#fear me tall lees

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part one word count: 19.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

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

8:59. 

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

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

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

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

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

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

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. You did it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did catch up to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you hadn’t. 

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

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

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

“I’m busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hook, line, and sinker.

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

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

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

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

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

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

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

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

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

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

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

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

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

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

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you make your way to the university library. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the first sentence begins:

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

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

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

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

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

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

The taste of blood. 

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

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

-- Anonymous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

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

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

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your draft coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sacred Monsters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your words settle into the space between you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

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

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

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

Bodies completely drained of blood.

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

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

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

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the alternative…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

[jjennuine]

LET ME LOVE YOU ( 换句话说 ) they finally show you how badly they yearn for you with a kiss.

❛❛ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 , 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 ❜❜

ペアリング 엔하이픈 형 & f ! r non idol au fluff yearning skinship smoking suggestive ⪩⪨ ( 档案 ) 1OOO

アイラ ꢾ𓍢ִ໋ i got carried away i fear

LEE HEESEUNG

“Seriously, him?” A flat, disappointed voice pierced through the air, and you recognized it instantly. “Yes, him.” With a deep breath, you turned around to face the man — it being none other than Lee Heessung, the embodiment of your personal nightmare, standing there with an unimpressed expression.

Heeseung's lips curled into a smug grin as he met your glare, fully aware that he was the only one who had the power to make you lose your cool.

“C’mon, princess, you know I’m the perfect guy for you. You just have to accept it” The tall man moved nearer, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat as an electric tension filled the room, leaving you aware of the closeness between you both.

( more under cut. )

“All you have to do is say yes and I’ll give you everything you want” Heeseung’s voice was laced with sultry, and you could hear the smirk on his face. Your heart was beating faster and your mind was full of hesitation — but his hot breath on your skin couldn't make you seem to care.

You breathed out a shaky “yes,” and Heeseung’s mind buzzed with the urge to kiss you. He cupped your chin, gently guiding you against the wall, and at that moment, his biggest fantasy came true as his lips pressed against yours.

His breathing was shaky as his hand slid down to your waist, his cold, long fingers grazing your skin, making you gasp at the sensation. Heeseung had never dreamed of anything more — you were the only thing he had ever yearned for. And now, he had your lips on his.

PARK JONGSEONG

“Jay! Seriously, stop buying me so much stuff! You exclaimed, struggling to balance three bags of designer items. Jay, with an unbothered expression, seemed completely unfazed, making you even more frustrated.

“An expensive girl deserves expensive things.” Jay smirked, ruffling his hair while leaning against the wall. You glared at him, your frustration only making him more amused.

“Money won’t buy me” You clenched your teeth, arms crossed tightly as the bags tumbled to the ground, the thud resonating through the air. “Then how do I get you, baby?” Jay moved nearer, gently grasping your hand in his.

You breathed in, your body tensing — a gulp the only sound coming out of your mouth. “Do I give her all my attention?” He did exactly that. “Do I treat her like a gem?” That too. “Or should I just tell her what I feel?” He hasn’t quite done that.

Tension hung in the air as Jay leaned in closer, a smug grin on his lips. “I think I’ve figured it out,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. He pulled you in, kissing you slowly, and you melted into the moment, returning his kiss with the same amount of fervor he felt, the world around you fading away as you lost yourselves in each other.

Jay held your face in his hands as he pulled you closer, the kiss deepening as he felt his mind go insane from how badly he craved you and the fact that he could finally call himself yours.

SIM JAEYUN

“You’re like a dumb puppy chasing me around everywhere, just bother some other girl!” You burst in anger, and you yelled at the man in front of you. But instantly, you felt a twig of guilt in your chest from your mean words.

You glanced up to apologize, but to your surprise, Jake was smirking at your outburst, appearing more amused than offended by your reaction. “I take pride in that, princess” You frown at him and pout — why is he so stubborn?

“Can’t you be sane for once and leave me alone?”Frustrated, you throw your arms up as Jake leans against the wall, staring down at you. His composed expression only fuels your anger more, walking up to him as you pull him by his shirt.

Jake's expression shifted to a more serious one, causing your heartbeat to quicken, an undeniable tension filling the air around you. “Do I look sane to you?” You gulped as Jake reached out gently, lifting your chin to ensure you met his gaze.

The room fell silent as you both stood still, gazing into each other's eyes. Jake gently brushed his thumb against your lips, causing your breath to hitch. Seeking permission, he looked deep into your eyes, making you hesitantly nod before he eagerly brought his lips to yours.

Jake's kiss was filled with desperation and longing, as if he'd waited for this moment forever. His mind chanted your name like a prayer while he held your hands loosely, then shifted your position, pinning them against the wall. He opened his eyes to look at you, and it was clear to anyone how intensely he desired you.

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re insufferable” Sunghoon's lips curled into a flirty smirk as he flicked the lighter in his hand, igniting the tip of his cigarette, the soft flame brightening a slight orange glow on his face,

Sunghoon inhaled and puffed out the smoke, his expression completely unbothered by your nagging, which only fueled your frustration “I told you to stop smoking multiple times!” You took the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground.

Sunghoon sighed and met your glare. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tilting his head and tousling his hair. You couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief at how unbothered he was at your scolding.

"I can't stand it, you know. It's causing you pain." You fold your arms, pouting in frustration as Sunghoon raises an amused brow. "So you actually care about me?" Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, trying to defend yourself and deny his assumptions knowing he’s right.

"Help me then" you blink in confusion. "How?" Sunghoon leans in, his gaze sultry as he fixates on your lips, causing your heart to race. “This,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his hand before kissing you eagerly. Surprised, you hesitate for a moment but then find yourself kissing him back, caught in the intensity of the moment.

You shut your eyes as Sunghoon draws you nearer, his large hand tenderly stroking your hair. The lighter slips from his grip, hitting the ground — his desire palpable, evident in the way his kiss feels so desperate and needy.

rbgs are very appreciated ! wanna be updated on all my works? join the taglist ^^

[itsnesss]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | player 230 threatens and intimidates you, but player 333 intervenes, protecting you from him

warnings | mild threat and intimidation, tension, angst, fluff

word count | 0.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The tension in the room is palpable. The murmurs of the other players fade as player number 230, Thanos, slowly approaches you.

“Wow, what do we have here?” Thanos says, his voice deep and gravelly, a tone he knows how to manipulate to make everyone around him feel uncomfortable. His eyes scan your figure from head to toe with a predatory gaze. “You’re... interesting.”

A chill runs down your spine. You don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at you, the way his words feel like a game you can’t win, or if it’s the fact that you know exactly what he’s after.

“What do you want?” you respond, trying to sound firm, but fear slips into your voice despite yourself.

He smiles, that kind of smile that makes you think he already has everything under control. He steps closer, and you can see his eyes gleam with a mix of amusement and threat.

“What I want... is to know what’s beneath that façade of resistance. It’s always fun to break people like you.”

Your breath quickens. You know you’re on dangerous ground, but you can’t back down. You’re trapped. However, just as Thanos takes another step toward you, someone intervenes.

“If you don’t mind, I think she’s not interested,” comes the voice, firm and determined.

You quickly turn around and see player 333. He has positioned himself between you and Thanos, standing tall with a look of resolve in his eyes.

Thanos looks at him, sizing up the new intruder, his smile now more mocking.

“And who are you to get involved in this?” he asks with disdain, raising an eyebrow.

Player 333 doesn’t flinch. He’s calm, but you can feel the tension in his body, the same kind of tension that occurs before a confrontation.

“I’m someone who won’t let you touch her,” he responds in a calm yet firm voice.

Thanos laughs, but the laugh doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps toward player 333, testing his reaction, not sure if he’s truly willing to fight or if he’s just testing the other’s limits.

“Do you really think you can stop me?” he asks, eyeing him from head to toe, as if he were just an insect he could crush easily.

But player 333 doesn’t take a step back. Their eyes lock, and you can feel the electricity in the air. The kind of tension that only appears before a storm.

“I don’t need to stop you, I just need you to step away,” he says without moving a muscle, his voice a challenge in itself.

Thanos watches him in silence for a long moment, as if considering whether it’s worth continuing with this provocation. The arrogance on his face fades slightly, and it’s as if he suddenly realizes that player 333 isn’t going to back down.

Finally, Thanos snorts in disdain.

“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice heavy with threat, before turning and walking away, his presence still lingering in the air.

333 doesn’t move until Thanos has disappeared completely. Only then does he turn to you, his eyes softening slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone much gentler than before.

You, still in shock from the intervention, nod, though you can’t help but feel your hands tremble slightly.

“Thank you... I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

333 makes a nearly dismissive gesture with his hand, but there’s a slight smile on his lips, as if the danger meant nothing compared to seeing you calm.

“You don’t have to thank me. I wasn’t going to let someone like him touch you.”

“But...”

“It doesn’t matter.” His tone is serious, but there’s something protective in his gaze that makes you feel safe. “Here, no one is going to touch you if I can help it.”

For a moment, you stand there, speechless, watching him. Something inside you feels grateful, but beyond that, there’s a deeper feeling, a connection you can’t even explain.

[oimitocat]

IF I TOUCH YA… | OS

༘۠ anton x m!reader

༘۠ nonidol! au + swimmer!anton + swimmer!reader + rivals with benefits + angst + nsfw + shower sex + technically public sex

༘۠ a/n: i’m still new to riize, please spare me. i’m sorry if this suck, i’m literally trying to get back into my writing mojo. [i’m trying because shotaro and sungchan redebuted ;( ] angst cus i LOVE angst ;)

“DAMNIT!” you growl, slamming your fist against the shower door.

anton, anton, anton.

that’s the only thing— the only name bouncing around your head. the (beautiful) idiot beat you by a—

“SECOND. A FUCKING SECOND!” you fume, the hot water running down your back doesn’t help, the steam giving you comedic energy with your emotions.

it’s a reoccurring situation, you beat him one day, he beats you another day. yet this whole week he’s been beating you by mere seconds.

“n/n…” his soft voice comes out from outside the shower stall.

“what.” you grunt, angrily scrubbing the shampoo in your hair.

you know he’s standing outside, fidgeting. what you don’t know is how fast his heart is racing, how anxious he is at the sound of you being so angry. he knows you’re competitive, he is too, yet he had always hoped it wouldn’t affect the friendship or companionship he was trying to have with you.

“the hell do you want, lee?”

he takes a deep breath, glancing back at the shower room door. almost everyone had left, except the coach which said he’ll go to his office and watch his anime.

“are you going to sulk like a sore loser or go home de-stressed?”

he jolts when your door flies open with a slam. you’re glaring at him but his eyes fly down, below your hips. he’s not hiding anything, why would he? he came inside the shower room with purpose, no towel on with purpose.

“so that wasn’t a one time thing?” you question, raising a brow.

he hesitates, looking around and playing innocent. “did you want it to?”

he gasps when you yank him by the wrist. he’s genuinely surprised at how fast you accepted the invitation, he thought you’d put up more of a fight but no, clearly you wanted your vengeance. he almost pushes you away, but your lips on his is just a beautiful feeling. this is the only time you actually give him something other than a glare or competitive comments. he’s all bark no bite, this is exactly how you two tangoed the first time, except that time you only took a blowjob from him.

left his throat sore and his tongue felt heavy during the entirety of the next day, the ghost of your dick in his mouth there.

he’s not a virgin, by no means, but he’s never done something this crazy. fucking in the shower room? what if someone forgot their shampoo or something and tries to come in? what if their coach decided to do his job and actually check up on you two for once?

you grip his hips, pushing him against the stall wall, the water still running. your lips are over his neck, nipping and kissing. he gets lost in that sensation, his hands coming up to mess with your wet hair.

your body is hot, the water burning your skin. he’s not a hot shower person, so apart from him already feeling sweaty in your hands, the steam isn’t helping with his libido. he tugs at your hair when you trail down his chest and stomach. his hips twitch forward as you go lower. he’s so hard it’s embarrassing.

“don’t look at me as if i’d help you with it.”

and you embarrass him. of course you do.

“you clean?” you ask as you come back up and eye his plush, wet lips.

his eyes are naturally doe, you almost find it cute. (who are you kidding, it absolutely is. you wanna to destroy him, corrupt him so bad).

“yeah,” his voice is always soft, yet you fell in love with how hoarse and raspy you can make it sound.

“fine, let me show you how much you piss me off,” you growl, placing your hands behind his thighs and swooping him up in one swift movement.

you grunt, forgetting how tall and built this boy is. he cling to you out of fear, his heart racing. this is new to him and doing it with you just brings out a rush he never new he’d experience. yet, despite the arousal and sexual hunger, he eyes you with a hint of perplexion. are you joking? you don’t actually get pissed off at him, right? but of what? him beating you lately or his existence in general?

he can’t ponder about it for more than a mere second before your fingers spread his cheeks apart. he hooks his ankles behind you, securing himself in your hold as you push in. you make a small, almost silent noise when your tip pushes the moist gland.

“h-hold on, grab me right,” he gasps as his arms wrap around your neck again.

“this isn’t easy, idiot,” you huff, “you’re not exactly small or light.”

he closes his eyes when some water drips from the top of his head. yet, when he feels you thrust he snaps them open and gasps.

“fuck, you’re so warm,” you grunt, pulling him down by the hips to slam into him.

it’s taking everything in you to hoist him up and move him. a hardcore arm workout, but one you know you’ll enjoy. you place a soft kiss, contrasting your brutal movements, onto his wet skin, making him moan— his neck is sensitive to kisses. especially with how wet and hot yours are.

from the rush in the moment, you build the pace and stamina to fuck him into the wall. his arms tighten around you, his airy moans echoing softly. he’s trying to be silent just in case, or at least you think. is he always this soft voiced? you grin— could you make him get loud?

you pull out entirely before slamming back inside. his breath hitches and his eyes snap open again.

“ah- oh fuck-!” he squeaks as you slam him down onto you.

his dick flops uselessly between the two of you. your fingers dig into the softness of his flesh in his ass, nails digging into him. you’ll leave marks, he knows it. yet, that’s what he’s hoping for, because where you’ll look at him nasty for doing the drills perfectly or getting praised for his renewed charts , he’ll know those marks happened when you looked at him with something other than hate.

you aim like you’re on a mission, which you are. the wet sound of skin against skin bounces around the shower walls. the running water isn’t loud enough anymore— you’re grunting as you chase your high and anton is letting out high pitched whines.

he presses his cheek against the side of your face. you feel so good, he can feel you splitting him open. he can feel the warmth of your dick inside his equally warm walls.

“y-y/n, you feel so good,” he pants out. “guess you’re good at something.”

fuck. that literally pissed you off. like, maybe not exactly in a way where his words irked you, but in the sense that it drove you to keep proving him right since he clearly wants to be right.

he grunts and moans when you get brutal. you’re growling and digging your nails into his skin.

“ah, ah,” his thighs twitch around your waist, a clear sign he’s getting close and sensitive.

you let out heavy breaths, a gruttal moan leaves your throat as you feel your climax building.

“imagine coach comes in here and sees his best swimmer getting fucked like a slut,” you cackle between your grunts. you feels his hole clench around you and you can’t help but feel amused at that. “you wanna get caught being a slut? what would the school think?” his breathing turns more erratic, “what would your daddy think?”

“fuck- y/n stop,” he tries but you just feel so good slamming into him that he just sounds stupid.

“the district stars fucking in the shower rooms, what a header,” you grin as you push your hips flush into his reddened ass cheeks, spilling deep into him.

he shudders, your warm seed sending him over the edge. he can’t even bask in the post-orgasm for a second because you pull out and set him back on his feet. you feel the pull in your shoulder blades, this is going to be embedded in your muscles for a while. yet you don’t find yourself showing any shred of care for him when you notice how wobbly his legs are.

“just watch, i’ll make sure you become a good fuck more than a good swimmer, lee.” you grunt, stepping out of the shower stall while glaring at him.

his heart aches, but he just throws you a lazy, lustful smile. because he knows that as long as he beats you, you’ll take out your anger on him.

and that would mean he’ll mean something to you. one way or another.

[hees-mine]

The boy in my class - L.HS

Extended teaser

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, cnc, pervert/stalker heeseung, bathroom sex, cursing, multiple orgasms, fingering, with animated pictures.

Genre: dubcon, if this bothers you please do not read!

WC: 2k+

-

Everything happened so fast. One minute, you were walking down the empty school hall headed home for the day, and the next moment, you felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around your torso from behind. The action caused you to miss your next step and sent you falling back into their chest.

Before you registered what was happening, your mouth was being cupped. You felt your body being dragged backward, and you couldn’t utter a word or scream for help.

You tried to grab onto something, anything, but it was futile as your nails scraped against the wall, chipping away the paint.

Your eyes are wide with panic, your muffled screams being heard by absolutely no one as you get taken to what you quickly identify as the school bathroom, and soon, your body is being maneuvered to face your captor.

In your state of panic, you didn’t even think about who it could have possibly been that snatched you out of the hallway, but when you see his face…..

It all came together.

The boy in your class.

Lee heeseung.

The guy who had a crush on you, the one who wrote love notes to you, the one who begged you to give him a chance, but you never did.

Simply because he was weird you’d catch him staring at you from afar following your same path on the way to school and one time he even sent a love letter to your house which you’re not sure how he got the address but luckily it only happened once so you didn’t bother to bring it up to anybody.

Not to mention his appearance wasn’t the most inviting. He was tall, lanky build, shaggy hair that nearly covered his eyes and was shaved on the sides. He wore big round frame glasses and didn’t take time to tie his tie properly or iron his school uniform.

To sum it all up, you just didn’t like Lee heeseung, and you never reciprocated any of his advances, which makes you wonder why he’s got you trapped inside a bathroom against your will, but he makes his intentions all too clear as he firmly presses himself against you.

Fear runs throughout your veins the moment you feel his bulge nudge against your core, and you want to scream, but your mouth is covered by his large palm. “Shh shh, it’s okay. I got you.” A tear runs down your cheek as you realize there’s no help for you in this situation. “No, don’t cry,” he coos, swiping the tear off your face. “Mnot gonna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good,” he whispers and kisses you on the cheek.

His free hand slides down to the button on his pants, quickly pulling down the zipper and letting the material fall to his ankles. Next comes his boxers.

His lower half is completely naked as his hard dick stands tall between his thin, tanned legs.

You try to tell him no, that you don’t want this, please stop, but nothing comes out of your mouth when you finally attempt to push him off. He just pushes you against the sink, leaving you no space to move. Your feeble attempts at pushing him off didn’t seem to deter him as he hiked up your skirt.

“Just let me do it. You’ll like it, I swear,” he murmured in your ear, your body shivering from how calm he sounded while you literally fought to get him to stop.

He grabbed the base of his thick cock, pressing himself on your core.

You squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering when you felt him rubbing himself on the most private part of your body.

“See? It feels good, right?” He takes your cries for sounds of pleasure as he humps your clothed crotch.

You shook your head back and forth, but he didn’t notice, too lost in the pressure of finally having you the way he dreamed of having you, the way he imagined every night while touching himself.

“I’ll make you feel so good you’ll fall in love with me,” he speaks softly, resting his forehead against your own, holding your hip to keep you still while he ruts against your white cotton panties.

You attempt to close your legs, but it’s no use. Your body is at his mercy. “No, no, stay still f-for me.” he reaches down, pushing your legs apart.

Once he has you opened up for him, he grabs the crotch part of your panties, slipping them to the side so you can feel him better.

“See?” He breathes out his warm dick sliding through your wet folds. “You’re even getting wet for me. I know you, me. I know you want this.”

-

read full story only on my patreon!

[grugruel]

Wicked Game

Pairings: cop!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: An out of control college party gets crashed by cops, someone tattled, and a cop chase ensues.

The chief is an old friend of your family, who you'd always had a crush on.

Thinking he's harmless, you talk back. But he can only hold back for so long.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: reader is 20, pinv sex, rough sex, oral sex (m and f recieving), choking, uniform kink, sir kink, reader being bratty, bucky doing something about it!! edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, handjob, fingering, pet names (girl, doll), praise (yay), mentions of masturbation, slight marking, degrading ish? cum eating, creampie, power dynamic, some soft!bucky at the end.

AN: This is not a Lee bodecker fic! This is just regular, muscly cop!bucky.

Blaring music and thumping bass fill an already crowded house, drunk daredevils otherwise inhabiting it.

God, my skull feels like it's about the cave in. The average college experience in other words.

I'd been drinking the least out of my friends, yet I felt the worst. They sat on the couch around me, trying the wide assortment of drugs that were splayed out in front of us. Littering the table along with various hard liqour bottles, all mostly empty.

Drugs arent my forte, but I wont nark them.

The party had only been going for an hour or so, I think? My lockscreen told me it was 2 in the night, holy shit? It had been 5 hours.

How the hell had no one called the cops yet? Little did I know, how badly I jinxed myself.

'Guys, Guys.' I lazily shrugged the shoulders of two of my friends sitting on each side of me, 'We- we, gotta go.'

'We're fine!' One of them drawled, splaying out on the couch.

I shook my head, head thumping in each bend, 'Theres literally. . .' I paused, searching tiredly for the right words, 'Uhm- No way! That the cops arent on their way here like, right now.'

'We've lasted this long.' The other said, shrugging his shoulders, grinning.

I groaned, 'Fine!' And threw my hands up in defeat, my friend observed me smugly. He held up some coke for me, raising his brows in question. To which I shook my head again.

A sharp alarm cut through the music, everyone groaned, heads complaining at the sound. I figured it was something with the sound system, but no.

I just had to jinx myself, remember?

As my ears adjusted to the sound, I realised. It's sirens, two or three. Cops.

'It's the fucking cops!' I shouted, alerting everyone. The music cut off, and the sirens clarified into the deafening sound of jail, or curfew. Depending on the cop. I was hoping and dreading the Chief in equal amounts, he could take it easy on me, or not.

I roused my friends, dragging them up from the couch and filtering them through the backdoor. Along with at least a hundred other people our age.

My attempts at freeing them had made me lag behind, one of my friends grabbed my arm, 'Come on!' She shouts, trying to pull me with them. But theres to many people between us and she loses her grip, swept away by the crowd.

The front door swings open behind me, and I freeze. Slowly turning around, I see a tall, broad shouldered figure standing silently observing the chaos from the doorway. He stepped inside, searching the crowd, and eventually. His eyes land on me.

'Give em' hell. Get the ones you can!' He barks the orders at his men, and then his eyes narrow in on me. Staring me down, 'And leave this one to me.' His words make my skin crawl, in fear of my parents finding out and possibly, excitement?

I wouldn't say no to punishment dealt by Chief Barnes.

His men rush past me out the backdoor, leading me to back up slowly. Placing the Coffee table between me and the Chief, securing myself somewhat.

Slowly, he stalks forward. A slanted smile growing with every step that he takes, making chills run up my spine. His uniform does him good I notice, shirt and pants sitting around his muscles perfectly. Belt and gun? Hot.

'Heeey, Buck.' I smile cheapishly, 'Fancy meeting you here.' Testing the waters, seeing what chances my charms have of easing the situation for myself.

He nods, raising his eyebrows in response and grins in spite, as if answering, "I'm sure it is" and "You're in deep fuckin shit now."

I laugh nervously and try again, 'I didn't know you enjoy college parties Buck? Or just, college girls?'

Amused, he steps closer, It's now only the table separating us. I step up on the couch behind me, desperately trying to make up for the space I'm losing. He puts his hands around his belt buckle, smirking. At least my incredibly funny self seems to have softened him.

He looks down, studying its content, then looks back up at me. His face turns displeased, undoing all my previous hard work to humour him.

I follow his gaze, looking at the table myself, and it dawns on me, 'No no no no!' I throw out in panic, 'Listen, Buck. . .'

'What could you possibly have to say-' he began and lowered his head, giving me a serious look, 'To get yourself out of this one?' referring to the table.

'I can think of a few things, I might have an ace in my sleeve.' I smirk. Metaphoricly speaking of course, my blouse does not have long sleeves.

He takes a firm step closer, a bemused look on his face, 'Ok Ok! It's not mine! It's not, mine.' I gesture to myself, then to the table in erratic motions. 'I'm an innocent bystander, I just sat on the couch. Never even touched the stuff.' I hold my hands up, palms out. As if it would stop him.

'Theres nothing innocent about you girl.' He tells me sternly, the corner of his lip tugging.

Stunned, there's a sudden flutter in my stumache.

Suddenly, the energy between us change. The tension grows and the look in his eyes turn hungry, like a hunter watching its prey.

'Pinky promise?' I ask, shrugging cheapishly.

He takes a few quick steps toward me, rounding the table. But I run to the end of the couch, making sure that the table is still between us. Butterflies surge through my body, giddy from excitement. This is the most fun I'd had all night. 'Buck, let's- lets be civil about this, alright? Let's just talk.' I giggle.

He chuckles, 'Oh, you think this is funny?'

Nodding, 'Kind of, yes. . .' I tease.

'We're far past talking.' He breathes, 'Had I been anyone else, had I not known your parents, you would've been in cuffs by now.'

My eyes turn mischievous, 'Whats stopping you?' I tilt my head, 'I assure you, I wouldn't mind.' And grin.

He chews the inside of his cheek, then charges, and I run, swivelling to avoid solo cups and various balloons on the floor. I hear his footsteps behind me, catching up. My agility is nothing compared to his raw muscle and speed, but I swerve into the kitchen, adrenaline kicking in. And manage to take cover behind the kitchen island.

Bucky grinds to a halt, slamming his palms into the counter, catching himself against it. Once again, im in safety. For a while at least.

'Youre gonna have to be faster than that.' I pant, grinning. He meets my eyes, pure animalistic tendencies behind them. The look on his face has me biting my lip, I couldn't wait for him to catch me. 'C'mon Chief.' I purr.

And somethings in his eyes ignite at the word, oh?

'Chief?' I test and he grunts, eyes glaring at me through his eyebrows. Naturally, I delve deeper, 'You feeling quite alright. . . Sir?'

