#fear me tall lees

[jellyf-yve]

so i was bored and i made this ultimate absolute work of art lmao enjoy

(also hello self esteem kicked me as never before so i'm showing myself full body)

[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. ♡

[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.

[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

[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..”

[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."

[anundyingfidelity]

INTERROGATION GONE WRONG – Cleon XIII/Brother Day

Summary: Cleon XIII interrogates his statisticians about Hari Seldon's predictions. His in-turn maid remains there hearing the conversation, unbeknownst to him, knowing the answer - at least part of.

Pairing: Cleon XIII/Brother Day x female maid reader.

Word count: 2.9k.

Warnings: extremely dub-con, smut, abuse of power, forced orgasm, choking, fingering, degradation, p in v, creampie, not the soft aftercare you're waiting for. The author is also non native English speaker.

Notes: this is based on that scene of 1x04. This is the most non-con thing I've written ever. I gave my warnings. Also please watch Foundation lol, this show reminded me of how much I loved Lee Pace since like 2014. Once I'm in, I will never get out and I needed to write something for Cleon I love him he is an idiot.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

The man fell with a thud on the floor. You should be scared, surprised, trembling with fear, but this was not new behavior for you or anyone in the palace. Since Seldon's exile and the disaster shaking the Empire gradually, the response of the new Cleon was clearly expected after being a witness of a poor reunion and inconvenience with the staticians. More than a conversation, it felt like a judgment, a death one.

"Dining, now," he ordered passing by your figure on his way to leave the throne room. With a bow, you followed in an instant and ready to serve him.

Cleary, you could tell he was not in the good mood that day, already skipping the meal for breakfast with his brothers earlier; something that was out of the itineraries. Once a change of the routine happened, it meant something was off, so you thought. Demerzel was also not around, attending other meetings, so this left you alone with Empire, opening the door of the sole dining room the Brothers used privately, with the tall figure of Cleon XIII waiting impatiently for his midday meal and looking every move you made around the place to please him as fast as your feet allowed.

The cooks served the meal arranged from the menu after your order and they left as rapid as they came in, Brother Day dispatching them with a hand gesture once they were done. You took a couple of steps back, standing close to the table but ready in case he dispatched your presence as well.

"Not you, you stay," he commanded after sipping his wine for the first time, eyes focused on the plate he would eat.

"Yes, Empire."

You had to obligue, and that is what happened. You watched him from the corner of your eye, from time to time in silence, pretending to be unconcerned and collected, though that was far from being true. The whole meal time was eternal, specially that day. With no Brother Dawn nor Brother Dusk around for Brother Day to have a bland talk with, only the sound of fine cutlery clinking against porcelain as Empire ate. Boring, your head began to spin around, thinking in non-senses and theories of what you heard and read from Seldon's predictions of the fall. Empire was cruel, but it had you working, serving food to your plate, and probably that was enough. But it didn't stop your curiosity of learning further the philosophy of Hari Seldon.

When in front of Empire, your gaze seemed lost but your mind was working. You never said a single comment about studying Seldon's theory, of course. You were just a maid. Science and university never were a good pair for a woman who served the Empire. However, you still found the math behind his calculations as something intriguing and fascinating for some reason...

"Maid," the loud voice of the Emperor interrupted your daydream. "I said, wine."

The intense look on his eyes forced you to attend his order fast, serving more of the fermented liquid on the cup standing besides his plate.

His large hand took the cup when you filled it with wine and he sipped again, his eyes scanning you slow and deep. You knew he sensed something was wrong with you. Swallowing, you noticed he already had finished with his meal, so you finally you dared to speak.

"Can I retire your plate, Empire?"

"Is there something you want to share, maid?" he responded, blatantly ignoring your question and dragging your title like it was nothing but a shameful word to spill.

"At all, Empire," your voice came as a whisper.

Brother Day stood on his feet with such grace and started a slow walk towards your figure. You wanted to step away, but you feet were glued to the ground, so his tall and intimidating form washed over you soon.

"Speak," he instructed coldly. You started to tremble, unable to take off your scared eyes from him, bitting your bottim lip as he leaned. "Or do you want to be punished?"

His hand forced around your neck all of a sudden. As an act of reflection, you tried to pull back from his grip, but he was much stronger, having you in place and cutting your breath. "I know you hide enthusiasm around Doctor Seldon's theories," he whispered darkly on your ear. "I am not giving you a choice, speak!"

As he yelled down his last words, he pushed you harshly, body falling to the grown. Air filled your lungs once again and you coughed, sitting down and watching that he was coming closer with big steps. You dragged yourself on the floor using your hands and feet trying to not tangle yourself with the fabric of your dress. Fighting the tears on your eyes, your back touched the wall and sobbed. There was nowhere to go now. So you finally confessed.

"Your staticians would not give you a number because it's true!" you cried out. Brother Day stopped on his tracks just a couple of inches before you. "It's all true, Doctor Seldon is right. And it all began with the Star Bridge, I know you were a child when it happened because I was a child too when the crisis started. There is a probability, but is not zero," you said, recalling his words.

You saw his face changed. He was exhasperated already, but rage appeared in his eyes in a very visible way; a rage that you had yet to see from Empire. Fear took over you, afraid of what would happen next. Should you keep talking? Should you continue crying? Scream for nobody to come around for your sake? As you questioned yourself, he lowered himself to be at your level on the ground. Brother Day never sat down, but he was making sure to get under your skin. His powerful gaze had a quick effect to do that.

"Go on."

Too scared to speak, you opened your lips but no sound came out. Empire waited your words for a moment, scrutinizing your face. And still, nothing came. He grabbed your arm with a rough grip, forcing you to stand up, colliding with his body until your back hit the empty part of the table he had been eating in.

"You have ten seconds to continue or I will force everything that is in your head out of you, maid," Cleon threatened. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three-"

"I said it was probability," you shuddered. "Life is a probability by all means and Seldon knows that," you breathed, aware that Brother Day was feeling your shaking body under his piercing eyes. "I studied Doctor Seldon's psychohistory and theory for the last four years, learning math and other sciences on my free time on the library. So even if I don't posses a title, I know his hypothesis was only that at the time; a hypothesis can be null, but also be provable, and thus now is not untrue."

He slowly leaned away.

"So you say there is no error on Seldon's ecuation," he concluded, jaw clenching.

"None that I could find."

Brother Day paced in front of you, back and forth, hrad processing what he just heard. You could tell he was getting what he wanted, but nothing was what he really longed for. And what you found was nothing but the truth. Maths don't miss, it was useless to lie.

"How do you simply fall into a conclusion like that? Prophecies of the Empire declining into a dark age after centuries of rising. Of our legacy!" he stopped again and went back to your figure, trapping your body between himself and the dining table. You felt his breath when he leaned close, the smell of wine and fruits mixing with his cologne was intoxicating your nostrils as the last tears flowed down your cheeks. Sooner or later, you thought he was going to end up with your life. You had nothing left to lose by now.

"It's simple history and logic. Everything that goes up has to go down, even empires."

All you felt was his big palm slapping your face, your back hitting the edge of the table. A hurted moan filled the room, and he forced you to look at him grabbing your chin with the same strenght he had used on you all this time, like you were nothing more than a doll to play with as he pleased.

"In other circumstances, I would find you amusing," he breathed gainst your lips. The touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away your last tears, contrasted the roughness of his words, his body between your legs and his weight pressing you to lie down on the surface.

"Psychohistory words, not mine," you whispered, your hands running to wrap around his wrist, but his aura repelled instantly your touch. It was useless to keep trying. So here you were, ready for Brother Day to end with your life in just the blink of an eye. "Maybe Brother Dusk made a mistake," you continued, giving up on leaving the room alive. "Make Hari Seldon stay instead..."

Brother Day pressed further against you, almost crushing you with his significant huge frame.

"Such a talented brain and mouth, why don't I put you to good use? I think I deserve it."

He forcefuly turned you around until you were bending over the table, a loud gasp falling from your mouth. One of his hands making its way between your legs caused your thighs to press together, trying to stop him, but it was impossible, so you had nothing to do but beg.

"Please, Empire," you felt like crying again at his touch, his fingers cupping your clothed pussy in a slow motion. "Stop, please-"

"Shut up, whore," he grunted, rubbing his crotch against your ass and slammed your face with his free hand so you had your cheek lying against the cold surface. "I had enough from you."

Heartbeat rising, you tried with no results to escape from his body cage. The sway of your hips caused Empire to grow eager. His slender fingers pushed your panties aside, coating them with your own wetness, and that was certainly something you did not expect to be down there. He hummed in response, rubbing your folds, and you exhaled once he entered one finger.

Your body responded to his ministrations, his growing erection pressing against the curve of your ass while he played with your cunt as he wanted, easing a second digit inside your walls. Probably you should just give in by now as you felt your muscles tighten, already reaching your high. Almost. The first moan of pleassure escaped your throat and you regreted the answer of lust coming from your body the following instant, your palms holding yourself on the table.

His long digits fucked you faster and your legs trembled, his thumb played with your clit so deliciously you thought you were passing out soon. He leaned down until you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Fucking take it," he groaned, feeling your warm walls pulsing around his fingers.

Almost not having control over your body, your legs further opened, like his voice just ordered you to do it.

"Please, please..."

Again, you cried and begged, not sure of the reason. For pleassure, shame, mercy... Anything was possible at that moment as whimpers and moans fell from your mouth.

The sensation grew stronger down your belly, feeling him exploring your insides too deep, touching a place no man nor your fingers reached before. It happened repeatedly, it felt so sweet and sinful. Like something you never knew but you were sure would leave you aching for more. His fingers making you so drunk and pleading for a release, and the seconds that passed by were endless until you finally blissed out with a loud moan, convulsing by the work of his hand.

Brother Day gave himself a wicked smile, watching you squirm and gasp. Such a strong orgasm he ripped out of you. He pulled his fingers away from your pulsing cunt and admired your wetness coating them before he raised the skirt of your dress and took off your panties until they were hanging between your ankles.

You grimaced at the feel of his big palms rubbing your ass cheeks, parting them to get a view of your throbbing heat, still clenching around nothing. You could listen to him undoing his pants. He hissed, taking his hard lenght to rub the sensitive skin of your ass and his thick tip teased your slit, sliding slowly inside. You gasped at the sudden intrusion as he stopped from filling you up completely, feeling your tight cunt embracing him.

"Empire, please not this-"

"This is how I prefer you," Cleon whispered on your neck, you stopped your plea. "Submissive and quiet. You are not so bold now, are you?"

And he slowly entered your pussy further. You whined, nails scratching the fine material of the table. You were so tight and warm. He had to control himself of not pounding into you right away. Being filled up by the Emperor shouldn't arouse your body like this, but your heat welcomed his cock like it was the perfect missing piece of a puzzle.

"Are you a virgin, maid?" he asked, hips giving a couple of shallow, slow thrusts. Your hips moved in sink with his own, your nipples were now hard and erect against the surface, scratching the fabric of your bra and dress, giving up into heavenly bliss. Sweet mewls left your lips as he stretched your cunt. And it was oh, so long since you felt this full.

