#Like why give me the bad news on Halloween night

[dashingwishes]

The chances of me getting fired is tearing me apart inside.

[2hightocare]

NO NUT NOVEMBER.

Synopsis: Jungkook didn’t think stuff through when he made a bet for “No Nut November” he seemed to forget that he can’t say no to you.

Pairings: dilf!jungkook x fem!reader

Warnings— SMUT! cussing, kind of drunk sex?, dirty talk, anal, squirting, spanking, size kink!!!!, jk is pussy whipped, jk eating you out, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!) rough sex!!, crying from pleasure, hair pulling, fluff at the very end,

a/n: someone lock me the fuck up… this is in the KUWTB universe, jus wanted to get into jk and oc sex life more… enjoy🥹🤍

m.list

“I am not betting a thousand on Jungkook for no nut; November be fucking for real; he’s going to lose twenty minutes in.” Namjoon says knowing his friend and knowing how you have him wrapped around your pinky will have him losing money.

“I can go a whole month without sex, motherfuckers.” Jungkook gasps, running a hand through his wet hair from his previous shower.

It was Halloween night, and the boys just came back from accompanying Iseul and Ye Joon trick or treating down the neighborhood.

“I’m taking my baby to the rich neighborhoods so she can get the full-size candy bars.” Jungkook squeezes Iseul's cheeks, trying to avoid the cute bunny face paint you had drawn on. Your husband, without thinking twice, matched her outfit with the big fluffy bunny ears on the top of his head, bobbing on his head whenever he would move around.

"You literally live in a rich neighborhood.” Ari scolds, sending Jungkook's arm flying up in his defense.

"Trust, I won’t fuck up!” Jungkook defends himself while the boys have a hard time believing him; the boys only sighed before agreeing.

…

 

Jungkook couldn’t do it; his dick immediately hardened as he saw you walking down the stairs in your playboy bunny costume, the small black leather skirt that barely covers your ass, and your black thong visible to everyone. The black long-sleeve crop top and the bunny ears had him stressing and wishing he wouldn’t have made that bet.

“Fuck, you look beautiful, baby." Jungkook wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in possessively. His hand lowered to your ass before giving a soft squeeze; you didn’t even bat an eye.

“Thank you, my love.” You give him a quick peck before looking down at his all-black outfit. “You look handsome, daddy,” you wink before walking to the kitchen where Eunbi and Jia were.

You had taken a new habit of calling Jungkook Daddy a joke, and he knew that, but right now the word just worsened the hard problem he has in his pants.

It’s around three in the morning now, and the house is a mess. Iseul is staying with your mother-in-law, who volunteered to take care of her for the night. You were definitely drunk; Ari and Lora came in the house already fucked up, and them being bad influences made you and all the girls take shot after shot, so here you were dancing in your living room as the guys sat on the couch watching you all.

“I think I might owe you all a thousand." Jungkook sighs at his friends. Who’s head snaps at him in shock? “You fucking lost already; are you serious? It's been like three hours!?” Seokjin gasps, and Jimin giggles beside him.

That’s when everyone pulls their wallets and drops wads of cash in Jimin's hands. “I fucking told you he wouldn’t last." Jimin snickers as he counts the money in his hands.

“You guys have no faith in me! I haven’t done anything."Jungkook whispers the last part, "Oh." Jimin says he is disappointed before handing the money back to the corresponding boys.

“Then why do you say that?" Hoseok sighs, putting the hundred back in his wallet before tucking it in his back pocket.

“She’s dressed as a playboy bunny!! A sexy ass playboy bunny.” Jungkook whispers, “Please come on; you would fuck y/n in a garbage bag.” Yoongi says, before sending a signal to Eunbi to stop drinking, to which she only nods 'no', making Yoongi stand up and march her way.

“She would look good in anything—better without anything, actually.” Jungkook says as he sees you down, another shot making him shoot up his seat.

“No more alcohol for you, baby.” He takes the shot glass out of your hands, putting his arm around your waist to keep you stabilized. "Babyyy,” you pout, looking up at him, fisting his shirt, and pulling him closer to your face. 

“What princess?” He says softly, your faces almost touching each other; he can smell the alcohol. “I’m so drunk.” You slur with a goofy smile on your face, gripping onto his shoulders, raising your legs behind you, and reaching for your heel, making you stumble backwards just for Yoongi and Jungkook to stabilize you.

"Yeah, we’re leaving,” Yoongi says as he holds onto Eunbi, who’s slurring a bunch of nonsense, “but I don’t want to leave!" Eunbi whines as Yoongi chuckles as he drags her to the front door.

“We should leave too, then,” all the boys say, standing up and wishing everyone goodbye. “Let’s go, my love,” Taehyung tells Ari, who’s lying on the ground, her police officer outfit long gone, replaced with the big t-shirt you had handed her earlier.

"Nooo, I want to stay with y/n!” She gets picked up by Taehyung, who shushes her with a kiss. “You reek like alcohol,” he chuckles before giving Jungkook a head nod and walking out, Jimin and Namjoon following behind them, being the last ones out, the rest long gone.

Jungkook lays you on the couch, kneeling down, unstrapping your heels, and taking them off before kissing the top of your shin. Making you moan in relief.

“My feet hurt so bad!” You whine loudly before bringing your feet into your chest, making your skirt ride up, giving Jungkook a perfect view of your covered pussy. 

He wanted nothing to open your legs, put your panties aside, and eat you out at that moment, but one, you were drunk, and two, the stupid bet he made yesterday. So instead of doing all that, he stood up and made his way to the main door, locking it before making his way back to you, taking his dirty shirt off in the process.

“You are so hot... Could you maybe have my baby?” You pout, looking up at him, who’s hovering over you with a smile on his face. “You already had my baby, princess.” He chuckles at you, making grabby hands up at him.

“Then another one?” You slur with the goofiest smile on your face as he picks you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his torso as your arms wrap around his neck. “You would slap yourself if you heard yourself right now, baby.” He laughs as you snuggle your face into his neck. 

“If it’s a girl, what would we name her?” You slur your words as Jungkook starts making his way upstairs to your guy's room. “I don’t know, princess, do you know?” He asks you, taking one step at a time. 

“I like Nabi," you giggle. “I like Nabi.” Jungkook repeats after you, giving your puffed-out cheek a wet kiss. “And if it’s a boy, we can name it Junior.” Jungkook suggests entering your guys room.

“Ew no!” You shake your head, sticking your tongue out like you just ate something disgusting. “That’s offensive; you don’t like my name?” Jungkook puts you gently on the bed, crossing his arms in front of him, making his muscles flex as he watches you bite your lip while you look up to him.

“Of course I do. It’s just that’s the name I scream out when I’m getting railed. I don’t want my son to have that name." You shiver from the thought, leaving Jungkook speechless from your boldness.

“Y/n!” He chokes out, "What? I’m being honest!” You slur, trying to put your shirt over your head, only to get stuck with your hands up in the air. “Help me!" you whine.

Your husband laughs immediately, helping you take your shirt off before throwing it somewhere in the room. He watches you struggle to reach behind you to unclip your bra. 

“Turn around, baby; let me help.” He orders, and who are you to say no?

“Mkay,” you say, turning around and letting Jungkook unclip it with his hand, making your bra drop onto the bed. And with that, you fall face-first into the bed. "Yeah, no, get up. We need to brush your teeth and take your makeup off. Come on.” Jungkook picks up your frame as you whine loudly. 

As Jungkook drags you to your guy's shared bathroom in only your skirt, Jungkook sets you up on the sink, and you bring your knees up against you again, making Jungkook want to run into a wall.

Seeing you with your smudge eyeliner and mascara has his thoughts running wild. You are topless, and the tiniest skirt he has ever seen you wear has him imagining how he could bend you over, lift your skirt up, and fuck you raw.

He shakes his thoughts off, getting your light pink toothbrush and lathering it with toothpaste before passing it to you. You lazily brush your teeth with your eyes closed, making small sounds at random times as Jungkook brushes his teeth as well.

“I'm dizzy.. My head is spinning.” You giggle as toothpaste is still in your mouth before spitting it out. Jungkook makes a little bowl with his hand, putting his palm underneath the water and accumulating a good amount before bringing it into your mouth, which you then swish around your mouth before spitting it out into the sink.

“All done," you clap your hands, trying to get off the counter.

“You need to take your makeup off; where are your makeup wipes?” Jungkook asks as he goes through all your skincare and makeup.

“How the fuck do you know what a makeup wipe is?" You slur, your brows furrowing, as you wrap your arms around your legs and up your chest. “Baby what?” Jungkook laughs at your question, knowing he has taken off your makeup countless times before this one.

“I'm mad now.” You pout, pushing your husband's hands off your knees. "Baby, please, I have only taken your makeup off. I promise." Jungkook raises his pinky, which you only glare at.

“Did you fuck her in the legs-up position? Because that’s our position.” You slur once again, making Jungkook chuckle in front of you.

“Baby, trust me, I would not fuck anyone in any position that isn’t you,” he reassures as you stare at his pinky that’s still in the air. “Okay,” you pout in defeat, interlocking your pinky with his.

“You can’t be lying because that’s a pinky promise,” you warn. “Of course, baby,” he says, giving you a kiss on your forehead before opening the small packet. “Be gentle," you whine as you stare at your shirtless boyfriend, who takes a wipeout.

He only nods, holding your neck like a necklace to keep your head straight, and starts taking off your makeup. “I’m hungry,” you say as your eyes flutter closed.

“It’s three in the morning, princess; there's nothing open right now.” Jungkook smiles at your scrunched-up expression. “Did you eat all the cookies?" You peek your eye open. “Maybe..” Jungkook whispers, dropping the dirty wipe in the trash can beside him.

“What! You don’t even share with me anymore.” You mumble as Jungkook picks you up and makes his way to your shared bed, dropping you on it. “I share everything with you, baby,” he says as he undoes his pants to slide into bed with you.

You stare at your husband through your eyelashes as you struggle to take off your skirt. “Need help?” Jungkook chuckles under breath as his pants fall to the ground, leaving him in only a pair of black boxers, his print clearly visible.

"Mhm," you nod, biting your lip as you tilt your head to the side to get a better view in between his pants as he reaches for the zipper on your skirt, pulling it down. "Up, baby,” he orders. You do as he says and raise your bottom up, letting him pull your skirt off, leaving you in your thong.

Jungkook drops the skirt on the floor as he watches you lying on the bed with nothing but the black piece of clothing covering your center. His breath rises as he watches you reach between your legs and move your panties to the side, giving him a perfect view of you.

“I’m so wet, baby, help me,” you whine as you run a finger through your drenched slit. "Baby, I can’t,” he hushes as his dick twitches in his briefs. 

“I’m not that drunk anymore, I promise.” You mumble, giving your pussy a little slap. “Fuck,” you moan.

Jungkook very much wanted nothing but to slam into you in this exact moment, but did he really not have self-control when it came to you? He thought to himself.

"Please... if not, I’ll just fuck myself with my fingers.” You giggled, bringing your index and middle fingers up to your mouth, sucking and twirling your tongue on the tips, all while remaining eye contact with your husband, who’s fighting with himself whenever he wants to control himself or fuck you into the mattress.

But when Jungkook saw you insert a finger, he realized he didn’t have self-control when it came to you, and actually, he could give zero fucks about it, plus one thousand was nothing compared to you.

“Fuck it!” Jungkook grabbed a hold of your hands before pinning them up to your head, making you giggle loudly. “Hi.” You giggle as his face is just a few inches away from yours, and his eyes scan your face. “Hi.” He chuckles and smashes his lips against yours.

You moan softly as he wastes no time inserting his tongue into your mouth. His tongue glides along yours, making noise each time you part apart to breathe. Jungkook abandons your lips, moving to your neck, licking, sucking, and blowing.

“I want to eat you out,” he mumbles into your neck between sucking, leaving purplish red marks. He slowly makes his way down your body, all while remaining in eye contact with you. You use your elbows to prop yourself up, getting a clear view of your husband between your legs.

He chuckles, blowing a kiss to your clit making your hips buck forward, a choked moan leaves your mouth. “You’re dripping for me." He runs a finger through your puffy slit, spreading your arousal all over your pussy. 

You feel your wetness ooze down to your puckered hole and maybe even to the gray sheets underneath you. Jungkook tauntingly hovered over your aching center. “Please, fuck,” you buck your hips up again, making him pin you down.

Jungkook gives your cunt a long and slow lick, “shit.” You whine, your legs squeezing around his face, as he starts lapping on your clit, swirling and sucking. His saliva and your juices mixing together.

He pushes your legs up, spreading your pussy more for him. As he continues to suck harshly on your clit your fingers rake in his hair, pulling roughly whenever he would non-stop flick his tongue on your bud, making you shake. "Fuck, you’re going to make cum.” Your eyes roll back into your head.

Jungkooks cock is painfully hard in his briefs; he shifts from his position in hope to relieve some of the pressure, but it only twitches in return. Your husband brings his tattooed fingers in front of your face and says, "Suck.” He orders, and he doesn't have to ask twice.

You grab ahold of his hand and insert his three large fingers into your mouth, twirling your tongue on the tip and sucking like you would if you were on your knees in front of him.

A rush of blood rushes to his cock as he watches you suck on his fingers. You pop his fingers out of your mouth.

He tugs on your clit one last time before rubbing your sensitive bud slowly. You choke out a moan.

Jungkook inserts one of his finger pumping it in and out of your gummy walls, sending you back into the mattress. “Fuck yes,” you cry. He inserts a second finger, pumping them out quickly, curling them inside you, and hitting your spot each time. You grip tightly onto the sheet as you start to feel dizzy. “I’m coming, shit shit shit,” you cry out. You try to push Jungkook off you as he slides his fingers in and out of you repeatedly, with his tongue flicking your clit sending you over the edge.

Your mouth hangs open as your body shakes uncontrollably. Your pussy clenches around Jungkook's fingers. A rush of fluid squirts out of you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air.

“pretty.” Jungkook chuckles under his breath, giving your pussy a small slap and making you whine from the overstimulation.

Jungkook stands up, watching you squeeze your legs together with your eyes closed and chest heaving. “You good, baby?” He leans over, kissing your face over and over again until you peek your eyes open, and you giggle nonstop.

“Fuck!” You giggle, making Jungkook raise an eyebrow. “So good,” you giggle, “yeah?” He smirks, leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Mhm.” You nod, kissing him back. “Let me return the favor.” You reach for his huge hard on, squeezing.

“Let me just fuck you.” He whispers into your mouth as you giggle in response.

“Okay.” You nod. Jungkook slowly stands up from the bed as you watch him push down his briefs, letting his cock spring free. He grabs ahold of the base, giving it a squeeze, and runs his thumb along his aching red slit before walking closer to you. You bite your lip in anticipation, and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

He spits down, letting his saliva drip down onto his cock before giving it two pumps, “legs up. ” He taps your thigh for you to do as he says.

You giggle, pushing your legs up, giving your husband an amazing view of your drenched spread out, dripping core.

“Fuck,” he says, aligning himself with your hole and slapping his cock on your pussy multiple times. "Shit, ah,” you moan, digging your nails into your thighs.

Jungkook watches as you clench your pussy over nothing, making his cock twitch. He runs his length over your slit before sliding into you. “Oh shit.” You gasp, biting your lip harshly.

Jungkook has always been too big for you, always stretching you out deliciously every time you had sex. Your pussy always took him so well.

"Shit, shit, shit,” you say, closing your eyes as you feel the burn of him sliding deeper into you. “You can take it, baby.” He hushes, pushing in deeper, and he rubs your clit with his thumb, trying to ease you. 

You can feel him all the way into your belly as he finally is all the way in you. “You take me so well, fuck, baby.” Jungkook groans as you clench non-stop around him.

"Move, fuck, ah,” you cry. You didn’t have to ask twice, as he started sliding out of your hole before slamming back in. Your nails dig into your thighs, leaving marks as he continues to slide in and out of you repeatedly. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he slams roughly into you. His hands push your legs down to your chest as he fucks into you, his cock spreading your walls and his tip hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

Jungkook watches his cock disappear into your messy wet cunt; he watches how you spasm every time he pounds into you; your pussy squirts every time he pulls out; but he doesn’t stop; he continues to slam back in.

Tears stream down your face from the immense pleasure in your core as you reach between your legs, rubbing your clit furiously. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.” Jungkook says between gritted teeth, as you only reply with a moan.

“Look at you squirting all over my cock.” He pulls out, spurs of liquid come rushing out of you, and your legs shake as your pussy convulses from each spurt. “Ahh fuck.” You moan as Jungkook rubs your pussy; your hands reach for his, trying to push him away, but failing as you orgasm with a long, loud moan.

“Good girl.” He groans.

“I can't... fuck,” you choke out, trying to catch your breath. "Yes, you can." Jungkook flips you over to your stomach. “Ass up.” He demands giving your ass a spank. 

You bring your ass up in the air, leaving your upper body laying on the bed totally spent. “Fuck pussy, so messy." Jungkook runs his cock through your pussy before sliding back in.

"Shit, this angle fucks me up,” he groans, getting ahold of your waist and squeezing roughly, probably leaving marks, as he slams into you. You dig your head into the mattress, biting onto the sheets, silencing your screams. The wet sound of him pounding into you and your screams are the only things being heard in the room.

“You love being fucked like this, huh?” He moans, pounding into you from behind. You don’t reply. 

He pulls out and pulls your hair up. “Answer me. You love being fucked like this, huh?” He whispers into your ear, your back arched against him.

“Yes.” You cry, and tears stream down your face. “Yes what? Baby.” He chuckles from your disheveled state, “I love being fucked like this.” You stutter over your words; the only thing your brain can comprehend is that you wanted to come again for the third time.

And with that, he lets you go. As you fall back down onto the bed, Jungkook spreads your ass cheeks, watching your pussy and asshole clench over nothing. “Spread open.” He orders you.

Jungkook watches how you do as he says and spread yourself open for him. He takes the base of his cock and aligns himself with your other hole. He rubs over some of your arousal to your asshole, inserting the tip of his cock before pushing the rest of his length inside you, “Fuckk.” You moan loudly, "Relax, baby.” He groans loudly at how tight it is.

This is not the first time Jungkook has fucked your ass, but the stretch of his cock always feels like the first time. He stays for a few moments, still waiting for you to adjust. "Go," you whimper. A green light for him to thrust.

He spreads you open more, watching his cock slip out of your hole before thrusting back in slowly. You moan under him, and you reach under him, rubbing your clit softly as tears run down your cheeks.

“Such a good fucking girl.” Jungkook moans, squeezing your ass and restraining himself from pounding into you at that very moment.

You insert two of your fingers into your pussy, sliding them in and out as Jungkook slides his cock into your ass. "Faster, please,” you whine, fucking your fingers into you as Jungkook speeds up his movements.

Your legs shake barely holding up as he pounds into roughly moaning loudly each time you clench, “You fucking like that?” He chokes out each slam he thrusts into you. “Keep taking it, baby.” His balls slam into your pussy, which each push.

“Fuck so good.” He moans, not stopping his movements. Both of you are sweating as you bite down on the gray sheets, feeling your pussy spasms with liquid with each thrust. “I’m coming.” You shriek,

“Go ahead, baby.” Jungkook's eyes roll to the back of his head, watching you shake underneath him. His body locks up, and black and white spots fill his vision as his dick twitches in you before spilling his seed into you with a loud groan.

