#Just been thinking about this and having feelings lately. Wanted to voice them instead of getting in the shower like a responsible person.

[logos0]

Through the Storm

You had always hated storms. Not the ones outside—the crashing thunder and relentless rain were oddly comforting—but the ones that raged inside your mind. They brewed at inconvenient times, bringing doubt, anxiety, and an unbearable weight you could never fully describe. Being with Leah had always been your calm in the chaos, but lately, even she felt like a ship lost in the swell.

The rift started small—a disagreement over her schedule, a misunderstanding about a missed call. Leah was always busy. Between her training sessions and commitments to the England squad, it sometimes felt like you were just another appointment she pencilled in. You tried not to let it bother you, and at first it worked, but as time passed, you could not push down your frustration. Your feelings no longer simmered under the surface but started bubbling over at the worst moments.

It all came to a head one night after her return from an away game. You hadn’t seen her in weeks, nor had you been able to call her, and while you wanted to savour her presence, the frustration you’d been holding in came spilling out instead.

"You’re never here, Leah," you said, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness. "I get that football’s your life, but am I even part of it anymore?"

She stood in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion painted across her face. "Of course, you are," she replied, her tone sharp with defensiveness. "You think I don’t miss you when I’m gone? You think this is easy for me?"

"Well, it doesn’t feel like it," you shot back, tears welling in your eyes. "You come home, and it’s like… I’m just a stopover before the next big thing. Like I’m not enough."

Leah dropped her bag and stepped closer, but you turned away, wiping your eyes furiously. "Don’t say that," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You’re everything to me."

"Then why doesn’t it feel like it?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Leah stood frozen, her eyes searching yours for something she couldn’t find. Those eyes which had pulled you into a ban so long ago and now were tormenting you. "I don’t know how to fix this," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

And just like that, the storm between you grew too wild to tame. Leah left that night, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of rain pounding against the window.

The days that followed were agonizing. Leah texted you sporadically, but the messages felt hollow, as though she was trying to bridge a gap that words alone couldn’t mend. You left most of them unanswered, unsure of what to say—or if you even wanted to.

Until one night, a week later, when your phone buzzed with a message that was different from the rest.

Leah: I’m outside. Please, just… let me talk.

You hesitated, your heart battling between wanting to see her and wanting to stay angry. But the thought of her standing outside in the cold, waiting for you, tugged at your resolve. With a sigh, you grabbed a coat and opened the door.

Leah was there, drenched from the rain, her usually confident demeanour replaced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. That reminded you of times long past. She looked at you with those piercing eyes, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

"I know I’ve hurt you," she began, her voice steady but soft. "And I’ve spent the past week trying to figure out how to make it right. But the truth is, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I can’t lose you."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each word. "Leah… I just feel so invisible sometimes. Like you’re here, but not really here. As if I am just another appointment, a chore."

She nodded, stepping closer. "I know. And you’re right—I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve let football take over everything, and I thought… I thought you’d be okay with that because you’re so strong. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking you for granted."

Her words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying. Leah reached for you, hesitating for a split second before pulling you into her arms. You let yourself melt into her, the warmth of her embrace cutting through the chill of the rain.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into your hair. "For everything. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough, because you are. You’re more than enough. You’re my everything."

You pulled back just enough to look at her, her face inches from yours. "I don’t need you to have all the answers," you said quietly. "I just need to know that you’re willing to try."

Leah nodded, her expression serious. "I’ll try every day for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes."

Her lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as if she were asking for permission to fix what had been broken. You kissed her back, the storm inside you finally beginning to settle.

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. Leah was here, and so were you—together, ready to weather whatever came next.

[lloydskywalkers]

drywall

went to go work on raising hell and ended up missing Skylor, so!! I will always have so many emotions about s8/9 and the aftermath of it, here's another gallon of them.

Two months after they’ve taken back the city and the street lights are finally starting to work again, Lloyd shows up at the restaurant an hour past closing time, sporting a spectacularly bruise and enough blood across his gi to make the Ninjago City Blood Drive team’s day. 

“Hi, Sky.” Lloyd waltzes — or attempts to, it’s more of a stumbling collapse — right in as if nothing’s amiss in the slightest. “Sorry, I’m, uh. Was in the neighborhood and I wasn’ sure…where else t’ go.”

Skylor, still frozen over a stained tabletop with her dishtowel in hand, stares at him. 

All things considered, she should be fully prepared for something like this. It should practically be in her restaurant’s training manual, that at some point you’ll end up confronted with a bloody, half-dead ninja in your door. But given how slow the past few weeks have been, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of dealing with the lunch rush and the dinner rush and the late-night somewhat-inebriated people rush, her guard is apparently down enough to leave her reacting with a simple, useless, “Oh god.”

“Tha’s my grandfather,” Lloyd says. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth — coupled with the bruising, Skylor thinks (hopes) it’s simply from split skin or a bitten cheek, instead of crippling internal bleeding. 

Crippling internal bleeding is enough of a concern to finally spur her into action, dropping her towel and rushing over to help Lloyd finish stumbling through the door. She spares a moment of thanks, that there’s even a door at all — repairs in the city have been slow, since Harumi’s brief reign of terror, and the insurance provider is still holding out on her. 

But the door was a good thing to prioritize, she thinks, bolting it firmly behind them. 

“Sorry, again,” Lloyd murmurs. His jaw is working in the tight way it does when he’s biting back pain, his bottom lip bruised and bleeding. Skylor’s stomach twists. 

You’d think, after all she’s been through, she’d be more accustomed to seeing the people she cares about in pain. That she’d be desensitized enough, to fight back the aching nausea and the gnawing desire to look away. 

Or maybe she’s just a coward. That would track, she thinks. 

“Shush,” she says instead, maneuvering Lloyd further into one of the nicer booths, careful of the blood that’s…everywhere. “What did you do to yourself this time, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lloyd grumbles, his voice steadier now that he’s sitting down. Unfortunately, he’s only paler under the yellowy restaurant lights, and the blood looks about ten times worse. “I just…slipped. A bit.”

Slipped. Skylor could smack him, if he wasn’t already hurt. 

“Lemme see, then.” She bends down to where she can tug the folds of his gi back, trying to trace the blood to a source. She finally finds it — an ugly wound in his left shoulder, several long gashes across his forearm. A knife, maybe. Possibly a sword, but it looks close-up and quick. It’d need to have been quick, for whoever was wielding it to land this many hits. 

Or Lloyd would have to be sloppy. 

Lloyd gives a stifled, shuddery exhale, a dangerous preamble to tears. Skylor pauses, just for a moment, and deliberates. 

She’s got Nya’s number, carefully keyed into her phone ever since she and Kai started visiting the noodle house. There’s no doubt in her mind that she’d want to know about this — and there’s less doubt that Kai would want to know. if anything, she’s surprised he hasn’t burst through the restaurant doors already, summoned by whatever sixth sense he has that goes off when Lloyd’s in danger. 

But Skylor also knows there’s got to be a reason that Lloyd came here, despite his claims. Just as there’s probably a reason he didn’t call Kai or Nya, or any of the others. 

And perhaps she feels just a little proud, that Lloyd’s chosen her to come to. 

It’s quickly lost in the blood that coats her hands as she begins patching the wound in his shoulder, but the feeling’s there nonetheless. 

It’s a nice feeling, being relied on. Being trusted. 

“Who got you this bad?”

She speaks up mostly to break the quiet. Lloyd isn’t quite like Kai, who likes talking simply to fill a space, but she knows he isn’t fond of silence, either. It’s one of the things they share in common. 

“No one.” Lloyd sucks in a breath as she draws the bandage tight across his shoulder, wrapping it beneath his arm and back over. His eyes close briefly as she ties it off, forehead scrunching up, before he lets out another shuddery exhale. “Some guy, uh — guy on the way home, near the subway. I had answered a call earlier, and I guess — ow, hey—” 

“Sorry,” Skylor winces, as she finishes dumping antiseptic across the slashes on his arm. “It hurts less if you aren’t expecting it.”

“That’s a lie,” Lloyd says, pointedly. 

She shrugs. “So, random subway mugger?”

Lloyd looks away, his cheeks darkening. It’s a relief, to see any color in his face at all. “Sort of.”

He leaves it at that, lapsing back into silence. Skylor looks down, focusing on the butterfly stitches she’s placing across his arm. Were it anyone else, she’d have panicked for actual stitches, but Lloyd heals with an uncanny quickness. She remembers Nya complaining about it, back during the Resistance — how Lloyd threw a fit when his skin healed over the stitches, and they’d had to cut him open all over again. 

She’d probably throw a fit of her own, to be fair. 

“Well, if you see him,” she says, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Point him out. I could use a punching bag.”

Lloyd’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. 

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet enough she might’ve missed it, if they were any further apart. Skylor doesn’t miss the meaning, either. She simply shakes her head, wrapping another layer around his arm. 

“I’m just glad you came to someone,” she says. “Instead of half-assing it yourself.”

Lloyd’s fingers twitch. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

She can’t pretend she doesn’t understand. Her childhood is filled with fun little memories of patching herself together, hiding wounds from Clouse or her father in an attempt to convince them she was better than she was.

Not that the people Lloyd is hiding from are anything remotely like her father, of course, but there’s an overlap between people you fear and people you love, and trying to convince them you’re stronger than you are. 

“That should do it,” she nods to herself, surveying her work. She feels unusually proud of herself — Skylor’s never really stayed with a team long enough to have many chances to patch people up. It’s rarer that people are so open to her touching them, once they’ve learned what her power is. The ninja are an exceedingly kind exception, but it still makes her feel warm, being given this kind of trust. 

She glances up, eyeing her patient. Lloyd’s still pale, but it’s far better than the ashy color from earlier anymore. “Anywhere else?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at the strip of bandages across his arms, shoulders hunched over on himself.

“I have Nya on speed dial, you know—”

“Its just a few scrapes,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Skylor sighs. “Lemme see.”

Lloyd grumbles, but he lets her grab his arm again, wincing as she dabs antiseptic over the smaller cuts. There’s nothing serious — just a few nicks and scratches, the kind you get from eating the ground mid-fight. He’s got one uglier scrape, but it’s about as nasty as a skinned knee, and easily eclipsed by the scar it bleeds through. 

Her fingers falter. She knows this scar — she was there when Kai struggled to patch the wound it once was, back on her father’s island. It’s an ugly, jagged scar, a testament to how Kai’s hands had shook as he’d tried to be gentle. 

In hindsight, it had been a terrible moment. Kai wasn’t sure if Lloyd had picked up the wound from the underground tunnels, Chen’s cultists, or his own brief slip into the madness of the staff. Lloyd wouldn’t say where it was from, even if either of them had been much for talking. And Skylor had been an awkward, purple-scaled fixture next to them, holding the medical kit while the others planned how to kill her father. 

And yet, it was the lightest she’d ever felt. 

Skylor bites her lip. 

She’s never told Lloyd, what exactly he’d meant to her. He likely has no idea, what he’d represented when she’d first met him. 

The son of one of Ninjago’s greatest villains — and people loved him. 

Kai loved him. 

If Lloyd could overcome the hurdle of his parentage and choose to live the way he wanted, if people could look past the dark stain of his legacy and love him anyways, then maybe—

He’d been hope, when she needed it most. And Kai had lived up to that hope, taking Skylor’s half-formed, frail dream and fueling it into a blaze.

Her eyes close, briefly, and she shivers. 

“Are you okay?”

Blinking her eyes back open, she comes face to face with Lloyd’s concerned expression. She shakes her head, looking away. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Embarrassment pulls at her. “Just a bit of…aftershocks. You know.”

Lloyd frowns, clearly not knowing. “Aftershocks,” he repeats. “From…”

His eyes go wide, only for his expression to immediately crumple. “Oh.”

Skylor waves her hands. “It’s not bad,” she reassures him. “I can barely feel him — his power — anymore. Just pins and needles in my hands sometimes, that’s all. Totally…totally normal.”

She hopes. Garmadon’s power had burned, in the way bitter cold feels against your skin, so a bit of numbness is pretty decent tradeoff, if she says so herself. 

Lloyd looks down, expression shadowed and hidden. Skylor could curse herself — she knows better, than to bring up—

“Here.” Lloyd’s suddenly holding his hand out, looking at her earnestly. It’s an almost childish expression of sincerity, one that makes him look much younger — a little more like the Lloyd she met on her father’s island, who beamed when his father ruffled his hair. 

Her chest aches fiercely, and Skylor holds out her hand before she can hesitate. Lloyd takes it carefully in his own, and she watches in fascination as the low shimmer of green engulfs her fingers. Lloyd’s power is as gentle as he is — nothing like the ravaging purple storm that was his father’s. 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s nice.”

Lloyd makes a humming noise. “I’ve been practicing. H-his power doesn’t get along with mine, that much. So it kinda…makes room. For whoever’s stronger, at the moment.”

Skylor fights back a shudder. Realistically, she knows she shouldn’t feel ashamed, that Garmadon overpowered her — he’s Garmadon. The reminder of how his power felt still stings, though. 

It’s a reassurance, that Lloyd’s power is stronger now. His element, if you can even call it that, is probably the one she’s the least familiar with — she’s never tried to copy Lloyd’s power. She isn’t entirely sure if she could, or if she should. Dipping into Garmadon’s power was dangerous enough. Skylor isn’t stupid enough to pretend she has the willpower to meddle with the power of the FSM’s family much more than that. 

“It feels like cheating, kinda,” she finally says. “That fighting fuels his power. How are you supposed to fight back?”

Lloyd shrugs, letting her hand go. “You don’t. You get really good at dodging.”

Skylor leans forward, propping her chin up in her palms. “That’s stupid.”

“Well,” Lloyd’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “That’s Garmadon, so.”

His expression immediately fractures, and Skylor can spot the battle in his eyes as he tries to grasp for composure. Her teeth worry at her lip.

She should really call Nya, now. Or try to track down Kai’s number. Or anyone else — it’s nearly two hours past closing, the kitchen’s still a mess, and Lloyd’s blood is all over her dishrags. Lloyd himself is hardly in better shape, the ghostly pale of his skin reminding her horribly of when she first saved them from the Sons of Garmadon, and Skylor is—

Not enough. 

She ought to know that, by now.

But the fact still stands, that Lloyd came to her. A part of her clings to that, and another selfish, awful part of her, the part that festered on her father’s island for so many years, the part that still flinches beneath the weight of her last name — well. 

Misery loves company, is probably the best way to put it. 

“I should���I should probably get going,” Lloyd says, uncertainly. He doesn’t make any move to get up, though, still small and weary where he’s hunched up in her booth. 

Skylor stares at him, and thinks of sitting for hours on the edge of her father’s island, staring at the sun on the water until her eyes ached. 

“Hey,” she says, a bit breathless, twisting her fingers together. “Wanna go skip rocks?”

Quite fairly, Lloyd stares at her like she’s lost her mind. 

They end up on the rickety end of one of Ninjago City’s abandoned docks anyways, a mismatched selection of somewhat flat rocks spilling out of a Chen’s to-go bag. Lloyd’s left arm is tied up in a mangled sort of sling they fashioned from Skylor’s old sweatshirt, leaving him to turn a rock over in his right hand awkwardly. 

“So, funny thing,” he says. “I don’t, uh. I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s okay,” Skylor says, sifting through the rocks they’ve gathered. “I’m not, either.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd sounds hopeful. “I mean, you at least know the trick to it, right?”

“I don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ve never…I’ve never skipped rocks before.”

Lloyd stares at her. 

“It’s not that weird,” she huffs, fighting back the urge to hide. “I mean, I never really had the chance, but I aways thought — I grew up near the ocean, and all these lakes, so I always thought it’d be fun to, y’know, skip rocks, since I didn’t really have…anyone else, to…”

The rest of the sentence is about to turn even more humiliating, so it’s a relief when Lloyd interrupts her. 

“I haven’t either.” 

He immediately flushes. “That’s why I’m not good at it.’Cause I’ve never actually skipped rocks.” 

“Oh.” Skylor looks at their bag, then back up at him. “Well, cool. We’ll both suck, then.”

“How hard can it be, anyways?” Lloyd says, sorting through their rocks. “You just find a flat one, right?”

“Yeah,” Skylor says. “Then you sort of just, frisbee it. I think.”

“Hm.”

“You haven’t thrown a frisbee either, have you.”

“Oh, like you have.”

Skylor presses her lips together, snorting. “Was wondering when your snark was gonna show back up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not remember half the stuff that came out of your mouth, back at the tournament?”

“You would’ve been out of your mind too, if you had to herd the guys around then — also, bold words coming from you, ooh, how dare you call me a traitor, even though it’s totally dead-on—”

“That wasn’t even close to what I said, and also—” Skylor snatches a smooth rock before Lloyd can, hefting it up. “It’s not like I was gonna admit to you all I was a traitor. That defeats the whole purpose of betraying. Lying my way out of a corner was the smart choice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lloyd mutters, as Skylor flings her rock across the water.

They both watch as it splashes sadly, sinking instantly like, well. A rock. 

“Okay,” Skylor cringes. “That was a warm-up.”

Several warm-ups later, neither of them have made any progress whatsoever, save to torment whatever fish are hanging out on this side of Ninjago City’s harbor with relentless rock barrages. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lloyd huffs, watching as his rock all but torpedoes into the water. “What’s wrong with us, that we can’t get one stupid rock to skip?”