He tilts his head with a jerk, then laughs 'You've done it now.' Those are warning words. Then he jumps, sliding over the counter.

'Holy shit!' I squeek as I take of running, narrowly avoiding his grasp. I run through the house with Bucky right on my heels, nothing but the the thrill of the chase keeping me going.

I run out by the backdoor, then stupidly enough, take a right. Into a garden, a fenced in garden. The high type of fence too. I regret my decision the second I see notice it, but its to late. Buckys steps slow behind me, and I slow to a stop myself as I come face to face with a dead-end. 'Oh, fuck me.' I breathe, absolutely exhausted.

'Famous last words, doll.' He cuckles between pants.

I turn around and smile through the pain, 'Ha ha! Funny guy. What. A funny. Guy.' I clench my teeth, sighing.

My eyes lock onto his frame, hands on his hips as he's catching his breath. Mesmerized I stare, men in uniform, huh? Im starting to see the appeal.

Slowly, he begins walking toward me, prowling like a tiger. He grabs hold of his belt, pulling it upward to adjust his pants.

God damn.

My uterus is aching, my entire body is aching. I would've drooled if I hadnt come to my senses, escaping. Right.

I make a break for it. In one quick motion, I turn around and jump. Grabbing hold of the upper ledge of the fence and pull myself up, my feet scrambling against the wood to find some sort of purchase. But im too slow, too focused. I didn't even hear him come up behind me, but I did feel his big hands on my waist.

He yanks me down and pushes me toward the fence, his body flush against my back. I gasp and he digs his fingertips into my waist, making sure I don't escape again. His touch makes me yearn for more, I want it deeper.

He levels his head with mine, leaning in close to my ear. Close enough to feel his hot breathing against the skin on my neck, 'I got you now.' He whispers, making my skin prickle with goosebumps and setting of a pulse deep below my stumache. But I wasn't willing to give up just yet. With my hands free, I pry his own from my waist and turn around, pushing him back by the chest.

Now. . . The intention was to push him hard enough to give me space to run past, but. . .

He barely budged, he grabbed my wrists and pushed me back against the fence, pinning my body between the wood and himself. Wrists in hand, he anchored my arms to my sides by grabbing onto the fabric of my skirt. Rouching it, he helt the flesh of my ass under his fingers.

I laugh nervously, 'You're not gonna tell mom and dad are you?'

He just chuckles, fuck im truly, in deep shit.

I try wriggling free from his grip, but he holds my wrists tighter, carefully slamming them into the fence above my head and leans against me. Leaving zero space for me to move, every curve of our bodies complete the others, I swear I can feel his bulge against my hip. He moves his face closer to mine, needing me to crane my neck upward to meet his eyes. When I do, a self-satisfied smile covers his lips. His face inches from my own, we were basically sharing one breath as his lips barely brush over mine. 'You gonna be a good girl for me and behave?' He asks, breathing heavily.

I whine, he can't possibly turn me on more. 'Depends.' I say.

''Yeah?' He practically whimpers.

I close the distance between our lips, but he pulls back and smiles, teasing me. I meet his eyes and we look at eachother intently, as if entranced, I cant break contact.

He lets go of my wrists and traces his hands down my arms, all the way down to my hands. Chills run amock over my body, I close my eyes and lean in again, but suddenly-

I hear a clasp, then another and I can just feel him smirk against me. My eyes go wide and I realise, 'You didn't.' glaring at him.

'I did.' He laughs, 'What made you think you were in a position to negotiate?'

I look down and sure enough, cuffs bind my wrists together. Shocked, my mouth falls open. I didnt even feel him reach for them.

He backs up and grabs my arm, pulling me with him. 'Could you at least let me off around the corner from our house?' I ask as we make our way toward his car, he glaces down at me but doesnt answer, 'So they dont see me get dropped off in a cruiser, you know?' He opens the front door for me, and helps me inside, 'And maybe avoid talking to them for a few weeks, you'd really be doing me a favor, Buck.' And without a word, he closes the door and walks around to his side. Getting in and driving off.

The first portion of the ride is silent, he'd done what he had to, to catch me. Damn.

Luckily for me though, the party was a long way from home. Meaning I have some time to devise a plan.

I look at my cuffs, carefully observing them. Hmm. . . I yank my hands apart, trying the strength of the schackles, hoping the sound would gather his attention.

This was a game of chance, a game of seduction and persuasion.

Gently, I tickle the skin on my upper knee, 'I really didnt do any drugs y'know.' tracing back and forth with my fingertips, acting somber. Then lay my hand flat against my thigh, squeezing it absentmindedly. Continuing with rubbing small, firm circles with my index finger into my skin and turn to look out of the window.

Bucky clears his throat. The reaction I was looking for, perfect.

I spread my legs slightly, letting my hands slide down either side of my thigh. Clasping them together underneath and slide them up along my thigh. The skirt catching on my cuffs, revealing more and more of my-

-his hand flies to my thigh, hooking the cuff over his thumb and squeezing my flesh. Keeping me from showing anything more. Fuck, my core is throbbing from that alone.

'Buck?' I ask innocently.

'Dont' he croaks, voice sounding pained.

'Sorry-' I pause, glancing at him carefully. His eyes are fixed sternly on the road, 'We could talk about this like adults you know, make a deal.' He squeezes my thigh harder, I lift one hand with the restricted movements of my cuffs and caress his fingertips, 'A real good deal, benefitial for the both of us' I suggest.

'You talk too much for your own good, girl.'

'I'm not quite sure what you mean, Sir?. .' I bite my lip as he looks over at me, meeting my eyes through my lashes. 'You wouldn't tell on me to my parents, would you?' I ask, giving him my best puppy eyes.

He looks away, sitting silently until the next exit comes up. He flashes his indicators and turn off the main road, parking in an empty clearing.

'You want a deal, doll?' He asks, looking straight ahead. Sliding the cuffs off his thumb as his hand travel downward, fingertips sliding under my skirt, knuckles brushing over my clothed clit. Lust flashes through my nerves, and I gasp.

'A deal, or you. Both sound good to me.' I whisper, on the edge of my seat. Eagerly awaiting his answer, waiting for him.

He looks back at me, meeting my eyes with a fiendish grin, 'Then put that big mouth of yours to use.' He orders.

Nodding enthusatically, I lean over. Unbuckling his belt and zip down his pants, I reach into his boxers and fuuuuck, my hands barely fit around him. I pull him out and pull my hands to my mouth, wetting my fingers before returning them. One hand carefully stroking small circles around his tip, while the other strokes him up and down in cylindrical motions along his shaft.

The chief of police bites his lip, muffling a whimper as I move faster, 'Uhh- mmm. .' He hums, 'Yes- yes, doll. Fuck. .' He stutters.

Such a strong man crumbling under the touch of a woman, it was turning me on like nothing ever has, the power I hold is surprising.

His fingers move under my panties and slide along my slit, making it my turn to moan. I Buck my hips to give him better access, and he dips his fingers inside me. Pumping them slowly as he's getting them wet, then slides up to my clit, circling around it. 'Holy-' I gasp, 'Shit.'

We buck our hips to the others touch, leaning against the other, shoulder to shoulder, temple to temple. Moaning breathely. Our lips finally meeting in a needy kiss, tounges moving with the rhythm of our bodies. 'Please, doll. Be a good girl.' He begs between our lips.

Fuck me, that heartbeat in my utherus spread in pulses through out my entire body.

I grin and pull back. Leaning over, I carefully lick the leaking cum off his tip clean, then take him in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his head, licking greedily. Tasting the salt of him. I push deeper, sucking his length into my mouth. The sloppy sounds of saliva and lips were vulgar inte the most intoxicating way. His hand continues massaging my clit while the other snakes into my hair, grabbing a fistful and aiding my movements. Helping me set merciless pace.

Bucky groans, our strokes growing in greed as we close in on our releases. He shoves two big fingers into my core, curling at just the right spot. Pleasure surge through me, leaving me to stuff my throat with his member, muffling a scream as I topple over the edge. I feel him come right after, my mouth filling with his seed and hearing his moan of completion. The bitterness of salt waa overwhelming to my tastebuds, I swallow what I can and pull myself off.

Leaving a sloppy mess around my mouth, I sit back and smile. Breathing heavily as I regain my strength, Bucky looks at me and laughs, 'You got something right here.' gesturing circles around his mouth, reffering to mine. I wide my mouth clean with my thumb and suck it off, Bucky smiles proudly at the sight. Then brings his own fingers to his mouth, sucking my juices off of them.

Heat ignites within me once again.

Bucky cups my face with one hand and pulls me into a kiss. The tastes of eachother mixing, I can't quite tell what is what. But it's wonderful. Bucky pulls free and looks at me, I give him a hazy, expectant look. He strokes my cheek with his thumb and slides out of the car, walking around to my side. I furrow my eyebrows as he helps me out of the passenger seat. He pulls me to the hood of the car, pushing himself against me until the back of my legs hit the grill. He leans in and whispers against my ear, 'Still need to punish ya.' He drawls, a shiver running through my spine.

'Im begging you Chief.' I look at him thtough hooded, lustfilled eyes, 'Please punish me.' I groan, smiling.

His dick twitched at the word, making him close his eyes to keep his composure. Then suddenly bends down and finds purchase under my knees. In one swift motion, he pulls, and I fall back onto the hood, 'Wanting it defeats the purpose, doll.' He growls, then opens his eyes. But the sight before him makes him unravel.

Upperbody bent to the side in an effort to prop myself up on my forearms, thanks to my cuffs. Skirt over my hips and legs spread, core exposed and ready for him.

'Do you worst, please. Sir. . .' I whisper and grin.

His eyes snap to mine, and that "You're in for it now.' Expression returns, 'Fuckin brat.' He spits.

Then, he kneels. He fuckin kneels. A shiver runs up my spine a the sight, 'Some punishment, huh?' I ask, but he only smirks. Hooking my legs over his shoulders, and grabbing each thigh to keep them spread, then, without warning, he dives in.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from screaming, pulses of pleasure run through me like electric currents. He pushes his tongue inside me, feverishly licking at my juices, exploring my walls, burrying his face in my cunt. Nose pushing up against my clit, making my back arch deliciously. 'That all you can do?' I tease, grinding my hips against his nose, desperate to get some friction. But his eyes meet mine, glaring as he moves his hands to my hips, holding me steady.

He pulls back for a second, just to spit on my cunt, then hastily returning, chasing my clit. I gasp, burrying my cuffed hands in his hair, pulling him closer as I want more. Making him moan against me, his voice vibrating against my clit. My sight blurs from the pleasure, a knot tightening inside me 'More.' I beg, 'So close.'

His tongue slide out of me, and I whine. But he licks a stipe up my cunt and then attatches at my clit, sucking and nipping at my sensitivity. My body jolts, and I shut my eyes. 'You gonna cum?' He asks, voice muffled.

I can barely answer, pleasure overwhelming me as white specks my vision, 'Ye- yeah. . ' I moan, 'So close, ju- just like th-' I begin, about to reach my climax again, but suddenly.

He let's go, pushing himself off of my clit with on last lick and sits back on his heels, watching my unravel.

'No, please, Buck.' I squrim, whining at the loss of him. I try to pull him back, but he doesn't budge. 'I'm begging, please, please.' I whimper, closing my legs and pushing them together, moving my hips for any sort of friction to finish what he started.

'Mouthy brats dont get to cum.' He chuckles and grab my knees to pull them apart. I feel a tear roll down my cheek as the knot loosens again. In a last desperate effort, I pull my hands from his hair, burrying two fingers in me while my thumb rubs my clit. Just for a second, that exctatic feeling returns, blissful sparks ignite, until- he pushes his body between my legs to keep my thighs in place and grab my wrists, ripping them from my cunt. Then laughs, he laughs.

'Not funny.' I whimper.

'It is. . . Im not done even done yet.' He says, face glistening with my juices.

I fall back against the hood groaning, as the ache in my core reaches my bones. 'I need you so bad.' I whisper.

'What was that?' He asks.

'I need you. Buck please.' I whimper.

'Can't quite hear you, doll.' He mocks, hands squeezing tighter around my wrists.

'I fuckin need you inside me, ok?' I almost shout, 'Fuck me, hard. I'm begging, jus- just need you in me.'

'Yeah?' He laughs, standing up. Hooking his hands under my knees and slide me closer to him. His hand trace my skin to my waist, getting a tight grib. Then, in one smooth motion, he flips me to my stumache.

I can't help but gasp, 'Think you can act like a brat all night, and get away with it?' He asks, smaking my ass once. I yelp, the sting making my eyes water in the most delicious way. He lines himself up with my entrance, pushing on it slightly. His tip breeching.

'Please.' I whimper, muttering a string of curses. And without warning, he shoves himself inside. Again, I bite my cheek. Pleasure rolls through me, electrocuting every nerve. He grabs my hips, sinking his fingertips deep into my skin. Silently, I beg for them to leave bruises. Theres nothing hotter than a souvenir to remember him by.

He sets a hard pace, thrusting deeply. Pulling back almost all the way before forcefully pushing himself inside again, over and over. My brain doesnt function, I can't form words, all I can do is moan. The sound of slapping skin perfectly lewd in my ear. 'Harder Buck.' I request.

He leans down, grabbing my throat and pulling me flush against his chest, pushing his nose into my cheek, 'Yeah? This not enough for you?' He asks, grunting in my ear.

'Not enough, more.' I mewl.

His hand tightens his grip around my throat, cutting off just enough air to give me a dizzying euphoria. His other hands come down on my ass again, smacking hard as he thrusts deeper. Then re-grips your hip, using it to push and pull your, making our bodies come together even harder, 'Greedy girl, cant fuckn get enough huh?' He groans between breaths, hot against your skin.

I shake my head, the only answer I can manage as I feel my walls twitching, closing around him. He can feel it too, his hips stutter, throwing his thrusts of balance. He bites my ear, lightly tugging on it before kissing my cheek gently, then kissing down my neck.

A stark contrast to the rest of his movements, it's enough to make my head spin. It's almost too much. I feel the blinding pleasure threatening to spill inside me, 'You wanna cum girl?' He asks against the crook of my neck. I nod my head enthusiastically. 'Words doll, use your words.' He breathes.

'Ye- Yes, please.' I manage, 'Wanna cum so fucking bad, Chief.'

He grunts, hand slipping from my throat to my breasts, working them roughly. Palming, squeezing, pinching 'C'mon, cum for me doll.' He says between pants and immidietly, I topple over the edge. Pleasure blinding me as he continues thrusting, continues to assault my breasts. My body begins spasming, and my knees go week, 'Bucky. . . Fuck-' I groan, but he holds me up. All my senses feel like they're about to burst as he prolongs my orgasm, stretching it out in an exhuastingly wonderful way. He bites down on my shoulder, squeezing my breasts, muffled grunts escaping him as his own body spasms and his thrusts halt, his member finally filling me with seed.

He collapses on top of me as we catch our breaths, im so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

I close my eyes for a second, but doesnt register Bucky pushing himself off of me, or him gathering me in his arms and laying me in the backseat. I don't feel him wrap his jacket around me, or the ride home.

But I do rouse from my sleep as Bucky carries me into my room and lays me down in my bed, he kisses me on the forehead, 'Hey doll.' He whispers, a soft smile on his lips.

I panic slightly as I realise that I'm home, 'Mom n' dad?' I ask anxiously.

'I made a good excuse, don't worry.' He strokes some hair from my face, 'Sleep. You need it. I'll go easier on you next time.' He promises.

'Next time?' I ask, a tired smile covering my face.

'Next time.' He assures, and you drift back to sleep. He stands up and walks to the doorway, silently watching you with admiring eyes as he carefully closes the door.

He tells your parents a made up backstory and they understand, happy to see him. They invite him to dinner next weekend and he happily accepts, he'd do anything to see you again.

He thinks about you the entire car ride home, in the shower as he beats himself off and in the morning as he wakes up with a hard on from dreams off you clenching around him.

He can do nothing but count the days until he sees you again, guranteeing himself it will be a memorable occasion.

[sweatyracoon]

Unlikely Scene

Based on this edit

A/n: I watched this edit and literally screamed. I would kill for them fr fr 💀

Warnings: smut? Knife play, blood? Death, Sub reader, knife fucking, fear play? Threesome, penetration, mxm, dom Lee know, switch Seungmin, freaky reader, let me know if I missed anything

You had known for while who your boyfriends were. And it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You were surprised when you first found out, but you were quick to assure them that you were heavily into it.

Ever since the killings had started, and you heard about it from the news, you were more intrigued than scared. You had always had a macabre fascination for murderers and their reasonings. You had studied a lot of them, in fact. Even fell in love with the idea of dating a killer, hoping that he would use it against you if he ever got angry with you. Threaten you with any weapon of their choice. Make you beg.

It made your knees weak just thinking about it.

When you saw that iconic black mask with a face that looked as if it were melting, you felt your heart flutter. Not in fear, but curiosity. The news itself had said each killing had started with a phone call. The killer was male, and enjoyed toying with his victims. That was all they knew. It made you fantasize about him, and how his voice sounded. You had become obsessed with this killer in particular.

To have a notorious serial killer in your lifetime made you squeal in excitement, and not only that, he was in your town! Why you were excited, you didn’t know. You knew that you should be afraid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be.

You kept your doors and windows locked, but you stayed up, wondering who was next. If you knew them. If he was anywhere near you. What type of blade did he use? Did he even use a blade? What if he used just regular kitchen scissors? You couldn’t help it as your mind wandered during the early hours.

You finally drifted to sleep.

The next day, reports were consistently flowing through the news about the new killer, and how the locals had dubbed him Ghostface. The name made you shiver, the sound of it rolling off your tongue in admiration.

How could he have gotten a fan following so quickly?

You unlocked your phone, inputting his name in the tag bar, millions of posts appearing in seconds. You saw pictures of people wearing a similar mask, but you noticed that none of them were the same. It made you wonder if the killers mask was custom made. You also saw fake deaths and pretty girls chewing their bubble gum while calling the guy a creep.

They might be next, you hoped, rolling your eyes.

A couple weeks later, two more deaths were caused at the hands of your new obsession, the people unknown to you. You didn’t lose any sleep over it. But you noticed that the next video caught of him, his body was slightly different. To most people, they wouldn’t notice. But you watched this man closely. The next photo was the same mask. The scuff near the chin and the small indent near the right eye didn’t go unseen by you, but this body was a few inches taller, and his shoulders broader.

That’s not him…is it?

You suddenly doubted yourself, unsure if you were paying enough attention. You cursed at yourself, pulling out your phone, looking at your ghostface file.

Okay. You confirmed that it most definitely wasn’t the same guy. The original was smaller, and more built. This guy was a tall scrawny guy. But the robes and large mask made it hard to see. Even the news people didn’t even notice it. They kept on speaking as if it were your killer. But it wasn’t. You sighed out, suddenly wondering if this was a two man job? Maybe three? Or if this was just a phony that wanted attention.

You sighed, hopping in the shower on your second floor. You didn’t even hear your phone ringing, the shower flooding your ear drums, the steam making you lazy.

When you stepped out, you noticed the missed call. It was from an unknown number, making you shrug, drying your hair. Two minutes later as you’re putting on your shorts, your phone rings again. The same number.

You answer, wiping your legs.

“Hello, y/n,” a raspy voice greeted, making you freeze.

“Hello? Do I know you?” You ask casually, dropping your towel at your feet.

“You might have seen me on tv. I’m a pretty big deal right now, some might say…an icon,” he said, chuckling a bit at the end. You barely caught it.

You had a feeling as to where this was going. You remembered that the news lady said it all started with a phone call. Your breath hitched in your throat, but your insides turned to jello, arousal pooling in your stomach.

“Well, give me a hint, then. What type of people consider you an icon?” You turned slowly, facing your bathroom door, looking passed the hinges into your room. Empty.

“The not so nice people. The ones that want to hurt others…People that crave violence, that worship the wrong god…And guess what? I see that you idolize me, princess. So which type of person are you? You don’t seem violent, just curious,” You could tell he was using a voice changer, but despite knowing it was fake, your thighs clenched together at his on point answer. You breathed deeply.

“I-How did-?” You stuttered, your face flushing. You had all of your Ghostface memorabilia in the guest bedroom, and if he knew that you geeked out over him, that meant he was here. In your home. You were next.

“You must worship the wrong god, sweetheart. Such a shame it has to be you tonight,” he almost sounded genuine, but it was hard to tell with his altered voice. You stepped forward towards your bed, sitting at the edge.

“You’re here?” You whispered, earning a laugh from him.

“Yes, sweetheart. I am.”

Your eyes glazed over, the reality of the situation reaching you before you knew it. A shudder ran through you, and you decided to press your luck. It was silent on the other end, and you took your chance.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?”

You heard a small gasp from him, making you lightly smile.

“Sir? Well with such nice manners, I shall grant you a question or two,” his voice was the same, but the tone turned slightly more playful.

“Are there…are there two of you? I noticed that, you looked a bit different from before…It’s hard to explain-“ you were cut off with a solid answer.

“Yes. There are two of us. A team, if you will,” his voice was thin now, almost reserved, which was so different then the previous playful killer that you had gotten used to in those few minutes.

“Lucky for you, we both came tonight,”

Your eyes widened, unsure how to feel at that statement. Both? What did that mean for you? Are they both gonna try and kill you? Was one here to take pictures while the other stabbed you to death? Your mind wandered, not hearing what he said to you before hanging up.

Your hand dropped to your side, your phone sliding from your palm and onto the floor. You sat still, suddenly aware of the footsteps coming from your hallway. They sounded heavy, and moved with a purpose.

Your eyes caught the black robes as they glided into your room, a knife in his hand. Just one?

He paused in front of you, frozen. You wondered what he was thinking, considering he was wearing the damn mask. You felt your panties sticking to your wet core, making you move your legs. You were desperately hoping he would take the mask off at least once before he killed you. You wanted to see the face of the man that had gotten you hooked over the past few months. It was the least he owed you.

He shifted on his feet, not coming closer.

He almost looked uncomfortable. You tilted your head.

“Were you the one on the phone?” You asked calmly, causing the man to recoil in response.

“I was,” you heard a voice say from your hallway.

You didn’t even hear his steps. When he emerged, he was wearing the same outfit and mask as the other, and you noticed how he was the taller of the two, the one with the broad shoulders. You gasped. He took his palace next to his comrade, towering over both he and you.

“Well?” He cooed, his voice significantly different from how he sounded on the phone. It was lighter and angelic. He could be a singer during the day. He tilted his head as you did to the other, his posture making you feel things you had never felt before.

“Can I see you both? Before you…you know?” You cringe at the thought of death, and the shorter of the two recoiled yet again.

“Why aren’t you running? You should be scared,” he finally spoke, his English slightly broken. Almost as if he was from out of the country.

“Cause she’s fucked up. Ain’t that right sweetheart?” The taller answered for you, making your mouth dry. His voice was so sweet, but his tone condescending. All you could do was stare as thy looked at each other through the masks.

“Let’s let her see. After all, she isn’t gonna be around much longer tonight,” he sighed, almost as if it were a chore.

Your focus was now pointed at them fully, watching the smaller struggle internally before sighing as well, nodding. They both reached for the hems of the masks, tugging the off. At first you couldn’t see their faces, shaking their heads to fix their messy hair. But when they flipped them up, your jaw dropped.

They were absolutely gorgeous. The shorter, his features were sharp, his eyes slanted like a cat. And his lips were thin, his bunny teeth showing as he cringed at the feeling of his hair pointing in every direction. His adams apple shaped like a heart as he tilted his neck to pop it. His gaze was intense as he observed you. His muscular build framed by the robe.

The taller of the two, scrawny, but firm. His broad shoulders held his beautiful face, his cheeks round, and his eyes big and devastating, reminding you of a puppy. His hair brown with a blonde bang. And his lips framed the silver braces shimmering as he smiled.

You fought the urge to make a noise of plea.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” The taller asked with a grin, making you gulp.

You didn’t respond, unsure if there was a right answer or not. You continued looking at them, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, sighing at the friction.

“Answer me.” His voice deepened, almost like a growl. You gasped when he came to stop in front of you, grabbing your chin to look up at him.

“Are you turned on right now?” He questioned, a mocking tone lacing his voice as he grinned at you.

Your eyes watered slightly, feeling a little spacey.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

He laughed, letting go of your chin, making you whine at the loss of his touch. He stepped back, his grin spreading as he went to whisper something into his friend’s ear. His eyes darkened as he smirked, both turning to you with lust in their gaze.

“Lay down,” the shorter barked the order, and you obeyed immediately, making their eyes widen in shock. They didn’t expect you to comply so easily.

“What should I call you guys?” You mutter, watching as they both went to opposite sides of the bed.

The looked at each other before nodding.

“Lee Know,” the boy said at your right.

“Seungmin,” the one on your left said.

Their names were beautiful to you, and suddenly you wanted to sing them as a mantra, your own prayer. But you held back, not wanting this moment to end.

They both just stared at what you for what felt like hours, your legs brushing against each other to relieve yourself any way you could. Your eyes caught Seungmin gaze, locking onto him as you admired him from your position. You didn’t notice Lee know moving his knife to brush against your throat, making you freeze, eyes widened but still focused on seungmin.

You felt the cool metal brush against your skin, moving lower, reaching your top. He paused before moving above them lower. You whined at the muted feeling of the knife above your clothes, making them both chuckle.

“Your liking this aren’t you, sweetheart? You like Lee Knows knife?” Seungmin cooed, bringing his hand up to caress your face.

You sniffled, “Yes,” you whine, your legs twitching when he pushed the tip of the board into your inner thigh. A slight prick that made you see stars. You turned to look at the other man, watching as he slipped it into the waistband of your shorts.

He used his other hand, using it and the knife to pull them off, immediately noticing you wearing nothing underneath. He groaned, tossing your shorts to the side. You gasped when the blade met your skin again, the sudden chill painful before heating into a deep fire.

“Then you wouldn’t mind him fucking you with it?” Your eyes widened, turning back to Seungmin, seeing his cocky grin. He brushed a hair from your face, raising his brows. “What, sweetheart? You don’t want this? Don’t want us?”

