reaction Gojo chuckled and reached down to ruffle your (h/c) hair presenting you with a thumbs up.

"Don't mind him, I've come learn he's naturally moody, like is that kid really six years old,..but i'm sure he'll come around...I mean he really has no choice as you two will be a team from now on. Anyways! Let's get you two something to eat..y'like kikufuku?!" Shiny blue eyes peaked from round black sunglasses, you simply shrugged and walked with him to the car with your silly little backpack and your new future.

Growing up with Megumi was a slightly mixed bag, but instead of growing irritated of him, he fascinated you. Despite his more shadowy personality, you were rather fond of him right away,finding his hot temperament and need to be serious rather endearing and cute much to his open and endless dismay.

You wondered how this could be someone your age, as Megumi was much more composed than the supposed adult now taking care of you. He was indifferent to both you and Gojo, only ever interacting with his elder step-sister Tsumiki, who urged him to be kinder and more approachable especially since you two were in the same predicament. Megumi would scoff and tell her to leave him alone and that he didn't wanna make friends just because they're stuck together. You never took offense but it would annoy you that you had the decency to be kind but he wasn't discreet with his attitude.

"Right..like I know i'm the adult but it's kind shooting down my pride that this kid doesn't like me yet, i'm not above bribes..." Gojo had whispered to you after you secretly inquired about the other child, having a difficult time adjusting to your new living situation, the young boy's attitude towards you was not welcoming and though you did your best to leave him alone, you would still extend an arm out as gently as possible. Although, you were also not above checking Megumi's attitude which would result in some major clashes that would make Gojo fret over household repairs.

After walking you guys home from school Gojo would figure out what to feed you before training and homework, allowing you to snack as he stressfully lamented over what to feed the three of you. You're all seated at the table with your homework laid out, peckish from a long day of being an elementary aged child. Tsumiki sat primly in her chair sipping on a pink carton of strawberry milk, a staple in the gojo-fushiguro-(l/n) household. Excitedly you ask her if there were anymore boxes of the heavily worshipped beverages left.

She nodded sweetly, soft brown locks swaying,"Yeah (y/n) there's one more left with your name on it!"

You beam happily out of your seat, ready to grab your treat and announce to your guardian that more strawberry milk was to be added to the grocery list. Until...

.

.

You fall face first onto the firmness of the tatami mat and hear the rapid stomping of feet fleeing to the cabinet where your sacred treasure lay. Furious you look up at Megumi who was now indifferently drinking the last carton, that you had so openly claimed, a claim that was co-signed and notarized by Tsumiki. The absolute audacity of this bratty spoiled motherfu-

"Meg-" Tsumiki began to scold right before you exploded.

"You bitch!" you shrieked, you hear Tsumiki gasp at your profanity, but your anger was at boiling point with this broom haired kid. Megumi retained his look of indifference which furthered enraged you. Megumi expected you to get mad and yell at him but what he didn't expect was-

"OOF!" Megumi fell backwards roughly on the floor, as you tackled him, strawberry milk carton flying out of his hand, destination unknown. You're on him pulling as harshly as your tiny fists allow on his hair, he yells pushing you back but you're relentless!

"Calm down what's your deal you freak it's just strawberry milk!"

"You tripped me to get it you selfish brat! Even though you knew i wanted it!"

"You obviously didn't want it that bad! Should've been more alert!" he successfully gets you off of him, shoving you to the living room.

"Guys please!" You both ignore Tsumiki

"Ugh! You're such a whiny little bitch!" You lunge at him again with your fist ready,unbeknownst to you there's glowing flames of energy coursing through it,he narrowly evades it by moving his head. Making impact with the sofa, it splits in half, wooden floor below absolutely destroyed.

Megumi grunts in anger, his fist glowing as well ready to make impact with you, quickly you push him off and he blows a hole through the television and the wall behind it. Stubbornly you both make way to each other with powered filled fist ready to collide.

"ENOUGH! What's the matter you two!" Gojo catches both of your fists,pulling you two off the floor, holding the both of you in each hand, he angrily looks back and forth between you and the destroyed living room. "How did this happen! Why are you two trying rip each others' heads off and why is the living room a-oh?"

A lightbulb flickers over him," Well I'll be damned! You two finally managed to produce cursed energy,how exciting!" The older man hugs you both tightly, crushing your lungs.

"Too bad it took you guys trying to kill each other...which reminds me we need to have a little lesson on teamwork, and household construction you absolute demon children!" He gives a preview of your 3 hour long lecture by throwing you two into the hole you just punched in the floor.

.

.

.

After that incident you understood how someone so deceptively calm like Megumi was to be a sorcerer, he was crazy, a an absolute psycho you'd say. Gojo's words from a previous time replay in your mind:

"You have to be a little crazy to handle being jujutsu sorcerer."

Through a lot of exposure therapy, Megumi eventually got used to your presence, and actually began to enjoy it, seeking it even. Once you were both a little older and still around each other, he figured he may as well get along with you. It's not that he didn't like you (anymore) or found you annoying (anymore) he realized he was just used to Tsumiki, and didn't care for any more than that and was surprising to himself very combative to any sort of change. But he was making the effort to fix that immature side of him and be more receptive and open to you and gojo.

Despite that, the more missions you two shadowed, the longer you lived together and went to school, the closer you became and the tighter your bond felt. You became an inseparable pair, hanging out outside of sorcery and schooling, in your rooms, sharing hobbies and tastes in music, constant laughter and smiles were consistently heard and shared between you two. Witnessed fondly by Tsumiki and Gojo who had their own little gossip circle over mochi and tea. Strawberry milk was no longer allowed in the household.

This unshakable bond was like concrete, no matter the circumstances, no matter how terrifying going out on missions became and the atrocities you experienced, you guys relied on each other, minds and hearts in perfect synergy the older you became. Getting to your first year of jujutsu tech was something you both couldn't believe finally came around, now almost 10 years later, and your relationship was still thriving! Yuji and Nobara blending in perfectly to your small shared circle!

But now one person has began to shake that bond and making Megumi's possessive bratty habits rear their ugly head.

It's making Megumi regret coming to this stupid sorcerer school with the stupid handsome suit wearing ex-salarymen sorcerers who have stupid sorcery knowledge and wisdom. Who are stupidly caring and kind with cute quirks like loving bread, fuckin loser (yet megumi hates red bell pepper)

This thought process was pissing him off, and so was the existence of a specific grade 1 sorcerer.

"Nanami is so strong! His ratio technique is so cool!"

"Nanami is helping me with my precision and aim! He's so kind!"

"Nanami is such a gentleman, he tucked me to sleep in the car on the way home from a mission! A sweet handsome guy like him must have no problem getting da-"

"Alright! I get it Nanami is so great and awesome! You know it's a little inappropriate to have a crush on your superiors!" Megumi grumbles as he slams his hand on the table,eyebrows raised at you. What's so great about a guy who wears a suit to exorcise curses? fuckin weirdo

Your eyes widen as a flush takes over your cheeks, "Gumi don't be mean! I don't have a crush on Nanami, I'm just saying how kind he is and how much i've learned from him!" your lips form a pout.

"Really? Then why is your face red? Why are your eyes sparkling when you talk about him?What's the point in calling him handsome if you're not crushing on him! You sound like a love sick school girl!" He bites back.

You raise your brows and cross your arms,"You know your bratty attitude wasn't cute when we were kids and it's definitely not cute now! So what if I admire my mentor or compliment his looks! Yuji's complimented my looks and I don't see you calling him a love sick school girl!"

Internally he's kicking himself, he doesn't understand why hearing about Nanami from you is making him react this way. It feels like someone else is piloting his brain right now (or maybe his six year old self) especially when he utters his next words,"Maybe you should start hanging out with Nanami since he's so cool and special!"

"'You like me or something huh? Can't stand me looking at someone else!"You stand up, fists on the table, you lean your body over to Megumi's side of the table, face to face your (e/c) eyes give him a heated glare.

Now it's Megumi's turn to flush red, breaking his neck to look away from your intimidatingly beautiful eyes, his heart snaps.

"Are you jealous Gumi? Is that it? You want me to look at you only?" You inch closer, calling him out on his bluff.

'WHAT! Oh god.. no no no, awe shit...god damn it what am I thinking, beautiful eyes? I mean she does have beautiful eyes, and she's beauti- oh my god? She asked if I like her? I think that's what this is...heart pumping? Am I jealous of Nanami? Idiot. Why did I have to run my mouth like that? Since when do I lose my cool this bad nowadays?!" Megumi's thoughts race 100 miles per hour, body running hot from the interrogation.

"J-Jel-Jealous? What the hell would I have to be jealous of Nanami for!" His delicately pretty face twisted in confusion and irritation.

"I don't know gumi, how about you enlighten me" You smirk, cornering him like he's a feral possum, he's not getting out of this one unscathed.

He never really got into the specifics of his feelings for you, of course he liked you, or else he wouldn't stick around. You guys were so close it was honestly concerning to others and himself, you were his most treasured person (sacred one would say) He has been through major life experiences, and struggles with you, you grew up together. You had a domestic routine, a result of living together for years, even in the same house you guys slept in each other's rooms (and still do even though the dorms prohibit it) watched tv together, read together, cooked for each other, studied...went on outings... had matching rings ... matching sweaters.. and oh god is he already dating you?

That's not all, his shikigami adored you, you were there when he summoned his first ones, the divine dogs that he appropriately named shiro and kuro, and boy you were so excited to see them, the dogs took an instant liking to your adoration, and eventually you bonded with them they look out for you on missions. As a child that cemented for Megumi that you were someone he held dear and was 100% certain you had truly kind and pure heart if his shikigami were so trusting of you.

Same thing happened with his other shikigami; Nue would nuzzle into you despite his ever growing body whether it was after a successful mission or as soon as it was summoned for training, excited rust colored wings and a happy screech flocked your way. Gama and rabbit escape jumping on your shoulders in greeting or to rest.

When he lost Shiro and Orochi, you made him a pretty silver charm necklace with a snake and pretty white wolf, letting him mourn his fallen companions in the comfort of his bed as he sobbed heart wrenchingly in your arms and expressed his deep appreciation that you allowed him have something of them to carry with him

That memory is specifically one he holds so dearly, he remembers how much you reassured him that it was okay to mourn his shikigami and Yuji and that it wasn't his fault they died, and that this situation shouldn't make him jaded in making bonds with others; reality was that you guys were all still so young so to see one of you die was heartbreaking no matter how normal it was in your world.

looking back he feels that's when he began realizing his feelings ran deeper than initially imagined. It was instinct for him to protect you, comfort you and even just care for you in any way possible. Always making sure you were fed and hydrated, well rested, not overstrained, comforting you when missions you went on without him went awry, carrying you to bed when you fell asleep in the common room at the dormitory, or in the car on the way home.

If it was cold he made sure you had a sweater on before just in case or disregard his coldness by taking off his sweater and tenderly putting it on you (whilst grumbling and nagging for you to bring one, though Megumi would never admit so brazenly he loved seeing you in his clothes, that's his secret to keep.)

From across the way, Yuji and Nobara watch the spectacle going on at your table, it was very rare for you and Megumi to fight, you guys bickered for sure, you all did, but Megumi never lost his cool with you in those instances like he did with them. Usually if you fought it was over very serious things, like injuries on missions, mahoraga... the drawbacks of your technique on your body.. but never a serious argument on something so...stupid? Plus it wasn't in either of your introverted natures to display such a spectacle.

"What are those two screaming at each other about? I could've sworn I heard Fushiguro saying Nanamin's name a few times?" Yuji glances back at Nobara, his brown eyes curious as to what his favorite mentor had to do with your squabble, he takes a handful of fries while Nobara looks directly at her phone to take a photo, oblivious to her lack of fries.

"I'm thinking Fushiguro is jealous that his sweet little (y/n) has her eyes on someone else for once, but for him to throw a tantrum over a harmless crush on a mentor is a level of pathetic I never expected him to be on." Kugisaki stifles her laughter, brushing her auburn hair back, not so subtly eavesdropping on the argument.(not like she could help it, she's nosy plus you guys are hard to ignore right now)

"I could see why someone would for fall for Nanamin! He's a really a gentleman! Strong too! I'd feel threatened too if I was him. But doesn't he know (y/n) really likes him? They're super close like that" The pink haired boy states like it's a simple answer as any. Nobara rolls her eyes, annoyed at the men in her class.

"Fushiguro is emotionally constipated, he may not really understand that he has feelings for her because they've always been close, but because (y/n) is girl she's smarter and knows better! She's trying to get it out of him, twenty bucks says she gets him to confess by the end of today?" Nobara sticks her hand out to Yuji, he smiles a look for determination on his face as he shakes her hand.

"You're on! Twenty bucks says she gets him to confess here and now!" They both nod to seal their deal.

"What are you guys betting on?" A voice in their booth asks. The students squeak as Gojo makes his presence known, his face inquisitive and sly.

"That (y/n) is gonna get Fushiguro to confess his feelings! It's bound to happen!" Itadori explains.

Gojo sniffles at the response, sighing dramatically while putting a hand over his heart,collapsing wordlessly into the booth end face planting on the table, Yuji softly pats his teachers back for comfort,while Kugisaki rolls her eyes at the ridiculous scenes in front of her, she turns back to your table and gasps, phone falling out of her grip.

Gojo and Yuji immediately look up, jaws dropping in shock at the scene in front of them.

Megumi and you were standing away from your table,his hand on your waist, the other holding the side of your face as both your lips were gently pressed together, you on your tippy toes and arms around his neck. They witness the gentleness of the moment, both your eyes full of fondness,and affection as your lips separate. A pretty blush overtakes the atmosphere.

"Oh my babies! They're growing up too fast! One day they're destroying the house and trying to kill each other over strawberry milk then before you know it they're getting married!" Gojo babbles through escalating sobs, accepting the tissues Yuji's offered him and cries into said student's shoulders.

Nobara and Yuji share a questioning look on the qualifications of gojo being a parent and the nature of your childhood, Yuji comforts his sensei again,"Fushiguro and (y/n) are always gonna be your babies gojo! Honestly I'm j-just s-so I'm so proud of Fushiguro being so honest about his feeheeeliiiings" the pinked haired boy chokes through tears, wiping his runny nose on his uniform

Kugisaki looks at the two emotional men in disgust, opting to watch the romantic soap opera in front of her as a live studio audience member, smiling softly to herself, as though she wouldn't be as foolish as her sensei and friend to openly admit it, she was full of pride for you too! You'd been pining over Megumi for forever even though you weren't aware of it and you always described how you used to feel lonely until you met him and no matter what you guys go through you're always there-

"Those two are finally together I can't believe it!! I'm so happy!" the hazel eyed girl joins the huddle of Yuji and Gojo, tears flowing out her eyes. All of this goes ignored and unbeknownst to you and Megumi.