"No, Empire."

Your response was the green light. He started to rut into you. Rough. Even if your answer was to be different, you knew Empire would not care. He used to get away with what he wanted, and right now he wanted you. His own grunts made eco along with the sound of his skin hitting your ass, your moans escaping without any shame now. The small amount of discomfort he caused was transformed into pleassure and arousal, keeping his hands firmly on your hips.

"Then you can take it, you've done this before," he mocked, increasing his rough pace.

His grip was strong on your sides, you knew his fingers would leave marks on your skin once you finished. But nothing mattered, you decided, the only on your mind was reaching sweet climax and release. You could not escape from him, not ever. So your body and mind could go through it.

Cleon's eyes found the perfect spot of view to see his cock entering and sliding out your perfect pussy, his shaft glistening with your wetness and his own precum. He stopped and pulled out for a moment, teasing with entering and pulling out, watching himself sliding inside your body.

"Oh gods," he listened to your broken moan, breath hitching.

He again cupped your neck with his palm, fingers roaming around your throat, forcing your back to meet his chest. Your moans were cut by his firm hand, air being a privilige as seconds passed by. He sucked and bit the skin of your neck, burying his cock until his balls met your ass repeteadly, finding that sweet spot of yours.

"Cum," he ordered. "Cum or you will not breath again."

You knew you were close, but you needed it faster. You needed to breath, as good as his cock felt, fucking you and splitting you open, you still needed to make it until the end. Your fingers found your clit and played with your bud as Empire bucked his hips fast and rough. Finally, your muscles tensed and forced a hard orgasm out of you, walls pulsing around his dick. He grunted, not slowing his thrusts, softening the hand around your neck allowing you oxygen again.

"Merciful am I?" he groaned and you felt his seed painting your insides, cock throbing as he also came from his high.

"You are, Empire," you breathed out.

Your back arched and you held yourself on his hands and chest. You heard the sound of one of the chairs being taken out, being dragged by him until you felt he sat down, you on his lap with his cock still burried deep inside you. His slick cum ran down your inner thighs as he parted your legs, touching your abused cunt and clit, feeling how you were still connected. He rubbed your pussy in slow, gentle moves, collecting his cum mixed with your juices. He offered his fingers to your lips, so you licked them as he wished, sucking them clean. Your walls pulsed again.

"So obedient now," Cleon purred.

His hands undid your dress to free your chest, groping your tits as he pleased. He played with your nipples, just like he had played with all of you in a few minutes.

"What will happen to me?" you asked in a murmur.

"Such a pretty cunt you are," Brother Day began, tracing kisses on your shoulder. His voice made you shiver. "You would please me a lot as a cuncubine of the Gossamer Court."

You swallowed hard, not capable of speaking or fighting back. He felt your body tensing so he continued his speech in your ear. "No worries, I can play with you some more before it happens. And you will tell me everything you know about Seldon."

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part two

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part two word count: 12.4k

part two warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, me forcing you to read extensive vampire lore, the supernatural elements are ramped up a notch (or, like, eight notches), semi-graphic descriptions and depictions of violence

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: and to absolutely no one’s surprise, I cannot stop talking about vampire heeseung, so this story will be more than two parts. this is not the end. I want to say it will be around 4-5. potentially more. (yay if you’re excited, and my apologies if you’re not.) again, I want to name the sources I used to help me create this: the dark moon webtoon is where lots of the lore comes from, and influences from twilight are also scattered throughout. okay I think that’s it. for now at least… as always, happy reading ♡

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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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Everything hurts. 

As your consciousness slowly begins to trickle back in, pain is the most prominent sensation. It comes in slow, steady waves. With a certain kind of deep ache. 

Eyes still screwed shut, your brow furrows. The movement only inspires anothing intense wave of throbbing pain that thuds against your temples. 

As senses begin to emerge, you can tell that you’re horizontal. Lying down. The surface beneath you is soft. It dips and curves, gives to the shape of your body. A bed, maybe. 

Delicately, you try moving your right arm. Wiggling your toes. Both are responsive, but there’s a profound soreness sitting deep within your muscle that makes you strain against a whimper from even the tiniest of movements. 

And your throat. It’s so dry. Scraped raw as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. As if you’ve been screaming. 

You inhale deeply, assessing the way air inflates the lungs beneath your ribs. Even there, deep within you, there’s a dull, muted ache. A pain that lingers. As the ensuing exhale leaves your body, you note another sensation. 

The emptiness of your stomach. The deep pangs of hunger that roll like nausea. 

With no small amount of reluctance, you begin the arduous task of opening your eyes. One slow blink that bleeds into another. 

At first, the only thing you see is a vast expanse of white. Blinding light makes you want to squint. Close your eyes again. But it’s nothing but a trick of your own senses. Causes by eyes that have gone unused for an extended period of time. 

Slowly, the space above you begins to take on its true tone. A soft, even light gray that coats the expanse of the ceiling. Turning your head to the side, you ignore the protest of pain from your neck. 

You let your eyes wander for a minute. But as the space around you begins to come into focus, you’re left with more questions than answers. 

Your earlier assertion had been correct. You are lying in a bed. But it’s not the one you’ve grown used to. This isn’t your apartment. 

No, the bedroom around you is an unfamiliar one. But that’s undoubtedly what it is: a bedroom. Threadbare maybe, but with small touches of life. Aside from your current resting place, there’s a desk on the opposite side of the room. A nightstand right next to you. A small lamp that emanate a warm, golden glow. 

Forcing your body into an upright position, you wince at the effort it takes just to sit upright, to maneuver every aching limb into place. 

More details of the room come into focus. A computer monitor and keyboard on the desk. The small stack of books next to it. A record player. A small dresser. Little trinkets of personality, but nothing that serves you now. 

Even through the haze in your sleep-addled mind, you’re sure you’ve never seen any of it before. Why are you here? Where is here?

And why does your body hurt so damn much, nerves under your skin singing like they’ve been wrung out to dry?

The fog in your mind refuses to clear. Soon, another emotion begins to emerge alongside the confusion as the reality of the situation sets in. 

You’re alone. In an unfamiliar room. Hungry as if it’s been days since you’ve eaten. 

Judging from the way your limbs respond to even the most minute of movements, you’re injured. Badly. 

Flexing your left leg again, you wince. Can you even walk right now? 

This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

The beginnings of panic begin to trace your mind. Again, you’re searching the room. This time, however, you focus on memorizing the layout. Finding anything that might be of any use to you, that might help you identify your location. That might help you craft an escape.

Your search turns up two doors, one to your left and one directly across from the foot of the bed. Both are unmarked. Both are pulled shut. 

It’s possible that your panic is premature. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that this was nothing more than the bedroom of a rather minimalistic university student. But if that were the case why did you wake up here alone, head pounding, body aching?

That alone is definitive. Something is very wrong. 

Instinctively, you try to retrace your steps. You must have gotten here somehow. But the more you try to walk back through your memory, the hazier things become. The inside of your mind is like a murky labyrinth, dead ends at every corner. Rearranging and shifting the more you try to focus. 

It’s as if a dense fog has clouded over your ability to think, to recall. No matter how close you get to a memory, you can’t see anything. 

That alone is enough to send another fresh wave of panic straight to your bones. Alone, injured, and you can’t remember any of the events that led you to this strange place. 

Gingerly, you turn your body so that your legs hang off the side of the bed, bare feet resting lightly on the floor. That movement alone requires several of your deep inhales. 

Slowly, you try putting weight on your feet, your legs. It’s not pleasant by any means, but they hold steady. Or at the very least, they don’t buckle beneath you. Aside from the soreness, there’s a distinct fatigue in your extremities. One that gives them a slight shake the longer you try to stand. 

You doubt you can run, but at least you’re not completely immobile. Maybe, given enough adrenaline, you can walk. Crawl. 

But now you’re faced with another dilemma. Two doors. Two points of entry, two potential routes to escape. Or two paths to further danger. Trapped in a windowless room, you have no way of knowing which of your two choices, if any, is better. 

But you can’t just stay here. Backed into a corner, practically a sitting duck. Eyes darting between the two doors, you steel yourself for the inevitable flash of pain fully standing will inevitably cause. 

The door to the left of the bed. The door at the foot of the bed. 

Just as you’ve decided to veer to the right, muscles tensing in anticipation, a knock rings out. Your breath catches in your throat, panic reaching its peak as your heart beats a furious rhythm in your chest. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go.One rap against the door to your left. Two. Three. 

You won’t make it to the other door in time. Not on your legs. 

There’s a moment of suspended silence. And then, the door is opening. 

Instinctively, you push yourself backwards on the bed., trying to put as much space as physically possible between you and the stranger that enters. 

And a stranger he certainly is. With a tentative sort of slowness, a boy peers around the edge of the door, squinting in the low light. 

When he sees that you’re upright, he pushes into the room fully, closing the door quietly behind him. The glimpse you get over his shoulder doesn’t reveal much. Another room, maybe, but it’s gone too quickly to be certain. 

“You’re awake,” he nods, more to himself than anything. “I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

Back pressed against the wall, you have nowhere left to go. Still hunched as if that will do anything to protect you, you stare at the boy in front of you. 

Maybe, you think. Maybe you could move fast enough to grab the lamp from the nightstand before he realizes what’s happening. Could use it as some sort of weapon, some meager means of self-defense. 

“Who are you?” Your throat is scraped raw. It hurts to speak, to think, to do much of anything. “Where am I?”

“Oh.” The boy pauses for a moment. For the first time since he entered, he stops to look at you. Really look at you. The extent of the terror that’s embedded in your features, written in the positioning of your body. 

Immediately, he stops in his tracks. Retreats a few steps until he’s back at the far edge of the room, just in front of the door he entered from. “Sorry, I guess it was probably quite the shock to wake up here. My name is Jake. You’re in our…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Well, our home, I suppose.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Chest still rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even your breathing. You can still feel your pulse in your neck. 

If the situation weren't so disorienting, so terrifyingly confusing, you might be mildly amused by the almost… sheepish look that crosses his features. Where he avoids eye contact with you from the doorframe, this boy certainly doesn’t look like a threat. 

If you had to guess, you’d say that he — Jake — is around your age. With dark hair that falls across his forehead and wide, dark eyes, he has a distinct sort of beauty that almost reminds you of… 

Suddenly, in the confines of your missing memories, you’re grasping at straws again. 

“Specifically,” Jake adds, realizing the information might be pertinent to you, “this is Heeseung’s room.”

Heeseung. You know that name. You think it’s the one you were searching for. 

Heeseung. 

It sparks something. A flicker of a memory. A ghost of the answers you seek. 

You feel like you’re on the verge of a revelation when you ask, “Where is he? Heeseung?”

Jake’s expression betrays no surprise. He’d expected you to ask him that, you realize. It does, however, suddenly appear a bit more guarded. “He’s recovering. That poison he got out of you really did a number on him.”

For a moment, his words do nothing but reverberate in your aching skull. And then—

“Poison?”