If you were in your right mind, you would be able to tell he was manipulating you, but you were too far gone to care, and you really wanted this. Wanted them.

“I want it! Please! I want it so bad…” you groaned, moving your hips slightly.

Seungmin smiled before watching Lee know flip the knife, placing the handle at your entrance.

The handle with warm from his hands, a deep contrast to the chill of the blade.

“Ready?” Lee Know asked. You barely had the chance to respond as he thrusted the handle in, pressing it to the hilt. The beginning of the blade hit your ass, but he positioned it to where it couldn’t cut you.

You moaned loudly, your back arching as he started thrusting the handle at a steady pace. You whimpered, turning back to Seungmin. He no longer held his mocking smile, instead his face filled with concentration as he watched where Lee Knows hands met your middle, his braces showing from his open mouth.

“You like it, Seungmo? She pretty, ain’t she?” Lee Know slurred, staring at his friend.

“So pretty, Minnie,” he breathed, listening to the squelching of your pussy. He looked up and caught his gaze, both of them staring at each other. It made your toes curl.

Suddenly Lee know pushed forward, capturing seungmin in a kiss. He was caught by surprise, but melted into it, quickly slipping tongue. You watched as you were being fucked, the sight alone enough to make you finish.

You felt the coil in your stomach burn hotter with each second, but it finally snapped when you heard the high pitch moan from seungmin. You came hard as the boys separated, a string of saliva connecting them together.

“Good girl, y/n,” Lee Know mumbled, his lips wet and swollen.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

You opened your eyes to see them both staring at you, their eyes glossy and focused.

“Did the knife cut you?” Seungmin asked, reaching for your discarded shorts.

You huffed out, not expecting that question.

“No…are you guys gonna…?” You made a slash motion at your neck, watching seungmin look at you hard.

“No…But I have another idea for you,” his playful tone back, he grinned at the two of you.

“Be our girlfriend. Our watchdog. Let us know if anyone’s on to us. I see you already have done plenty of research, sweetheart,” His head tilted as he grinned at you.

You looked at Lee know, and he nodded, smiling. You noticed the slick on the handle of the knife. You reached for it, Lee know flinching, thinking you were going to retaliate. Instead, you brought it to your lips, licking it seductively as you looked at them both.

“I’d be honored,” you giggled, making them smile.

That’s how you all become partners in crime <3

[ynsvnte]

Sweet Taste ! — Lee Heeseung

pairing: vampire!hee x fem!reader

Genre: oneshot, vampire au? smut (18+ MDNI!!)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: monsterfucking (doing something new), degradation, swearing, praising, p in v, unprotected sex, pet names, biting, bleeding, creampie

Synopsis: Stumbling upon an abandoned library curiosity gets the best of you. As you enter you meet someone you never expected to meet. Upon arrival, he seemed a little thirsty.

Masterlist

As you take your steps, the echo of your steps bounces off as you make your way in. It’s late at night and you know you shouldn’t be doing this. So why are you? You asked yourself. The answer: unexplainable.

You feel shivers down your spine, the eerie silence of nothing but your presence. Slowly taking each step, avoiding to not be caught. You remember this being closed off for a reason. Sure nothing wrong with entering an abandoned library in the middle of night. That’s until you feel behind you.. you look at the ground, the moonlight entering from the window you entered from. You turn your head around. Only wind gushing in. Making you even colder than before. Your entire body starts to shiver not only in cold but in fear too.

You face back ahead of you before continuing your journey. You don’t know what you’ll find here. You take a deep breath, the sound of it goes on forever. You stand there unsure.. before you know it.. you feel something cold touch your shoulder. You swiftly turn around and catch a sight of something.. a figure.. standing right behind you. You scream and back away, back bumping into the bookshelf causing some books to be knocked down.

“Hu-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to enter! Just please don’t hurt me!” You begged, arms in front of your face, too scared to look at the person. “Ahh..a petrified human, what are you doing here..” the voice says.. it sounds like a man.. you slowly put your arms down.. “He's tall” you think. “Umm..I-I was..looking around?” You say unsure. “Looking around? Some stupid excuse. Now tell me.. looking around here for what?” He further questions you. “Looking for..” you couldn’t think of anything. “Nothing..” he says.. for some reason.. his eyes seemed to glow.. “and why are you here?” You asked him..fear still with you since you have no idea who this man is. “Me? Oh I’m just simply looking for dinner..which I don’t need to do anymore since you’re here” What dinner? He can’t eat you..?

“What do you mean that I’m here..?” You raised a brow.. he starts to walk to the window. You get a glimpse of his face.. Bambi like eyes.. “You being here.. means I finally have something to feast on. You!” He says smirking. Your eyes widened.. you stood there frozen.. afraid of what he could possibly do to you. “You! Feasting on me.! Absolutely fucking not!” You raised your voice. Completely creeped out by his behavior, was he a cannibal or something? He turns around and faces you again. “Oh..you don’t have a choice..sweetheart.” He starts laughing which increasingly becomes louder each second. You shake in your spot. You should’ve never come here. “I don’t have a choice how?”

“You see..being bloodthirsty for over 2 weeks has me drained..especially as a vampire.. so.. of course I won't let you go..” A vampire!? was he keeping you hostage?.. before you know it.. he’s in front of you again. One hand holds your chin lifting it up to meet his eyes. “On second thought..” he says before going silent again.. “you’re too pretty to be a meal. But I don’t want to keep you either.. that would be such a waste of my time.” You’re now confused. He caressed your face. He begins to lean in.. “if you let me fuck you.. I’ll let you free..deal?” You almost let out a gasp of shock. But you do wanna be set free, away from this place. You have to make up your mind quickly. “Deal” you couldn’t believe yourself letting a stranger fuck you to avoid being eaten and getting you blood sucked out.

You get pressed against the bookshelf even further as he connects your lips together. He moans in your mouth. You couldn’t deny that he was a good kisser. You kiss him back. He wraps his arms around you. pulling you close to him. Hands resting on his shoulder, as you make out. You wouldn't believe what was happening right now. Or either the fact that you were getting turned on by this. Your underwear getting drenched with your slick.. the unknown man drags his hands down your pants and pulls them slightly down, as his finger starts inching closer to your core. Once reaching your core he smirks in the kiss and pulls away.. “already wet?” Seemed like you really do want this” you do. You could helplessly pull him back in the kiss. His fingers dragged up and down your drenched underwear. You start feeling hot. “M-more..” you silently said, embarrassed.

Once again he pulls away from the kiss and pulls his pants down along with his boxers.. “Heeseung.” He says looking directly into your eyes.. “What..?” You said taking your eyes off of him. “Heeseung the name is Heeseung..” you nodded your head. Before turning your gaze towards his cock. He looked above average.. sure might be the biggest one you’ll ever take. He pushes your panties to the side and slides in without a warning, causing you to gasp and moan out loudly. The silence was quickly replaced by the sound of kissing to now the sound of moaning and skin slapping. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you. You could feel yourself going dumb already.

“Take this..fuck..” he says into your ears. Huffing at your tightness. He quickened his pace, as you two became even louder. Lost in pleasure. Heeseung can’t help but get close to your neck.. he can just smell you, and you smell pleasant. “Fuck I don’t think I can last any longer..” You nodded your head, eyes closed as you only began to feel your high getting closer. You try to lift yourself a bit in order to increase the pace and the amount of pleasure you both are receiving.

“Fuck!” Heeseung put his head in your neck. “Please” he said.. you were confused. “Please what?” You say between your moans. Closer and closer. His hands tightly hold you up. “Bite” he only says. “You want it to bite me?” You asked. He only nodded his head, lost in pleasure of your pussy wrapped around him and the smell of your blood. “Go ahead” you knew you were going to regret this later, but couldn’t help but help out the poor guy. His fangs sink deep into you as you finally reach your climax. Not so longer after you can feel him feeling you up.. nice.. and cold??

He sucks your blood out of your neck, the pain not being so pleasure itself. Few seconds after he pulls away from your neck before holding you close to him. You stay like that before he sets you down onto a table.. “Sorry..for” he starts off by apologizing for not keeping his promise. “It’s fine,” you say. The pain still lingers. You fix up your clothes as you turn around to find heeseung gone.. guess you can go home now?

Author's note: I hate this sm NAH! I had this in my drafts and need to get this out. Okay so anyways 3 am me rotting in bed. I swear I can’t write good smut 😒 like Bffr. I hoped you liked if?

© ynsvnte copyright 2024

[paperclip-skz]

Run Like A Girl

fem*Reader x Bang Chan x Lee Know

*WARNING*

contains: Stalking, explicit names, oral (f receiving), over-clothes stimulation, teasing, male doms, let me know if I missed anything.

P.s. : this is straight up Delulu and long sorry in advance…….. 🙃

WC: 5.1k

***

My feet are sore, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure I’m so tired that I’d collapse in the shower. I round the corner headed to my apartment, but something stops me in my tracks. 

A tall figure stands at my door. “Hello,” I call out, my bag dipping off my shoulder and into the palm of my hand. “Can I help you?” 

He doesn’t answer, but he does turn his head slightly. I gasp when I see his masked face. A blue skull mask hides his features as he stands there in an oversized black hoodie adorned with a knife sharper than my breath in his palm. 

My heart drums in my ears so loudly that I can feel it echoing through my bloodstream. My feet react faster than my brain can catch up with my breathing. I sprint in the other direction, clutching my bag to my side for dear life. I can hear his footsteps too close behind me, keeping pace as I round the corner to the stairs. I pound on every door, screaming for someone, anyone, to come to my aid. “HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream. 

I trip on my heel, stumbling but managing to regain my balance. In desperation, I ditch the heels altogether and sprint down the hall barefoot. I pound on the door in front of me. “Please! I need help!” My voice cracks, pleading into the empty air. 

“There’s nowhere to hide, little one,” his voice, thick with malice, taunts me. I lean back against the door, sliding down to the ground. I can’t die like this. I won’t die like this. The fight inside me urges my feet to run again, but my legs shake, and the adrenaline in my system mixes too dangerously with the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm me.

“What could possibly—” I tumble backward, my back hitting the ground. I look up at the voice that sounds almost bored. Fear etches my face, and my eyes widen. The man above me looks confused, his beautiful face furrowed in concern. “What the—” He glances up, and his jaw tightens. I lean back to see the masked figure charging toward us. 

In a split second, the man above me lifts me slightly, enough to throw me into the apartment, and then he slams the door shut, locking it just before the masked man can get in. 

I don’t allow myself to breathe, my eyes scanning the small entryway and finding the kitchen nearby. I make a break for the counter, grabbing a nearby pan. My knuckles turn white on the handle as I hold it out defensively. 

“Okay, I locked the door and put the shoe dresser in front of it, but I can still see him through the peephole—whoa,” the man raises his hands in defense. He’s a little taller than me, his shoulders suggesting a strong build. His hair is tousled as if he just rolled out of bed. Dark circles under his eyes indicate he works late at night, but he clearly keeps himself in shape. 

“Who are you?” Fresh adrenaline courses through my veins. 

“My name is Chris—” 

“Chan, what’s going on?” Another man walks around the corner, wiping the sleep from his eyes until the scene registers before him. “What the hell?” His head darts from me to Chris like a game of darts. 

“Minho, not now,” Chris says, his voice turning stern and clipped. Wait. I know those names. But no, that’s not possible. 

“Wait. Chan?” I look at Chris, whose eyes widen slightly, and his nod confirms my suspicion. “And you’re Minho… like Lee Know?” I ask, turning my head toward the other man and angling my pan at him as well. His hands go straight to defense mode as he vigorously nods. That’s when I see it—His clipped face and the hair that reaches just before his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I let out a long breath and set the pan down on their countertop. 

They both lower their hands, sighing in relief. “I’m safe,” I say softly, feeling the fear and panic begin to fade, replaced by the adrenaline from earlier. 

“You are,” Chan confirms. Stepping forward to grasp the pan and set it on another counter, no doubt fearful that I’ll actually use it. “You know us?”

“Who doesn’t?” My shoulders begin to shake. Tears prick my eyes. I grip the counter, trying to stabilize myself, but it only makes my head spin. “Whoa, is she okay?” Minho’s concerned voice breaks me through my trance, and I whip my head in his direction. “She's fine,” I say, my voice a soft whisper. “And she’s leaving,” I swing my bag over my shoulder, digging my phone out from the bottom. 

“Don’t call the police!” Chan’s voice calls out. He quickly strides to stand in front of me, his hands itching to take the phone. “Excuse me?” 

“Please, don’t call the police,” Chan corrects himself, and Minho comes into view, his soft features furrowed in worry. 

“Why?” 

Both of them appear deflated, their shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “No one knows where we are,” Chan admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “We had to leave the last place in a hurry.” 

Confusion swirls in my mind, and it must be evident on my face because Chan lets out a heavy sigh, frustration evident in his bright eyes. “You know who we are, right? It’s already a struggle trying to find a place in the city. But it’s even tougher to find somewhere we can…” His voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. 

It takes me a moment to fully grasp the implications of what he’s saying. Slowly, I loosen my grip on the phone, its cool surface slipping through my fingers as I return it to the depths of my bag. A flicker of hope ignites in Chan’s eyes as a small, tentative smile breaks through his worry, tugging at my heartstrings. But my gaze darts to the door, anxiety tightening its grip around my chest. 

“You shouldn’t go back to your apartment, at least not tonight.” Chan reads my face like a book, but I’m sure it's not hard to tell what I’m thinking. I look up at him; I get lost in the dark irises of his eyes. They promise so much pain, joy, and love. It's easy to get lost in someone's eyes, but Chan’s is like jumping into an endless pit.

Minho darts his eyes between me and Chan…..“Can someone tell me what's going on!?”

***

About an hour later, Chan loaned me some of his spare clothes, and I took a shower. Minho made me a cup of tea, which I’m now clutching like it's my lifeline, and he also draped a blanket over my shoulder. I smile softly at him and cradle the cup to my chest. 

“I don’t see him through the peephole, but I don’t trust that he isn’t waiting around some corner. Who is that guy anyway?” Chan walks to the living room and sits next to Minho on the opposite side of the couch. 

“I’m not sure who he is. But he’s been... stalking-” the word tastes sour in my mouth. “-me. This, however, is the first time he’s shown up at my house.” I take a small sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe my nerves. Even though the tears have stopped and the adrenaline has left my system, I can’t seem to stop shaking. 

“How long?” Minho asks, staring at the way my fingers tremble. 

“Maybe a month or two,” I answer honestly. I know I should have reported it. I know I should have told someone. But, I either thought know one would believe me, or I would have gotten told the same thing. Move. And right now….I just can’t afford to move. “And before you say ‘why haven’t I told anyone-’”

“We weren’t,” Chan interrupts me. A crease forms between his brows. I look up at him, my face softening and my grip tightening. 

“Okay, well. One thing is for certain: you're not sleeping at your place tonight. I’ll take the couch; you can have my bed. I’ll take first watch at the door.” Chan crosses his arms and stalks to his door. 

“No, this is your apartment. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, standing with him. But the thought of sleeping out here alone, right in front of the door, makes my whole body go rigid. 

“You're not sleeping out here.” Minho steps forward, grasping my shoulder. He smiles at me—a genuine, reassuring smile that doesn’t reach his eyes but makes me relax. 

That night, Chan took two pillows and left me with another two to sleep. He slept outside on the couch while Minho kept his door open in case he heard anything. It felt strange sleeping that night. Earlier exhaustion weighed on me so heavily, and Chan’s soothing scent helped ease my eyelids closed, but a part of me remained awake. I was still ready to bolt upright and sprint out the window if I heard a crash, or worse... the door. 

***

“When you get to your apartment, you should call the police.” 

I laugh nervously. “They’re just gonna tell me to move. Or to ignore him. And I can’t afford to move,” I tell Chan for what feels like the twentieth time. He sighs, running his palm up the side of his face as he leans against the door frame. 

Minho washed my clothes and made us breakfast the following morning. I insisted on leaving because I didn’t want to impose on them; they had already risked so much, and besides, I needed to get to work. “At least let one of us walk you to your apartment, just in case,” Minho said, poking his head through the doorframe with his brow furrowed. 

I sigh. It would be nice just to be safe. I nod, and they both tumble through the door. “I thought you said just one of you.” I laugh as they both come out of the apartment and pull the door closed. “Samntics,” Chan huffs. 

As we make our way slowly to my apartment door after a few turns, anxiety grips me like a vice, and I can’t shake the memory of sprinting down these halls. With shaky hands, I reach for my keys. “We’re right here,” Chan whispers. I take a long breath, put the key in the lock, and twist it with a quiet thud. At least it's still locked; that has to be a good sign. I let the door swing open. We all lean forward, expecting someone to jump out and say, “boo! Gotcha!” but nothing happens. It's quiet. Nothing is out of place. Everything is fine. “See!” I gesture to the very empty apartment. “Perfectly fine” 

****

When I get back from a long day at work, I'm half expecting to see Mr. Blue face standing at my door, but thankfully, the only thing on my doormat is a package. I set the package on my marble kitchen counter after I lock and bolt the door…just in case. I set my leather sling bag on one of the chairs nearby and opened the package with a nearby kitchen knife. 

I’d assume it was something I had forgotten about or something I ordered a while ago, but instead, it's Chan’s T-shirt with a sticky note pressed to the top. 

If you ever need us. You know where to find us. 

And a phone number at the bottom. Something in my chest swells. I quickly text the number. 

Me: thank you <3

Chan: anytime ;)

I add the contact as “Chris ;)” and make something easy for dinner. 

***

Days pass, and there is no sign of Mr.Blue Skull. I’m beginning to think he’s lost interest. But at least one good thing came out of it all. Chan and I have been texting nonstop, and he even gave me Minho’s number. It took me a while to get comfortable with his blunt text and his clipped attitude, but I realized that’s just how he expresses himself, and he can be kind of a teddy bear when you get under his skin. 

Me: hey, Min, can you send me that recipe you were talking about??

My mean hoe: No. And stop calling me, min. My name is either Minho or Lee Know, so unless you want to change our friend status to something else, those are the names you should call me. 

Me: :( Channie….min is being meeaannn. 

Channie: Lee Know, don’t be rude to the princess. What recipe, hun?

We talked for a little longer about a new brownie recipe one of his friends was making. The conversation took me all the way to my apartment door. I fish out my keys, still half paying attention to my phone when I realize my door is open. I look up, and it's slightly ajar. I swear I locked it this morning; at least I closed it. I put the phone in my pocket and pushed the door open with just my finger. 

I stagger backward on a gasp, an icy dread seeping into my bones as I take in the nightmare that was once my apartment. The air is thick with the metallic scent of fear, and the remnants of my life lay in ruins. My cushions, viciously torn, lie scattered like the shattered dreams of my sanity. Fragments of glass blanket the floor, the remnants of my cherished plates. My beloved books, once my refuge, are grotesquely ripped apart, their pages fluttering in the stillness like wounded birds.

In the midst of this chaos, my eyes are drawn to a knife embedded in the fabric of my couch, staged as a pin to hold a single piece of paper. The words “you can’t run, little one” are etched into it, the threatening strokes of ink sending chills down my spine. A shriek escapes my lips, raw and primal, as panic grips my heart like a vice. I don’t even think; my feet fly in the opposite direction, propelled by instinct, as I refuse to confront the horror that has invaded my home. I race to the one place I can still hope to find safety, heart pounding, breath quickening, terrified of what—or who—might still be lurking among the ruins of my life.

“Minho!!” I slam my fists on the door. Within seconds, it flies open. Tears streak down my cheek,s and I fling myself into his waiting arms. 

“Shh shh, what happened?” 

I tell him everything. From my open door to the note that made my skin turn white. “Thats it. You can’t go back there; you have to move.” he looks at me, worry and anger dancing in his eyes. 

“I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have enough money or time to get a place.” I let my hands cradle my face, more tears gathering at the corner of my eyes. 

“Then move here,” the sound of the front door opening and closing. I lift to see Chan walking to us, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. 

“What?” I look at him dumbfounded. Even in such a casual outfit, shorts and a black t-shirt, my mouth waters. 

“Move in with us. We have a spare room. We use it as an office, but we can make it into a bedroom.” He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world. 

“But that-” 

“A perfect idea,” Minho finishes. I’ve never seen a smile reach his eyes, not the way Chan has claimed Jisung does to him, but when he looks at me, his eyes sparkle, and it's like I’m staring at a whole new person. It almost makes me agree on the spot, just so I can keep staring at his beautiful smile, but….this isn’t right. 

“No. We can’t.” I stare at Chan because I know if I see Minho’s smile fall, it’ll be the end of me. 

“And why not?” Minho’s voice breaks, and I know I’ll never see that smile again. 

“Because if someone were to find out I’m staying with you guys, I couldn’t even imagine the fallout.” It's true. Not only are they both major popstars, and the idea of a relationship to either of them is so foreign that I’m afraid they’ll never have that experience, but they are also the most infamous and passionate creators out there, like hell if I jeopardize even a sliver of what they worked for. 

“No one will know.” Chan’s soothing voice comes closer and now he’s crouching down next to Minho. 

“This is a bad idea,” my voice breaks. 

“It’ll keep you safe.” Chan’s eyes trap me once again. Thats his magic ability. He can trap you and bend you to his will if he just keeps eye contact with you. 

I find myself falling deeper and deeper into his captivating gaze. “Fine,” I say softly. That same beautiful smile stretches across Minho’s face, and Chan's smile is soft. “This is still a bad idea.”

***

A week later, I’m moving three boxes into an empty room in Chan and Minho’s apartment. My bed is already set up with clean sheets and two pillows I borrowed from Chan’s room. I can’t help it; his scent and the thought of his warmth help me sleep better.

As I hang up the rest of my clothes, Chan knocks on my door. “Movie night tonight?” he asks. I nod, my smile bright and infectious.

An hour later, I’m curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of us, and some random action movie is playing. I’m in the middle of the couch while Minho sits with his arms crossed, furrowing his brow at the screen. “I don’t understand any of this,” he grumbles.

Chan’s relaxed posture shifts as he turns his attention to Minho. “You’re not supposed to. Just watch,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close.

Work has been especially hard lately, with papers piling up and hours blurring together, so the exhaustion I feel is pulling at my eyelids. I snuggle closer into Chan’s embrace, grateful for his warmth.

*** 

I really only meant to sleep until the movie was over, but when I’m rubbing my eyes awake, stars twinkle in the window, and it's not the couch I wake up on. It’s Chan’s bed. 

I’ve only ever slept in here that one time, but it feels like ages have passed since I ran my fingers over his soft sheets. I turn my body around, careful not to wake the obvious weight behind me. I stare as Chan sleeps. His lips parted, his hair fallen over his face and his usual crease between his brows has softened. He looks so peaceful, so calm. 

He stirs slightly, the familiar crease forming on his brow as he shifts. Before I can process what’s happening, his strong arms envelop me, drawing me snugly against his chest. I let out a soft yelp as my body collided with his chiseled frame, the firmness of his muscles pressing against me. My hands instinctively reach out, seeking balance, but I can't help but curse myself as I feel the solid expanse of his shoulders beneath my fingertips.

The warmth radiating from him is enticing, and I can sense the rhythm of his steady breath brushing against my skin, sending delightful shivers dancing down my spine. He feels so inviting, so undeniably comforting—he’s almost too easy.

I find myself slowly falling back to sleep…until I feel it. 

Something poking me between my legs, something large and growing. It takes me a total of 3 seconds to realize what it is. Heat spikes along my neck, crawling up my cheeks. I try to move, wiggling out of his arms, but I just end up pressing my back to his chest. My ass aligned perfectly with his growing erection. Well, shit. What do I do now?

I bite my lip, trying to ignore the very prominent, very large bulge pressing and drumming to my backside. Wy universe? Why is this how you test my self-control?

He stirs again, and his erecting presses harder against me. I bite back a moan when he subconsciously ruts against my ass. I can feel my arousal pooling between my thighs. I press them together, desperate to feel some sort of relief. 

I can feel the rapid beat of his heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud. And his breathing becomes shallow, almost panting. His hips roll, chasing the pleasure that I’m sure is coursing through him.  Should be angry. I should be scared. I should be feeling so many things other than the one thing I am feeling. His arms trap me, pulling me closer, and I let him. I even roll my hips along his own, matching his pace as he chases his high. I squeeze my thigh tightly, my own pleasure building, and he isn’t even fully touching me. 

“Y/N,” he moans. And my body freezes. No, he did not. “Fuck” he groans again. If it were possible to come undone at the sound of his voice, I would have simply melted into the air right then and there. Instead, my desire radiates off me like steam sizzles on a stove. 

I let a small whimper escape my lips, his own hips picking up pace. I can feel his arms tensing. I know he’s close; I press my ass harder, grinding down on him, desperate to feel his own undoing. I should be ashamed. I should stop, but I don’t. My lust-filled mind taking over any and all rational thinking. 

He groans again, and his body stills. But I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel a change behind me. I don’t even feel his shake with pleasure. No, I just feel his body tense….and tense…he doesn’t relax. 

With a movement so swift it knocks the air right out of me, his whole body lifts above me, and his hands pin mine above my head. I gasp as I stare into his wide eyes and the furrow of his brow. Well, shit. 

A mix of emotions races across his face, so many that I can’t even determine what he’s thinking. The best thing about Chan is that I’ve never had to guess his thoughts. He wears his emotions on his sleeve; if he’s happy, his smile reaches his eyes, making the whole world melt in his presence. If he’s lonely, he acts small and childlike, needing touch or attention from those around him. If he’s pissed… let's just say don’t be in his line of sight. 

“C-Chan?” I stutter. Panting into the thick air, anticipation spiking my adrenaline like I’ve just run a marathon. 

“Is this a dream?” he pants. 

It takes everything in me to tell him this is real. I want so badly to tell him that he’s dreaming, that even after tonight, we can go back to our flirtatious banter, to calm, warm movie nights, because deep down, I know nothing will be the same if I tell him that this is real. 