You smile brightly at the black haired boy, playing with the hairs behind his neck,"See Gumi, was that so hard to admit?" You tease him, he grunts, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassed annoyance.

He softly flicks your forehead, an old habit from middle school," Shut up... I didn't really know that's what that was...but now that you're mine, that means no more Nanami talk right? Or anyone that's not me for that matter.." pretty red flush stains his fair skin.

You giggle and kiss his cheek,"Hmmm I don't know Okkutsu is a reaaaaal cutie.." you pretend to ponder tilting your head in thought.

Megumi groans and kisses you again, more confident and stern,"You're an absolute pain."

"Don't worry Gumi you're my only and favorite one. I've always been yours silly." You wink, a pink blush dusting the both of you again. Megumi presses a chaste kiss, holding your hand and grabbing both your bags to get ready to leave for training after your longer than intended lunch, you're interrupted by a deep,polite voice.

"(y/l/n),Fushiguro, my apologies for bothering you both, I just wanted to quickly speak to Miss (y/l/n), here this is research I found on techniques similar to your own and information about its users.. I hope the information is helpful to you in your journey as a sorcerer." Nanami hands you a few books with various note tabs sticking out of them. You stare at it wide eyed, stunned and excited to learn more about your technique... and how much time and effort it took a busy man like Nanami to do...Seriously, what a gentleman...

You bow in appreciation,blush reappearing, "Thank you Nanami, I'm sure this will be very insightful!" the man smiles back and nods,"Of course, be sure to let me know what else you may want to know.That being said I've taken enough of your guys' time, goodbye for now."

Megumi scoffs, irritation palpable at his senior,"Tch. Whatever womanizer."He tugs at your hand and drags you away quickly to the exit and as far away from the dashing gentleman of a sorcerer. Damn...he's good.

As you're walking you smack his shoulder in reprimand,"gumi that was rude! you're always gonna be brat who does whatever he wants!" you're scolding him but it's in between giggles and the most loving soft gaze he's used to seeing in your eyes, now that he knows what it is, it makes him shy. He kisses your face as a distraction to your lecture (fat chance.)

And what could Megumi say, you make him crazy, he's always gonna put his foot down for what's his. He silently kisses the back of your hand like a guilty puppy.

he'll apologize to nanami soon

.

.

.

Taken aback Nanami blinks in confusion,"Womanizer?" he repeats. Megumi's vengeful words replay in his mind, unable to figure out an explanation.

He looks back at Itadori's table when the sound of rambunctious laughter invades the dining hall, confused hazel eyes hidden behind his opaque lenses.

"Why are you laughing?"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧∘₊

I hope you guys liked my first work on here!! This was written on a whim with no specific outline (explains the inconsequential lore dump as this is one shot or who knows!!) hope you guys love jealous and bratty Megumi. As calm and collected as he is I imagine when hes in love so many emotions come up he doesn't know how to define them or properly communicate them so he says the first thing his brain tells him even when he himself knows rationally its crazy to say or think.

[vagabond-umlaut]

hey, where is the pomegranate tree?

unstoppable force, aka kore, aka gojo, meets immovable object, aka hades, aka you— nothing can ever go wrong from this collision, trust me— n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; hades and persephone retelling [with a twist ;))]; 1.2k wc; stubbornly persuasive gojo; the reader is js so tired and annoyed [and tired]; enemies to lovers vibes[??]; talks of marriage and children; gojo thinks you are a fool, he is the real clown here

▸ pls don't glare at me if there is more than one inaccuracy here, haha. anyways, the header is from pinterest, the divider is by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ update: this fic is now part of a series!!! wreaths of asphodel 😊😊

"you shall spend the rest of your days in tears."

you're foolish; woefully so, gojo thinks, carefully observing you from his place on the chaise lounge, smiling while you continue seething, "and there will be no one who can save you. neither a hero nor a god. neither demeter nor zeus. no. one."

"but why do you think i will need saving, my rose?" the endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, the taste sweetening at the way your pretty lips dip into a deeper frown, "you're not a monster, are you?"

"no!" the defensive reply comes in less than a beat. though the words following it sound a tad less bold; it seems as if you're trying to make yourself believe and not scare him.

"i'm someone far fiercer— hades. the goddess of the dead. the queen of the underworld— and the cause for your misery should you choose to vex me any further."

"aw, no," gojo cries, decidedly making a show by slapping a hand over his eyes and faking a sniffle, "why must the only woman i want as my wife see me as an annoyance?"

then lets his hand drop down to the cushion, willing his eyes to well over with pitiful moisture. "as the god of life, i've only ever given and given– be it grains or fruits or vegetables or flowers– without asking anything in return— yet the first and only time i ask..."

he doesn't bother finishing his sentence, choosing to sob to add to the tragic atmosphere— though that doesn't mean he doesn't note the war of emotions on your face:

pity, confusion, anger, again confusion— you're so easy to read, to steer. very foolish, really.

"you'll not like living here," you eventually break the silence hanging within the room. your voice is much softer now; the god wonders if you sing. if you do, the muses will certainly be put to shame... "your days will be spent in utter boredom and gloom and tears–"

"– and no one can come to my aid then: yes, thank you," he interrupts you, more than a little tired, "you've driven the points too well into my head– so much so that i'm surprised there isn't a gaping hole in there, oozing blood and my brains. but why must you think i'll need rescue, huh??"

if a smidge of force escapes into his words, gojo decides not to pay it any mind— though only until he notices the small flinch you give– his insides twist and torment, quite inexplicably, thereafter.

"okay, look," he says, getting up from his slouch to move near you, but stops on catching the warning glint in your eyes.

"first of all, i'm not some damsel in distress being whisked away in a chariot here– i came here by own volition. and i'm offering my mind, body, heart, soul– the special package that i am, in fewer words– to you, by my own volition. why shall i want anyone to rescue me then?"

"besides," he proceeds to add, allowing an easy smirk to form on his face, "you're just the cute little goddess of the dead– not at all scary like your brother used to be; though i guess you try to imitate him in your glares, don't you? sukuna was quite notori—"

"don't you dare utter my brother's name, foul olympian," a quiet growl slashes gojo's comment, sending it plummetting to the ground— and making him understand why you, the inconspicuous, sheltered sister of the vicious former holder of the name 'hades', was given the crown, in the aftermath of your brother's banishment– instead of the several more well-known candidates...

"i apologise," gojo offers in the very next instant, making it as genuine as he can, "i never meant to upset or offend you. i'm sorry if i did."

you just stare at him for a beat, gojo watches, before your shoulders lift then fall in a sigh. the fire burning in your aura abates by a pinch.

sighing once more, you finally break your silence, "It's okay, and um– suppose i too should apologise. you might be an olympian but you're not as foul as them, no. please forgive me for calling you so."

"no problem, my rose," the god is quick to accept your words with a wave of his hand and a beam, further widening when he notices the sliver of smile on your countenance, "but does this mean i appeal to your tastes? i mean, you called me 'not as foul as them', didn't you?? did you just accept my hand in marriage, then???"

"no, i didn't..." your subtle smile disappears swifter than it appeared. a half of gojo's floral crown, quite inexplicably, wilts on the table before. he watches your eyes fall to it, then snap up to meet his.

"do you love me?"

not yet, but he thinks he can. you might be an idiot but you certainly aren't an unlovable idiot— and one voice in his mind murmurs, those precious, innocent looks of yours aren't even the main reasons why...

the god shoots back a languid smile. "if you want to see me in love with you, so be it."

"that's neither 'yes' nor 'no'," you point out, frowning, before vaulting your second query of the evening, "if we get married, do you want to have children?"

it won't be very unfavourable, if you both do... with the vivid colour of your eyes, or the adorable shape of your nose, or the radiance of your skin, or the— "if you want, i shall be happy to assist," he ekes out with a meaningful wink, albeit he doubts how much of it reaches you.

you're very foolish, after all... and no– it's not because of the awkward way he says it– no! not in the slightest! he wasn't fumbling at all!

you wrap the shawl tighter around your shoulders but don't move any further away, gojo notes. the same way he does the slight tint in your cheeks when you roll your eyes with a scoff.

"you're unbelievable, kore. truly, terribly unbelievable." you press the pads of your thumbs over your forehead before releasing it, gaze an unprecedented mark of sharp when it settles on his face.

"is there nothing you want from our union, eh? i refuse to believe you wish to marry me without any demands, as if on a mere whim– but if it is so, i ought to warn you, kore: my answer is and will always be one firm 'no'."

your words mustn't ignite this odd restlessness in him. they certainly mustn't— still, gojo finds his chest tight and the air heavy as he grins back and says, "i only want to be your husband, your majesty... but if that is too much for you right now–"

the stretch on his lips simmers down to something smaller. yet truer.

"i want you to call me by my name. my real name. can you do that, my rose?"

you don't say anything in response for a long while. so long, in fact, it makes the god wonder if you are ever going to reply to his request.

perhaps not, he thinks quite a bit down-spirited when you suddenly turn on your heel and with a swish of your long shawl, stride out the rooms– o-oh.

you stop just as abruptly at the threshold. a complicated grin shining on your face as you twist to look at him over your shoulder then say:

"good night, gojo satoru. pray the ghosts prowling these halls don't eat you up ere dawn."

you're gone not even few feet away from the door, before gojo falls face-first into the bed, the entire room suddenly erupting into thousands of roses in all colors ever seen. [lolol, he is such a loser for you! xD]

▸ masterlist

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 [Dusk]

"You're not a monster, Jungkook." You reassure him.

"Not yet."

Main tags/Warnings: Werewolf!Jungkook, Werewolf!Bangtan, strangers/enemies to lovers, romantic Jungkook x reader, Platonic bangtan x reader, eventual smut, mentions of past emotional/psychological manipulation, hurt and comfort, fluff!, some Angst, mostly fluff tho, slight body-horror

Length: 7.7k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

A/N: Sorry to disappoint. I'm still here, oops

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

They were definitely right when they said that you’d feel better back at their place.

The moment Jungkook brings you towards his little home, having had to carry you the last stretch of the way since you were so tired, you can feel eyes on you- but instead of them making you feel anxious, they give you almost a sense of security. Like everyone has your back, and is able to defend you if you’re unable to see a threat coming right away.

“Where do you want to sleep?” Jungkook asks as he sets you back down to your feet inside his home, while you take your backpack down towards the sofa immediately. Wordlessly so- but he can only laugh to himself, clearly able to interpret your actions without verbal messages.

You just instantly feel right at ease again- exhaustion making you a bit hold as you kick down some smaller pillows in order to make space for your body to lay down. It doesn’t seem to bother the young man though, as he just watches amused, blankets and more comfortable pillows already in his arms.

“good thing you were already wearing your sleeping clothes huh?” Jungkook comments, remembering how he’d told you to not change out of your already comfortably dressed state, since it’s so late that no one would see nor notice or care about it anyways. You just nod, yawning as he helps you get comfortable, making sure you have everything you need.

But it’s when he attempts to go to bed himself that your tired mind throws all hesitation out the window, holding onto his shirt.

To him, it’s clear what you want, but is he allowed to just.. let you? What if something happens, or maybe what if you’re just a bit needy right now and simply not in the right mind? And yet, he can also feel with the way you let go that you must be, because this terrible face full of confusion finds it’s way back to you, making him simply.. give in.

The moment you realize he’s taking your hand, you’re quick to follow him- his bed not quite made for two people, but still big enough to fit you both in it. And to be fair, you weren’t really aiming for any personal space anyways- if you wanted that, you would’ve just stayed on the sofa. But Jungkook made it clear that he’s interested, you honestly can’t deny your own attraction towards him either, and together with him, his pack in itself also provides you with a sense of security and comfort in this pretty confusing time.

Jungkook watches fondly how you basically cover yourself in his scent before you cling to one of his pillows, visibly making yourself feel right at home in his bed. It’s a compliment and also a clear sign of your attraction towards him. It’s also evident that you don’t take your medication any longer, scent stronger now and very noticeable. Luckily enough he’s very much in control of himself, and has never had any issues with falling victim to his own instincts- but it also makes him awfully protective over you.

For now however, he’s got you- clinging to you just as much as you do to him, having been craving someone to be with like this for way too long. It’s not like he’s got any trouble finding company for a night or two, it’s more so that he can feel the genuine connection you’re both building brick by brick.

This has very much the potential to one day become real love.

For tonight however, this is just pure company- a bit of proof that he meant it when he said that you wouldn’t have to be alone any longer from now on.

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

“Uh.. What exactly are we doing?” You ask, as Jungkook leads you through the woods, both of you by now having strayed away from the trampled down paths. There’s no clear road or way, and yet, Jungkook seems to know exactly where to go or to step- a stark contrast to you, who’s still tripping over roots and rocks.

“You have to learn how to be yourself.” He simply tells you, walking further, by now letting go of even your hand, last little help now lost as you try and keep up with him. He’s not even walking fast, rather strolling around it appears like, and yet you’ve got immense trouble trying to stay close to him. Not just because of the rather tricky surroundings, but more so because you feel.. Distracted.

By what exactly, you can’t tell.

And yet, you hear him chuckle at your internal struggle- and once you look for him, he’s gone. Out of sight, nothing to see any longer. It’s as if you blinked, and he vanished into thin air, leaving you with nothing but yourself. How are you supposed to find him in these woods? You’ve got no clue how to even get back to the cabins to ask for help or at least wait there for him. This is just mean.

Why is he doing this to you?

The moment you let his cruel actions go though, you take in your surroundings more properly. Looking at it, the trees and birds don’t even look all that scary- a squirrel high up on a thick tree branch watching you with equal curiosity, as if it’s waiting for you to do something.

Like it’s studying you the same as you do.

You wonder if animals act differently around Jungkook and all the other werewolf people, or if that’s also just a myth. Are they confused about the different forms they take? Will they see you as an enemy, or a friend?

How have they perceived you until now?

You haven’t even noticed that you’ve begun to walk again, wherever it might lead you, your own curiosity about everything around you slowly taking control more and more. The wind smells nice, isn’t too strong but still has enough force to shake the very tops of the trees on occasion, letting some leaves fall to the ground where you are alongside many other beings. They don’t seem alarmed to have you around, most birds pecking at the ground not even bothering to look up at you as they search for their daily food. A large rock catches your attention suddenly, being shined on by warm sunlight, as if it’s inviting you to sit or lay down just for a bit, to rest and just enjoy the scenery around you. And the moment you touch it, it’s surface is smooth, and warm against your fingers.