“Maybe it’s in the wrist?” Skylor flexes her hand, angling it one way then another. She winds ups, throws the rock out, and — nope. 

“I think we’re getting worse,” Lloyd remarks as Skylor sputters, wiping the seawater that splashed up from her face. 

She can’t help but agree. They’re down to a few rocks left, and neither of them have made any progress, much less skipped a single rock. At some point, they give up altogether, seeing who can throw their rock out the furthest instead. 

“This one’s going…” Lloyd raises his arm, closing one eye and squinting as he angles higher. He finally pauses with his hand pointing upwards toward Ninjago City. “Right through that weird oval thing on Borg Tower.” 

“Don’t hit it too hard,” Skylor says. “They just got it back up last week.”

“I’m not hitting it, it’s going through it, weren’t you listening?”

“To you? Nah. I’ve heard you suck at public speaking.”

“Wow, after you forced me into the live broadcast and everything—”

As if to emphasize his distress, Lloyd takes a running start, hurling the rock forward. They watch as it arcs across the skyline, before plummeting somewhere in the harbor. 

“So close,” Skylor murmurs. 

Lloyd flops on the ground with a dull thump, legs sprawling in front of him as he leans back on his elbows. Skylor’s makeshift sling isn’t doing much at all anymore, though it looks like he doesn’t need it to.

That, or he’s hiding pain stupidly well. Which wouldn’t be surprising, if disappointing. 

“Defeated,” he mourns. “Overthrown by rocks.”

Skylor dusts gingerly at the ground before sitting next to him. “They sure got the best of us, this time.”

“Maybe it’s a learning curve,” he says. “That or we missed, like, the optimal rock-skipping development time.”

“Mmh. Maybe we need to recruit a teacher who actually had a decent childhood.”

“If you find someone, lemme know.”

They both laugh, breathless and hollow, because they’re not much else they can say, to that. 

Lloyd sits up suddenly, pulling his knees to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around them, eyes glued forward. Instead of asking, Skylor follows his gaze to the skyline of Ninjago City, the darkened scars left behind by Garmadon and Harumi painfully pronounced this late at night. 

It couldn’t have been longer than two weeks, could it? Their rule over the city?

It feels like years.

She can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for the others — can’t imagine what it was like, ending it. 

It pains her, but Skylor doesn’t remember much of Garmadon’s defeat. She’d thrown everything she had into controlling his power, and when it had snapped back on her, ravaging through her like a cloying poison, everything had gone dark and hazy. 

It kind of sucks, because she’d done all that just to miss the most important parts, but…it is what it is.

What she does remember, besides Nya’s steady voice and Dareth’s panicked yelling, is the blazing warmth that was Lloyd carrying her.

That and his painfully bony shoulder digging into her stomach. 

“I was trying not to get us crushed,” Lloyd mutters, cheeks turning pink. “Sorry my shoulder wasn’t up to cushion-y standards.”

“And I’m trying to say thank you,” Skylor sighs. “But seriously. Put��something on those bones.”

“Meh meh meh,” Lloyd mocks. There’s a lack of his usual energy in the action, the dullness to his eyes only made worse by the bruise-like circles beneath them. But it’s still very Lloyd — a flash of the friend she knows. 

“I really do mean it,” she says. “Thank you. For carrying me out of there. For saving me.”

Lloyd stares at her with dark eyes. Not as dark as they were, back when he’d lost his power, but the glow is almost entirely absent.

“You shouldn’t—” he bites off, frustrated. He tosses the rock he’s holding, up and down. “It was never a question.”

He glances at her. “Besides,” and there’s the closest she’s seen to a real smile. “You saved us first.”

Not nearly soon enough, she thinks. 

She should’ve told him, should have asked — should have let him know how it felt to watch her father fall deeper into madness, told him what it felt like to lose hope — what it meant, to move on. 

To cut ties, before they strangled you. 

“How are you,” she says, as gently as she can. Then, because gentle doesn’t always get you through the walls they build— “For real. Not how people want to hear you’re doing, or the answer you think they want. How are you.” 

Lloyd stiffens. There’s a flicker of fear in his expression, his mouth moving on instinct. 

“I’m doing okay.”

Tremors lace through his hand where he holds the rock, shuddering fingers tracing over the rough surface. 

“Okay as I can be.” He looks down, the rock slipping from his fingers as his arms wrap around himself. “I know that isn’t the answer you want, but I don’t…”

He looks back up, the lights of Ninjago City misty in his eyes.  

“I don’t know what people want me to say,” he whispers. 

Skylor wishes he’d screamed it. Wishes he’d snap, wishes he’d find the anger where it simmers inside him and turn it outwards against the world, rather than violently projecting it inwards like a masochistic missile all the time. Anything at all, instead of this hollow brokenness. 

It reminds Skylor a bit too much of—

Well. 

“I know I — things are—” Lloyd swallows. He pauses, raising his hand to scrub at an already-bloodshot eye. “Everything happened so fast. It was like — like getting hit with a bus, then another bus, then she — put the bus in reverse and ran me back over, and I never really had the chance to…to…”

“To get back up?”

Lloyd nods. He picks absently at a bloodstained patch on the leg of his gi. “And I know that’s just a stupid metaphor, but getting back up is…it’s really—”

Lloyd’s pulling threads loose now, tugging hard enough that he’s likely to start unraveling holes in his gi. 

“Can I tell you something? Something that’s not…not so good.”

“Hey, you know me.” Skylor elbows him. “I’m an expert at not-good.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a little too knowing. “You’re really not.”

And she’d turn a mirror on him, if she could. “What is it, then?”

Lloyd looks away, one unusually-sharp tooth gnawing at his lip. 

“I know my dad — my dad I used to have — he loved me. I know he did.” Lloyd sounds, rather devastatingly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “But now that he’s…now that he’s like this, and after everything that happened, I almost wish — I almost—”

He cuts off, covering his face with his hands. “Never mind.”

Skylor stays still, her gaze fixed ahead on a dark spot in the city skyline. If it were her, she’d want—

Lloyd’s voice is a muffled whisper. “I wish he’d never loved me at all.”

Skylor lets out a long, shaky breath. 

Lloyd gives a dry, horrible kind of laugh. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s so selfish, it’s — I’m a horrible person, for thinking that way. But it — it hurts now, to think that — that maybe, now that I’m different — and her — that even my dad—” 

“It hurts,” she murmurs. “To lose it. To think that it’s your fault.”

Lloyd brings his arms over his head, the bandages on his left arm a stark white in the dimness as he buries his face in his knees. Curling up, as if he can make himself small enough the world will finally forget he exists. 

Skylor’s…familiar. 

But then again, is she? 

She swallows. Her father was one thing, but if — if he came back now, after she’s worked so hard to move on — at the height of his madness, what would she do? 

She’s out of her depth, as she’s always been.

But there was a reason she answered the call so fervently, a reason she followed Lloyd without hesitation. Skylor doesn’t put much stock in the Green Ninja, doesn’t put much in any kind of prophecy. But she does care, very much, about Lloyd, and she thinks that’ll take her a bit farther.

“You know.” She looks down, running her finger over their last rock. “You were one of the first people that gave me any hope that I could change. That, uh, someone could love me.”

Lloyd startles, emerging just enough that she can see the green of an eye. “Huh? Me?”

She nods. “Back on my father’s island, during the tournament. I was convinced that…that after everything I’d done, with who I was, there wasn’t a chance I’d find someone who loved me.”

Lloyd frowns, lowering his arms so he can look at her fully. “But I didn’t — Kai was the one who reached out to you. He was the one that saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yeah. He did. But he reached out to you, first.”

Lloyd stares at her, eyes wide. Skylor smiles at him. “You were good. No matter how bad your family had been. And it…it had been okay, for you.” 

The mistiness returns to Lloyd’s eyes as he looks back to the skyline, his lip caught tightly between his teeth. 

“We’re doing okay, right?” Skylor pulls her own knees up to her chest. “You and me. I mean, we helped, a lot. We fought back for the city. You did a lot more than me, obviously, but—”

“Don’t say that,” Lloyd sounds pained. “Don’t compare it, like I’m — I do a lot more harm than good, sometimes.”

“You don’t say that,” Skylor snaps. 

Lloyd flinches. She bows her head, staring down at her feet. 

“We’re good,” she says, hating the way her voice wobbles. “We’re different.”

It’s occurring to her, how cold it is out here on the water. She hopes Lloyd doesn’t get home with a cold, on top of everything else. 

“We’re different,” Lloyd echoes.

“Yeah.” Skylor swallows. “That has to count for something, right?”

Lloyd makes a small noise, but it isn’t one of disagreement. There’s a rustling as he reaches for the bag, then holds out their final, sad rock. 

“Wanna give it the last try?” He gives her a crooked, half smile. “Make it count?”

Her fingers close over the rough surface, cold against the warmth of his hand. 

The brightness of the sun against water on her father’s island in her eyes, Skylor flings the rock as hard as she can, far enough that it’s swallowed entirely by the harbor darkness. 

If she tries, she can imagine it skipping, just once, across the freezing waters. 

She tells herself, it counts anyways.

[inmyheaddd]

beneath the same stars - averyjameson

summary: avery’s mind is flooded with doubts about the hawthorne house, and thoughts that she hasn’t told anyone. somehow, she finds herself confiding in jameson hawthorne. a/n: aww baby averyjameson :( this takes place before they are officially together / between tig/thl (jameson is sooo down bad omg) wc: 1.8k

the rooftop wasn’t her favorite spot, but it was his, and tonight, avery didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. 

after avery had climbed up very cautiously, she noticed jameson sitting dangerously close to the edge, sitting with his legs dangling off, without a care in the world. 

the wind rippled through his half-buttoned white shirt, and he turned around right as avery neared, sending her one of those grins that made her brain feel light, and kept his eyes on her right until she sat next to him.

she forced herself to ignore it, “you could’ve told me you were coming up here,” she said, settling down a few feet away— close, but not too close. and much further away from the edge.

he analyzed the way she looked from where she sat, before looking back at the sky infront of him. “figured you’d find me anyway.”

jameson reached over to the other side of him, then held out a recently opened bar of dark chocolate to avery. 

she stared at the chocolate for a second before taking it. 

“i hate that you’re actually right sometimes.” she didn’t eat the chocolate right away, and just stared at the floor. 

jameson looked intrigued. “careful, mystery girl, that almost sounded like a compliment.” he grinned, but his tone was softer than usual. he could sense something was up with avery. 

he gave her a long look, then eyed the distance between them, asking a silent question. 

avery gave a slight nod, and jameson moved to sit beside her. shoulders nearly touching, so close jameson could practically hear her mind whirring. 

they sat like that for a while, the silence stretching but not breaking. avery could hear the soft rustle of the wind through the trees, and the sound of cars far away. 

it made her think of how different this was to her life just a few months ago. nearly nothing was the same.

“sometimes,” she said suddenly, trailing off with her voice barely audible. “sometimes i think about leaving,” she exhaled a deep breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

jameson turned his head slightly, but not all the way. “leaving hawthorne house?”

“yeah.” she picked at the wrapper of the chocolate, tearing it into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces. “the house. the money. all of it.”

“would you, though?” his tone was careful, which is a word that was almost never used to describe anything about jameson. but with her, he was careful. 

avery shrugged. “i don’t know. i mean, it’s too late, right? there’s people who want the worst for me. without oren and everything, i’d be in danger.” she looked at her lap, mumbling quietly and trying to sound detached. 

she couldn’t tear the small pieces of wrapper any more, so fiddled with her fingers instead. 

“isn’t that crazy?” she chuckled as she set her hands down back in her lap, but it sounded hollow. “people i don’t even know, people who know nothing about me, who want to harm me. or— or people that know too much about me, or people that knew your grandfather, or—“  she cut her nervous rambling off with a sigh, tucking her hair behind her ears.

she couldn’t believe what her life was now. this was the first time she was really confiding to anyone other than libby or max about these thoughts she’s been having, about the huge what ifs. 

jameson observed her quietly. he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know if it was alright to do that yet. 

for some reason that avery couldn’t quite pinpoint, she felt like she could actually talk to him.  “i just— sometimes i wonder if i should’ve left sooner. or just never have come. then i wouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

she crossed her arms over her chest as the wind got stronger, and pulled her shirts sleeves over her hands. “it just kind of feels like i don’t belong here, no matter what i do.”

jameson was oddly silent for a moment, and slowly tore his gaze away from avery and back to the sky that was beginning to set. 

avery quickly began to worry— did she over-share? she definitely overshared, she didn’t even know jameson all that well. why was he so silent? why on earth did she—

“you’re wrong about that,” jameson finally said.

avery’s thoughts were put to a halt. “about what?”

“saying you don’t belong.” he answered, “you belong more than any of us, look at you, heiress. you’re incredibly intelligent in all aspects. in your first few days, you solved the keys faster than anyone else. the house could do with a few more complicated geniuses. ” he sent her a small grin, “maybe you belong more than you’d like to admit. 

avery shook her head and looked away, the wind whipping through her hair. “i don’t know, jameson. sure, i solved them faster, but that doesn’t mean anything, not really.” she said, “and i’m not complicated.”

jameson raised a brow.

she narrowed her eyes, “what’s that supposed to mean?

“whatever you want it to mean, heiress.” he said through a chuckle. “i’m just saying, i didn’t call you mystery girl for no reason.”

“you barely even call me that anymore.” avery said before she could even think.

jameson grinned, “why, you miss it?”

“absolutely not.” avery shook heir head, fighting a small smile. jameson didn’t say anything else as he watched her. he could sense there was something else waiting to be asked.

avery’s smile faded, and she pressed her lips together as she formulated her words. “jameson?”

“yes, heiress?”

“you always seem so sure of yourself. don’t you ever think you’re doing the wrong thing— like, making the wrong choices?”

a smile finally reappeared on jamesons face, and avery realized that she had missed seeing it. the thing is though, the smile wasn’t like his usual one, it was almost like one of those bitter ones. 

his head was tilted up with his adam’s apple on full view, “all the damn time,” he said, a slight shake of his head as he looked up at the sky. 

avery got the feeling that there was a lot more to jameson hawthorne than what she had thought originally. “and, what do you do about it?” she stayed looking at him, even when he wasn’t looking at her. 

he chuckled lowly, gaze still up at the sky.“nothing.” 

that answer didn’t surprise avery in the slightest. she hummed, “nothing at all?” 

“nothing at all, heiress.”

“nothing at all,” she nodded as she repeated quietly, as if she was tasting the words on her lips. 

he nudged her shoulder gently, that one cheshire grin finally back on his face. “you got it.” 

avery’s face broke into a small smile despite herself, and jamesons grin only widened. 

“why do you come up here so much?”

“you have a lot of questions today.”

she looked back at her lap, “sorry, i didn’t mean to—“

“don’t apologize,” he cut in. “i’d answer anything you ask.” he sent her one of those joking grins, but it didn’t feel like a joke. “to answer your question, mystery girl, its because i can see everything from up here.” 

that’s all he said, but there was more to it. he would come here to think— he always had since he was a kid. jameson was told he wasn’t as creative as his brothers, wasn’t as determined, wasn’t as talented. 

he would literally come up here to see the bigger picture— look for more possibilities, more answers, and then he could maybe find who he really was.

avery looked ahead at the landscape infront of her, her fingers playing with the torn chocolate wrapper. she hadn’t even taken a single bite.

“sometimes,” jameson continued softly, breaking the quiet, “i think this is the only place that makes sense.”

she turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “a rooftop?”

“not just any rooftop, heiress,” he said, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “this one. and as a bonus, thisview.” he tilted his head toward her, his meaning unmistakable.

her heart stuttered, and she hated how he always managed to do that. “you’re so strange,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her with a smile.

he shrugged, “i try.” he said as he leant back on his hands behind him. 

avery let the silence stretch, also leaning back slightly to take in the view. 

the sky was bruised with shades of deep blue and purple now, stars faintly visible against the last streaks of orange. 

she felt the weight of jameson’s presence beside her, solid and steady, even as her thoughts spun.

but then movement caught her eye. down below, the gravel driveway lit up with headlights as a sleek black car rolled to a stop.

her chest tightened when she saw who stepped out. oren, his stance sharp and alert as always. then alisa, perfectly composed, her phone already in her hand. and finally—grayson.

he adjusted his jacket as he stepped out, his expression unreadable, the way it always was. 

he said something to alisa that avery couldn’t hear, and she watched as they moved toward the house together.

she didn’t know why, but the sight made her stomach twist. she hoped jameson didn’t see the way her shoulders tensed. 

“looks like the cavalry’s back,” jameson said casually, his voice pulling her back to the present. 

he’d noticed them too, of course.

avery and jameson shared a look. yes, he sounded casual, and he did try to put on an expression of nonchalance, but avery saw through it.

just like how he saw through her constant attempts of looking unfazed. 

avery looked away, then exhaled. “i should probably go.”

jameson didn’t move. he stayed sitting, leaning back on his hands, his gaze flicking from the driveway to her. “are you in trouble, heiress?”

“i never even know when i am,” she said, smiling already. “that shared look on alisa and oren’s is never a good sign, though.” she said as she looked down at him.

“are my reckless antics rubbing off on you?” he narrowed his eyes jokingly, tilting his head. 