Jake just looks at you for a second, brow pulling down in confusion as if you’re the strange one in this situation. As if poison and Heeseung’s apparent removal of it should already be old news. Then, a flicker of realization crosses his features. His brow softens. 

“That’s right,” he mumbles. Again, it seems more for his benefit than yours. “I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

Moonflower? In humans? 

“Memory loss?”

“It’s only temporary,” Jake says, as if that’s enough to make everything better. “Everything will start to come back soon, I’m sure.” He pauses, frowning. A flicker of sympathy enters his gaze. “I feel like I should warn you, though. Judging from the way you and Heeseung came in here a couple of nights ago, it might be a lot to take in all at once when they do.”

A couple of nights ago. Which means—

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Just over two days. It’s Friday night now. Almost midnight.” While the shock of that settles into your system, Jake continues, “Which reminds me, I brought you some things I thought you might need.”

He turns away from you, opening the door. When he closes it behind him again, he now has two bags in his hand. Carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal, he takes slow footsteps towards you. 

Setting the bags down next to the nightstand, he explains, “This one has water and food. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so feel free to have whatever, and let us know if there’s anything else you want.”

Looking at the second bag, he adds, “I also brought you some clothes. We didn’t really have anything for a girl here. I mean, Sunghoon had a couple of things, but I didn’t really think you’d want them. Sunoo and Niki went out and got some stuff. I’m sure they did their best, but, uh,” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “No promises.”

Jake nods towards the dresser that sits by the desk. “If you hate everything, you can also look through whatever Heeseung has in there. I’m sure he wouldn't mind.”

That name again. Heeseung. There’s nothing solid in your memory, but heat finds itself on your cheekbones anyway. The thought of wearing his clothes just feels like something that should warrant that reaction, even if you’re not sure why. 

“There’s also a bathroom through that door.” Jake jerks his chin towards the door across from the foot of the bed. And maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have enough time to craft an escape through there, you think. This conversation might have been significantly more awkward in a bathroom. “Feel free to use anything in there, including the shower, if you want. There should be clean towels in the bottom drawer.”

He takes another long look at you, that same sympathy from earlier coloring his gaze. It feels weighted, heavy. As if he’s forseen some great tragedy you’re not yet privy too. As if he knows something you don’t. “I’m sure you have a million questions, but I think you’ll feel better with some food and water in you.” He nods towards the bags he set close to you. “And a fresh change of clothes.” 

He’s probably right. With the urgency of your former panic subsiding, you still don’t feel at ease. But neither fight nor flight seem like appropriate responses to this situation. Which leaves you stuck with a third one: reluctant trust. 

As you make your peace with it, something begins to press at the fog in your mind. It swirls, collects as if being pressed against a glass window. Your memories are still evasive, but there’s something there, in that haze. Syllables stuck on a loop, a constant repetition that begs your attention. 

Heeseung. 

There’s a sudden urgency in your gut. The distinct feeling that things will start to make sense again if you can just see him, talk to him. Jake said that he’s recovering. From poison. But you don’t know what that means, don’t understand what kind of gravity it might hold. 

Vague sentiments conveyed through a messenger are hardly enough to satisfy the tugging in your mind. 

So you ask, “Can I see him? Heeseung?”

Something flickers across Jake’s gaze, too fast for you to catch it fully. Concern maybe. A premonition of fear. Still, he says, “He’s okay. I promise. You’ll be able to see him soon.” For a moment, Jake falls into silence, weighing words on his tongue like he can’t decide if he should share them or not. “But he’s not really in the best shape for visitors right now. Take care of you first, and then we can talk more if you want. And when you’re both ready, you can see Heeseung, too.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer, but Jake holds the cards here. You have nothing to leverage, nothing to bargain. 

Before he leaves, he reiterates, “I’m sure that your memories will start to come back soon. Like I said, it might be a lot all at once. I’ll let you eat and get changed, if you want. The door locks.” He nods to the door handle. “So does the one on the bathroom door. And please, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just outside.”

Gently, Jake opens the door, pulls it shut behind him. And then you’re alone again. 

Gone is the frantic terror you awoke with, and left in its wake is a gentler sort of fear. A deep sense of unease that refuses to fade. 

Pushing it aside for now, you attend to your baser needs. Heeding Jake’s advice, you retrieve the first bag he left for you, pulling it up onto the bed. 

The first thing you see is a bottle of water. You make quick work of pulling it out, removing the cap, and taking a long sip. It’s cool, refreshing. Soothes your aching throat before settling heavily at the bottom of your empty stomach. 

Taking another handful of gulps, you replace the cap before setting it on the nightstand. Opening the bag further, you reveal its other contents. 

It’s possibly the strangest assortment of food that you’ve ever seen. Frowning in confusion, you take stock of what you’ve been given. It just gets weirder the more you look at it. It’s as if Jake went to the grocery store and just grabbed the first thing he saw in every aisle with no regard for how they would fit together. As if he hasn’t made himself a meal since the day he was born. 

The first thing you pull out is a box of dry pasta, completely inedible without cooking utensils you currently have no access to. Jake did say you could ask him for anything, but even boiling water has a way of feeling like an insurmountable task in your current state. You move on. 

What follows is hardly better. There’s a singular, unripe avocado, an entire family sized bag of clementine oranges, three boxes of breakfast cereal, a loaf of bread, and — you pause a moment to count — eight different kinds of granola bars. 

Pushing past the strangeness, you figure you don’t need a Michelin star meal to ease the hunger. For now, you decide that one of the granola bars and a clementine look the most appetizing. 

After a few minutes, the blunt edges of hunger lose their sharpness. But even with a bit of food in your system, the nausea hold steady. 

Mind addled, you curse yourself for not asking him the most obvious question. What the hell happened to you? 

But he did say your memories should be coming back soon, and you decide you’ll just have to trust in that for now. 

Next, you reach for the bag of clothes. You didn’t think it was possible, but it somehow manages to be even stranger than the food. 

To your shoppers’ credit, they are girls’ clothes, yes, but it seems that was the only criteria for selection. It’s the dead of winter, and the first two things you pull out are a pair of denim shorts and a sundress. Frowning, you refold them both, placing them back in the bag. At least they still have their tags. Hopefully the two boys Jake mentioned kept their receipt. 

That leaves you with your other option. Glancing over at the dresser, his dresser, you’re at an impasse. 

Even with gaping holes in your memory, it feels invasive, far too intimate to look through his things. To go through his clothes until you find something that suits you. To wear it without his permission. 

Taking a sidelong glance at the pair of denim shorts, you decide you don’t have all that much pride left to barter, anyway. After all, you work up disoriented, weak, and missing all of your memories in the boy’s bed. What’s a spare change of clothes in comparison with that?

As you gingerly pad your way to the dresser, you decide it feels less like snooping if you only reach for what’s on top. Luck is on your side. The first thing you see when you open the top drawer is a sweatshirt and matching pair of sweatpants, both of which are ridiculously soft. 

Stolen goods in tow, you continue towards the bathroom door. Pulling it closed behind you, you see that Jake was telling the truth. The lock slides into place with a small click.  

Like his bedroom, Heeseung’s bathroom is fairly nondescript. Devoid of decor, it holds what he needs and little else. Opening the bottom drawer of the vanity, you find a clean towel and set it down on the counter, next to the clothes. 

Lifting your head, you catch your reflection in the mirror. It’s enough to have you double take. You almost don’t recognize yourself. The tangled mess of hair and dark circles of exhaustion beneath your eyes are things you could forgive. Two days of straight sleep is enough to wreak at least a little havoc on anyone. 

But that’s not what has your reflection freezing. 

Delicately, as if the truth will somehow be less awful if revealed slowly, you tilt your head to the side. Pull your hair away, tuck it behind your ear. Expose the dark, mottled assortment of discolored marks that extend all the way from your jaw to the base of your neck. 

Bruises. Deep, dark bruises. 

And on top of them, uneven, flaky patches of multicolored crimson. Dried blood, you realize as your stomach gives a sickening lurch. 

Is it yours? Heeseung’s? Someone else’s? 

The fog in your mind suddenly feels like an enclosure. Holding you hostage and dangling your forgotten memories just out of reach. Trapping you in the darkness and offering no way out, no way through. Just a dim candle against the vast, midnight darkness of terror. 

You’re too wrung out to cry, too confused to so much as gasp. As reality unfolds, devastation seems to be the norm, not the exception. Even if your throat weren’t raw, you’re not sure you’d scream. 

With trepidation, you raise a hand, watching the way your fingers tremble in your reflection. And then your run a gentle touch over the evidence of destruction, a war waged on your skin. Once it nears your jaw, you feel something. A small bump that has you hissing at the contact. 

Leaning forward, you examine it closer. It’s a tiny wound, barely perceptible. It reminds you of a vaccination at the doctor’s office. Neat, sterile. 

Enough to be confusing, yes. Arguably even concerning. But it’s not what has you reeling. 

Because around the tiny mark are two more puncture wounds. Perfectly circular still, but decidedly larger. Rougher. Deeper. They’re embedded into your skin on either side of the smaller wound. And if you didn’t know any better, if your mind had any more capacity for the impossible, you’d almost think they look like…

You’d almost think they look like bite marks. 

The longer you stare, the more sinister they appear. The more hopelessly horrified you feel. What happened to you? Why does the side of your neck look like a watercolor painting of violets? Why does it look like you’ve been bitten?

If this is what you look like, what kind of state is Heeseung in? Jake said it himself that he’s in no condition for visitors. 

What if he’s not recovering as well as Jake said? What if it’s your fault—?

No. You won’t let yourself spiral there. 

Memories, you just need your memories. 

Which means you just need a little more time. 

The shower, to your relief, has plenty of hot water to spare. For long minutes, you just stand there, letting it pour over you, your skin, your aching muscles. As water seeps through the drain, it carries some of your tension with it.

You watch as the water that circles the drain runs red before it clears again, blood washed away from your skin.

It’s instinct, mostly. The desire to confirm what you already know, that has you retracing the strange marks on your neck. 

A hiss of pain is the only thing that ensues in response at first. But then something else comes. 

A flicker of a memory. 

A strange place, a dark room. 

New Haven. The publishing house. Because you had gone there to meet Professor Kim, to show him your draft, to see the space you’d won an internship in. 

It’s coming back now, in fragments. 

There had been something strange, though. It was dark when you arrived. Dark and empty and quiet until—

Until suddenly it wasn’t. Until Heeseung was there with you.

Warm water traces steady lines on your skin. Your memory reappears in tangled, discombobulated jumbles. Things clicking into place as you do your best to sort them chronologically. 

Heeseung was there, but he wasn’t supposed to be. You had gone there to see Professor Kim. Why wasn’t he—?

The sudden flash of memory is sickening. Has another bout of nausea threatening the contents of your stomach. 

It all comes back, all at once. Replaying like a nightmare, like a scene plucked from a horror film. 

Blood dripping from your professor’s mouth. Clothes tattered on his body. Heeseung shielding you, protecting you. 