The moment you find a comfortable position, its like the warmth of the stone surface is seeping into your body, fueling you like a battery being charged. The sounds of nature around you, the wind never being too harsh on you, the smells and simple feeling of everything is putting your entire being in a state of pure.. Nothingness.

Like time isn’t passing any longer. As if the world isn’t spinning.

Nothing matters.

You’re not sure how long you bathe in the sun like that, but when a hand carefully moves some of your hair out of your face, you slowly open your eyes again to see Jungkook’s soft smile. “Had a good rest?” He asks with a teasing undertone, and you slowly sit up to glare at him. “What?” He chuckles, as you cross your arms.

“Why did you just leave me like that?” You accuse him, and he just laughs, sitting down near your legs like a guarding dog.

“I didn’t.” He denies. “You simply wandered off- and I let you.” He explains to you, and from the look on your face alone he knows that this isn’t enough to really tell you what happened. “We are connected to nature around us, you know? But I guess, until now, you never really let yourself feel that connection. Well, until today.” He offers, and you nod, before you look at where you’re sitting. It’s now late evening, sun setting, and yet, you don’t feel alarmed or ready to go back home yet.

He slowly moves closer to you, and you invite him at that, scooting a bit around on the rock so he can sit behind you as well. His arms around you and legs right next to yours give you comfort- but his scent fogs up your brain, warmth of his body against your back causing your mind to start getting hazy.

You’re not sure what this is.

“Jungkook?” You say, and he hums, voice alone enough to make you shiver. “You.. this makes me feel weird.” You admit, and he nods, hands carefully moving to touch the skin of your arms a little.

“Bad-weird, or good-weird?” He wants to know, and you have to think about it for a moment.

“Good-weird.” You tell him. “it’s just.. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me.” He says, taking your words as reassurance as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “tell me what you’re feeling.” He almost whispers, close proximity making it unnecessary to talk with a full voice.

Your legs push together a bit in embarrassment, before you look down at his hands now holding yours. “You’re warm. But.. you make it hard to think.” You say. “You uh.. also smell really nice.” You mumble, causing him to smile, grin clearly felt against the skin of your neck where his lips barely touch now. Is he feeling a similar thing? Does he struggle equally?

What even is this?

“You know how.. this feels to me? Hearing you say this?” He asks, and you shake your head, though you almost push yourself back into him, needing him close like this. “it feels like a rush. It’s.. it makes me extremely happy to hear this.” He offers.

“Do you.. also..?” You ask. “I don’t know.. I uhm, maybe it’s just because you were there when everything went down but, I feel like, I really like you.” You admit. “I’m just a bit scared of things right now.”

“and I understand that.” Jungkook nods. “and I know asking for your trust is a gigantic thing to ask for- but I hope that someday you can do that.” He says.

You stare at your hands in his for a moment. At the way he holds them, fingers gently running over your skin, never demanding anything. He’s just happy to be here, with you- he’s simply happy with whatever you give him.

And you realize, as you know for a fact that he must be able to.. well, smell your accidental arousal, he’s not acting on it. He’s not trying to advance this, he’s simply responding to your own actions.

You do trust him.

“I do trust you.” You say. “I really do.” You admit. “I just.. don’t know a lot of things and I might end up doing something that upsets you on accident-“ you start, when suddenly, jungkook seems to run his nose over the crook of your neck, arms now wrapped around your body.

“That’s fine.” He hums against your skin. “I don’t mind. I’ll teach you anything I can, and the pack will keep you safe. Promise.” He offers.

“Jungkook?” You ask, and he moves a bit to lift his head and look at you from the side- and only now you see what kind of effect you must have on him too. Cheeks flushed a faint red, eyes glassy but not from tears, gaze a little heated. All this time you thought it was only you who felt things like that- but he is too.

Visibly so.

“is this.. okay for you?” You ask, and his eyes widen a bit. “like, I’m not hurting you by.. taking small steps, right?” You worry. But he shakes his head.

“No.” He denies. “You could crawl at a snail’s pace and I’d crawl right next to you.” He jokes, as you let some thought in your head win over, turning around in his lap to put your hands on his shoulders, running your nose over the side of his neck the same way he did before.

Only that from him, you can hear a gasp, chest rapidly rising and falling. Did you do something wrong?

One look, and he stares you down almost angrily- but there’s a clear playfulness in his face, reassuring you. “small steps huh?” He asks, and for some reason, you feel bold.

“I’m just returning the gesture.” You innocently reply, when his hands find your hips, pulling you closer, faces only a breath apart as he stares you down with a golden gaze. Have his eyes always been so vibrant? Or is it the light? Or maybe you’re just seeing them up close for the first time.

“now you’re just playing with me.” He almost growls, and you swallow hard, unsure what you want. In a way, you do, because deep down you trust him to be able to control himself.

He wouldn’t.. in the woods, right?

The scenarios in your head spawning like little demons make your breath hitch, while one of his hands moves to run his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I can’t stand not having your attention.” He almost playfully complains. “what’re you thinking of?” He demands to know, but you just shake your head, making him smile. “I see. How about this?” He asks, leaning back a little. “come and get it.” He teases, and you play dumb.

“Get what?” You stammer, and he just leans his face to the side a little.

“What you want.”

What do you want? You know it, deep down, but will that screw up your relationship with the pack? Will they be upset if they found out what you’re doing right now, sneaking out like a teenage couple behind their parents’ backs?

“What.. what about the pack?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“What about it?” He chuckles. “they’re my family, not my mates. That spot is still up for grabs.” He jokes. “they won’t be mad.” He promises in a serious tone, and you nod, before you look down at his chest, before you put your hands in your lap. “You don’t have to say yes-“ he reassures softly, but you shake your head.

“I want to.” You say, finally, before you put your hands against his shoulders, finally jumping over your own shadow-

And the second your lips are on his, he makes his hunger clear, hands holding your face as he leans into you, eagerly taking over. In this moment, he proves so many things to you- not only that you made the right choice, that he’s the right person, and that you can trust him- but also that you can happily let him take the lead.

Soft careful pecks turn into desperate open mouths stealing each other’s breaths, his hands holding you close to him as he kisses you. It’s everything you thought it would be- it’s all the things that Jungkook openly wears on his sleeve for all to see.

Wild, untamed, yet with a gentle nature that you can’t really describe. His pace is steady, controlled, but yet giving you a fleeting taste of what he’s got to offer you.

It’s sensual. That’s probably the best way to describe it.

“There you a- oh, god damn!” jimin laughs, turning around while Yoongi shamelessly stands there, arms crossed.

“Don’t act so surprised Jimin, they’ve been stinking up the woods for miles.” He says, while you hide in Jungkook’s chest-

Who just laughs, still high off of your taste.

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“He’ll be back around 6.” Jimin reassures you, as you find yourself staring at the soapy water for the dishes to get cleaned in. “so he should be home soon.”

“Oh, sorry.” You apologize for some reason almost on instinct, shaking your odd feelings off as you continue doing the dishes. “I don’t know why I’m.. so clingy.”

“its normal. We tend to be a lot closer than normal humans after all.” He shrugs. “and with you and Jungkook clearly into each other, it’s not surprising that you miss him.” He teases, making you cringe a little. “Listen..” jimin says, putting down the last plate he’d dried. “..You’ll.. I don’t know if you know, but Jungkook isn’t just any kind of wolf.” He starts, and you nod.

“Yeah. I know- he said something about it, and me being.. similar. But I’m not sure what that means.” You admit, causing Jimin to sigh as he searches for the right words, when Yoongi enters.

“means he’ll be more difficult to handle. Basically everything you think you know about alphas, but ten times worse.” He simply says, as he sits down at the kitchen table, reading something on his phone while drinking a cup of what you assume must be still the same coffee he took into his house that morning.

“Yoongi-“ jimin whines a little, but you shake your head, and dry your hands before you turn around. You’re unable to really look at Yoongi, for reasons you’re not sure of- but you have to stand your ground.

Why? You don’t know. It’s not like he insulted you or jungkook.

“No.” You deny. “all I know about Alphas is.. that they’re aggressive, and arrogant, and not in control of themselves because they think they don’t have to be.” You say. “Jungkook isn’t like that.”

There’s a bit of silence, before Yoongi sets his phone down, your words having clearly caught his attention.

“And why do you think that?” He asks, in an almost melodic tone. “You’ve known him for what? Three weeks? At maximum.” He says, horribly sweet like he’s talking to a child. “Maybe he’s a good manipulator. Using your innocence and instincts coming through against you. After all, he knows how omegas work, why do you think he’s not capable of playing you like a puppet, with you being this naïve?” He asks, and you swallow.

Would Jungkook do that?

But then, you remember something. “no.” You deny. “He had chances. More than one, and he didn’t take it. A-and..” you grip the kitchen counter behind you as you continue trying to keep your voice strong. You’ve got no idea why this is stressing you out so much. “and I trust the pack. You know.. you guys.” You tell him, unable to look at whomever just entered the kitchen as well. “You gave me.. you took me in and you had so many chances to be bad but you’re not and-“ you deny, “-and I want to believe that I finally found a place to let my guard down and.. learn how to be me.” You say.

“Well if you want to take a first step towards the self you’ve refused to be until mow..” yoongi chuckles. “How about you take a look around, and do something about the dilemma you’re in?” He asks, and for a second, you’re stunned.

A broad shouldered man you recognize must be Seokjin has walked in, and so has Namjoon, both having watched the scene and listened. But what does yoongi mean when he talks about the ‘dilemma you’re in’? That’s what you don’t understand. All you know is that you feel embarrassed, awkward, and in need for shameless comfort. Something itches in your very fingertips as if your body knows what to do, but your brain can’t give out the right commands to the appropriate limbs to move and do something.

But for some reason, something about Namjoon of all people looks terribly inviting. And the second he smiles with a sense of understanding and encouragement, you just move on autopilot, clinging to him for a good moment.

“you’re mean, yoongi.” Jin scolds as he sits down, while Namjoon runs a comforting hand over your back.

“I’m not. She knows what to do, she just has to figure out how to do it.” He shrugs, when you glare at him tearfully from Namjoons chest. “sorry. You’ll forgive me soon.” He teases, but you turn away instead, and hide again.

“I leave for work and you guys make her cry. What the hell?” Jungkook whines, as you look up, a bit torn. In a way, you want to move to Jungkook- but you also feel oddly calm with Namjoon. But he seems to somehow sense your inner torment as he lets go of you, and takes the burden of voicing out your needs from you, as you switch to the man who just came home from working in the city.

“make sure to at least leave her with something next time you leave then, alpha.” Yoongi teases, while Jin laughs.

You feel a bit embarrassed, especially when Jungkook simply sits down at the table with you- though you’re not getting your own seat, instead being placed on his lap, facing him. It appears that no one thinks of it as odd or out of place however , with all of them moving on with their days like nothing is going on, while Jungkook sighs, and let’s his body relax in the seat. “Sorry I came home later. Had to do some overtime.” He mumbles, and you nod.

“That’s fine.” You simply respond. “just.. don’t overwork yourself.” You tell him, and he smiles, nodding.

“I won’t, promise.” He answers, when Jimin chimes in again.

“You literally can’t now.” He teases. “or else she might have to turn to the packleader for comfort again.” He jokes, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

“don’t listen to him. You can go seek Namjoon out whenever you need. It’s not weird at all- we all do it.” He explains, and you nod.

“I don’t know why I even did that.” You say, when Namjoon sits down at the table with a snack.

“it’ll become easier soon.” He offers you. “your instincts already know what to do. That’s why you did what you did. It’ll become natural.” He reassures, and you nod, before you yawn. You’re not even tired, or exhausted- but more so you feel like all of your muscles have relaxed by now, no tension left in you. “Like Jungkook said, all of them tend to come to me for both comfort and guidance. That’s normal, since I’m the packleader after all.” He says, and you nod.

This is all still so incredibly confusing.

“Well, she is putting an effect on me, that’s for sure!” Seokjin laughs suddenly, as he stretches and yawns, making everyone laugh in a sense of agreement, while you move to look up now.

“You’re making them sleepy.” Jungkook explains. “since you’re so at ease here it makes us all feel at ease too. Makes them tired.” He clarifies.

“Oh-“ you start, before you yawn and look over at Namjoon.

“Let’s go take a good nap in the living room. Take it as bonding.” He jokes almost, though you do take the opportunity. Its strange how once almost everyone of the pack have gathered around in the living room to nap, you yourself feel a lot more at ease as well, sleeping close to Jungkook and Namjoon. It’s when you wake up later and realize that by now everyone’s in the living room asleep that you begin to see what Jungkook really meant by his words earlier.

You’ve been so busy thinking about how your life is changing, that you didn’t really spare any thought on how their life might be changing too, now that you’re in it. It’s not just Jungkook after all- his whole pack is now a part of your life, and some are you becoming a part of theirs. How much trouble are you already causing? Is there anything good they’re getting out of your presence?

For now, you just accept everything around you, and trust in the fact that they’ll tell you when you’re overstepping boundaries-

Softly sleeping amongst them, an odd new feeling of safety wrapping around you like the softest blanket you’ve ever felt.

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For some reason, these days, every time you’re alone with Jungkook, you feel on edge.

It’s not nervousness, and neither is it an uncomfortable feeling- not really, at least. You don’t know what it is, why you feel this way, and how to fix it, but what you do know, is that something about him just.. Icks you.

Especially the fact that his smirk is just so all-knowing, proving to you that he knows exactly what’s going on with you, and yet refuses to tell you. He’s going to make you figure it out all by yourself, and you hate him a little bit for it.

It started randomly today, when he came over to your apartment, helping you with some paperwork that came in, before you both decided to use the rest of the day to just.. Hang out together like normal people would. It was then, on your little couch, while watching a random video on your TV screen that a strange thought started to invade your head, like a voice inside of you that you’re familiar with, but haven't heard in a long time. Suddenly, you began imagining just.. Biting him, and not even in a sexual sense.

Just.. Biting. Not hurting or anything, just.. A nip. In his arm, especially. Maybe his forearm? Or his bicep. Maybe it would leave a mark. Would he think of it as weird? Would he bite you back?

He does have sharper teeth than you, a natural development since he didn’t grow up with suppressors in his system like you did. So he’d definitely leave a mark on you.