“Oh fuck.” Jungkook pants as he slides out of your ass, his come oozing out of you. You fall onto the bed, your legs shaking uncontrollably as you whimper softly from the outstanding orgasm you just went through.

"Fuck, are you okay, baby?” Jungkook makes his way to you, flipping you over to be able to see your face. You whimper softly with your hands covering your face. "Shit, baby, did I hurt you?” He panics, shooting straight up and taking your hands off your face.

He sees the tears streaming down your face, and that sends a blow to his heart. "Baby, where does it hurt?” He scans your body and tries to soothe your shaking legs, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs.

“I’m okay.” You whimper between cries. 

“Then why are you crying, my love?” He pulls you up into a sitting position before kissing your tear-stained cheeks. "felt so good.” You cry. A wave of relief hits Jungkook. "Baby," he chuckles, giving you kisses all over your face.

“I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” You cry as he laughs softly while standing up, finding his briefs on the ground before stepping into them. He goes into your guys' shared closet looking for a pair of underwear for you and one of his shirts.

"Here, baby, let me help you.” He makes his way to you; he sits beside you as he helps you put on your panties and his shirt.

“Do you need anything?” Jungkook asks, putting your hair behind your ear. “No, I'm super tired; I want to cuddle.” You say snuggling under the covers with a big smile on your face, and Jungkook follows in beside you.

…

The next morning, Jungkook called in for an emergency meeting as he was waiting for the boys to come in. Taehyung arrives first with a guilty expression on his face, and before Jungkook could ask what’s up, Hoseok and Namjoon come striding in. And not long after all the boys started striding in.

“So..” Jungkook starts, “I fucked up.” And with that, he drops a thousand on the table in front of the boys. Nobody moves, and nobody says anything until,

"Oh, thank God, and I thought it was going to be just me." Taehyung drops a wad of cash, with the rest of the boys following along, dropping cash on the table.

“Are you fucking serious!?” Namjoon stares at his friends with his jaw wide open. “Am I the only one who took this seriously?” Namjoon shook his head at his friends.

“Honestly, I don't regret it at all.” Jungkook shrugs.

[strangersteddierthings]

"Look, Steve, I don't have any bad feelings towards you," Eddie says, has been saying, talking nonsense, like he and Steve weren't anything more than fuckbuddies, like he isn't breaking Steve's heart. "I used you too, y'know?"

It's then Steve rears back like he been slapped. Or punched. It feels more like a gutting. Joke's on him, he supposes. Once again, he wants more than the other person. He wanted a boyfriend, Eddie'd wanted sex. Why does he keep trying? When Steve finds his voice to speak, it comes out flat and dead and not really like a question at all. "Used me. Like you think I've used you?"

Eddie shrugs, looking for all the world like he's not bothered by that statement. "We had fun, right? So it's all fine in the end."

"Fine," Steve repeats, hollow. They're in his house but Steve feels the need to leave, to run before the reality of how unlovable he truly is sticks inside him forever.

"But I think we should stop while we're ahead," Eddie continues and Steve wonders if Eddie is listening to him at all, or just saying his piece before he goes. Can he not hear Steve's heart breaking? "I want to... I want to find someone to love."

If Eddie's previous words felt like being gutted, these ones feel like cement. Heavy and solidifying. Trapping in the truth of Ever Unlovable Steve. He doesn't even feel heartbroken anymore. Just numb. Dead inside. He should say something encouraging. Let Eddie know that all he's wanted was for Eddie to be happy and loved. But words seem impossible, so he gives one jerky nod of his head. An understanding.

"Right," Eddie says, returning the nod before turning away, towards the door, "I'll just go now. Umm, see ya later, Harrington."

Facing the horrors of the Upside Down should feel like the scariest thing he's ever done but it doesn't. Watching Eddie walk away does. Steve should be able to hold it together long enough for Eddie to leave. He's the tough one. He can hold himself together no problem-

"Why can't you love me?"

Eddie whips back around, an expression on his face like confusion and anger mixed.

It's only then that Steve realizes he spoke. He hasn't meant to. He was going to let Eddie walk away but now his voice has been freed from the cement. His heart has shut down his brain it seems because he just keeps talking, voice flat and hollow, "why can't you love me the way I love you? What is so broken and wrong within me that no one loves me back? My parents, Nancy, now you. Why can't- I thought that we were- where did I go wrong?"

"What?" Eddie asks, and the anger is gone from his face but now he just looks horrified. Which is understandable. It's horrifying to be loved by Steve Harrington. "What did you think we were?"

Boyfriends. Together. Going steady. At the very least, dating without labels. But none of those very reasonable, normal answers come out of Steve's treacherous mouth. Because Steve can't seem to be a reasonable, normal person. He's got to be too much, too soon, too clingy. So, instead, he says, "In love."

Eddie looks like he's just received the worst news of his life. In fact, he looks a little sick. "Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. I can't- I thought- Fuck!"

Steve just nods along. He hadn't actually said I love you to Nancy that night at Tina's Halloween party, but he imagines if he had, the beginning of the bullshit conversation would have sounded much the same as Eddie does now; like anger and regret, the starts and stops. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- if you want to go, you should go."

Eddie crosses the room back to Steve in half the steps he took when he first walked away, hands reaching to grab Steve's face between them. He speaks quickly and sounds panicked now. "No, no no no. I fucked up, misunderstood. I don't know how I got it so wrong. I don't want to go. I never did."

"What?"

"I am in love with you, sweetheart. I just- I didn't know you loved me back. I thought you didn't- that we weren't..."

"I thought we were boyfriends."

"Jesus, please let me fix this. Let me stay and make it up to you. I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you've ever had."

Steve thinks if he had any shred of self-worth he might step back, make Eddie explain himself, but as it is, he steps into Eddie's space and kisses him, hands pulling him as close as he can get. He doesn't want to think about the cruel things Eddie's said, about using each other. Maybe one day they'll have to hash that out, have that conversation, but Eddie says he loves him too, and that's all Steve's wanted.

[bwabys-scenarios]

Vampire kurapika?? ITS BEEN ON MY MIND ALL DAY

Strange Girl(NSFW)

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

Vampire!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

A/N: This post has been in my drafts since October 😭

warnings: slight yandere behavior, Kurapika is possessive/protective over you, fingering, creampie, biting, Kurapika drinks your blood

NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

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In his few centuries of being a vampire, Kurapika had grown lonely. He hid himself away in the large manor that had been passed down in his family, only coming out to feed at night.

Although, on one of these nights, Kurapika’s life would change forever.

It was late October, perhaps even Halloween night. Kurapika had stopped keeping track of the exact date years ago. It didn’t really matter, he couldn’t feel the cold or the heat on his undead skin, so the changes in months and weather meant little to him.

He wasn’t really that hungry, but had decided to feed that night to get it over with. Honestly, the blonde tried not to feed all that often, preferring to stay in his manor and read to pass the time.

However, he heard the town nearby would be relatively quiet, considering there would be a huge party that all the humans would be attending. That meant he could easily pick off one of the stragglers in the dead of night, giving him an easy meal.

Kurapika roamed the streets, wearing a new coat from one of his latest victims and using the streetlights to read as he walked. It was a new book, some kind of romance novel. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the genre, honestly it just depressed him, but over his 300 years of life, the things he hadn’t read became smaller and smaller. He didn’t have the privilege of being picky anymore.

It was around midnight when he sensed someone else on the path ahead of him. He glanced up from his book for a split second, long enough to see who it was, but not long enough to cause suspicion.

Already, he was feeling bad. It was a girl, a pretty one at that. She was strolling down the street, humming along to something she was listening to in her headphones. The girl didn’t seem to notice him until she got closer, glancing up to give him a friendly smile, pulling off one of her headphones.

“Hi!”

Kurapika gave a quick nod in response before looking away. He didn’t like talking too much with his victims before he drained them, it just left a bigger impact on him to talk to his food before he ate it. “Did you not get invited to the party either? I thought I was the only one!”

He attempted to ignore her, waiting for her to get close enough to strike. “Oh, is that a romance novel? I haven’t seen it before!”

‘This human sure likes to talk.’ Kurapika thought, his scarlet eyes peeking over his book to get a better glimpse at her.

She was closer now, only a few feet away. Now he could tell she was rather plump, and incredibly cute. The woman was wearing a thin silk nightgown with a cardigan thrown over it to keep somewhat warm.

“… why are you dressed like that? Its the end of October, it’s not exactly warm out.”

Although Kurapika couldn’t feel the cold, but he could tell she could. She hummed, stopping 2 feet in front of him. “Oh, sometimes I have trouble sleeping, so I walk around and listen outside and listen to music until I get tired.”

The vampire sighed, looking her over. “You shouldn’t do that. The people say there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

‘That serial killer being me,’ he thought, his eyes scanning her figure.

She tilted her head, seeming to take in his appearance before speaking again. “Hmm? I’m pretty tough I’ll have you know! Look!”

She pulls out a little pocket knife, and it was almost amusing how small and useless it looked. “I’m armed!”

Kurapika looked at this girl standing before him and smiling, and he knew he was going to be leaving hungry tonight. “I see… well, I’ll be off then.”

The woman blinked, quickly turning to grab his hand. “Hey wait!”

Kurapika froze, the soft, warm feeling of her touch sinking into his hand. He almost shuddered. The only ways for vampires to experience warmth was through human touch or blood, so it almost a euphoric feeling to be touched. “What?”

He glanced back at her, giving her a slightly surprised look when he saw she was pouting. “You didn’t tell me why you’re out here all by yourself. It’s not safe for you either!”

Was this little human… worried for him? He wanted to laugh, but instead, Kurapika decided to indulge her. “I guess I’m on a walk as well.”

She seemed unimpressed with his answer, but didn’t push further. “Ah…”

He looked down, noticing she still hadn’t let go of his hand. When she caught him looking, she blushed and pulled her hand away. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

She twiddled her thumbs, glancing up at him. Kurapika found this human somewhat… cute.

“One more thing!”

She smiled shyly at him. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around town!”

Kurapika thought for a moment. He could lie to her, but he considered lying a sin. It was a little hypocritical of him, considering he killed people to eat.

“It’s Kurapika.”

She smiled, offering her hand to him. “Well I’m (Name), nice to meet you Kurapika!”

And like that, they were exchanging phone numbers. It took him a moment once he was alone to process that she had snatched his phone, gotten his number, and given him hers. He was too distracted by the kissy mark now on his cheek… and the sweet smile she gave him when she left.

This human had caught his interest… and he wouldn’t be letting her slip through his fingers.

———————

(Name) ended up being quite interesting, keeping him entertained. At first, that all she was, entertainment for him until he got bored of her presence.

But after spending yet another night as her personal body guard while she went out for drinks… he felt the creeping feeling of protectiveness beginning to evade his mind. He didn’t like the way the other humans spoke with her, how they touched her with little regards to who she may belong to.

Lately, when she requested he’d join her, Kurapika preferred spending nights in at her home. She enjoyed this as well, calling their meetings “sleepovers”. He hated how he found that cute…

“Kurapika, do you want to sleep on the couch or my bed? I promise I don’t mind sleeping on the couch-“

He stopped her by raising an eyebrow. “I would not kick you out of your bed, (Name).”

She pouted a little, something that always softened Kurapika’s cold exterior. “Do you have any other ideas, my dear?”

(Name) thought for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows. “Hmm… oh!”

Kurapika blinked when she grabbed him by the shoulder. “We can share my bed! Ah, that’s the best way to have a sleepover, isn’t it?”

Oh, his naive and innocent little friend. Kurapika sighed, rubbing his temple. “Dear, I am a grown man and you are a defenseless woman. Are you sure?”

(Name) tilted her head, looking up at him. “Yeah… because you would never hurt me, right?”

If his cold, undead heart could race, it would. He melted, cooing softly as he caressed her chubby cheek. “Of course not, my dear. I would never hurt you, never.”

She giggled, tugging him towards her bedroom. “Then let’s get ready for bed!”

——————

It was hard for Kurapika to concentrate on sleeping when (Name) was curled up next to him, clinging to his side. Did this woman know what personal space was?

He sighed, reaching out to gently caress her cheek. She was so soft, so warm… and she smelled like home. Kurapika had never felt more at ease in his long, miserable life. He only was able to relax and truly be himself when he was with her.

She slept so soundly, even with him, a man eating monster in her bed. Kurapika had told her of his true nature a month into their friendship… yet she stayed with him.

“You’re beautiful, you know…”

Kurapika leaned forward, giving her forehead a kiss. “I love you…”

The words just came out… and he found himself blushing at the fact. He… loved her? Was that what these feelings were?

That explained how protective and possessive he was over her, how all he wanted to do was keep her tucked away in his embrace for all eternity. His lips found hers, and he gave her a gentle kiss as she slept.

When he pulled away, his eyes flashed scarlet. Kurapika wanted her more than anything, and for once his connection to this human had nothing to do with his need to feed.

Kurapika… he genuinely loved her. Her kindness, gentle nature, and understanding mind all made him fall head over heels. No human had ever accepted him for who he was, but she had with ease.

As he gently caressed her cheek, Kurapika vowed to love her for the rest of his life, to keep her safe and happy.

And as the sun rose, he made sure the blinds protected him from its harmful rays. Kurapika didn’t want to hide in his coffin, he wanted to spend more time with her. Now that he knew what he was feeling, all he wanted was to soak in her presence for as long as he could.

“Good morning, my darling.”

She rubbed her eyes, still waking up when she felt his hand on her cheek. “Mmph… Kurapika? Good morning…”

He was still in awe at the fact she didn’t flinch at his touch. “You don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

Kurapika caressed her cheek with his thumb, his scarlet eyes soft with affection. “This. Me touching you…”

She blushed a bit, looking away. “I don’t mind at all… don’t you know how precious to me you are?”

“Precious? To you?”

Kurapika leaned in closer, his undead heart soaring. “You mean it, (Name)? Truly?”

Her cheeks continued to get warmer. “Of course… why would I let you stay with me if I didn’t care for you? I’m not stupid, I wouldn’t just share my bed with anyone.”

It was Kurapika’s turn to blush this time. A vampire as old as him getting flustered over one human? It was embarrassing.

But he couldn’t help but swoon when she touched her forehead to his. “I love you too, you know.”

His face flushed an even brighter red. “Y-you heard that?”

“Felt it too.”

She smiled, pointing to her lips. Kurapika whined in embarrassment, hiding his face. He felt like a teenage boy again, embarrassed by his first crush.

“Mmph…”

His blonde eyelashes fluttered when she captured his lips with hers. Kurapika raised his hands to cup her chubby cheeks, lightly squishing them as he melted into the kiss.

She tasted so sweet, her tongue more delectable than any blood he’d ever drank. He felt almost drunk off of her affection, his eyes half lidded as he pulled her into his lap.

It wasn’t until she whimpered into the kiss and shifted in his lap that he realized he was hard. He felt humiliated, popping a boner from a heated kiss.

“Want you…”

His teeth grazed against her neck as he whimpered out his needs. “Need you, (Name)… so warm, wanna…”

Kurapika slipped his fingers into your panties right as his fangs sunk into your neck. You hissed in pain at first, but the feeling of him stroking your needy cunt was enough to have you mewling out his name. “K-Kurapika!”

He’d never pleasured a woman before, but she wouldn’t have guessed by the way he was touching her as if he had done it a hundred times already. His fingers sank into her just as he retracted his fangs, lapping at the small pinpricks in her neck.

“So pretty, like an angel…”

He pulled down his pajama pants just enough for his cock to spring forward, rubbing it against her needy pussy. “Warm… so warm, all wet for me…”

He pulled her down onto his cock, capturing your lips in a kiss. She could taste the metallic taste of her blood on his tongue, his hands moving her up and down on his cock.

“Squeezing me…” he said with a grunt, feeling her clench around him as she came.

“C-cumming, Pika!”

He kept moving her, his mouth moving to her pretty breast. His tongue flicked against her nipple, quickly taking the (color) bud into his mouth to suck on.

Kurapika left hickeys all over her, occasionally sinking his gangs into her skin. As he continued to fuck into her pretty cunt, his possessive feelings continued to grow until he was growling into her ear.

“Mine, all mine. No one touches you but me.”

He was almost feral, his teeth bared as he came inside of her. She was a panting mess, whimpering as his cum painted her walls.

After giving her a creampie, Kurapika calmed down a bit, feeling like he had claimed her in some way. He let out a soft purr, rubbing his face against her neck and licking the bite marks he had left there.

“Kurapika…”

She clung to him, letting him clean her up and apply small bandages to the bite marks he left. He felt slightly guilty, but that guilt was outweighed by the immense satisfaction he felt so see his beloved covered in his love bites.

“Mine, all mine…” he purred, curling up with her in bed. The two spent the rest of the day snuggling, never leaving each other’s side.

Kurapika had found a reason to keep living his eternal life, and would never let her go. His (Name), his love.

His everything.

[siphoklansan]

Siphok Character Sheet!✨

short comic under the cut!

SPOILERS FOR TWISTED WONDERLAND’S (JP) HALLOWEEN EVENT, AND SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 3 TWISTED WONDERLAND (OCTAVINELLE)

⋆˚࿔ design notes 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Her striped vest is similar to that of Skully’s! I don’t play TWST JP but I heard a theory that Skully might be a Ramshackle Dorm student, so I decided to give her a matching vest.

That said, I removed her grey vest because it was too similar to Octavinelle’s.

While she has a few bunny motifs (the shoes), she’s actually pretty mouse coded! Siphok reminds me of little desert mice or field mice🫶

⋆˚࿔ trivia 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Her dominant hand is her left hand, but she can be ambidextrous in doing certain tasks.

Nobody in Night Raven College is aware that she is Crowley’s henchman. They just think she’s a teacher’s pet lmao but she takes care of a few “dirty” works that Crowley gives her, in exchange for money. Those dirty works include investigating overblots, investigating (basically spying on) some students, doing things outside of campus hours and/or campus grounds, and even delivering students to his feet (dragging their ass to punishment).

She is also the handyman of NRC because Crowley doesn’t like to call her a janitor.

Siphok doesn’t have magic, so she makes up for her physical strength. She’s strong, agile, and used to do Muay Thai back in her home-world.

I dislike the thought of her being in a vulnerable position, lacking magic and all, so I imagine her martial prowess to be on par with Silver/Sebek. I worry for my girl okay😔☝️

Siphok is pretty selfless, and some might even call her dumb for that, because she would jump into danger without a second thought- whether it be to rescue somebody or not.

⋆˚࿔ backstory 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

She is Jun-Pa’s missing soul that has grown a physical body in a different world.

Siphok lives in a happy family in her world, so not much to say there.

Okay now, I actually have a reason why she doesn’t wear gloves- this goes ALLL the way back to her beta design too!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SIPHONA

My ass just likes the idea of Leona offering his gloves to her is all😔🙏 can you blame me tho

She’s a handyman, so she has to work around machinery across NRC a lot- like a personal mechanic.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥FLOYDHOK

mama a professor trein behind YOU❤️

I love Floyd looking soft. You couldn’t imagine the scream I let out when I saw his new birthday card. I was having a bad day at military training too and his soft look cheered me up so much lawd im down bad💀

[lovebugism]

can I request steeb taking care of shy!reader who is upset after a bullying incident in school? I figured she would be a year younger (like robin’s grade) because I don’t think anyone would touch her if king steve was around. I feel like he’s be so soft with her but also reeling at the thought that someone hurt his girl!

thanks for ur request anon! idk if i can count this as a blrub because it's nearly 3k words but alas pls enjoy! tw for blood (knee scrapes) and j*son c*rver

You come to Family Video with a scrape on your left knee.