“no. in your dreams.” she let out a chuckle, and jameson loved the sound. when she spoke again, her voice was quiter. 

she tried to make it sound like a joke though. “i just can’t seem to make the right choices recently. i’m always doing the wrong thing.” she admitted, “i mean, according to alisa.” 

he gave her a slight shake of his head, “it’s impossible to fully get it right with alisa. don’t lose your mind over it.” he told her, “nobody would know what to do if they were in your situation, and i highly doubt anybody could possibly handle this as well as you.” 

“i… .” she trailed off, unsure on how to respond, “yeah, alisa can be hard to please, i guess. ”  

she chose not to comment on anything else. she tried to keep her expression blank, like his words didn’t make her heart accelerate 10x faster.

jameson could tell she still wouldn’t believe the words he had said, how she was handling things, but he didn’t press the matter any longer.

“goodnight, then, heiress.” jameson gave her that lazy half-grin of his.

she hesitated for half a second, then she said “night, jameson.” 

then she turned and climbed back down the way she’d come.

when she was gone, jameson shifted to sit where she’d been, still close to the edge but not quite at it. the bar of dark chocolate lay on the ground forgotten, and he stared out at the horizon, now dotted with stars.

the rooftop felt bigger without her, quieter in a way he didn’t really like. but jameson stayed there, legs dangling over the edge, like he always did. 

jameson stared out into the sky and wondered— when had avery become not just part of the view; but part of the reason he kept looking?

tag list: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams 

@hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm

@danni-1-graysons-version

[merlincmgirl]

Masturbation - Tech x FReader - NSFW

Summary: When you wake up feeling a bit needy and an empty bed, you go off to find your handsome trooper to help you. Only he's got a few ideas of his own for you to try.

Characters: Tech

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader

Word Count: 4,208

Warnings: masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjobs, praise, dirty talk. I think that's it really, if there's anything else, please let me know!

Author's Note: So once I began writing for this one, it just seemed to all flow out of me. I wrote it a bit softer than I thought I would, but Tech deserves all the love and softness in the galaxy.

It had awoken you from a blissful sleep. Heat rolling over you as small cramps pulsed between your legs. You didn’t need to reach in your underwear to know that you would be wet. Whatever you were dreaming about had certainly seemed to arouse you enough that you were feeling needy.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend was readily available to help you out and give you some much needed release. However all you found was cool sheets and an empty bed. Tech had slipped out a while ago it seemed. Normally you would be the one who encouraged and cajoled him back into his bunk with you. It was something his brothers were very thankful to you for; Tech didn’t get enough sleep as it is, but he could never say no to you.

It helped that you couldn’t sleep without him. Every time you slid into bed, he would wrap himself around you, warmth pressed against you as he whispered softly into the quiet atmosphere of his bunk. It didn’t matter what he was saying – sometimes it was facts he had found out that day, a new project he was doing or, stories about different cultures and communities – his voice was always the one that lulled you to sleep.

But now, it seemed that instead of drifting off for a few hours himself before it was his turn on watch, he had instead slipped out of bed and was somewhere on the ship.

You warred with yourself about going to find him, but the pulsing need between your legs was enough to convince you. Just the memory of those long, dexterous fingers curling inside of you had you biting your lip on a moan and clamping your thighs together. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down with, you quietly got out of Tech’s bunk, careful to not disturb the other sleeping troopers around you.

There was only one place that Tech would be if he wasn’t in the bunks. The doors swished open as you walked into the control room. Tech was lounging in the pilot’s chair, long legs swivelled around to rest on the co-pilot’s chair. His eyes didn’t leave the piece of machinery in his hand that he was tinkering with, but he still removed his legs for you to sit down.

“You’re up late, cyare” Tech remarked, glancing up briefly to take you in. “couldn’t sleep?”

Sending him a soft smile, you leant your head on your hand, taking him in. “Something like that. You weren’t in bed when I woke up” you chided, raising an eyebrow at him. Tech didn’t sleep much as it was, and you worried just how long he could go before it all caught up with him.

Tech blinked, looking up at you now and frowning. “I apologise, I had an idea about how to improve the propulsion thrusters of the ship. You looked so peaceful, I did not want to wake you” Tech explained, stopping his tinkering and turning his attention to you.

“Thank you, love” you smiled, feeling the ache thrum through you now that you were sitting next to your lover and how thoughtful and adorable he had been.

“You have not told me why you are out of bed. Was it another nightmare?” he frowned, placing the contraption down and reaching to squeeze your knee. Nightmares were a common enough occurrence for everyone aboard the Marauder. It wasn’t unusual to have your fair share of them as well, especially as you’ve been by their side throughout the war.

“No, not this time. I actually had a really good dream” you admitted, lips pulling into a teasing smile as you squeezed your thighs together. Already you could feel the slick soak into the material of your pants.

“Oh, what was this dream?” Tech asked, his eyes running up and down over you, scanning your face as he catalogued every minute expression. He must have seen something he liked because his breath hitched a little.

“Hmm, you know, I can’t really remember the details but I know that I woke up feeling very, very wet” you grinned, parting your legs slightly so his hand fell to your inner thighs. “Do you want to feel?” you smirked suggestively, trailing your hand down your body until you reached the hem of your sleeping shorts.

Tech’s eyes went wide, everything in his mind screaming at him to lean forward, yank off your pyjamas and pull your legs wide so he could see just how wet you were. However, a thought popped into his head, it was the perfect opportunity to collect data to confirm his research as well as tick something off his kink list. There was a number of things he still wanted to try, but this was the perfect opportunity for one of them.

Sliding his hands up your thigh until he could feel the heat of your core through his gloves. He could just imagine how wet you were underneath your shorts and pants. “Cyare, may I request something different this time?” he asked, eyes rising to meet your curious but loving ones.

“Of course you can Tech, this is a partnership. You’re free to express your wants as well” you reminded, hands slipping to entangle in his own. It had been something you were determined to teach the boys, putting their happiness first and that it was okay to have wants and needs that went against their training or orders. It was still an uphill battle some times, all of them stubborn and loyal to a fault, but you were getting there, especially with Tech.

He used the hand entangled in his to tug you up from the chair and pull you into his lap. Helping you settle against him, you couldn’t help admire his beautiful brown eyes through his goggles. They were beautiful, and warm and reminded you of the hot chocolate that you used to make with your grandma whenever the weather turned cold.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tech frowned, hands coming to rest on your hips as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into your shorts.

Unable to help it you let out a little giggle at the stupidity of the genius clone. “Because I love you, di’kut. Always have and always will” you muttered, resting your head against his.

Tech sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you close to him in the pilot seat. “And I haven’t even taken my clothes off yet” Tech remarked, lips quirking up into a small smile.

“Ha-ha, look who think he’s a comedian!” you retorted, rolling your eyes at him before pressing a swift kiss to his cheek. “Now come on, tell me what you were thinking about” you encouraged, cupping his face and stroking your thumb along his sharp jaw line.

“I want to see how we feel while we both mutually pleasuring ourselves in front of the other. From what I’ve found, my research indicates that it can be a very enjoyable and pleasurable experience for all involved. And the feel of someone’s eyes on you, watching you touch yourself can heighten your own pleasure” Tech explained, eyes eager behind his goggles as a blush filled his cheeks before heading south down his neck.

“You want us to get off in front of each other?” you stated, making sure that you had heard him correctly. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do it, you did, it would be a very fun experience for both you and Tech, but it was something that Tech had never brought up before.

“Technically, yes. Although if you do not wish to do this, we can continue with treating your night time urge in another way” Tech replied, heat rising through him as you ran your hands down his chest, resting on his racing heart.

The thought of it did excite you, the sight of him touching himself, jerking himself off to you, while he watched you do the same did have an appeal. But you thought about the ache in your core, the need to be filled and you warred with yourself. There was nothing to say that you couldn’t ride him in the next round.

But Tech so rarely asked for anything, especially for himself. So how could you deny him his request when you wanted to try it just as much as him.

“Alright then, how do you want to do this?” you agreed, leaning forward to press small kisses along his jaw and towards his ear lobe. Nipping it with your teeth had a full body shudder rolling through Tech. Giggling, you repeated the same on his other side.

“I want you sitting opposite in the co-pilot’s chair, cyare. Take these off” he murmured, tugging on your pyjamas. Just as you went to get off his lap to do as he asked, one of his large hands came to the back of your neck, pulling you down to meet his lips.

Tech always kissed like it was a new experience for him, always taking the time to map out your mouth, leave little nips and licks to your lips to encourage more moans out of you. His kisses were always something you adored, all encompassing and all consuming as you lost yourself to the feel of his lips against yours, bodies pressed close to the other.

“What was that for?” you breathed, panting slightly at the breathless kiss.

“Thank you, for agreeing to do this for me” he replied, voice shaking a little. He wasn’t unaffected by the kiss either.

Smiling sweetly, you cupped your lover’s face and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I’m doing this for me as well, Tech. I want to explore this with you” you assured him, nuzzling your noses together before climbing off his lap and stepping away. “But I think you should get naked too” you suggested, playing with the hem of your shirt teasingly.

“Yes, excellent suggestion, cyare” Tech nodded, stripping off his blacks in record time. He was so cute in how eager he was to try this with you.

Not wanting to leave him the only one undressed, you too pulled off your shirt and tugged down your shorts and panties, kicking them to the side. The cool air of the control room had you shivering a little, goosebumps raising along your flesh.

Taking a seat in the chair, you pulled your legs up to balance your heels on the edge of the seat, spreading them wide to give Tech the perfect view of your cunt. A flirtatious smirk crept over your face as you looked at him, his eyes glued to where you were leaking because of both the dream and Tech’s suggestion. “This what you had in mind, love?” you teased, hands drifting to your chest as your nipples pebbled in the conditioned air.

Tech’s eyes shot up to yours, blown wide behind his goggles and an awe expression on his face. He couldn’t believe one of his fantasies was coming to life right in front of him. You looked absolutely gorgeous spread out like this for him, and he could feel his cock start to harden more at the sight. He thanked the gods that he had already stripped his armour off for this watch. His codpiece would have been way too tight for any rational thoughts to stay in his brain.

“Yes… you look beautiful, cyare” he breathed.

You blushed at the sincerity in his voice. Not that he would lie to you, but sometimes it was hard to take in his loving compliments.

Deciding to distract yourself, you ran your eyes over Tech’s lithe but sculptured body. Taking him in, you enjoyed the way his muscles tensed and jumped under your heated look. Oh what you wouldn’t give just to touch him, or run your tongue down the contours of his chest.

Travelling lower, you allowed yourself to look at him, just as much as he had looked at you. The bronze skin of his half mast cock gave way to the dusty pink head at the top and you couldn’t help but bite your lip to contain your moan as you watched it twitch under your gaze. It seems that you weren’t the only one affected by the little game that you were playing. He was rapidly hardening under your gaze and you sent him a wild smirk. He blushed even more, hands coming to fidget with his goggles nervously.

“Going to record this, love?” you asked, excited to look back on the recording if he was. Tech was known to record nearly everything, a hobby of his. And you were no stranger to being his muse.

“If I may?” he asked, seeking your permission. With a nod from you, the red light on the corner of his goggles flickered and blinked into life. “Good, I want you to touch yourself for me. I want you to make yourself feel good” he instructed, legs widening as he adjusted his position in the seat.

Licking your bottom lip, you watched as his cock bobbed at the movement. You wished you could take him into your mouth, get a taste of him while he helped you seek your own release. But you had been told to touch yourself, and that was something you were good at.

If nothing else, you knew your own body, what brought you pleasure, what a swipe of your fingers could do. How a harsh tug on a nipple would feel and how to get you over the edge in record time. This would be something you enjoyed. So you started on your chest, giving teasing, barely there touches to your nipples, encouraging them to stiffer peaks.

As they hardened under your touch, you began to work them in your fingers, rolling the nipples in your fingers before squeezing and massaging your breasts. Pushing them together as you continued to feel the heat building and building in your body.

A small gasp left Tech, and you couldn’t help but grin wickedly at him. He always loved your breasts and thighs, preferring to squeeze them and mark them up with his mouth and fingers. So you sighed softly in return, letting the way his eyes run over you. It left a trailing heat in their wake but Tech was right, it was certainly adding to the pleasure of it all.

When your nipples were sensitive from your attentions, you slid your hands down your stomach. You kept your touches light and teasing, just enough to entice but not enough to get you really worked up. You wanted to get these together with Tech. So you trailed your fingers over your stomach and down to your hips, tracing patterns into your skin that you didn’t even think about, just doing what felt good to you.

“Mesh’la” Tech breathed, and you peeled your eyes open to see that Tech was staring at you, face flushed and mouth slightly open.

“I thought this included both of us touching ourselves, Tech” you prompted, tilting your chin towards the hard cock that was straining between his spread thighs.

Tech seemed to have forgotten about his own pleasure, too lost in watching you and seeing how your touches were electrifying you. It wasn’t easy to distract Tech, but you couldn’t help but feel a shot of pride shoot through you at how the way the normally controlled clone was unable to complete his own task.

“Come on, Tech. I want to see you touch yourself” you encouraged, letting out a groan as he finally – finally – began to touch himself.

Tech took himself in hand, his grip tight but not restrictive as he gripped the base of his cock. Realising that he needed lube to make this feel amazing, he reached into his belt and pulled out the bottle of lube he carried everywhere. Just in case. Drizzling some on his cock, he hissed at the cool temperature, but it did nothing to cool his desire as he began to stroke up and down his shaft. A small moan escapes from his lips, thoughts running wild of just how it would feel to sink into you. To feel just how wet you looked as he could see your glistening folds in the low light.

Unable to pull your gaze from him, you slid two fingers down between your legs, brushing against your bundle of nerves. It had you gasping, legs twitching a little at the spark that small touch sent through you. As you continued to tease your clit, you watched as Tech pumped his cock. It was a pretty cock, just like everything about Tech was pretty. His cock curved slightly, but was quite long and of a normal girth. It felt amazing inside of you, and you couldn’t wait to feel him. You’d pin him to the chair and ride him if you had to.

Honestly, just watched the way his skin began to flush, the sweat beading on his temple as he kept his eyes on you as well as pleasuring himself and the way his eyes couldn’t move from you had you feeling like you’d combust from this alone.

Deciding that you had enough teasing, you parted your lips, exposing your centre to him and making him groan out in want. Your fingers easily slid along your slit, you were soaked, slick pooling and collecting on the chair beneath you. Distantly you couldn’t help but feel sorry for whoever would be sitting in the chair next. You definitely would have to clean all of this up.

“Go on, cyare, push your fingers inside. I want to see you” Tech instructed, focus now on your entrance as you did what he said. He let out a small growl in answer to your cry as you pushed both fingers in. They were eased in due to how wet you were, the slick aiding in the stretch. “Good girl, mesh’la” Tech breathed, gulping slightly as he ran a thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum that was beginning to leak from there and spreading it down his shaft.

Hooking your legs over the arm rests to help keep you spread wide for him, you let out a tiny cry of Tech’s name, conscious to not be too loud. You didn’t want anyone coming in to disturb you. You began a teasing rhythm, pushing in slow and withdrawing fasts as you curled your fingers inside of you. When you realised that Tech was matching your pace, you felt your breath tighten in your throat and your cunt clenched around your fingers.

It must have been clear to see for Tech because he moaned your name, his other hand coming down to cup and cradle his balls for a moment before withdrawing. Slowing his hand down to match your pace once more, he let out a low groan at just how beautiful you looked all spread out before him, two fingers buried inside of you.

“You’re prettier than the stars above, cyare.”

Heat flooded your face at his words, feeling the way his compliment sunk into your skin. Every time he complimented you, it made you feel so beautiful and loved. Tech would never lie to you, so if he told you that you were beautiful and pretty, then he meant every word. It was spoken as fact, and Tech was rarely wrong.

“Tech! You can’t say stuff like that” you gasped, hips bucking into your hand as you pressed another finger inside of you.

“Why not?” he frowned, fearing he had upset you.

“Because how am I meant to think when you say stuff like that” you whined, finding that sweet spot inside of you as you began rocking against your hand. The other slid down to rub at your clit, making you flutter around your fingers some more.

“Fuck Tech!”

Forcing your eyes to stay open, no matter how much you wanted to close them and sink into your pleasure, you watched as Tech began to massage and roll his balls with one hand, the other continuing to pump his leaking length. Oh why did he have to suggest this? You wanted to touch him, you wanted to kiss him and feel just how much you were affecting him.

After waking up half ready to orgasm, and your teasing touches and the mouth watering sight before you, you could tell that you were close to the edge. But there was something you need. You needed Tech. You didn’t know if you could fall over the edge like this. But Tech could always give you mind shattering orgasms, even when he was pushed for time, he always found a way to satisfy you.

“Won’t you help me? You know I don’t like getting off on my own” you pouted, hoping that would convince him to come over here and fuck you through the chair.

“Just a little longer, cyare. You can do that for me, right? I want to see you fall over the edge just watching me stroke my cock to you” Tech panted in encouragement, nearing his own end.

“Please!” you begged, increasing the pressure on that spot inside of you and rubbing at your clit in a way that you knew would push you over the edge. So why was it not doing so now? You wanted to cum. Wanting to adhere to Tech’s lustful words, but it was like you were dangling over a precipice.