You’d wear it proudly. But why?

He’d asked you what you were staring at. You’d told him ‘nothing’. He’d just laughed, and pulled you a bit closer.

The next strange thought came when took one of your random blankets and put it on the side of the couch, resting head on it. He’s looked at you again, just for a moment, before asking if something was up. Again- you didn’t reply with an honest answer, and again, he only smiled and shook his head.

By now, you’re convinced he’s trying to really rile you up. This isn’t a coincidence anymore.

He’s sitting next to you with his arms crossed, and a grin on his face that just spells trouble in capital letters, and you don’t know why that makes you so.. Strange. It’s an odd feeling, one that you can’t describe, because you’ve never felt this way ever before. You’re not mad at him, and yet he’s got your blood boiling. You’re not aroused, but still you don’t want him to stop his antics. You’re not upset with him, though you’re not happy with his actions either.

So what is it?

“Come on.” He beckons, and you cross your arms to mirror him, making him laugh again. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?” He asks, and you sigh.

“You? I don’t know.!” You admit, finally cracking as you throw your hands in your lap, even kicking at nothing.

“What about me?” He wonders innocently, though you know his acting is fake.

“I don’t know!” You bark out almost, surprised at your own reaction. “I don’t know- something's just.. Bothering me and I don’t know what.” You admit.

“You do know. You’re just too shy to say it out loud.” He tries to read you. “Or you think its weird. Or maybe both of it?” He wonders, leaning into your direction, which is a mistake- because as if on pure instinct, you move your foot to push him back by his chest, fluffy sock a stark contrast to his plain white shirt. That makes his pupils dilate and contract visibly, as if you’ve pressed a button- hand of his around your ankle, head leaning to the side a little. “Almost there.” He says ominously, and you huff at that, trying to pull your leg away- but he’s got a good grip on it. “What? Trying to get away from me now?” He teases, making you pull harder- but he’s still not letting go. In fact, he’s pulling you closer, laughing about how easy it is to move you around, even reaching out towards your face-

And that’s what makes you tip over the edge.

Suddenly you feel the slight saltiness of his skin on your tongue, and before you realize it, you’ve nipped his hand, slightly red imprints from your teeth still visible on the back of his palm. The moment is quiet, eerily so as you try and comprehend that you just bit him-

Until he laughs.

“Did that get it out of your system?” He asks, and you think for a moment, until you realize that yes, he indeed must’ve been able to somehow read your mind this entire time. He knew what was going on inside your head, meaning that it’s most likely normal, but also meaning that he purposely tried to get you to this point by endlessly teasing you the entire day.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” You mumble under your breath, while he coos at you, trying to pull you into his lap- but this time you actively protest, squirming out of his grip until you’ve found yourself right beneath him, wrestling with the alphawolf on your couch so much so that by now all of the pillows and blankets have fallen to the floor. He’s right above you, front pressed against your back, while you bite at his arm, not to hurt- but for what?

You’re not sure. All you know is that he’s laughing, actively enjoying this. And you, somehow, do too.

“You’re so cute.” He giggles, moving his arm away from your teeth, before he cages you in, your struggling form trying to squirm free for a good moment longer until his head is in your neck. Something about that action alone, the feeling of just his lips running over the crook of your neck makes you completely boneless, muscles relaxing. “It’ll get easier one day. I promise.” He tells you, as he lays down with you again, arms and legs around you now as you nod into his chest.

“How do I know what’s actually weird and what’s not?” You ask, looking at the red mark you’ve left on his arm.

“Simply tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me when you’re confused.” He offers. “I promise you, I’ll never laugh, or.. You know, make you feel like you’re weird. You’re not.” Jungkook explains to you softly. “Trust me, we all go through this phase where everything’s weird and odd. I remember especially when in school and hitting puberty I thought I was the strangest person ever born.” He tells you. “I was in a primarily human school, after all. They don’t teach any of the wolf-stuff, so I had to kind of.. Just figure it out myself.”

“That sounds tough.” You tell him.

“It was a.. strange time, I admit.” He shrugs off. “But I had my pack around me, and many people other than them. Kind of like a safety net.” Jungkook remembers, a hand running over your back. “And you have that too.”

You nod.

“Do you think I’m.. Like, a big burden on the pack?” You ask him, making his eyes widen. “Like, do you think I’m putting.. I don’t know, a lot of pressure on them? I don’t want to make things weird between you guys, because I know being an omega and all that has an effect on them-” You rant, but he shakes his head.

“Namjoon and the rest have already accepted you. If anyone was having issues you’d know, trust me.” He laughs a little. “You might’ve realized it by now, but wolf-instincts are.. A little tough to control sometimes. So if you were bothering anybody, you’d surely know.” He offers.

“Jungkook?” You say, looking at him, and he nods, moving his hand to sort out your hair a little for you. “Why do I.. I don’t know. Why do I want to hurt you?” You worry, and he looks a bit caught off guard.

“Pardon?” He wonders, and you sigh.

“I.. Somehow, today, I just.. I had those thoughts about biting you, out of nowhere. And when you took the blanket, I wanted to take it away from you, but I also wanted to see if you’d fight for it? And if you did I would’ve fought for it too- and when you were standing in the kitchen for some reason I just felt like pushing you.” You explain, and he laughs.

“Oh god, for a second I was worried!” He admits, before he grins at you. “You’re just sensitive today. It happens to all of us.”

“Sensitive?” You ask, still confused but relieved that your thoughts don’t seem to be too out of the ordinary to him.

“Sensitive. I guess that’s the best word to describe it.” He shrugs. “Sometimes we have days were we just.. I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s like for an omega, but I know what it’s like for me.” He shrugs.

“And what are those days like for you?” You wonder.

“I honestly just want to fight everyone!” He laughs, moving a bit so you can rest your upper body on his, arms over his chest as you listen. “I’ll get on everyone’s nerves and I know that- but I just feel like I need to.. Test my boundaries? It’s tough to explain.” Jungkook says. “Like, I’ll start random arguments just for the sake of it. Or I’ll wrestle over food with Taehyung. Or go bother Jimin until he chases me out the pack house.” He chuckles. “I don’t know. On those days, everything just icks me.”

“So just like me?” You say, before you elaborate. “Like, you don’t bother me, to be honest. It’s more like.. I want to know what you’ll do. How far you’ll go or, if you’d..” You drift off, shrugging- but his hand on your back stills.

“If I’d..?” He asks, wanting an answer, and it takes you a moment before you mumble it out.

“If you’d put me in my place.” You say.

It’s quiet for a moment, before he speaks again- his voice a bit more serious, though still soft and comforting. “I would- but not yet.” He admits. “I don’t think you’re.. Quite ready for something like that yet.”

“So I can do whatever I want?” You tease, though one look tells you that he’s serious in his words to a good degree.

“Careful.” He warns. “But.. No. I’m still really careful with you, because I know that you’re still getting used to things. I don’t want to scare you off.”

“You won’t.” You deny, but he just smiles.

“I know you think that way-” He begins, hand moving again as if to occupy himself a little. “-But better be safe than sorry. We can take it step after step.” Jungkook offers, before he seems to become more serious. “Which reminds me of something we need to talk about.”

“What is it?” You worry, making him instantly try and reassure you, body turning a bit to face you better.

“I’m.. Going to shift soon.” He admits to you. “In a few days, actually. Namjoon wants you to be there, but I’m not sure.”

“Why not?” You ask, and he sighs, avoiding eye contact.

“Because it’s not a pretty sight for someone who’s not used to it.” He tells you. “I’m.. Scared you’ll be scared of me. I don’t know if I can handle that.”

“Why would I be scared of you?” You ask. “You told me before that you’re the same no matter what form you’re in. And.. I’ll have to go through it at some point too, no? So isn’t namjoon right then by saying I should be there?” You ask, before you become a bit more quiet. “Or.. Do you not want me to be there?” You ask, making him shake his head, face troubled.

“No I want you there, that’s the issue!” He admits. “I want you around, all the time, but I just..”

“Jungkook..” You start, waiting until he looks at you. “..has anyone ever.. Gotten scared of you?” You ask, and the way he looks away gives you your answer. “I won’t be. Promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” He shakes his head. “You have no idea what it’s gonna be like-”

“But I want to know.” You protest. “I want to see it. I want to be there.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, once more, and you nod, determined.

“I am.” You press on. “I want to be around you no matter what.” You tell him-

And as a strange expression washes over his face, you’re reminded that at the end of the day, no matter how much of a hero he is in your eyes-

He's also just a simple mortal being, carrying his own demons inside just like you.

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

“Do you think Jungkook wants me to leave?” You ask Jimin a few nights later, both of you washing the dishes together while the rest of the pack is scattered around, Jungkook especially far away, having claimed to ‘needing fresh air’ after dinner. Jimin chuckles softly.

“No, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head as he dries another bowl you give to him. “He just gets like this- we all kind of do. He’s a few hours overdue after all, so he might just be getting antsy.” He shrugs. “He’s not like Seokjin or Taehyung, who seek out the pack for comfort. He tends to be alone while shifting.” Jimin explains.

“So, I should just leave him by himself?” You ask, and Jimin seems to think, before he shakes his head.

“No.” He denies. “He’s just scared you might get traumatized.” He jokes- though you know that there’s a bit of truth in his words. “But I’ve got faith in you. You’re tougher than you both think, in my opinion.”

“How so?” You wonder, drying your hands on a towel close by.

“Not everyone would cope with this whole situation like you do.” Jimin praises simply. “It must be overwhelming- but I never hear you complain or back away. You’re moving forward despite the future being so unclear to you, which is admirable.” He says, before he pats your head. “And now go out and find your lover before he’s too far away.”

You instantly remember what he’s referring to, and rush to the door- just to stop right at it, looking back. “But I don’t even know where he’d gone to?” You wonder, making Jimin laugh.

“Just use your instincts.” He teases, before he pushes you out the door. “Trust yourself for once.” He winks, before the door closes, and you’re left alone outside for a good second or two.

You’re lost on what to do, slight fear creeping up your spine. You’re still so new to all of this- how the hell are you supposed to find him with no clues whatsoever? It’s almost nighttime too, its getting dark, and the woods are way too big for someone like you to navigate. What if he was right about his fears as well? If he won’t come find you, who will?

You’re not alone.

You’ve got that safety net too.

It’s like your legs move by themselves before you even notice you’re running, mind following clues that you can make out better and better the more you follow Jimin’s advice to trust yourself a little more. The more time you give yourself to adjust not only to the darkness around you but also your surroundings, the clearer things become as well- a certain scent leading you now, like an invisible trail to follow.

And it’s only a few minutes later, after almost tripping over some growing roots, that you find him, sitting near a creek.

“Jungkook?” You ask, and his head turns a little- though he’s not looking at you.

“They really let you run off at night, huh?” He chuckles, though he sounds almost out of breath. “Gotta have a word with Namjoon about that once I’m through with this..” He seems to attempt to joke- though you can feel a sense of discomfort in his tone alone.

He’s not wearing a shirt. His shoulders are red from scratching them, most likely- so are his sides. He’s visibly uncomfortable, leaning his head from side to side like his muscles ache. “Can you.. Stay there for me, please?” He asks, and you stop your movement, instantly complying with his words.

“Of course.” You say, and his eyes close at the sound of your voice alone. Is it reassuring? Does it help him? “Is there.. Anything I can do?” You wonder, and he chuckles a bit, while rubbing at his arms again.

“Not really.” He says, running his hands through his hair now. “I just.. No. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?” You ask, sitting down on a rock as you watch him, his back still turned towards you. There’s a strange sight suddenly, like his muscles beneath his skin are spasming- and you can’t imagine what he must be feeling in that moment.

“Not being of any help right now.” He gasps out, curling into himself. “Becoming.. A monster I guess.” He laughs breathlessly, as he almost tips over for a second, though he catches himself.

“You’re not a monster, Jungkook.” You reassure him.

“Not yet.”

You want to argue once more, but the moment he groans out in pain, you’re alarmed. The sight is utterly surreal to you- you've truly never seen someone shift, after all. The second the clouds above in the by now darkened night sky break, moonlight breaking through, he seems to fall into utter agony. Hands bracing himself on the forest floor, he somehow drags himself closer to the running water, and you fear that he might slip or hurt himself. But you also remember that this isn’t his first time-

And despite the state he’s in right in this moment, you trust him.

His muscles appear to ripple beneath his skin yet again, but more violently so- strange cracking sounds appearing strange to you, especially once you realize they’re coming from him. He’s breathing heavily, groaning in pain and exhaustion, and you wonder how long this will have to go on for.

How long can he endure this? Will your first time look the same?

Will he feel just as helpless as you do right now?

The moment his skin rips along his spine, you break too- having to look away as you hear him gasp out breathlessly, ocassional whine interrupting the otherworldly sounds his body emits while it twists and turns. You can hear his clothing rip and as your eyes carefully move closer to him, you also notice the amount of blood already covering plants and forest floor, some of it washed away by the running waters.

Maybe the flowing water helps his pain? You hope it does.

Somehow, in that moment, as he whimpers to himself in distress, you remember the moment you woke up in the pack house amongst all the other members. You remember the conversation you had with him in your home, about your own effect on others- and that alone makes you close your eyes as you take a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the iron smell of blood around you.

If you stay calm, will that help him? Maybe you’ll.. Emit some scent that’ll calm him a little as well?

You want to be of help so bad, but you don’t know what to do. You want to be just as helpful as he is, or the pack is- how can you be just as much of an anchor as Namjoon is for example?

When you look up, Jungkook is no longer in sight- instead, there’s a pile of somewhat wet fur, laying on the grass, deep breaths making the whole thing move up and down.

Is that him?

Is he really still the same?

The moment you stand up to walk closer, you get a better look of it all- some ears, tilting towards you, while his head stays on the grass, none of his limbs moving at all. The closer you get, the more you realize just how big he is in this form- no dog you’ve ever met coming even close to his size. One of his ears is a bit.. Tilted? No. It seems like the tip is flopped over a little, but just a tiny part. It’s such a unique feature that it captures your attention so much so that you don’t even realize that you’re by now close enough to squat down and reach out.

But you do reach out- unsure for just a second, before your hand finds his head.

The moment you touch him, his eyes close like all exhaustion leaves his body- a large sigh escaping him as he lets himself fall to his side and right into you, making you fall into a sitting position against your will, and with a bit of a surprise. He’s heavy, that’s for sure- his body now on your legs, which you have to pull out with a bit of a struggle, before you run your hand over his fur. It’s dark, with a few lighter patches here and there- but for some reason, you can still see Jungkook in this.