But Professor Kim wasn’t himself. He wasn’t right. He threw something at you. Something that hit you right where he intended. 

Without your permission, your fingers are back on the slippery skin of your neck. The blood is gone, but the wound remains just the same. The wound that Professor Kim gave to you. 

You remember the feeling of floating, of being distant from your body, removed from reality. Mind on some other plane of existence. 

You remember gentle, insistent, desperate hands on your waist. Your jaw. Your forehead. 

Heeseung, bent over you, consuming your limited plane of vision as your eyelids became too heavy to remain open. 

Pain in your neck. Sharp at first. Then dull, numbing. 

Heeseung. Heeseung bit you. Held you in his arms as consciousness drained from your body along with your blood. 

Poison, Jake had called it. ‘Poison he got out of you.’

It’s all so strange. They’re your memories, yes, and you’re sure of them, but why was there poison in your neck? Why was biting you the solution? How did his teeth leave such perfectly circular marks on—?

The final puzzle piece clicks into place. 

Vampire attacks. You had been worried about Heeseung, relieved to see him safe and sound at New Haven. Because you had just read about vampire attacks. 

Robotically, you turn the water off. Step out of the shower, wrap a towel around your body. 

His clothes are soft against your skin. 

Heeseung saved you. Of that, you’re sure. But what about the three people at the river? The three victims of a vampire attack?

It can’t be true. It can’t. You don’t know him, not really, but he’s just… Heeseung. 

An annoyingly competent poet and a massive pain in your ass. Someone that walks you home when you stay too late in the library. Someone that calls your writing awful when it is, when you need a cold, hard reality check. 

He’s… he’s just Heeseung. He’s not a—

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the thought. 

But your memories are back, and there’s a alertness to your mind that only sharpens as the fog clears. 

At the edge of your mind, Jake’s voice replays. Something you glossed over in your confusion, something you fixate on now. 

“I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

“I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

The strange assortment of food. Jake’s undeniable, uncanny beauty. The kind you’ve only ever seen in one other person. 

Jake was right. You do feel a bit better with food and water in your stomach. With the last three days of horror washed off of your skin. But your mind is alert now. The memories are coming back. Puzzle pieces rearranging and clicking into place with alarming accuracy. 

And as the dust settles, you’re suddenly very, very afraid of the reality that greets you. 

In your mind, the facts play on a loop. 

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how to leave. Jake has been nothing but kind, but if he so wished, you’re sure he could overpower you easily. And he insinuated that he’s not the only one here. 

You need answers. You need to leave. But Heeseung…

You have to know. 

Is the boy you’ve been trying to outwrite for months, the boy you shared a moment under a moonlit sky with, is he a… a vampire?

Why was he at New Haven that day? Did he know about Professor Kim? Did he know about the deaths at the river? Was he complicit in them? Was he responsible for them?

Clothed in determination and a fleeting moment of bravery, you undo the lock on the bathroom door, passing through the bedroom, his bedroom, on furious footsteps. The second door opens just as easily as the bathroom had, and suddenly, you’re in the room you caught just a glimpse of before. A living room, of sorts. Some sort of common area. 

True to his earlier word, Jake sits nearby. Planted on a navy sofa, he looks up when you enter. “How are you feeling? Do you need any—”

Manners are the last thing on your mind when you interrupt him mid-sentence. “What are you?” Not ‘who are you.’ That won’t give you the answer you seek. The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous. 

Jake’s mouth falls shut, presses into a line. Hesitation paints his features. “I don’t think this is the best—”

You won’t hear it. “What are you?”

Jake holds up his palms in surrender. “Your memories are starting to come back, I take it. Look, we can explain everything, just—”

On the far end of the room, another door opens. Another boy enters. Just like Heeseung, just like Jake, he’s beautiful. Moves with that same unnatural grace that you used to admire when you thought no one would notice. Now, it has another surge of nausea rolling in your stomach. 

Jake glances at the new arrival. He sighs. “This isn’t really a good time, Sunghoon. Why don’t you—”

The boy, Sunghoon, never hears Jake’s suggestion. Instead, he cuts him off. And once again, your world is spinning. 

“He’s back.”

…..

You are the last to enter the strange room. On the heels of Jake and Sunghoon, despite the former’s insistence that you wait and see him later, you take in your surroundings. 

Odd enough was the long, winding hallway that led you here, but this is even stranger. Instead of a proper door, the room is guarded by long, thick metal bars. They stand ajar now but bear a rather impressive lock. You have the distinct impression that this place was designed to keep people out. Or maybe rather to keep someone in. 

You hear him before you see him. Memories recovered, the sound of his voice is something you’re well attuned to, even if it flickers with a strong tone of annoyance. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I told you, it’s a ridiculously strong sedative at its core. We’ll react strangely, yes, but it’s not the same as bloodlust—”

“Still,” another voice argues. “We all saw how she looked when you brought her in. You had to have drank a considerable amount—”

“I told you I’m fine, Jungwon,” Heeseung counters. “Do I look out of control to you? Would I be sitting here having this conversation with you if I was?”

“Fine.” It’s the same voice. Jungwon. “If you’re alive and well, then maybe you can answer my question. What were you doing at New Haven? Do you know how long we’ve—”

It’s probably stupid, shoving past people in their own home. People that you suspect are dangerous, that might not really be people at all. But you have to see him. You have to know. 

Once you finally get around Sunghoon, your view of the room opens up. Sparsely decorated, dimly lit, and there are four other boys you don’t recognize. You pay them no attention. 

Because in the middle of it all stands Heeseung. Maybe, if you squint, you could argue that he looks a little worse for wear. There’s a pink flush under his eyes, a slight disarray to his usually perfect hair, but other than that, he paints the perfect, untouchable picture he always has. 

At the commotion of your sudden movement, all eyes in the room turn from Heeseung and land squarely on you. For a moment, seven gazes just look at you. All of them are blank. Lost. Out of depth. 

All except for the one you match. 

Where he stands, Heeseung stares at you with an intensity you’ve only seen once before. In a moment you wish you could forget. In a fragmented memory you already know you’re cursed to carry forever. 

Slowly, his eyes scan the length of your body, something in his jaw tightening when he notes the clothes you’re wearing. His clothes. 

Jungwon is still pressing him for answers. Heeseung doesn’t bother to provide any. 

Instead, he says, “Give us a minute.”

He’s still looking at you. Frozen in place, his eyes trace the line of your neck, ghosting over the array of bruises, the twin wounds he left there. His voice betrays no emotion, but his eyes flash with something that looks all too much like regret, shame. 

Jungwon balks for a moment. “No, I’m not giving you a minute. You could have jeopardized everything we’ve been working towards—”

Heeseung does break eye contact with you then. Turning to the boy that stands next to him, he says, “What’s done is done, Jungwon. A few more minutes won’t change that. You can shout at me some more in a minute.”

“Ouch.” A boy that you don’t recognize winces. 

“Right?” another one of the strangers agrees. “A pretty human over five hundred years of brotherhood.” He shakes his head. “I’d expect that from Sunghoon, maybe, but—”

Behind you, Jake sighs. “Is this really the time, you two?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agrees, arms crossing his chest as he pouts. “And I take offense to that, you know. I would not put all of your hard work in danger for a human.” Sunghoon takes a sidelong glance at you. “No offense.”

“Just give us a minute,” Heeseung repeats again, more command in his voice this time as he slides a palm through his hair in frustration. “Please. All of you.”

There’s enough authority in his voice time. Or maybe enough pleading. Whatever it is, the rest of the room files out, one by one. Even Jungwon, although he does cast one final, warning look over his shoulder. 

It’s lost on Heeseung, who has already turned his attention back to you. “Are you okay?” 

An echo of the past, a reminder of why you’re here. Of why your throat threatens to close up now, just looking at him.  

Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how you’d answer him. Physically, you’re sore. Tired even though you’ve been sleeping for days. Temporary aches. Things that will heal with rest and time. 

Mentally, though… Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. Even now, face to face with him, you can’t reconcile all of the pieces of Heeseung you’ve gathered. 

Indifferent student. Brilliant writer. Honest reviewer. Maybe even a friend. 

Vampire. 

You don’t know what to make of him. You don’t know how to piece him together. 

He’s here, standing in front of you. You used to stare at the back of his head during lectures. Used to fantasize about him giving you a minute of his time. 

And now, it’s just the two of you. Alone. His eyes search your face, his focus consumed by you. And he’s never felt further away. 

You don't answer his question. Instead, you ask one of your own. 

“What’s going on?” Your voice is small, holds none of the command you wish it could. “And don’t… don’t you dare lie to me.”

Across from you, Heeseung exhales. There’s a distinct sorrow in his eyes. “I won’t. But it’s a long story. And there are parts of it I’m not sure you’ll like.”

“I don’t care.” But you do, so much that it hurts. You almost wish you were still begging for scraps of his attention. At least then, you knew where you stood. “I want the truth.” That much, at least, is honest. 

Heeseung nods, as if any of this is simple. “Then you’ll have it.”

A beat of silence passes. You remember the question you had asked Jake less than an hour ago. What are you? You can’t quite bring yourself to ask it now. Not with everything that has passed between you. Not when it feels like more of an accusation than an inquiry. 

You wear his wounds on your skin. You don’t know why you still want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still, you ask, “Who are you?” The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous. 

Heeseung doesn’t smile, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’m not undercover. My name is Heeseung.” The flicker of amusement dies. He knows what you’re really asking him. He knows it’s not an easy answer to give, not an easy truth to receive. “But I’m… different. I was born with a strange ability.”

You breathe. “What kind of ability?”

Heeseung looks down at his hands. Studies them for a moment before turning back to you. “It would be easier to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Instinctively, your hand finds the wound on your neck. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “That’s not the ability I’m referring to.” 

There’s a chair in the room, just behind him. He walks to it and sits down at the edge, knees wide. “Come here.”

You shouldn’t. You should stay as far away as space allows. You shouldn’t let him do anything. In every sense of the word, he holds the advantage here. You’re in his home. He has knowledge you don’t. The only thing you have left to leverage is the distance between you and your decision to maintain it. 

But every inch between you was doomed to be a losing battle. Steady, slow footsteps erase the distance between you as you come to stand directly in front of him. 

At this angle, with your positioning, he’s forced to look up at you. Chin lifted, he whispers, “Hold out your hand.”

You could try to fight. You could question him. You don’t. Resistance was always going to be futile. In no time at all, your hand is outstretched. 

Once again, Heeseung studies his own fingers. A shudder traces the length of his spine. Hesitation spills from every minute movement, every microexpression you’re allowed. It’s straining him, you realize. This ability is not something he’s excited to share. 

You can’t decide if that eases your worry or increases it tenfold. 

But after another wasted moment, his right hand reaches out to encircle the skin of your left wrist. For a few stilted heartbeats, it’s just the two of you in a strange room, a cage of sorts, your wrist cradled in his loose grip. 

Then, your vision begins to flicker. At first, you think it’s a trick of the light. Something lingering side effect of a long sleep as everything begins to go out of focus. 