It’s not the weirdest thing in the world — you ride a worn-down bike that’s probably older than you are. Steve’s been begging you to get a new one for as long as he’s known you, outright offering to pay for the damn thing as long as he’s sure it’ll get you to him without getting hurt in the process.

You reject him every time. “It gets me where I need to go,” you always shrug. “What more could I want from it?”

And he wants so badly to be angry at the beauty you manage to find in mediocrity. But he can’t be, really. It’s why you fell in love with him in the first place, isn’t it? Why you took the heartbroken boy in your arms on Halloween night in 1984 and convinced him he wasn’t bullshit despite what he told you. He’d be an idiot to be mad at how kind you are.

But when you walk into Family Video, halfway limping with blood dripping down your knee, he knows it’s different. 

Something more than a toppled bike hurt you.

“Oh, god, babe,” he winces from where he stands at the counter with Robin. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you shrug as he races over to you.

“You fell?” Robin scoffs. “Knock me out with a feather.” You know she’s joking, but it’s a little too monotone, and you’re a little too sensitive. Something in her words hurts more than your throbbing knee.

Steve, who knows you like the back of his hand, understands exactly what your diverted gaze means. When you look down to the floor, he shoots Robin a firm glare.

What? she mouths, obviously confused at the sudden silence.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the back? I think there might be some gauze in there,” he asks, deciding to change the conversation entirely. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks slowly with you to the counter. He meets your grimace with a soft smile. “I’ll clean it, wrap it up, and you’ll be good as new.”

You don’t give him anything in response. Not even a pity smile.

He sits you on the counter with the open first-aid kit beside you. Robin flips the store sign to closed. It’s barely five o’clock. She starts tidying up the store to go home, anyway.

Steve wipes up the warm blood with a napkin and cleans the scrape with an alcohol wipe. You hiss at the feeling — it’s like a hundred tiny bee stings. From where he sits just below you on a worn swivel chair behind the counter, he leans in to press a kiss just above the cut.

Without all the blood, it looks a lot less gnarly than before.

“See? It’s not so bad,” the boy smiles as he unravels some gauze. “I’ll patch it up, baby you for the rest of the night, and you’ll forget it ever hurt by morning.”

Again, you don’t even smile. You just purse your lips to the side and nod.

Steve’s heart stings, but he doesn’t take anything by it. He wraps the bandage down and over your knee in an even rhythm. He tries not to be so direct when he asks: “How’d this happen, anyway, huh? Did Ol’ Sliver finally give up on you?”

You shake your head, eyes on the gauze instead of the boy. The white cloth splotches with pink from where your wound still weeps. “No,” you answer quietly. “Just fell.”

“Just fell, huh?” he repeats quietly. A few caramel-colored strands fall over his forehead as he peers up at you with his chin tilted towards his chest. He tries his best to smile. “You’re givin’ me the sad eyes, babe. I feel like it was more than just a fall.”

“It was stupid…”

He scoffs. “Never.”

“A car drove by me,” you confess, only half-lying. You try to look down at him, but your gaze wavers along with your courage. “And the music was kinda loud, and it… It startled me a little.”

You don’t tell him that Jason Carver intentionally swerved on the wrong side of the road to scare you — or that he yelled mean things through the rolled-down passenger window before speeding off again. It’s easier to keep it to yourself. You don’t want it to become a whole thing.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tucks the end of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. “Were they going too fast?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.”

“It wasn’t those football assholes, was it? I swear to god, they need their license revoked.”

“No,” you answer, quick to soothe his rising anger. “It was— It wasn’t anyone. I just got scared, and I swerved off the road, okay?”

Even in your mousy voice, it sounds like you’re being stern with him. And you’re never stern with him.

“Well, that’s okay,” Steve assures with a shrug. “We all get scared. It’s better than you getting hit, I guess.”

“I guess,” you echo with a huff, a teasing smile on your lips.

Steve grins back, happy to see you less pained. He smacks a gentle kiss to your wrapped-up knee. “Go get in the car, okay? I’ll clean up here, put your bike in the trunk, and we can go home.”

You go shy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. “Your home?” you clarify, secretly hoping he’ll say yes.

His answer isn’t surprising. “Of course, my home. You practically live there, anyway.”

You smile and brush a soft kiss to the scruff of his jaw, murmuring a quiet thank you there before leaving. You’re not limping nearly as badly as you had been before.

Robin waits for the door to ding shut before blurting: “I think it was Jason.” 

Steve stills with the first-aid kit in his hands. He squints at her from where she stands between the horror and X-rated horror aisles. 

“What?”

“I think that’s who might’ve run her off the road.”

“…Why?”

“He gives her a hard time sometimes, I don’t know,” she explains vaguely and with a sigh. “Normally, it’s stupid. Like, honestly, I just think he’s super shit at flirting. Maybe he was just trying to scare her and… got a little carried away…”

Anger burns red hot in Steve’s chest. It blooms just behind his ribcage like a flower with fire for petals.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too angry. It’s not like Robin was the one who hurt you, after all — just some douchebag who wouldn’t have laid a hand on you if he knew who your boyfriend was. 

Steve’s knuckles go white as his grip tightens on the plastic box.

“Because I thought it was harmless!” Robin agonizes as she rushes to meet him. Her deep ocean eyes swim with worry, frightened that he might be angry at her. “Seriously. Most of the time, it sounds like he’s just being mean to get into her pants. And, like, I don’t know if that’s how he landed Chrissy back in the day or what, but he’s obviously got no clue what kind of girl he’s flirting with because…”

She trails off at Steve’s hardened umber gaze.

Robin groans and leans over the counter, reaching for the boy’s wrist. “Please don’t be mad at me, Stevie. My heart can take that. I’ll be sick for days—”

“I’m not mad at you, Rob,” the boy promises. He sighs. “I just gotta… go beat up a kid now.”

—————

You’re too focused on the stars and the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your thigh to notice he’s taking the wrong route home.

The car slows way sooner than you expected. When you come back down from the clouds, you find that you’re in a near-empty lot. The car jolts softly when Steve puts it in park.

“What are we doing?” you turn to him with furrowed brows.

Steve unclicks his seatbelt. “I’ll be right back.”

You look past him, at the large building lit up by amber streetlamps and the green door with a light in its window. Every so often, someone will whip by it wearing a white jersey. Your heart sinks.

“Why are we at school?” you asked, scrunched-faced in a mixture of anger and worry. You don’t know how he knows what happened to you, only that he does know.

“I need to take care of something here. It’s okay—”

“Don’t go in there,” you plead. “Please. Let’s just go home—”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeats. He leans over the console to kiss your cheek. You don’t lean into it like you usually do.

“Steve—”

The car door shuts and cuts off the rest of your pleas.

Steve has an easy time getting into the gym. The backdoor is propped open with a small wooden block like it always is. The coaches welcome him in like usual. They beam as the old team captain waltzes into the newly painted gym like he owns the place.

“Harrington!” the burly man calls over the sounds of squeaking shoes and bouncing basketballs. “Come to turn in an application, finally? I’ve only been asking you to be co-coach since you graduated.”

Steve smiles coolly. “No. Not yet… I, uh— I actually needed to talk to one of your players.”

The man shoots him a look.

“Jason Carver.”

“Oh,” the man chuckles, a deep belly laugh. “You only wanna pull my star player out of practice, huh?”

“It’ll take, like, two seconds. Tops.”

A momentary stare-off ensues. Steve knows the answer he’s going to get. Everyone at this damn school has got a soft spot for him. Perks of being Hawkins High royalty, he figures.

“Two,” the coach says in the place of any real answer. 

He takes the green whistle from his neck and blows into it. The shrill sound echoes through the gym. Like trained dogs, the boys on the court still.

“Carver!” the man shouts, almost too loudly. Steve winces from beside him. “Get over here!”

Jason passes the ball off and jogs to meet them without question. When Steve says he’s got something to tell him, the blonde-haired boy smiles like it’s a privilege. Red-faced and out of breath, he trails behind Steve as they walk out into the hallway.

“Don’t tell me you’re coming to be assistant coach,” the boy says with an audible smile. “Coach Blair has only been talking about it for a year—”

When the double doors shut behind him, Steve whips around and shoves the boy into the lockers. They clang beneath his sudden weight and echo down the empty corridor. Jason’s smug face contorts into shock. “—What the hell?”

He tries to regain his footing, but Steve only shoves him backward again. His hands twist in the neck of his jersey. 

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jason shouts.

Steve’s stern features never waver. He leans in close, eyes trained on the boy like a predator to prey. “Leave my girl alone,” he threatens lowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know who your girl is—”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Steve spits in response. The lockers bang once more when he shoves the boy backward again. “Should break your leg for what you did to her. What would the star player do then, huh?”

Jason’s wide eyes flit between the both of Steve’s. He racks his brain for what he might’ve done so wrong and who he might’ve done it to. He gapes at the realization — “Bambi? Bambi’s your girlfriend?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her?” Steve muses in a monotone, feigning interest. “How cute.”

“I didn’t know, man. I swear. If I knew, I never would’ve—”

“I don’t care. And stop pleading, alright? It’s embarrassing.”

Jason goes quiet. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Steve’s hand loosens on his jersey. His ice-cold gaze never wavers.

“I don’t wanna know what you did to her. I don’t wanna know why you’re doing it, either — if you think she’s pretty, or if she’s easy-pickings for assholes like you — I don’t care.” He presses the boy further into the lockers, their noses inches apart. “But if I hear you’re messing with her, talking about her to your friends— if you so much as look in her direction again, I promise you won’t like what I do to you.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. He juts out his chin in a feeble attempt to make himself taller. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s real rich coming from someone who couldn’t even beat up Jonathan Byers.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” the older boy promises, weirdly composed. “Feel free to find out if you don’t believe me.”

The boy stays quiet.

Steve shoves him backward when he lets go of him. He gives him a final glare and one last warning before walking back toward the gym. “And plant your feet when you’re on the court, alright? It’d be a real shame if you broke an ankle.”

—————

The drive to his house is silent.

It usually is. Most of the time, you’re too zoned into the music or making shapes in the clouds to talk. But now it’s because you’re angry. Steve would be an idiot not to notice. He can feel it radiating off of you like steam.

He reaches for the console and turns the air-con up.

“Are you hot?” he asks in a feeble attempt to break the quiet.

With your arms crossed and your gaze out the window, you deadpan: “I’m mad.”

“I feel like that’s sorta the same thing,” Steve jokes with a weak, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t want you to do that,” you choke through a tight throat. “You’re just gonna make it worse.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you would’ve just told me.”

You turn to him with eyes glassy from unshed tears. A stoplight bathes the both of you in shades of neon scarlet. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d do something about it,” you spit.

“So you’d rather let some asshole run you off the road, huh? Is that it?”

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh. He’s just upset, and the adrenaline’s making him antsy. 

Steve learned a long time ago not to be so forward with you. Even if he’s just joking around, even if he’s mad and saying shit he doesn’t mean — you’re not built for that. You’re made of something softer: marshmallow fluff and crocheted yarn and flower petals. It’s why you let Jason Carver pick on you for so long without saying a word about it.

“It’s not like that,” you argue quietly, blinking back tears as you turn away from him again.

Steve sighs. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean— I’m just upset, okay? I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know…”

“I just wish you would tell me these things, you know?”

His hand is warm on the skin of your thigh as he smooths his palm over it. Your eyes flit to your leg and then to him. You nod. “I know. I just…” Your features crumple when you trail off. 

Steve squeezes your thigh in reassurance. “You just what?”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself,” you confess quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m so weak. I didn’t want you to think that, too.”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, like he almost can’t believe you’d even think something like that.

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“No. Not even a little bit. But as your boyfriend— ‘cause I am your boyfriend, right?”

You meet his teasing gaze with a half-hearted scowl. You’ve only been dating for a year and a half. You nod to humor him.

“Exactly. So, as your boyfriend, it’s my job to help you through the hard shit, you know? Just because you can get through it on your own doesn’t mean you have to.”

Your chest swells. You try not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to. You’ve never had someone who wanted to protect you before. It’s as strange as it is gratifying.

“Okay,” you concede with a nod.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat with a giggle.

Steve leans over the console, moving slowly like his lips are made of magnets that drift to yours. Through the overwhelming urge to kiss you, he jokes: “Is it— and I’m just checking here— is it okay?”

You shake your head and lean to meet him halfway. “You’re such a dork.”

Your lips barely brush before a loud honk echoes behind you. You jolt apart from him, not noticing that the light had turned green until then. 

Steve sighs and mourns your unkissed lips. His engine roars softly as he presses on the gas.

He’d noticed. He saw the light change about twenty seconds ago — how the bright crimson changed into a softer shade of lime that bathed you in its neon hues. He just loved the way you looked in green.

[chimcess]

Nachash || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!

Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here

Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.

July 1997

"How are you feeling?"

I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.

"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."

My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.

Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.

"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.

They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.

Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.

"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"

I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"

"That's a long wait."

I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."

I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.

Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.

"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."

"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."

"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."

It would be her sixth.

"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."

"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.

I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.

"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."

"What if it happens again?"

My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.

I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.

"You'll get through it," I assured him.

We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.

"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too, sissy."

I smiled faintly, "Later."

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.

Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.

The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.

"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.

I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.

"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.

The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"

"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.

What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.

The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.

We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.

"Hello, Doctor."

I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."

"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."

I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.

It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.

"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.

Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.

August 1997

I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.

Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.

Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.

"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.

"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."

I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.

"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"

I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.

"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."

Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.

"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."

The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.

The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.

Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.

Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.

"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."

I hated the subway.

"Leave her alone."

That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.

"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."

Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.

I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.

“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”

Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.

This wasn’t my room.

The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”

Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.

As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”

A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.

“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.

An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.

He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.

“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”

“You. I’m yours.”

He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.

The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.

I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.

I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.

And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.

Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.

I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.

The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.

"I'm Hoseok."

The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.

"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.

"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.

I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."

I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.

"Would you like dinner with me?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.

But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.

I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time. 

"Does two weeks work?"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded. 

"I'm off on the 27th."

He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.

"Meet you here?"

We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.

The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”

I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.

My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.

I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.

Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.

Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.

“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.

I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.

I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.

He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.

And then he bites.

I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.

I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.

September 1997

I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory. 

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.

“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”

“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”

The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate. 

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.

“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?

Was I expecting more from tonight?

“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.

“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.

The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.

“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.

“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”

I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected. 

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.

“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing. 

“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”

I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.

“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”

“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”

I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?

“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.

Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity. 

“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.

“Dauphine.”

The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me. 

As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.

I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.

“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”

The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.

“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”

A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.

“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”

Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement. 

“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”

I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.

“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.

“We were talking about work,” I said.

I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”

Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.

“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”

I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.

“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.

“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.

Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love. 

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.

I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.

And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.

It both sickens and excites me.

October 19, 1997

My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.

The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.

Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.

With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.

From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05   To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi

I grinned and began typing my reply.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15  To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D.   Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital

It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.

I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.

Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.

Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.

“Y/N. Come to me now.”

With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.

He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.

The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.

“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”

My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Are you ready, my lamb?”

Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.

He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.

“Please.”

And then he bit.

I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.

The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.

As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.

My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.

“Soon.”

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.

October 28, 1997

"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.

"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.

"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."

I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."

I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.

"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."

"You got it, doc."

The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.

I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.

The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.

After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.

Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.

Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.

"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.

"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.

The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.

"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.

"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"

The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.

She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.

The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.

“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”

I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.

“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”

I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.

“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”

Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.

“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”

Bootsy…

“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.

I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”

The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.

Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”

Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.

“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”

A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.

Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.

“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”

“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”

“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.

“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”

Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.

She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”

“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.

Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”

It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.

“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”

With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.

He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.

October 31, 1997

I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.

Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.

Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.

My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.

I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.

“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”

“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”

My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”

“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”

Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”

I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”

“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”

“You are special, sweet girl.”

A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.

“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”

“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.

I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.

“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.

“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”

Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.

“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.

“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”

“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”

“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.

“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”

“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”

I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.

“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.

“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”

“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”

“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”

The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.

My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.

The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…

I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.

“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.

The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.

As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.

The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.

“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.

“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”

The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.

I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.

Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.

At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.

The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”

The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.

He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”

He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.

I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.

The despair was suffocating.

“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.

I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”

“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.

Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.

Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.

Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.

“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.” 

Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…

“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”

“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.

“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”

“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.

When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…

Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”

“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.

“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”

Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—

“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”

As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.

A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.

“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.

I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.

“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”

A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.

“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”

“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.

“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”

A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.

Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”

The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.

I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.

I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”

Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.

“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.

I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.

With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”

The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…

Don’t leave me.

Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”

As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.

“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”

Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”

The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.

There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.

And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?

We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.

Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.

Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.

What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.

The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.

I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.

As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.

When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.

The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.

On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.

The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”

“Body of Christ, save me.”

“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”

This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.

“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”

“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”

“O good Jesus, hear me.”

I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.

Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?

To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.

My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.

In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.

I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.

I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.

My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.

No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.

Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.

Shit.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.

I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.

The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.

Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.

The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.

Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.

My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.

I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.

The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.

“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.

"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.

The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy. 

"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.

"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.

"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"

I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.

"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."

Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.

I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.

His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.

"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.

"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.

I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.

A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.

I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.

My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.

The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.

My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.

As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.

"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.

His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.

His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.

The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.

I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.

He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."

My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.

"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."

His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."

The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."

His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.

The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.

His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.

Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.

He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.

As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.

I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.

“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.

His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.

I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”

“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.

Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.

The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”

I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”

The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.

Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.

“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”

I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.

As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.

Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”

His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.

Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”

As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.

The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.

I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.

As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.

There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.

At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.

October 31, 2024

The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.

Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.

Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.

When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.

As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.

One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.

Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.

As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.

I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”

I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”

His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”

I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”

“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”

Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.

Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.

I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.

Pager Codes:

110 307 - Go To Bar

209 - On My Way

08 - OK

420 - You’re in trouble

3011 - Be Careful

221 - Where are you?

419 - I don’t understand

100 - Come Back

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[velvrei]

baeeee xavier x dom!vampire!reader smut where he begs reader to bite him or smthn 🫶🫶🫶

that’s actually such a good idea! I GOTCHU

..

bite me

pairing : xavier thorpe x reader

summary : reader is a vampire and sub!xavier begs the her to bite and help him

warnings : sub!xavier, smut, biting, begging, grinding, dom!reader, xavier c0mes in his pants (yes)

nsfw below the cut .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

xavier was always one to beg. especially when it came to you. no matter what you’d do, say, show him, he would still be absolutely in love with you. even that’s an understatement.

that’s why it was no surprise when he turned movie night into his begging hour.

you had just finished watching the scream series and it was around 1am, and now as you looked for the next movie he was in your ear whispering whatever dirty thought came to mind in attempt to distract you and make you stop everything to give him what he wanted.

“baby, you know how much i love you?”

“you look so pretty tonight, my love.”

“how about we ditch the movies and have our own fun”

the flirtatious words quickly turned into begging.

“baby, i want you so bad”

“y/n, i need you”

“fuckkkk, y/nnnn”

“i’ve been so good”

you were doing pretty decent on your attempt to ignore him but he quickly got your attention.