“It's real,” I whisper. 

His body relaxed merely for a moment. Like a weight was lifted off of his back. “Chan?” I whisper again, trying to bring him back to me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, just that he’s thinking too much. He’s lost in his own thoughts. 

Suddenly, his attention snaps to me. His eyes dart to my wrists, held by his own hands. “You're not struggling,” he says. 

He states that it's a question. Heat flushes my cheeks at the real reason. I love the control he possesses over my body. I love the promise of his touch and how commanding his voice is. It sends delightful shivers down my spine. “I trust you,” I decide to say, even though the thought of him dominating me makes my thighs press together. 

He doesn’t seem convinced, but I catch a faint smirk forming on his lips. “You should go before we do something we regret,” he says, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his grip tightens on my wrists, and his body tenses. 

“I should,” but doesn’t come out as it should. It comes out breathy and wanting, and my body arches into his, begging for more of his warmth. 

His neck descends to ghost his lips along mine, and I close my eyes, anticipation burning. I feel his breath on my neck as I wiggle my wrists to run my fingers through his hair. But his grip doesn’t let up—no, he just chuckles. “Not yet, princess.” His lips connect with my neck, and he leaves faint kisses, crossing over my neck and paying extra attention to where my pulse drums. 

“Chan,” I sigh. The ache grew between my legs. 

“Yes, princess?” He all but growls. He lifts his head, locking his gaze onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. I don’t even recognize him anymore. Gone is the nice, calm man I can snuggle up to; gone is the careful gentleman that I know will catch me if I fall. He’s replaced with someone much more sinister, someone much more wicked. His eyes have turned a shade impossibly dark, and his hair is in disarray. While one hand holds my wrists captive, the other sustains his weight on one side of my head; he looks towering. I swallow when lust gathers between my legs. 

“Cat caught your tongue pussy cat” We both turn our heads to see Minho leaning against the door frame of Chan’s room. A smug smile decorated his face. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he saunters into the room with as much confidence as a cool kid on college campus. 

Chan turns back to me, that same lust-driven look in his eyes. Before I can protest or really say anything on the matter, Chan’s lips come crashing onto my own, stealing my thoughts. His tongue demands entrance as he guides this kiss in his own dominance. He kisses as he dances with confidence and a sense of power no man can possess. It's a powerful dance of tongue and teeth that makes me moan into him. His knee pushes my legs apart, and he settles his hips in between my legs, rolling his growing erection into me. 

“Fuck” he groans when he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a breath. I moan when his hips continue to roll, creating friction on my clit that throws my head back. I can feel how big he is, and he’s growing with every second. 

“Thats it,” Minho's voice sounds throughout the room, but I don’t dare to look at him, not when Chan’s hips are still rolling into me. “A needy little thing,” Minho’s voice echoes in my head. 

Suddenly, Minho is leaning down on the side of the bed, his lust-filled smile drawing my attention. “Do you need us to finger you first? Or do you want one of our tongues instead?” No one has ever talked to me like that so casually. It makes something tighten in my core, and I groan loudly. Chan kisses me, stealing my noises right out of me. 

Minho chuckles. “Chan, why don’t you make the princess feel extra good?” Chan lifts his head in Minho's direction. The ladder sends Chan a seductive wink, and Chan gives me one last swift kiss before crawling down my body. The covers are tossed and forgotten. 

Chan’s hands rake down my body, and I faintly feel his finger stip guiding my sleep shorts down the length of my legs. “Eyes up here pussy cat” Minho’s dark voice guides my eyes to his. They're so similar to Chan’s but so uniquely different. Their dark, sure, but they hold a familiar embrace, one that screams to trust him. His hand cradles my jaw, lining my head so he can press a gentle kiss to my lips. 

He’s so soft, so gentle. He peppers kisses on my lips, stealing one right after another. I want him to take me, to possess me, but he doesn’t allow me a moment to drive the kiss deeper, forcing me to go at his pace. 

I’m so aroused and frustrated that  I don’t even notice when Chan lifts and separates my thighs to press kisses along my skin. “If you scream, it will only make this end quicker” is the only warning I get from Minho when Chan drives his tongue onto my core. 

It's like he’s been possessed, starved, or worse, replaced by his instincts. He feasts on my cunt like there’s no tomorrow, lapping at my folds only to suck my clit between his teeth. His tongue darts in and out, effectively fucking me with his tongue. My moans escalate into screams, but Minho quickly swallows every noise with his kiss. He bites my bottom lips, forcing me to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his own tongue down my throat. 

I feel like I’m flying like I’m floating above them. One hand sneaks into Chan’s hair, pulling at his roots. I get a low growl from him, the vibrations sending goosebumps. His hands grip my thighs almost bruisingly. My other hand warps around Minho’s neck, drawing him closer. 

My hips roll onto Chan’s face as he buries himself between my thighs. I can feel my core twisting into a delicious knot, and I’m sure Chan can feel it, too, as his tongue becomes more forceful. Within seconds, I’m shaking, my whole body convulsing under their demise. Chan doesn’t stop until my thighs are squeezing around his head so tight I’m afraid he can’t breathe. Minho breaks away, staring at my bruised lips; his own lips are plush, red, and swollen, and his eyes are crazed like a madman. 

Chan lifts his body, licking his lips and staring at Minho. “She’s fucking delicious.”

“I can’t wait to see for myself.” Minho doesn’t break eye contact with me. The thought of Minho between my legs, driving his own tongue into me, has me aching. “But for now, I’ll settle with fucking this pussy with my cock” The palm of Minho’s hand comes crashing at my folds harshly. I whimper; I can’t tell if it’s because I’m still sore or due to his explicit words. “What do you say pussy cat? Think you can take two? We’re both dying to be inside you.” 

[nshmuras]

YOU LIKE HORROR ?

apart of the spooks-a-lot event!

genre: suggestive, horror

pair : lee heeseung x fem reader

warning: knife mention, heeseung is a sadistic bitch.

- work under the cut -

Halloween for you was the best holiday yet, aside from christmas.

It got chilly in Seoul quickly, leaving you with no choice but to stay inside. but who were you to complain?

Now, you were popping some popcorn. rummaging through the cabinets for anything else to snack on.

At last the sound of the microwave made you leap in excitement and anticipation, immediately opening it up just to smell a waft of butter.

You already could feel your mouth watering.

After gathering your stuff, you trailed over to the couch where your movie was set up.

You were gonna watch the movie scream, your all time favorite.

While watching said movie; you couldn't help but feel a bit of.. unease. as if someone was watching you.

"Maybe thats just the movie catching up to me.." you muttered to yourself as you popped another kernel of popcorn in your mouth.

But the tv suddenly turned off, so did the lights.

Your heart started pounding as you placed the popcorn bowl aside to stand up.

You navigated through the dark house, but it was a feeling. a bad one.

Suddenly, something came from behind you and you felt yourself blackout almost immediately.

-

-

-

Opening your eyes, your head pounded as you looked around.

You were still in your house? didn't someone kidnap you?

Maybe it was just a dre—

"Finally." A voice came from the doorway.

It was a tall man in a cloak and a mask of the famous killer. Ghostface.

He stalked towards you as your heartbeat increased a bunch.

Crouching down to your height, he snickered. "What a pretty little thing.. sitting alone at night watching movies."

His voice made a sense of fear creep up your spine in waves, but all you could do was stay glued to your spot. not like you could move anyway.

"Tell me doll.. you like horror?" His question made you slowly nod.

"Good." He stood up and grabbed a knife and that made your eyes widen, body immediately trying to get out the chair.

"P-please don't kill me!" You screamed out, tears threatening to spill.

Fuck. heeseung could only imagine what you would look like crying over something else.

"Oh i wont kill you.." he crouched again, gliding the knife down your body and stopping at the buttons of your shorts. only then you realize your clothes technically covered nothing.

"Ill use you for what your worth. and maybe if you put on a good little screaming show.." He suddenly trailed off.

He slowly used his other hand and slipped it under your shorts, inching his face closer to yours.

"Your life will be in good hands."

taglist : @wonsdoll @elysianiki @kairoot @mmygnolia

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part four

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part four word count: 15.8k

part four warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, dark themes, descriptions of past abuse (non-explicit), even MORE tragic backstories, a little sexiness

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

note/disclaimer: EVERYONE DOUBTED ME. I DOUBTED MYSELF. BUT DESPITE IT ALLLLLLL HERE IS PART FOUR!!!!!!! Enjoy my friends, and then tell me about it! As always, happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

When you wake up, it’s with a pounding headache and a deep wave of something that almost tastes like regret. 

Through the jumble of your sleep-addled mind, it takes you a few moments to locate the source of that uneasy feeling. But as soon as you do, it washes over you in a sweeping tide of sensation. 

Images, sounds, tastes. Feelings. 

You’re lying in your bed. Alone. But your mind isn’t convinced of it. 

For long, heavy moments, if you screw your eyes shut tightly enough, you’re somewhere else entirely. 

Notches of your spine pressed against the expanse of a wall. Long fingers, ones  that don’t belong to you, toying with the hem of your shirt. Tracing the skin beneath your ribs. 

Sighs that you swallow. Lips pressed against your own. Teeth. 

Desperate, heady, sordid.

A brief stinging sensation. The faint, metallic taste of blood. 

The breathy pleas that follow. 

All at once, all over again, you’re lost in it. Drowning in it. Consumed by it. 

It’s a ghost of the real thing, a mere shadow in comparison. But you’re aching with it just the same. 

Through the muddle in your mind, you barely remember getting home. 

Footsteps and movement and other mundane details are lost to memories of a much headier nature. 

Lips against yours in the cover of darkness outside your apartment door. Fervent whispers of words that sound like “Bad idea” and “Not tonight.”

But still. He followed you in. Or at least you think he did. There’s far too much room for error in the recesses of your clouded memory.

It feels real, though. The recollection of gentle fingers in your hair. Soothing this time. With the intent to calm, subdue. Creating distance from desperation instead of adding to it. 

The slow press of lips that you wish you had more time to become familiar with. Against your temple this time, the bridge of your nose, the swell of your cheekbone. 

And a final, quiet command. 

“Sleep,” he’d insisted. 

And you hadn’t wanted to, not really. But no matter how many encounters you’ve had with immortality, you’re still woefully confined to the constraints of your humanity. And exhaustion still has clutches you can’t escape. 

Eyelids flickering, unconsciousness sang to you like a siren song until you were unable to resist its lull any longer. 

And there had been no promises between the two of you, but waking up alone was not what you expected. 

It’s undeniable though, even as you sit up, sheets tangling around your hips. You’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They’re wrinkled – a result of fervent ministrations and a long night of sleep disturbed only by strikingly vivid dreams. 

But even though small remnants of his presence remain, your room is empty, save for you. 

Rolling your neck in a slow circle, you wince at the stiffness, the tinge of pain you feel as it crosses above your left shoulder. 

The rest of your body carries a similar heaviness. As you ease your way out of bed, your limbs feel tight, stiff, overworked. 

Still, you force your feet to carry you to the space outside your bedroom. If you’re honest, part of you is hoping that you’ll find him waiting for you there. But as your eyes trace over the expanse of your apartment, your stomach sinks with disappointment. 

Empty. Just like your bedroom. 

It’s not enough to make you panic. Not yet. There are a thousand possible explanations for his absence. Before you start to decide which one is most likely, a knock echoes against your front door. 

And it’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which you cross your living room. 

But you can’t swallow the immediate sense of relief you feel. Coupled with a sudden swoop that reaches all the way to the pit of your stomach. 

Because he’s here. He’s here and it’s real and the surge of butterflies is enough to have you forgetting any potential complications. 

You know he can hear your footsteps, can certainly tell that your heart has just begun to beat unnaturally fast, but you don’t care. Can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this magnetic pull. It clutches at your heart with a soft touch and pulls at your mind like nostalgia. As if you’re a girl with a crush, writing the details of your affection in the secrecy of a diary and doodling hearts along the border. 

You pause, hand on the doorknob. With your other hand, you flatten the top of your hair, self-consciously tucking a strand behind your ear. 

It defies logic. After all, any remaining mussing is of his doing. But still, you can’t suppress the desire to have him see you at your best. 

After one last deep breath, you twist the knob. A smile is already tugging at your lips, widening along with the door. 

But when it opens fully, your lips fall flat. It’s not Heeseung that stands on the other side. 

From where he lingers in the doorframe, Jake scratches at the back of his neck rather awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Jake?” Disappointment colors your voice in obvious strokes. You might feel bad about it if you weren’t so confused. 

“Hey, ___,” he returns. His exhale almost sounds like an apology and it has your stomach swooping again. This time in trepidation. Anxiety. “Can I come in?”

“Is he okay?” It’s probably rude, the way you ignore his question entirely. But suddenly, it’s all you can think of. Why is Jake here? Avoiding your gaze and already sounding regretful. 

“Heeseung’s fine,” Jake assures. Your brow furrows. He’s fine, but he’s not here. You can’t decide if that inspires relief or something far more unpleasant. 

The silence extends for a moment. Jake doesn’t offer any additional explanation. Instead, he requests again, “I have something to ask you, but it would probably be better in private.”

“Right,” you nod, forcing the unease in your gut away. “Would you like to come in?”

Jake smiles, a tight thing, before stepping inside wordlessly. When you shut the door behind him, you keep your back turned for a moment. Inhaling deeply, you try to regain a bit of control over your mounting emotions before turning to face him. 

Jake has already made his way to your couch. Instantly, you're reminded of when another guest of yours did the same. It’s almost enough to send you spiraling again.

Jake, unaware of your inner thoughts, doesn’t let you linger in them for long. Instead he motions to the seat opposite of him. “Come sit.”

You frown, still fraught with nerves. Jake sounds far too serious for this conversation to be anything but unpleasant. Following his request, you slide down into the chair across from him. 

Once you’re seated, he doesn’t waste any time. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got an errand for us today.”

Raising your brow, you wordlessly urge him to elaborate. 

Jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, metal object. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, but once you do, your stomach only sinks further. 

It’s a key. The key. The same one you found last night. Along with someone whose absence is still very much unexplained. 

Jake looks at you, but your gaze is still trained on the object in his hand. “How do you feel about a return trip to New Haven?”

New Haven. You can hardly process his question, much less answer it. 

Because they were together. Heeseung gave the key to Jake. Intentionally passed it along to him. And despite all of the possible explanations, you can only fixate on one. 

He’s avoiding you.

You don't say anything, but Jake reads your expression all the same. Gently, he sets the key on the table between the two of you. Again, he sighs. It’s an apologetic sound, and you hate it.  

A beat passes. Two. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer. At least not with words. But the way your eyes widen is confirmation enough. 

“I—” You can’t decide if lying would serve you any good here. Ultimately, you decide to stick with the truth. You have too many unanswered questions to play any games. “How did you know?”

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “After five hundred years, you kind of just… know.” He pauses for a moment, weighing his words. And then he adds, “You don’t have to tell me, of course. But you can. If you want to.”

You can’t think of anything you’d rather do less. It’s illogical and frivolous and entirely human, but you’re embarrassed. The things that passed between the two of you hold weight in your mind. Significance. Importance. 

And now he’s deliberately avoiding you. You can’t help but feel slighted. Played. Used, even. Your voice is small when you ask, “Did he say anything?”

Jake shakes his head. “He’s been pretty silent. Even more so than usual.”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t. But answers are still lingering far beyond your reach. Jake might not be privy to the details of your affection, but he does know Heeseung like the back of his hand. 

With a deep exhale, you push your pride to the side. 

“We…” you trail off, searching for the right words. Something that won’t feel too invasive, too intimate to share. “We had a… moment. And I thought— well,” you frown, suddenly unaware of your own expectations, “I guess I didn't know what I thought. But I didn’t expect him to avoid me.”

“Ah,” Jake enunciates carefully. “That would explain why he’s been so moody today.” He nods to himself, pausing briefly before adding, “It’s not because of you.”

You just give him a look, obviously disbelieving. 

“I mean, it’s not because of you specifically,” Jake clarifies. “It’s…  a bit difficult to explain. Heeseung is…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “guarded, as I’m sure you can tell. He’s quiet, reserved. He keeps a lot of himself locked up in his own head, and he ruminates on everything. Predicts a million terrible outcomes of every situation and fixates on them until he’s convinced himself that everything will end in flames.” 

“So a raging pessimist, essentially.”

“Maybe,” Jake pauses. “But I think that you have to consider his perspective, too. That’s the thing about immortality. It’s… lonely. Often unbearably so. We all deal with that in our own ways. Sunghoon and his bed are one extreme end of that. Heeseung’s the other.”

You frown. He’s skirting around the edges. Hinting at something without fully saying it and you’re tired of guessing. 

Jake sighs. “I won’t pretend to know everything that’s happened between you, but Heeseung’s not just acting irrationally.”

Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I…” This time it’s Jake that hesitates. A struggle plays out across his features, as if he can’t decide whether this story is one he should share. Finally, he exhales. “It’s not really my story to tell. But Jungwon had a similar situation, I guess you could say. We had only been changed for around twenty years when he met this girl. It was purely by chance. And it was completely innocent at first. She was an apprentice at the tailor shop in the town we were living in. A human one.”

Your stomach is sinking with every word. The story has barely begun, but you call tell from the tension in Jake’s expression that it doesn’t have a happy ending. 

“He never intended for anything to happen, but he met her once and then he kept going back. It wasn’t intentional, but things spiraled from there. Until he was in far too deep.”

Jake is sparing plenty of details, but even the vague picture he paints is enough to have the unpleasant feeling solidifying in your gut. 

“And there was nothing dramatic, really. No big fight or fall out.” Jake sighs. “But she got older. And he didn’t. For the time they had, they made each other happy. In a lot of ways, they were perfect for each other. Except for in the one way that mattered.”

His immortality. Her humanity. Jake doesn’t say it, but the truth is there all the same. 

“Their love fell apart in a quiet way. Slowly, steadily. Five years had passed, and Jungwon looked the same. She started getting suspicious. He was running out of excuses and had to cut contact just to keep us all safe.”

A part of your heart breaks for him, for the love that he lost, for the circumstances that were always going to dangle just outside of his reach. 

“He couldn’t help it, though. He kept tabs on her. And she did what every human does. She nursed her broken heart, and then she moved on. She fell in love and found a family. Including a daughter.

“But for Jungwon… It broke him. For almost two hundred years, he felt like a shell of himself. And we all watched it happen, but I think it hit Heeseung the hardest. Out of all of us, he was always the romantic, although you’d never guess that now.” 

Jake smiles wryly and the dread in your stomach hardens into a rock. 

“He might not have to hide what he is from you, but that will only buy you so much time.” Jake meets your eye, imploring you to understand. “No matter what happens between the two of you, you’ll always have something he doesn’t: the ability to move on. To forget. To find someone that fits into your life in all the right ways. He’ll never have that, no matter what he wants. No matter what he feels.”

Jake’s gaze settles on the side of your neck. The bite has already begun to fade, scar tissue covering what was once an angry red wound. 

“And he’s already led to you getting injured once. I can’t imagine the kind of guilt he’s probably feeling over that.”

You’re quick to protest. “But that wasn’t his fault—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jake shakes his head. “That’s how he sees it.”

Lips tightening, you search for holes to poke in his logic. “Isn’t it better to take that risk? You can’t avoid a chance at happiness just because you’re worried it will lead to sorrow in the future.”

“That’s a nice perspective,” Jake agrees. “But it’s a human one. If you want to understand him, you have to consider what it’s like for him. His regrets and sorrows aren’t like yours. They don’t have an end date. They’ll live forever, just like him.”

“But so will the good memories—”

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “They won’t. Time will warp them, eat at them, until the good memories hurt just as bad as the awful ones. Maybe even worse.”

You flinch as if you’ve been scolded. Jake’s features soften. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I know he doesn’t either. He doesn’t expect your understanding or patience or forgiveness. He wouldn’t ask that of you, because he knows it’s not fair. Because he knows that it’s different for you.”

It’s selfless. It’s considerate.

You hate it regardless.  

Carefully, Jake adds a final suggestion, “For you and him, for the sake of your own peace, it might be best for you to do the same.”

His words settle heavily into the air. 

Do the same. It’s vague enough to be open to interpretation, but no matter how you warp it, there’s always one striking similarity. 

Jake is encouraging you to move on, to forget about last night and everything that led to it. To let memories fade and moments die before they can grow into anything stronger. 

And in the grand scheme of things, even in your limited mortal lifespan, it really hasn’t been that long. The first time you saw Heeseung was only a handful of months ago, and the taste of his name was bitter on your tongue for the majority of it. 

There have been so many versions of him. A rival classmate. A pesky annoyance. A savior. A guardian. A lover. 

A vampire. 

You don’t know him. Not really. You’ve seen parts of him, and the remaining pieces feel like something that would be all too easy to want. To love, even. 

And maybe Jake is right. He has the advantage of perspective. He’s seen history unfold and recognizes the patterns. He’s terrified that tragedy will repeat itself. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier – the thought of letting him go. 

Your feelings might be mortal. Your days may be limited, but that doesn’t make them any less significant. 

Amidst all the uncertainty, you know one thing for sure. It’s not a conversation with Jake that will give you any kind of closure, that will lead to any final decision. 

You need to talk to him. To Heeseung. Need to hear his thoughts and fears and desires in his own words. Need him to listen to yours. 

You’re not sure how to go about it. If he’s hellbent on avoiding you, there’s little you can do. 

But there must be something. Some way of getting to him. 

Before you have long to linger on it, another knock sounds against your door. It’s much sharper, more urgent than Jake’s was. 

Immediately, your eyes flicker to the vampire across from you, widening in surprise. 

Jake just sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I apologize in advance.”

Although slightly cryptic, it’s confirmation that whoever is on the other side poses no threat. Slowly, you stand, making your way back to your front door. 

Opening it, you find five overeager faces crowded in your doorframe. 

“Morning, ___,” Sunoo beams. “Hope you slept well.”

 “I don’t know,” Niki whispers, “Those look like some pretty serious dark circles.”

“Dude,” Sunghoon elbows him. “You can’t just say that.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s super rude.” Turning to you, he gives you a wide smile. “You look great, ___. Not tired at all.”

In the center of them all, Jungwon just sighs. “Sorry to intrude like this.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “Is there any chance you could invite us in?”

Two minutes later, the sight that greets you would be enough to make you laugh out loud if the surrounding circumstances weren’t so dire. 

Your couch is far too small for the five vampires crowded onto it, elbows flying into ribs every time someone adjusts too far in one direction. Next to the chaos, Jungwon leans against the arm of the couch, eyes trained on you. 

His gaze feels assessing, almost. As if he’s trying to decipher the events of the previous day. Under his scrutiny, you do your best not to flush. 

From his seat at the far end on the couch, Jake’s lips pull into a flat line as another scooch sends him squished up even further against the armrest. “What are you all doing here?”

Jay smiles, nodding at you. “We came to check on our favorite human, of course.” 

“We heard you even snuck into your evil professor’s secret lair.” Sunghoon adds, nodding appreciatively. “Badass.”

“Plus we had to get out of the house.” Niki grimaces. “Heeseung is still in one of his moods.”

Despite yourself, you can’t quite help the expression that crosses your features as soon as his name is mentioned. 

As if that weren’t mortifying enough on its own, of course all six of them pick up on it. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Sunghoon waves his hand dismissively, entirely unaware of why you’re so affected by the sound of his name. “Being in a mood is just a regular Tuesday for Heeseung.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jay shudders, clutching at his neck. “When I mentioned that Jake was planning to go with ___ to New Haven so she could go back into the secret evil jail, I thought he was actually gonna throttle me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so–”

“Anyway,” Jungwon interjects. He might not have been privy to your conversation with Jake, but he is a bit better at picking up on the subtleties. “We did want to form a plan for your return to New Haven. I apologize for the sudden intrusion, but since you and Jake were already here, we thought this might be the best place for all of us to talk.”

Jungwon’s words barely register. He’s there. Heeseung is at their shared home. Of course he is. It makes sense. It’s the most likely place for him to be. 

But he’s there. They’ve all seen him. Talked to him. And now they’ve come here without him. 

“Right,” you nod, forcing a tight smile. “Well, we have the key from the professor’s university office now. And we don’t know for sure, but it just might open the chest I found last time at New Haven. As soon as we know that the professor is away from the building, I think we need to return and try to open it as soon as possible.” 

The thought of going back into that place fills you with a distinct sort of dread, but you need answers. You all do. 

Jungwon nods thoughtfully. “We can do that. We’ll get eyes on him first and establish a warning system for you and Jake.” Reaching into his back, he pulls out a pair of walkie talkies. “Heeseung also mentioned that there’s no cell service down there. The two of you can use these so that you’re not going in blind.”

Reaching forward, you take them from his outstretched hand. “These will be perfect,” you agree. 

“And ___,” Jungwon adds, suddenly serious. “Thank you. Truly. We know that none of this has been easy.” Five heads nod in near perfect unison. “But what you’re doing will save lives. There was another attack last night–”

“What?” You can’t mask your shock.

“A few miles outside of the city,” Jungwon confirms, lips pulled in a tight line. “In an area we hadn’t been patrolling. There were two victims.” Jungwon pauses, his words weighing heavy in the air. “High school students.” 

High school students. In recent weeks, death has become a familiar theme. But youth has it feeling brand new. You suddenly feel like crying. 

High school students. Kids. Children with their whole lives ahead of them. Dreams and plans and goals for the future. All lost in one tragic, horrific moment. 

Your heart hurts for their families, their classmates, their teachers. So many lives affected, changed, darkened. 

Teenagers whose worries should have extended only to homework and exams and finding a date for the prom. Not becoming headline news in an ongoing series of tragedies. 

Wait –

Headlines. News. 

Frantically, your eyes flick towards the clock on your counter. Last night really did do a number on you. You slept well past mid morning. If your clock is accurate, it’s dangerous close to one in the afternoon. Ignoring the fact that you can’t remember the last time you slept so late, you return to the more urgent matter at hand. 