“Cum for me” Tech growled, keeping his eyes firmly on you as he bucked up into his hand, teeth gritted as he tried to hold off his own orgasm.

“Tech!” you whined, feeling your release flood through you, legs shaking and panting for breath as your body pulsed with pleasure. It seemed all you needed was his permission before you could fall over the edge.

It took you a moment to realise that Tech was cumming to, his load shooting up to splatter as far as his chest. Both of you were unable to move, just soaking in your releases and slumping boneless against the chairs. Your whole body felt so sensitive, so alighted with the rush of endorphins that came with amazing orgasms.

After a while, you startled as Tech moved, reaching into his belt pouches and crawled over to you. He carefully and reverently washed you down, mindful of how sensitive you still were. With gentle touches, he made sure that you were clean before looking up to smile at you.

Taking a wipe off him, you began to clean him up also, keeping your touches tender and careful as you slid the soft material against his cock. It twitched at your actions, making you giggle and press a kiss to his lips.

“Do you know what, love? I think you were right. Having you watching added to everything” you admitted, running your hand through his hair as he stood up. He scooped you up in his arms, before taking a seat in your chair and holding you on his lap.

“I am glad you feel the same way as I do, cyare. It seems that this endeavour was a success. I look forward to reviewing the recordings when I collect my data” Tech agreed, kissing along your shoulders and up to your neck.

“Maybe we could look at those recordings together sometime? I think that would be really, really hot” you breathed, turning to catch his lips with yours. Tech cupped your face, holding you steady as you kissed, letting all your feelings show in the way you kissed him back.

“I am always open to suggestions, cyare” he chuckled, pulling back just to hold you even tighter against him.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” you wondered, glancing at the clock on the control panels.

Tech sighed, shaking his head before agreeing that it was probably for the best if he could get some sleep. And besides, it was nearly time for Wrecker to take the watch.

“Alright, lets get dressed and clean this place up. We don’t want anyone getting the shock of their lives do we” you grinned teasingly, climbing out of his lap and already reaching for the wipes in his utility belt.

“I assure you, as soldiers, we’ve seen more shocking things than one of us making love to their cyare” Tech rolled his eyes, but helped you clean everything up before helping you step into your clothes.

“I know” you chuckled, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “How about we go and get some rest now, huh? You’ve worn me out without even touching me. That’s a hell of an accomplishment, love” you remarked, handing him the contraption he was tinkering with earlier.

“Believe me, you have also achieved that accomplishment, cyare” Tech smiled, taking your hand in his and leading you out to the bunks so he could wake Wrecker for his shift.

You felt pride swell in your chest. It had been a very successful night all round then. You were quite grateful for whatever you had been dreaming about. It couldn’t have worked out better if you tried.

[jaeyunluvbot]

a forest

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

word count 𝟅𝟈 19.9k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was, until you saw them.

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

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

They didn’t look like they belonged here.

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too.”

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

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

“Honestly? Weird,” you admitted

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

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

You laughed. “True.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s ridiculous...right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

At you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need a hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. “Make that two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeno and Chenle exchange a glance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then there are your parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haechan: “How are you? You okay?”

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

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

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

“Haechan? What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been avoiding him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel your heart race at his words, but your mind refuses to catch up. You’re still trying to grasp what he’s telling you. “I don’t know what to do with this, Haechan. I don’t know how to... handle this.”

“I understand,” he says softly. “I didn’t expect you to just accept it. I’m not asking you to decide right now, but please... don’t shut me out. Please, don’t make me lose you.”

You stand there in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Your heart aches, your mind spinning. You want to believe him, you want to make sense of everything he’s saying, but the truth is, you feel like you’re drowning.

“I... I need time,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I need to think about everything. I can’t just... I can’t just jump into this.”

Haechan’s face falls, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “I’ll give you all the time you need. Just... don’t forget that I’m here. I’ll wait for you, no matter what.”

You nod slowly, your chest tight with the weight of everything. The space between you feels suffocating, yet you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

As Haechan turns to leave, you feel the sting of something you can’t name. You don’t know where this will go, or if you even want it to, but part of you knows—no matter how much you try to push it away, this thing between you two isn’t something you can ignore forever.

Haechan had never felt so isolated.

The moment you told him you needed space, a crack formed in his chest, widening with every minute that passed without you. He tried to pretend it didn't bother him, tried to convince himself that it was for the best. He didn't deserve you—not after everything he’d kept hidden, not after he’d shown you the truth of what he was. But it didn’t stop the hurt.

So, he did what he always did when things got too hard: he locked himself in his room, away from the world, away from the other guys. He could feel the tension in his bones, a gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t the kind that could be filled with food. It was you. He wanted you more than he wanted anything else.

For days, he didn't leave. He didn’t eat. His thoughts were consumed by you—by the way you’d looked at him when you said you needed space, the mix of fear, confusion, and something else. You didn’t understand him, not really, and it hurt more than anything. He could still see the way you’d looked at him when he confessed. He had been so sure. But now, sitting in his dimly lit room, he wasn't so certain anymore.

Meanwhile, you weren't faring much better.

You missed him. That was the truth of it. You hated how much you missed him. Every night, you lay awake, the silence of your room pressing in on you, as your mind replayed the last time you saw him. You wanted to hate him for what he’d done, for the secrets, for everything, but you couldn’t. You still felt that pull toward him, that inexplicable attraction that gnawed at you when you were awake and haunted your dreams when you slept.

The dreams had taken a turn, and you couldn't quite explain it. You would dream of Haechan—only this time, he wasn’t the monster you feared he was. Instead, he was tender, soft in a way you hadn’t expected. He would hold you, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, loved even. In the dreams, he wasn’t hiding anything from you. He laid himself bare in front of you, the words spilling out of his mouth in whispered confessions of how much he cared for you, how much he needed you.

You woke from those dreams more than once, your chest tight, your heart pounding, and your mind spinning with thoughts of him. How could you move forward after everything he’d said? You couldn't just pretend like things were normal again. But at the same time, you missed him more than you cared to admit.

Then one night, as you were finishing your shift, you spotted them.

The guys. Standing outside the hospital, looking like they were waiting for something, or someone. Your heart skipped a beat, and the air felt heavier. You couldn’t stop yourself from walking over to the door and pushing it open, a quiet curiosity drawing you toward them.

They looked at you with a mixture of urgency and hesitation, but it was Jeno who stepped forward, his expression serious.

“You need to come with us,” Jeno said, his voice a little softer than usual. “Haechan’s been... he’s been falling apart. He won’t talk to anyone, and he can’t stop thinking about you. He needs you, Y/N. Please. He’s suffering.”

You could feel the heat rush to your face, your heart clenching. Haechan had been suffering? The thought of him like that twisted something deep in your chest. It was clear he wasn’t handling everything well, and as much as you hated to admit it, neither were you.

“I don’t know...” You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know if I can just—”

“Please,” Jeno interrupted, his gaze softening. “He’s in a bad place, and he won’t get better unless you see him. We’re not asking you to fix everything. We just want you to see him, to talk to him. He needs you more than you know.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You wanted to say no. You wanted to keep your distance, to protect yourself from whatever hurt might be waiting for you. But the truth was, you couldn't bear the thought of him being alone in his pain, not after everything he’d shared with you.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go.”

The drive to his place felt like it took forever.

You stared out the window, your thoughts a jumbled mess of uncertainty, confusion, and the remnants of something that might have been affection. The other guys didn't say much as they drove, their presence quiet but comforting in its own way. You could feel the tension radiating off of them, but they didn't push you, didn't ask anything more than what they had already said.

When you finally arrived at the house, your heart pounded in your chest. You hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the car, your legs shaky. As you walked inside, you found yourself wondering if you were making the right choice.

You cautiously made your way up the stairs towards the room Mark had pointed out to you. Once you reach it, you stand perfectly still, debating on if you should even knock.

And then the door opened.

Haechan stood in the doorway, his usual cocky smile nowhere to be found. He looked different—drained, like he hadn’t been sleeping or eating. His eyes were tired, and he wore the kind of expression that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t explain.

“You came,” he said, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. It felt like a lifetime ago that you had last seen him, and now, standing in front of him, you didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your emotions at war with each other. He looked at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to read you, to figure out what you were feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I never should’ve kept this from you. I... I didn’t want to scare you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “You scared me, Haechan,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know what to believe.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I need you to know... I never wanted to hurt you. I just... I didn’t know how to handle this, how to explain what I am.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to process everything. “You’re a vampire,” you said, the words tasting strange on your tongue. “How am I supposed to handle that? How do I trust you after everything?”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he said, his voice full of guilt. “But I need you to understand something... You’re not just anyone to me. You’re... everything. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You had wanted to hate him, wanted to push him away, but something in the way he looked at you, something in the way he sounded, made it impossible to deny that there was something real between you.

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, his eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

You took a shaky breath, your heart racing. "You... You think I’m your mate?"

“I know you feel it too,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t expect you to understand all at once, but I can’t deny it anymore. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for. I don’t want to lose you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a flood of emotions, a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else—something that you couldn't ignore. You didn’t know how to move forward, but you knew one thing: you couldn’t stay away from him anymore.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

Haechan nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Tentatively, you stepped into his arms, your body pressing against his cold, hard frame. The relief that washed over him was almost palpable, and for a brief moment, he almost crumpled under the weight of it.

But then, something shifted in him. The scent of you, so close, was intoxicating, and your proximity was making everything more intense. He suddenly became hyper-aware of how long it had been since he’d eaten. His hunger had never felt sharper.

You felt the change in him immediately. His body stiffened, his breathing shallow as he pulled away slightly, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, voice soft but filled with concern. You studied his face, your fingers grazing over his features in a gentle search for answers.

His face flushed, and he quickly looked away. “Nothing,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, almost panicked. “It’s just... I’m just happy I can finally hold you.”

But you weren’t convinced. Your brow furrowed, a mix of concern and frustration crossing your face. “When was the last time you ate? Or—drank, I guess.”

There was a pause, a moment where he weighed his options, wondering if he could lie to you. But when he saw the genuine worry on your face, the possibility of keeping the truth from you vanished.

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his words muffled but heavy. “The night before I last saw you,” he mumbled, as though he was ashamed.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed him gently away, a frown tugging at your lips. “That was almost a week ago! Haechan, why haven’t you eaten?”

He lowered his gaze, looking almost childlike, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. “I thought you were rejecting me,” he confessed quietly, the words laced with vulnerability. “I didn’t think I deserved to... I didn’t want to take anything from you.”

You sighed, exasperation mixed with tenderness. “You starved yourself for a week over this? You’re crazy,” you said with a soft laugh. “I’m flattered, I guess, but seriously, you need to take care of yourself.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his hands tightening around you, pulling you closer. “Just a little longer... Please, I just need to be with you. I need to hold you.”

Your heart ached for him, and you gently ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him as best as you could. “Haechan...”

A hesitant silence hung between you, and then, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Would—would it help if you drank from me?”

You cringed slightly as the words left your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the awkwardness of the request.

You felt him smile against your skin, his breath warm against your neck as he chuckled softly. “Are you serious? You really don’t have to... I can get it somewhere else,” he teased, his voice low and gentle, but there was an underlying note of something else in it—gratitude, longing.

But still, your heart pounded in your chest, unsure of what to do next.

You hesitated for only a moment before finding the courage to speak again, your voice softer this time, filled with a quiet resolve. “If we’re together, you can drink from me. I trust you.”

Haechan’s body tensed at your words, his heart racing in his chest. He lifted his head slightly, his gaze searching yours for any trace of doubt. When he saw none, he slowly nodded, his lips curving into a soft, almost sad smile.

He adjusted you carefully, his hands gentle as he tilted your head slightly to the side, exposing the sensitive pulse point at your neck. His breath tickled your skin, and you could feel the heat of his body, the tension in him as he hovered, his mouth dangerously close to your skin.

You could hear him whispering softly, but the words were too faint to make out, lost in the hum of your own heartbeat. The sound of him so close, so intimate, made you shiver with anticipation and a strange sense of comfort.

Then, as if to steady himself, Haechan pressed a soft kiss to the spot where your pulse beat the strongest. The tenderness of the gesture made your breath catch in your throat. And without warning, his lips parted, and you felt the sharp sting as his fangs pierced your skin.

For a brief second, there was only pain, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by an overwhelming wave of warmth that spread throughout your body. It was as though the world shifted, your senses heightened in a way you never thought possible. A pleasant tingling ran down your spine, making you feel lightheaded, and yet... anchored at the same time.

Haechan’s grip on you tightened slightly, but his touch remained gentle, as if trying to soothe you through the intensity of the moment. His mouth moved with slow, careful precision, drawing from you in quiet, almost reverent pulls. Each motion sent another surge of warmth flooding through you, and despite the strange circumstances, despite everything, you felt connected to him in a way you couldn't explain.

As his fangs withdrew, there was an ache, but it was nothing compared to the sensation that had built up within you. He licked at the small wound, his touch soft and tender, as though apologizing for the intrusion.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were darker than before, but there was a new softness in his gaze, an emotion you couldn't quite place. He caressed your cheek, his touch lingering as he whispered, “Thank you... I’ll never hurt you, I promise.”

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his words wrapping around you just as much as the warmth still blooming in your veins. “I know,” you murmured, your voice shaky but certain. “I trust you, Haechan.”

And in that moment, despite all the fear, all the uncertainty, there was something undeniably real between you both. Something that neither of you could deny.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 wow omg this one is so long. its also so bad but i rewatched twilight and had to write this. might write a continuation later on, possibly smut

masterlist.

[lachencha]

A Million Springs: Anya Mouthwashing x Reader

i updated today?

you know i had to double itttt

this was based on my dreems

i hope you guys like it! and thank you for liking and reblogging you beautiful people!

does anya’s ghost count as a warning..??

Abandoned sheets of music lay scattered across your desk, with crumpled, balled-up ones overflowing the trash can. Sleepily, you scribble more lyrics onto a fresh page, writing words of love you wish you could've said to her one more time. It's been almost a year, but the ache hasn't dulled. If anything, it lingers sharper in the quiet.

She loved music. She loved when you sang songs to her, when you'd dedicate them to her during a gig. Though you never thought of yourself as much of a songwriter, she liked whatever impromptu melody you came up with. Anya liked everything—oldies, R&B, pop. You smile softly, remembering how diverse her playlists were during your late-night car rides, each song a little glimpse into her ever-curious heart.

You strum your guitar lightly. The sound feels hollow. Usually, Anya would be there beside you, swaying her head to the rhythm as you practiced, sometimes humming, sometimes shyly singing along. She was always self-conscious about her voice, and you never understood why. You told her she was amazing, better than she realized. But she'd always shake her head and laugh, playfully stubborn. She didn't believe you, though you wished she had.

You glance at the mess on your desk and begin sorting the scattered sheets. Anya would've scolded you for leaving it like this, she hated clutter. She used to tidy up your desk while muttering good-natured complaints. It feels wrong to organize it now without her, but you do it anyway, her voice echoing in your mind.

After a quick shower, you slip into bed, your body clean but your mind anything but. You stare at the ceiling, too tired to move but too restless to drift off. The silence presses heavy around you.

"(Y/N)."

Your breath catches. That voice—it couldn't be.

You sit up, your heart racing, and there she is. Your raven-haired beauty, her familiar eyes gazing down at you with a softness that breaks you. Her lips curve into a gentle smile, and you can't stop the tears that well up in your eyes. Slowly, almost afraid she'll vanish, you reach for her. She takes your hand, her touch warm and steady.

“Anya..." you whisper, the name trembling on your lips. You throw yourself into her arms, sobbing.

She holds you tightly, her fingers stroking your hair with the same tenderness you'd missed so desperately.

"I've missed you so much, Anya. You have no idea how much I've missed you. I wrote so many songs, so many poems—everything for you. I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you."

"I know," she says softly, her voice like a balm on your wounded heart.

She guides you to sit beside her, her hands warm against yours. "That's why I'm here," she says. "It hurts me to see you like this, to see you cry. I've heard every song you wrote for me, and I love each one."

"You did?" you ask, your voice breaking.

She nods, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I did. But..."

She hesitates, her eyes searching yours as she holds your hands closer to her chest. "I need you to stop."

Your stomach twists. "Why? Do they bother you?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "It's not that. But I can't bear to see you so broken. I just want you to keep going, my love. I want to see you happy."

You glance down at her hands, tracing the faint lines of her palm. "Do you remember the night we started going out? And you made me play my guitar for you?"

She chuckles softly, a sound that makes your chest tighten. "You kept forgetting the lyrics to that one oldies song."

"And you sang it instead," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was the first time you let me hear you really sing."

"I only sang because you wouldn't stop begging," she teases, her eyes glinting with the memory. "And you made fun of me the whole time."

"Because you were so good, and you didn't even realize it." You grip her hand tighter, your voice trembling. "How am I supposed to keep going without moments like that?"

She looks away, her expression softening. "You'll make new ones," she says quietly. "And one day, they won't hurt as much."

"I don't want new ones," you say, shaking your head. "I want the ones we never got to have."

She cups your face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I want them too," she admits. "But I'm not here to haunt you, my love. I'm here to remind you that you're still alive."

"How can I keep going?" you plead. "You were everything to me. How could I ever forget you?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but you press on, desperate to make her understand.