“let’s try something, new. please.”

once you heard that you grabbed the hand that was on your thigh before he could move it and turned to him. “try what, exactly?”

you had thrown on halloween ends which is one you and xavier had seen many times, and now you were making intense eye contact and trying to read his cute expression.

“i want you to bite me. please, baby, i have literally had dreams about this moment and i just want to make it real life. i will literally pay you-”

you laughed and then the realization hit. he wanted you to bite him? “how so, my love?”

“literally anyway you want and i’ll be done for. i’m begging you, baby.” his tone was a cute amount of need and his voice was low and raspy sense it was late and past his bedtime.

he went to beg again but you quickly shut him up, smashing your soft lips onto his plump ones.

he whined as he felt your leg swing around his body so you were completely straddling him.

you continued kissing his needy lips, feeling how hard he was under you and he began to grind his hips against yours.

“like that, baby? that feel good?” your words send him into a low whine as he dramatically threw his head back against the couch, exposing his full neck.

you took your chance and gently bit down on his neck, you felt his hips buck up to yours, he made a whining sound and he felt so hot and sweaty even though much hadn’t been done.

“fuckkk,” his moan was so loud it almost echoed.

you continued biting and leaving marks all over his exposed neck, xavier couldn’t help but pant and groan and his noises just went straight to your core.

you could tell he was getting close just from the small gestures you have made, and he was fully ready to just let go.

“i’m gonna come baby, oh god oh god,” you bit his neck once more and felt his hips buck up, and watched with a huge smile as his whole body spasmed and a wet patch formed in his pants.

he moaned and you pushed some of his hair off of his sweaty face.

“good job, baby. you did so well.”

<3

[carolmunson]

it's like sugar sometimes.

(older!modern!dad!eddie)

welcome back to the: orange colored sky setlist a/n: this can be read as a stand alone, give or take some references. but as a pre-cursor: you and eddie are about twelve years apart, meeting in late twenties early thirties, his late thirties early forties. you're deeply in love and we're fast forwarding a bit and now you have a kid. shout out to my nephew because without countless videos of him being the same age as the baby in this fic i would not now how babies baby. cw: pure fluff. pure dad eddie goodness. pretty tame. some mild arguing and swearing. some saucy kisses at the end. a new entry for the fall frenzy extravaganza. this fall frenzy is in honor of @jo-harrington who said i could do whatever, so here we are lmao.

songspiration: how sweet it is (to be loved by you) | james taylor

The ride to the orchard is going much better than you were expecting after such a rough morning. Tears from the moment Gwen came into your room just before four in the morning because she had a bad dream. Then it was too hot for her in bed with both of you, then she was too cold, then Ed’s snoring kept you both awake until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Then there was the kicking and stretching and rolling around. Aren’t they supposed to sleep like logs? She just turned three. Ed woke up refreshed, frowning when he turned over to see you sitting up against the headboard reading with puffy tired eyes. “Hey,” he says softly as to not wake Gwen who was curled up into his side, “She come in last night?” “Another bad dream,” you shrug, looking at him over your book, “I don’t know if she’s really having them or if she’s just starting to have a little regression period. Maybe we can get her a new night light or something.” “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep for a little and I’ll get her ready,” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep, “I’ll just take her into the shower with me.” You smile lazily at him and nod, looking over at the clock on his night stand – a little past six. Maybe an extra forty-five would do you some good before you went to the orchards upstate. Gwen’s eyes open up to her dad awake, her face contorting when she sees him. “Had a bad dweam,” she sniffles, reaching her arms out. “Poor Gwen, you had a bad dream?” Eddie coos, pulling her up out of bed with him, “Tell me all about it, angel.” Her babbles echo down the hall even after Ed closes the door behind them.

Piercing sobs woke you up instead of your alarm, though that went off right after to remind you that there’s a whole day you have to start. You rub your eyes and groan, sliding out of bed and stepping into your slippers. You grab your robe, shrugging it on as you leave the bedroom and wincing while another cry pours out of your toddler and goes straight to your chest. “I know, honey, I know,” you hear Eddie soothe, “But we’re gonna go do something so fun. You wanna go pick a pumpkin, right?” “No pumpki-i-in,” she sobs, deep and guttural. You open the door to her room slowly, a very teary Gwen stands in the corner, hair wet in a new set of pajamas. You look at Eddie, pulling out an outfit for her and laying it on her toddler bed. “What’s goin’ on, in here?” you ask gently. “Gwen doesn’t wanna get dressed to go apple picking,” Eddie says quietly, “She wants to watch Blue’s Clues.” “Wan’ see Bl-blue, mommy,” she sobs, “Pwease.” “Hey, hey,” you try your best to settle her, “Thank you for saying please, honey. We can still see Blue but daddy has to get you dressed first.” “Did she eat?” you ask, pulling Gwen up to your hip while she cries into your shoulder. “Yeah, she had some mini waffles and a banana,” he opens her closet and fishes out a tiny pair of Chuck’s to go with her outfit – a little black sweatshirt screen printed with the Halloween movie poster paired with a set of leggings meant to look like jeans. “Did you eat?” you smile, coming over to him to plant a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, her leftovers,” he laughs, “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter.” “Thank you,” you nudge him, feeling Gwen squirm and whine while she tries to shimmy down from your hip, “Okay, okay.” “Gwen, please,” Eddie begs with a twinge of frustration in his voice when she makes it to the door, on her tiptoes to reach the handle, “Let’s just get you dressed and you can watch Blue’s Clues while we do your hair.” She stomps, wet curls bouncing with her when she does, “Wanna watch now, pwease!” “Thank you for asking nicely Gwen, but that doesn’t always mean you get your way,” he explains. She shrieks, loud enough that your eyes squint, stomping again onto the fluffy white carpet below her, “I wanna watch Blue’s Cwue’s!” “Why don’t you take a deep breath for me, huh?” Eddie asks her, he pats your lower back on the way to the door. A silent way of letting you know to just go get yourself ready, he can handle the rest, “Do we need to take a time out?” “No time out,” she starts to cry again when you slip out of the room. More frustrated whines and wails boom down the hall, dissipating while you make it down the metal staircase to the coffee on the counter. Your heart swells when you notice that he already emptied and reloaded the dishwasher. 

After you’ve packed some snacks for later and gotten yourself dressed, you make your way back upstairs. You approach the bathroom with your coffee in hand, Gwen’s sippy cup full of water in the other. Her bubbly squeals respond back to whoever is talking to her, barely looking up from Eddie’s phone to look at you when you open the door. 

“Who’re you talking to, miss girl?” you ask, putting her sippy cup next to her on the bathroom counter. “Steeb,” she says, eyes glued to the screen, much happier than she was before. “She’s watching 90s Blue’s Clues?” you laugh at your husband who’s busy splitting her Gwen’s hair into a middle part, looking in the mirror that she’s sat in front of. “No, she’s FaceTiming with Steve,” he shakes his head, pulling one section back into a high pigtail. “Hi peach!” Steve’s voice rings from the phone, he lowers it back down to parentese to address Gwen, “Is that mommy? Can you say hi to her for me?”  “Steeb say hi,” Gwen says, lifting the phone up, showing the screen to the ceiling of the bathroom. You take the phone for a second, seeing Steve’s annoyed face in the frame. 

“You’re on thin ice,” he says, his fiancee’s laugh ringing out of frame, “I can’t believe you’re going this week when we’ll be there in two. You always go before we come to visit.” “There will be plenty of apple picking trips to do together when we move, I promise,” you assure, “She starts gymnastics and swimming next weekend, we won’t have another time to do it.” 

“Gymnastics?” he asks, “Does she have tights? Leotards? What can I get her?” 

“She has like, I don’t know Steve – forty leotards? She’s gonna grow out of half of them in six weeks,” you explain, “Don’t worry, your husband got it covered.” Eddie snickers, wrapping an elastic around one of the ponytails in his fingers. “Well if she’s gonna grow out of them then she’ll need more,” he scoffs, “I’ll get some sent over.” 

“You’re impossible,” your eye roll is something Steve is just as used to as Eddie is. Gwen whines again, reaching for the phone with grabby hands, a quiet ‘Steeby’ escaping her. “I can hear her asking for me, gimme back to my girl,” he sighs. You hand the phone back to Gwen who giggles when Steve makes a funny face at her through the screen. “Look how pretty those ponytails are. Daddy did such a good job,” Steve coos at her. “We payin’ be-yoo-dee sawon,” Gwen explains. Eddie looks up at you, whispering ‘Can you grab her bows for me?’ You nod, reaching into the bottom drawer to snatch a basket full of bows, holding them out to him while he picks. 

“Beauty salon,” Eddie corrects softly, “Orange or black bows?”  “Bwack,” she says, waving him off like you do when you’re busy, “I’m on da phone, daddy.” “Yeah,” you say, meeting her sass, “She’s on the phone, daddy.”

He lets a ‘pfff’ push out of his lips while he grabs two black bows from last halloween, little sparkly spider webs parked in the center. You leave them to it, heading down to get the car packed up and make sure you have Gwen’s bag set up before you leave. 

Despite the dramatics, the ride is going well. Gwen happily eats an apple sauce packet in her carseat while the two of you sip on coffees and eat breakfast sandwiches from a drive thru off the highway. It’s nice to get out of the city for a while and get Gwen used to the idea of not being in it anymore. The drive consists mostly of James Taylor’s greatest hits because Gwen is her Grandpa Wayne’s baby before she’s anyone else’s. She hums along to Carolina and sings only the chorus of Mexico. Her favorite song is Mockingbird even though it’s Carly Simon featuring James Taylor. The two of you throw it on the record player every other day to sing it to her, even if she doesn’t ask for it. It’s selfishly your favorite song, too, just ‘cause you get to see your husband play along with you. “And if that better way ain't so, I'll ride with the tide and go with the flow, And that's why, I keep on shoutin' in your ear, Saying (yeah, yeah) whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-oh.” You lean your head back on the passenger’s side to make eye contact with Gwen through the visor mirror who giggles back at you. She mimics your ‘whoa-whoa-whoa’, shimmying in her carseat with her shoulders. Gwen’s no stranger to shimmying, always finding some way to dance off beat to Ed’s music when he plays at a venue she can be at or practices at home. His number one fan. 

“Oh-wange twees, mommy,” Gwen says, tiny finger pointing out the window at the foliage lining the road. “I see them, aren’t they pretty Gwen?” you nod back at her. Eddie’s head turns slightly to watch her watch the trees, eyes shining at each change of color hits her. His heart beats a little quicker knowing she’s able to make those distinctions between orange, red, and yellow – too smart, getting too big. “Daddy’s git-tah,” she yelps, pointing hard at a tree covered in dark red leaves while Eddie slowly turns down the entrance of the orchard. Gwen lets out a tiny ‘woah’ when the car jostles that makes him laugh, he wishes she’d stay this little forever. “Yeah, that’s the same color as daddy’s guitar, good job sweetheart,” he smiles back at her, “Are you ready to pick some apples so we can make Uncle Stevie a pie for when he visits?” “Ya!” She nods, happy and excited. She doesn’t know what he said, but whenever he talks to her with a smile she’ll do whatever he asks and vice versa. Still ‘sort of rockstar’, definitely ‘meant to be father’. Parking is less of a nightmare than expected since it’s early in the day – most families come after the first morning nap, at least that’s what the mom groups told you on Facebook. Gwen hardly naps anymore, but you won’t be surprised if she knocks out earlier than usual tonight. Eddie gets the backpack full of Gwen’s essentials and you grab the baby. “I have to carry you through the parking lot, babe,” you say when she starts to bounce in your arms, eager to run on the grass in her sneakers. “Wanna walk, please,” she begs, her hands on your cheeks while you make your way towards the entrance. “You can walk when we get inside but there’s lots of cars out here and no stop lights,” you say, batting her hand out of your hair when she reaches for it, “I’ll put you down in a little bit.” “You think we should take the stroller?” Ed asks from the trunk. “They have wagons, we can just pull her around,” you shrug, “I don’t think the back up stroller is good for this kind of place, we’d need the one at home.” Eddie shrugs, joining you on your walk to the entrance to get your empty bag and your wagon, putting Gwen at the back as you get to the trees. “Walk, please,” she begs again. You hesitate, it’s just too big of a place and she’s a runner, “Honey, I would love it if you–” “Let her walk,” Eddie says, “She’ll get bored after a few minutes and wanna watch anyway, just let her walk.” “Come here Gwen, hold my hand,” he says, offering a tattooed hand to her pudgy one. She clumsily crawls out of the wagon, bouncing over to her dad to put her hand in his. He pulls her up once, making her squeal and giggle as she floats next to him. “More, more!” she laughs, letting Eddie swing her ahead a few more times while you all make your way through the trees. 

She likes apple picking more than you expected, arms up constantly to be lifted onto the branches to grab some off of every few trees. Gwen had a good eye, better than you and Eddie, for super crisp ones – pointing up and jumping to get at them. If she was a little bigger you wouldn’t be surprised if she climbed up the trees with the ease of a jungle cat. Your husband encouraged it, climbing up the branches like he was still twenty – sitting with his legs dangling off and having you pass your toddler to him. “Please be careful,” you warn, passing her up to him. “Babe, I know what I’m doing,” he scowls, a hint annoyed before changing his expression for Gwen when he helps her onto the low branch with him. “You don’t have to be a jerk, I just want her to be safe,” you snap back. “And I’m keeping her safe,” he says with a smile as to keep your daughter none-the-wiser. Still looking at Gwen while she reaches for another apple. She hands it to Eddie who hands it to you, your fingers brush. “Sorry,” he says, looking down at you, “I’ll be careful. We’re not very high, but you’re right. I’ll be careful.” “Thank you,” you nod, taking the apple and pressing a ghost of a kiss to his knuckles. He blushes red, red, red. Red like the leaves, red like his guitar. “Why s’pink, daddy?” Gwen asks, passing him another apple. “I just love mommy very much, honey,” he smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair, “She makes me turn pink like a heart.” “Like on da phone,” she says, clinging to him like a koala when he slides down off the low branch with her. “Yes, like on the phone,” he nods. You’re not Peach 🍑 in his phone anymore. You’re The Wife 💗. Right now he’s Gwen’s Dad in your phone because you got in an argument two months ago and haven’t changed it back to Rockstar Husband 🎸❣️because ‘Gwen’s Dad’ makes you laugh too much. He hates it. “How you like them apples, G?” you ask when Eddie puts her down in the wagon, she looks up at you confused and shrugs; brown curly pigtails bouncing at she does. “Kids today,” you shake your head at Eddie while you press onward, “No culture.” 

“No culture,” he agrees enthusiastically. 

You peruse, the bags you bought are filled to the brim with apples. Some red, some green, a few yellow so Gwen can try them and see if she likes them. It’s a calming walk, the chatter of other families, the squeaky roll of the wagon, the rustle of the trees when the early autumn wind catches them. Eddie holds your hand loosely, always needing to keep touching you in some way, always wanting to keep you close to him. You look back, Gwen going between looking around at the other families and playing with her V-Tech phone. Eddie goes from walking slow to speeding up to make the wagon jostle just to hear Gwen’s giggles peal through the trees. After about an hour of walking and picking, you’re about as pooped as your toddler should be. Once you get to the tree line you see the farm and market down at the base of the hill, a little relieved that you’ve all made it to the end of the road unscathed. 

That is, until Gwen climbs out of the wagon when it comes to a stop and without warning, books it towards the edge. 

“Gwendolyn Rose!” Eddie’s call is rough and loud out of fear, but it sounds like anger. Gwen stops short, startled, falling backwards onto the seat of her leggings. Like clockwork the first whine starts, building up into a needy, sad wail. You know they’re crocodile tears so you keep your pace with the wagon behind you. Your husband however, despite the constant reminder that she knows he’s easy, rushes forward without a second thought. “Oh no, my baby girl, shh, shh. I’m sorry,” he coos, reaching down to hoist her up onto his hip, “I didn’t mean to yell, sugar. You just got daddy scared is all. I’m not mad.” Gwen wipes her face, pushing away tears that never fell, sniffling and hiding her face in his neck. He rubs her back while she settles, guilt tugging on the lines between his brows. 

“No baby girl,” Gwen pouts, “I’m big girl.” 

“Oh that’s right, you’re my big girl,” Eddie grins, kissing her cheek. She’s not amused, frowning down at him while she pushes up against his shoulder to squirm out of his hold. “That’s a very grumpy face, Gwenny,” you giggle.  “Hey, are you mad at me?” he asks up at her before popping her back down onto her feet at the edge of the tree line, “Why’re you lookin’ so mad?” 

“I’m big,” she announces, little foot stomping on the grass below her. Eddie lets a sigh out through his nose and kneels down to her level. She takes several deep breaths and you both know it’s the beginning of what could be a very long second tantrum of the day. “I know, you’re a very big girl,” he nods, “But what do mommy and daddy say you have to do when we don’t have you in the stroller?” “Hode hands,” she repeats back in a whine. “That’s right, we hold hands – and if we’re not holding your hand you’re supposed to stay close, right?” He watches her nod, tucking a finger under her chin to make sure she’s absorbing what he’s saying. Her lower lip juts out, cheeks puffing while her shoulders sulk. “I walk by - by mysewf,” she urges, sniffling, “Pwease.” “Not today, sugar. I’m sorry,” he sighs, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I have a fun idea, do you wanna get on daddy’s shoulders and you can tell us how far we are from the farm?” She brightens up a little, giggling when he reaches down to tickle her sides before scooping her up to lift over his shoulders. He groans the way old men groan when they lift something and you stifle a laugh, smiling up at Gwen when she smiles down at you. “Hi mommy,” she beams, waving her tiny hand.  “Hi baby,” wave back lazily, the shoddy sleep you had last night starting to settle into your eyes. “Do you see the farm, Gwenny?” Eddie asks, she nods enthusiastically, “Maybe we can go get you a donut, how does that sound? Will that make you happy?”

“Ed,” you click your tongue, “She’s never gonna get to sleep later.” “We’re making memories, babe,” Eddie says, reaching up to hold Gwen’s hands to keep her steady, “Some extra sugar won’t hurt her.” 

“Yeah, you love extra sugar, don’t you?” you laugh. 

“Matter of fact, I do,” he smirks, shooting you a wink. He laughs when he sees two of those twelve foot Home Depot skeletons posed outside the front of the market, promoting their haunted hayride with signs and other silly decor, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ metal – s’ridiculous.” 

“S’dic-yoo-liss,” Gwen repeats. “S’ridiculous, Gwennifer!” Eddie repeats back in concurrence. “Sss’tick-you-luss,” she bounces, laughing when he laughs. They have the same one, though his has years on hers, gruff with age, with cigarette stains. 

Pumpkins get picked, warm donuts devoured, the morning finally feels like it’s coming to a close. You park Gwen down at a picnic table while Eddie goes to get the goods, hanging out with your threenager who can barely keep her eyes open. You’re thankful you still have the wagon because there was no way you’d be able to carry all of it back to the car. Caramel apples, cider donuts, three gallons of apple cider, honey sticks, pumpkin pie, and anything else Eddie thought was good enough to bring home for the season weight heavy in the brown paper bags in his arms. He comes back sheepishly, biting his lower lip when you look at the bags and then at him. 

“Hm,” you hum pointedly. 