Panicked, you turn to Jungwon. “We might have another problem. I’m supposed to have my first article for Professor Kim written in the next two hours. I don’t know if I–”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s already done.”

“What?” A confused frown pulls at your lips. “What do you mean? I haven’t written anything yet.”

Reaching for the bag he set down by his feet, Jungwon pulls out a small stack of papers. “He gave these to me this morning before we left,” he explains before handing them to you. 

Wordlessly, you reach out, accepting them. 

Fingers shaking slightly, your eyes trace the first handful of lines. 

It’s jarring – there’s no other way to describe it. 

You have no idea how he’s done it, but reading Heeseung’s writing feels a bit like looking into a mirror. It’s unsettling, just how easily he seems to be able to emulate you in his writing. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you wrote this yourself. 

Everything is perfect, down to the last detail. Words you’ve been scolded by past professors for overusing are scattered throughout. Unique turns of phrases that are hallmarks of your style are intricately weaved between paragraphs.

And it only solidifies your determination.  

You have to see him. You have to.    

Writing has always felt like an extension of your soul, a physical manifestation of your very being. And anyone that can capture you this intimately, this intricately, is not someone you can just forget. 

Jungwon, unaware of your inner turmoil, must mistake your silence for scrutiny. “Is it okay?” He asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “We still have some time, so if there’s anything you need to change–” 

“No, it’s…” you trail off, unsure how to describe the writing in front of you. “It’s exactly what I would have written. 

“Oh,” Jungwon nods. “Okay. Well… Good, then. I have the digital copy too. I’ll send it to you and you can pass it along to the professor.”

You nod, a bit numbly, still shaken by what you’ve just read, still brimming with the urge to confront Heeseung about it.  

Logically, you know that your visit to New Haven can’t be delayed for something as selfish as this. People, lives, an entire city, are hinging on answers you might find hidden there, after all. But as soon as you’ve finished, you know what you’ll do next. 

You decide, in your living room, surrounded by a group of six immortal beings, that it doesn’t matter if Heeseung has senses and skills for evasion that far outmatch yours. You will find a way to see him, to talk to him. You have to. 

But then your gaze shifts, lands back on Jungwon. There’s a slight frown that pulls at his lips as he talks to the others, assigning patrol duties and discussing potential complications for your upcoming mission. 

The longer your gaze lingers, the more you see it. The unmistakable weariness. Telltale signs of exhaustion. Jungwon might have lost the physical need for sleep, but the exhaustion that clings to him comes from a different source. And it runs deep. 

All at once, you can’t help but wonder what Jungwon was like, all those centuries ago. Before he met her. The human girl Jake told you about less than an hour ago. You wonder if he still thinks of her now. You know he must. 

You wonder if it hurts just as bad, if the sting is just as sharp every time. And that sends your thoughts spinning to a different, far more dangerous place. 

In five hundred years, when the only memories of you that remain are left in these seven boys, you want them to remember you with fondness. The kind that aches with affection instead of regret. 

If Heeseung wants to prevent an inevitable heartbreak, then you suppose you can’t blame him for it. But to you, his avoidance is cowardice. Distance won’t undo what’s already passed between you. 

If he wants space, then so be it. You have a key in your hands and pressing matters to attend to. Heeseung will only stay hidden so long, and it’s best to do what you can in the meantime. 

You owe it to them, to him, to everyone whose lives have been touched by recent tragedies, to do everything in your power to change the trajectory of current events. 

So, with a new determination, you push Heeseung a little more firmly into the back corner of your mind, tucking all of the loose edges and pressing thoughts into a neat, tidy box to be revisited later. 

Pulling out your phone, you open the digital version of the article Heeseung has written under your name. You give it one more once over, and it’s just as uncannily you as before. 

Tucking away every feeling that inspires for later, you turn back to Jake.

“So,” you venture, eyeing him as he turns the key over between his fingers. “Are you ready to do this?”

…..

New Haven feels only slightly less ominous in full daylight. Although the remnants of winter still cling to the air like a bad omen you can’t quite shake, sunlight streams through the clouds with the steadiness of a sure thing. 

At your side, Jake appears equally uncertain. 

“Your professor has interesting taste.” It’s a joke, something meant to lighten the mood, but you hear the wariness all the same. 

“Wait until you see the inside.”

Jake picks the lock with nearly as much ease as Heeseung had the night prior, and then the two of you are inside. 

Despite his initial uncertainties, Jake handles the looming hallways and odd shadows of the publishing house rather well. Knowing that the other boys have eyes on your professor and are protecting you from afar helps to abate some of the anxiety, even if you still have to force away a handful of unpleasant memories that threaten to rise. 

When the two of you reach Professor Kim’s office, you don’t bother to hesitate. By now, you know what you’ll find on the other side of the door. 

Jake, however, does give a double take at the massive painting you and Heeseung put back into place just one short night ago. 

Gauging his reaction in your periphery, you decide to play dumb. 

“Is something wrong?”

Jake just takes another long look at the painting of the open field, filled with flowers. He tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you think he rather resembles a curious puppy. 

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “Sorry, I just…” He takes one final look at the painting. “That painting just looked weirdly familiar for a minute.”

“Celedis, right?” You turn to face the vampire. “I thought the same thing, but Heeseung said it’s slightly different. Something about the flowers.”

At that, Jake doesn’t bother to mask his shock. “He told you about Celedis?”

“Showed me, actually. You know,” you reach your arm out towards him. “With the whole physical contact astral projection thing.”

You’re about to ask Jake to help you move the painting, but he’s still stuck in the details you’ve just revealed. 

Jaw nearly slack, he asks, “He showed you Celedis?”

“Yeah,” you frown. You didn’t realize this was new information. “I thought you knew. Back at your house, after I was attacked. He told me – er, showed me – about you guys.”

Remembering the water tower, you add, “And he’s used it, his ability, I mean, to show me other things about his past.” A memory surfaces, one of a young boy sneaking pastries from a medieval kitchen. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. “About Celedis.”

“Fuck, Heeseung.” Jake swears under his breath, but you hear it all the same. 

“Was he not supposed to?” Despite your current feelings of frustration towards Heeseung, your intentions aren’t to get him in trouble or create any sort of rift between him and the others. Suddenly, you’re scrambling to backtrack. “It was really only a couple of things to help me understand, I promise. He would never compromise your safety or–”

“It’s not that.” Jake shakes his head, interrupting. “Heeseung just… his ability isn’t one he uses often.”

At that, your brow furrows. That strikes you as odd. All things considered, it seems like a rather useful gift that should have found several practical applications over the past five hundred odd years. “Why not?” you ask. 

“It’s not…” Jake trails off, hesitating. Trying to decide how much he should share. “It’s not exactly something he takes pleasure in doing.”

Your brow creases further. That only leaves you with more questions than answers. You can’t remember him being particularly bothered either of the times he exercised his ability with you. “What do you mean?”

Again, Jake hesitates. His teeth worry at his bottom lip like that will prevent words from spilling out. “It’s not really my story to tell.”

“What story?” The corners of your lips pull downwards. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment, Jake just takes a long look at you. And then he sighs. “Heeseung explained Celedis to you?”

You nod.

“Including our origin story?” Jake pauses. “Our families?”

Again, you nod. “You were all nobles.”

Jake hums in agreement. “Yeah, we were. After peace was forged, the kingdom had to reorganize itself a bit. Our families were allies now, partners instead of enemies. Eventually, it was decided that each of our families would spearhead one sector of rulership, if you will.” Pausing for a moment, Jake gauges your reaction from his periphery. He asks, “Did he tell you about this?”

Deciding honesty will serve you best here, you shake your head. 

Much to your gratefulness, Jake just sighs again. “My family primarily dealt with the management of food resources. My father tracked annual crop production, rainfall, resources allocation, things like that.”

“Okay…” you nod, trailing off. The picture he paints is a logical one, but you don’t see a connection to Heeseung’s strange supernatural ability yet. 

Jake continues, “Heeseung’s father, on the other hand, always had a knack for strategy. It was decided that his family would be the de facto head of defense and protection of the kingdom. We were allies, but there was still worry that enemies from outside Celedis’ borders might arise. Although, his father’s methods were always a bit more… aggressive than you’d expect in peacetime.”

Frowning, it's hard to imagine. You suppose that hter may be sides to Heeseung you haven’t yet seen, but it’s difficult to think of him as anything but patient. Gentle. Hearing that his father was the complete opposite doesn’t sit well with you. Quietly, you wait for Jake to continue. 

“Even though we kept aging until we were twenty-one, our abilities manifested when we were just kids. And Heeseung, at ten years old, did what any child would do when he suddenly realized he could project his consciousness through touch.” Jake sighs again. “He told his mother.”

The memory comes rushing back unbidden. Heeseung isn’t here to project any visions, but all of a sudden, you feel like you’re back in that field anyway. Watching silently, helpless, as a tiny version of Heeseung accidentally makes his friend ill after his ability manifests for the first time. All over again, your heart hurts for him. Too small to understand what was happening, too frightened to do anything but seek consultation from his mother. 

“His father, of course,” Jake says, “eventually found out, too. And like any great strategist, he saw this newfound ability first and foremost as a tool. Heeseung wasn’t just a heir anymore. He was a weapon. And he was brought along to things no ten-year-old should have to see. War meetings, strategy sessions. Prisoner interrogations.” Jake’s eyes drop to the floor. “Torture, mutilation, executions. He was made to watch all of it.”

The small gasp you let out is involuntary. 

Jake’s eyes find you again. “And then, afterwards, he was forced to relive it, over and over and over. His hand on top of his father’s, so that the kingdom’s leader of defense could analyze every detail. Construct the perfect strategies, devise the best methods for extracting information, for making others bend to his iron will.”

Your stomach rolls with a fresh wave of nausea. 

Jake finishes with, “I’ve known Heeseung for five hundred years, and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever utilized his ability with me. Every single one of them has been out of sheer necessity.”

And explaining Celedis to you, sharing pieces of his long lost childhood, are decidedly not. The gravity of it all sinks in with full force, and you suddenly feel as if your knees might buckle under the weight of it all. 

You have to see him. You ache with it now, the overwhelming urge to just say fuck it and run until your feet have carried you all the way to their shared home. Until your fist connects with the outside of his bedroom door and the only barriers that exist between the two of you are easily breakable. 

But Jake has a key in his pocket, and you have the fate of a city resting in the liminal space between you. Selfish desires, no matter how strong, will have to wait. 

“I…” you hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. For trusting me.” 

Jake nods. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is. Even Jungwon, although he might never admit it out loud. It’s been a while since we’ve spent so much time around a human. They’re all really fond of you, you know.” Jake grins, something just a bit devious entering his eyes. “It drives Heeseung insane.”

“Well,” you return, “For what it’s worth, I’m quite fond of you all, too. Definitely my seven favorite vampires.”

“Aw,” Jake brings a hand to his heart. “You’re too kind. I’m honored, truly.”

Turning back towards the painting, it’s a sobering reminder of why you’re here, what you still need to do. Looking towards Jake at your side, you request, “Help me move this?”

Nodding, a refound sense of determination enters his gaze. “Let’s do it.” 

Painting aside and key in your hand, you find yourself once again face to face with the small opening that separates Professor Kim’s office from that horrifying dungeon of a room that sits just below it. 

Jake hands you a walkie talkie, and you eye it warily for a moment. “We’re sure these things work?’

“Positive,” Jake nods. “We tested them this morning. Oh, and I brought you this, too.” Reaching out, he hands you a headlamp. “He mentioned that it’s pretty dark down there.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Clipping the walkie talkie onto your belt loop, you take the light from Jake, securing the headband around your temple. Even though the gravity of the situation isn’t lost on you, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. Giving your front pocket a final tap, you confirm that the key is tucked away safely. “Well,” you turn back to Jake, “see you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” he nods. “And if anything, and I do mean anything, feels off, use that to talk to me, okay?” He just his chin at the walkie talkie at your waist. 

“I will,” you promise. 

And then, with just one final glance over your shoulder, you’re suspended into darkness just as surely as the previous night. For a moment, you consider igniting your headlamp. But you decide against it rather quickly. It’s probably best that you don’t see just how far beneath you the ground is. 

This time, thankfully, your decent feels much shorter. With some of the uncertainty stripped away, your feet are touching solid ground before you know it. 

Once you’re firmly planted, you reach for the light on your forehead. 

It ignites, shooting a strong beam of light straight out in front of you. 

Again, you fight the shiver that traces the length of your spine. It is quite cold down here, with a certain dampness that permeates into your bones, but that’s not why you shudder. 

WIth light revealing their secrets, the cells that line the passage are even more ominous. Dark, rusted iron lies in wait on either side of you. 

Handcuffs, chains, spare pieces of metal you’re sure you don’t want to know the purpose for, line your path as you force your feet forward. Even if you wanted to take a closer look, that’s not why you’re here today. Mission in mind, you continue down the long, dark path towards the opening where you know you’ll find the chest.  

Finally, after a few long minutes, you’re face-to-face with the locked chest again. The desk is still there, too, undisturbed. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach into your pocket, retrieving the key from Professor Kim’s university office. Forcing away any other lingering memories of the previous night that threaten to rise, you bring the key to the lock. 

Your hands are shaking. The cold, the fear, the anticipation. They all settle heavy in your bones and leave you with tremors you can’t quite stop. 

“C’mon,” you whisper out loud to the darkness, with no one but you and the faint sound of dripping water to hear. “Come on.”

Finally, the key aligns just right. 

Despite the tremble in your fingers, despite the improbability that this key even matches this lock, it slides in with ease. 

And when you turn it to the right, you hear a telltale click. 

In your shaking grip, the lock falls open. Sliding the key back into your pocket, you pull the lock out of the loop of the front of the chest. Setting it down at your feet, you take one deep inhale. 

And then, with hands that still tremble, you push the heavy lid of the chest open. 

You’re not sure what you expect. Something horrific, maybe. Some damning evidence of evildoing. Something soaked in blood, something so explicitly terrible that there’s no guesswork to be done. 

But the chest contains only two things. 

The first is a massive stash of what you assume must be distilled moonflower. Organized neatly into rows upon rows of tiny small vials that look terribly similar to the contraption he used to shoot you in the neck the first time you came to the publishing house.

This, in and of itself, feels like a revelation. According to Heeseung, moonflower is rare. And knowledge on proper distillation processes is even more obsolete. To have this much of it distilled and on hand… it must mean something. 

The chest is nearly overflowing with the small vials, save for a small space, just in the middle, where a book sits nestled amongst the moonflower. 

A book that looks nearly identical to one you’ve seen before. To one that still sits forgotten in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to your bed. 

Hands still unsteady, you reach for it. 

At first glance, it’s an exact copy of the strange book you found in the university library all those weeks ago. But as you lean closer, you notice one key difference. The title. 

The one you found tucked away on a library shelf was called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. 

But it must be part of a set, an anthology of sorts. 

Because the book between your shaking fingers stares back at you with the title Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction. 

Book in your hands, you realize you have a dilemma. The volume is far too thick to take pictures of every page, but removing it from the chest to bring with you feels risky. 

At least this time, you think as you reach for the walkie talkie at your waist, you don’t have to make all of your decisions alone. 

Pressing the button on the side, you speak into the receiver. “Hey Jake, you there?”

A handful of seconds pass before his response filters through. It’s crackly but perfectly audible. “I’m here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I found something. A book. It’s pretty hefty. I won’t be able to take pictures of all of the pages. Do you think I should bring it with me or just take a few photos and leave it here?”

“It was in the chest?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think it might be too risky to bring with me.”

“I agree,” Jake confirms. “Just take a few pictures, and then get out of there.”

“Will do,” you agree. “See you soon.” You secure the walkie talkie back on your belt loop. 

Setting the book down on the cold ground, you sink to your knees in front of it. Reaching for your phone, the first picture youtube is of the front cover.  

Deciding that they’ll want evidence of the moonflower as well, you reach up to angle your camera towards the open chest. 

And then you return to the book. Opening it to the first page, the similarities are uncanny to the one you found in the library before. The font, the slight discoloration, the ink smudges lost to time. It’s too overwhelming to just be a series of unlikely coincidences. It must be connected to the other Sacred Monsters. 

Taking quick photos as you flip through the pages, you force yourself not to linger, no matter how much curiosity eats away at you. You’ll have time to review the pages later, you tell yourself. Right now, the best course of action is to get in and out as quickly as you can. 

Still, a handful of phrases and words jump out at you as you photograph the pages. 

Moonflower distillation…

Degeneration…

Test subjects…

Nightshade…

And finally, just as you’re drawing to the end of the book, a phrase catches your eye. 

The Kingdom of Celedis. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, body going cold.

He knows. You’re not sure how much. You're not sure exactly what. You have no idea why. But your professor has a book locked away in a secret underground prison beneath his publishing house. A book that mentions a kingdom lost to time, forgotten by everyone, preserved only in the minds of seven immortal beings. 

Professor Kim knows. And somehow, that’s more terrifying than anything else contained in this dark, decrepit place. 

Taking a photo of the final page in the book, you let it fall shut once again. Placing it back in the chest just as meticulously as you found it, you close the lid again and slide the padlock through the hold. 

The key goes in just as easily this time, locks as easily as it opened. Despite the obvious age of everything else in this place, the lock has no signs of rust, no hint of disuse. 

It’s been opened regularly, you assume. And likely by your professor. 

As that realization begins to settle, the walkie talkie on your hip gives another disconcerting crackle. Immediately, your heart leaps into your throat, mind spinning with the worst possibilities. 

You’re at the very end of the passage. It will take you at least ten minutes to be back in the office and another three to be out of the publishing house. More than that if you account for the potential of your professor’s heightened senses. 

After a moment of extended silence, Jake’s voice filters through. 

“Everything still okay down there?”

Your mind swims with relief, but your pulse doesn’t slow. 

Bringing the device to your mouth, you press the button on the side. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished. I’ll be back up soon.”

Another beat of silence passes. And then, “Glad to hear it. I’ll be here.”

But you can’t help but confirm, “They still have eyes on Professor Kim?”

Jake answers quickly, “Yeah. Sunghoon and Niki have eyes on him. He hasn’t left his house.”

Tucking the key back into your pocket, you begin the journey back, your quick footsteps echoing against wet stone. “Good. See you soon.”

Down the narrow passageway, your phone feels leaden in your pocket, weighed down with evidence you’re not sure how to parse. You want to be out of here as quickly as you can, back in your apartment where you can compare the two books. Where you can show them to the others. 

Thankfully, again, the way out feels shorter. Despite the ache in your muscles as you pull your body up the ladder, time passes quickly as you ascend back to the publishing house. 

True to his word, Jake waits for you just outside of the narrow entrance. He reaches out a hand to help pull you back into the small room. 

Giving you a quick once over, he frowns. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You practically have. Celedis. But this isn’t the place. 

You shake your head and tell him as much. “Not here.”

Despite the brevity of your words, Jake understands. Instead of pressing you further, he helps you slide the mural back into position, once again covering the opening to the room below. 

Giving the painting a final look, you’re sure of it now. It is Celedis. It has to be. Even if some of the details are slightly wrong. 

But your head is spinning and your thoughts are jumbled and you can’t be the only one with the weight of so many revelations weighing on your mind. 

As the two of you make your way back down the hallway towards the front door of New Haven, Jake tells you, “We’ll reconvene at our place. We can go over everything there.”

You shake your head. “Tell everyone to meet at my apartment instead.” 

“What?” A flicker of confusion creases his brow as his head tilts to the side. “Why?”

“It’ll make sense soon, I promise,” you tell him. “There’s something there I need to show you. All of you.”

Jake glances at you, but he doesn’t question you further. His earlier words echo in your mind. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is.”

At your side, he pulls out his phone as you pull the door to New Haven shut behind you. “Jungwon,” you hear him say. “Change of plans. We’ll meet at her apartment instead.” 

Again, the questions must be short lived, and Jake is ending the conversation just as quickly as it started. 

…..

When you arrive back at your apartment, Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo, and Niki are waiting for you in the parking lot. 

Stepping out of the driver’s seat, Jake nods at Jungwon. Then, after glancing around, he asks, “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Keeping an eye on the professor,” Jungwon answers. “We thought it would be best to have at least one of us tailing him still.”

Jake nods. 

Jungwon turns to you. “I take it you found something. And there’s something here at your apartment you want us to see?”

You nod. “Yeah. A… well, a book. Two books, actually,” you amend. “Let’s go up,” you nod at the staircase, “and I can show you.”

Jungwon hesitates for a moment. A meaningful glance that you can’t quite decipher passes between the five of them. 

“Okay,” he finally acquiesces. “Lead the way.”

Phone heavy in your pocket, you climb the two flights of stairs with the five of them trailing behind you. The distance they put between you is slightly odd, but you don’t have much space left in your mind to think much of it. 

That is, until you reach your doorstep. And find it already occupied. 

“Heeseung,” you breathe. A force of habit more than anything. 

He’s already looking at you. Heard your conversation in the parking lot and your footsteps on the stairs and your heartbeat in your chest. He knew the exact moment you would round the corner and the number of breaths it would take you to reach him. 

His dark eyes reflect afternoon sunlight in a way that looks all too much like stars, and you have no idea what to do with any of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if his words are anything more than a bandaid on a bullet wound, as if the five boys behind you can’t hear the words that pass between you. 

And you’ve been stewing in it since this morning, thinking of all the ways you could beg him, plead with him, convince him to let whatever lies between the two of you to blossom, to grow wings. 

But now, with his eyes on you and the fate of a city in the pocket of your jeans, words fail you. 

Finally, your lips part. “I have something to show you.” And now you’re the one putting up walls, building barriers. For now, he’s not a boy that kissed you until your head was spinning and you couldn’t make right from left. He’s a vampire, and the two of you have a job to do. 

Your hurt, your desires, your wounded pride still sit heavy in your gut. 

But you owe it to him – this boy that was born a prince and sharpened into a weapon and cursed with a blessing he never asked for – to bring an end to this particular bout of suffering. 

To let the tragic kingdom of his youth rest once and for all, even if you have to reopen wounds in the process. 

Across from you, Heeseung only nods. 

Stepping to the side, he lets you be the one to open the door. He doesn’t need to linger outside; he’s already been invited in, more than once. But he does anyway. He waits for your words, for your approval, and then he follows you inside. Behind him, the other five exchange long, sideways glances. 

Just like this morning, the sight of the six of them crammed on your small couch is almost enough to inspire a smile. Under any other circumstances, you’d be laughing out loud. Now, however, you just give a long exhale. 

“They key worked,” you begin. “It opened the chest.”

Five hundred years, and they all have yet to perfect their patience. 

“And?” Jay is practically tripping over himself to get the question out. 

“It was full of distilled moonflower,” you tell them. Vials like the one the professor used to inject me in the neck. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” Sunoo gasps.

“How?” Niki frowns. 

“Moonflower is rare,” Jake shakes his head. “There’s no way he could have that much of it.”

“Well, he must know some secret place where it grows or something,” you suggest. “Because he does.”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not only a matter of knowing where it grows. Moonflower is a magical substance, and magic is finite. It simply doesn’t grow in abundance. In order for someone to have a stash that large…”

“He’s been collecting it,” Heeseung finishes. “For a long, long time.”

“He’s been a vampire for twenty years,” you remind them. “Maybe he’s been collecting it just as long.”

Again, Jungwon shakes his head. “Hundreds of vials isn’t something that can be achieved in twenty years. Hundreds of vials is hundreds of years.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” You frown, wheels in your brain beginning to spin. 

“There are two possibilities,” Jake says. “Either your professor is lying about how old he is…”

“Or he’s not the only one that’s been collecting and distilling moonflower,” Jay finishes. 

Sunoo shakes his head. “We haven’t seen any evidence of him working with others.”

“Either way,” Niki frowns, “Something's not quite right.”

“The moonflower.” Jungwon looks at you again. “Was it the only thing in the chest?”

You shake your head. “No. There was also a book.”

“Right.” Jake nods. “The one you took pictures of.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I left it in the chest, obviously, but I took photos of the pages. I didn’t have a chance to look too closely while I was there, but I think it talks about…” you trail off for a moment, eyes flickering to Heeseung, despite yourself. “I think it talks about Celedis.”

“Celedis?” Jake balks. 

“That’s impossible.” Jay shakes his head. 

But Jungwon just looks at you. “Earlier in the parking lot, you said you had two books to show us.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I do. I was in the university library a few weeks ago, and I found this book. It was about vampires, but it was… I don’t know. It was strange. It wasn’t vitriolic or propaganda. It was almost like a diary. The reason I wanted you all to come here is because I checked it out. I have it here, in my bedroom. But the weirdest part is the title.”

“The title?” Sunoo prompts. 

“It’s called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. And the book I found in the chest today, it looked really similar. And it was called Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction.”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

“That,” Niki finally says, “Doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

Standing, you nod. “I don’t think so either.” Walking to your bedroom, you open the bottom drawer of your dresser. With the events of the past weeks, part of you expects the book to have vanished mysteriously. To have been nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination. 

Despite your musings, Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality lies undisturbed just as you left it. With careful hands, you pull it out of your dresser and bring it back to the living room, setting it on the coffee table in front of the boys. 

“This is the book from the library?” Jungwon asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “And I don’t have a printer or anything, but I’ll send you the photos I took of the book from the chest today.”

Scrolling through the files you send him, Jungwon pauses on the cover, glancing between it and the book on the coffee table. “I see what you mean. These must be related.”

Reaching for the book, Jay flips open the front cover, frowning. “There’s no author or publication date.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s all so odd. It wasn’t even in the library system,” you add, remembering that night at the library. “The librarian had to manually check it out to me.”

“Jesus,” Sunoo grimaces, glancing at some of the pages over Jay’s shoulder. “This is super depressing.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “I see what you mean. This is definitely about vampires, but it’s nothing like other human-written vampire literature. 

Next to them, Jungwon scrolls through the images you’ve sent him, enlarging photos to read pieces of text. With each and every passing image, his frown grows deeper and deeper. 