But as the room around you fades, something takes its place. It takes a moment to manifest completely, for your eyes to adjust. 

In front of you, Heeseung still sits in his chair, gaze trained on your wide eyes. But the two of you are no longer in the small, threadbare room. Instead, you stand in an open field, freckled with wildflowers and teeming with butterflies. Above you, the sky is blue and vast, the late summer sun casting a vibrant glow over everything. 

In your shock, you nearly wrench your arm out of Heeseung’s grip. He senses the movement, tightens his fingers around your wrist before you can pull away. 

“Sorry.” He glances at where you two are touching. “It’s better not to break contact once you’re in. It’s quite disorienting if you do. And it will give you awful motion sickness.”

Once you’re in where? Turning your head, you look for something, anything, that makes even the tiniest bit of sense. But all you see is grass. The vast expanse of an open field that only ends where it meets the sky. 

“Where are we?”

“Still in the same room,” Heeseung says. “Physically, at least.” He takes a deep breath. “This is the ability I referred to. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but I can… project my consciousness, I guess. As long as we maintain physical contact, I can show you things from my mind. Memories, visions, anything I dream up. What you see now is the field where I discovered my ability, actually. A friend and I were playing here. I was ten.” He pauses, looks at you. “The year was 1534.”

The full weight of his words barely has time to settle before the vision is morphing, the scene changing into another. 

“It’s difficult to know where to start, but I suppose the beginning is as good a place as any. In the Kingdom of Celedis,” he narrates, “there were eight noble families that had been feuding with each other for over a century. As a result of their petty infighting, the common people suffered. There was constant strife throughout the kingdom. Pains that caused immense suffering but left the nobles untouched. There were frequent blockades, limits on trading, restricted movement, and nasty skirmishes along the borders. Petty crime ran rampant, unchecked. People weren’t safe anywhere, not even in their homes.”

You see it just as he imagines it. Tired, hungry, exhausted people. Mistreated and left to the whims of whatever best suited the nobles’ current desires. 

And the rulers, the nobles themselves. Eight men, adorned in finery, showered with gifts and praise and fine wines while the people just outside the walls of their ornate homes suffered just to survive, starving to death while they gorged themselves on luxury. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself an expert in history, and it’s not like the scenario is exactly uncommon, but you still find it strange that you’ve never heard of this place, not even in passing. 

“Celedis?” You frown. 

“It’s been erased now,” is all Heeseung says. “From both existence and memory. But it was real, a long time ago. And it was where I was born.”

Again, the scene around you starts to take on that odd, unfocused quality. It’s changing again. By now, you almost feel accustomed to the way images and light start to distort as one vision bleeds into another. 

“Celedis was a strange kingdom,” Heeseung continues. “Full of old magic. Ancient rituals and rites that faded from most places but held true there. The land was, in many ways, just as alive as you and I. And it grew weary of seeing its people suffer.”

You see a man now, dressed in simple clothes, tucked in the back corner of what appears to be a shop. He’s surrounded by crystals, trinkets, and old, leather-bound books. 

“One night, the eight noble lords received a message from a seer, one that claimed to communicate with the land, to speak for Celedis as its messenger. The seer told them that the old magic of the land would grant them a single wish on one condition: There had to be peace in the kingdom by the night of the blood moon. A night that comes only once every hundred years. When the moon itself shines bright red.  

“Seven of the lords, eager to have a wish granted, did as the seer advised. They ceased their fighting, recalled their troops. Began to support and protect their people once again. The eighth lord, however, did not.”

After a moment, you’re plunged into darkness. Above you, the night sky of Heeseung’s mind twinkles with distant stars and a distinct, crimson red moon. Seven men, all dressed in finery, stand around an oak tree. The rules of Heeseung’s ability don’t seem to be governed by the laws of physics. You watch as an eighth man appears, seemingly out of thin air. The same man from the crystal shop. 

“The seven who heeded the seer’s advice gathered on the night of the blood moon to pass along their wish — they wanted their bloodlines to endure forever. 

“The seer passed this message along, but old magic is a fickle thing. You have to be precise with your words, or things will be lost in translation. Interpreted in strange ways.”

Now, you stand in a nursery. There’s a crib in the corner. A pregnant woman bends over it, singing a soft lullaby. 

“Within the year, each of the seven noble lords gave birth to a son. They took this with great joy, a sign that their wish had come true. Before the year reached its end, each of the seven had procured a strong, healthy heir to succeed them.”

Suddenly, you’re back in the endless field from before, watching two young boys play in the distance. 

“But these were no ordinary sons. And around the age of ten, each of them revealed a special ability, a supernatural gift.” 

The two boys are playing a game, you realize. You can’t decipher the rules, but you watch as they throw their heads back in a burst of carefree laughter. The first young boy grabs his friend by the wrist. A harmless gesture. A meaningless touch. 

The second boy recoils as if he’s been burned. Hand back at his side, he doubles over in pain, emptying the contents of his stomach. 

In front of you, Heeseung looks away. 

In the distance, another version of Heeseung apologizes profusely as the other child turns his back. 

He changes the scene before you can watch any further. 

You’re in a bedroom now, watching a young man put on a jacket. It’s startling, almost, how similar he looks. The two of you watch as Heeseung, because it is undoubtedly him, pulls the jacket over his back, slides his arms through the sleeves. 

The resemblance is so uncanny that the only thing that sets this Heeseung apart, really, is the style of his clothing. The coat that obviously belongs to another century, lost to time. 

“And once each son reached their twenty-first birthday,” Heesung says. “They stopped aging.”

Heeseung and his jacket dissolve, change into something else. The new scene you look out upon is somber. Heeseung is there again, this time dressed in all black. The clothes of a mourner. Aside from that, he looks exactly the same. 

Then you see the casket. The portrait standing next to it. It’s her, you realize. The woman from the nursery, the one who hummed the lullaby. Much, much older though. Fifty years older. Maybe sixty. 

You look at this vision’s Heeseung again. He hasn’t aged a day. Still the epitome of youth, even as he mourns the death of his mother. 

“This was the interpretation of the wish, how it was warped through old magic. The bloodline would endure forever, because each son that had been born in the year of the blood moon was born immortal. But by doing so, the seven lords’ wish had also effectively ended their bloodline. Their sons would never grow old, never bear children. And none were ever given a sibling. 

“The eighth lord, the one that did not agree to peace and therefore did not receive a wish, had not yet foreseen this tragedy. He didn’t understand the implications of immortality, the terrible burden it brings. All he saw was an opportunity that he had lost. In his eyes, it had been stolen.”

You watch as the eighth lord bangs on the door of the crystal shop, face red, fury obvious in every inch of his visage. 

“When he discovered the nature of the gift the other lords had been given, the eighth became enraged. He went to the seer and demanded that he pass along his wish to the old magic of the land. That his son, born as an ordinary human, would also be given the gift of immortality.”

In front of you, the lord lunges at the seer, rage in his eyes. The seer raises his hands in a pitiful attempt at self-defense. 

“The seer pleaded with the lord. He tried to explain that he had no way of passing his request along. That the ability to communicate with old magic was not something he could do whenever he so pleased.”

The scene changes, the seer and his shop disappearing. Again, you see the oak tree. This time, though, it is only the eighth lord that stands before it. His eyes are sunken, shaded with deep, dark shadows. A mad desperation is painted across his features. 

“After murdering the seer for his insolence, the eighth lord went to the oak tree, a place rumored to be full of old magic. He wished for his son to become like the other seven sons, and he gave the seer’s blood as an offering.” 

The scene morphs again, fading until you’re surrounded by the ghastliest thing you’ve seen yet. You and Heeseung are in a small room. In the center, there’s an ornate dining table adorned with expensive cutlery and fine china. Lined with a lacy white tablecloth. 

And blood. The room, the tablecloth, the plates, are covered in dark, red blood. 

“There was one last thing that the eighth lord did not yet understand about immortality. About the other seven sons.”

One by one, you watch as they appear. 

Jake. Sunghoon. Jungwon. The others whose names you do not yet know. Heeseung.

Their mouths, clothes, faces, are all covered in it, dripping with it. Blood. 

“The old magic, above all, favors balance. In exchange for eternal life, it deemed that the only thing capable of sustaining it would be the life of others. Their blood. Once a year, on the anniversary of the day the seven noble lords cast their selfish wish, their seven sons would need to feed. To consume blood. This would sustain them for the rest of the year. They did not need to eat, drink, or sleep on any other day.

“But that one day, every year, they would always need blood.”

The horror of the bloody dining room fades. Now, you see the eighth son. Your eyes widen in fear as the image continues to develop in front of you, one ghastly scene traded for another. He is in a throne room, back bent unnaturally, a predatory glint in his eyes. Blood covers his mouth, his jaw. And as he rises to his full height, the rest of the horror is unveiled. 

He stands above the pale, drained, lifeless body of his father. 

“As I said before, old magic is a fickle thing. It listened to the eighth lord’s request that his son ‘become like the other seven sons,’ but not everything was the same. He was granted immortality, yes, and he also needed to consume blood to sustain himself. Unlike the original seven, he needed to feed frequently. Consume blood often. If he didn’t, the urges would drive him mad. Send him into a frenzy. 

“It was in such a state that he killed his own father. Murdered the rest of his family and every other living soul he found in the castle.”

You now stand in the dim light of a castle corridor. Beams of moonlight cast a cool glow as a soft breeze rustles tree branches just outside the window. It’s quiet, eerily so. In front of you, a person lies motionless. The wound on their neck matches yours, but instead of bruising, it’s surrounded by fresh blood. 

You watch in silent horror as the eighth son’s victim begins to twitch. At first, it’s just the fingers of their left hand. A spasm that shakes their shoulder. And then their mouth opens, face contorted in agony as they let out a long, blood curdling scream. 

Heeseung spares you the burden of hearing it.

“One of his victims, however, he did not drain fully of blood. Lost to his instinct, he had gorged himself so full that he could drink no more. This human, nearly dead, began to transform. And after long hours of acute agony, turned into a vampire of the same nature as the eighth son. Uncontrollable. Frenzied. And full of bloodlust.”

It reminds you of a montage, the scene that plays next. Still standing in front of Heeseung, your wrist still between his fingers, you watch as villages appear and fade. Families, lovers, children running in fear as the domino effect begins to take place. As one vampire becomes ten. As they fall into bloodlust, leaving a bloody path in their wake. 

The image of a young woman, mouth agape and features frozen in terror, remains imprinted on the backs of your eyelids as the small, dark room of Heeseung’s home comes back into view. As the last of the illusion fades, he releases his grip, freeing you from his ability. 

Your arm falls limply to your side. 

“For years,” he tells you, and there’s no image to accompany his words now. Nowhere to look but his eyes. “We just existed. Tried to carve meaning into our lives, tried to find a reason to keep living once it became apparent that was never something we would need to fight for. 

“But terror continued to reign. Vampire populations continued to spread and after three hundred long years of acting only in our own self-interest, we decided to intervene. To help the human effort to eradicate vampirism and the blight it had become. 