"Give me a million springs," you whisper, your voice trembling, "and a couple of centuries to adore you. After that, I'll forget you. I promise I'll never bother you again."

She sighs, her expression tinged with sorrow. "That's impossible."

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. "As impossible as it is to forget you."

Her grip loosens, and she lets your hands fall. "Please," she says softly. "I need to see you move on. I can't stand watching you cry over me anymore. Promise me you'll try. Promise me you won't live in the past."

You sigh, your chest heavy. "I'll try," you murmur.

She smiles faintly, her lips brushing your cheek in a final kiss. And then she's gone.

You wake up alone, her words echoing in the silence, and you stare at the empty space where she had been.

She's asking for the impossible.

Not even a million springs would be enough to stop loving her.

[youareinacomawakeup]

Do you guys ever think about the

and also

BECAUSE I DO

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[princessmyriad]

.

[nottsangel]

shared spaces — t.n. & m.r. & l.b.

pairing: fem!reader x theo nott x mattheo riddle x enzo berkshire. new girl au — in which you live together.

warnings: smut 18+, foursome, threeway kiss, oral sex (m. receiving), double penetration (unprotected vaginal and anal sex), fingering, bad italian probably (sorry!), creampie, praise, choking

word count: 4.6k

summary: a night of drinking with your roommates takes an unexpected turn when innocent teasing escalates into a foursome you’ll never forget.

moodboard. nav. more content.

Roommates. That’s all you, Theodore, Mattheo and Lorenzo were. Not friends, fuck no. Just… roommates. Nothing more, nothing less. Roommates you could kill with your bare hands at times, that is— especially when you were lying in bed late at night, headphones turned up to max volume, while all three boys were busy slamming their cock into whatever random girl was foolish enough to go home with them that day. Or when you came back to the cramped apartment, swung open the freezer, and discovered that they’ve eaten all the ice cream you’d been looking forward to eating all day.

Oh, how you desperately wished you were living somewhere else in those moments— anywhere, really. But unfortunately, you didn’t have a choice. You urgently needed a place after breaking up with your cheating ex-boyfriend, and this was the best you could find at that time.

But it was fine. Not great, but fine. You lived your own life, and so did they. You didn’t talk to them much—only when necessary—and avoided them as much as you could. It might sound unfriendly and hostile, you were fully aware of that, but they were too busy bragging to each other about the girls they hooked up with anyway, and you had no desire to be part of that conversation. And it was whatever. You were content like this, minding your own business. And you were planning to continue living exactly like this until you found a better place to live… But was that still what you really wanted?

After a few chaotic months of living together, everything began to change dramatically. As much as you despised these same boys not too long ago—well, you still very much do—the dynamics between the three of you had completely shifted. You weren’t just roommates anymore, no, you were… a little more than that.

What exactly, you might ask? Well, Lorenzo liked to call it RWB (roommates with benefits), which resulted in a slap to the head each time he brought it up. You flat-out refused to ever call it that. And besides, whatever the hell it was, you didn’t even want to label it.

Anyway, to cut straight to the point without beating around the bush any longer— you were having sex with your roommates. Yes, each one of them. All fucking three. The three boys that you used to fight with over the most minuscule things you could possibly think of, are now the same boys pinning you down onto your mattress until you’re drooling all over the sheets ‘cause of how good they were fucking you. It all strangely unfolded so naturally and so gradually, as if the lines between friendship and desire were slowly fading away without anyone noticing. Still, it felt wrong, it felt dirty, but god, it felt so fucking good too.

To go back to the beginning and provide some much-needed context, it all started with them sharing you, actually. But not at the same time— no, that felt far too weird and awkward. Instead, they took turns sleeping with you separately, with each one of them fucking you whenever the mood struck, which happened a lot. Just casually brushing past them in the kitchen and feeling your ass press against their crotch was enough to drag you into their rooms. And it was fucking amazing— each one of them had their own unique qualities, fucking you in ways the others couldn’t.

Theo, for instance, was great at dirty talk and foreplay. He’d shamelessly whisper filthy words to you in Italian with that low, seductive voice of his as his fingers were buried deep inside of you, curling up so perfectly— he never failed to get you dripping wet in an instant.

Mattheo was a fucking god at eating you out— he could make you cum within seconds, the way his tongue skilfully sucked on your clit had you gripping his brown locks tightly.

And Lorenzo? He could put you into positions you never knew were possible, hitting spots so incredibly deep inside of you that your legs trembled uncontrollably each time you found yourself in his bed.

But still, it had its downsides. Fucking each one of them individually meant a lot of sex and left you sore and limping around, which eventually began to exhaust you, pushing you past your limits physically. It was simply too much for you to handle. All three of their sex drives were sky-high, and you, being just one girl in a house with three boys, just couldn’t fulfil their needs all the time. 

So that’s when threesomes began to happen. And ohhh, a new world opened up to you. It was exhilarating, it was experimental, it was even better than the sex before, and with all the attention on you, you couldn’t get enough. So far, you’ve explored every possible threesome combination, and their skills combined were absolutely mind-blowing. You were hornier than ever—more needy, more aroused—and so were they.

But was that really the limit? threesomes? well, you thought it was— until tonight happened. It was just another drunken night with the boys, gathered in the cosy living room, playing whatever random board games you had dug out from the back of your closet, stacked away and long forgotten since you moved in. 

The evening began so innocently, filled with laughter and lighthearted chatter as you drank some leftover alcohol from a party the week prior— until you unconsciously started inching closer to them, the chilly night breeze sneaking through the windows causing you to seek more warmth. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, though. You always became touchy and clingy whenever you were drunk— everyone knew that.

But with them being intoxicated as well, they found it increasingly difficult to control themselves around you, eyeing you with hungry, lustful gazes, especially as your lace bra temptingly peeked out from under your tight-fitting top and your short skirt inched higher with every movement you made. 

Usually, after one of these nights, you’d end up going to bed with one of them—maybe two if the night called for it—but there was always one of them who was too tired or had some other girl come over anyway. Tonight was undeniably different, though, and you could feel it— they all wanted you.

Lorenzo and Mattheo sat on either side of you, with Lorenzo’s wandering hand slowly trailing over your bare, goosebumps-covered thigh, sending shivers cursing through your body, while Mattheo’s hand rested around your waist under your shirt, rubbing gentle circles on your soft skin with his thumb. Their warm hands felt nice on your cold body, but you couldn’t deny the ache building between your legs at both their irresistible touches.

The scent of their musky, aromatic colognes mingled with the smell of all kinds of alcohol, filling your nostrils, as their warm bodies pressed closely against yours, causing a small, amused smile to form on your lips at the sudden realisation that there was more than enough room on the couch for both of them. But no, they wanted to sit as close as possible to you, eagerly craving the feeling of your skin against theirs, even though a barrier of fabric still separated you from them. You didn’t have to read their minds to know how badly they wanted to rip it off your body.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across from you, watching the scene before him unfold with a cocky, lopsided smirk and dark eyes, fully aware that both drunken enzo and mattheo lacked any ounce of self-control strong enough to resist you, so he lazily let them do all the work of getting you aroused and horny before joining. Occasionally, he took a slow sip from his drink, but his intense gaze never left yours, absorbing the way you reacted to their touches and he knew— under your tiny skirt, your panties were soaked already.

And god, he was right. Just the slightest, teasing touch had you dripping wet already, as their firm hands continued to roam over your body, growing more hungrily and desperately with each passing second, both of them breathing heavily on either side of you.

For a fleeting moment, you lock eyes with Theo through your drowsy gaze, his own intense eyes fixated on you as your roommates explored your body, only making you more desperate and turned on.

“Sei così calda.” Theo murmured in a low, husky voice, his eyes glued to your body, eliciting an irritated groan from Mattheo as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh, shut up mate, no one can understand you.” he retorted, frustration lacing his tone. Theo simply chuckled in response, completely unfazed by him, fully aware of the underlying reasons for his annoyance. Mattheo hated it whenever Theo spoke Italian because he knew it gave him an undeniable advantage with girls, who swooned all over Theo the moment seductive Italian words flowed from his lips.

“Be nice, Matt” you warned, trying to appear stern but the alcohol cursing through your system made you uncontrollably let out a small giggle, causing Mattheo’s expression to soften too.

“I am nice. Is having my hands all over your body not me being nice, princess?” he teased with a cheeky smirk, his hand trailing down your bare back under your shirt toward your ass as his eyes hungrily gazed right at you through half-lidded eyes, a combination of lust and intoxication evident in their depths, his warm body merely inches away from yours. Your hazy, drunken state, their warm hands gliding all over your chilled skin, theo’s piercing eyes staring right at you— your head felt like it was spinning.

Suddenly, as if reading each other’s minds, both boys gently yet eagerly brushed your hair from your neck to expose it, then attached their soft lips to the sensitive skin at the same time, sloppily sucking dark hickeys into your neck from both angles. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan, helplessly pressing your thighs together to create some friction as Mattheo and Lorenzo breathed heavily right into your ear, sending electric shivers down your spine.

They were both becoming more and more desperate, frantically sucking on your skin, the alcohol coursing through their bodies and intense desire to have you blurring their minds and causing them to lose all inhibitions. Mattheo groaned in pleasure, taking a not-so-subtle sniff as licked your neck like a popsicle, leaving a slick trail of saliva in his wake. He felt lightheaded, completely entranced by your sweet scent and the softness of your skin, his hand greedily squeezing your waist.

“Mmm, I can, like, taste your perfume… so sweet and… a bit… alcoholic, like a— like a pornstar martini.” 

“What the—” Lorenzo instantly pulled away from your neck, glaring at Mattheo with a disgusted look on his face, his top lip curling in distaste and his brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Mattheo, shut the fuck up, will you?” 

“What did I do now?!”

“You’re ruining the mood, saying weird shit like that.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

Before they could bicker any further, you abruptly grasped both their jaws at the same time and gently guided their heads towards yours into a sudden kiss, your soft lips pressing against theirs as their eyes reluctantly fluttered shut.

You could tell they were hesitant at first, both of them unwilling to touch each other in any way, but the drinks they had earlier were working its magic as you quickly felt their tongues eagerly moving against yours, their hesitation disappearing in a split second.

Soon, all three of you were completely entangled in the kiss, with one of their hands on the back of your head, drawing you in, while another firmly squeezed your bare thigh, as though trying to steady himself. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment as you pulled them closer and closer, spit mixing between you three, and the usually noisy living room was unusually quiet for once, except for the sounds of heavy breathing, soft moans, and wet lips smacking together.

The tension was only rising more, all of you growing more eager with each passing second, your tongues moving in perfect harmony with each other, as though you’d done this a thousand times before. And you were yearning for even more, all of you were, your body trembling with need as your arousal slicked your thighs, dripping onto the couch beneath you. The initial hesitation to touch each other had long faded by now, desire consuming you all, thickening the air with an overwhelming mix of lust and anticipation, until—

“Alright. that’s enough.” Theo broke the silence as he suddenly stood in front of the couch, casting a dark shadow over the three of you. He assertively took your wrist and forcefully pulled you up from your seat, while both boys stared up through drowsy eyes, their swollen, spit-covered lips glistening, and your lipstick messily smudged across their flushed faces, wearing dazed and slightly bewildered expressions that hinted at their drunken state.

In one swift, fluid movement, Theo effortlessly threw you over his shoulder, eliciting a surprised squeal from you followed by a drunken giggle, as he playfully slapped your ass with an amused, mischievous smirk dancing on his lips.

The moment Theo walked into your room, he roughly threw you onto your bed, your body bouncing slightly with the impact as you gazed up at him. In contrast to the chilly living room, the temperature here was more pleasant, with the lingering scent of flowery candles you lit earlier still filling the room.

Theo approached you with a dominant air, each long step creaking on the wooden floor, sending your heartbeat racing. When he finally stood before you, he traced his thumb gently over your burning cheek, before slipping it into your mouth, making you suck on it and he groaned at the sight, his eyes darkening. “So fuckin’ pretty.” 

Heat flooded your core at the sudden praise, your lace panties now uncomfortably soaked with arousal. Drool trickled from the corners of your swollen lips, his thumb still deep in your mouth as you gazed up at him with half-open, dazed eyes. His tall, imposing figure loomed over you, casting a shadow as he tilted his head in approval, drinking in the sight of you beneath him. 

He slowly pulled his thumb out of your mouth, a thin trail of spit still connecting your lips to his finger before he made his way to your bed, lowering himself onto it and motioning with his hand for you to come closer. His demeanour was power-driven, cocky, and lustful, as he leaned back against the headboard, his legs spread wide, his eyes devouring you. You crawled toward him on all fours, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage, your tits nearly spilling out of your shirt as you moved. 

“You look so sexy right now, I might just keep you all to myself tonight.” he growled, his voice low and commanding. He didn’t waste much time before gripping the back of your head and eagerly pulling you into a fierce, hungry kiss, his tongue dominantly entering your mouth, not wanting to waste any of the little time he had alone with you. 

In the background, you could faintly hear Mattheo and Lorenzo still in the living room, their voices muffled through the thin walls as they bickered once again, but you could make out a sharp “don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this!” and frustrated “you really can’t kiss, you know that? we’re never doing this shit again!”, followed by an exaggerated sound of gagging, causing you to giggle into the kiss. 

Theo's warm hand slowly traced from your waist down to your ass, relishing the way you melted under his touch, while his other hand guided yours to his crotch, placing it over his already throbbing erection before he finally pulled away from the kiss.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” theo whispered in a low, sultry voice, the words sending a rush of heat through your body as you palmed him through his tight pants. “All this is for you, amore.”

Just then, you heard Mattheo and Lorenzo stumble down the hallway, their footsteps heavy and unsteady as they sprinted towards your room, clumsily knocking over whatever was in their way, too eager to even care, before finally stepping inside and hastily slamming the door shut.

The first view that met their eyes was your ass raised high in the air, angled perfectly towards them, your skirt having ridden up all the way over your waist, giving them a perfect view of your drenched underwear as you were bent over, hungrily kissing theo. 

“Holy… fuck…” 

“So— uhm, yeah, we’re— we’re here” they stammered, staring at the scene in front of them with their mouths half open and painfully hard boners visible through their pants, forming noticeable wet patches on the fabric.

Theo's hand on your ass then travelled to the waistband of your panties, teasingly sliding it down and tossing it carelessly to the floor, revealing your glistening cunt with your arousal dripping down the insides of your thighs. Both Mattheo and Lorenzo felt as if they were about to explode and could cum at the sight alone already, but were quickly snapped back to reality when you pulled away from Theo's lips and broke the silence. 

“So? You’re gonna help me out or what?” you taunted impatiently with a teasing grin, feeling painfully empty as you squeezed around nothing. They both blinked erratically as they were pulled out of their trance and nodded their heads, eagerness evident in their expressions.

You soon felt both their roaming hands on your body, exploring every inch eagerly with fervent curiosity as they hastily undressed you until you were completely naked, making you more aroused with each tantalising second. You felt their hands everywhere— squeezing your ass, pinching your sensitive nipples, teasingly brushing against your aching cunt. It was driving you wild as you simultaneously unbuckled theo’s belt, staring up at him while he gazed back down at you with that smug, cocky smile that made your heart race.

“You think you can handle all of us at the same time, bella?” you nodded without a second thought, your mind completely consumed by the desperate need for all three of them as you freed Theo’s throbbing cock from his pants, instantly jumping against his stomach as precum leaked from the swollen tip.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” you parted your lips, letting a glistening trail of spit land on his cock as he intently watched you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, biting his lip in anticipation, before your mouth finally met the swollen tip. You gently swirled your tongue over the most sensitive part, causing him to let out a deep, guttural moan, meanwhile behind you, you felt a pair of fingers—you weren’t even sure whose—rubbing your clit in slow circles as you simultaneously heard the frantic unbuckling of belts. 

“Just like that, baby, fuck!” Theo’s hand moved to your head, fingers threading through your hair before taking a fistful of it and pulling your hair back into a loose ponytail, ensuring it was out of your way. Your head slowly sank down, taking him all the way into your mouth until you felt the tip brush against the back of your throat and your lips pressed against his balls, causing Theo to throw his head back in pure bliss.

When you felt two fingers suddenly enter you, you moaned loudly around Theo, the sound vibrating against him as the fingers curled up perfectly against your sensitive g-spot. Feeling desperate for more, you pushed your ass back with the movements, instinctively trying to create more friction as the slick, lewd sounds of their digits pumping deep inside of your wet cunt filled the room, mixing with your soft whimpers of pleasure.

“Fuck, she’s so wet” you heard Mattheo groan from behind you as if you weren’t even in the room, his voice thick with desire as he quickly rubbed circles on your aching clit and watched Lorenzo finger you at the same time, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably, your arousal dripping all over their quick hands. 

“She’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight— I can tell she wants more.” They were bringing you closer and closer to the edge, your release building with each passing second, but he was right— you wanted, no, needed more. You were craving to feel them, both of them.

“Yeah? You want more, baby? You want us to fuck you at the same time, hm?” Mattheo questioned, and you instantly pulled your lips from Theo with a soft plop, panting as soft ‘please’s desperately slipped from your spit-covered lips.

“Alright. But, uh, let me fuck her ass this time, yeah?” Lorenzo demanded at mattheo as he aggressively shoved him out of the way with his shoulder, causing mattheo to stumble to the side before retaliating with both hands pushing against his chest.