“I just really like fall flavors, peach,” he shrugs, “And the old lady at the front was so sweet telling me about the deals I couldn’t not get everything.” “You’re such a sucker,” you laugh with a roll of your eyes, “You ready to head out?” He nods, ticking his forehead at Gwen whose cheek is smushed against your chest, eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, “Looks like this pumpkin’s ready to go.” 

“She’s out,” you say softly, brushing her hair away from her face, “Lasted five minutes on my lap.” 

“Let me get a picture to send to Steve,” he says low enough that it doesn’t wake her, “The background is perfect.” “Ed you have a thousand pictures of her from today,” you complain. “Shh, shh, come on,” he smiles, taking out his phone – you know he’s only snapping Gwen by the way he lowers the camera to your lap. He puts the bags in the wagon while you slowly stand with her wrapped around your front. You wait at the entrance for him to pull the car around, leaving the wagon behind. She doesn’t wake up when you pop her back in the car seat, slowly rolling out of the parking lot with the rest of the afternoon in your wake. 

“I got her a little gourd painting kit, somewhere in those bags,” he says, “She can make some decorations.”  “Oh she’ll love that,” you nod, peeking at her sleeping face in the visor mirror again, “I’ll do it with her before dinner.”

He pulls in slowly at a stop sign, hand reaching out to snake into yours, pulling it to his lips to bless you with soft kisses on the back of your hand.

“Thanks for such a good day, baby,” he murmurs.

“You’re very welcome.” 

Later on, just before dinner, Eddie hears a tiny knock on his office door paired with two giggles from his favorite girls. 

“Yes?” he calls out. The door creeps open and he hears you whisper, ‘Ask ‘Are you busy, daddy?’ 

“You busy, daddy?” Gwen pipes up. He shuts his computer, moving away from the two additional screens. “No, honey, never too busy for you,” he smiles, creases by his eyes showing up through his glasses, “Do you have something to show me?” 

“Yeah,” she nods, pulling on your hand to pull you into the room. He uses the same candles he always has, deep spice, like his cologne. Warm like the way he holds you. Still in his hunter green Dickie’s overalls from this morning. 

You give Gwen her little pumpkin that she painted to present to her dad, beaming with excitement while he looks it over. 

“Such a good job, Gwenny,” he coos, “Are these –” 

“I did bats,” she grins, finger touching the sparkly black sort of bats adorning the outside. Covered in glitter and sequins, falling onto his office floor. 

“You did bats? For Halloween?” he asks. You shake your head no, smiling big when Gwen goes on to explain. 

“No cause, daddy, cause you have bats,” she hurriedly explains, “Issa daddy pum-kin.” She reaches to his left arm, pointing at the bat tattoos on the inside when he was a kid. She runs her finger over them, “See, bats like daddy.” 

“That’s so sweet, honey,” he coos, “Is it for me?” “Yeah,” she squeaks, “For here.” “For your office,” you say for her, trying not to giggle when his eyes shine with tears. She could give him a piece of trash and he’d cry over it, “‘Cause you have so many Halloween decorations in here.” He laughs, looking around at all the tour posters he has from bands he’s seen over the years – to a three year old they probably are a little scary. “And what did you say it was when you were done, Gwen?” you ask, “What did you say daddy would think the pumpkin was?” “Fucking med-oh,” she giggles. “Oh my god,” he sighs, thumb and forefinger immediately going to temples. “Fucking metal,” you repeat back him, knowingly, “Wonder where she got that.”

He tries not to laugh when he looks down at Gwen, “Don’t say that word, baby, that’s a bad word.” “Sowwy,” she whispers. “It’s okay, you didn’t know,” he grins, pulling her in to kiss her all over. She shrieks the way babies shriek when they’re excited and runs out of the office toward her bedroom at the end of the hall. You turn to go after her before feeling Eddie’s hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly in your ear, you shiver, “Remember when you said I like a little extra sugar?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, turning to him, “I do.” He leans in slow, lips capturing yours in a way that they only do when you both get to be alone, “Don’t forget to keep givin’ me some.” “I won’t,” you murmur back, letting him kiss you deeply one more time before pressing a slow kiss to your favorite place under the hinge of your jaw, “You’re bold, Munson.” He shrugs, breaking away, “Needed somethin’ sweet.” 

As if he isn't sweet enough. Eddie spends the rest of the night looking up ways to preserve a painted gourd. 

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul Halloween Special 2024

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Halloween Special

            “We’re gonna dress up as scary stuff?” Angel looked at Charlie. “You do remember we’re in Hell, right?”

            “Yeah, but you don’t have to be scary! This is for fun,” said Charlie excitedly. “We’ll listen to fun music and eat candy, and it’ll be awesome.”

            “No thanks,” said Husk. “I don’t play dress up.”

            “Come on, I swear it’ll be fun,” said Charlie. “We’ll have music and dancing and food—”

            “I’ll do it,” said Vaggie, smiling.

            Charlie smiled. “Thanks, Babe.”

            “Is Halloween good for Hazbin Hotel and reforming sinners?” said (Y/N).

            “Of course,” said Charlie. “Instead of actually being scary and horrifying, we’re good!”

            “My parents always said Halloween was satanic, so it might not be good,” said (Y/N).

            “…Kid, your parents suck,” said Angel, looking at them. First Pride, now Halloween? They really did have a strict religious upbringing. He grinned at them. “Time for you to rebel some more from them.”

            “That’s really not what we’re going for, Angel,” said Vaggie.

            “(Y/N) is stuck in bad thinking. Aren’t you supposed to help with that?” said Angel.

            “Yes!” said Charlie firmly. She grinned. “We can have a good time without being satanic or demonic or whatever, and Halloween can be fun.”

            “Of course it can be!” Alastor appeared out of nowhere. “Why, Halloween was my favorite night to strike! The fear, the screams, what a fun evening!”

            “That’s really not—”

            Alastor ignored Vaggie and looked at (Y/N). “We must get you a proper costume. I’m sure Rosie is looking to dress you up again.”

            (Y/N) brightened. They liked Rosie. “You think she would help?”

            “Of course,” said Alastor, steering (Y/N) by the shoulders towards the doors. “I’ll take you to Cannibal Town and then organize the party.”

            “Thanks for your help, Alastor!” said Charlie, grinning.

            “I still think we should be concerned that he gives (Y/N) so much attention,” said Vaggie.

            “His only friend is a cannibal. This could be good for him, being around someone sweet like (Y/N),” said Charlie.

            “Or bad for (Y/N),” said Angel. He looked at Husk. “Do you know what he wants with them?”

            “He hasn’t gone for a deal yet, so I’m not sure,” said Husk.

            “I think it’s sweet,” said Charlie.

            “Alastor is still Alastor,” said Husk firmly. “He just…”

            “He’s weird; (Y/N)’s weird; we’re all weird,” said Angel.

            Husk gestured to Angel. “Yeah, whatever, that. Who can understand it?”

l

            “Everything looks so good!” said Charlie excitedly. She wore a fake mustache and a striped grey and black suit (Gomez Addams).

            “It turned out well,” agreed Vaggie, wearing a form-fitting black dress (Morticia Addams).

            Charlie grinned and hugged Vaggie. “Thanks for setting it up.” She looked at Alastor. “And thank you for the music. I wish you’d worn a costume, though.”

            “I don’t have a need to,” said Alastor with his usual grin. “Costumes are silly.”

            “Not when they make someone look this good,” said Angel, posing by the bar. He wore a playboy bunny outfit.

            “Um, Angel, this was supposed to be fun—”

            “Charlie, Halloween parties are for people to dress up sexy,” said Angel. He winked. “I’m upholdin’ tradition.”

            “He’s not wrong,” said Vaggie. She had died in the twenty-first century, and that was still true.

            “Don’t expect much from me. I just threw on what I could find,” said Husk. He had on a purple and raspberry suit with voodoo runes written on cards. Vaggie felt like he reminded her of a character from a movie in New Orleans…But she couldn’t place her finger on t.

            “Can I clean yet?” said Niffty, bouncing up and down in her French maid costume (what else would she wear?).

            “The party has barely begun,” said Charlie, smiling. “And (Y/N) isn’t here.”

            Speaking of the young demon, the front door of the hotel opened, and (Y/N) walked in. Rosie had definitely enjoyed herself dressing them up.

            They wore a red beaded dress with tassels that swished as they moved. A feather was pinned gently amongst their red rose-hair, they wore black gloves, and they had on heels. Obviously, Rosie had taken great pride in dressing them up as a 1920s flapper. (And Rosie had done it because she knew her friend would enjoy seeing his protégé in his time period’s outfit. (Y/N) was an adorable teenager, in her opinion).

            “I’m back,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “Did Rosie and I do the costume right?”

            “You look so good!” said Charlie.

            “Nice, kid,” said Angel, grinning.

            “There’s only one thing wrong with it,” said Alastor.

            Everyone looked at him. Alastor snapped his finger, and the music playing over the radio switched to proper swing music from his era.

            “A dancer should have the right music,” said Alastor. And, with his usual energy, he pulled (Y/N) onto the dancefloor.

            (Y/N) smiled widely and tried to copy his movements to learn the dances properly.

            The other residents of the hotel watched. They were back at the question at hand: was Alastor rubbing off on (Y/N) or were they rubbing off on him? This was a normal Alastor thing to do (he’d pulled Charlie into who-knew-how-many dances at this point), but it was also more…genuine, perhaps, with (Y/N).

            And (Y/N), the kid with the terrible parents who thought they were nothing more than a sinner at times, had a giant smile on their face and a growing confidence when it came to facing all those around them, no matter how powerful.

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@a-huge-bi-nerd

@lost-in-the-hellaverse

@tagthetrekkie

@amberforest08

@picklehat3r

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@rl800

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@elaemae

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@kitkatlover015

@snowy-violet

[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒜𝒩𝒢𝐸𝐿ﾉ𝒟𝐸𝒱𝐼𝐿

info ⭑ suna rintaro x reader. 1.4 wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ alcohol 

note ⭑ repost from last halloween :3

suna.

you can’t count the number of times you’ve heard that name in the past thirty minutes and it’s really starting to bother you. you haven’t been able to go from one room to the next without someone stopping you to bring up this suna figure. did you and suna come together? i didn’t know you and suna were so close. oh my gosh, you and suna are the cutest! every mention of the name confuses you because 1) you have no idea who suna is and 2) what the hell does he have to do with you?

it was easy to brush off at first but the more you drank and the more his name came up, it was beginning to get a little harder to quietly sit back and ignore. after all, it’s difficult to enjoy a party when every other person that passes you is asking you about some guy you don’t know. so, in an attempt to save your fun, and in the holiday spirit, you decide to take on the mystery that is suna.

you quickly learn that the task is a lot easier said than done.

firstly, you aren’t even sure of what you’re looking for. you’ve never heard of this guy’s name before tonight so it’s a safe bet to assume that you don’t know what he looks like. and on top of that, the large crowd and your tipsy state don’t make your search for the elusive man any easier.

running into suna’s friends seems to be much more likely than actually coming across the man himself. when you canvas the game room, you meet atsumu who tells you that suna is probably tucked away (by himself, on his phone) in a corner of the living room. you don’t find him there but you do find komori who suggests peeking into the bedrooms upstairs—parties have never really been suna’s thing, he tells you. the rooms that aren’t locked on the second floor are vacant and with no new guide appearing to hand over a helpful clue, the last thing you can do is check the growing line for the bathroom.

shocker—he isn’t there either.

after this wild goose chase that has yielded absolutely nothing, you’re beginning to think that everyone at this party came together to play an elaborate prank on you. suna must be a ghost or not exist at all because it’s impossible to have not found him after looking for so long. you’ve never considered yourself to be a quitter, but it’s starting to sound like a pretty tempting title as you sit at the counter in the mostly empty kitchen sipping from your solo cup.

maybe i should just give up, you think.

yes, it’ll be annoying to spend the rest of halloween as the package deal to some random dude but as soon as you come to the realization that he’s probably putting up with the same strange treatment, you think it can’t be that bad—at least there’s someone to share your suffering with. the thought is meant to be reassuring but it only makes you want to find this guy even more. though, at this point, it would take a miracle from an angel for you to run into him before the night is over.

“there’s my angel.” the unfamiliar voice (and the seemingly telepathic abilities of its host) causes you to stiffen before you regain your composure and turn around to see who’s addressing you. if the descriptions you got from atsumu and komori were accurate, this has to be suna. there are plenty of guys on campus with dark hair but you doubt any of them have eyes similar to the gray-yellow ones currently staring you down.

you’re about to ask if he’s the suna you’ve been hearing about all night when you get a look at what he’s wearing. atop his thick strands of dark hair sits a headband with red curved horns and you can just barely see a matching pointed tail sticking out from the waistband of his pants. he’s even spinning a trident lazily in his hand. it’s only then that you realize why he called you angel; you’re decked out in white with a pair of wings attached to your back and a fluffy halo hovering over your head. you click your tongue. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“woah,” he raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk pulling at his lips, “this angel has quite the potty mouth.”

the furrow in your brow deepens with his remark which only makes suna’s grin widen. he has to admit, the unwarranted assumptions of his “new relationship” he’d been hearing about all night piqued his curiosity. he couldn’t have imagined the reason everyone kept approaching him with questions and their congratulations was that the two of you wore an accidental couple’s costume. suna finds the fiasco and your reaction to it hilarious. you, on the other hand, aren’t as entertained.

in fact, you’re a little irked that you wasted a chunk of your night away because someone just so happened to wear a costume that complimented yours. if you had been a little less inebriated, you would have apologized for your uncalled-for outburst and tried to enjoy the rest of the party but the swimming feeling in your head brought on by the punch you’ve had a little too much of has other plans.

you swallow down the remaining contents of your cup, licking your lips to collect the sticky liquid that lingers. your eyes find suna’s before you ask him, “where have you been? i was starting to think you weren’t real.”

“around,” he replies with a shrug and then smiles upon seeing the way your lips part in annoyance at his answer—or lack-there-of. he clears his throat to keep the laugh bubbling up from spilling out. there’s a wobbly smile plastered on his face as he continues, “it was kinda funny, watching you roam around looking for me.”

you’re beginning to question whether or not the horns and tail attached to suna really are fake because he truly is devious. “you chose a fitting costume.”

“thank you,” he says despite your statement not being a compliment. he purses his lips in deep thought, spinning the triton in his hand. “you’re not really living up to your angelic image, though. are you sure you dressed appropriately?”

that, you can’t help but laugh at. in all honestly, you think that this exchange would have been a lot more pleasant on your end if you had run into suna earlier—before you started drinking, before people made the connection that you two were matching, before he had time to play that game of cat and mouse with you.

you have a feeling you might regret this decision tomorrow when you’re sober, but after putting so much time and effort into finding him, it wouldn’t make sense not to give suna a chance to get to know you. for the first time since you’ve seen him, you smile at suna. “stick around and you’ll find out.”

hihi~ manon here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have a question, so for most of the day to day things that the students do, they where some from of uniform for, wether it be their normal school one, the PE one or their dorm clothes they wear (that still are basically uniforms) or the ceremonial robes so my question is, are they allowed to at all wear what they want during any time at school? Because even in events such as the masquerade or the savanna one we had not long ago (bare with me I am bad at remembering names) that happen outside of school, they are commonly seeing wearing their uniform or at the very least their PE kits (that changes if the event gives them different clothing such as the outfits for the masquerade). The one time I can kind of remember the students being allowed to kind of wear what they want is during the event with stitch (again I can't remember the name). If their are times they wear non school can you perhaps give a list or something of what they wear? Or perhaps times they mention their style or what the normally wear?

Sorry if my English is terrible it is not my first language and spelling and grammar over all aren't my strong suit. And sorry for the ramble, feel free to ignore it as I know this is kind of stupid.

Have a good day/night and rest well

NOTE: NRC supplies uniforms (ie school, P.E., etc.; one copy of each) but if you ruin it then you have to buy a new one.

While the game doesn’t outright state when the students must wear their school uniforms, we can probably guess based on irl British boarding schools (for which NRC is modeled after). In the UK, the general policy is that students must wear their uniforms during ALL school hours and breaks. This typically ranges from ~8 or 8 am to 5 pm every week day. If students leave campus on a trip or in some capacity to represent the school (ie inter-school events, conferences, etc.), they are also expected to wear their uniforms. After school and on the weekends, students are allowed to dress casually or however they like.

As for why the students are almost always depicted in one kind of uniform, part of it is limited assets. It’s a lot of time and effort to give everyone different outfits all the time (most anime and manga, even the ones that don’t take place in a school setting, have one “standard” outfit for this reason). It’s easier to design the outfit(s) they’ll be seen in for most of the time and have that become the iconic look. This is, of course, excluding special occasions or promotions, limited time merch, etc.

The in-game reason often provided for why the boys largely wear a NRC uniform of some kind is because of association with the school. Night Raven College is extremely prestigious, so they must be mindful of how they present themselves, especially to the public and in the presence of other schools. Their uniforms are seen as cool, elite, and emblematic of NRC the institution, so this is why students wear them not only at special occasions (opening ceremonies, unbirthday parties, etc.) but also in front-facing events (sporting matches, cultural festivals, Halloween; the campus is open to the public). They wear their school uniforms to Noble Bell College as representatives for NRC. Kalim and Floyd wear their robes when entertaining guests from outside NRC in Kalim’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes. Vil also makes the VDC/SDC squad wear their school uniforms as their outfits for the performance, citing that it’s a symbol of their youth as well as them being the NRC team. Azul states that the ceremonial robes are “popular with the ladies” in Ruggie’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes. Even Fellow, who had ill intent toward the NRC students, was only able to pin them as NRC students in the first place because of their iconic uniform. The dorm leaders are allowed to alter their dorm uniforms as they like, allowing them to stand out as the “boss” of their respective dorms. There is a lot of perceived power and status that comes with wearing NRC clothing—and it’s also the responsibility of those wearing those clothes to make NRC look good. I think Deuce states it the best in a Ceremonial Robes voice line: “These robes are the face of Night Raven College. They're covered with intricate embroidery to make it clear that we stand above other schools.”

A minor thing I’d like to tack on is that the NRC uniforms, especially the dorm uniforms, are enchanted with magic that makes them more durable and combat-ready than your average clothes. This means there is actual practicality and utility behind always wearing the uniforms, especially if you’re like… taking a course that’s intense with its magical workload. I’d also like to think that after spending what is basically a third of your day in the same clothes (which are also functional), some students may be too tired to change into something else so they instead choose to stay in their current uniform. Students in clubs are already obligated to change into other uniforms (like sports team members do) so maybe they’d get too tired to swap out into casual wear.

A lot of the characters don’t talk about personal fashion at length. However, here is a compilation of my own impressions of the prominent NRC characters’ takes on fashion and personal grooming (based on canon information). Please note that this can change based on new content that comes out. For example, the new Relaxing in Room series of cards may contain more details about personal grooming and dress.

Riddle

Riddle thinks outfits that are casual or show too much skin are outrageous. (He dislikes his beachwear for these reasons.)

In book 1, he helps Yuu fix their tie. He also praises his own dorm members when they wear their uniforms correctly or are in formal attire. This implies he has an eye for detail and prefers for uniforms, especially when worn properly.

He states that he values what is inside more than looks.

Riddle describes his Suitor Suit as being similar to what he would wear for the parties he attended with his family. He is therefore no stranger to very formal looks.