“But we never wanted to become judge, jury, or executioner. And playing god was never something we found pleasure in. We let many live. Vampires that demonstrated restraint, that chose to live far away from humans. Vampires that we came across on days we were tired of killing. Of being monsters.”

His words hang heavy between you. Was it a mistake, not finishing the job? Was it mercy?

“Professor Kim is what brought us here, actually. He has an unnaturally high level of control over his instincts. One we’ve never seen from a descendent of the eighth son.”

You inhale, more pieces beginning to fall into place. “So you enrolled in his course—”

“With the intention of winning the internship, yes,” he confirms. “Of getting a chance to study him up close.” 

Heeseung smiles wryly. “You were quite the pain at first, actually. After those first few days of class, I wasn’t so sure I could outwrite you.”

You have no idea what to say to that. An apology feels strange, but he’s just told you that you essentially foiled a grand plan to reduce the threat of vampires, to better understand their nature. “I…”

Heeseung pushes on, “It didn’t end up mattering, though.” He frowns. “The last day of the semester, the day I was late. I’d been following him. Trailing him from his house when he…” He trails off. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what happened. But I think he scented me. Or somehow realized I was on his tail.”

You frown. “Is that unusual?” You remember Jake’s words earlier. I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up. “I thought that vampires had heightened senses.”

“We do,” Heeseung clarifies. “But there are differences between us — the original seven — and all other vampires. Our senses are much stronger. They still have sharper senses than a human, yes, but I accounted for that. He shouldn’t have been able to detect me.”

“What are the other differences?”

“The seven of us are the only ones with any kind of additional abilities. We each have one, and they’re all different. We only need to feed once a year, and we have far more control over our instincts. We don’t experience bloodlust nearly as strong.” He passes you a meaningful glance. “Unless we’re feeding.”

Looking around, Heeseung confirms your suspicions.  “That’s what this room is, actually. A precautionary measure. It hasn’t happened in the last five hundred years, but we like knowing that there’s somewhere we won’t be able to escape, should the need for that ever arise.” 

“And you’re in here, because you… you drank my blood.”

Heeseung’s expression is unreadable. “Yes. The others thought it would be wise. It was precautionary. And ultimately unnecessary.” Again, he glances at your neck. “I didn’t experience any bloodlust. I was weak for a couple of days, but that wasn’t because of you. The dart that the professor shot you with had traces of moonflower in it. It’s poisonous for us.” 

As he looks at you, he explains, “Humans can ingest it safely in small doses, usually. Some brew it as a tea. You just have to be careful not to have too much, since it can cause temporary memory loss. But injected straight into the bloodstream, the effects are unknown.” His eyes flicker with a memory. You, crumpled in his arms, losing your grip on consciousness. “But it didn’t look good.”

So he had sucked it out of your neck. 

Your neck. Where he bit you.

Another piece of the vision he’s just shown you comes flashing back. 

“You bit me.” 

Heeseung meets your gaze. “I did.”

“Am I…” It’s hard to quell the panic once the realization starts to set in. Flashes of faces contorted in agony swim across your vision. “Am I going to change?”

“No,” Heeseung shakes his head. Leans forward, as if to reach for you. He thinks better of it, letting his hand fall back to his side. “No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

“Oh.” As the panic ebbs, you find yourself at a loss again. He saved you. Knowingly ingested a substance that could harm him to do so. Gratitude feels in order, but you can’t quite bring yourself to express it. 

The truth you want most to avoid dances on the tip of your tongue. “And you only… feed once a year.”

Again, Heeseung nods. “It doesn’t hurt us to ingest blood more frequently, but it’s not necessary. And like I said, we avoid it. We’re better at maintaining our inhibitions, but blood still has power over us. When we feed, it’s in a room like this. One we can’t get out of until we have complete control again.”

The questions that arise are morbid. How much blood is required to satisfy a year’s worth of thirst? How do they choose? Who lives, who dies for the hunger that binds them to this world? In the last five hundred years, how much blood has been washed from their hands, from his hands?

You can hardly ask him, but the truth still remains. “You’ve killed people.”

Heeseung’s gaze falls to the floor. “I won’t pretend to be innocent.” There’s a distinct edge of self-loathing when he says, “I won’t pretend that I’m not still… a monster. But the blood we ingest comes from animals, not humans.” 

He looks back to you, gaze searching as if he craves something from you. A flicker of trust. The reassurance that you’re not appalled by him, by everything he’s told you. 

You match his eye, and he hates the fear he finds reflected there. 

A moment of stilted silence passes. Another. The weight of a million revelations and a thousand unanswered questions rests heavily between you. It’s a lot to digest all at once. Too much. So much that your mind struggles to bear the weight of it all, to organize the information you’ve received into categories that give sense to the illogical, the impossible. 

Outside the barred door, you hear the whisper of a scuffle. 

“Stop that!”

“Move over. It’s been way more than a minute. I don’t care what he says. I’m going to—”

Heeseung sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns towards the door. “Just come in if you’re going to.”

Six boys tumble through the door in an excited heap. It reminds you a bit of overenthusiastic puppies. Again, you find the differences hard to reconcile. Killers. Monsters. Immortals beings with unnatural powers. 

And they look about as threatening as a gang of kittens. 

“So,” Jake starts, glancing between the two of you. “Did he tell you everything?”

You spare a look at Heeseung. The long fingers that rest at his side. “Showed me, actually.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Jake’s features. “Oh.” He tamps it quickly. “That is more efficient, I suppose.”

“Well,” another boy pipes up, one you don’t yet have a name for. “At least now you know why he’s been following you home like a lovesick puppy every night. You can rest assured he’s not just some crazy stalker, and he—”

“Jay,” Heeseung bites. “Would you shut up already?”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Oh.” Jay winces, realizing the misstep a moment too late. “Sorry, man.” 

Heeseung exhales again. “We were worried Professor Kim might do something,” he explains, looking at you. “It was a precautionary measure.” 

Behind you, you hear a snicker. “Precautionary measure, my ass.”

But you’re too caught up in a sudden realization. Your professor. “It was Professor Kim, then. Those bodies at the river…”

“No, actually.” Jake shakes his head. “We don’t think he was responsible for the bodies at the river.” He nods towards another boy. “Sunoo had eyes on him that night. He was home when the attacks occurred.” 

You frown. “So who was?”

“We don’t know.” Jungwon’s ire may not be directed at you, but you feel it all the same. “We have no idea, and your professor was our best shot at figuring it out.” He looks at Heeseung. “Thanks to the stunt you pulled, we have no way of getting closer to him now.”

Heeseung glares back. “If by stunt, you mean saving someone’s life, then yes, I pulled a stunt.”

“And now there have been three more attacks in the last two days!”

“Wait.” For a moment, your voice reverberates off the walls as all seven of them fall into silence, gazes turning to you. Your face heats at the sudden influx of attention. Finding your words again, you state the obvious oddity. “But it doesn’t make any sense that Professor Kim is a vampire. He hates vampires. Everything New Haven has published is essentially just anti-vampire propaganda.”

“That’s another mystery,” Heeseung says. “Something else we were trying to figure out. And honestly, Jungwon, I don’t think it would have mattered. I told you, he scented me that day, so I’m sure he already knew—”

“That’s impossible.” Jungwon scoffs. 

“And yet it happened.” Heeseung frowns. “There’s something strange about him.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a thin line. “Something that we’re no closer to finding out. It will take months for another one of us to get any sort of trust from him. Never mind access to New Haven.”

With the urgency of an alarm bell, an idea starts to take form in your mind. Rough around the edges but solid in shape. “I think I can help with that.” Again, seven pairs of eyes fall on you, all in varying states of disbelief. “I’m interning with him. At New Haven.”

Heeseung is the first to break the silence. “Like hell you are. Or did you forget that the last time he saw you, he shot you with poison?”

Sunghoon nods. “It does seem like a pretty bad idea.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head. “Think about it. He shot me with something that’s poisonous to vampires. And I think it’s because he saw Heeseung. If he really did… scent you, then he knew you were a vampire. I think… I think he might have been trying to protect me.”

The room is quiet for a moment, your inference settling into the air. It’s a long shot maybe, but it’s starting to come together. 

After a minute, Sunoo says tentatively, “She might be right.” No one else speaks up, but you see a few heads nod in agreement. 

Heeseung is quick to shut them down. “No way. No fucking way. Those are terrible odds, and I’m not betting on them. None of you should be either.”

But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense to you. Why else would your professor shoot you full of something poisonous to vampires? 

You try to think of the scene from his eyes. He walked in on you and Heeseung alone in a dark room. You were frightened out of your mind, and in the split second he had to analyze things, he could have misjudged the source of your fear. One vampire for another. 

So you double down. “I’m serious. This could be the in we need.”

“There is no we,” Heeseung shakes his head. “You’re not a part of this.”

His dismissal makes you bristle. If what Jungwon said is true, the attacks are only increasing, leaving more victims in their wake. And your professor may have unusual amounts of control, but he certainly wasn’t demonstrating that two nights ago. 

“So what, I’m supposed to go home, pretend that everything is normal, and just let people keep dying?” Your gaze meets Jungwon’s. “That’s what will happen, isn’t it? You said there were three more attacks just in the time I was unconscious. How many people have died now?”

Jungwon’s lips are tight. “Eleven.”

“Eleven people,” you echo. “If I go to Professor Kim and tell him—”

“You’re not going anywhere near that man,” Heeseung counters. “We’ll take care of it. It’s what we do.”

But his excuses are wearing thin in your mind, turning flimsy the more you consider them. “How? If he can identify you as vampires, then there’s no way you’ll ever get close enough to figure out how he might be connected to all of this.” You turn, addressing all seven of them. “I, on the other hand, have a draft written about the intrinsic evil of vampirism. I have a bite mark healing on my neck. If I go to him and say that I hate vampires too, that I was attacked by Heeseung, and his poison was the only thing that saved me, then I’ll earn his trust.”

Heeseung just scoffs, shaking his head. “Are the rest of you hearing this?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth hesitantly. “I mean… she kind of has a point.”

Heeseung glares. “Besides you.”

Sunoo frowns for a moment, parts his lips. 

Heeseung doesn’t let him get a word out. “Don’t even try it.” He turns to the others, something pleading in his gaze. “Jungwon, Jay, Niki, Jake, you have to see how insane this is. She’s a human.”

Your lips pull tight. “A human that’s standing right here.”

Jungwon maintains an even tone when he restates the simple fact, “If this professor truly can scent us, we don’t have any way of investigating him further. Not without using force.” He turns to look at you, gaze assessing. “Do you really think he’ll believe that you’re on his side?”

Do you? Maybe Heeseung is right. Maybe you’re betting on ludicrous odds, wasting the last of your luck on a game that was rigged from the beginning. But why inject you with a substance poisonous to vampires? Why publish all of those anti-vampire stories?

You match Jungwon’s eye. “I do.”

“Okay.” Jungwon nods, mulling it over in his mind. “Okay.”

Heeseung watches the exchange with heated eyes. “Absolutely not—”

“You’ve been overruled,” Jay interjects. 