“Nah, it’s my fucking turn.” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I'm telling you mate, it’s my tu— alright. rock, paper, scissors to settle this, yeah?”

“Hm, fine… ready? rock…pa—“

“Oh my god, you fucking idiots. Enzo, get under me now before I lose my patience!” you snapped, drunk exasperation lacing your voice while Theo lifted himself from beneath you, shaking his head in a mix of disapproval and amusement, a grin spreading across his face.

“Whatever.” Lorenzo sighed defeatedly as he replaced Theo’s position, pulling you on top of him, his aching cock already nudging at your entrance. Theo settled beside you on the bed, swiftly passing the lube from the nightstand to Mattheo, all while amusingly watching Lorenzo make an even bigger fool of himself. 

“What? You don’t want to fuck me? ‘Cause you can go jerk off in the fucking corner if that’s what you’d rather do.” You hissed at Lorenzo, glaring down at him. His eyes momentarily widened in surprise, before he shook his head in playful defiance and let out a low chuckle. Abruptly, he gripped your jaw, pulling your face close to his, and kissed you hungrily as if apologising. “Oh, c’mon baby, you know I love your pussy.”

A small, satisfied smile uncontrollably tugged at the corners of your lips as he rubbed his cock along your folds, teasing you while gazing up at you with that mischievous, sly smirk of his. He then firmly gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and slowly pushed into your dripping cunt, hissing at the feeling of being swallowed by your warmth. You quickly steadied yourself with your hands resting on his bare chest, feeling him deep inside of you and completely stretching you out, yet still craving more. 

“You ready baby?” Mattheo asked from behind you as he spread your cheeks, gazing down with hungry, lustful eyes. “Mhm, please.” You begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you heard him pop the cap of the lube off before hastily rubbing himself with it and slowly pushing into you.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. The feeling of being stretched out by both of their cocks at the same time was so intoxicating, it left you breathless and made your heart race. It was simply indescribable how good it really felt. The sensation caused you to instinctively arch your back as you clutched the sheets tightly, consumed by sheer pleasure, every nerve ending in your body tingling with electric intensity. Mattheo was now fully inside you as well and patiently waited for you to adjust to the intense feeling.

Theo then firmly gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as you stared up at him through barely open eyes and furrowed brows. “Does that feel good, hm? Having two dicks inside of you?” you nodded with your lips slightly parted in ecstasy, unable to form any coherent sentences. 

“C’mon bella, use your words.” 

“Feels— feels so fucking good, fuck!” 

“Hm, that’s more like it. Open up baby, ‘cause we aren’t done yet.” 

You obediently parted your lips wider to let Theo enter your mouth, his hand pressing against the back of your head guiding you deeper as he let out an almost primal groan, throwing his head back at the sensation of your warm mouth. At the same time, both Lorenzo and Mattheo began to move at a slow, deliberate pace, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the heavenly feeling of them stretching you out completely from both holes. 

Strings of muffled curse words slipped from your lips as Theo mercilessly fucked your face, his piercing eyes staring down at you as he bit his lip, a low growl of pleasure escaping him. The other two boys quickly began to increase their pace, causing you to see stars as they could feel each other move against one another through the thin flesh that separated them, only intensifying the immense pleasure they were already feeling.

“Look at her— she can barely handle it, having three dicks inside of her.” Mattheo taunted, his hands tightly gripping the soft flesh of your ass as he relentlessly slammed into your tight hole at a brutal pace, causing you to moan loudly around Theo's throbbing erection. Your vision blurred as Lorenzo's hand moved to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it possessively, choking you just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

“You’re taking us so well, pretty girl. Doing so good for us.” Lorenzo growled as he gazed deep into your hazy eyes. Your head felt like it was spinning from the intense sensation, both of them pounding into you at a merciless pace, filling both your holes so deliciously while theo thrust into your mouth, making you gag on his thick cock.

The pornographic sounds of heavy breathing, lewd moans, and loud skin smacking completely filled the room, and you were certain you’d hear complaints from your nagging neighbours the next day, but right now, your mind was too clouded by the pleasure to even care. The feeling was beyond words and you couldn’t get enough. 

“Such a dirty fuckin’ slut. One dick just wasn’t enough for you, huh? Sei tutta nostra.” Theo taunted as he slid his hand beneath you to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit while maintaining his brutal pace.

It was becoming too much as both Lorenzo and Mattheo continuously hit your most sensitive spots, quickly sending you spiralling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You moaned loudly, your eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy while your nails dug deep into Lorenzo’s chest. You nearly collapsed on top of him, but theo quickly caught you, holding you up by your jaw with a gentle yet firm grip.

Not much later, Theo and Lorenzo reached their orgasms as well, both emptying themselves deep inside your cunt and mouth while Mattheo pulled out and came on your ass, feeling his warm sperm on your skin in thick spurts, painting you white.

The four of you froze for a moment, trying to catch your breath, chests heaving up and down as if the room was spinning around you from both the aftermath of the orgasm combined with the intoxicated state you were all still very much in. Theo gently wiped the excess sperm from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, hazily smiling down at you. 

Lorenzo was the first to break the silence, much to your annoyance, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he leaned back against the headboard. “So, uhm… roommates with benefits, huh?” 

“NO! Stop trying to make that a thing!” 

“Nice way to instantly ruin the mood, mate.” 

“No offense but I’d rather cut off my own dick than refer to any of you as that.” 

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

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[flowersforbucky]

devil's in the backseat

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.7k

summary/prompt: a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected.

or getting fucked in front of a mirror

author's note: this is my first halloween fic!! this was so much fun to write. if you've read haunting adeline, then you know exactly what inspired the mirror maze scene! also disclaimer i have never been to coney island so if any of this is inaccurate then just pretend ok it's fiction :))

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only content, sex in a public setting, mirror sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, friends to lovers, romanogers makes an appearance! kind of grumpy!reader, protective bucky, random men being creepy, language, reader is afab, she/her pronouns, reader pov, no use of y/n, porn with a little plot, fluff

my masterlist

“I can't fucking believe I let you talk me into wearing this.”

You tug the tight, cherry red colored velvet fabric of the babydoll dress in place for the dozenth time since arriving at Coney Island.

“What? You look hot. Plus, our costumes go great together.”

Natasha's costume mirrors your own - except hers is a pearlescent white and instead of a pitchfork and horns, she dons angel wings and a halo.

“I don't feel hot. I feel cold. It's fifty degrees and the sun hasn't even set yet.” If it wasn't for the black thigh high boots that cover the majority of your legs, you'd be shivering in the chilly late October weather.

“It's not my fault that you put off getting a costume until the last minute and had to pick through what little was left at Spirit Halloween,” she mumbles, passing you one of the cups of apple cider that the cashier hands to her. You gladly accept, sucking down the hot liquid in hopes that it will warm you from the inside.

Her phone dings as the two of you walk towards the rides. “It's Steve,” she informs you as she reads the text message. “They just got here,” she looks back up at you with a smirk on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Bucky decided to come with them.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly hating your borderline provocative costume even more.

“I thought he was leaving for a job in Denver this evening?”

It's not that you didn't want to see Bucky. It's that you didn't want to see Bucky dressed like this. As if you don't already get flustered around him when you're dressed in normal, everyday clothing. The hem of your dress barely conceals the curve of your ass and your tits are practically spilling over the low neckline.

“Guess it's been postponed,” she shrugs, nudging you with her shoulder.

The two of you turn to look in the opposite direction when a familiar voice calls your names. You see Steve, Sam, and Bucky walking towards you. Steve is dressed as a pirate, eyepatch and all. Sam wears a cowboy costume with an oversized hat, concealing the upper half of his face entirely.

And Bucky? Bucky wears jeans and a navy blue Henley.

Yeah, you're regretting any of your life choices that lead up to this moment.

“Well, well, well,” Sam drawls as he tips his hat back enough to take in yours and Natasha’s outfits. “Look what we have here. An angel and a devil. Have you two already entered the costume contest for best duo or should I go add your names?”

“You wouldn't dare,” you scold him. Natasha just laughs, falling into Steve’s embrace as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“We should, you know,” Natasha agrees. “I think we'd have a pretty good shot at winning.”

“Yeah, right,” you retort, looking around at some of the more elaborate, creative costumes that many of the strangers around you are sporting. You notice a man and woman dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz and know that you and Nat wouldn't stand a chance in a costume contest. “And what about you?” You acknowledge Bucky, your eyes skimming up and down his civilian clothes. “Didn't have time to pull together a costume?”

He smirks, his eyes trailing up your figure for a heated moment before he responds. “I'll have you know that I am in costume, actually.”

Steve and Sam both snort in laughter.

“Oh yeah? And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off the shiny vibranium that is his left arm.

“I'm the Winter Soldier,” he says with a smug grin. “Obviously.”

“How creative,” you praise sarcastically.

“Cut me some slack,” he feigns insult. “I was supposed to be halfway to Colorado right now. I didn't have time to pull together anything too cute.” His eyes flicker to your dress and boots at the word cute. If anyone else notices, they say nothing.

“What are we doing just standing around here?” Natasha exclaims, tugging Steve in the direction of the rides and games. “I want to ride every ride and eat funnel cake.”

They race ahead of the rest of you, with Sam close behind, leaving you and Bucky to fall into step beside each other.

“So, why did your mission get postponed?” You ask casually, trying to fight down the nerves that threaten to bubble over every time you're alone with him.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “Fury didn't give much of an explanation. I got the text as I was loading my bags into the car to head out.”

“That's annoying,” you mumble, swallowing the remnants of your hot apple cider. “I'm sorry,” you tell him with a glance in his direction. “I'm sure it was for a good reason.”

He shrugs. “I'm here, so I can't be too mad about it.”

Before you can overthink exactly what he means by that, you're both brought to a halt when a jolly looking man in a Ghostbusters costume steps directly in front of you, blocking your path.

“This little devil looks like she needs a giant sloth!” He exclaims, gesturing towards the prizes hanging above the balloon darts station next to you.

“Oh, no,” you start. “That’s okay–”

“Come on!” The red-faced vendor insists, looking at Bucky. “Don't you want to win your girl a giant sloth? Perhaps a giant giraffe? If she was mine, I'd be winning her any prize she wants. I'll give you five throws for ten doll–”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relents, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. You notice a faint hint of pink blooms along the apples of his cheeks, but he doesn't correct the man when he calls you his girl. “You've worn me down,” he sighs as he shoves a crumpled ten dollar bill into the man's hand.

The man accepts the money with a satisfied, toothy grin and hands Bucky five darts.

“If you get three out of the five throws, you can choose a prize from here,” the man gestures towards a section of smaller prizes. “And if you get all five throws, you can choose–”

The man is cut off by the sharp popping sound of a balloon, and then a second, and a third, until all five darts have been impaled on the board in a consecutive line in a matter of seconds.

“She'll take the bunny,” Bucky tells him before he can erase the stunned look off of his face. He points to a large, flop-eared purple bunny hanging from the upper row of prizes.

Unlike the vendor, you aren't shocked by his perfect aim at all. Anyone who knows Bucky would have known that he wouldn't miss a single shot. You are shocked, however, that he chose the bunny without even asking which prize you want.

The man in the Ghostbusters costume grabs the bunny and hands it to you, surprise still etched on his face. He mumbles a quick goodnight before he's moving onto the next people approaching the stand.

“How did you know I'd want the bunny?” You ask Bucky, trying to juggle the stuffed animal, your empty cup of cider, and your pitchfork all in your arms.

“You like bunnies, right? It was an educated guess.” He shrugs, moving through a thick crowd of people away from the game stations. “Here, let me carry it for you,” he offers when he notices the large stuffed animal is obstructing your vision. You hand it over to him and he tucks it underneath his metal arm.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cheeks heating at the realization that he'd remembered such an inconsequential piece of information about you. You do like bunnies. The cold night air suddenly feels a lot more balmy.

“I'm - uh - I'm going to find a trash can real quick,” you say as you wiggle the empty cup in your hand. Truthfully, you just need a moment to collect yourself.

You begin walking in the opposite direction before he can reply, your eyes scanning the throng of people for a garbage can.

So what if he knows that you like bunnies? It's a pretty trivial fact that probably means nothing. You know that Natasha’s favorite animal is flamingos - because she's your friend. It's normal for friends to know things that their friends like.

Right? Right.

“I like that outfit a whole lot, baby. But I think you'd look even cuter in just the boots and those horns.”

You're so lost in your internal monologue that you don't even notice two men closing in on you as you toss the empty cup into a trash can. Unlike most of the people here tonight, neither of them are in costumes. They stand so close to you that you can smell booze on their breath.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan as you attempt to walk away, but they've effectively blocked you between their bodies and the large garbage can behind you. Wicked grins grow on their faces as you realize that you can't get by them.

“Look, I don’t have the patience for this tonight. Get out of my fucking way.”

“Or what?” One of them taunts. “You'll use that little pitchfork on us? Jokes on you, because we're into that.”

“What if I used it on you?” A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Would you still like that?”

Before they can even turn around to identify the voice, Bucky is pulling him back by the hood of his sweatshirt and throwing him on the ground with little to no effort. The other one attempts to stumble away as Bucky turns his attention to him.

He still has your bunny clutched in his flesh hand - despite the seriousness of the situation, you have to bite your lip to keep from smirking at the sight. You don't know of anyone who could be quite as intimidating while holding a stuffed purple bunny.

“What about you?” Bucky asks, towering over the guy by half a foot. “You got anything you wanna say?”

“I - no - we didn't know she was with someone,” he half slurs, half stutters out. His gaze flickers to Bucky's vibranium hand. The man on the ground manages to stand back up, following after his friend.

“Now you know,” Bucky calls after them as they quickly hobble away.

“I had that handled, you know,” you tell Bucky with a nod towards your pitchfork. “But thank you, anyway. Really.”

He places a gentle but firm grasp on the top of your arms and begins to tug you in the opposite direction, guiding you through the small crowd that had stopped to witness the altercation.

“I have no doubt about that,” he sighs, releasing his grip on you when the two of you are a reasonable distance away. “But I also don't doubt that you handling it would have drawn even more attention.”

He's right. If he hadn't stepped in, your method of handling it would have been even more dramatic.

“They would have deserved it,” you mumble. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid costume.”

“They definitely would have deserved it,” he agrees. “And your costume isn't stupid. You should be able to wear any costume you like without getting harassed by drunk assholes.”

The two of you approach the ferris wheel as it comes to a slow stop, a couple getting out of one of the cars. You and Bucky flash your wristbands to the operator, who offers to hold your pitchfork for you while you’re on the ride.

“Besides,” he continues as you sit down next to each other in the car, the operator locking the gate in place. “I happen to like your costume. A lot.” He turns his head to you, his gaze trailing from the tops of your thigh high boots and up to the felt horns that adorn your head.

There's a shift in energy as the ferris wheel suddenly comes to life, sending you sliding across the limited space of the metal bench seat and right up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease with your face a few inches from his. Close enough to see your reflection in his irises. “Is that why two different people have implied that I'm yours tonight and you haven't corrected either of them?”

“Your costume had nothing to do with that. I wouldn't have corrected them even if you were dressed as a giant banana,” he says, his tone and face both serious. “Does it bother you that I didn't correct them?”

“No,” you answer automatically - eagerly. You should feel embarrassed, but with the way he's looking at you, and how good it feels to be pressed so snug against him, you can't find it within yourself to care. “I didn't correct them either,” you point out.

The ferris wheel comes to a stop to let new people get on when your cart reaches the peak.

“And why is that?” he asks lowly. If you weren't sitting so close to him, you wouldn't have been able to hear him over the obnoxiously loud carnival music that pours from speakers in between the ferris wheel's carts.

He wraps his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into him.

“Because I liked the sound of it,” you answer honestly. Your voice quivers - from nerves, or from a gust of wind that sways the pod still perching at the top of the wheel.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. He places his flesh hand on the exposed skin of your thigh - just above the top of your boot and just under the hem of your dress. His fingertips rest near the crack between your thighs. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart - not much, but enough for him to smirk at your body's automatic response to his touch.

“You like the sound of being my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I do. Is that okay with you?”

He chuckles, his fingers inching further up your thigh. You spread your legs open further, giving him the go ahead to go as high as he wants. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs, just an inch away from the cloth of your panties. He applies pressure with his fingertips, his short nails digging into the sensitive flesh and making you clench your legs around his hand.

“That depends,” he contemplates. “Are you my girl?”

You open your mouth to answer when the sensation of his index finger grazing the fabric that covers your cunt makes you forget how to speak. You sit there with your mouth agape as he hooks a finger into the cotton panties.

He eases a finger through your folds, lubricating it in your slick before adding a second finger and massaging the pads of them over your sensitive clit.

“Feels like you're my girl.”

You become vaguely aware of the fact that the ride is now in motion once more, heading back down to the ground, when Bucky places the stuffed bunny on your lap in an effort to conceal what is happening in the cart that you and him share.

He alternates between slow, languid circles and quick strokes against your clit as the ferris wheel makes its way down and then back up again. You can feel yourself soaking your underwear as the world dizzies around you. You hide your face in Bucky's neck to conceal the pleasure written across your face.