“We have a problem,” Jungwon finally says. Looking back at the photo, he amends, “Several, actually.” 

You assume he must have drawn the same conclusion as you. “He must know about Celedis, right? The professor, I mean.”

“Yes,” Jungwon confirms. “I’m sure he does.”

“But how?” Jay presses.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon’s mouth pulls into a grim line. “But that’s not all.”

“This page,” He holds up his phone. “It’s a guide. Explaining in excruciating detail how to harvest, store, and distill moonflower. It also discusses its side effects. On humans and vampires.”

Scrolling to the next photo, he adds, “It looks like they studied these side effects. Through experimentation. Most of these pages are entries. Data. Experiments.” Looking at all of you, he lets the weight of that sink in for a moment. “Whoever wrote this book tested moonflower and its effects. On humans and vampires.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “The professor tested moonflower on vampires?”

“Not the professor, necessarily,” Jungwon shakes his head. “But yes, whoever wrote this book must have.”

“The cells,” you breathe, a sickening realization beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. “The cells beneath New Haven. It wasn’t just a jail.”

“It was a lab,” Heeseung finishes, locking eyes with you. 

Jungwon holds up another photo. “I think you’re right. Look at this.” You all squint as he enlarges the photo. There’s a date at the top – September 13, 1942. And next to it, a number V029.

Beneath it are a series of notes too small to make out from where you sit. Jungwon reads them, “Dosage: 8 milliliters. Injection site: Lower throat, right side. Time of effect: 2 minutes, 19 seconds. 

“V029 continues to exhibit strange behaviors under the influence of Moonflower. Although dosages have varied, the results remain consistent. Today, she spoke again about “Celedis.” When prompted with the addition of pain, she requested drawing paper. Upon refusal, she would not speak. A second dosage was administered (6ml) and further infliction of pain was utilized. V029 did not respond audibly to any given prompt or stimuli.”

“Celedis,” Jake echoes. “One of his… test subjects,” he spits with vitriol, “was the one to mention Celedis.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Jay points out. “It doesn’t matter if his test subjects were vampires. We’re the only ones that know about Celedis. Every other vampire in existence is a descendant of the eighth son. None of them should have any idea that Celedis ever existed.” 

“And we don’t know that these were the Professor’s test subjects,” Niki points out, echoing Jungwon’s earlier words. The page is dated for 1942. If he is telling the truth about when he was turned, he wasn’t even alive yet.”

“There must be some way to corroborate that,” you frown. “He said that he was turned the same night his entire family was massacred. Obviously, it wouldn’t have been reported as a vampire attack, but there should be something about it. Some kind of public record of their deaths, at least.”

Heeseung nods, pulling out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find anything.”

“Um,” Sunoo interjects, holding up the original Sacred Monsters book, the one you brought home from the library. “We might have another problem.”

Six pairs of eyes turn to look at him. 

“Most of these entries just seem like personal writing, like you said,” Sunoo nods at you. “But this section towards the end, here…” He trails off for a moment. “It’s called Blood Moon Ritual.”

“What?” Six voices echo in unison. 

“ There’s only one entry,” Sunoo continues, frowning. “And it doesn't really make sense. It’s a poem, like the others,” Sunoo explains. “Here, I’ll read it.

“The Origins of Immortality

That which was lost can be gained. 

The requirements are the same. 

That which was gained can be lost.

The sacrifice goes unchanged. 

Every life can end.

Every life can endure.

Fate is always determined

By what the wish is for.”

For a moment, your living room is silent. 

Jay breaks it by asking, “What the fresh hell does that mean?”

“Literature majors,” Niki glances between you and Heeseung. “Either of you want to pipe in on this one?”

“I mean,” you start, “without context, it kind of just sounds like a bunch of nonsense.” 

Before you can turn the words around in your mind again, Heeseung speaks up from where he sits. “I think I found something,” he says, holding up his phone. 

“Really?” You ask, just at the same time as Jay presses, “What?”

“There is a record from,” he double checks the date, “almost exactly twenty years ago. It’s anonymous, but it gives ages. A nine-year-old child and her forty-three year-old mother. The official cause of death is listed as an animal mauling.”

“That matches, then. That’s exactly what the professor told me.”

“There’s more, though,” Heeseung frowns. 

“More?” Your brow creases. 

“Another death.” Heeseung matches your gaze. “The child’s great grandfather, age ninety-one. And the location of death… Didn’t Professor Kim tell you that he was visiting family outside of the city?”

You nod. “He said it happened in a remote cabin. A group of nomadic vampires attacked them there.” 

Heeseung shakes his head. “The location listed here is the city. This city.”

Your frown deepens. Heeseung sticks the final nail in the coffin. “Their bodies were discovered near a row of abandoned buildings where there have been past instances of mountain lion activity. It’s on the far side of the city. Just a few blocks away from New Haven.”

You echo his words. “His family died near New Haven?” It’s odd, the way the truth seems to mingle with lies. The way your professor seems to have chosen strange pieces of the story to be dishonest about. “Why would he tell the truth about his family dying from a vampire attack twenty years ago but lie about where it happened? And not mention a grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung says. The reality of just how much you have yet to uncover begins to settle uncomfortably in the air. Every discovery seems like it only leads to ten more mysteries to solve, another dozen dead ends. 

“I’m still stuck on Celedis,” Jay says. “We need some way to figure out who this person was and how they knew Celedis. We need–”

“We need the whole book,” you finish. 

It’s not a question or a matter of opinion. It’s the obvious conclusion to be drawn. 

Jungwon nods. “Sunghoon should still have eyes on the Professor. I’ll confirm that he’s still home, and then we can–”

“Are you insane?” Heeseung isn’t looking at his phone anymore. His search for more information on the tragic deaths of Professor Kim’s family are forgotten for the moment. “She was just there twice, and you want her to go back again? Now?”

“Heeseung…” Jake warns, taking care to guard his tone. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” Jungwon tries to placate him, “But that book has answers that we need. Right now, all we can do is speculate. If your professor has a massive stash of distilled moonflower and knows about Celedis, who knows what else he might have access to? What else he might know? People are still dying, and he’s connected to it all somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“I know that,” Heeseung bites, visibly frustrated. “But why does she have to be the one to–”

“And how exactly are you planning to get one of us down there?” Jungwon sighs, running an open palm over his features. “I don’t want to argue with you, but unless you have a plan for getting Professor Kim to invite you into his secret vampire torture chamber, ___ is the only one of us that can get this book.”

“It’s okay,” you finally interject. Something about the two of them arguing over your fate while you sit and watch doesn’t quite sit right with you. More than that, something about him always speaking over you, acting as if it’s all in your best interest, while also not bothering to give you the time of day, is all too reminiscent of the other decisions he’s made on his own. 

Still, you choose to be gentle. “I debated with Jake, actually, about whether I should bring the whole book or not. We thought this would be safer for now, but I knew it was a possibility that I would have to go back for it. I was prepared for this.”

Heeseung looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue, but something in your expression has his words dying on his lips. 

“I’ll get ready,” you nod. Retreating to your bedroom, you add, “Just give me a minute to grab my jacket.”

In all honesty, your jacket is the least of your concerns. Because despite your resolve, despite the will that you’ve forced yourself to steel, Heeseung is right. 

Even at a distance, he can still read you like the back of his hand. Like an open book with nothing but pages for him to peruse at his pleasure. 

The thought of going back to New Haven, of going back into that cold, dark, empty expanse of horror sends your mind spiraling. Walking into the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom, you place both hands on the counter on opposite sides of the sink. It’s an attempt, a feeble one, maybe, at grounding yourself. 

Forcing your gaze upwards, you match your own eye in the mirror. A million emotions are reflected back at you. Determination, weariness, resolve, fear. 

You’re scared. No matter what you tell them, no matter what you tell yourself, you feel it. Swimming in your mind, nestling in your bones. A terror rooted so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever get it out. 

You don’t want to go to New Haven. You don’t want to descend down that ladder. You don’t want to risk your life or your comfort or your sanity. You don’t want to have feelings for an immortal being that needs blood to survive. 

But reality doesn’t bend to the whims of frightened girls, and ignoring the things that scare you won’t make them go away. 

Bravery, you think, as you watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s not just reserved for moments that feel grand in scale. It’s also here, in places like this. Where there’s nothing but you, your reflection, and all of the things you wish you could avoid waiting for you just outside the door. 

So with a final inhale, you force your features into something neutral, something that at least five of the boys waiting for you outside will believe. And then you walk back to your bedroom, making sure to pull your jacket over your shoulders before stepping back out into the living room. 

Jake stands from his seat on the couch when you enter the room again. Heeseung avoids your gaze. 

“You ready?” Jake asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you nod, forcing a false sense of cavalier lightness into your tone. 

“Good thing I left the headlamp in the car,” Jake jokes, pulling on his shoes. 

“And the walkie talkies,” you agree. 

Despite yourself, you can’t quite stop your eyes from wandering back towards your living room one last time. 

Jungwon is dictating new assignments while the others listen attentively. Well, three of them anyway. 

Heeseung just sits there, his eyes still trained on the ground. 

You’re sure he can feel it, the way your gaze settles on the side of his face, traces his profile and then does it again. But no matter how long your gaze lingers, he won’t return it. 

And maybe this is it, you think. Maybe you’ll just have to make peace with the fact that all you’ll ever get from him are closed doors and avoided eye contact. 

He’s had his teeth in your neck and your blood on his lips, and despite it all, the only thing he has for you now is a cold shoulder disguised as concern. 

And if this self flagellation is some kind of atonement, an apology for a crime he’s convinced himself he’s committed, then that, you think, is where his true selfishness lies. 

He can call it altruism and immortal wisdom all he wants. But caring for you from a distance will never be something you thank him for. 

It’s not a declaration you can make in front of an audience, so with a final sigh, you turn towards your front door and follow Jake’s retreating figure from it. 

As it so happens, you can be selfish too. You pretend you don’t feel Heeseung’s eyes on your back the entire way out. 

However, you must not be as good at disguising your fear as you thought, because Jake is nothing but apologies while the two of you walk side by side down the stairs. 

“I really am sorry,” he breathes into frigid air. The warmth of his breath creates a visible cloud. “I shouldn’t have told you to just leave the book there, but I was worried–”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head. “I thought it would be best to leave the book, too. And it’s okay, really. I’ll be just fine.”

“Still,” he reiterates. “I’m sorry that it has to be you. It can’t be fun going down there all alone. And especially since we know what it was used for now…”

Your lips flatten. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Sorry,” He laughs, apologizing again. “You’re right. No more gloomy talk. We’ll just get you in and out as fast as we can, and we can worry about the rest of it later.” 

“Works for me.” You force a tight smile, reaching for the car door. If it’s any consolation, you’re glad that it’s Jake you’re with. His presence is steady, carries a certain kind of lightness that helps to chase away some of the lingering storm clouds, even if just for a moment. 

But just as you move to slide into the passenger seat, you hear the telltale sound of footsteps on pavement over your shoulder. They’re rapid, loud. Whoever it is, they’re running. 

Turning over your shoulder, your brow creases in confusion when your eyes land on Heeseung. Again, it’s not you he’s looking at. 

Heesung is talking to Jake when he says, “Change of plans. Jungwon wants you down by the river.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “But what about–”

“I’ve got her.” Heeseung’s words cut through the air like an arrow, pierce through your uncertainties like a knife. 

“I…” Jake trails off. He’s looking at you, not Heeseung when he asks, “You sure?”

“Go,” you nod. “I’m sure Jungwon has his reasons.” It’s flimsy reasoning, and between the three of you, no one is convinced that Jungwon is responsible for this change. 

But they’re switching places all the same. Jake gives you one final glance over his shoulder, and you swear you see him shake his head before he heads back up the stairs to where the other boys still sit in your apartment.

And Heeseung still won’t look at you, even as he walks around to the other side of the car and slides into it, sitting only a handful of inches away from you. 

It’s a reflection of this morning, an echo of earlier as the car turns out of your apartment parking lot and sets course for New Haven. Only this time, it’s Heeseung in the driver’s seat, not Jake. 

The silence between the two of you extends for long minutes, nothing but the gentle hum of the car heater to fill the empty air. 

Finally, with nothing but road ahead of you, Heeseung exhales a long sigh. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You say the word, and I’ll turn this car around. We can go back to your apartment or to my place or somewhere else entirely. I’ll get you on a plane out of the country, if that’s what you want.”

You raise a brow. His meager attempts at kindness have started to lose their shine. “And the book?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Fuck that stupid book.” 

Easy to say, maybe. But both of you know it’s not true. Besides, “I don’t want to leave the country.”

“Really?” You can’t tell if he’s serious when he adds, “I hear that Costa Rica is lovely this time of year.”

“I’m sure it is,” you concede. If he wants to skirt around admissions, you’ll run headfirst into them. “But I’d be worried about you.”

Heeseung only sighs. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re sure he knows it, but being difficult on purpose isn’t new to either of you. “And we’ve had this argument before. My mind hasn’t changed, and clearly yours hasn’t either. If you get to decide how to live your life without any input from me, then I expect the same courtesy from you.”

“It’s different,” he insists. Now, at least, he’s talking. Even if it’s only to beg for a bit of your understanding. “I’ve already lived a life. Too many lives. Five hundred years worth of life with no sign of any end coming soon.”

You have to disagree. “Have you, though? You know, when people talk about having lived a life, they’re not just talking about years. They’re talking about family, friendships, community. Achievements, accomplishments.” The last word dangles from your lips. Oh, fuck it. “Love.”

Next to you, Heeseung is silent. You press on, “I understand that you’ve made up your mind. That with all your five hundred years of immortal wisdom, you’ve decided you get to make decisions for the both of us. But you know what else is a normal part of life? Kissing someone and regretting it. You can just avoid me at parties, you know. You don’t have to threaten to send me to Costa Rica.”

“It wasn’t a threat–”

But you’re not done. “I liked it, by the way. In case you were wondering. I don’t care if you regret it.” Your pride feels like something forgotten, discarded long ago. Maybe it’s a facade or false bravado, but you find it easy to bare your secrets here in the passenger seat. “I liked it when you kissed me. I liked the way it felt when you put your hands on me. I liked the way you lost control with my blood in your mouth. I went home and I laid in bed and I thought about it. All alone in my bedroom, with my hands on my skin everywhere you touched me while I pretended like it was you. I dreamed about you. I woke up thinking about you.”

Heeseung whispers your name. A warning, a plea. He might as well be shouting in your ear. 

“You can avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened all that you want. I’m not going to. In fact, I’m probably going to think about it again tonight. Do what you want. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you, and I’m not going to avoid New Haven,” Your chest is heaving now. Between words, it’s easy to forget that you need to breathe, too. “And I’m not running away to fucking Costa Rica.”

“You think I enjoy this?” Heeseung’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. “You think I like having this… this war in my brain? This constant struggle? You think I’m playing with you? Toying with your feelings because I can’t make up my mind?” He shakes his head and sends your thoughts scattering. “I’m not. You used to glare at me across the lecture hall, and it would be the highlight of my day. I looked forward to every assignment Professor Kim gave us, because it meant I’d have another chance to read something you’d written. I’ve been alive for five hundred years, and I don’t think I’ve ever found anything that makes me feel the way your words do. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone else could take what I was feeling and put it into words.”

That gives you pause. He… thought about you? Even then? He read your writing?

“And it didn’t stop there. I used to go home from class imagining, praying that I could be like every other person in that stupid class. That I could be just another kid in my twenties worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. That I could waste my afternoons staring at the pretty girl in my literature course that couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. Fantasizing about asking her to study with me at a coffee shop or share a workroom in the library.”

Your eyes are wide now, and they’re trained directly on him. Heeseung is still looking out at the road in front. 

“You think I don’t think about you too? That I want to pretend none of it ever happened? You’re wrong. All I do is think about you, and all I do is want. But they’re things I can’t have, things I can’t be. I wish I could fall asleep dreaming about you. I wish I could wake up with you on my mind and know that I only have so many days to do something about it.”

He shakes his head, as if that will clear the errant thoughts that have clearly begun to consume him.

“But I can’t. I can’t sleep. I can’t shut off my brain, even for a second. All I do is think. All I do is remember. You think I didn't like it? You think I didn’t go home with the feeling of your skin on my hands and the taste of your blood in my mouth? You think I don’t spend every waking hour with the sound of you whimpering burned into my mind? I’ve wanted things before, but never like this. I made peace with myself a long time ago. I know what I am and I understand that ultimately, my existence is a burden to this world. I’ve learned to stop wishing for impossible things. But every time I look at you, I just… I just want.”

Your voice is small. You don’t know how to respond to any of it. “It’s okay to want things.”

“It’s not.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Not when they’re impossible. Not when it will only bring pain to the people I care about. I don’t want to be someone you avoid at a party. I don’t want to watch you move on with your life when this inevitably ends. But all of those things you talked about earlier, all of those parts that make up a life – friendship, family, community. I can’t give you any of that.”

It’s hard to hear. It hurts to see how visibly upset he is about all of it. 

“It doesn’t matter if I live for another five hundred years or a thousand years or until the end of time itself. I already know I’ll spend all of it thinking about you.  I’ve made peace with it before, and I’ll learn to do it again, but I can’t take your life from you. And even if I wanted to, I can’t watch you grow to resent me for it.”

In front of you, the road appears endless. With sunlight reflecting in the rearview mirror, the day is dying, and your hopes are going with it. 

“When I tell you that I’ll send you to Costa Rica if that’s what you want, it’s not because I’m trying to get rid of you. It’s because I want you to make the choices that are best for you. Not for me, not for the boys, not even for this city. I don’t expect you to take me up on it. Your moral compass will be the death of me, I’m sure. But the offer will always be there.”

Your emotions feel frivolous. Your desires feel petulant. Still, you can’t help but counter, “And what if I resent you now? For not even giving this a chance?”

Heeseung smiles, a wry thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll take comfort in knowing you have a whole life ahead of you to get over it.”

It’s a stalemate that has the car stumbling back into silence, even as your head spins. He noticed you, he thought about you, long before you ever thought you were even a blip on his radar. 

He read your words and connected to them. As a writer, it feels as if he’s admitted to seeing your soul and finding it beautiful. As a human, it makes you want to fall in love, despite all of the ways he’s thoroughly and entirely erased that possibility. 

You’re not sure how long you sit in the quiet, mind reeling. It can’t be more than a handful of minutes, though, before the scenery around you begins to take a familiar shape. You’re close. 

Early evening has just begun to close in. Around you, shadows are growing longer, street lights flickering on as the last rays of sunlight fade from the day. 

Still a few blocks away, Heeseung pulls into an empty parking lot. 

You frown. “Surely we can get a little closer than this?” It’s seamless, how well the two of you slip into your roles. You have a job to do. In the face of that reality, it’s as if the past twenty minutes don’t exist at all. The only evidence is the lingering tension that simmers in the air. 

“It’s not that.” Heeseung pulls his phone out, frowning at the screen. “Sunghoon’s not responding.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Heeseung assures you. “He was responding to Jungwon just fifteen minutes ago. But that means we haven’t heard from anyone with eyes on the professor since then.” Weighing his options mentally, Heeseung finally suggests, “Why don’t we drive by New Haven first? We can make sure everything looks okay. If Sunghoon still hasn’t responded by then, we can make a decision.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

Back on the road, it takes you less than five minutes to reach the publishing house. Immediately, you can tell that something is wrong. 

“There’s a car,” you whisper, even though you’re still inside the safety of the car, still driving down the road. “There’s a car parked out front.” 

“I see it.” Heeseung’s lips pull into a tight line. 

“I think it’s his car.” Your eyes widen. “The professor’s.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung confirms. “I think so too.”

“Why is he here now?” You wonder. “Didn’t you say Sunghoon had eyes on him at his house just fifteen minutes ago?”

“Something’s not right,” Heeseung agrees. “I’m going to turn around. We’ll head to the house and figure things out there.” He maintains an even tone, but you can sense the hint of panic in his voice, the slight tremble as he turns the car around and starts to head in the opposite direction. 

“Sunghoon…” You trail off. 

“Try calling him.” Heeseung passes you his phone, jaw tight. 

Taking Heeseung’s phone from his outstretched hand, you press the call button. The phone rings. In the quiet, each shrill ring sounds like thunder, burns like terror. 

“He’s not answering.” Your voice is quiet as you state the obvious. The call drops from lack of response. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung swears beneath his breath. But then he reasons, “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just occupied at the moment or–”

The sound of a ringtone suddenly fills the car. 

“Is that him?” A wave of relief washes over his features. But it’s premature. 

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the dark expanse of Heeseung’s screen. “It’s my phone. Hold on.” Digging it out of your pocket, the caller ID only makes the dread in the pit of your stomach intensify further. 

Again, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the car like a knife. 

“Who is it?” Heeseung asks. “Your heart just jumped like crazy.”

“It’s Professor Kim.” Your words are barely a whisper. 

“What?” Despite the task at hand, Heeseung takes his eyes off of the road and turns to you. 

“I should answer it, right?” You frown, fingers trembling. “He’s probably just following up on the draft I submitted earlier.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince – Heeseung or yourself. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung repeats. “I… yeah, you should answer.”

“Okay, just,” you sit up a little straighter, as if your professor can somehow see you. “Just don’t make any sounds.”

Sliding your thumb across your screen, you accept the call. 

“Hello? Professor Kim?”

“Hello,” he greets from the other end. Oily slick as always, but there’s something ragged in his voice, too. As if he’s recently exerted himself. At the very least, he doesn’t leave you wondering for long. “I had a chance to review your article.”

“Oh,” you reply, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “What did you think?”

“Outstanding work,” he praises. “Truly. You are one of the most gifted students I’ve ever come across.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d beam with the praise. Now, your anxiety only heightens. Twists knots in the pit of your stomach. “I… I appreciate that, professor. It means a lot coming from you.”

“I’d like to discuss my suggestions for edits, of course.”

“Right,” you nod. “Could I call you back? I don’t have my computer at the moment, and–”

“I’d like to discuss with you in person, actually.”

“Oh,” you force neutrality into your voice, even as your heart gives a sudden lurch. “Okay. I’m available tomorrow, if there’s a time–”

Again, he interrupts you. “I would like to speak with you tonight. And I have something to show you. It’s quite urgent, I’m afraid.”

“Tonight?” You echo. And ‘something to show you’? At your side, Heeseung stiffens. “It’s a bit late. I’m not sure…”

“With the recent deaths in mind, I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence. The sooner we can publish your work, the sooner the victims can be avenged.”

You turn to Heeseung, a question in your eyes. Matching his gaze, you see the way his head begins to shake. His silent disapproval of the idea. But then he stops, sighs. 

In the driver’s seat, next to you, Heeseung silently mouths three words. 

It’s your choice. 

It almost makes you want to cry. His small adjustment. His trust in your ability to choose for yourself. 

Into the receiver, you ask, “Where should I meet you?”

“The publishing office,” your professor responds, approval in his voice. “How soon can you be here?”

Mentally constructing an alibi, you settle with, “I’m not too far away, actually. Probably twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line clicks dead. 

“I don’t like this,” Heeseung’s voice is dripping in unease. 

Yours is no better. “I don’t either, but it’s all part of earning his trust, right?”

“He said he had something to show you. I don’t like all of the possibilities that could entail.”

“I’m sure it’s just something to do with the article,” you try to reason. “He’s probably prepared it as a mock publication or something and thinks I’ll be thrilled to see my writing in an official format.”

Under any other circumstances, you would be.

On the topic of your article, you’re reminded that the words in question aren’t actually yours at all. If this car is a place for revelations, you decide to add one more to the list. 

“How did you do it, by the way?” Your gaze traces Heeseung’s side profile where he looks out at the road ahead. “How did you write that article just like I would have?”

Heeseung just sighs. “I told you,” his voice is low, quiet, “your writing means a lot to me. I’ve spent a lot of time with it. I suppose that made it easy to emulate.”

“Well, thank you.”

“For stalking your writing?” Heeseung teases. 

“For reading it,” you correct. “For taking the time to understand it.” To understand me. 

“You act like it was torture for me.”

“Well, I do remember you calling one of my pieces ‘nauseatingly vitriolic.’” It feels like a lifetime ago, that evening in the writing workshop. 

“That was one piece,” Heeseung defends. “And it wasn’t really you.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t.”

Heeseung glances at you, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it too. A world where he’s just Heeseung and you’re just you. 

Two humans that met by chance, worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. Arguing over semantics and vying for attention from their professor. Stealing glances across the lecture hall that start to linger just a little too long. Meeting outside of class and pretending it’s nothing more than a terrible coincidence every time, even if you never fail to slide down into the seat next to his. 

Stealing kisses outside of your professor’s office. Sharing a cup of warm tea at a sporting event both of you are only pretending to understand. Falling in love. 

Simple moments. Quiet moments. Human moments. 

Heeseung reminds you just how far away that version of reality is when he asks, “Should I turn around, then? It’s already been five minutes.” His voice is quiet, like there’s a fantasy he doesn’t want to disturb, too. 

You shake your head. “Take a right at the next light, and drop me off at the bus stop. There’s a group of cafes a couple stops down that are popular with students. If he asks, I’ll say I was at one of them when he called.”

Heeseung doesn’t bother to protest. He follows your directions until the two of you are parked on the curb of the bus stop. Bidding him goodbye, you step out from the passenger seat. “I’ll meet you back here,” you tell him. “I’ll take the bus this far, just to be safe.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “but message me before that. As soon as you can.”

“I will,” you promise. The moment lingers for seconds longer, a million words and promises and declarations dying on both of your lips. You sever them all with the shutting of the car door. 

Heeseung doesn’t drive away, not until the bus arrives. And even then, you swear it’s his car you get fleeting glimpses of in the rearview mirror. 

But a handful of minutes later, Heeseung and his car are nowhere to be seen as you exit at the stop closest to New Haven. With the absence of the sun, there’s a biting chill in the air. Grateful for your jacket, you pull it a bit tighter around your body, suppressing a shudder. 

Glancing down at your phone, you send one final message before taking your last few steps towards the publishing house. 