“Six to one,” Niki agrees. Glancing at you, he amends, “Make that seven to one.”

Heeseung is still seeing red. “This isn’t a fucking group vote. We’re not deciding which coffee table to put in the living room. This is a life.” Turning to you, his voice softens, an edge of pleading in his tone. “This is your life.”

“Exactly.” You’re begging too, for a bit of understanding. “It’s my life. A week ago, it was completely consumed by winning an internship, getting my writing published. And now there are vampire attacks ravaging my city. The professor I wanted to impress so badly might just be one of them. Even if I walk away from here and vow to never go near New Haven again, my life won’t go back to what it was. I won’t be safe. So I’m going to do what I can to get back to the things that are important to me.” Eyes heating, you add, “So yes, I am a part of this now, whether you like it or not. And I have the marks on my neck to prove it.”

“Damn,” Sunghoon whistles lowly. “That was kind of beautiful.”

“You have a way with words,” Sunoo agrees. 

“Of course she does,” Jay nods. “Remember how frustrated Heeseung was a few months ago after she presented her analysis or whatever in class? He was so stressed he’d lose out on the internship bec—”

Heeseung’s glare could freeze hellfire. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“It’s late,” Jungwon interrupts, sensing the response that builds on Jay’s tongue. Pouring water over the flames before they can escalate into a full blown argument. Again, he addresses you. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.” He glances around the room, and you imagine he’s trying to see things from your perspective. “Or any one of us would be happy to take you back home, if that’s what you prefer.”

There are aspects of your apartment that appeal to you. Sleeping in your own bed comes to mind. As does getting some distance from all of this. From him. You’ve taken in far too much information in the span of a few hours, and the throbbing against your temple has yet to ease. 

But your apartment is also empty. Quiet, isolated. With recent events in mind, you’re not sure it would feel like such a safe haven. If you’re quite ready to be truly alone. 

Still, you’re tentative. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re not,” Jake shakes his head. “It’s been a long few days. I’m sure you could use some rest.”

“Hasn’t she been asleep for, like, two days straight?” Sunghoon whispers to Jay. 

The only thing he gets in response is an elbow to the ribs. 

Jungwon ignores them. “You’re not overstaying anything. You can go home when you’re ready.”

“Ugh,” Niki grumbles. “Does that mean Heeseung’s gonna try and hang out in my room again? Because—”

He falls silent when at least three matching glares turn in his direction. 

Suddenly sheepish, you offer, “I can sleep somewhere else.” Glancing at Heeseung, you add, “I’m sure you want to sleep in your own bed again.” 

Heeseung just gives you a strange look. Niki bursts out laughing. 

“Damn,” Jay says. “Two hundred years really is a long time, I guess. Humans these days don’t remember anything about vampires.”

Cheeks heating with embarrassment, you realize your mistake. Of course. Not only are the boys in front of you blood-drinking immortal beings that have been alive since the early sixteenth century, but they also don’t sleep. 

Mollified, you feel the urge to defend yourself. “Why do you even have beds, then?”

This time, it’s Sunghoon that erupts in a fit of laughter. The other six avoid your gaze pointedly. 

You didn’t think it was possible, but once the realization sinks in, your cheeks heat even further. 

“Oh, cut the poor girl some slack,” Sunoo scolds. Turning to you, he’s kind when he explains, “We don’t sleep, but we do relax. An old force of habit, I suppose. It’s nice to just lay down sometimes.”

Jay can’t help himself. “Among other things, right Sunghoon?”

“Ignore them,” Jungwon advises. “Five hundred year old children.”

“Hey!” Sunghoon protests. “We’re not the ones that couldn’t handle a sex joke—”

Heeseung just sighs, a stray strand of hair falling over his eyes. For a moment, he looks like the boy you used to sit behind in class. Dreamy. Moody. Untouchable. So painfully out of reach that spite made you want to try anyway. 

He’s here now. Within your grasp. And when he looks at you, the quiet words he whispers are meant only for your ears. “I can walk you to my—er—your room, if you’re ready.”

You’re not ready. You don’t think you ever will be. But even a life spun on top of its head has a way of unfolding in predictable ways. Such is the nature of things, and so flows the progression of time. 

You don’t say anything, but you do nod. 

Trailing after him silently down the hallway you came from, you’re not sure if it feels more right to fall into step beside him or let him lead you. In the end, he makes the decision for you. Without breaking stride, Heeseung slows down until your shoulders are aligned, eyes facing forward. 

He doesn’t say anything as the two of you track a steady path to his bedroom. Mind leaden with the weight of the last five hundred years, you remain silent as well. Finally, you pass the common room again. 

He opens the door to his bedroom, steps to the side to let you walk in first. 

Unwittingly, your eyes land on the most conspicuous piece of furniture in the room. Your cheekbones are flaming again, and finding sleep in that bed suddenly feels like an arduous task. 

Heeseung follows your gaze. The golden glow of his skin remains the same, but his eyes flash with embarrassment. “You don't, uh…” He trails off. Even poets struggle with finding the right words at times. Finally, he settles on, “Not all of us live like Sunghoon.”

“He seems nice,” you say, desperate to draw your minds away from where they’ve wandered. 

“That’s one way of putting it.” But there’s affection in his voice when he says it. Brothers, you think. All of them. They seem like brothers. 

Heeseung’s eyes scan the expanse of his bedroom as if he’s looking at it for the first time. “There’s not much.” He seems almost apologetic for it. “But help yourself to whatever you like. The computer doesn’t have a password. And there’s books on the desk, too.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. And you mean it. He’s not someone you expected to be generous with their space, their belongings. Another aspect of him you had all wrong. 

“I’ll let you have some space then.” He pauses at the door. “Don’t be afraid to let me know if there's anything you need.”

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He hesitates a moment longer. You can see it in the curve of his lips, the arrangement of his features. There’s more he wants to say. Something else he wants to tell you. 

Instead, he closes the door behind him on his way out. Gently, so that it hardly makes a noise. 

His bed is comfortable when you lay down, even if your mind is still racing a million miles a minute. Distantly, you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat now. What he thinks of the way it picks up speed every time certain moments replay in your head. 

But despite yourself, despite him, despite everything, you manage to drift off after only a few long minutes. Tucked away in the corner of a strange home, the sleep that greets you is blissfully dreamless.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: WHEW. This is the most info-dumpy we'll be getting, so I hope this made for an enjoyable follow up to the first part regardless. The relationship between our two leads will really start to take off in the next part, as will the remaining aspects of the ~mystery~ now that (most of) the lore/backstory is covered. as always, I love to know what you're thinking!

[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. 

[vernons-girl]

Hiii~

I just read your few works and i’m obsessed~ would you mind writing mingyu and dino which who both like female reader but she only choose one? With slight suggestive hehe thanks🩷

she chose me | kim mingyu & lee dino (college!au)

fluff, suggestive at the end (!! making out and dry humping!!) ( sorry i got carried away)),w.c:1k1

a/n: i wrote this not really knowing where it was going but i hope you'll like it nonetheless 🫶🏻

In their university, Mingyu and Dino were known for their contrasting personalities. Mingyu, with his tall stature and gentle demeanor, exuded a charm that drew people in effortlessly. Dino, on the other hand, was the epitome of energy, his infectious laughter filling every room he entered.

However, it did not stop you from forming a wonderful bond with the two men, the three of you quickly becoming really good friends.

But as your bond grew stronger, so did their feelings for you.

But you didn't know that yet.

And so they found themselves caught in an unspoken rivalry. Mingyu would cook for you, open doors, get your chair, hold your umbrella, truly the epitome of a gentleman, while Dino would always go out of his way to make you laugh with even the most far fetched jokes.

Unbeknownst to them, you cherished their gestures of affection, secretly very much enjoying the attention they showered you with. But as the days turned into weeks, you realized that your heart was torn. Your feelings confused you. Were the two men just really good friends? Was there something more ? If so, with who ? You couldn't tell.

But as you found yourself alone with Mingyu and Dino one fateful afternoon, the tension between them palpable, you struggled to find the words to express your feelings.

"I... I have something to tell you both," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "I value our friendship more than anything, I'm sure you both know that. But I can't shake the feeling that something feels.. I don’t know.. different?" Mingyu and Dino exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions a mixture of hope and fear.

"And what do you mean by that?" Dino inquired, a glimpse of hope in his eyes. Mingyu watched you intently, awaiting your answer.

"I feel like there are more than just friendly feelings involved, you know?" you said, now slightly unsure of yourself.

"On who's part?" Dino asked immediately.

"Everyone's." you said confidently.

Mingyu hummed, crossing his arms over his chest in thought while Dino looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Do you - I mean do any of you guys like me?" you asked, now feeling weirdly uncomfortable.

“Yes." both of them replied at the same time, looking straight at you.

"Oh.." you let out.

Did you expect this ? Not really.

Did it make it hard for you ? Definitely.

"You don't have to give anyone an answer now, you can take your time." Mingyu reassured, "That is if you like any of us." Dino agreed with a nod, although he looked a bit disappointed at the prospect of having to wait to find out who you would choose.

"We'll be here for you, no matter what you decide." Mingyu finally said.

Weeks passed since that day, and you found yourself spending more time with both Mingyu and Dino. Yet, despite their unwavering support and seemingly endless patience, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaning towards one of them.

Everything became clear one evening as you were working on a school project with him.

Sitting at the same desk, the feeling of his thigh brushing against yours had your heart pounding in your chest, the hand holding your pen tightening.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling you out of your trance, his hand now placed on your thigh, squeezing the flesh softly.

The action made your face heat up instantly as you stumbled over your own words : 

“Um, yeah, it’s just - I was thinking.” you said.

He hummed, his face tilting and inching closer to yours, his hand still on your thigh.

“About what?” he asked, his breath hitting your lips.

“You.” you breathed out, nervousness obvious in your voice.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, a smirk apparent on his features.

You nodded, your hand covering yours on your thigh.

“What else?” he teased.

Your lips were now merely a few inches away as you whispered, “I thought about you kissing me.”

“May I?” he asked, his other hand reaching out for your face as he delicately placed his warm palm against your cheek.

“Yes.” you simply said.

And that is all he needed to lean in even closer and finally close the gap between the two of you before kissing you with fervor, all his feelings being poured out into the kiss after waiting so long for this. To finally have you.

You kissed him back with just the same enthusiasm, your arms sneaking to wrap around his neck.

He swiftly moved you from the chair next to him onto his lap, making the whole thing easier for the both of you.

One of your hands found its way in his hair, slightly pulling at the roots, showing your excitement.

The situation escalated quickly, you thought. But you couldn’t care less. It felt right. It felt good.

As your lips parted, a rush of emotions flooded through you, mingling with the warmth of his touch. His eyes, filled with adoration, met yours, and in that moment, you knew you had made the right choice. It wasn't just about the physical attraction or the excitement of the moment; it was about the connection you shared, the way he made you feel understood and cherished.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," he whispered in between kisses.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. "Me too," you confessed.