He’s truly still himself no matter what form he’s in.

“Are you tired?” You wonder, before you question yourself if he can even understand you- but he does, visibly so, as he leans into you. You’re sure you’ll regret this soon because the wet forest floor will definitely make you sick- but you still lean into him, especially when he adjusts his body to better accommodate you in a way. “I’ll stay with you.” You promise-

and can’t help but laugh the moment you hear his tail wag.

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

[aphroditelovesu]

Yay! I'm so happy you write for Baldwin IV!!! Could you do general yandere headcanons for him? Thank you!💗

''Nothing is more important to me than you.'' — Baldwin IV.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I got a little excited, but I hope you like it. I've always wanted to write for him and I finally got the chance! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of murder, manipulation (sorta of), unhealthy relationships.

❝📜pairing: yandere!king baldwin iv/leper king x gender neutral!reader.

Baldwin had always been shy in his obsession with you, always self-aware of his illness that had left him forever disfigured. He was afraid that you would find him disgusting, that you would hate him and he didn't want that. Baldwin couldn't handle it if you hated him. He wanted to be loved by you, but he was too afraid to talk to you directly for quite some time.

So he remained in the shadows, hidden and longing for you from afar. Even before becoming King, he already dreamed of you and these desires only became more frequent after he became sovereign. He was precocious and maintained a good shape and physical appearance and was optimistic about his illness, but as he grew older he felt increasingly disturbed by the idea of you hating or despising him.

That doesn't mean he ignored you, Baldwin never did that and never will. He can't bear to be away from you, at least not physically, and he can't even go without talking to you. Talking to you was what cheered him up when his mind was consumed by dark thoughts. You were his light.

Baldwin will make sure that once he becomes King, he can ensure that you are well, that you are living well and with the honor, the wealth that you deserve, in his domain. He will do everything in his power to make sure you are eating well and will even go so far as to offer you an official position, if you don't already have one, so he can take care of you.

Although he prefers to stay away so he can also protect you from his illness, that doesn't mean he will allow you to be taken away from him. You may not know it, but you belonged to him. Any love interests or potential suitors/lovers will be quickly and quietly dealt with. Baldwin is not cruel and does not intend to be, but he will become a monster for you.

If he could, Baldwin would marry you, but due to his illness, he is prevented from doing so, so he prefers to keep you close while giving important positions to you or your family. It's a way of ensuring the loyalty of those important to you and having you close by. There are only benefits from his perspective.

Baldwin is remembered and admired for being a competent king who brought prosperity to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but little is known that the real motivation was you. It was you who held power over him, who influenced him to do anything you wanted. He could become a tyrant if you asked him to. But he feels proud of himself for having met your expectations for his government.

When he has to go out to protect and defend Jerusalem, Baldwin will probably take you with him. He could leave you to take care of State affairs, but he can't bear to be away from you. He is quite clingy although he doesn't always touch you physically, he still needs to be in your presence. It's a constant need, Baldwin feels like a part of his heart withers when he's away from you.

Baldwin may not be able to be with you the way he would like and this has only served to increase his possessive tendencies. He won't allow other people to get too close to you, to steal you from him. Even though you can't officially be his, that doesn't mean he'll let you be someone else's. He will have no problem sending the person who threatens his position in your life to a deadly skirmish, arrest or even executed.

He is neither cruel nor sadistic, but for your sake he will be willing to commit the most heinous crimes just to ensure that you remain by his side. Baldwin needs you like he's never needed anyone before and he knows he'll be destroyed if anything happens to you.

If it were to happen to him, Baldwin will make sure you are safe and protected, perhaps even naming you his Heir. He wouldn't want to leave Earth without you, but he's not selfish enough to want to kill you. He wants you to live a long and happy life, preferably single, even if he's not by your side. He is completely selfless and you will always come first for him. First you and then his duties.

There is nothing he wouldn't do or give to you. Titles, official positions, riches, clothes, jewelry and food in abundance, anything you wanted, he would do it in the blink of an eye. Baldwin trusts you blindly, going so far as to obey your orders on any issue, from food to military matters.

Baldwin IV is a great soft for you and you only. He may seem weak, but that's all he isn't. He is intelligent and knows how to make rational decisions and he will do that with you. Because he loves you, he depends on you and because you are his hope. His light. Don't leave him or Baldwin will go crazy and even go so far as to commit suicide if you abandon him.

You are his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

[frantic-fiction]

What Once Was

Pic credit: iiven

Astarion x gn!reader/ gn!Tav

Summary: Astarion and you decided it was best to remain friends, following the fall of the Absolute, Astarion finds he is regretting letting you go.

Warnings: Angst, Angst with a happy ending, Astarion being bad with communication, Astarion is bad with feelings

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

"Astarion," Tav whispers, their breath warm against his ear as their fingers trail down his forearm, nails lightly scraping the surface. Hesitantly, they intertwine their hand with his. Their warm doe eye pierces straight into his, and he feels vulnerable under the intense stare. "I care about you, but maybe what you need right now is a friend, not a lover."

Astarion freezes his body still as a marble statue. Inside, his mind is a storm of confusion. Emotions he barely remembers flood him, swirling in a chaotic whirl that leaves a sharp ache in his chest. He gripped Tav's hands as if they alone were the sole thing keeping him bound to the material plane. Maybe in that moment, they were.

A friend?

When was the last time Astarion had a genuine friend? He doesn't know, but somehow, the word seems too mundane to describe the beautiful person in front of him. Tav, the first creature in 200 years of agony, showed him kindness and love, showing him that he was more than the mindless puppet Cazador molded him to be.

The topic was too heavy to unpack fully at that moment. Astarion had just tasted freedom. He was free of that monster and was learning what it meant to live again. He was too confused and broken to figure everything out, and so what more could he have said?

"I-I would like that."

***

A thunderous round of knocks pounds against the front door, jolting Astarion from his novel; he exhales a long, heavy sigh, flipping the page as he sinks deeper into his armchair. The crackling fire provides a once comforting backdrop, now barely audible over the persistent knocking. He tries to ignore it, his eyes skimming the lines without truly reading. But it's becoming harder by the second.

"Astarion!" Your voice is slightly muffled from behind the door. "Are you seriously going to leave me out here in the cold?"

"Where's the key I gave you?" Astarion calls out; his voice tinged with irritation. He remains firmly in his chair.

You're quiet for a moment. "I may have lost it, b-but it's not my fault, I swear!"

Astarion clicks his tongue, tossing the novel onto the side table, and moves to the door. "If only the history books knew the real hero of Baldur's Gate instead of their exaggerated grandeur." Unlatching the bolt, Astarion swings open the door with a smirk. You stand impatiently on his doorstep, arms crossed over something, lips puffed out in a pout. "If the world knew the real you, I doubt you'd have many admirers singing your praises."

You push past him, pressing a warm jar into his chest as you go. "You're just jealous I'm famous and adored. Now stop being mean to the only friend who puts up with you, you grump."

Astarion's heart clenches as he stares at the jar of blood in his hands. He watches absently as you flit around the room, tidying up the minimal mess he's accumulated since your last visit.

Friend.

The word stings like sunlight on his skin. A rock settles deep in his stomach at the reminder.

Astarion has many regrets, but letting you slip through his fingers is the one that haunts him most. If he could go back, he would pull you into his arms and never let go. He would whisper how much he loves you and beg for time because he can't imagine facing the darkness without his light.

But it is too late for that because how do you ask someone as bright and full of life as you to return to someone as broken and doomed to the shadows as him? Astarion has to settle for the barest comfort your friendship can offer him despite the pain that comes with it.

"Hey, Star, could you sew this button back on after your meal?"

Your melodic voice pulls Astarion back. He turns and heads to the kitchen, where you are already seated. It's only then that Astarion truly takes in your appearance.

Gods, you're beautiful. You're wearing clothes that perfectly accentuate your body, stirring a sense of longing in Astarion. You're even wearing the delicately embroidered scarf he hand-crafted for you last winter. Why did he let you go?

Astarion swallows hard and retrieves a chalice from the cabinet. "Of course, my dear."

"Thank you! I can't believe I popped a button."

Astarion pours the blood into a glass, watching the deep red liquid swirl as if it's the most captivating sight. His eyes flicker up briefly before darting back down. He asks carefully, unsure if he wants to hear the answer.

"What's the occasion?"

You drop your chin, a bashful smile tugging at your lips. You fiddle with the fallen button, spinning it on the table before slapping your hand over it and repeating the action.

Astarion takes a sip and waits. The sweetness of your blood coats his tongue, and he savors the mouthful. It's nothing compared to drinking from the source, but you felt it was best to do it this way. You said the prior act felt too intimate for two friends and blurred too many lines, and Astarion felt he had no place to voice opposition.

He takes another quick mouthful, knowing he only has so much time to savor the blood before it congeals into an unpalatable gel.

"I-I have a date."

Astarion chokes on the blood, pulling the glass from his lips as a fit of violent coughs overtakes him. An unsettling feeling churns in his stomach, making him feel like vomiting, but it's not from the burning in his throat.

"Is it really that surprising that someone would ask me out?" You scoff, taking Astarion's coughing as an act of humor rather than the painful surprise he's currently feeling.

"No-" Astarion wheezes through another round of coughs. "That's not-"

You come over and smack his back harshly. Astarion's unsure if it's to help him or express your anger, but the pounding against his back seems to finish his fit.

"I thought vampires couldn't choke," you mumble under your breath. He can hear the annoyance drip from each syllable.

"I am quite the unique spawn, it would seem." Astarion wheezes, slumping into the chair you were previously sitting in. You opt to lean against the counter away from him. "So… who is the special lady or gentleman who has captured the hero's attention?"

Astarion cringes at the hollowness in his voice. He doesn't care to hear the answer, and it's obvious. He doesn't care to hear you gush about whoever has captured your heart and will whisk you away tonight, ripping the last sliver of you he has left.

"Don't pretend to care." You glare, a scowl stealing away your beautiful smile.

"It's rather uncouth to assume your best friend does not care, my sweet," Astarion lies, hurting for all the wrong reasons, but you don't need to know that. "Now, are you avoiding the question because you're afraid I won't approve?"

"No," you respond, not meeting his eyes, opting to fiddle with the button again.

"Then out with it."

"Do you remember the bard?" Your smile says all he needs to hear. Your voice fades to the white noise of his mind.

Astarion feels like he's dying all over again. The damn bard, the suave casanova with a voice as alluring as his smile. 

The two of you, Shadowheart and Gale, met at an old, bustling Tavern earlier in the month. Astarion had wished to stay home, but you all dragged him out of his house.

It wasn't a terrible evening; the wine was decent, and despite his best efforts, he enjoyed hearing what Shadowheart and Gale were up to. Astarion was having a good night. At least until the bard sauntered over with his brightly colored ensemble and his dashing smile, asking you for a dance. Astarion had hoped you would decline, but you bashfully accepted his outstretched hand and let the bard whisk you away.

For the remainder of the night, Astarion watched glumly as the bard swung you around the dance floor. He watched you giggle as you spun, dipped, and turned into his sturdy arms. He watched as you fell for his charms. Astarion felt what was left of his heart, the sole piece that belonged to you, crumble into powder. Because there you were, happy with a man who was everything he could never be. A man you deserved. A man with as much light and life as you.

Astarion left early, not wanting to see the love of his life slip further away, missing the crestfallen look that dawned on your lips the moment you saw Astarion slip out the back.

"Astarion?"

Your voice brings him back. And suddenly, Astarion realizes he can't let you go. He will lose you forever if you leave his home tonight; Astarion cannot live with that. He cannot live without you by his side. He cannot live without your smile, your laugh, and your touch, everything. 

Astarion wants to be selfish and keep his light, even if that means dooming you to the dark.

"Don't go," he chokes out, voice cracking. Astarion is out of his chair and stumbling to your side before he can tell his legs to move. He's cradling your hands, his eyes pleading for you to understand the gravity of those two simple words.

"What? Why?" You balk, stepping back.

Astarion matches your step. "I think you know why, Tav," he says, his voice firm this time. He cups your face with his palm, and you inhale shaky, seeming to freeze under his touch.

"Astarion,"

"Stay," he pleads, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone, eyes burning with desperation and hope.

"Astarion," you say softly, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "Why now?"

His heart breaks, feeling tears burn in his eyes, knowing he might lose you forever. "Because I can no longer pretend to be happy with just being your friend."

Astarion crashes his lips to yours before you can respond, pouring his desperation and passion into the kiss. You gasp, clutching onto his shirt in surprise before meeting his kiss with equal enthusiasm. He swears he can see stars and feel warmth deep in his chest. When he pulls away, he's panting, his eyes searching yours.

 "I love you," he confesses. "Gods, I love you, Tav. I should have never let you go."

"Astarion, I-"

Astarion pulls you close, wrapping you in a tight hug. "Please, Tav," he whispers, his voice thick with tears. "Just stay."

"I'm not leaving," you assure, nuzzling in his hold. "I-I love you too. I've always loved you, you know that. But after everything, can we just...can you-" You pause, struggling to find the right words, torn between past traumas and new beginnings.

"I don't know," Astarion admits, "But I've never been more certain about anything than I am about you. The rest, we'll figure out." 

And with no other words needing to be said, you held Astarion tighter, and he swore he would never let you go again.

This was heavily inspired by the fact I'm replaying bg3 (again) and romancing Wyll and went the friend route with Astarion. It was painful but I survived...mostly. Anyway, feedback always makes my day so let me know what you thought 🥰

Taglist

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[yandere-wishes]

The Perfect Girl

Summary: Somewhere along the line the villain won and the hero lost. Now your life is nothing more than a cautionary tale.

 Part #2 of Imposter Syndrome but can be read as a stand-alone. Part #3 The Spider's web

Warnings: Dollification, yandere themes but like more than usual, abuse, violence, horrible Spanish, NO NSFW but the reader and Miles are 18+. Friends to enemies to one sided lovers. This plays out as a cautionary tale. 

Author's note: Can you tell I'm bad at writing Intimacy??😂🤣

You squirm uncomfortably on Miles's lap. Arms awkwardly thrown around his neck as you try to hide your face in his chest. Miles sits proudly, face void of emotions and voice overflowing with authority. He's barking orders to his underlings. For what you're not sure, you've long since stopped listening in on his conversations, your inability to do anything coupled with the innocent lives you know would be destroyed was enough to keep you awake at night. And consciousness was the last thing you wanted these days. 