Going in now. 

Heeseung responds in milliseconds. 

Be safe. 

Raising a fist, it feels a bit odd to knock on the same door you’ve broken into twice in the past twenty-four hours. The irony doesn’t have long to linger. Professor Kim is quick to answer the door and even quicker to usher you inside. 

Tonight, he looks every bit the well-kept professor you grew used to in your classes. With a creaseless button down tucked into dress pants, he might as well be back at the front of the lecture hall.

“Thank you,” he reiterates as he leads you down the hallway. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” 

“Of course,” you nod, trying to look as enthusiastic as he wants you to be. “The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. I’m excited to review your edits and get my article published as soon as possible.” 

“Right,” he nods, a bit apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive me, then, but I have something rather important to show you first.”

That makes your brow crease in confusion. Is what he’s showing you not related to your writing?

“What is it?”

Your professor just shakes his head. “I’m afraid words won’t do this justice. Follow me.” 

Beckoning you forward, he leads you to the same room you were poisoned in the first time you visited New Haven. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, you force your footsteps forward, even as your senses start to scream at you in protest. 

Pausing at the door, he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “You’ll be pleased to know that I believe I may have been wrong about Lee Heeseung.”

That sends ice spinning through your veins. You don’t like the sound of Heeseung’s name in his mouth, hate the idea that he’s been so fixated on him. “What do you mean? Wrong in what way?”

“See for yourself,” your professor grins. And then, he opens the door. 

The room is as dim as it was the last time you were here, but this time, your professor is quick to turn on the overhead light. 

But the absence of darkness only reveals a horror much worse than anything you imagined the darkness concealing.  

Because on the opposite side of the room, hunched in the corner, there is a figure illuminated under the harsh fluorescent overhead lighting. 

His system is infused with so much moonflower essence that he can hardly do so much as lift his head. But when he finally finds the strength to do so, you make direct eye contact with Park Sunghoon.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Hello my loves! I am so happy to finally be able to share this with you all. I know I mentioned before that part of the reason it took so long was because of some recent changes in my life outside of tumblr, but if I'm honest, part of it too was that I was just having a really hard time continuing this story in a way that felt like it did justice to the first three parts.

There are so many moving pieces and things going on, and I really want to make this story come to life in the best way possible. Thank you for being patient with me while I agonized over that internally lol. I hope that this part was worth the wait. Love u all ♡♡♡

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer (preview.)

Genre: childhood friends to lovers(?); smut Pairing: Anton Lee|Chanyoung x afab!Reader Notes: This is a preview. The final fic is 17k words. To be posted on 1/26, Sunday.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It was just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

Crazy what two years can do to a person.

What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

[justice4gyeongsu]

━━━ 'CHAPTER ELEVEN' [WHEN DAWN BREAKS]

SYNOPSIS ➢ adults seemed cooler before the infection outbreak.

PAIRING ➢ lee suhyeok x male!reader

AU ➢ enemies-to-lovers au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; flashbacks, near death experience, choking, betrayal, violence, alot of angst, mentions of bullying, depression, some fluff, mentions of puking, reoccuring ptsd, exclusion, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

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gwinam lunges at cheongsan, grabbing his shoulders with a vicious grip. wujin tries to intervene, attempting to pull gwinam off cheongsan, but he's too strong. daesu joins the fray, punching gwinam in the stomach, trying to distract him. jimin tries to pry gwinam's hands off cheongsan's shoulders, but he refuses to let go. despite the commotion, gwinam's grip only tightens, his fingers digging deep into cheongsan's skin. cheongsan's face contorts in pain as gwinam forces him to kneel, his shoulders screaming in protest. the group's efforts to stop gwinam only seem to enrage him further, his eyes blazing with a malevolent fury.

the situation is spiraling out of control, and it's unclear how far gwinam will go. the group's attempts to intervene only seem to be making things worse, and cheongsan is paying the price. joonyeong, determined to stop gwinam, swings a wooden stick at his head with all his might. but the stick shatters upon impact, splintering into pieces as gwinam's head barely flinches. gwinam takes advantage of the momentary distraction to break free from the group's grip. with a swift kick, he sends joonyeong flying across the rooftop, his body crashing to the ground feet away.

"joonyeong!" you shout, racing towards him in panic. joonyeong struggles to sit up, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. "i'm okay... i'm okay..." he gasps, his face contorted in pain. you kneel beside him, helping him up as the others stare on in shock. gwinam stands tall, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. the group's attempts to stop him have only seemed to enrage him further, and it's clear he won't hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in his way. cheongsan still kneels at his feet, his shoulders throbbing in pain. gwinam's rampage continues as he shoves off daesu and jimin, sending them stumbling backward. with a sudden burst of strength, he grabs wujin and hurls him at daesu, the two crashing to the ground with a strained groan.

cheongsan, determined to fight back, rises from the ground and throws a punch at gwinam. but gwinam intentionally takes the hit, his smirk growing wider as he shows off his strength. with a swift and merciless counterattack, gwinam punches cheongsan in the face, sending him crashing to the floor once again. cheongsan's body slides across the rooftop as gwinam kicks him, his form skidding to a stop near the girls. onjo, hroryeong, and jimin cower in fear, their eyes fixed on cheongsan's battered form. joonyeong, still recovering from his earlier injury, struggles to get up, his face etched with worry.

the group's efforts to stop gwinam have been met with brutal force, and it's clear he won't stop until he's asserted his dominance. suhyeok, still nursing his injuries, looks on with a mix of anger and helplessness. gwinam's gaze sweeps across the rooftop, his eyes lingering on each of them before settling on cheongsan's prone form. his smirk grows wider, his chest heaving with excitement.

as he stalks toward cheongsan once more you walk over and block his path. you stand frozen, the hammer trembling in your hand as gwinam's words cut deep. “look who it is,” his bored tone and scoffing gaze make you feel insignificant, and for a moment, you doubt your ability to confront him. gwinam's eyes linger on the hammer, his expression unimpressed. "you think that little thing can hurt me?" he sneers, his voice dripping with contempt.

your mind races, fear threatening to overwhelm you. you try to steel yourself, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. but your body betrays you, shaking uncontrollably as gwinam's gaze pierces through you. "shut your mouth, you gopher." the others watch in silence, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. they can see your fear, your hesitation, and it's clear that gwinam senses it too. his words echo in your mind, "i thought you would've killed yourself by now." the hurt and shame wash over you, making your grip on the hammer falter. gwinam takes a step closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. "you know who i am," he repeats, his voice low and menacing. “so why dont you crawl back into that hole you came out of, faggot!”

your heart screams at you to run, to escape the terror that stands before you. but your legs won't move, rooted to the spot as gwinam's gaze holds you captive. suhyeok's sudden attack catches gwinam off guard, the wooden plank cracking against his back as he lunges towards you. gwinam spins around, his eyes narrowing as suhyeok throws a punch that he effortlessly dodges.

but gwinam quickly gains the upper hand, his hand closing around suhyeok's throat like a vice. suhyeok's eyes widen as he tries to break free, but gwinam's grip only tightens. suhyeok's coughing and gasping grows more desperate, his face turning red as he struggles for air. you watch in horror, your mind frozen in shock.

but then, without knowing, you're sprinting towards gwinam, the hammer still clutched in your hand. your heart races, your breath comes in ragged gasps, as you launch yourself at gwinam. time seems to slow as you cover the distance, your eyes fixed on gwinam's head, twisted in a snarl. suhyeok's struggles grow weaker, his eyes pleading for help. you raise the hammer, ready to strike, as gwinam's gaze flicks towards you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. but he doesn't release suhyeok, his grip remaining unyielding. you swing the hammer with all your might, the back of it striking gwinam's neck with a sickening crunch. you feel a surge of adrenaline as the hammer pierces his skin, and gwinam's eyes widen in surprise.

he releases suhyeok, who collapses to the ground, gasping for air. gwinam turns towards you, his face twisted in a snarl, and pulls the hammer out of his neck. he raises it, ready to strike, but namra appears out of nowhere, pushing you behind her. with a fierce determination, namra swings a wooden stick, engulfed in flames, at gwinam. he tries to defend himself, but the stick connects, sending him stumbling backward. namra falls to the ground, but she's far from defeated. with a fierce cry, she crawls towards gwinam, the leftover piece of wood still clutched in her hand. she plunges it into his leg, piercing his skin and causing him to cry out in pain.

gwinam's eyes widen in shock as he drops the hammer, momentarily stunned. you seize the opportunity, quickly picking up the hammer as gwinam's gaze is diverted. namra's bravery has given you a chance to counterattack, but gwinam's anger and pain make him even more dangerous. you grip the hammer tightly, ready for the next move.

gwinam's face contorts in rage as he tries to stab namra with the wooden stick, but she refuses to let go of his arm. despite his kicks, punches, and shoves, her grip remains unyielding.

"let go!" he yells, his voice echoing across the rooftop, but namra's determination only grows stronger. gwinam's attention is focused on namra, his anger and pain clouding his judgment. he sniffs towards her, his senses heightened, and for a moment, he's distracted. you see your chance, hammer at the ready, and take a step forward. but jimin's voice holds you back, "don't, y/n! he's too strong!" you glance back, seeing jimin's worried expression, and hesitate. that's when namra seizes the opportunity, grabbing gwinam's hair and sending him tumbling towards the edge of the rooftop.

suhyeok rushes forward, trying to grab gwinam as he struggles to get up, but gwinam's newfound strength is too much. with a swift motion, he chokes suhyeok, holding him over the edge of the rooftop, half his body hanging precariously in the air. the scene is chaotic, with everyone frozen in shock. gwinam's eyes gleam with a malevolent intensity, his grip on suhyeok's throat unyielding.

you sprint towards suhyeok, namra by your side, and together you grab gwinam's arms, pulling with all your might. gwinam's grip on suhyeok's throat falters, and with a collective heave, you both send him tumbling over the edge of the rooftop. time seems to slow as gwinam falls, his body plummeting seven floors down. you grab suhyeok's sleeve, pulling him towards you, and peer over the edge, watching in horror as gwinam hits the ground with a sickening thud. the sound echoes up, a haunting reminder of the violence that's unfolded. you feel a shiver run down your spine as you pull suhyeok closer, ensuring he's safe. namra stands beside you, her chest heaving, her eyes fixed on the spot where gwinam fell. the rooftop is silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of those around you.

you glance around, taking stock of the group. suhyeok's shaken, but alive. namra's eyes gleam with a fierce determination. jimin and the others look on, their faces etched with shock and fear. suhyeok's gaze falls upon you, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of gratitude and relief. he looks like he's seen a ghost, his face pale and shaken. "thank you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the wind. you feel a lump form in your throat as you nod, still trying to process the events that just transpired. suhyeok's eyes seem to bore into your soul, as if searching for something more.

his expression softens, his eyes filling with concern as he takes in your trembling form. he gently pries his sleeve from your grasp, but instead of letting go, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "hey, it's okay," he whispers, his voice soothing. "its safe now."

your eyes well up with tears as you bury your face in his shoulder, the visual of your past trauma still haunting you. suhyeok's grip tightens, holding you securely as you shake uncontrollably. the memory of being huddled in that corner, helpless and scared, comes flooding back. but just like this time, you're not alone. suhyeok's presence anchors you, his warmth and comfort a beacon of hope. namra and the others give you space, their concerned glances a reminder that you're surrounded by people who care. but in this moment, it's suhyeok's embrace that holds you together. "i'm here, he’s gone," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. your tears soak into his shoulder as you cling to him, the fear and adrenaline slowly giving way to a sense of safety and security.

its been a few minutes as you cry, suhyeok's grip only tightens, his arm a steady presence around you. he doesn't try to shush you or tell you to stop, he just holds you, letting you release all the pent-up emotions. slowly, your sobs subside, replaced by shaky breaths. you just lean your head against his chest, as he swayed slightly while holding you. his cheek on your head, as you closed your eyes. suhyeok uses his thumb to wipe your tears, he tilts your chin upwards, his eyes never leaving yours. "better?" he asks softly, his voice gentle. you nod, still sniffling, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. suhyeok smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "good." the word sent a shiver down your spine.

suhyeok nods, his arm still around you. "let's go." the group begins to move back towards the fire, suhyeok guiding you with a gentle hand on your back. as you walk, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. you're not alone, and you're safe. but the memory of gwinam's twisted smile and the sound of his body hitting the ground will haunt you for a long time to come.

the group makes their way to the fire pit, the warm glow of the flames a welcoming respite from the chaos that unfolded. suhyeok guides you to a seat, his hand still on your back, before sitting down beside you. namra takes a spot on the other side, her eyes scanning the group as if checking for injuries. jimin and the others settle in, their faces somber, still processing the events on the rooftop.

the fire crackles, casting flickering shadows on the surrounding walls. the warmth seeps into your bones, calming your still-frayed nerves. suhyeok puts his arm around you again, pulling you close. "we're safe now," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. you nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. namra hands you a steaming cup of tea, which you take gratefully, the warmth spreading through your hands.

as you sit there, surrounded by the people who just helped you survive a nightmare, you feel a sense of belonging. you're not alone, and you're safe.

you bite your bottom lip, trying to distract yourself from the haunting memories of gwinam's words. but they linger, echoing in your mind like a cruel mantra. as you lean into suhyeok, he wraps his arm tighter around you, offering a comforting presence. the warmth of his body and the gentle pressure of his arm help calm your racing thoughts. around you, the others tend to their wounds, their groans and winces a reminder of the battle you all endured.

the group's quiet determination and suhyeok's reassuring presence help calm your nerves. but the memories of gwinam's twisted smile and words still linger, waiting to pounce on your fragile peace of mind.

“what was with that gwinam kid?” joonyeong's question hangs in the air, and cheongsan's response only adds to the mystery. "he turned into something totally different," cheongsan repeats, his eyes clouded with concern. you nod in agreement, still trying to process the events on the rooftop. as you move away from suhyeok, he lets you go, but his eyes remain on you, checking for any signs of distress.

you attempt to remove your arm from the vest sling, wincing slightly as you move it. but to your surprise, the pain has subsided, replaced by a dull soreness. you flex your arm, testing its range of motion. "be careful," suhyeok warns, his voice low. "you don't want to mess it up more"

you nod, still moving your arm cautiously. the others watch, their faces etched with concern. "what happened to gwinam?" wujin asks, his voice laced with frustration. "he was always a bit off, but...that was something else." suhyeok shakes his head. "i don't know, but i dont think he can die." the group falls silent, lost in their own thoughts. you continue to move your arm, testing its limits, while suhyeok keeps a watchful eye on you.

namra's voice cuts through the silence, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "did you hear that?" she asks, her gaze darting around the group. you follow her lead, scanning the surroundings, but there's no sign of movement. hroryeong's confusion is palpable as he asks, "what? is it someone?"

namra's eyes narrow, her thoughts racing, but she says nothing. cheongsan chimes in, "i don't see anything," his voice laced with a hint of skepticism. but then, he freezes, his feet shuffling restlessly as he prepares to stand. "wait a sec... i hear... i think i hear a helicopter," he says, his voice low and uncertain. the group's attention snaps to where cheongsan is looking, their faces filled with disbelief. "what?" suhyeok asks, incredulous. but then, you hear it too - the unmistakable whir of rotor blades. "holy shit, there is one," you exclaim, wincing as you stand up, your sore arm protesting the movement.

a massive black helicopter thunders over the vast river encircling the school, its rotors churning the air as it hurtles closer and closer. cheongsan's voice rings out, urgent and clear: "fire! use the fire!" the group springs into action, scrambling to gather pieces of wood to signal the helicopter. anxiety and relief swirl together in a dizzying mix as they frantically wave their makeshift torches.

as the helicopter bears down on them, its intentions unclear, you whisper a fervent prayer: "oh, thank you god." with your uninjured arm, you wave wildly, hoping against hope that they'll be seen, that help will finally arrive. the helicopter's roar grows louder, its shadow looming larger, and it seems to be heading straight for them - a behemoth of metal and wire, bringing with it the promise of rescue.

in an instant, the helicopter's spotlight slashes through the darkness, bathing the rooftop in a blinding glare. everyone shields their eyes, momentarily disoriented by the intense light. as the helicopter draws closer, the wind whips up, sending hair flying and eyes squinting against the gale. thankfully, it hovers above the roof, its spotlight still fixed on the group.

you turn to check on namra, only to see her clutching her ears and wincing in pain. a jolt of fear hits you - they might discover her secret, her bite. you rush to warn her, but your words are lost in the chaos. the group is shouting, hands raised in defense, as two men in black military gear emerge from the helicopter, guns trained on the rooftop. confusion etches your face as you freeze, unsure of what's happening. before you can react, two more men descend from the helicopter, their movements swift and synchronized. and then, without warning, the helicopter banks away, leaving the group stunned and vulnerable, surrounded by armed men in black.

"wait..." you trail off, turning to face the four men who tower over you, their eyes burning with an air of command. their guns are poised, fingers hovering over triggers, ready to unleash a deadly storm at a moment's notice. "sir, can you help us?" daesu ventures, his voice barely above a whisper, but it's met with a curt, stern response: "get on the ground! now!" the group exchanges startled glances, uncertainty etched on every face. then, slowly, they begin to lower themselves to the ground, their movements hesitant and fearful. the men in black loom over them, their guns unwavering, as the rooftop seems to shrink, becoming a tiny, precarious stage in a high-stakes drama.

you cautiously lay down, careful not to exacerbate your injured arm, keeping it at your side while resting the other beside your head. fear of further damage holds you back from moving it. the man's voice cuts through the tension, his words sparse and clipped: "high school roof. 10 survivors confirmed." it's clear he's reporting to someone, following orders from an unseen presence. your gaze drifts to the man beside him, who produces a device and begins scanning hroryeong's head. "checking for temperatures now," he announces, his voice directed at the walkie-talkie in his hand. a shiver runs down your spine as you wonder what they're searching for. you glance to your left, where namra lies beside you, her eyes wide with fear. you try to whisper to her, but suhyeok's urgent voice on your right side drowns out your words, calling your name with a mix of desperation and concern.

you turn to suhyeok, "what is it?" you ask, sensing the urgency in his voice. his nervous gaze locks onto yours, "the helicopter left. i don't think they're here to save us..." he trails off, his words laced with a growing unease.

your attention snaps back to the men, who are methodically working their way down the line, their devices at the ready. a spark of desperation ignites within you. "grab something," you whisper to suhyeok, your eyes scanning the rooftop for anything that can be used as a weapon. suhyeok's bewildered expression makes you realize the recklessness of your plan, but you press on, your voice barely audible. "if they find out about namra, they'll kill her. if he tries anything, i'll jump on him and you hit the guy next to you, put him in a choke hold." but suhyeok's incredulous reaction cuts you off, his lips curling in disgust. "what the...y/n, listen to me. these guys are trained and have guns. you wanna just die off a stupid plan?" he hisses, anger and fear warring in his voice.

you ignore suhyeok's protest, your focus fixed on namra, who's now the next in line for the device-wielding man. your heart races, anticipating the worst.

"do me first," you blurt out, trying to divert attention from namra. the man pauses, his gaze narrowing as he takes in your awkward demeanor. "i'm just... really cold, right now," you stutter, "so i just need you to... uh, know that." your words trail off as the group's eyes flicker towards you, their expressions a mix of confusion and suspicion. it's clear you're trying to cover for namra, but your excuse falls flat.

the man's response is curt and unyielding: "we will reach everyone and take their temperatures accordingly." he turns back to namra, the device poised over her forehead. you silently curse, your mind racing for a solution. your gaze darts around the rooftop, desperate for anything that can be used as a weapon. your eyes land on a piece of metal near your feet, and you slowly extend your toe, trying to hook it and drag it towards you. but the metal scrapes against the rooftop, the sound echoing through the tense silence.

it's too late, the man's voice cuts through the air, "below average temperature. providing a warming blanket." he says matter-of-factly, as the guy beside suhyeok hands over a tinfoil-like fabric, wrapping it around namra's shivering form. you exhale a silent sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction.

then, it's your turn. the man takes your temperature, and you wait anxiously for the beep. when it sounds, he reads the result, his expression unreadable. "higher than average temperature," he announces, his words sparking confusion. suhyeok's voice rises in concern, "what?" but the man's gaze remains fixed on you, his silence unnerving.

your breathing quickens as he exchanges a weighted glance with his partner, then looks at the smoldering fire. his eyes narrow, as if piecing together a puzzle. "one was sitting too close to the fire, should reach average temperature in an hour," he states, his voice detached. "one has hypothermia, and the rest are normal." with that, he rises from his kneeling position, and all four men retreat to the other side of the roof, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"we'll rescue after the mission is complete, over," the man's voice crackles through the walkie-talkie, his words laced with a sense of detachment. you feel the weight of suhyeok's gaze upon you, and turn to meet his intense stare. "what?" you ask, a hint of defiance creeping into your tone. suhyeok shakes his head, his eyes clouding with a mix of emotions, before he looks away. you sense a deep understanding in his silence, and whisper, "if i was bitten, i know namra would've done the same for me." your words hang in the air, a testament to the bonds of friendship forged in crisis. as you glance upwards, you notice the military men watching you, their expressions unreadable. "you can get up now," the man says, his voice firm but detached. "are you all the only survivors?" he asks, his gaze sweeping the group. cheongsan hesitates before responding, "we don't know."

you take a deep breath, pointing towards the building you last saw the kids in. "i think i saw a group of kids heading that way," you speak up, your voice laced with a mix of hope and trepidation. "but, i'm not sure if they're still..." your words trail off, the unspoken fear hanging in the air like a challenge. the military men seem to understand the unspoken implications, their faces set in determined lines.

jimin steps forward, her voice trembling with urgency, "will you rescue us?" she asks, her eyes pleading for reassurance. the men nod in unison, their faces set in determined lines. "we will," one of them confirms, his voice firm and calm. "so stay here and wait, don't go anywhere," he instructs, his gaze sweeping the group. a collective sigh of relief ripples through the survivors, their tense shoulders easing slightly.

the four men then move with purpose towards the edge of the roof, their movements swift and synchronized. they begin anchoring themselves with thin black ropes, securing them to the rooftop with sturdy knots. the helicopter, now a dark silhouette against the moonlit sky, hovers above, its spotlight casting an intense beam downwards. the men clip themselves to the rope, their harnesses glinting in the light, before beginning their descent into the darkness below.

as they rappel down into one of the classrooms, the silence on the rooftop grows thicker, punctuated only by the creaking of the ropes and the distant hum of the helicopter. you all wait in uncertainty, unsure of what to do next, your eyes fixed on the spot where the men disappeared into the darkness. the minutes tick by, each one stretching out like an eternity, as you wonder what lies ahead.

the silence is oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the ropes or the distant hum of the helicopter. you shift your weight, trying to ease the tension in your muscles. namra, still wrapped in the warming blanket, catches your eye, her gaze questioning. you try to reassure her with a nod, but your own doubts linger.

suddenly, the rope attached to the roof jerks, and the sound of muffled voices drifts up from below. the men are communicating with each other, their words indistinguishable but their tone urgent. the rope jerks again, and a figure begins to ascend, hand over hand, towards the rooftop. as the figure emerges into the light, you see it's one of the military men, his face set in a grim expression. he reaches the rooftop and unclips himself from the rope, his eyes scanning the group before locking onto the man in charge. "sir, we've found something," he says, his voice low and serious. "you need to see this."

you look to suhyeok curiously, wondering what the military man could have found that's so urgent. suhyeok's eyes are fixed on the man, his expression unreadable. you nudge him with your elbow, trying to get his attention. he turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he raises an eyebrow.

"what?" he mouths silently, his gaze flicking back to the military man. you shrug, equally puzzled. "i dont know," you whisper back, your eyes locked on the scene unfolding before you. the military man is now speaking in hushed tones to his superior, their conversation intense and serious. the rest of the group is watching, their faces filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. suddenly, the superior nods, his expression grim. "alright, let's move out," he says, his voice firm. "we need to get out of here, now." the group exchanges nervous glances, unsure of what's happening or where they're going. suhyeok turns to you, his eyes questioning. "what's going on?" he mouths again. you shake your head, just as unsure. "no idea," you whisper back, "but it can't be good."

the helicopter's rotors grow louder, whipping up a frenzy of wind as it descends closer to the rooftop. the military men spring into action, their movements swift and precise. they rush towards jimin, quickly hooking her up to a harness attached to a winch cable. "what's happening?" jimin asks, her voice laced with fear, as they secure her in place. "we need to get you out of here, now," one of the men responds, his voice firm but reassuring. suhyeok steps forward, his eyes wide with concern. "wait, what about the rest of us?"

the superior turns to him, his expression grim. "we'll get to you, but we need to do it one at a time." the winch cable starts to retract, pulling jimin towards the helicopter. she looks back at the group, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and happiness.

the military men swiftly move to hroryeong, hooking him up to another harness. namra stands frozen, her eyes fixed on the spot where jimin disappeared into the helicopter. you quickly move to her side, standing close to shield her from the military men's attention. you gently take her arm, trying to reassure her without drawing attention. namra's eyes flicker to yours, her gaze filled with fear and uncertainty. you try to offer a comforting smile, but your own anxiety betrays you. as the men finish securing hroryeong, they start to move towards cheongsan. you subtly position yourself to block namra from view, trying to make her blend in with the group. you close your ears, pretending to be affected by the helicopter's noise, hoping to deflect attention from namra's condition. the military men seem to be moving with a sense of urgency, their actions swift and efficient. you wonder what they've found, and why they're prioritizing some of you over others. the uncertainty hangs in the air like a challenge, making your heart race with anticipation.

as suddenly as it started, the military men halt their operations, their movements abrupt and unexplained. they quickly pull jimin back down onto the rooftop, removing the harness and wires from hroryeong. the group exchanges confused glances, unsure of what's happening. "what's going on?" wujin asks, his voice laced with frustration. "why did you stop?"

the military men seem just as perplexed, their faces etched with concern. they confer with each other in hushed tones, their words indistinguishable. the superior turns to the group, his expression grim. "we've received new orders," he announces, his voice firm. "the extraction is aborted. we need to secure the perimeter." the group looks around, bewildered, as the military men swiftly move to form a defensive position around the rooftop. it's clear something has gone terribly wrong, but no one knows what.

namra tugs on your arm, her eyes wide with fear. "what's happening?" she whispers. you shake your head, just as confused. "i don't know," you reply, trying to reassure her. "but we need to stay close." as the military men take up positions, their guns at the ready, the group huddles together, unsure of what's coming next. the silence is oppressive, punctuated only by the distant hum of the helicopter, now hovering ominously above the rooftop.

cheongsan steps forward, his voice laced with desperation. "aren't you gonna save us?" he asks, his eyes pleading with the military man. the man's expression remains grim, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the rooftop. "don't move," he barks, his voice firm and commanding. the group exchanges nervous glances, unsure of what's happening. suhyeok takes a step forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture. "hey, what's going on? why can't we leave?"

the man's eyes flicker to suhyeok, his expression unyielding. "i said don't move," he repeats, his hand on his gun. namra tugs on your arm again, her voice barely audible. "what's happening?" you try to reassure her, but your own fear is rising. something's gone wrong, and the military men seem to be preparing for a threat. but what? the silence stretches out, oppressive and heavy, as the group waits with bated breath for some sign of what's to come. the helicopter's hum grows louder, and the wind picks up, whipping hair into a frenzy.

one by one, the military men turn and make their way back to the helicopter, their faces set in grim determination. the group watches in horror as they depart, leaving them stranded on the rooftop. "wait, don't leave us!" joonyeong screams, his voice cracking with desperation. "please, you can't leave us here!" onjo begs, her eyes welling up with tears.

the military men don't look back, their faces resolute. they climb aboard the helicopter, which lifts off into the night sky, leaving the group behind. the rooftop erupts into chaos as everyone starts crying and begging for the military men to return. namra collapses to the ground, her body wracked with sobs. you try to comfort her, but your own tears are flowing freely. "why did they leave us?" hroryeong wails, his voice echoing across the rooftop.