You're seconds away from coming against his fingers, the pressure in your belly building to a climax, when he pulls away and tugs your dress into place. Your gaze snaps up to his, shooting daggers, as the ride comes to a slow stop. He looks back at you with an amused smirk as the operator approaches the cart to unlock the gate.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he tells you in a strained voice as he snatches the bunny back from you. “After you,” he motions with his head as the operator holds the gate open for you.

Stunned and speechless at what just happened, you stumble out of the cart and down the stairs to the ride's exit with Bucky behind you - both of you completely forgetting about your pitchfork. You can't help but snort a laugh at the position of the large stuffed animal - directly over Bucky’s crotch.

“Real discreet,” you tell him, glancing down at the bunny and then back up to the semi-pained expression on his face.

“I have to admit, right now this thing is worth every penny that I spent on it,” he sighs, and then removes one hand from the bunny to place it on your lower back. “Follow me,” he instructs with a smirk.

He guides you through the crowd and you follow him without question, just trying to ignore the wet ache between your legs.

You shoot him a quizzical look when you arrive at the house of mirrors. You haven't been in a mirror maze since you'd gotten lost in one at ten years old.

There's an attendant sitting in a chair outside of the entrance who unenthusiastically greets the two of you. Bucky reaches into his pocket, digging out his wallet for the second time that evening. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and flashes it at the elderly man smoking a Pall Mall.

“Take this and don't let anyone else in until we come out,” Bucky tells him before dragging you into the attraction. You and the gray haired man both go wide eyed.

“What was that?” you cackle as the door slams to a close behind you. Bucky doesn't answer, just grabs one of your hands in his and begins guiding you through the maze of mirrors as if he's been here a hundred times.

The entire place is lit by bright, neon red lights that only aid in further confusing your sense of direction. Bucky doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, finally coming to a stop after a few minutes of maneuvering through the endless mirrors.

“You never answered me, you know,” he says as he drops your bunny to the floor. “When I asked if you're my girl.” He smirks at you, stepping closer to you and backing you against the mirror behind you.

“You just paid that man a hundred dollars to get me alone,” you jab as you pull him to you by the front of his Henley. “I think it's safe to say that I am.”

He smiles as you pull him down to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands trail down your back until they land where your thighs meet the curve of your ass cheeks. You release months worth of tension into the kiss, sweeping your tongue along the swell of his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth the second that he parts his lips for you. He groans into the kiss, kneading the globes of your ass with his fingers. You can feel a prominent bulge through his jeans against your stomach.

Adrenaline begins to kick in when he pulls away, looking down at you with lust blown pupils. He sinks to the floor below you, kneeling in front of your cunt as he raises your dress around your waist and tugs your panties down your legs and over your boots. He slips them into his back pocket before hiking one of your legs across his shoulder.

You can already feel your juices leaking down your inner thighs before his mouth makes contact with you. When he does, you lean your head back against the glass behind you in pleasure.

He sucks your clit between his kiss-swollen lips with an obscene pop before running his tongue down your folds. He plunges his tongue inside you and you grind yourself against his face, chasing the release that you were seconds away from on the ferris wheel.

He moans at the taste of you and the vibration has your walls clenching around his tongue. You ride out your orgasm on his face, the neon red lights blurring and spinning around you.

Despite the fact that your legs feel like jelly, you pull him up to you as soon as you're able to form a coherent thought. You clumsily paw at the button of his pants and his zipper, and he shoves both his jeans and boxers down over his ass, just far enough to free his cock.

He places both of his hands just under your armpits and lifts you as you instinctively lock your legs around his hips.

The head of his cock nudges your wet folds, your juices coating his length before he nudges it inside you.

You feel full before he's even halfway in you. Your walls constrict around him and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he adjusts to the sensation of you.

“Fuck, that's tight. You're perfect,” he grunts as he sheaths the rest of his length into you. You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

He has total control as he cradles you between his body and the cold, hard mirror behind you. He sets a harsh pace, his head ramming against your cervix at the sweetest angle from his position beneath you.

He manages to support you with the strength of only his vibranium arm as he brings his flesh hand between your bodies, once again massaging your clit in rapid circles as he fucks up into you.

You cum around his length in a shockingly short amount of time, digging your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he follows after you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum.

You stay in the same position after you've both reached your climax, panting against one another in the claustrophobic feeling space.

“We should probably go find our friends,” you say breathlessly with a kiss to the side of his face. “Sam's probably getting sick of being a third wheel.”

He pulls out of you, his cum running down your thighs and ass cheeks. He gently lowers you back down to the ground as he begins to tuck himself back into his pants.

He laughs, cupping your face in his hands as he pulls your lips to his once again.

“If he hates being a third wheel, just imagine how much he's going to hate being a fifth wheel.”

[euthymiya]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[thinkinonsense]

call me if you're lonely⟡

old man!logan howlett x phone sex hotline worker!reader

cw: dirty talk, mutual masturbation

author's note: very short. just an idea that came to mind.

masterlist

this is so desperate, logan thought to himself as he dialed the number written on the fourth page in the second column. in pretty cursive words it read, call me if you're lonely!

your number had been living in the back of his head for almost a month now but he never got this close to calling it. in the column, it's written that you are a college student working on your masters degree and that you are very popular within your profession as a phone sex hotline worker. honestly, logan didn't care if you just started yesterday. he's been so stressed and overworked lately that he needs a release soon. logan waited as the phone rang after entering his card information. he's sat up on the old mattress under him, waiting patiently to see if anyone answers.

on the third ring, someone picks up.

"thanks for calling, hush hotline." you say, giving him the typical welcome speech before jumping straight in. "what would ya' like me to call you tonight, sugar?"

the sweet tone in your voice made logan's boxers feel tighter. resting his hand on top of his heavy cock, squeezing lightly and slowly stroking himself over the thin material.

"james is fine, honey." logan mutters.

"i like the way you call me, honey." you purr, getting relaxed in bed.

you had a long day; woke up late, missed class, messed up during important meeting at work and needed to blow off some steam. normally, the people you talk to over the phone don't have an effect on you, instead opting to fake it and offer phony pornstar like moans but something made you want to give it another shot.

"is that so?"

the stranger's voice was rough around the edges. deep, cold, straight to the point. it sent a shiver up your spine. usually, your customers were weak. willing to give into your every word and fully submit to you.

"mhm," you hum, lightly running your fingers up and down your thigh. "so, what's gotcha call in tonight, james? rough day at work or you just wanna hear me touch myself for you?"

"bit of both." he was already lost in this little world between the two of you.

“aw, can’t wait to make you feel good." you tell him, playing with the lace of your underwear. "wanna hear what i'm wearing right now?"

"mhm." he grunts.

"a white t-shirt and lacy blue underwear. wish you were here to take them off of me." you sigh, slipping your hand under the waistband.

"what would you do if i was there right now?"

"hmm, think i'd start by kissing you, making sure you get nice and hard for me then i would beg you to fuck my tight throat for hours. are you hard for me right now?"

"y-yes." logan sighs, trying to slow down a bit.

"that's sweet, james. got me blushing just thinkin' about it." you run your middle finger through your folds, gathering the slick and circling your button a couple times.

"just blushing?" he teases, catching you off guard.

"not 'just blushing'." you giggle softly. "you also got me r-really–ah, fuck! really soaked."

logan could hear the obscene squeak of you dipping your fingers inside of yourself. his chest moves up and down at the same rhythm as his strokes. your pretty little gasps made it difficult for him not to release right away.

"s-shit, honey." he groans, listening to the small wet slaps of you fucking yourself. "wanna taste that pussy of yours. i'm sure it's as sweet as that fuckin' mouth you got on you, honey."

never have you actually gotten wet from the men that call you. most of them let you do all the talking, only offering moans and whimpers. you couldn't quite place a finger on it but something about james was doing it for you.

"w-wish it was you inside of me instead of my fingers." you whine, tickling the spot that makes your vision blur.

"bet you would look so pretty wrapped around my cock, honey."

"i would look even prettier with you dripping out of me." faintly, you can hear him shuffling around, trying to stifle his groans. "don't hide yourself, baby. wanna hear you."

like a rubber band, something snapped inside of logan. unable to control his noises anymore, he's fucking his fist faster than before, chasing after every little moan you let out.

you move to rubbing your button switching occasionally, picturing the man that you believe james to be. a little older and rugged. maybe even someone your father would be friends with. someone you would definitely have a secret crush on.

logan's hips thrusted with need. the louder you got, the faster his orgasm was approaching. he had to hold off, he thought to himself. hear you cum first. by the broken whines and little hiccups you let out, he could tell you were only moments away from your release.

"f-fuck, i'm so close." you squeal, legs shaking a little as you near your high.

"me too, honey."

within seconds, your head is thrown back against the silky pillow case. the sheets under you were drenched but you were too full of bliss to care. logan finally allowed himself to let go as well, pearly white spurts coating his lower stomach and even some landing on his tank top. it's quiet for a minute or so before your little giggles can be heard on the other end of the line.

"something funny?" he asks, confused.

"no, no, it's just..." you giggle again with a sigh. "ever since i started this job, no one's ever made me orgasm. at least not like that."

"hm.." logan couldn't fight off the smile creeping on his face. "might need to call more often then."

"i'll be looking forward to it."

[lowkeyremi]

Hey pookie, love your work and I hope you’re having a great day so far. I would like to request Haikyuu men x reader but instead of them giving reader silent treatment, we’re giving them the silent treatment. I would also prefer if it’s the same guys too. Hope this isn’t too hard and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to do it. Sorry if in any way it sounded rude, love your style and all of your posts ❤️

SILENT TREATMENT PT 2 !

pairing: suna, tsukishima, ushijima, osamu, sakusa, and iwaizumi x fem!reader (separate) note: hiii lovely!!! u don’t come off as rude at all so don’t even worry!! if anything I’m glad to write this. It’s just what I needed after coming back from my break. summary: men can be so irritating sometimes! what better way to deal with it than ignore them? (don’t do this irl, communicate is key!!!) content: slight angst to fluff, silliness, established relationships (marriage for a few + plus the same babies from the prev fic), cursing, reader is sassy, not proofread!!!! wc: 3.3k

SUNA:

“Are you seriously ignoring me right now, babe?” Rintaro stared into your soul waiting for an answer. He knows the answer already but he’ll do anything for you to talk to him.

Instead of giving him answer, you just scoff and make your way to the bedroom, where you will most definitely lock him out.

“Come on, I’ve already apologized. What else can I do?” The brunette is right on your tail. Sometimes you forget that his height allows him to cover more space than you. He’s practically right behind you.

“You can leave me the hell alone, Suna.” Last name treatment? Yep. He’s 100% fucked up. You know in his eyes it’s not a big deal but you see it as a big deal.

Your boyfriend was supposed to pick you up from work today but he had forgotten, and one top of that he went out and got drinks with his friends. Not to mention you waited a whole hour thinking maybe he was running late or something. Once you called him and realized he forgot, an uber was called and you went home.

Just as you’re about to reach for the doorknob of your bedroom, Rintaro grabbed your wrist forcing you to stop.

“Let. Go.” You say through closed teeth.

“Please listen to me,” He’s… pleading? Your boyfriend never pleads for anything- well that’s an exaggeration, he rarely pleads for things.

“Start talking.”

“As I said earlier, I am very sorry, baby. I felt like I was forgetting something today, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Next time you need me to come get you, send me a text an hour before you get off work, okay?” His voice is tender and soft. Nothing like his usually snarky and playful attitude.

There’s a petty urge to not forgive him just yet, but at the same time, he’s being super sincere and honest. All you do is sigh and take your hand out of his grasp.

“If you’re really sorry, buy me dinner.” His mouth ticks up into a small smirk.

“What do you want to eat?” He asks.

TSUKISHIMA:

Kei tries to go in for a kiss, again, with no luck. He’s looking at you with the most lovesick look, because you always fall for it.

“I wasn’t laughing at you.” He says AGAIN, which is a lie. He was laughing at you and of course you’re mostly immune to Kei’s quips and remarks, but you were feeling a little butt hurt after he laughed at you.

“You WERE laughing at me, Kei.” His long, pale arm reaches for the baseball cap on your head, but before he can take it off you grab his hand and squeeze it as hard as you can.

“Ow- shit, that hurts.” He says trying to pry his hand from your grip.

“Yeah well that’s how I felt when you laughed.” You let go of his hand and turn away from him. You’re both sitting on the couch but you’re facing away from him.

“I’ve already told you, I wasn’t laughing at you, it just caught me by surprise.” A little “hmph” leaves your lips and you cross your arms.

Before Kei went to go get the groceries you told him you were going to do something to your hair, a slight adjustment. He’d only been half listening at the time, so when he walked in to see your hair, he started to laugh on instinct.

Of course you felt insecure and went to put on a baseball cap to cover it up.

“Can I see it again?” He asks very softly, his hand ghosts over your shoulder and you don’t lean away from his touch this time.

“Fine, but I swear if you fucking laugh, you’ll have to asking Yamaguchi if you can stay over at his place cuz I’ll kick you out.” His angelic little chuckle blesses your ears.

“Kick me out of the place we both pay for?” He asks, quite assumed at your statement.

“Yes.” Before he can get another word in you slowly take the cap off for him to see.

His hand creeps toward your head, he hesitates right when he’s about to touch your hair.

“Can I?” He’s so polite despite how mean he can be.

In an effort to remain salty you say, “I don’t care.”

His fingers are so gentle when touching your hair that you feel little tingles in your body.

“It’s really cute, babe. Let me just-” He moves a baby hair that’s sticking out, then his eyes meet yours. They’re so beautiful, but so are yours.

“I’m sorry for laughing.”

USHIJIMA:

It had been an accident therefore he didn’t even realize you were ignoring him. He thought that maybe you just wanted some time to yourself.

You waited hours for him to realize you were upset with him, but it never came. If anything you thought he was ignoring you. (That wasn’t true at all though)

Nao notices his parents haven’t talked to each other most of the day, so he comes to you. It’s almost his bedtime and you see that Wakatoshi had given him a bath and he’s got his pajamas on.

Little Nao climbs up your bed and crawls up to you, “Hi baby, what’s up?”

“You not talkin’ to Daddy?” Nao is very perceptive for a three year old.

“Um.. no.” He tilts his head at your response.

“Why?” How can you explain it in kid terms??

"Mommy's not happy with Daddy right now." He nods in understanding but proceeds to ask another question.

“Oh. But why?” Now that you’re thinking about it, it’s kind of childish.

This morning when the two of you woke up, Wakatoshi had asked if you’d seen his wedding ring. Then, proceeded to explain that he had taken it off when he went to work, because he left the chain he usually wears it on at home. So, he assumed it was somewhere in his bag. Of course he found it, but it just ticked you off that he had taken it off with little regard for it.

“A little disagreement is all.” Your son nods again and gives you a hug. He doesn’t like when you guys get into the occasional argument.

They don’t happen often, because you two are able to work stuff out. When they do happen you both agreed that they shouldn’t be in front of your son. Not only because it’s not right, but because Wakatoshi had grown up in a household where his parents constantly argued with little regard for how he felt on the matter. He would never subject Nao to that.

“It’s time for bed, Nao.” Wakatoshi says. How long has he been standing there?

“Okay, Daddy.” Nao kisses your cheek before scurrying off of your bed. Since he’s not good with noise control yet, you over here him asking Wakatoshi to make up with you, because he doesn’t like when you guys are unhappy with each other.

After twenty minutes your husband returns. “So you were upset with me?” It’s so like him to get straight to it.

“Yeah, I was kind of ignoring you until you came to me, but I forgot you can’t really pick up on those queues.” He nods, almost abnormal like. He rids himself of his shirt and turns the lights down.

After he’s done doing that, he joins you in the bed.

Right as you’re about to explain yourself he speaks up, “it’s because I had forgotten my ring, right?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

“Yes, and I see now that it was childish of me. You’re human, we all slip up.”

“No, no, I understand. I think I would be a little upset if you’d taken your ring off and tossed it somewhere.” He says, olive colored eyes looking into yours.

“You tossed it?” He shakes his head at the misunderstanding.

“I did not. I was just using it as an example.” Relief washes through you and you scoot closer to hug your husband. His skin feels so warm.

“Okay, good.”

“Are we alright now?” He asks hugging you back.

“Yes.”

OSAMU:

Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be staying at Atsumu’s place instead of your shared home with his brother, but yet here you are.

Speak of the devil Atsumu knocks on the guest room door and you tell him to come in.

“What’s up?” You’re pretty sure he’s going to ask you to talk to his brother. He’s been calling and texting you for the past three days. He’s probably been calling Atsumu too.

“Can ya just talk it out with him? ‘Samu’s been blowin’ up my phone, ‘n I know he’s probably been calling ya, too.” He looks tired of the both of you and you feel bad putting him in the middle of this mess, but there’s no way you’ll be talking to your husband anytime soon.

“No.” Atsumu sighs almost knowing you would say that.

“He’s worried about ya, ‘n I’m sure he’s very sorry too.”

Three days ago Osamu had a very busy and stressful day at the shop, it was just awful. When he arrived home it was evident that his day was shitty, so you tried to cheer him up.

That only made matters worse, as he proceeded to yell at you to “leave him the fuck alone.” and “your voice is making my head hurt.” Even though you knew he was saying that in the heat of the moment and he didn’t mean it, it still hurt to hear.