His Dorm Uniform heels are high to emulate the Queen of Hearts; however, Riddle also implies he wishes to be taller, which is another reason he wears high heels.

My impression: Riddle honestly is probably used to wearing whatever his mom makes him wear. If he doesn’t have her guidance, then he’ll default to sets of clothes/uniforms or very formal attire. Likely also a stickler for stray hairs, dust, loose threads, etc. Very preppy. Would probably wear high heels to augment his height.

Trey

He has had bad eyesight since elementary school so he has worn glasses since. In fact, Trey collects frames (you can see them in his room) and has tried many styles, as well as considered contacts. However, he looks more intimidating without glasses and in half-rim glasses (according to his mom and younger sister), so he foregoes those options now.

Trey says he gets complimented the most when he wears rounded Wellington or oval frames. Quirkier cat-eye or rimless frames don’t go over as well.

He finds casual and "lived-in" looks like his Outdoor Wear comfortable. However, he also says he would prefer more muted colors.

He apologizes for not buttoning up his vest, but it seems he prefers it that way.

Trey doesn’t like being the center of attention. If in a group, he would rather not be wearing something that makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

He likes hats, so he has a few. The one he wears in his Dorm Uniform was custom made to match Heartslabyul.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Like Trey says, he likes casual fashion and muted colors. Whatever will not attract attention to him and allow him to keep his peace. He seems to be really into being experimental with his looks when it comes to glasses though. Likely would also wear a hat.

Cater

Cater seems to like wearing matching clothes. He has, for example, matching T-shirts with his Light/Pop Music Club bandmates.

He enjoys colorful and flashy fits like what he wears for his club.

Anything ‘cammable!! Cater gushes a lot about aesthetically pleasing clothes, including his costume for Halloween and other alternate looks like the Yasmina Silk and Beans Camo.

He has considered going for a different hair style but has trouble committing to one. Cater says if you change your hair, it also changes your image.

Keeps up with the latest trends.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Cater has an eye for what looks good and will grab attention on social media. He also goes for outfits that signify group unity (which might tie back to the “twinning” trend and/or his desire to belong somewhere). However, although Cater makes these claims it also seems he is interested in reinventing himself, as indicated in his discussion of changing his hair.

Ace

He likes luxury and name-brand fashions but can’t always afford it.

Ace likes to look at shoe magazines with Floyd.

He has been gifted fancy outfits and accessories before, such as luxury sunglasses for his birthday from Vil. Ace vows to take good care of these, but also tends to want to show them off to his friends.

Ace uses a little bit of wax to do his hair in the mornings.

He remarks that some outfits don’t have sleeves, which makes it hard to conceal things for magic tricks. Still, he is confident that he doesn’t always need sleeves to pull off his stunts successfully.

He doesn’t like outfits that are all one color, especially white. Those can be boring!

He likes to pick accessories or shoes of similar colors as his top. This gives his look the appearance of being well-coordinated.

He buys new clothes from the Foothill Town.

Ace is usually very skilled at imitation, but he notes that even he has a hard time figuring out how much makeup to use. He once tried to follow a tutorial video and overdrew his brows.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Bro has the fashion sense of the average teenage boy. He covets name-brand and high-end items that will make him seem cool to his peers and is confident that he can wear these well.

Deuce

Deuce normally tries to present as an honors student; this means wearing his clothes properly, wearing his hair neat and natural, etc.

Formal clothes like his Dorm Uniform make him nervous since he's not used to wearing such things.

He doesn’t seem to have a strong aesthetic sense and just goes with whatever he thinks is most cool. For example, he thinks flaming skulls would be a great magical wheel/blastcycle decal. He also thinks masks are cool because they remind him of superheroes.

He has issues with clothes that are too long, like his Starsending Robes. While Deuce doesn’t take issue with the look of tbe clothes, he does find it hard to move in them, as he is always stumbling over the fabrics.

Deuce is embarrassed by cute, fluffy, rabbit-themed clothes. This is because he used to dress this way as a kid and wants to be taken more seriously now that he’s older.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Boy is trying his best, but his best isn’t much in way of fashion. He tries to come off as cool, but his idea of what’s “cool” may not always be the most appealing to the eye. Not a fashion disaster or anytime though; I think he just… for as much as he tries to be preppy, his true style is more wild and tough. Doesn't feel entirely comfortable in formal wear.

Leona

He seems to like his clothes worn loosely and in his own way; for example, the buttons are undone in his School Uniform and his armband is worn like a belt.

Many of his looks involve low cut tops or unbuttoned tops to reveal… let’s say more than it probably should 😭

Leona says that people back home took issue with his sense of fashion.

Beaded bangles are a specialty of his home country; Leona himself wears quite a few bracelets.

Leona complains about clothes that take forever to put on and take off. He also hates outfits that are heavy and have too many decorations.

When his braids fall out of place or get loose, he’s too lazy to redo them and commands others to fix it for him.

He doesn’t care for compliments about his looks.

Leona claims be only buys what “catches his eye”; price is not an issue. He says that any clothes are fine as long as they look good on him and fit.

In the manga, Leona sleeps shirtless. We also see that he handles his clothes carelessly and slings them all over his room.

He recognizes the Fairy Gala Couture as being tasteful, but just not to his style.

He appreciates extravagant and traditional clothes from his home country. In fact, Leona cites his outfit as being the only good part of going home for Catch the Tail/Bead Brawl.

Leona sometimes has Ruggie shop for clothing for him. This is the case for his Outdoor Wear.

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

My impression: Leona is able to tell what does and doesn’t look good, but he usually doesn’t like to make the effort to dress up himself. He has a very “wild” sense of style, meaning loose fits and showing off… assets… and doesn’t like overly complicated or impractical outfits. Leona appears to like luxurious looks, as he buys what “catches his eye” and praises his own King’s Garb.

Ruggie

Ruggie will generally go with anything he gets his hands on, even hand-me-downs that are too big for him. This is the case for his Dorm Uniform, which is one of Leona’s.

If he thinks he can sell it later for cash, he'll pick the most extravagant clothes and accessories he can. He doesn't like to wear fancy clothes himself though; he doesn't feel comfortable in them.

He prefers for his outfits to have fewer buttons, as they're a hassle to deal with.

Ruggie likes shorts, which are light and comfy. He values mobility in his outfits, which is why he also says he likes casual clothes.

Not a fan of pure white clothes, as they get dirty easily. Ruggie says he can't eat in them.

He praises his Dorm Uniform for being easy to move in and not too fancy. Ruggie calls it "right up [his] alley".

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

My impression: Ruggie has very practical tastes, though he generally isn’t picky and will accept clothes as long as he’s getting them for free and they fit him. He prefers casual clothes that allow for mobility, aren't too fancy, and are easy to slip into, similar to his Dorm Uniform.

Jack

He says he's not into highly glamourous fashion.

When instructed to wear something "neat and tidy", Jack's immediate thought is his Lab Wear.

He uses wax instead of gel to style his hair, as he finds gel to leave his hair much too stiff.

Doesn't like heels that are too high. They make it difficult for him to balance!!

Jack reports he usually wears a shirt and cardigan or jacket back home. This combination makes it easier to regulate his body temperature.

He likes the Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform because it's easy to move in and durable; it doesn't flop around.

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

Jack also shops in Foothill Town for clothes.

My impression: Jack has a more simplistic fashion sense; he isn’t into super flashy or impractical clothes, instead choosing to prefer function or how the clothes perform in a given situation. For example, he will choose to wear cardigans or jackets in his cold northern home and something “neat and tidy” when working at the Mostro Lounge.

Azul

He only has a single pair of glasses, the rectangular ones that he wears on his face. After speaking with Trey, Azul says he feels like trying new frames out. Azul worries that glasses that aren't his usual style (like the circular lenses in his Masquerade Dress) may not suit him.

Though he does need correction for his vision (he says his lab goggles have a prescription), he implies that he wears glasses because they make him appear smarter.

He wears a cologne because it helps to sell the image of him being well-composed and trustworthy, especially in business dealings. Azul is very particular about his cologne, as it is one of his favorite parts of living on land.

In fact, a lot of how Azul presents himself is to create this impression that he is cool and can be trusted. This extends to his clothes, hair, and makeup.

Having grown up in the frigid Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Azul is particular with how the twins present themselves too. When Floyd gifted Jade a goofy T-shirt, Azul told Jade not to wear it outside.

My impression: Azul carefully considers his grooming and dress, taking care to not appear disheveled to others. It's all a part of his personal brand! He typically sticks to the same frames, but has indicated that he may branch out. It sounds like Azul isn't too confident about changing his style until he gets validation from his peers.

Jade

When camping, Jade wears a hat so as to prevent sunburn. He also dresses in layers so he can adjust his outfit depending on the changing weather conditions.

He is also very well-put-together like Azul; this helps with gaining others' trust as he goes about gathering information for Octavinelle.

Jade says he is fond of asymmetrical designs, such as what is featured in his Halloween Dress.

Not used to clothes with excess fabric; presumably, this is also true for Azul and Floyd, although not explicitly stated.

He recommends sling bags so as to free up the hands. This is especially useful for the mountains.

Fascinated by the concept of dressing up differently for different occasions. He didn’t know the difference between pjs and street clothes back then and once walked out in public in pajamas.

Jade seems to prefer a certain brand and tends to buy his clothes from that brand.

He wears shoes that Floyd calls "way too basic", even if they are high-quality.

Having grown up in the frigid Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Jade tries to get people to wear things he think they would look funny in, though Jade claims he is simply “curious” about the fashion of other races.

He irons his clothes in the morning and makes sure they are free of wrinkles.

Received a T-shirt from Floyd that he loves.

Jade describes simple black cloth as “gentlemanly and demure”.

Applying sunblock is important to him. All of his products, including makeup and lip care, include SPF.

Removes his earring when exercising.

My impression: Jade mostly dresses formally (“gentlemanly and demure”), but when he is engaging in his hobbies he plans for the scenario (layers, hats, bags, etc.). We do see bits of his disdain for boredom peeking through though, as he says he likes asymmetrical designs that will keep the eye amused. He’s creative with fashion mainly when he is dressing others for his own amusement. When it comes to himself, he tends to dress to disarm others.

Floyd

Floyd loves fashion and the freedom to pick what he wears for himself (though he handles his clothes carelessly). But! He takes good care of his shoes and shines them.

He leaves his collar unbuttoned most of the time because he finds buttoned collars constrictive.

He wasn't a big fan of clothing when he first came on land. Again, they felt constrictive and he didn't like how you have to wash them after wearing them once. It seemed like a waste of time to him.

Floyd loves to coordinate with shoes and accessories, expressing a love for fashion. The trouble is that he keeps buying more stuff and just piling it in his room.

He likes graphic tees and goofy looking moray merch. Floyd has previously purchased clothes for Jade, who loved it.

Floyd states he would rather be naked than wear “lame” clothes.

According to Jade, he tends to like flashy things.

Floyd can easily spot brand name clothing.

He chooses clothes that are easy to move in and durable for Vargas Camp.

He's especially interested in bespoke shoes, sometimes looking at shoe magazines with Ace. Floyd doesn't wear shoes in his true form, so he figures he should enjoy shoes while he's on land~

He's good at coming up with ways to experiment with his looks. For example, when considering sandals, he says you can jazz them up with nail polish, anklets, etc.

Like Jade, he doesn't understand wearing specific clothes for certain occasions such as visiting the beach. Floyd does go out of his way to buy outfits for outings though.

He still fights and nail with Jade about wearing a bow tie to this day and is notably the only member of the Octatrio that doesn't care to maintain a pretense of polite or proper dress.

Having grown up in the Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Removes his earring when exercising.

My impression: Floyd is much more openly adventurous and flashy with his outfits than Jade is. He doesn't like formal clothes or being told what to wear; the wants to be allowed to be experimental, especially with his accessories. Additionally, Floyd really likes luxury shoes--they're an item he pays a lot of attention to.

Kalim

Kalim often guns for the fanciest outfits without a second thought, sometimes calling for them to be made even fancier with jewels.

He tends to go for excessive jewelry too, whether for himself or for others. Kalim once almost bought everyone in Scarabia diamonds as souvenirs. Usually wears earrings himself.

Loves the color white; he says that he always picks this color when he is getting outfits tailored. Kalim is also a fan of loud and bright colors.

He reports having "lots of outfits [like the Fairy Gala Couture] at home".

Kalim usually has his head in a scarf. There are some voice lines in which he claims he cannot do his headdress by himself and other voice lines in which he offers to help you wrap your own.

He only wears clothes of the highest quality.

My impression: Kalim has a very extravagant and excessive fashion sense. He wears a lot of white and loves tons of detail and accessories in his outfits, including head scarves and jewelry. Really doesn't know when enough is enough.

Jamil

Jamil works hard at taking care of his appearance. This is partly because he, as a servant, could impact the reputation of his employers, the Asims, if he presents in a slovenly manner, especially when on the job or helping at an event.

He particularly likes to take care of his hair. Jamil likes it long, even if it takes more effort to maintain. He uses a variety of high quality and rare products on it, and his sister also gifts him hair products. Jamil has taught himself how to do his hair in the mornings with magic, though it took significant practice.

He has a keen eye for textiles and embroidery, often examining clothes and commenting on its quality when browsing.

Jamil tries on clothes before he buys them. He of course considers the design and material, but comfort is also an important factor for him.

Jamil states that he likes to wear oversized and comfortable clothes. The loose fit is nice and allows him to easily move, which probably helps with fulfilling his duties. This is perhaps why Jamil wears a hoodie in his School Uniform card.

He wears many hair ornaments. Jamil buys them himself and receives them as gifts. He claims he is not too particular about them.

Jamil feels a little uneasy about bugs, even if he knows they are fake. He's reluctant to touch the silver insects on his Fairy Gala Couture boots. Ironically, he does not express any anxiety about the scarabs on his Dorm Uniform shoes.

He likes the arm sleeve on his Basketball Club Uniform—both the design and its function, which keeps his shots steady.

Jamil doesn’t normally choose colors like silver. It’s hard for him to feel comfortable in it.

He does not like accessories that can throw off his balance.

Warns others to be careful with delicate items such as corsages.

Jamil says prefers to not be bothered and to not stand out.

My impression: Compared to Kalim, Jamil's fashion is much more demure and dialed back. He still dresses well and fine fabrics so as to not bring shame to the Asims. For more casual attire, he prioritizes quality and comfort, preferring oversized and comfortable clothes he can easily move in. Probably avoid bug designs. Jamil wears his hair in an elaborate style but claims he doesn't think much of it + the accessories... which I don't personally buy for one second. It's one of the few things he has control over in his life, and why would he keep buying accessories and being gifted them if he supposedly doesn't care??? I think bro's humble bragging www

Vil

He, as a model and influencer, is familiar with the top brands and even works closely with some of them. He's well aware of the value of his face and won't allow others to use it without proper compensation.

He sometimes has to wear disguises to avoid paparazzi.

Notices little details like slightly different stripe thicknesses.

Vil is comfortable parading around in a variety of styles; he doesn’t seem to have a particular preference for one over the other, as he tends to have praise for whatever he finds himself wearing, as well as the clothes of other cultures. If an outfit can be stylish as well as functional, he can commend that too.

Often agrees with Crewel. For example, they both think Vargas has very "strange" tastes in fashion.

He won’t compromise on his looks. For example, he’ll bring an entire skincare routine with him when camping.

Expresses a jealousy towards his celebrity rival Neige's popularity. This may be in part to Vil being aware that he can't pull off the same "cute and innocent" aesthetic that Neige does.

Vil creates his own perfumes, skincare, and other cosmetics. He gives these to his dorm members as well.

Has scathing words for those who put no effort into their appearance and/or those who look down on caring about one's looks.

Notably, Vil is the concept of gender itself/j very comfortable wearing even very feminine outfits, such as more makeup-heavy looks or skirts/dress-adjacent additions.

My impression: One of the most fashion forward in the NRC cast, as well as one of the most flexible with his dress. He doesn't have one particular style he favors, though he is often seen in classic and elegant clothes that the public seems to think best suit his image. Vil is also gender non-conforming in his fashion, sometimes wearing traditionally "feminine" looks and being conident in it. Able and willing to call out what he deems as unseemly.

Rook

He used to cut his bangs with a knife. Back then, Rook was only concerned about keeping his vision clear. Nowadays, he ties his hair back when he exercises or cooks.

His hair is easily damaged by UV, so he has to take extra good care of it. Without that extra care, Rook says his hair becomes wheat-like in texture. Vil describes his old hair as being "long and unkempt" "dry and shaggy", and lacking in volume.

He used to wear denim jeans with holes and tears in them (as the result of animals). He also wore sweatpants often.

Rook tans easily; before meeting Vil, Rook didn't really have a skincare routine. His cheeks were freckled and the tip of his nose was red.

Vil says that Rook's only criteria for casual clothing used to be that it should be easy to move in. Rook has no trouble still hunting in his Pomefiore uniform, but also remarks that it was much easier to move in his Savanaclaw one.

Rook consistently wears hats. In his Savanaclaw days, the hat was consistently dirty with sticks, leaves, and soil. He recommends it to others as well to keep the sun out of their eyes while hunting.

He is also usually wearing gloves. This is probably because, as an archer, he needs to protect his hands when he pulls on the strings. Additionally, it could be that the gloves help to further conceal his presence (fingerprints).

His concept of beauty is not grounded in looks alone; Rook is able to appreciate even things others would typically consider ugly or odd.

Rook adopted a more elegant “Pomefiore” sense of style after he transferred and was encouraged by Vil to make himself as beautiful as the subjects he observed. To be clear, Rook states he does enjoy the Pomefiore uniform. He now also encourages others, such as Epel, to embrace the Pomefiore ways.

He says, "I never forget my duty to live up to the clothes I wear."

He doesn’t wear scent unless commanded to by Vil. This is because smell can give away his presence to others.

Rook has a keen eye for detail and can hone in on slight physical changes in both himself and in others.

My impression: Though Rook prioritizes dress that is easy to move in, allows him to hunt, and still conceals him, he currently dresses very differently and follows a new style that’s more in line with Pomefiore traditions. It’s not certain whether Rook still prefers his old threads and self-care routine, but he definitely seems loyal to his new ones at the moment. I get the sense that he really wants to "live up" to the standards of whatever outfit he has on.

Epel

Epel agrees with Deuce that flaming skulls would be a cool motif. It seems they share a sense of style.

He admits to having never thought much about his own appearance. If given the choice, however, Epel would prefer to be called cool rather than cute.

Epel appreciates the light, warm nature of the Applepom outfits. He's proud of his hometown and how the community comes together to prepare clothes and such for visitors.

Though Epel often scoffs at the skincare items Vil forces upon him, he does extol sunblock, as the sunlight bouncing off the snow of his home village can be very harsh.

He's somewhat clumsy, so he cannot handle outfits with excessive fabric too well. Epel tends to trip over himself.

He likes apple patterns on clothes, particularly the poison apple. Epel just thinks it's so cool!

Doesn't like tight clothing or clothes with ribbons and frills on them.

My impression: Epel wants to be seen as "cool"!! ... Which, if we know anything about Epel, is probably something along the lines of "traditionally masculine", seeing as how he looks up to people like Leona. He can learn to appreciate non-masculine outfits like his Rabbit Costume and Applepom, given the right circumstances (the former is rabbit-themed, which he likes, the latter is practical and comes from his hometown). His clothes should fit him and not be oversized in case he trips over it. Epel also favors apple patterns when possible.