It's been six weeks.

Six weeks since the Prowler defeated New York's last beacon of hope. Six weeks since he'd been welcomed into the Sinister Six as their newest member. They're shining star. 

Six weeks since he stole you away from everything you knew,

everything you loved.

You hear the padding of feet and the loud thump of the door. You're alone with him again. So the nightmare begins anew. You're reluctant to lift your head, to face your capturer. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. It's funny how once, back when you'd still wore your beloved silk mask, you had used to count the minutes until your midnight rendezvous. 

Miles's fingers reach towards you, tilting your chin up. His smile is razor sharp, deformed as if he can't quite remember how to smile. "Muñequita" he mutters like a disjointed prayer as his fingers glide up your side. Drowning you in a sense of impending doom.

You stare into his eyes. Two voids that have seen every nightmare imaginable. Any saint, any sweet innocent boy whose been trapped inside the darkness for this long comes out as a monster. Stumbling through the night with knives instead of teeth and an appetite for destruction. Miles Morales may have been a human once, a long time ago. Before you met him, before the savior of New York met him. But now he's a monster, one who has long since buried any morals and dignity he may have once had.

Sometimes when the night rages on and you're caged between his arms and sentience. you wonder if maybe, just maybe you should go digging for any of the virtues that he's buried six feet deep. But when he laughs and tauntingly presses on a new bruise with his thumb, you conclude quickly that it's better to leave his good qualities dead. it's easier to hate him that way.

"How does it feel to sit in your arch nemesis's lap?" 

He jabs as he pinches your cheek. You let out a soft cry of annoyance as you shift your gaze away from your tormentor. 

Miles revels in your fall from grace. Adores pinching and probing you in front of his minions or the rest of his gang members. Loves taunting you after every failed escape attempt. You try to bite his finger, to make him feel a fraction of your pain. But before your teeth can graze his skin, he releases your cheek. He laughs, low and fragmentary. A haunting noise that reminds you that he barely counts as human anymore, just a heartless ghost masquerading as a real boy. "Trying to rebel again mi amor?". 

You fight the urge to pick at the flesh of your face or bite your fingers until you reach the bone. 

Miles's eyes narrow, annoyed at your lack of a response. He's growing bored, he always does when his pet refuses to play along. His gauntlet reaches for your neck. Squeezing as the claws bite into your flesh. 

you should let him kill you, give him the final satisfaction of watching your blood blemish the skin-tight dress he's made you wear. Watch as the life leaves your eyes. "let's try this again mami. When I ask, how it feels your response should be.."

"I love you Miles" you mutter, all deadpan and defaced. "Not like that say it the way I taught you" he hisses, a threat, you note wearily.

"Te amo Miles"

"Bino"

Sometimes you think that he's foolish enough to believe your reprised lie. It almost helps him deceive himself into believing he still has a soul left. 

He thinks he loves you. 

You think he doesn't know what love quite is. 

You use to be a hero, use to be revered and respected by all. You use to be someone, someone important. Laminating about all of this now will do you no good. 

You're nothing more than a doll now. Painted and dressed the way Miles likes, posed forever perfectly on his lap. Flaunted and paraded as all prize trophies should be. You guess it makes sense. To the victor goes the spoils. You wonder if you would have done the same to him if you had emerged triumphant that night. Deep down, where logic doesn't reach, you know you would. At least you would have let him keep his dignity. You're not like him, you're not a villain...

But you're not a hero anymore either. What are you supposed to be anyway? When questions like this bubble into your withering mind. You force yourself to choke down the idea that you're still good, you have to be. You're not like him, like them. You're afraid that someday you'll look in the mirror and every ounce of your virtues will have evaporated. You promise yourself that that'll be the day you do something drastic. To yourself or Miles, you're not sure yet. 

Miles's fingers trace the indents on your neck. Angry red puncture holes left by his steel claws. He buries his face in the crock of your neck. Licking the measly blood drops from the wounds before tenderly kissing his territory. "Stop it" you grumble trying to push at his chest. But he just growls in warning, ignoring your feeble attempts. "I got you a present, Mami" he whispers over your jugular. You flinch, as he detaches from your neck with a final kiss. He maneuvers you off his lap as he gets up and walks over to a closet on the other side of the room. Plucking out a necklace from one of the drawers. 

Necklace is a generous term. Its neck tight and studded. With a silver chain hanging dead-center that speaks of horrors untold. You know what it implies, you know what he's trying to say, trying to prove. You never thought you'd miss the Prowler's iron glad punches to your stomach but you think this might just be worst. At least back then you'd been able to fight back. Reimburse every punch with a kick or stab of your own. Now you are helpless, frail. Broken glass perpetually embedded in soft cotton. Something wild, something tamed. Golden specks of a crown long since shattered tint your hair. All ghosts of who you once were.  

"What do you say, muñequita," He says. In a tone that's sick, in a tone that's sweet. Like rotten nectar trickling down a destroyed paradise. Like boiling blood dripping from a broken heart. There's a click, as he fastens his present around your neck. An endless second before reality comes crashing in. 

"Gracias Miles" You reply as you feel your last shard of freedom disintegrate. 

You use to be something, someone. Carved from porcelain ideals and ivory hope. Divine ichor ran through your veins as you swung across New York's skyline. You had been chosen, but you hadn't been enough.

Now it feels like someone tore you apart. Ripped away your flesh, your bones, your thoughts, your soul. Stitched you up wrong with a rusted needle and a thread of ash. And all you could do was sit there and watch as your golden blood seeped through ruptured veins.

Miles grabs your shoulders. Pulling you close enough so the spikes of your necklace cut into his flesh. His lips bite yours teasingly before they finally merge into a dreadful kiss. He isn't the Prowler you remember, albeit you know that's wrong. He's not the Prowler you had fabricated when you'd thought that the two of you were both innocent souls driven to madness by this city. You use to think that Miles was beautiful, a moon-kissed face with stardust dripping from his eyes. Now you know the truth. He's nothing more than a nightmare, the embodiment of starless darkness and the terrors that lurk upon blackened city streets. He's not your friend. He never was. You were just so foolish and overwhelmed back then. 

"You're mine, héroe." His voice is nothing short of a dagger laced with venom. Spreading apathetic poison from your heart to your lungs and leaking into your bloodstream. You see blood behind your eyes when your eyelids shut. Feel the apprehension pounding in the hollows of your bones. 

You've long since hemmed every hole where your pride and glory use to bleed through. But it's so hard to keep divinity down when it's all you've ever known. This life isn't yours. This thing that Miles has forced you to be isn't you. There's still hope, you think. Heroes never lose hope. It's a lesson everyone learns, sooner or later. 

Later that night Miles kisses you again, this time whispering how to him you are perfection personified. The dark circles under your eyes and bloody knuckles validate that. He traces circles on your arms whilst telling you about how the Sinister Six plan to expand their operations to the next city over. All this makes you wonder if he'd ever been a sweet little boy, tucked under his mother's arm, whilst his father kisses his cheek. Of if he's always been a merciless monster who wears his kills like honor badges. 

You pray under your breath as he reminds you that you're no longer a hero. You wonder if you pray because you are human or if praying makes you human. There are still some fragments of hope bubbling inside you regardless of what he says. 

Miles likes to remind you that you no longer have the power to save anyone. That the villains won and the heroes lost and that's the way this story ends. 

You refuse to believe him. 

[eldritch-spouse]

One of your stronger demon oc’s: hey babe you interested in trying a new kind of foreplay? It’s called demonic possession

Their match: *looking confused* you already possess me though?

[Already talked about Livius with this, so why not good old Santi? Fem reader.]

The incubus laughs.

It's that same old rich, deep noise that had your knees weak the first time you heard it, and still manages to make you warm up briefly. Santi gives you a calm, lidded and loving look, it feels just the tiniest bit patronizing.

" Mm, that I do. "

He swirls his glass of sangria idly. You know he's not going to drink, its only purpose is to match your own set of cutlery, to make it feel as if Santi is having dinner with you, when he's really just keeping you company as you fulfill your basic human needs. You can't really complain about this though, the demon goes out of his way to order excellent dishes for you, and he never fails any of the "human meals in a day", as he put it.

" However- " The world rolls off his mischievous tongue. " I was using the word in a literal sense, love. "

You choke on the steak. " E- Excuse me? "

His head tilts, some sort of realization coming over that pale face when he studies your reaction. " No no, excuse me- I should have explained this to you better. "

Santi steeples his fingers for a moment, pauses, then plays with the glass some more, tracing its golden rim.

" You're familiar with the concept of demonic possession, right? " He starts, tone slightly more serious.

A shiver crawls up your spine, not exactly the most pleasant kind. " Y... Yes. Isn't it something horrific though? It's supposed to hurt! And deform someone's body! It can kill me! Why would you- "

" Easy. " Santi calls, watching your rambling get out of hand.

" Santi, that's insanity! You want to make me crawl the walls and start chanting things?! That arouses you? I don't think my body can- "

" Love. "

The more forceful tone silences you, but by no means is your apprehension quelled. Your appetite seems to fade in the face of possible danger.

There's a sigh from the monster in front of you.

" And this is why your silly little horror movies keep causing a divide in our society... "

That catches your attention.

A less inviting frown sits on Santi's face. " Possession gets an incredibly harmful reputation from your precious Exorcist movies. Each one more ludicrous than the last. "

It's your turn to frown. " Don't sit there and tell me that those things don't happen, Santi! Possession is done for all sorts of things and I'm not stupid enough to buy a lie that it's all sunshine and rainbows... "

You expect him to get even more upset, but instead, the incubus shakes his head, setting the glass down to look you in the eyes. " But it doesn't have to be that way, love. "

He continues when all you do is cross your arms.

" You've seen a hundred movies about demons with ill intent tarnishing the bodies of surfacers... But you've never seen a movie about a demon possessing the person they love, have you? "

Silence. He lets those words splay onto the table like a winning hand in a tense game of cards.

And, truth be told, you have nothing to counter that with. Because he's right. You have never heard of such a thing as possession between lovers.

" ... That's real? "

" More than real. " The high-ranker responds softly. " It's one of the most intimate thing you can do with an infernal partner. " Some of that earlier playfulness shines again. " And it can be so fun. "

You gulp, looking to the side. " It's dangerous. "

" Not if done properly. " Santi's quick to cut in. " A calm, willing vessel and a strong emotional connection will make it a much smoother process than the painful spasms you're privy to in your Halloween hits... "

It seems he has an answer for everything.

" Not to mention, as the bearer of my mark, you already have a little bit of me in you. It wouldn't be your body's first contact with my essence. " He's back to tracing the rim of the bottle, smelling it briefly, sharp pupils watching the berries in it sway before studying you once more.

" Why... Why do you want to do this? " It still sounds strange to you.

The dark fiend is silent for a few seconds, then leans forward on the table, glass set back down so his chin can rest on the palms of his hands. A grin with more teeth than lips threatens to cleave his face.

" Because it gets me really hard. "

... Can't fault him for lack of honesty.

Clearing your throat, you take a sip of your drink so you can think of what to say next. You need to pick your words right or this conversation will escalate to Santi playing with himself at the table.

" I could guess as much. "

" You're still hesitant. " He points out, piercings jingling as he tilts his head.

" I guess... What I'm more worried about is, how long it'll last. What you're going to do. What... What're the terms? "

His brows raise. " Treating this like a deal? How clever of you! Alright, here are my terms. "

Santi straightens, and although his smile is endlessly lascivious and wanton, he speaks clearly and slowly.

" I want to possess your delicious body for three days and three nights. During that time, you can hear, see, smell and feel everything that happens. You can talk to me and you will be given periodic control to perform certain tasks. "

He starts.

" I want to use it for both our pleasure, and I will be having sex with people I determine can service us well. I will not disclose to these people that you are possessed. " There's a beat of silence, before he adds something in forethought. " Although it may look as if some acts will be painful, you have my word that only pleasure will reach you. "

The meaning is not lost on you. " So you want to make me sleep with huge monsters? "

Santi winks, amused to be caught.

" That's relative, isn't it? What monster isn't huge compared to a human? Why I'm fairly huge to you. "

Your eyes roll. " What a charming non-answer. "

The incubus' jovial laugh is almost infectious.

" Come now, we'll see. "

It's your turn to make a move. Wide, blinking puppy eyes are cast towards the handsome demon. " Can't you even give me a pointer, it's my body after all... "

" Is that an agreement I hear? " He hums.

" Answer the question. "

Santi makes a quiet chuckle. " Very well. " Dark knuckles crack, he stares off for a moment, licking his chops. It's the signature look of a pervert looking forward to the near future.

" I have an idea as to who our first bedwarmer can be- "

" Of course you do. "

" I really do. " He snorts, the suave look breaking entirely for half a second where his amusement is so great he cannot help it. Santi waves for you to keep eating, waiting until you have a bite to continue.

" So, there's this bakery close enough, I've been meaning to take you there for a while now because I hear stuff there is divine. Anyhow, the guy in charge of it is really interesting. You know mindflayers? "

The very same bite you just took flies out your mouth, back onto the plate. The incubus stares at it for a second, then wheezes quietly. " Taking that as a yes. "

" Aren't mindflayers... Kind of reclusive? And evil? "

" Well, typically, yes- "

" And this one runs a bakery? "

" That's what I said- "

" What is he selling, brain croissants?! "

Santi barks out a laugh that nearly sends spittle across the table, having to look away from you, clutching his midsection and cackling like a madman.

" That's the thing- " The incubus clears his throat, nearly losing his composure again. " This one is very interesting. He's uhm- I'm not sure what the process is called, but he's a loner. Swore off people brains, or so he says. Trying to make an honest living! "

Slowly, you try once more to finish your meal. " And you want to fuck with him. "

" No... " The way his lips wobble at your deadpan is enough of a tell. " I want you to fuck him."

You make a face at the idea of laying with a mindflayer.

" Mhm, don't look at me like that. " Santi purrs.

Beneath the table, you feel his tail gently loop around your ankle, squeezing.

" Have you never thought about it? What can a lover with such long tentacles do to a cute little thing like you? How will he take advantage of your weak, simple-minded nature to do whatever he wants? "

When you gulp, it's not just because you need to swallow your current mouthful.

" Let me paint the scene, love. "

The incubus seems to be getting short of breath, the thrill of his own lurid fantasy forcing him to bite his lip and trace his own horn piercings with restless fingers.