"we're going to die here," jimin moans, her eyes streaming with tears. the group's despair is palpable, their cries and screams filling the night air as they realize they've been abandoned. the helicopter's lights fade into the distance, leaving them alone and vulnerable on the rooftop.

your tears fall freely, but your anger and frustration boil over, and you start pushing the tower of random chairs on the roof. they crash to the ground, the sound echoing through the night air. "you fucking cowards!" you shout, your voice hoarse with emotion. you point at the helicopter, now a tiny speck in the distance. "how could you leave us here?" you scream, your anger and betrayal pouring out. "we trusted you!"

namra looks up at you, her eyes wide with fear. "stop," she whispers. "please stop." but you can't stop. you're consumed by rage and hurt. you kick at the chairs, sending them scattering across the rooftop. "we're going to die here because of you!" you shout at the helicopter, as if the people on board can still hear you. the others watch in shock as you vent your anger. some of them start to cry, while others look away, unable to bear the sight of your despair.

as you finally exhaust yourself, you slump to the ground, surrounded by the scattered chairs. your body shakes with sobs, and your eyes burn from crying. the rooftop is silent, except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the helicopter, now almost out of sight.

you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see namra looking at you with concern. "it's okay," she whispers. "someone will come back." you groan with your hand gripping your own hair for dear life, “no ones coming back..”

[whatsonmymind03]

Ko Kyung-Jun x reader: “A Dream?”

AN: this was originally the 1st chapter of a kyungjun x reader story I had planned but I am just sticking to one shots so I decided to just post the first chapter anyways. But if it feels different or off from my usual posts it’s because it was a 1st chapter and also not very edited!

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Lee Sang-Hwan is being executed for breaking the rule. Kim Hyeong-Seok is being executed for breaking the rule.

You scream, but nobody looks, the yell being carried away by the other screams around you. Loud and desperate yells towards the two boys who have passed the “designated area”, everyone watching behind the white lines as they violently bash their heads into one another.

You’re all the way behind everybody else, still near the entrance doors, having been the last one out. Your breath is staggering and irregular, you feel the onset of a panic attack creeping up on you. You feel like everything is suddenly spinning, ears ringing. The screams and voices suddenly get drowned out by the million thoughts flashing through your mind. Everything felt like too much.

You shakily take a few steps forward to the tall frame a few feet away from you. Their tall and strong frame seemingly gives off strength. Their feet, planted on the ground, hands curled into fists by their sides. But just as you reach right behind their back, letting their frame shield you from the horrific events unfolding up ahead, you notice their tremoring. Fists curling and uncurling, their shoulders rise and fall fast like they are breathing irregularly the same as you. You stand on the tips of your toes to peek over their shoulder, seeing the two boys now have rocks in their hands. Just as they are about to bring them to their heads, you bring your feet back down, moving even closer behind the person. Now being so close, you hear their staggering breath. They were afraid just like you.

Without even thinking twice, you reach your hand up to grab onto their jacket. You pinch the fabric between your thumb and pointer finger, a small action to ground yourself, or him, or the both of you.

Kyung-Jun turns his head ever so slightly, peering at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, or do anything. The two of you are now staring at one another, as if in a mutual understanding. You feel the corners of your eyes start to well up with tears over the situation at hand.

Your gazes are locked on one another. Choosing to ignore the chaos and fear consuming the two of you and instead focusing on each other so intently, it’s enough to forget what’s happening at the moment.

A distraction.

No, an anchor.

You’re suddenly pulled out of the trance as you hear your name being called. A faint whisper at first, until it increasingly gets louder. The yell of your name mixing with the other yells and-

Your eyes shoot open. Lifting your head up and jumping up from your seat. Your thumping heartbeat is all you can hear for a moment as you try to take in your surroundings. School. Breaktime. I fell asleep earlier.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Yoon-Seo.

“Are you okay?” She asks softly. “You fell asleep towards the end of class, I let you sleep during break but then I saw you turning your head a lot. It looked like you were mumbling words too. When I came over your face was sweating, it took you a while to wake up. I was even shaking you…” she trailed off, looking more deeply into your eyes.

“Are you okay though?” She repeated.

You still felt disoriented looking around the classroom. Many students were out in the halls during the break, so not everyone was here to witness your little scene. You slowly sat back down, Yoon-Seo still hovering over you. You reach a shaky hand up to press against your forehead, feeling the beads of sweat there, then use your sleeve to wipe across it.

“Yeah I’m okay, thanks for waking me up.” You smiled up at her. “I think I was having a dre-” You faltered, trying to remember the events of this “dream”. But already upon waking up the details were becoming fuzzy, the events fading into your mind. One thing was certain though, that was not a dream. “Actually, it was more like a nightmare. I think you were even in it too.” You looked into her eyes. “The whole class was… but I’m forgetting the details already, I just know it was definitely a nightmare.”

You saw something shift in Yoon-Seo’s expression, her eyebrows furrowing a bit. “That’s odd, because I actually have been having dreams, or nightmares as you say, revolving around our class too. They feel so real while I’m sleeping, I’ve been constantly waking up in the middle of the night terrified. But I also don’t really remember much either afterwards.”

“Does Jun-Hee know? I bet he’d be really worried about you.” You couldn’t help the small smirk forming on your face at the chance to tease Yoon-Seo about her not so little crush.

Just as the blush was creeping up on her face, the boy in question walked up to the two of you. “I’d be worried about what?” He questioned. “Everything okay?” He placed a reassuring hand on Yoon-Seo’s shoulder.

“Yes everything’s fine, just someone here has been influenced by Kyung-Jun, falling asleep during class.” Jun-Hee laughed at Yoon-Seo’s comment.

At the mention of his name, you felt your heart involuntary start to race. Kyung-Jun was in my dream. You distinctly remember him, but the dream is a very distant and lost memory now, unable to remember exactly why the mere mention of his name had your heart racing.

You glance over to him now. He sits directly opposite to you, on the other side of the room by the door. Like Yoon-Seo said, he’s also sleeping. Head in the crook of his elbow on his desk, his usual blue pillow hanging around his neck.

Jun-Hee snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hyun-Ho told me we’re playing dodgeball in gym. It’ll be intense I’m sure, just like last time.”

You let out a groan at that. Gym was next, a class you didn’t particularly care about. You weren’t the athletic type, and certainly didn’t act like the games played in gym were the Olympics, which was how most of the boys in class treated gym. You put very minimal effort into that class.

“Remember last time the team Kyung-Jun was on lost to Hyun-Ho’s. He got so angry, he made everyone in class that day miserable. Especially Da-Bum and Joo-Won”, Jun-Hee went on.

“Yeah, Kyung-Jun was a sore loser I guess, but don’t forget how Hyun-Ho was pretty smug during and after the game. He just riled him up more, being all arrogant like that”, you clarified. The “rivalry” between Hyun-Ho and Kyung-Jun was well known amongst the class, the former along with Jun-Hee, often stood up for the students Kyung-Jun bullied. Hyun-Ho and Kyung-Jun often fought a lot, but it wasn’t all Kyung-Jun’s doing. Hyun-Ho could certainly be insulting back, only furthering the anger that Kyung-Jun often felt, doing little to actually ease the situation and only putting more fuel into Kyung-Jun’s fire.

You then looked over to Kyung-Jun, a small gasp leaving you. He was still laying down, but his eyes were open now. Staring intently at you. The physical wall that always stood around him, that being Jin-Ha and Seung-Bin, were gone, probably off to get snacks, leaving Kyung-Jun open to your gaze. He had probably heard what you said too, since the students that were still in the classroom were fairly quiet. Most likely due to not wanting to irritate him by waking him up.

You quickly averted your gaze back to your friends just as the bell rang. Signifying the end of break. You grabbed your backpack and began to walk to the door with Yoon-Seo and Jun-Hee to go to the gym for class.

As you’re just about to step into the noisy and crowded hallway, you pass Kyung-Jun who you hear muttering something, although very clearly.

“That cheeky bastard was being too smug that day.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, a small smile forming on your face as you head to the gym.

[kwonhhii]

an idea that popped in my head while on a bus ride home, as this is my first post here i don't know if i'll write more of this or even be active here but i thought why not clear this out of my drafts before school starts again, so here you go.

not proofread!

YANDERE! LEE HEESEUNG and YANDERE! SIM JAEYUN x IDOL!READER (Named)

Olivia was horrified, this couldn't be happening to her. In the sheer amount of shock and fear she was experiencing she managed to drop her phone to the ground, cracking the screen. Her hands thrembled with her breathing becoming shorter and shorter with every intake. She felt like passing out simply due to what Heeseung had managed to do now, this was going to put a nail in the coffin for her whole career, not like it wasn't already 6 feet under.

That's when her ringtone started blaring and she scrambled to pick up her phone, seeing it was one of her managers, Eunji, calling her. She pressed the answer button with shaking hands and heard Eunjis' screech immediately "Huh Olivia! What is this news about you and Heeseung dating?!" she yelled out in anger and the younger girls' whole body began to tremble "I-I don't know Eunji." she said in a hushed tone, scared of her manager yelling at her again "We broke up almost a year ago, you know that." she stated to her manager who was pissed on the other side "Well I guess you're not as broken up as I seemed to think." Eunji stated, bitterness clear in her voice.

Olivia immediately tried to defend herself "No, Eunji, I'm serious. I don't know why he would even say that." her voice got caught in her throat "The photo he showed is almost two years old, please you have to believe me." she pleaded with her manager, tears streaming down her face in blatant distress. Eunji could be heard sighing on the other line "I can believe you all you want, but the higher ups won't. A meeting is scheduled in an hour with both our company representatives and his." this caused Olivia to once again hyperventilate.

"Get ready, I'll send out Hyunwoo to pick you up." Eunji ordered out before hanging up the phone, leaving Olivia to her own thoughts and tears. How foolish could she have been to not take his threat seriously? He had threatened her to break up with Ricky and these were the consequences. Oh God, Ricky! What would he think of her now because of this situation. She dialed him immediately, but due to not getting any response she left him a voicemail "Please, please call me once you get this message, I can explain everything." she said and ended the voicemail. But the sad truth was that the girl could not explain anything, how was she going to explain to the boy who treated her like gold that her psychotic ex had done this for some stupid revenge he wanted because she had broken up with him. How was she going to explain all of that in a calm manner, when here she was trembling just at what the man had done on his live stream, declared the two were dating and showed an old photo as proof. Either she was going to die or her career as a kpop idol was.

About fourty-five minutes after the disaster that had happened, Hyunwoo, another manager of theirs came to pick up Olivia as she still hadn't gotten her drivers license. She tied her shoes and made her way down tbe stairs to meet the tall bulky manger outside, as he lead her inside the car he said nothing. And that was the worst thing for Olivia because Hyunwoo was one of the sweetest, kindest and most talkative people she had ever met, usually he couldn't shut his mouth from talking, so this meant she really, really fucked up. Finally as he turned the car on he spoke "So is it true?" he asked, stealing a glance to the girl through the rear view mirror. She shook her head firmly "No, not at all."

The sound of his tongue clickling with irritation was loud and Olivia only closed more and more into herself, no matter how much she pleaded innocent in this, no one would believe her. "How did he get the photo then?" he asked "I thought you two broke up a long time ago." he added and the girl nodded. Alongside her members, Hyunwoo and Eunji were privy on the information of her dating the other idol. She had even almost come close to telling all of them the truth about her relationship a few times, but held back from fear. Not fear of what he would do to her, she had already been through hell and back with him, no, but fear of what he would do to those she cared about.

"It's an old photo, just as I told Eunji unnie." Olivia said as the car sped through the streets. "Do you have any knowledge on why he would do something like this then?" Hyunwoo asked and the girl almost nodded before reminding herself not to. So she shook her head in denial "No, I'm as clueless as all of you." she let out a long sigh "I'm just hoping for this meeting to be done quickly. This topic isn't something I like talking about." Hyunwoo only hummed and contined driving to her agency. The car ride was short and not very pleasant with the present silence from her favourite manager. The two of them got out of the car and headed inside the tall building, Olivia let out another long sigh as if preparing herself mentally to see that man again.

Hyunwoo led her to a meeting room on the fifth floor and the two stepped inside. The room was already full with Eunji sitting down, the CEO of her company by her side and on the other side of the table was the Be:Lift representative alongside Heeseung. The boy who in a matter of hours ruined her image as an idol, and ruined her career alongside it, was smirking at the paper he was reading. Olivia shuddered before Hyunwoo lead her to a seat next to Eunji who gave her a stern look, as if to behave. The seat she was ushered to, was unluckily for the girl right across Heeseungs' seat, he now smirked at the girl before going to his stupid poker face Olivia always hated.

"Alright then, with everyone present, shall we start?" the CEO said and everyone in the room agreed "Miss Huh, here is your copy of the contract that the representatives of Be:Lift proposed to us." he handed the girl a contract that was only one page long and she turned to read it right away "Of course, we agree with all the details as we see mutual benefit in letting your relationship be public." her eyes wanted to jump out of theit sockets "Excuse me but what!" she exclaimed "We're not even dating, we broke up for Gods' sake." she stated looking at Heeseung who just seemed amused at her cry. Eunji gave her another hard look before talking.

"It doesn't matter if you're dating in reality. In the eyes of the public you two are dating after." she paused to give Heeseung a look full of disgust "Well after what was done a few hours prior." she added "So you will either sign that paper or you loose your job." she finished and Olivia wanted to disappear right there. How could she do this?! How was this fair in the slightest!? And how could Heeseung just fucking sit there smirking at her as if he knew something more about this than her!? At her lack of words the CEO jumped in "Let's not threat anyone Eunji-ah." he said and she apologised immediately "But miss Huh, you do understand that if you don't sign this, you're gone. And I don't really know how well eternia can do without it's main creative in the team."

Now that wasn't a direct threat, but it still was one and Olivia simply nodded, lost for words at how she was just toys to these people. She wasn't worthy of being seen or treated as a human in these peoples' eyes and that's what disgusted her the most. Reluctantly she signed the contract with which she sold all her integrity, and while everyone else left the meeting room to "celebrate" the successful venture, she was left all alone to reflect on what she had just done to herself. But she was not as alone as she seemed to think, he was there, leaning on a wall staring down at her with an almost predatory glint in his eyes. "I told you there would be consequences if you disobeyed and didn't break up with that stupid rebound." he dryly chuckled. "Did you really think I was going to let you go so easily?"

She glared at him through her disheveled eyes as he stalked around the table towards her "He wasn't even a good rebound love. I don't really know what you saw in him." he said with a smile and that's when Olivia broke "I don't know what I saw in you!" she yelled out "You fucking psychopath! You ruined my life!" tears brimmed in her eyes as he only smiled down at the girl but she continued to let her rage consume her "Fuck you and fuck Jake for ever introducing me to you!" she finally finished with a slam on the table and that's when the door opened. Through her hazy gaze she saw a man enter with a pout on his mouth, it was Jake, fucking Jake "Aww, that hurts my feelings darling." he stated, coming to stand next to Heeseung. "She has to apologise for it, doesn't she Heeseung?"

His friend hummed with a small smirk, a dark glint in his eyes as they both looked at her. "Well then, won't you apologise?" Jake asked with a fake pout on his face and Olivias' jaw clenched just at the thought that he once was her best friend. She beelined to step out but was stopped bu Heeseungs' hand which pulled her back "Those are same bad manners of yours love." he stated with a chuckled, the girl tried to release her hand from his grip "Let me the fuck go Heeseung. We're done, what don't you understand about that!" she said as she felt her upperarm start to ache from his grip. "I think that contract you just signed says different love, doesn't it?"

She somehow managed to pull her upperarm out of his tight grip and held onto the door to the office. "Just because I signed something doesn't mean I owe you shit, now goodbye you physcopaths." and with that she bolted out of the room back downstairs. Olivia had no clue on how she was supposed to go back to her dorm or whether she would even want to go back. Would the two of them follow her there? They already knew the address, so it was probable for either of them to show up. Not knowing what to do she sat on a park bench and dialed a number she hadn't heard off in a long time "Auntie Jia?" she muttered out "Can I—" she stuttered "Can I come over for a few days? There's been chaos here and I need a break from everything."

[thelaughtercafe]

Soul Eater Ler Headcanons

Tea Type: Brown Sugar Boba

Potential Triggers: N/A

Pairing: Soul/F! Reader, Death the Kid/F! Reader, Black Star/F! Reader, Maka/F! Reader. Tsubaki/F! Reader, Liz/F! Reader, Patty/F! Reader, Stein/F! Reader

Length: 1.5k+

Summary: N/A

Soul Eater Evans:

Soul is very casual most of the time and I feel like tickling someone to pieces wouldn’t be any different. 

Like Maka, takes it in complete stride which his Lee likely wouldn’t expect if they’d hidden it from him out of fear for any length of time. 

He finds this hysterical and incredibly endearing at the same time, leading to him laughing at you good-naturedly. 

“Damn, you went that long without something you wanted out of some misguided sense of feeling weird? You could’ve just told me, ya know. I tickle Blackstar and Maka all the time, Hell you’ve seen me do it. You had to know I wouldn’t mind.”

When you fumbled to explain it was different he sighed and rubbed his head. 

“Man, you’re hopeless. Least now I know why you ran away all those times. Must’ve been really embarrassing for you, huh?”

He grinned, wiggling his fingers at you eagerly as he cornered you.  

“Welp, guess all we can do is make up for lost time huh? C'mere so I can help you experience what you’ve wanted so bad first hand!”

He’s not a chaser, prefers for you and him to be more stationary. 

Admittedly gets a kick at seeing you try to hold your arms up or not struggle too much, even though a cool guy like him could totally overpower you.  

Reassures you in his own way too, bringing it up casually after wrecking you after you both had a stressful test that day. 

“Y'know, the others won’t mind tickling you either. Even on the fraction of a chance they’re not willing to- they wouldn’t make fun of you for it. Even if they did, they’d have me to deal with!”

He flashed a shark-toothed grin your way. 

“You like being tickled. So what? C'mon, say it. I know you can!”

Messes with you for a few days and sessions until you finally spit the words out. 

He doesn’t tickle you directly till you get it out- only giving a quick poke or huff of air along your neck or ears to make you jump, around the others that prick-until you crack. 

He’s kind’ve mean about it, honestly, but he does it to help you not hide who you are from the others. It’s all out of love in the end. 

Rubs it in your face so hard when he ends up right. Doesn’t let you live it down ever. 

Expect group tickle sessions for a while too just to be extra sure you got the message it’s not a big deal. 

Maka Albarn:

Maka is really intuned with everyone around her and that translates to when she Ler’s too. 

She senses the little things- the way someone leans into her touch when they like a spot. 

She’s kind too- not the type to call you out and tease you for it like Soul or Stein, and if she does it’s playful and she’ll immediately admit she liked it just as much as you.  

She loves to make others happy, and this is no exception. She views it as perfectly natural and normal and just about Maka-Chop’s you anytime you put yourself down. 

You learn to accept your little quirk with her and the rest of your friends help. 

Black Star:

God Blackstar is a rough one. 

Good luck, the second he finds out you’re ticklish I hope you like it because he’s gonna use it to mess with you constantly. 

Getting out of things, making you forgive him for small mistakes, you name it he’ll implement tickling somehow if it fits. 

And when Tsubaki finally spells it out for him that you like it? 

Even training isn’t safe then and he is merciless in that environment when he’s focused so trust- you both do and don’t wanna be caught by him. 

He’s loud when he teases so you have to be direct and tell him not in public, and remind him if it bothers you fairly often otherwise the whole damn school is gonna know. 

Speaking of teasing, KING of teases.

I’m blushing just thinking about it. 

“Wow, is this really all you can handle? I know it’s a tall order because you’re up against a big star like me, but I’ll have to help you build up your stamina and endurance.”

“You’re lucky there’s no Kishin who tickle their victims; otherwise you’d be a goner for sure! Luckily you have the great Blackstar to help you as a failsafe precaution! Aren’t you lucky?”

300% uses his Ninja skills to fuck with you.  

Sorry I don’t make the rules. 

You called his bluff when he was just starting out and assumed he was loud and obnoxious with no other mode and boy did that backfire on you horribly. 

After finding out you like being tickled, guess who now has a way to show you just how well he can sneak up on people whenever and wherever he wants?

Uses tickles as a reward/motivation too, to keep you training with him just that little bit longer than you usually would. 

Tsubaki:

Gosh she’s so flustering as a Ler without even trying. 

It’s because she’s so sincere and gentle. 

It makes her amusement and sweet teases all the more effective. 

“Aww you’re so precious like this! I’ve gotta do this more often!”

She’s one of the easiest Lers to go to, especially if you want relaxing tickles. 

She’s so gentle technique wise, really only using spidering and stroking but it still tickles like Hell. 

The only one who can reign Blackstar in with either tickling him or just talking sense.  

Death the Kid:

Kid is generally very put together and that translates to when he lers. 

Of course, he has to tickle symmetrically which means his poor Lee will have to put up with either both his hands or two tools at once. 

The only good thing is that means you know the sensations are predictable. 

Unless he has Liz and Patty help. Then? Then they’re really in trouble, because they’ll do the same, but as long as they keep the same technique? Kid’s fine letting them have variety from him. Predictability neutralized. 

Unintentionally so flustering, holy shit. 

Kid is naturally very logical and serious, and has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. That man’s smirk is lethal. 

Absolutely uses this to his advantage. After all, he has to make both of your cheeks the same pretty shade of red, and what better way to do that then make it cover your whole face~?

“Oh come now, surely it can’t tickle that badly? You’re flattering me.”

Can’t stop at an uneven time- works together with his Lee to get to 88 minutes for perfect symmetry. 

He’ll stop before that if needed of course, but it’s typically best when the numbers match. 

Patty:

Brings out of her Lee’s childish natures with her own. 

Tends to giggle happily along with her Lee and is one of the Lers most often to start tickle fights and the like. 

Adores how much fun it is to make her friends, family and s/o’s laugh omg. 

It’s why she does it so often. 

Most think she’s not smart but really, she’s quite aware. She just chooses to embrace her more childish side openly. 

Loves to tease her Lee’s and pouts when she has to stop or gets pulled away by Liz. 

“Aww but why? They’re so cute like this!!”

“Yes Patty but you kind of need them alive to tickle them more yeah? Let ‘em breathe, k?”

She salutes her sister all cute-like.

“K!!”

Switches spots often and has to get reminded by Kid to be more symmetrical if they’re Ler'ing someone together because she forgets a lot and it always makes her Lee jump in their grip. 

Liz:

Queen of self-care/self-comfort tickles, for both her Lee and herself. 

Compliments galore she’s so damn nice.

“Your laugh is so pretty, I swear. I’m so jealous!”

“Oh my God your nails are so cute!! You have to paint them for me later! Maybe if you agree to I’ll stop~”

Her teases are like that, mixed with her genuine compliments. 

The most merciful between her sister and Kid. 

Kid tends to get lost in the symmetry while tickling his Lee so if she’s helping or knows he’s gonna be Ler'ing someone she always reminds him to set an alarm so the poor Lee isn’t stuck there for 3 hours.

Definitely hasn’t happened more than once, nope. 

Not that the Lee was complaining-

Absolutely loves using her nails as a tickle tool. It’s her go-to method and she is good.

Stein:

Unsurprisingly, the scientist who loves to experiment, also does so when tickling. It’s just his nature. 

In addition to that he’s perceptive as Hell so good luck hiding your reactions. 

In all likelihood, he knows instinctively if a Lee enjoys it thanks to seeing their Soul and being able to sense their nature better than most. 

Let’s face it; Stein’s a complete sadist- and not only that- he’s very open about that fact. 

Which means if it gets to you that he’s like that he’ll absolutely call you out and mess with you with it, switching between his typically playful and analytical self and his more cruel side. 

Knows every tool out there, and relishes testing more unconventional ones too like back scratchers, combs and the like. 

That goes for enhancement methods too. Everything from oil, sensory deprivation, and bondage. Whatever he can think of, really.