You yelled back at him telling him that you were doing what you could to make him feel better and that he was an asshole. When he didn’t say anything in return you rushed to the bedroom to pack a few days worth of clothes and get the hell out of there.

Was that a little bit extra? Yes. You could have probably just slept in your own guest room or on the couch, and then talk it out in the morning, but you were so pissed that your logic went straight out the door.

“Well… er… I-” You could see the guilt in Atsumu’s eyes when a string of loud knocks were heard.

“You called him over?” Atsumu looked away as not to meet your eyes.

“I caved when he said he was worried about ya ‘n ya didn’t even tell him where ya were goin’” Atsumu faked a cough before excusing himself to get the door.

Within seconds you see your husband standing at the bedroom door and your heart breaks when you see him. It had only been three days (2 nights) and he looked exhausted and miserable.

Before you could get a word in he dashes over to you and embraces you in a tight hug.

“Baby ‘m so so sorry.” He chants over and over.

“Please don’t do that again, ya scared the livin’ shit outta me.” Osamu was always better at hiding his accent than Atsumu, but when he was really stressed it would come out.

“I didn’t mean for you to worry like that, ‘Samu. I didn’t really think when I left.” He sits himself down on the bed not letting you go, he places you on his lap and you’re basically straddling him.

You squeeze him back just as tight. “I was so mad that you talked to me like that.”

“‘n I’ll never do it again. Even on my bad days ya don’t deserve that.”

You take in a big whiff of his cologne and you audibly relax in his arms.

“You better not because I might slap you next time.”

“Feel free to.” He says.

Atsumu ruins the moment with the most obnoxious fake gag, “Are ya straddl- actually I don’t fuckin’ care. Do that at yer own damn place!!”

SAKUSA:

When you woke up to your alarm, you realized Kiyoomi already left for work. Which that in and of itself wasn’t a problem. It was the fact that he left without dropping your daughter off for school.

Not to mention that you had a very important meeting with a client today. You got ready for work thinking about how you were doing well on time… until you noticed your daughter’s lunchbox sitting on the counter with nothing in it.

In breakneck pace, you ran to your daughter’s room to see that she was peacefully sleeping. “Oh baby, wake up we’ve got to go.” She starts to gain consciousness, her eyes squinting open when you turn on the light.

“Huh? I thought Daddy was taking me today.” Your little girl rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“He was but I guess he already left,” you search frantically for something simple but presentable for your daughter to wear.

“Oh, you’ve got your fancy business outfit on… is there something important today?” You’re so grateful to have a daughter who can read between the lines.

“Yes, there is but Mommy’s gonna be late.” She frowns up at that.

“Sorry.”

“Honey it’s not your fault, your father was the one who was supposed to take you.” She nods.

The two of you work together to get out of the house quickly so you won’t be that late.

Your daughter will only be running a few minutes late for school… as for you, your meeting started four minutes after you started driving to her to school, and the school is a twenty minute drive.

You’re gonna fucking kill your husband for this.

When you get to your daughter’s school she hops out immediately and says her goodbyes.

“Bye sweet girl! Have a great day at school!!” Of course you won’t let your anger get the best of you… for right now.

Luckily, your client was kind enough to excuse you being almost thirty minutes late, but it was still embarrassing nonetheless.

Some of your coworkers teased you a little bit afterwards.

“Slept in?” One who’s particularly close to you (he calls you his work wife and Kiyoomi hates it) asks nudging your arm.

“Nope, my husband forgot to take our daughter to school this morning.” A loud sigh leaves your lips and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Yikes, bet he’s gonna be in the doghouse for awhile.” He snorts.

“Hell yeah he will be. I’m just wondering, how in the world did he forget?? He’s better at remembering things between the two of us.” And that’s the truth. You’re curious as to what his excuse will be.

“Well he’s human too, ‘course he’s bound to screw up at sometime.” Even though he’s right, you let your pettiness take over and decide that you won’t give Kiyoomi the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m home,” you hear your husband shout from the genkan. Your daughter is at the table doing homework and you’re sitting with her browsing through your phone.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He walks in to the kitchen greeting his daughter with a kiss on her forehead.

“Hi, Daddy.” She says with a small smile.

“Hey baby.” As he leans in to kiss your forehead too, you dodge it.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “You okay?” Kiyoomi smells like his body wash and shampoo. Usually you’d be happy to have your nostrils filled with the smell of his post practice shower, but right now it just upsets you.

You got up from the table and walked away without answering his question. He obviously attempted to follow you to the bedroom, only for the door to be shut in his face.

“Hey what’s up with you?” You can hear the irritation in his voice through the door. He has no right to be irritated though.

Instead of answering him you make yourself comfortable on the bed.

After ten minutes of him trying to ask you what was wrong and literally begging you started to feel bad enough and open the door.

“What’s wrong is that you forgot to take our daughter to school this morning, causing me to be late to a very important meeting with a client.” His eyes widen in horror at your statement.

“Shit, I’ve been so focused on how I was going to go about this upcoming fan event for the past couple of days, that I completely forgot. You have every right to be mad.” Right, your husband still isn’t very social, and he still hates receiving gifts from his fans. Of course he’d been trying to figure out how to make an appearance, but not interact with anyone.

“Damn right, luckily my client was nice but it was still embarrassing.” He frowns.

“I apologize, and I’ll make sure to do better next time.” You roll your eyes and pull him in for that kiss.

“Yeah yeah, I guess you forget things too.”

IWAIZUMI:

Iwa hasn’t realized it, but while helping out this girl at the gym (he’s an athletic trainer and he couldn’t sit there and watch that girl screw up pull ups any longer) he was so oblivious to her obvious flirting.

She would bend over in those tight leggings, or hold onto his bicep for support. And yes, it was dumb for you to be upset with him, because one, you’re his wife and he only has eyes for you, and two, he didn’t even realize she was flirting with him.

“How are your sets coming along, baby?” He came over to ask you while the girl was getting water. Yeah, you know how to do all of these work outs, but you like having your man right there to spot you and correct your posture in the slightest way.

You pretend you don’t hear him, because you’re listening to music in your headphones. To sell the deal, you even mouth the lyrics of the song.

He raises a brow in concern. As soon as he goes to say something, the woman returns, “Iwazumi-san? I’m ready to continue!”

“I’ll be back.” He says, running back to that woman. You roll your eyes as you come down for a squat with a 25 lb kettlebell in your hands.

By the time you’re cooling down on the treadmill, Iwaizumi returns to you.

“What’s wrong with you?” He knows you can hear him, because even when you’re working out together, you keep your headphones at a reasonable volume, so you can hear him.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s up with you letting that woman touch all over you?” In an effort to ignore him again you turn the speed up on the treadmill.

“Really? Baby, you know my job requires me to touch people.”

“God, I know that. I’m not even talking about you, I’m talking about how she was all over you, and you didn’t even notice or anything.” He’s laughing? You just told him how you feel and he laughs?

He walks over to the front of the treadmill where all the buttons are and slows it down to a walking speed.

“Honey, I told her to stop touching me more than what was necessary. It was indecent and inappropriate. Then I told her I was married to you and I think she decided to keep going…” He pauses for a second waiting for you to come to a walking pace.

“Wanna know what I told her next?” He takes your silence as a sign to keep going, “I said ‘I suggest you stop provoking my wife, she knows how to fight and I would hate to see her behind bars for something like this.’” He smirks at you and you look away in embarrassment.

“And you were really going at it during your workout so I’m assuming she took my word for it.”

You stop the treadmill and hop off to stand right in front of your husband.

“Sorry for being so petty.” He just smiles at you.

“No don’t apologize, I don’t blame you babe. I’d be the same way if some guy was all over you, with no good reason.” You grab him by the collar of his compression shirt, “You’re so damn hot. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

Note: last purple post!! 🥹 since i started this while my theme was purple. the hardest part of writing this was coming up with something sensible to be upset about 😭

[hencheri]

18+. mdni.

riding bf!mark because he doesn't give you enough attention :(

.

lately, mark seems to be always working, spending the majority of his time on his computer with his headphones covering his ears. he gets totally immersed in his work, and even though it’s a good thing, he also forgets about the world around him, including you. 

mark sure gives you a lot of attention on a daily basis — with a high sex drive like his, he needs you all the time — but he can easily go a day without thinking about anything else other than his current project. he’s someone who’s very passionate about what he does.

so you miss him a lot on those days.

but honestly, if you want attention, you simply have to ask for it. mark isn’t difficult to convince, especially if it involves fucking. 

“mark.”

upon hearing your voice calling him, he only answers a ‘yeah?’, not looking away from the screen in front of him. but feeling your hand laying down on his shoulders distracts him enough to glance your way and he’s surprised to see what you’re wearing, cock jumping in his shorts.

“what’s up?” he asks with raised eyebrows, trying to keep his cool, but his mind goes wild instantly. it really doesn’t take him a lot.

dressed in a satin robe, the long sleeves draping over your arms and the belt tied around your waist, you don’t answer him and instead pull his headphones off his head. you straddle his legs and sit on his lap.

“miss you,” you simply say.

“ah, i’m sorry. i- i’ve just been…” he pauses for a moment, watching your hands untying the knot of your robe. “caught up, with, um… work.”

“can you make some time for me, then?” you taunt, the knot now undone, nothing keeping your robe from opening and revealing your nude body underneath. 

“of course, baby,” mark breathes out, satisfied to see you pulling the sides of the bathrobe apart, tits and stomach uncovered, naked pussy sitting right on top of his clothed cock. shit.

he can’t help himself from grabbing the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his, kissing feverishly. you moan into his mouth, hands on his chest, fumbling the fabric of his graphic tee between your fists. 

he kisses you until you’re a disheveled mess, lips swollen and glossy from both of your saliva. you move your hips back and forth , basically humping his bulge, until you reach down to pull on his shorts, impatient to take his cock out. 

he lets go of your lips when your hand wraps around his length, slumping down against the chair’s back. his glasses slip down his nose a little while he has his mouth open, letting out heavy breaths. 

mark groans when you spit in the palm of your hand, smearing your saliva all over his cock, slowly pumping it to make it hard. 

“gonna ride me, baby?” mark looks into your eyes, his lenses reflecting the ceiling light, eyebrow lifted up. 

you grin, twisting your wrist, wanting his cock as hard as possible like you know it can be. rock hard, like he loves to tell you when he’s got a boner in the middle of the day for no apparent reason other than ‘was thinking about you’.

“yeah,” you confirm, “gonna make it wet and messy,” you tease, a small smile adorning your lips. 

“you’d like that, hm? little minx,” he lightly chuckles, wetting his lips with his tongue, laying his big hands on your hips as you lift them up. 

you bring his cock to your cunt, tapping his head against your clit and passing it through your wet pussy lips. with the curse he lets out, you know he’s pretty sensitive now. you can feel it; he’s heavy and hard, ready to be snuggled between your walls.

you slowly sink down on him, taking your time while he stretches you out deliciously. you both moan in unision, the feeling of him in you so familiar and addictive. 

when you’re fully seated down on him, you start grinding your hips, his hands guiding you over his strong lap. 

“fuck, yeah-” he frowns, clenching his jaw, “just like that, good job, baby…”

you only whine in response, rocking your hips back and forth, his cock covered in your slick, arousal dripping down his balls. your bodies moving make the leather of the chair creak underneath you, the skin of your knees sticking to it because of the heat and sweat.

his hands go further into your robe, grabbing your asscheeks firmly. he’ll probably leave the trace of his fingers on your flesh, but you really don’t care. you love wearing his marks. 

you roll your hips over his lap vigorously, already out of breath, your chest heaving up and down rapidly. you remember that your tits are completely out when mark dives down, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. the feeling makes you mewl, gripping the damp hair at the nape of his neck. 

he shifts to your other breast, giving your nipple the same treatment. he leaves plenty of kisses there, too, especially on the valley between your tits. when he pulls away, your skin shines in his spit. 

mark tries to suppress another groan from leaving his throat, but you hear it well and loud in your ear, letting you know he’s close. you clench around him, and he tightens his hold on your ass at that, nails digging into your soft, sweaty skin.

“mmm, baby,” he lets out an unbashful moan, throwing his head back before glancing at you, “you’re gonna be a good girl and take all of my cum, right?” 

you nod your head, excited to have him filling you up good like he always does.

“yeah,” he mimics the movement of your head, grinning. “you love it, don’t you? love being my little cumdump,” he purrs, and his words literally drive you crazy.

“love being yours,” you reply back, riding his cock when he suddenly stops you from moving.

he raises his hips from the chair, thrusting up in you. he takes control over you, slapping his hips upward until his cock twitches, spurts of cum flooding your pussy. at the same time, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, waves of pleasure shooting through you as you cum around him. 

his hips fall back down, now completely exhausted. his glasses fog up as he breathes out heavily, chasing the air back into his lungs. 

you eventually lift up your hips and mark’s cock slips out of your sore pussy. he looks down, a little chuckle escaping his mouth.

“weren’t lying when you said you’d make it messy, hm?”

[ceilidho]

He’s late for his own trial.

You’ve been standing outside the courthouse for what feels like twenty minutes now, tapping your heel on the ground and checking your watch for the umpteenth time. The two of you are already supposed to be inside the courtroom getting set up and going over the details of his case, but instead of grabbing a coffee at the shop across the street and combing over the case notes, you’ll be pressed to even get a couple hissed whispers out between you two before the judge steps up to the bench. 

You think about calling your client again, but that thought quickly evaporates when the sound of muffled heavy metal rumbles out of the gunmetal sedan that just pulled into the parking lot at around thirty miles an hour. You take a deep breath when he parks, already trying to talk yourself out of the bad mood you’re in.

In the back of your mind, you’re about eighty percent sure that there’s no way you’re leaving today without a guilty conviction. When Johnny steps out of the car, the cheap sunglasses obscuring his eyes do nothing to distract from the way he’s obviously hungover. He’s buttoning up his suit jacket from the middle button as he walks up the stone steps towards you, sliding his sunglasses into the breast pocket. 

“Don’t you look sharp,” you remark dryly when he’s close enough to lock eyes with you. You have to force down a shudder that threatens to ripple down your spine at the cocky grin that spreads over his face. 

You’re obviously being facetious. Johnny’s suit is two sizes too small for him—it looks like the last time he wore it was to his high school graduation and he’s grown at least a foot since then—and his shirt and pants are rumpled like he wore them to bed the night before. The scruff sprouting from his cheeks and chin also supports that notion; he’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eye when he walks up to you.

“‘N’ ye look—I wanna say exquisite, but we should probably keep it professional, huh?” 

He winks down at you and the twinkle in his eye infuriates you as much as it ingratiates you. You didn’t spend nearly ten years working your way through undergrad, law school, and years as a public defender to start preening at the attention of the first cute guy you’ve had to represent in your career. 

“I think we passed ‘professional’ after the seventh pass you made at me.”

“‘N’ it won’t be the last. Anyway, stop wasting time—let’s get this show on the road,” he says, side-stepping around you towards the court doors. “I’m not going to jail because someone wanted to flirt with me before my trial.” 

Your jaw drops. He acts like he isn't in this situation because he was accused of holding up a gas station six months ago. You think he’s about to brush past you until you feel a hand plant itself on the middle of your back and push you forward, making you almost stumble into the courthouse. 

“Anyway, we can pick up this conversation in the bog during the break if yer that hot for it,” he murmurs into your ear before you’re separated and searched upon entering the courthouse. Your cheeks do not—absolutely do not—heat up at his tone of voice. 

You’re right in that the two of you barely have any time to prepare. The prosecution is already set up at their table and even the court reporter and judge’s clerk are already present. You squirm at a side-eye from the other counsel, hurrying Johnny over to your table and spending the next ten minutes with your lips practically pressed against his ear.

All throughout the trial, he leans back in his chair and looks like the picture of a petulant child who’s been dragged along by his parent. If you could sink your head into your palms without immediately losing face in front of the judge, you would; all he had to do—and you’d reminded him this for weeks before the trial—was sit straight and not roll his eyes when the prosecution brought up their witnesses. He can’t even manage that.

Somehow though, miraculously almost—and in your defense, even Johnny looks shocked when the verdict is rendered—he’s not found guilty. You’re still a little shell shocked walking out of the courthouse, the sunlight making you squint and then a cup a hand around your eyes. 

He fits a big hand around your waist when you’re about to part ways with him, pulling you back into his chest. Your head whips up to stare at him, ignoring the clench in your belly when his fingers curl into your flesh and that same smug grin quirks up on his lips.

“Why don’t we go grab a drink to celebrate our win, hen?” he suggests. 

“I don’t grab drinks with clients,” you snap, trying to put some distance between you and him. 

Johnny leans down a bit more, always towering over you, until his face is so close that you almost go cross-eyed. “We dinnae have to go out then. We can just go back to my car. Ah can show you how much ah pure appreciate a’ ye did fer me.”

“I don’t need your thanks, I get paid for this—”

“Baby,” he murmurs, stressing the word out, and the moment suddenly feels cramped and intimate, despite the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot. “Just let me eat ye out in th' backseat.”

You’re stunned for all of ten seconds before you try to glance inconspicuously around the parking lot. It doesn’t look like anyone’s paying attention. Johnny notices it at the same time as you and his smile goes devilish, teeth showing behind his lips. 

“Aye, ah ken that look. Come on—I ken a spot down th’ road where we can park.”