Idia

Idia despises the idea of dressing up. It's implied that his usual threads are pretty plain (which makes sense; he doesn't like being stared at).

He repurposes his lab coat and goggles over his pajamas, finding the combo comfortable yet functional. The large pockets allow him to stash his phone or anything else he wants in them. The coat can also catch any spills or crumbs that get on it while he is snacking. Idia has modified the lenses to filter out blue light to make the goggles optimal for gaming. The gloves keep his fingers from getting sweaty and playing poorly. He gets all the functionality while others can't tell he's actually being a slob; Idia calls this "stealth mode".

Idia praises the functionality of the Applepom outfit as well. (The pom-pom on the hat is protective.)

There are rare instances in which Idia will praise the aesthetic; for example, he claims the gloves in his Lab Coat are part of the "aesthetic", but then he immediately continues to comment on the practicality of them.

Idia expresses that he is unable to relax when his hair is pulled back. This is likely because it called more attention to his face.

Very hyped about getting merch of his favorite things, such as a very exclusive T-shirt of his favorite girl group.

He speaks more confidently when he is wearing a mask or helmet, as it conceals his face.

Idia notices the quality and skill it takes to make cosplay. He incorporates his own knowledge of technology and materials to (for example) make a functional Halloween costume with light armor and sound effects.

My impression: Overall, Idia values function over form/looks and prefers his face to be hidden as much as possible. He chooses to dress in a non-descript way and loathes getting dolled up. There are exceptions to this rule; Idia can appreciate a good aesthetic and be passionate about clothing items if they are related to his niche otaku hobbies and interests.

Ortho

Ortho doesn't wear clothes like the traditional human would; rather, his parts can be switched out as needed. Many of his Gears are designed and installed by Idia, whom Ortho praises. He even refers to himself as his older brother's "masterpiece".

Ortho has a large span of capabilities depending on which Gear he is currently wearing, as each is designated with specific functions in mind. He describes Gears as containers he can upload his data into.

His body is capable of having many external add-ons. For example, Idia has made an Oral-Energy-Intake Gear so Ortho can simulate eating food on his birthday.

He thinks that cleaning his individual parts must take forever compared to just doing a load of laundry.

Ortho must consistently update his data to stay up to trend. To do this, he goes out to look at what's currently avaliable.

Post book 6, Ortho becomes more independent of Idia and more willing to design his own Gears. For example, Ortho is responsible for his White Rabbit Gear and contributes his own idea of "evolution" to his Fairy Gear (designed by Crewel).

Sometimes Ortho will ask Idia to make his Gears more decorative. For example, he requests that stars be added to his Starsending Gear.

Other times, Ortho will want to try out new Gears simply to sate his own curiosity. One example is in his Athletic Gear; he was curious about what it feels like to have feet, so Ortho asked Idia for them.

My impression: Like his older brother, Ortho values functionality. Unlike Idia though, Ortho is more experimental and curious with his looks. He actively goes out to gather more data about fashion and seeks new experiences which will enhance his own understanding of what it means to be human.

Malleus

Black is the color of Briar Valley’s royal family. Therefore, Malleus often wears large swathes of black.

He is not comfortable in clothes he barely wears such as his Ceremonial Robes. In the case of the robes, they stir up memories of being left out or uninvited.

Malleus points out the gold rose embroidery on the black fabric of his Masquerade Dress. He then remarks that the maker must “shares [his] tastes.”

Malleus is interested in uniforms. He thinks it is fascinating how, simply by wearing clothes, people assume a new role (such as “student” or “teacher”). Notably, be says few people dress “like this” in Briar Valley, implying that the fashion norms there are very different.

He notices striking makeup and accessories, as well as good fabric quality. Malleus invites others to take note of these too.

Malleus needs specially tailored headwear to accommodate for his horns. For example, his ceremonial robes have holes in the hood.

He rarely shows his tail, so it normally doesn’t need to be accounted for in his outfits.

My impression: I get the feeling that Malleus's fashion sense is elegant yet VERY outdated due to a combination of being so long-lived and sheltered. He seems interested in learning more about fashion as it relates to social status and occupations, but doesn't make a strong effort to explore it. It seems he also longs to be invited to events so he has an excuse to wear clothes that suit them, such as NRC's ceremonies. He defaults to wearing a lot of black to show off his affinity to the Briar Valley royal family.

Lilia

The most experimental in Diasomnia. He loves to paint his fingernails different colors, as well as dye his hair different colors.

In his days as a war general, he wore a mask that most humans would call scary. Lilia however thinks that the mask is "pretty stylish."

He cuts his own hair, as well as Silver and Malleus's.

Lilia is quite confident in his looks, often playing up and praising his own cuteness and charm.

He loves seeing clothing from cultures outside of his own.

Lilia notes that he used to wear stuffy uniforms to formal events. It seems he doesn't quite care for those clothes.

He is weak to the sun, so he has various methods to minimize his exposure and/or to deal with the sunlight.

Lilia doesn't mind clothes that impede him, such as his lab coat which has long sleeves. He "just [deals] with it" because he prefers his clothes to stay cute.

Like Vil, Lilia is another member of the cast that is comfortable wearing traditionally more "feminine" clothes, such as ruffles and skirts.

My impression: Lilia definitely has the most unique sense of style in Diamonia. Despite his age, he is flexible and willing to change with the times and cultures he encounters. He loves trying new things and adopting clothes, hair, and makeup that, although burdensome, enhance his cuteness. He also doesn't mind more "sinister" or edgy styles, such as what he wears for his Club Wear card and in his General's Armor card. Probably no formal clothes in his free time unless there's some added spice to it.

Silver

Silver thinks black uniforms are cool because Briar Valley's royal guard wears black too.

He grooms himself to "meet basic standards" but doesn't know much about fashion. Silver says he is 'clueless" about these kinds of matters.

He has a limited understanding of beauty in general. When Vil asks him to think of something beautiful, Silver replies with "Vil-senpai", and when Ortho tells him he looks like a fairy tale prince, Silver wonders if he looks like Malleus.

His headwear may be crooked sometimes, as Silver is falling asleep while standing up so often. He may also rub at his eyes, which smudges his makeup.

He likes practical clothing, nothing how his Dorm Uniform is easy to move in and how his Fairy Gala Couture boots could make for useful weapons in a pinch.

Silver thinks of some articles of clothing and accessories as obstacles. He notes that he may have to remove necklaces and such, as they could catch on his sword and impede him.

Other times, he thinks that bothersome items could serve as good training opportunities for him. For example, in his Masquerade Dress, his hat limits his field of vision but Silver says it can help him learn to be a better knight.

Silver reports that even if he is dressed up fancily, he is always prepared for emergencies.

My impression: Silver is (in my eyes) the least fashion forward of the group just based on his dialogue. He has a very limited way of thinking about how he dresses and prioritizes optimization for combat or training, not even considering how outfits look for the most part. Silver strikes me as the kind of guy who wears whatever others tell him to (particularly his dad), otherwise he'll go with something sensible and simple.

Sebek

Sebek maintains a neat and tidy appearance so as to not dishonor his liege.

He uses a LOT of hair gel to slick his hair back every day.

Sebek is sensitive to the cold, so he has to bundle up in the winter or snowy areas. He considers wearing a hat that covers his ears all year-round due to how comfortable he finds it.

He says he is not sure what clothes suit him best; he usually wears whatever he is given.

Sebek seems to favor protective gear, describing his coat for Vargas Camp as “durable, waterproof, [and] breathable”. He has lovingly stuck on Diasomnia iconography onto that rainwear too, really letting his inner fanboy speak.

Enthusiastic about clothes endorsed by Malleus and/or Lilia.

My impression: Like Jamil, Sebek takes care of his appearance so he, a servant, doesn't make his master look bad by association. This includes styling his hair so not a single strand of it falls in his face. He also seems to favor protective clothing, sharp uniforms, and anything with approval from Malleus or Lilia.

Crowley

Crowley presents as quite the vain character; he takes quick 3 minutes showers in the morning but leaves ample time for massages and beauty treatments.

He loves shiny things like jewels and precious metals, stating that he could stare at them forever if allowed to.

Crowley calls the mirrors on his belt beautiful. Again, this is probably because he likes shiny things.

He takes care of his shoes. When he notices they are even a little scuffed, he says that he will polish them until they are sparkling later.

He is reportedly never seen without his mask.

Students say they think Crowley would enjoy vacation clothes.

My impression: Crowley is upset when others—staff or student—do not give him the respect he feels he deserves. He is also shown many times over to care about the prestigious reputation of his school. If we extrapolate these feelings, it may explain why Crowley dresses the way he does: to come across like a respectable man, one who represents the interests of NRC (symbolized by the raven). The raven look may also just be because that’s the kind of fae he is, though this has not been confirmed by canon. Of course, he has also managed to incorporate the shiny accessories that catch his eye. People seem to think he likes vacation wear (such as Hawaiian shirts) due to his penchant to slack off.

Crewel

Crewel enjoys both current trends as well as vintage fashion; on his days off, he says he visits some vintage shops, as he finds older clothes that have lasted a long time have a certain aura about them that is hard to replicate.

He loves that the world of fashion is always evolving. It reminds him of his own inadequacies, which he works tirelessly to improve upon.

Crewel designs clothes and has done so for various students and himself. He is also shown to be capable of magically reinforcing them to be studier for combat.

He has experience working in the fashion industry prior to teaching. It’s clear that fashion is very near and dear to his heart, even to this day, since he continues to keep up with and engage with it.

Crewel also concocts his own cologne. He wears one of his own creations.

His fur coat is custom-made. It seems that he finds value in the uniqueness of it.

Crewel may share similar tastes and design philosophy as Vil, as the two work together in Fairy Gala and Fairy Gala: If to design and train the NRC runway models.

My impression: Crewel’s style strikes me as very flexible, forward-thinking, and willing to change. He demonstrates respect for both classic and modern fashions and doesn’t allow himself to be bound by a specific era. The man is always inventing something or on the hunt for the next best thing.

Trein

Trein claims that he is not particular at all with his outfits.

When asked about the way he dresses, he says he just makes sure his outfit and personal grooming befit that of a professor. This includes carrying around a lint roller to clean himself and the area of Lucius’s fur.

My impression: Though Trein doesn’t really seem to care for fashion, I wouldn’t say he has no sense for it or that he’s a slob—he very clearly puts effort into his appearance, if only to look professional. It’s just not an area he has a particular investment in, but he what he does take seriously is his job. This is therefore reflected in how perfectly groomed his appearance is.

Vargas

He prefers clothing that is easy to move around in; in one of his Unified Exam lines, he expresses that he cannot understand why Crewel’s fur coat is so expensive yet is also so impractical to move around in.

Vargas seems to canonically have a poor eye for aesthetics. In Vargas Camp, he appears in a strange beast-like outfit that he designed himself. In the sequel event, he gives Crewel a similarly eccentric and over-the-top outfit which everyone hints it is odd-looking. Vargas however thinks his designs are cool and powerful.

He suggests a heavier material for the school's P.E. uniforms so as to help the students enhance their muscles while they work out.

My impression: Vargas is really into sportswear/garments that are easy to move in, as well as things that look cool or strong to him (but are weird-looking to everyone else). He may also like clothes that help him with his training in other ways.

Sam

Sam states that he has multiples of the same suit that he just swaps around.

He explains the charm of his outfit as “whimsy peeking out from the formal”, most likely referring to the unique skeletal pattern on his suit.

Crewel states that Sam is aware of how he presents himself. Crewel also commends Sam's style as "unique" and "splendid", even if his tastes differ from Sam's.

My impression: Bro’s a NPC— I think Sam has said it pretty plainly himself; he likes formal clothes that have some fun or whimsical element to it. It also sounds like he doesn’t change up his style very often, given that he has so many of the same thing in his closet.

Yuu and Grim as a bonus

Yuu and Grim often have matching outfits whenever they get new ones (especially during events).

Grim loves outfits that make him stand out and emphasize his coolness. He tends to show off when he’s in something new.

Yuu realistically may have a NRC school uniform provided for them by Crowley; this is noted in the light novel (as in, Crowley actually hands Yuu a uniform), but not in the game or manga.

The Ramshackle Ghosts have made Halloween costumes for them out of old curtains. It follows that perhaps this is something they do for other occasions.

My impression: Aw, twinsies 🥺 That aside, Yuu and Grim have to take what they can get cuz otherwise Yuu’s literally only got the clothes on their back when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland and Grim is basically naked. They can’t afford to be picky, just take whatever is handed to them and walk off with it

[wileys-russo]

Could you write for maya le tissier please halloween addition where trick or treaters come but maya has nothing for them but reader comes to the rescue

trick or treat II m.le-tissier

"is that yours going?" you glanced up from your textbook at your sister who was frowning at you from her place on the sofa. "no?" you shook your head at the ringing which filled the living room. "well it's not mine! didn't you just change the tone?" mary questioned.

"no? why would i do that?" you scoffed, dropping your gaze back to your textbook to study. "because your little girlfriend said it was the same tone as her alarm!" mary huffed, throwing a cushion in your direction, eyes narrowing as yours widened and you hurried to your feet.

"see! idiot." mary mumbled, attention falling back to her show as you sprinted into the kitchen where your phone was on charge. "i heard that! feel free to go back to your own home mary." you warned, your sister only using you for your prime account which you refused to give her the password to.

"alright alright! no need to be hasty with it." mary held up her hands in surrender. "hello?" you grabbed your phone on the last ring, clutching at your chest, not even having checked who was calling you.

"i need help!" you frowned hearing the panicked voice of your girlfriend. "why what happened? are you hurt? do i need to call an ambulance?" you asked, mary glancing over to you with a concerned frown.

"no! i'm being held hostage in my own home!" maya hissed quietly and you heard a thump. "what! hang on i'm calling the police." you put her on speaker and gestured for mary to hand you her phone.

"what? no i don't need the police! i'm being held hostage by angry children." maya huffed as you scrunched your face up in confusion, waving away an equally confused looking mary who offered you her phone.

"wait did you just go for a run or something? why are you panting? you sound like murphy." maya changed topic swiftly. "may focus! i need a bit of context to this hostage and children situation please." you sighed tiredly at her lack of explanation.

"oh! well obviously i forgot that it's halloween and all these kids keep turning up and i haven't gone shopping so i told them they could have an apple? and now they won't leave till i give em a chocolate or something!" maya rambled and your frown immediately switched to a grin as you bit your lip to stop laughing, covering up your half giggle with a cough.

"babe it's not funny! they won't leave and i heard one of them mention getting eggs." she whined in annoyance. "so you're telling me that you're allowing yourself to be bullied by children? because you offered them apples....on halloween." you repeated slowly, shit eating grin only growing as mary started to laugh loudly from the living room at your word.

"nah stop taking the piss this is serious! i don't want my house or my car egged!" she groaned in annoyance, and you heard a gasp and a few more thumps. "oh my god they're banging on the door again i think its a new group, they're creating alliances and forming a small army help me!" she again hissed as you shook your head.

"and how would you like me to do that my love? come and scare the big bad kiddies away for you?" you mocked sarcastically, pulling yourself up to sit on the counter. "woman i swear to god-" maya began to warn as you heard some movement and rustling.

"go to the shops and bring me some chocolate or something to give them as a peace offering!" she ordered with a huff. "may, baby its halloween there isn't a chance in hell i can get chocolate at....nine fourteen at night. they'll leave eventually i'm sure it's almost past their bedtime!" you teased, moving to rummage through your own cupboards.

"oh my god they threw an egg, babe they threw an egg at my window the little shits!" she scoffed with a gasp. "and you want to reward that with chocolate? call the police to disperse them if you're that worried." you laughed, finding what you were looking for and dropping it in your lap.

"no! i don't want to get the reputation as the cranky old woman who hates children and hates halloween or as the health nut who offers apples. god i would have egged my house too at their age!" she moaned in realization as you unwrapped a twirl, popping it into your mouth.

"are you seriously...did you just open a chocolate?" your girlfriend accused as you hummed happily. "mm, twirl." you answered with a mouthful as again she gasped.

"oh you dickhead! come bring me some fucking chocolate i know you've always got some i've seen the period drawer, hell i fill it up every month for you!" your girlfriend demanded and you couldn't argue that point, the brunette nothing but the biggest sweetheart when it was that time of the month.

"say please and maybe i'll consider it." you wound her up, hearing another thump which you assumed to be yet another egg hauled at the poor girls house, already moving off the counter to gather your supplies as you squished the phone between your shoulder and ear.

"please. but hurry!" she groaned and before you could say another word she'd abruptly hung up. "do i even want to know the details?" your sister grinned as you hung your bag over your shoulder and rolled your eyes with a shake of your head.

"i expect you out of my house by the time i get back." you warned, shoving her head and darting back as the older girl lunged for you. "please! like you'll be coming back." mary chuckled and stretched out more on your sofa, making herself comfortable.

"go home!" you warned again, smacking her in the face with the cushion she'd thrown at you earlier and heading for the door.

"i am half way through this season of real housewives i can't stop now! kicking your own flesh and blood out onto the cold dark sidewalk, you're a disgrace to the earps family name." mary yelled after you with a shake of her head.

"and you're a thirty year old mooching freeloader who won't cough up an extra twelve dollars a month for her own subscription, get out!" you laughed, closing the front door before you could hear her reply, already certain you'd return and she would just be passed out on the lounge as always.

~

under strict instruction from the brunette you'd parked in the street behind her house, letting yourself into her backyard through the back fence, armed with a bag full of lollies and a very amused smile.

you spotted your girlfriend sat on the floor behind her sofa, glancing over the top toward her front door and windows which she'd drawn the curtains over making you roll your eyes.

you knocked suddenly at the back door as you heard claws skidding over toward you and maya jumped about a foot in the air at the noise. though seeing it was only you she hurried to her feet, pushing murphy out of the way with her foot as she slid the door open and hastily pulled you inside.

"trick or treat!" you teased, handing her the bag and leaning in to kiss her only for her to duck around you. "were you seen? followed?" she questioned in a whisper as you rolled your eyes. "no! for god sakes may they're kids, they have to be about ten years old i drove past them." you laughed as she nodded and moved to the kitchen.

"okay, off you go!" she dumped the confectionery into a bowl and held it out to you expectantly. "no! this is your problem to fix baby, i only agreed to bring you supplies." you held your hands up and stepped back as she groaned and smacked the bowl back down on the counter.

"they'll eat me alive after i offered them apples, or they'll egg me. please!" she begged as you firmly shook your head. "and you'd rather they egg me? thanks a bunch." you scoffed.

"no! you're too gorgeous baby, they'll be so dazzled by englands star striker handing them some chocolate they'll take it and be on their merry way!" she smiled charmingly, which normally would work however tonight you held firm.

"rehearsed that little speech before i got here did you?" you sighed, sitting down on the arm of her lounge. "baby! please." she knocked your legs apart and stood between them, the taller girl pouting adorably.

"no! may the more time you spend whining to me the more eggs they're gathering to throw." you smiled making her throw her head back with a groan. "but they haven't met you, and like i said you're just so gorgeous, and kind, and sweet, and funny." tucking her head into your neck you felt her lips start to kiss a trail down the column of your throat with each compliment she threw your way.

"and i'll make it worth your while love, scouts honour." she switched tactics, pushing you back onto the lounge and smiling down at you suggestively.