" You're hardly dressed, the peaks of your nipples poking out a sad excuse of a top and your skirt so short the smallest brush might bare your cuntlips. You're hungry, we're hungry, so you walk into this cozy looking bakery to get yourself something sweet. Oh and many are the treats in that glass display, but the most appetizing of them all is the big man carrying a hot tray from the kitchen. He's tall, a peculiar mindflayer with a strange skintone and unusually thick build, his tendrils cascading longer than you'd expect. The look on his face is one of complete focus as his boots thump softly on the ground. Until he sees you, that is- "

Your attention to this little tale he's spinning is more rapt than you'd care to admit. Not that you need to, Santi can tell.

" His latest client. A human girl with this cute little smile and doe eyes. Mister Roland, you ask so sweetly, I've been told such wonderful things about your talent and pastries. You're oh so charming, so enticing, the poor baker can't deny the thoughts that course through his perverted mind. He wants to bend you over his counter, wants to spread you out before him and force your legs apart with his long nimble appendages. You'd make such a fine stress-reliever to rut into during breaks, wouldn't you? And you'd love getting stuffed full of illithid cock, right? You're begging for it after all... "

" God, Santi- " You mutter under your breath.

" Hm... Maybe all it takes is some simple conversation, letting those fantasies foment in his mind, building into a desire so pungent it would make even me crawl the walls. You tilt your head, kick your legs, lid your eyes and invite him away. He wouldn't mind a little interruption, surely. And then, oh then- With a little bit of my help, you'd turn him into a drooling beast. A species thought so impervious to all sorts of manipulations, all but barely able to think of anything except the taste of your pussy, the hug of it around his cock- He's lonely, lonelier than he's ever been now that he's on his own. You're probably the first thing he's going to fuck in a small eternity. Ideally, we get him here. Want to know why? "

Santi points to the bedroom, where a large mirror resides.

" I want to see him hold you up in those practiced hands and pound you into a pulp with his tendrils wrapped all around you, neck tits thighs, flicking your dirty little clit- Oh he may not eat your brain, but he's certainly going to fuck it out of you. "

" Holy shit, Santi- " You nearly yell.

" Fun, right? I told you. You just have to start believing in me a little more. " He's back to weirdly smelling the sangria.

The silence that follows is thick and heady, he lets you process the canvas he painted for you with a soft rumble of anticipation. You dare not look into Santi's eyes, because the depravity you'll find there will doubtlessly steal your will.

Fork and knife neatly arranged, you push the plate forward.

" I... I want a safeword. "

The way he lights up like a Christmas tree is impossible to miss.

" Of course, love. " The incubus sighs dreamily. " We can pick one tomorrow. Now, if you're done eating, let's get you to bed. "

" Because, after all, you're going to have a long couple of days ahead of you. "

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Could I request Kaeya, Neuvillette, Ayato, and Wriothesley with a dragon s/o?

Also, how are you?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yeah!! I kinda sillies in Kaeya's part but I hope it's not a problem- Either way, I'm good! Snd you~? ^^

Hope you like what I wrote hehe

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ Kaeya noticed dragon-like looking person when he was walking back home from Angel's Share, so naturally, he thoughts it's alcohol doing...

✧ but who is he to decline his fate? He came up and complimented your features anyway, sure tomorrow he'll see you as normal citizen

✧ from your end, you noticed the man was obviously under influence of alcohol but he wasn't harmful... so you let the conversation go the way you wanted~

✧ and when on next day he discovers it wasn't him tripping... well.. he's glad to have such an interesting friend! Because unless you push him away, he's not gonna back away from this friendship!

"My my~ It's rare to see someone so pretty! That tail must be really heavy, huh? Want me to hold it for you?"

✧ but if you two are lovers and he sees your real form by mistake... he'll be freezed for a second... hehe get it? Because in his ult he- ehem.. sorry..

✧ but when he sees you panicking, he immidietly chuckles and assures you while caressing your cheek with his hand gently and maybe flirt while he's at it as well~

"Why would I ever think you're a monster when you're as stunning as always, my darling? Maybe even more~ This "scary look" definitely makes you look even more lovable~"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @toyaswif3y - come get your cavalry capitan~

✧ Ayato, being head of Kamisato Clan, is always trying to be as respectful as possible, be it if you come from different region or aren't human... as long as you're friendly and give him respect back, he'd be happy to chat

✧ but dragons in Inazuma are still rarely seen... so when he noticed you on his walk, he tried approaching you with a soft look

✧ he honestly just wishes to get to know you and maybe realize the difference between human and dragons behavior... and who knows? Maybe he'll get to know even more if he plays his cards right?

"Good evening. I'm sorry it I started you, I just noticed your... rare beauty and wondered if you'd be interested in a little chat?"

✧ tho if you're already partners and you happened to hide your real form well... he'll be even more interested...

✧ how did you manage to hide it from him for so long? He's curious to me know this and many more about you

✧ but if he sees you're stressing yourself over the fact he found out, he'll be quick to calm you down, assuring you he still loves you the same

"Please calm down... I don't see why you hid it in the first place... Did you really thought I wouldn't love you just because you have tail? If anything, I say you only expanded my interest in you~"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot - come get your boba lover!

✧ and so is Neuvillette~ he just has a bit of a better disguise while you're... walking proudly in your form... and that's alright!

✧ if you can be easily found on streets, he'll be happy to see another dragon friend and will probably even approach you himself

✧ Charlotte definitely saw you two interacting at some point, especially since Neuvillette is a big person, but of course she asked first before publishing anything and it's up to you if you were in the news or not!

✧ but if you prefer hiding in quieter places, there's still a chance he found you and yob two chatted either way

✧ he'd probably come off as calm but in reality, he's pretty excited to finally meet another dragon with such a pleasent personality

"I find it quite surprising we haven't met untill today... I'd like to get to know you more if you don't mind."

✧ and if it happens you both are already dating when you spoil your secret identity~ believe me, he won't mind one single bit!

✧ he literally can't understand why you even tried hiding it from him when he already told you he's the same

✧ but don't worry, he's not mad, if anything he's gentle and tries his best to be reassuring

"Why were you afraid? Haven't I already revelead I'm the same? My love for you can't be broken, no matter who you turn out to be."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @toyaswif3y - come get your otter judge~

✧ Wriothesley is already friends with Neuvillette and has pretty sharp eye and ear, there's no way he didn't know his friend is a dragon

✧ so when he got our of Fortress of Meropide to get some work done and saw a dragon, of course he was surprised since seeing one is rare, but he also didn't care to make a scene

✧ he probably ignored you letting you live your life since there was no reason for him to interrupt anything, unless... you're wandering around terrains, the he may

"Excuse me, you may want to keep away from these terrains. You may be taken as a prisoner running away by mistake."

✧ and if you already were his partner, I feel like he'd hear some stories from his dragon friend already... so he'd joke that you act like some dragons in the stories, turning out to be... half joke...

✧ but when you finally reveal the truth to him, he doesn't mind at all! The only thing that changed is the way he may tease you from time to time but that's it

"Walking around in your true form for once? Glad you're comfy. But watch out for your tail or it'll knock down something."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @toyaswif3y - come get your teddybear duke~

[thereaderinsertlady]

could you do a yandere fic w bill cipher in his triangle form please :3

O yeye ofc! I'm finally getting back into the groove of things lmao; Expect to see more ask box fics being written! :D Here's the link on ao3, and I hope you enjoy!

‎

Bill Cipher x Reader - The Triangle of Your Dreams

Stood before you is an amalgamation beyond your greatest extent of horrors. 

And he knew it.

Bill Cipher knew how to manipulate you, showcasing your fears when you didn’t obey him. It wasn’t real, you always had to remind yourself when you chose to fight back. Just a dream. Just a… very scary and hyper realistic dream. 

“I…” Your lungs filled with dread, nearly stealing your breath to speak. “I know you want me.” 

“Yee~ees?” His tone was sing-song and echoing. You couldn’t quite see Bill, your ‘lover,’ but he was here. Here, outside of your vision. Tormenting and taunting you. Mocking you. 

…

Your head hurts.

“I know you want me,” you repeated, “And that you will do anything to have me.”

“Ah-huuuh? Where are you getting at with this?”

“...I want this to stop,” you ended softly, lowering your head and no longer staring at the gaping horror. It disappeared when Bill Cipher laughed.

“Oho, that’s easy! Just follow my directions next time–” something brushed past your shoulders. You whipped around to try and glimpse at him but to no avail– “And this won’t happen!”

You growled, clenching your fists. With a flash, a spotlight shone down on you, as if to showcase your beauty. Or whatever he said last week– month. You don’t recall when he said it. 

“I want this to end! I don’t… ugh, I don’t want to play your sick games any longer.”

The emptiness around you seemed to stretch infinitely, yet every inch of it was saturated with Bill’s presence. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a sinister echo that wrapped itself around your thoughts like a snake coiling tighter.

“Come now,” his voice was smooth, condescending, “You know you can’t resist me forever. Why fight it, sweet cheeks?”

“I wouldn’t have to fight anything if you weren’t such a di– ah!”

He appeared in front of you, triangle form and all. Eye all seeing and all knowing. 

The spotlight narrowed, isolating you further, making you feel like prey. Your breaths were shallow as the edges of your vision blurred, yet you straightened your back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. You couldn’t let him win.

“Fickle little thing you are…” His lone eye narrowed. “Humans, always so… needy…”

“I’m not yours to control,” you spat out, even though your voice wavered. “I would have been at least your friend if you–”

“FRIEND?”

His mood snapped in an instant. 

Of course, you knew he always wanted to be more than friends. He was greedy like that. He calls you needy, sure, but his wants would always come above your needs. 

And he wanted you. 

All for himself.

Forever.

He gripped your chin and you grunted, unable to move back in time. It was so real– you could feel your jaw bone nearly crunching under his fingers.

“We are lovers,” he corrected you. “In no reality are we just simply…” He laughed, “We are lovers. Okay? Okay!”

You fell to your ass when he released you, groaning in pain and rubbing your jaw. It felt so real. But it wasn’t real. This is just a dream– nightmare. A long, annoying nightmare. 

You couldn’t let him be the one in control. 

You can’t let him have power over you.

Bill almost seemed to hear your thoughts, hovering down low and getting up close and personal. 

“Listen.” 

You just scoffed. “I don’t want to listen to whatever you have to say, you monster–”

He slapped you. Your face ached. “Listen. And listen closely, little human. You are mine. And since you are mine, you will listen to me like a good obedient lover. There is nothing you can do to get me away. Understand?” He narrowed his eye when you didn’t respond right away. “UNDERSTAND?”

“Y-Yeah.” Your shoulders sank. “I do. I do understand.”

“Good.”

“...But…” You looked up into his eye, frowning deeply. “While I do understand… that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you. You’re… evil. Awful.”

He rolled his eye, floating back and finally giving you some space, much to your relief. “Oh boo-hoo. So what? At least I don’t hide it.”

…You shivered, disgusted. 

If he wasn’t like… this… then maybe you could have seen yourself having a future with him. Despite most people, you quite enjoyed the uncanny. The creatures of the night. Monsters. Dating someone that isn’t human would be awesome.

…

But this?

This is just abusive. 

“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, getting up from the ground shakily. “I’m not going to listen to ANYTHING you say anymore!”

…

Bill Cipher just laughed.

It was humiliating. 

“Oh we’ll see,” he practically cooed, seeming to have composed himself from his previous anger. 

You gritted your teeth, angry and still mildly scared. Even still, after all this time with him being in your dreams, you didn’t know the full extent of his abilities. There were many things that he could do– and you wouldn’t know what he has done until it’s too late. Probably. He would be the type of guy to hold his aces until the last moment. Even when you first met him, you didn’t realize just how ‘awful’ he really could be. Who knows what he’s hiding?

After all these countless nights of encountering him in your dreams, you were still left in the dark about the true depth of his powers.

That was the worst part; not knowing what he can do. The sense that you were constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff, never certain when or if he’d push you over. He could be doing something right now, in this very moment, and you’d have zero clue. Maybe he was in your mind, twisting your thoughts into knots, or planting seeds that would only sprout when it was most inconvenient. That would be like him, wouldn’t it? Always one step ahead, always playing the long game…

“This doesn’t have to be like this,” he began, voice soft. A fake sense of kindness you knew. “All you have to do is listen. Even an idiot can do that.”

…

“Get out of my head,” you muttered. 

Maybe there will be a time where you’ve had enough. Where you’d give up and give in, letting him do as he wanted with you. 

…

But not tonight.

Bill Cipher released a wistful sigh. “Alriiight. But just don’t say that I never gave you a chance.”

With a snap of his fingers, you awoke in your bed.

[mechaknight-98]

The Fake Mommy (NSFW) FT Yujin

Author’s note: Taking a small break from my usual style to try something new. Inspired by @fillinforlater and his pieces 11-1 and the real daddy. I wanted to see if I could emulate and mimic his style with my flourishes.

Alison was antsy it was meeting day which meant that she was also horny, but her favorite slut Yujin was unavailable. So she threw herself into her work desperately trying to ignore the growing monster between her legs, and for a couple of hours, she did well. She was powering through documents and paperwork with exceptional efficiency until she got the text.

“Hey, Mommy don't I look pretty,” was the message that accompanied a suggestive picture of her girlfriend Yujin.

“Please baby girl I need to work and your distractions aren't helping,” Alison texted back.

“But Mommy I thought you liked when I dress slutty,”

Alison growled as her frustration grew. She wondered if she would have to take her bratty pup, but decided that the best course of action was to ignore her. There would be plenty of time for brat-taming and relief after work, but Yujin was unrelenting in her messages and pictures. Alison did her best to ignore the first 8 but they kept coming in a deluge of messages and photos. Taking desperate measures Alison silenced her phone and went back to work this solution was shortlived, however as a familiar ringtone rang through the air.

“I a pretty, risky, little baddie” echoed in Alison’s office and Alison Pinched the bridge of her nose, before answering,

“Yujin stop being such a brat,” Yujin on the other side of face call smiles as she shows her girlfriend how wet she is thinking about her. Yujin’s only response is a clear moan as she pleasures herself. Having had enough Alison takes the rest of the day off and drives home to satisfy her urges.

As the roads prove to be merciful to Alison she makes it to the shared lover’s best without so much as a red light. She opens the door to see Yujin still pleasuring herself on the loveseat waiting for her. When Yujin sees Alison she smirks knowing she has broken her.

“Hi Mommy,” Yujin says as she smirks with a doggish smile. Alison growls as she strips her sizable bust and bounces out as she pulls her bra down along with her solid cock springing to excited life as precum oozed from the tip.