"you weren't a scout." you teased with a wink as she smacked your leg playfully. "i still know my way around a rope and some knots baby, happy to show you later if you do this teeny little favor for me." she smirked which did have some affect on you as your cheeks flushed bright red.

"no! just go and get it over it." you declined again, pushing her away with your foot as she moaned dramatically, stomping over and grabbing the bowl with a huff. "will you at least come with me?" she requested to which you nodded and hauled yourself up.

"go on." you nudged her in the back as she hesitated by the door, sighing and yanking it open. "peace offering. you all stop the eggs, i'll make sure i have chocolate next year!" she called out to the small group of children huddled on her lawn.

"correction you all clean up the eggs and then you get the chocolate, and we don't find out who you all are and call your parents about this vandalism." you stepped out and warned more sternly, a few of the older ones sharing a look.

ducking back inside you grabbed some paper towel and multipurpose spray, tossing them onto the grass and fixing those who hadn't run off with a hard look as they hurried to start wiping down your girlfriend's windows.

with that maya left the bowl on her door step, gently pushing you inside and closing the door, making a point to dead lock it after her. "you're gonna be a top mum one day babe." the taller girl grinned, hands moving to grab your hips as you hummed, returning her smile.

"you're welcome baby. now what was that you said about making it worth my while?"

[gojos-thot-patrol]

M E A N D T H E D E V I L W A L K I N G S I D E B Y S I D E

Sukuna isn't the type of person to say "I love you." He's not the type of person to love. He was a demonic warlord, known for his cruelty and lack of empathy. What part of that screams "lover boy" to you?

baby, you're a haunted house

Society will tell you that playing with ouija boards is a bad idea. this fic begs to differ. a demonic Sukuna smut

close calls

Love is scary, Isn't it Reader? Sukuna thinks it is. but at least he's facing his fears for you. a soft Sukuna smut.

sacrilegious

Feeling holy? Maybe a little less than holy? Do you want to have your guts rearranged by a God in his own temple? yea, me too. a holy Sukuna smut.

unholy

Did you like the idea of the previous fic, but think you'd relate to it better if the reader was of the male variety? well, do I have news for you! A smutty Sukuna drabble

seven minuets in heaven

Maybe you're feeling something a bit more modern reader. Something more relatable? Like a college au where you lose your virginity to a frat boy named Ryomen. A modern day Smut

better off as lovers

Dating is hard and falling in love is harder. Ryomens love isn't up for debate, but if he's truly ready to give up his playboy life style for you is a little more questionable. Part two of Seven Minuets in Heaven. A smutty hurt/comfort fic

new mistakes

I would say being left at the altar was the worst thing that could have ever happened to you, but I think the revenge sex with Ryomen makes it all worth it, don't you agree Reader? A modern day revenge smut.

bad miracle

Gojo has always been an idiot, but he's really done it this time. He's kidnapped the wrong girl, and now, leader of The Syndicate Ryomen Sukuna has to figure out what to do with you.

A Mafia Au smut

heir to the throne

Sukuna never wanted to be a father. Why why hell would he want that? A sticky, stinky, ball of chaos that feels the need to destroy everything. Why would he want that? It's no surprise you hid your pregnancy from him for so long.

A Dadkuna fluffy fic

urban legends

You don't see the point in it; chasing myths on Halloween night, going deeper into the woods than you ever had before. You'd rather be at home than chasing ghosts. But, your best friend insists on finding evidence of the local urban legends, and surely she won't abandon you the moment you find what shes been hunting, right? A TrueFrom!Sukuna smut.

change of plans

Funny how something as small as a grain of rice can cause such a shift so massive in so many lives. Deny all he wants, you're having a baby and now Ryomen has to comes to terms with being a young dad. Part of the Frat Boy AU Some introspective fluff

tiger hybrid! headcanons

We've all wondered what he would be like as a tiger hybrid, right? Right? some Smutty Headcanons

breaking up headcanons

While you would be entirely within your rights to leave Sukuna, what on earth made you think it would be that easy? some more smutty headcanons

feral nights

Ryomen always got what he wanted, it was a simple rule of life. And ever since he caught your scent, you were all that he wanted- your previous bond mark be damned. And you must have wanted him too. Why else would your window be open in the middle of your heat? An omegaverse Smut

[mydarlingclaudia]

ENTER THE SURVIVAL HORROR…

OCTOBER FIC PLANS 𓉸

some fics I will be posting in October will contain dark content or will be dead dove (given I’ve never really written for either subject so this is new territory for me) but two of the fics I’m going to write are based on or inspired by horror movies and I’ll be writing both Chris and Leon!

also post dates and descriptions may change a tiny bit (though not likely!!) because I have actually only finished one of these fics, but if I do change anything I'll reblog this post!!

coming soon ⟢

taste no evil inspired by… THE VVITCH (10/30/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you.

established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

how much blood would you shed to survive? based on… SAW (10/18/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

cheating doesn't make you a bad person, it's not like you were even married to the guy, Chris didn't even try to stop you from hitting on him, anyway. maybe getting romantically involved with your coworker wasn't the best decision you've made, but why should anyone else care? you don't let your relationship with him get in the way of your work, all you really do is help each other try to track down the murderer running through Raccoon City, how were you supposed to know said murderer would be your boss? and how were you supposed to know that you'd wake up in one of these traps one morning with Chris getting there surprisingly fast to help you escape?

established relationship, gore, mentions of infidelity, au, fem!reader, re5!Chris

she’s demonic and bloody, but she holds me tight inspired by… IN MY ROOM (10/10/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

a college kid with a social life that's almost non-existent figures the dead girl that comes to his room every night is his girlfriend, some say that's a bad thing, he says it's everything he could wish for. who cares, anyway? it's not hurting anyone! well, not yet, at least. there's an endless list of things he'd do for you, you don't even have to ask. but why won't you come back after he takes care of a problem that would have torn you away from him? you love him, right?

not-really established relationship (idk how to explain it), a bit suggestive, Leon is kinda gross, necrophilia, gore, au, fem!reader, re2r!Leon

mouthful of love (10/2/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

mission gone wrong, the rest of your team had already been killed, so when you end up dying in that same mission it only makes things worse. but Chris can’t just leave you, right? no, that would be cruel, but he can’t really drag around a dead body with him either. who’s gonna know if he took a few bites out of you just to keep you with him? the place had already been crawling with monsters, it wouldn’t be a totally crazy thing to find on a corpse.

established relationship, major character death, gore, cannibalism, fem!reader, anywhere post re1 Chris

I will be using dark content and dead dove for tags so you’ll be able to filter out these fics. I don’t really expect anyone to give a shit about this but for those of you who do wanna read these thank you and happy halloween <3 I might also be posting extras if I find the time and feel like it, those are also probably going to be more cutesy fall fics sooooo

[bucknastysbabe]

hi cal! i love your page sm. i wanted to request more chubby bucky (i’m so obsessed & haven’t seen him in a min) also make sure to take care of yourself and have a good day/night 🩷

HI!!!! Sorry I’ve been such a spazz and awful about my page and askbox I’m in my new era blah blah but YES! CHUBBY BUCKY! Thanks for the well wishes I’m trying to practice ~self care~ and ~time management~ mwah mwah much love. So let’s say this just in the same universe as Poolside Blues!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: body dysmorphia, obsessive thoughts, negative body talk, Muscle chub Buck, Bucky’s shit self esteem is saved by sunshine gf, holiday weight gain, Bucky being a stubborn mf, switch!Bucky, reader has empathic projection, horny texts, body worship, WE LOVE SOFT PARTS AND STRETCH MARKS ROUND HERE, teasing, sub space, daddy kink, pnv!sex, cuddles and fluff, Bucky is just a big cuddly tiger kitty

“Bucky if you stare at the scale any longer I’m going to break it. Holidays are over, you can get back to being in the gym twenty-five eight.”

Bucky eyed his petite girlfriend, frowning from the doorway to the bathroom. He palmed his stupid fucking gut and sighed, he actually had to suck in to see the number! This is why Bucky hated the holidays. Besides being cold. James Buchanan Barnes very much disliked the cold, one could assume why.

He could handle the residual un-moveable pudge leftover from Hydra’s ever consistent tinkering with his bodily functions. But then it all started with Halloween. Wanda and his girlfriend loved to bake. So he’s getting force fed cookies. Then they need to decorate, go to functions, give out candy. No time for gym.

Bucky grumbled and stepped off the scale, padding to his closet. He grumbled more, “Stupid turkey holiday.” Great yes, the holiday known for feasting. Pumpkin spiced everything in his vision. Bucky had a weakness for pumpkin, his ma made good spiced bread. He took a short vacation with his lovely little angel to the mountains. He tried to rationalize that hiking and marathon sex would make up for the amount of food he had ingested.

Tony Stark of course had a grandiose Thanksgiving celebration. Bucky tried to keep it light, he did, he really did. But every refusal got sad eyes or downright offense. The former winter soldier was belly up by the end of the night, all gym plans out the window.

Christmas fared no better. His best gal absolutely adored Christmas. It was the first holiday she’d experience not as an asset to Hydra, just like Bucky. So instead of RUNNING or LIFTING, the Brunette was shopping and ice skating. He’d already gone up a size in clothes December 3rd to be exact. Bucky correctly guessed he would go up another post-Christmas.

He’d whinge and rant to Steve, the blondie listening and telling Bucky to chill— it’s not like anyone thought it was bad. Bucky exasperatedly shouted, “I’m like a goddamn balloon! I don’t need to be on missions like this! I’m going to Bruce, jerk.”

“Punk.”

Bruce didn’t help either. Just said once he got back into a routine it would come off and he’d be at his regular weight. Refused to give Bucky Ozempic either. Some kinda doctor he was, his patient was obviously distraught.

“Are you dressed yet?,” she hollered.

“Give me a second!,” Bucky pouted.

He was going to pout today. Go to gym, get anger out, and pout. So he shimmied on some catastrophically tight basketball shorts and the biggest shirt he could find. Luckily it covered him up. May or may not have been a panic buy. Bucky cursed some more sitting on his bench to lace up his shoes, stupid gut getting in the way.

Red faced and irritated he snarked, “Happy now princess? I’m going to the gym, nothing is stopping me, I will be going to work out.” She grinned and watched him grab his bag, slapping a round ass cheek on his way out. Bucky shuddered at the wobble. Her familiar rasp rang out, “Nice ass baby! Go get em!”

He was too old for this. Technically his girl was ten years his junior if you took off the cryogenic time. He loved her dearly, always bubbly, somehow remained optimistic after all she’d been through. But the little freak liked Bucky’s pudge, loved it. Always grabbing up on it.

Bucky took the stairs to the gym. He needed it. The brunette thought with a smirk that if he had a nickel for every time he had to remove her hands from his ‘handles of love’ he would’ve been a millionaire back during the Depression. He grimaced at the feeling of his chubby tummy and thick thighs.

Finally. He’d made it. Gym time.

Not a soul in sight, Bucky could just relax and get his frustrations out. With a fuck-ton of a cardio and some toning exercises— really didn’t need any muscle to bulk him out more. He felt a bit peaceful for once, a strange bravado coming over him. The soldier stretched his unused muscles and did a bit of breathing exercises.

God, he already felt lighter. Maybe. Maybe he would take a picture and see if the camera made him look different. Bucky’s therapist already hammered him about his ‘body dysmorphia and negative self-image’.

Taking a peak about and tying his hair half up, Bucky propped the camera at a flattering angle and yanked off his shirt. He refused to look in a mirror for the holidays unless he was clothed. Fiddling with the inane controls, the man finally had the thing on a timer. He pulled off his shirt and tried to pose, straighten up his back again.

The flash went off and he ran to the phone, hit send, then sat down on a nearby bench to look fully. The brunette had to keep his ‘body positive!’ thoughts at the forefront. His chest and legs looked good. Face didn’t look too puffy thanks beard.

Disgust picked the earlier bravado up and hulk smashed it. Buck’s eyes were glued to his rounded belly and fat hips, a muffin over those horrid shorts. There, oh my god, there were stretchmarks on him? Bucky never had stretchmarks! Not the red kind! But there they were— mocking him. Ragged lines on his hips and sections of stomach.

He deleted the picture, feeling horrid. He should run more. But not before the pings blowing up his phone. She was strange and texted in 5 different messages that could’ve been sent in one singular text.

“Babbbbyyyy omg you’re so hot”

“Fuck, I’m getting all flustered in this debrief.”

“Look at that pretty body. Wanna lick those pretty stripes, tiger.”

“I’m so horny lmfao get your ass back to the room in 30. I’m gonna fucking ride you so goddamn hard.”

Bucky blinked a bit, feeling himself perk up. He still was a overblown balloon, but at-least the weirdo he loved enjoyed it. “Tiger huh,” he murmured, scratching at the sensitive marks. Bucky had a time limit now, snatching his gear up and stuffing it into a bag, hustling down the stairs to his room.

“Hey Buck,” Sam’s voice was a blur as Bucky entered his room. He smirked a bit hearing a muffled, “Weird ass.” The super soldier kept his mind on the prize— getting the daylights fucked out of him by his girls. Nope he wasn’t going to pay attention to the chafe on the inside of his thighs one bit. Okay...maybe he’d powder the area after the shower.

All he had to do was wait now. Wait. Not get nerved about his very naked body. He felt like a pile of exposed lard but it’ll be okay. Yep. Bucky would be fine. Pussy would fix his problems. As long as she played nice and didn’t tease. That rendered Bucky into a teary, babbling mess. Either he was always a masochist or Hydra made him into one but God— sometimes when she got mean he saw stars.

The door busted open, Bucky feeling relief at her grinning face. She gently closed it behind her, stripping easily while throwing her panties at him. He caught the material, moaning softly as she growled, “See what you did to me in the middle of that debrief? Had to cut it short my pheromones were so bad.”

Bucky inspected the panties, eyes fluttering at the slick wetting the cloth. He gripped and inhaled, hand flying down to soothe his cock. A lithe body crawled to the end of the bed, the soldier flushing as she seated herself in between his thighs. Keeping him in fucking missionary, her manicured nails spreading him a bit. He gasped, body jolting at the exposure.

Her perky tits heaved as she groped at his thighs and slid down to get handfuls of his round ass. Bucky threw his head back and moaned, “W-What are you up to?” Earlier mentioned pheromones were making his body keyed up and sensitive, pupils likely swallowing up blue eyes. She leaned forward, taught body against his cock.

“Mmm- I don’t know really. You just looked so delicious,” she kissed his belly and cooed, “I know you’re upset with yourself right now, Buck, you’re fucking gorgeous. Holiday weight or not. But I’ll even go to the gym with you, know I’ve been a distraction.”

Bucky slurred a name, hands reaching for her waist, she was so sweet. He sighed, “I enjoyed you as my distraction, best disss-traction everrr. Fuck you’re makin’ me horny babydoll.” She crawled up his bigger body to plant a kiss on Bucky’s swollen lips before sliding back to her place. His cock leaked when she giggled, “I know, poor baby’s all achy for me. But I wanna do something first.”

She slid palms up and down Bucky’s muscled arms, soothing him a little. Then the she-devil gripped his chunky love-handles and shook, watching with poorly-disguised glee. Bucky whined, “Baaaby, stoppp, it’s awful!”

“Think of them as tiger stripes, they’ll fade out when you drop weight,” she dug under where his belly hung a bit and traced at his most sensitive stretch marks. Bucky let out an indecent noise, thrusting up into her sweet touch. The fellow avenger cooed, “S’that feel good tiger? Need some lotion. Pretty boy.”

Bucky outright whimpered when her hand wrapped around his weepy cock, already slick from copious pre. She slowly moved her hand, praising him. Pretty boy, smart, handsome, good, kind, helpful.

He was going to bust a nut before anything happened. Bucky barked, “B-babe, stop! Stop!” Her pretty brows knitted together, hand jerking away as she asked, “What’s wrong bub?” He panted, “Gimme a second, w-wanna fuck you so baaaad.” She gently stroked the outside of thick muscled thighs, padded with love in her opinion.

“Thought I was going to ride you?,” she asked, face beginning to flush.

Bucky shook his head, managing to push himself up to get face-to-face. His soft body filled the tight space between them, making her whimper now. Bucky used one hand to caress the side of her face, the other massaging her pretty tit. Long lashes fluttered, her lips falling open.

Score. He managed to somewhat fumble through the pheromone fog.

Bucky rumbled, “Nuh-uh, all this talk about my body and you don’t want me to pin you down and fill your pretty pussy up? Hm sweetheart?” He punctuated the sentence with a deep kiss, the sweet thing easily giving up to him. It was fun when she played mean but Bucky had more experience— he could play his girl like a fucking fiddle.

“C’mon,” smack, “use your,” smack, “words baby,” smack smack. She didn’t want to stop kissing, sucking on his bottom lip as he pulled away. She blushed, embarrassed on how fast the situation had flipped. His girl whined, “Yeah, c’mon fuck me, fuck me full daddy.” He grinned and laid back, strong arms pulling her atop him.

She squealed, eyes widening. Bucky purred, “You know what to do, Daddy’ll let you on top.” He bit his swollen lip again watching the tip of his clock get swallowed by molten heat, the pair of them shuddering in ecstasy. Her little hands planted on his chest, panting and whining at the fullness. He’d get to work, holding that pretty waist and fucking up into her tight cunt.

It wasn’t long before she was crying out and laying atop his body, gasping, “Y’feel so good! Ah! Soft and oh god s’fucking hard!” Bucky sucked at her neck and thrust into her with downright pornographic slaps. He grunted and gasped, legs wonderfully getting another workout.

He murmured into her ear, a hand stilling all that writhing the poor thing was doing, “Yeah doll? Daddy fucking you good? Feels good to lay on Daddy and get your pussy pounded huh?” She sobbed, clenching and spilling tears on his neck, “Yes daddy! Yes! Don’t stop, fuckfuckfuck, s’rubbing my clit! I love you Daddy!”

Bucky’s eyes crossed for a second. What?

The evil flab that curses his very existence is a free clit rubber? He moaned in delight. Bucky changed their position some to milk out that new fact. Might as well abuse it before it’s gone. His baby was clinging to him now, mewling his name, pussy spasming sporadically. Bucky tilted her head up, melting at her pretty eyes. He rasped, “Come for Daddy baby, know you’re close, let go babydoll.”

He was grinding the tip of his cock into her soft spot while cooing at her. She hiccuped on a sob, the entirety of lean frame tightening down on him. His baby was a lot stronger than she looked. He could feel her core clamp and soak his cock, sending Bucky reeling into his own orgasm with a hoarse shout. He whimpered at the feeling of his balls drawing painfully tight, emptying all he had pent up.

They laid in a pile of sweat and spend, probably love. She was still subbed out, nuzzling into Bucky, only making a soft noise when his soft cock slid out. The brunette guessed it was his turn to return her earlier favor. He felt like the man of the hour. Crazy little kitten thought her geriatric overweight cyborg assassin was hot. Even with the holiday pounds.

So he pressed little kisses, rubbed her back, waxed poetic nonsense of his love for her. Bucky was a lover boy back in the day, just a little rusty, not like his Babygirl was on planet Earth right now anyways. She murmured into his neck with a dopey smile, “Tiger.”

Once again, crazy fellow asset saving Bucky’s wavering self-esteem. How lucky was he?