“Suck me off Slut,” Alison Demands, and Yujin happily complies. Yujin greedily devours Alison's cock as her hand's cup Alison burdened balls.

“Do you feel how full I am? All because you couldn't wait,” Alison scolds while Yujin hums happily as she continues to suck languidly on Alison’s cock. Realizing she wasn't being stern enough with her punishment Alison takes a more “hands-on approach” She grabs the sides of Yujin’s face and begins thrusting in and out of her. Yujin coughs and gags at the rough treatment of her throat. Alison smiles as tears begin to streak the gorgeous idol's face.

“You needy slut I am going to ruin all of your holes and then you're pretty face,” Alison says angrily before reaching her high. She explodes into Yujin who has a hard time taking the massive load being deposited into her mouth and throat.

“Don't you dare spit slut. Swallow it all.” Alison demanded and Yujin not wanting to disappoint her mommy swallows all of her cum before showing Alison her empty mouth.

“Good girl now get up I'm going to fuck your Ass then your pussy,” Alison says flatly. Her anger now burned into blazing lust. As Yujin gets up Alison slaps her baby girl’s ass. She marvels as it jiggles before roughly plugging her ass.

Yujin moans helplessly high on her pleasure as her girlfriend turns her into nothing more than a toy. She whimpered

“What's that baby girl use your words,”

“Yes, Mommy fill my ass,” Yujin yells. Alison smirks at her cock drunk slut. Yujin’s moans are as melodic as her singing voice and equally pleasing to Alison’s remaining embers of anger. Yujin’s tight ass however is fond of letting its favorite intruder go so it creates a tight seal around Alison’s cock that causes her to cum again. As Alison fills Yujin’s ass Alison groans,

“Yes slut take another load don't waste a drop,” Alison yells

“Yes Mommy,” Yujin moans in agreement.

Alison Smythe revealed in fucking her slut. As she thrust in and out she smacked Yujin's ass, "You like mommy's cock buried in your cunt slut," She asks Yujin moaned in agreement.

"Yes Mommy," She groaned as she felt Smythe's cock rake her insides. Yujin looks back at Alison as she plunges in and out of her tight pussy.

"I love new moon ritual nights. It's one of the few times I can truly let loose and fuck you the way you deserve pet," Alison moans happily as Yujin takes her cock. Losing control both began to shift. Yujin was the first to go as she often got caught up in her excitement. her puppy ears began to grow as did her tail which Alison upon seeing it quickly grabbed but not before smacking Yujin's ass. Mrs Smythe watches as her bones crack and her body distends before reassembling itself in her weredog form. Pretty black fur ran along her body. Alison hummed in pleasure as her pusy clenched Alison’s member harder and harder

“Come on Mommy, breed your puppy,” Yujin lustfully says as She wraps her legs around Alison. Alison feels her balls tighten as the shift begins to take hold of her.

"You were being such a brat earlier strutting your bare feet for him," Alison Growls as she thrusts into Yujin harder and angrier.

"I wanted mommy's attention and cock but mommy wasn't giving me either," Yujin whines in between moans as the shift takes further hold. Alison watches her eyes ablaze with hungered lust as she lets her shift to take over. Mrs. Smythe's eyes glow red as her horns and tits begin to swell. fur grows all around her toned and fit body as Yujin and her continue to dive into their pleasure. As the two near their climax, they are interrupted by Issac and Eunbi. Issac groans as he walks in on his close friend being balls-deep in his "Little sister"

"Ugh, do you have to fuck her every time you can," Issac asks disgustedly. Alison smiles,

"Why of course. you know how bratty and horny my Yujinnie gets when she isn't being dicked down," Alison bit back sharply as she pulled out of Yujin. Eunbi and Issac groan disgusted.

"Please get some close on you two the first meeting is about to start," Eunbi says not trying to make eye contact with her previous member.

[finalresidentevilfantasy]

I'm just here thinking about soft Leon, getting a glimpse of normal life away from his job filled with chaos. Just fluffy, no real warnings here.

She stirred in her sleep, a breeze through the open window having tickled her face. Her hand instinctively moving to his side of the bed, hand falling on cold sheets. She furrowed her brows, sitting up slowly as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

The carpet felt soft against her feet as she threw off the duvet, slowly making her way from their shared bed in search of her husband, although she had an idea where he might be.

She was quiet as her feet padded down the landing, stopping outside the door of the nursery. She quietly opened the door, eyes finding their beautiful son, tucked up asleep in his cot, she smiled in endearment, he looked so much like his father already.

"Hey." She smiled softly as her eyes found her husband. She knew he'd be here, their son having just been ill, Leon going into overdrive, a worrier and protecter at heart, his family was everything to him.

"You're awake?" His soft voice followed as he moved his eyes to her frame, a goddess to him, he wouldn't ever tire of worshipping the ground she walked on. He always considered himself lucky to be in her presense.

"Yeah." She said through a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Come back to bed baby." Her comforting voice asked her lover.

"Ten more minutes." Leon whispered but they both knew it was horseshit. Leon's protective instinct had kicked in, he wanted to make sure his son was okay, not let a sole near him.

"Leon he's okay, he's better now." She approched him, his frame in the chair they kept in the nursery for reading their two year old stories. Her hands found his shoulders and he visibly relaxed as she massaged his tense muscles.

Leon was never sure he wanted children or even marriage, not sure his lifestyle would ever accomodate it. Hell he wasn't sure he wanted to bring a child into the world they lived in. Then he met her and everything changed.

Within 2 years his knee was hitting the floor and he couldn't contain his excitment as she told him she was pregnant. She was nervous, biting her bottom lip as she tried to think of the best way to tell him, they weren't trying, one drunken night and forgotten condom later and there she was. Pregnancy test in hand. He was the perfect dad, completely devoted to his son, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for him.

Leon hummed in response, feeling as his wifes hands travelled down his shirt, warm hands carrassing the skin of his chest and he relaxed, head lolling back onto her shoulder as she rested her chin against his own.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. Mouth lingering next to his ear as she softly spoke into it.

"Relax baby. You need sleep." He looked so tired, his training having kicked in allowing him to stay up all night but that didn't mean it didn't take it's toll. "He's okay, the doctors cleared him, it was just the flu." She comforted, she knew he'd do this, forever a worrier.

"I know, I just..." he cut himself off, looking at their peacefully sleeping son, smile of endearment on his lips.

"I know." She said as she placed her chin atop his head. They stayed that way for a good few minutes, basking in each others warmth as their son slept soundly. She yawned again, eyes fluttering closed.

"Baby, you need to go back to bed." Leon spoke as her head dropped back to his shoulder.

"Come with me? Bed's cold without you." She tried to coax her husband with her. He complied this time, taking her hand as he stood, his own tiredness getting to him, she relaxed him enough to feel the toll.

"Better keep my wife warm then, don't want her freezing to death." Leon smiled down at her before lifting her easily into his arms, bridal style. Her heart would always flutter at his strength, she wouldn't lie, she loved to be manhandled by her husband.

Hands that had killed, so gentle with her, strength that had him overpowering monsters with ease, yet he'd never use it against her. So soft and gentle with his princess.

She smiled up at him, reaching to place a kiss on his jawline and he smiled down at her. All the love in the world filling his eyes as he looked at his beautiful wife, he wondered how he got so lucky.

"I love you." She mumbled as her eyes drifted shut again and he let out a soft laugh as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I love you too baby, more than you'll ever understand."

[calisources]

IN LOVE AND WAR, EVERYTHING GOES. a sentence meme based around the subject of allies, enemies, war and enemies to lovers and more of the same tropes we all love. change pronouns, names and locations as you see fit. these are all scrambled around.

“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”

“You can live safe and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right.”

“Where do we find allies?"

“War created bizarre allies, while peace itself could be divisive.”

“I promise you, nothing will happen to you.”

“I choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still.”

“People fight wars over ideas.” 

“Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please.”

“I was raised in hatred, Roma. I could never be your lover, only your killer.”

“We were enemies, no matter the truths. No matter that I loved him.”

“He’d set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her.”

“She's not the type to swoon for pretty lies.”

“The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn't stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.”

“These violent delights have violent ends."

“Men without morals are dangerous beasts.”

“The spiteful, little stars.”

“Death is real. Death is inevitable. Death comes when you're not ready for it. Be ready.”

“I was alive, but I wasn’t living. You took things from me. My soul―my heart.”

“You’re supposed to keep your enemies close. Therefore, it stands to reason that your sworn enemy should be kept closest.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me.”

“Can’t even get out of my grasp? Or is it because you secretly don’t want to?”

“Why are you confessing all of your crimes?”Are you trying to get hit?”

“You're a hero and I'm a monster. There's only one way that story ever ends.”

"Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind."

"How--how can you even say such things,on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?"

"My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned."

"I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”

“The road for hell for me is paved with everything I would do for you, and that list never ends.”

“You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you."

“You have no idea what I could give you."

“If you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.”

“I see you truly for everything you are and everything you will be and I claim you as mine.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you."

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”

“A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.”

"We're on opposite sides, you know."

"You're the one claiming we're all villains. There's no black or white, only gray area. We can coexist somewhere in the middle, can't we?”

“A man with no enemies is a man with no character.”

“I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.”

“I like your savage brutality."

"That's a poetic observation, coming from such a savage creature.”

"And you are mine, Victor Nox. whether you agree is irrelevant.”

“Bitter people are not interested in what you say, but what you hide.”

“Enemies can't break your spirit, only friends can.”

“In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy.”

“Such a pretty face, but so weak and emotional. Just a regular man, after all.”

[sanguineterrain]

dc masterlist

ONE-SHOTS.

✩ window pains. ─ jason todd x gn!reader

he's got a habit of coming in through the window. you want him to start staying... and using the door. (angst, fluff, pining, injured jason, tending to wounds, feelings).

✩ sunset anew. ─ dick grayson x fem!reader

you're a little nervous to become the mrs. grayson. luckily, your husband-to-be knows just what to say to soothe your worries. (wedding, fluff, anxious reader, insecure dick, so much soft intimacy)

✩ the teeth you know. ─ vampire king!dick grayson x fem!reader

the war between the humans and the vampires has lasted for a year now. when you fled gotham, you thought that would be the last time you'd see the vampire king and the love of your life, dick grayson. you were wrong. (SMUT 18+ only, manipulative dick, dreams, oral f receiving)

✩ savior. ─ jason todd x gn!reader

red hood is the stuff of nightmares. red hood is no hero. red hood is your best friend. (angst, reader is afraid of red hood and they discover that he's jason, injured and kidnapped reader, emotional hurt no comfort.)

✩ in your hands. ─ jason todd x gn!reader

jason thinks he's too big to be loved. you show him that that's impossible. (bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.)

✩ restroom attendant. ─ jason todd x fem!reader

tonight is the worst night ever—you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. that is, until, the red hood bursts in. this city just won't cut you a break. (humor, flirting, meet ugly, awkward cute jason, canon typical violence)

☆ angel of small death. — jason todd x gn!shadow monster!reader

you can't remember what it was like to be human. until jason returns. now, he's the only thing tethering you to this world. and you won't let anything happen to him. (monster!reader, canon-typical violence, codependency, stalking, suicidal thoughts, somewhat happy ending.)

☆ crushin'. — jason todd x gn!reader

barbara invites you to dinner with the bats. she's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you. (mutual pining, crushes, jason is a sweetie, matchmaking, dick is a meddling brother with good intentions)

☆ most normal thing in the world. — jason todd x gn!reader

you get hit with a love spell. naturally, the first person you seek out is jason todd. (love spell, mutual pining, love confessions, jason todd's endless self deprecation)

☆ in the buff. — jason todd x gn!reader

the one where you learn firsthand that jason todd sleeps in the nude. (fluff, humor, love confessions, friends to lovers, nudity)

☆ knight in shining helmet. — jason todd x fem!princess!reader

you're a princess who's visiting gotham. you weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. you're hoping that you'll be rescued by the famous batman. instead, it's the infamous red hood that finds you. (kidnapping, meet ugly, strangers to something more, soft jason, roman holiday vibes).

◇ knight!jason universe - in which you're given to knight!jason as a present (light dubcon elements)

intro post | you make dinner for jason

-> temptation (smut 18+, dubcon voyeurism, religious guilt read the tags!!)

-> a bloody vow (violence, eroticism, part 2 of temptation)

BLURBS.

ALL READERS ARE GN UNLESS NOTED OTHERWISE

-> DICK GRAYSON.

"this is real. i'm real. look at me."

"can you walk? i need you to walk."

dick catches you when you trip and fall

"you matter so much to me."

you meet the yj team for the first time and have a panic attack

dick cuddles you after he returns late from patrol

you try to break up with dick when your insecurities overwhelm you

dick and assistant!reader who has a secret nightlife

-> JASON TODD.

"i thought you were scared of heights."

reader calls jason in panic when they are chased by a goon

"you're just going to leave me here?!"

awkward jason with a big crush on baker!reader

you break up with jason after he almost dies | part 2 (completed)

playfighting with jason turns into something else (NSFW, fem!reader)

jason rescues you after you have a fight (fem!reader)

jason asks his family to help after you, his fiance, are kidnapped

you forget to text jason you're home safe and he panics

you comfort werewolf!jason during a shift

you are jason's ex and have to work with him on a mission

headless horseman!jason gives you a ride home

"why not them, why me?"

you find a werewolf in your shed who has a dead boy's face

you and jason fight and he thinks you broke up

devoted jason who just wants to be yours

jason tells you that he's asexual

you give bodyguard!jason a gift | you defend him at a gala

you're a vigilante who's after the red hood | pt 2 | pt 3

fussing over jason after he's shot in his bulletproof vest

boxer!jason protects you from a creep

you're a reporter who's under red hood's protection | part 2 | part 3

a stranger thinks you're in danger with your boyfriend, jason

introducing naps to jason (hc)

you bring home a baby and insist on keeping her

jason loves his childhood crush's new curves, make no mistake

jason takes care of you when you're high on pain meds

you meet jason as a civilian when you're both held hostage

virgin!jason comes fast (hc)

jason will keep you safe by any means necessary (dark content)

-> TIM DRAKE.

mauling jason (in a sexy way)

your bff is back and insists she's not the girl you knew (female!jason)

you have insomnia and run into tim in the yj tower

-> CLARK KENT.

holding hands while walking with clark

giving clark a massage when he's stressed

clark is scared when he finds out he's going to be a dad

you politely reject superman (you're dating clark kent!)

-> BRUCE WAYNE.

the JL discovers that batman is married... to you