You had thought about what it would feel like to be in this situation with Mingyu, but this was so much better than what your mind had made you think.

His touch made your skin burn, his hand traveled down your top to caresse the soft skin there while he slipped his tongue past your parted lips, eluding a moan from you.

The kiss was messy yet passionate, the occasional pants and moans coming from the both of you.

You didn’t think you guys could get any closer than this as the one hand of his that was holding your face moved to your hips, pressing you down onto him even more.

Mindlessly, you started moving against him, a moan resonating from the back of his throat at your action.

“Fuck, he panted, do it again.” and so you did.

You felt hot, not only because well, everything about this was, but because of him.

It made you feel so good.

You two finally took a moment to catch your breath and well, cool down.

You melted in his embrace as he rubbed his hand up and down your back.

He broke the silence first : 

“Are you gonna tell him?” he asked.

“Yes I will.” you reply between pants.

“What will you say?” he urged.“That I choose you, Mingyu.” you finally said, all doubts now gone from your mind as the man below you smirked in triumph, knowing he was the one you chose.

[replenaryindulgence]

Before the Light: Chapter 2

Azriel x Calida (ka-lee-duh)/Reader

Summary: Calida wakes up disoriented, her captors' intentions unclear. As she learns more about the world around her, her path home becomes more uncertain.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: alcohol

a/n: Now we're getting into ittttt. I'm so excited to see where this fic goes. I love leaving things open-ended. can you tell lol? This series is based in my mind right after ACOSF, hence the tension between Az and Elaine. How would you react if you were Cal? I tried to put myself in her shoes & not in the shoes of someone familiar with the world (P.S. there are probably typos, I'm rereading it as we speak & I'm on the lookout lol plz forgive me)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The throb at the base of your skull echoed to your temples. Groaning, you pulled the blanket up further to hide from the flickering light. 

Sifting through your thoughts was like trudging through molasses; the events of the past day came reluctantly. The bite of the early morning air, the laughter that echoed over the lake. The pain in your head grew sharp and you rubbed circles trying to ease the pressure. Moments flashed in your mind. Toes in the water, the burnt taste of instant coffee on your tongue. The gleam of silver water through the trees as you ran. 

It all hit you suddenly, dizzyingly; the forest, the strangers. You shot up. A wave of nausea had you clutching the stiff cushion beneath you. You took deep, burning breaths, forcing it to pass. For long moments you sat like this, taking careful glances, afraid to move too quickly. 

The room was dimly lit. A small fireplace crackled before you, the light sharp in your eyes. The smell of rotting wood and smoke hung in the air. To your left was a door; the wood gnarly and weathered. The whole place was. There was little furniture; a small work table sat to the right of the fireplace, at the end of the bed a large armchair. The dark material glittered slightly in the firelight. It looked out of place, less subjected to the elements. There was nothing else — no one else. No light peered through the small windows. 

The door flung open, the tall man with the stern face from the forest entered carrying pieces of wood under his arm. You heard the thudding of your heart in your ears. He didn’t speak. In three strides he hovered over the small work table. That’s when you noticed it, barely illuminated; the dagger at his side. 

He spoke and you met his gaze, blinking through the panic as he held out a glass of water. You couldn’t move. He sighed, setting it on the stool next to the bed. Your eyes trailed him as he sat upon the small stool by the fire, stoking it with another piece of wood, keeping it alive. He looked over his shoulder and gestured to the glass, repeating the unfamiliar phrase. Your tongue felt like cloth in your mouth but the fear held you frozen in place.

He stood once more and walked to the table, searching through a small bag. The thud of chopping filled the cabin and you watched as he added ingredients to a small black pot. Several minutes passed, your gaze fell to the glass of water and you gave in to your thirst. The water streamed down your chin, dampening your collar. 

“Where am I,” you choked out, voice sounding like you’d swallowed gravel. You knew he couldn’t understand. “What did you do to me?” 

You tried to form a plan. It was dark, this place was unfamiliar. Your face heated. Your friends. They were probably scouring the woods looking for you; you had to find them. You reached into your pocket.

They’d taken your phone, your watch. Everything. 

You tried to stand, or make for the door, but whatever they’d done to your head had the floor shifting beneath you. You couldn’t make it back like this. You sat back, leaning on the wall for support. ”Please,” you begged, though you weren’t sure what exactly for. You couldn’t make it three miles, not like this. You watched as the man hung the pot over the small fire and took a seat before it. He finally looked to you, and you held his stare. A minute passed like this, the two of you silent and unwavering. 

His attention turned back to the fire, stirring the pot slowly, and you closed your eyes in defeat. Your mind led you through every twisted possibility. 

When he spoke again, you found a wooden bowl sitting on the stool by the bed. He sat, watching you, his own bowl in hand. Your stomach snarled. You waited for him to take a bite. You looked at the stew inspectingly; vegetables peeked out of a thin broth. You brought it to your nose. He muttered under his breath. You hesitantly took a bite. It didn’t feel safe, eating what he’d made, but the aching in your head persisted and you’d do anything for it to stop. 

You weren’t sure if it was just the hunger, but you’d never tasted anything like this. You barely swallowed before taking your next bite. Unfamiliar spices stuck in your nose. Setting the bowl aside you noticed the refilled glass. You reached for it, this time taking small sips as you settled against the wall, cautiously surveying the cabin once more. The only exit was the door, the windows were too small for you to fit through. You’d have to wait for him to leave or to be distracted, but you weren’t sure you could outrun him. You felt hopeless; you hadn’t outrun them before, when they wore those ridiculous wings. Maybe if you cried enough he’d let you go from annoyance. You tried to recount what exactly happened in the woods. All you could remember was the fear, and the pain. 

The man walked over to the stool, grabbing the empty bowl. You watched as he moved through the space. He made his way to the end of the bed, settling into the armchair. You clutched the glass tightly as he fidgeted in his seat.

“I need to leave,” you gestured toward the door, pronouncing each word, though it’d do no good. “My friends are out there looking for me,” you patted your chest, ”just, please,” you were begging now, tears burned your eyes, “let me go.” 

His head fell back onto the chair in dismissal. The tears that fell were hot. Panic filled your veins, taking over as you leapt up, but he was quicker. He slammed a fist to the door, blocking it. You stumbled back, legs hitting the cushions.

“Move,” you forced out. You pointed to the door again. He shook his head, this you understood. 

“Yes.” You seethed.

He shook his head again and spoke a single word. ‘No’, you assumed. He pointed towards the bed.

You repeated the word he’d said to you. He shook his head, amused, avoiding your resolute stare. You tried for the door again, but he grabbed your wrist. That’s when you noticed — his hand. It was covered in scars. Both of them were. They rippled in silver and pink swirls of raised skin. He tore away his grip, crossing his arms. He stared past you with a cold gaze. 

You fell backwards onto the bed, dragging yourself to the corner. He set the stool down with a loud thud before the door. His head fell back, eyes looking vacantly through the room. Your head mirrored his, leaning on the wall for some sense of support. You were stuck here — at least for the night. 

…

You’d gotten little rest. You kept yourself curled up to the wall uncomfortably, eyes on the stranger. He never moved. You weren’t sure if he slept either. You’d spent the night contemplating every terrible scenario until your lips were puffy and your eyes swollen. You were thankful when the fire died down and you were able to cry in the cover of darkness. Exhaustion eventually took hold of you.

You woke abruptly as a loud knock sounded. Lifting your stiff head, your eyes squinted in the light as your captor stood, cracking his neck as he reached for the door. The man that grabbed you in the woods appeared beneath the frame. Your heart began to race. 

He took a step in, ducking, as he looked at you with a small, tight smile. He handed over a small satchel. As they spoke, you listened to the words with intense focus, searching for familiarity. Their demeanor was casual despite the situation. The second man had taken off his wings too. They wouldn’t have fit into this cramped cabin, anyways. He rubbed the back of his neck, and turned to look at you. The muscles in your body stiffened. He took a step toward the bed and crouched. 

Holding his hand to his chest he spoke. You stared at him. ‘Cassian’, he repeated gently, patting himself. His name? You looked between them, the other man stood back with his arms crossed. This must be some ploy to try and gain your trust. The man before you hit the other and gestured toward you. He rolled his eyes, stating his name. You repeated it and his eyes shot to yours. 

The man before you nodded with a kind expression and gestured to you encouragingly. You took a breath. If you played along, played nice, maybe you could persuade them to let you go. Maybe this was some big misunderstanding, you let yourself hope.

“Calida,” you stated quietly. 

‘Calida,’ he repeated, standing. He spoke a quick word to the scarred man before turning back through the doorway. He hesitated, nodding to you once more before disappearing and shutting the door tightly behind him. 

That’s it? 

Where was he going? Were they letting you go? You tried to stand but your captor moved before the door. It was useless trying to argue with him. You were a prisoner. You sat back, staring at the door, at the light peering in through the curling wood, visualizing your escape over and over in your mind.  A bird chirped, pulling you from your angry haze. Light poured through the small windows, illuminating specks of dust. You watched despondently as they floated freely around you.

…

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. You’d been given water and more soup. It had been simmering over the fire and tasted even richer than it had the night before. The man left the cabin, taking guard just outside as you relieved yourself in the tiny bathing area covered only by a thin sheet. You scoured the place for a weapon before he returned, but cursed when you found nothing. He must have taken the knife he’d used for dinner. He came back in as you were reaching for the small bag near the armchair and were met with a scowl.

Perhaps your body had run out of anxiety, or perhaps your stillness had fooled it into peace as you sat, legs crossed, watching through the small window as the day passed. As birds and small animals roamed and sang through the forest, and the light filtered through the trees. You heard movement outside just as the door swung open. 

The man with the violet eyes entered, his companion, Cassian, just behind him. No sign of the woman. “Calida,” he spoke, tilting his head toward you. You held your legs in a failed attempt at comfort and prepared for their next move. He reached out and set a small object on the stool next to you. A ring. You looked at him confused, but he only gestured to it. 

You hesitantly reached for the ring, holding it in your palm. It was a gold signet with three deep green stones in the center. Dull metal and shallow scratches showed its age. They watched you silently, expectantly, so you slid the ring on your hand, finding its place on your pointer finger. You twirled it with your thumb.

“Now what,” you spat.

”Now, we find out if this was worth the hassle,” the violet-eyed man spoke, his voice clear and familiar. Your eyes went wide.

”Seeing as to how it went last time, I’m going to have to rely on your candor,” he continued. Your mind ran wild, a million questions on your tongue. ”How did you find yourself in these woods?”

”These woods?” You questioned through the shock.

He raised a brow. 

“I… I’m camping near the lake with a group. I went for a run and… got lost. They’ll be looking for me,” you threatened. 

“You’re not a human spy sent from Autumn with a mind full of riddles to throw me off of your trail?”

“I… what?”

He squinted at you, assessing as he’d done before.

“These are public lands."

“These are Night Court lands.”

Night Court? Reservation land was miles East from where you camped, and none of them were called the Night Court; there was no private land.

“You can’t keep me here, this is kidnapping—“ 

“These woods aren’t safe for you,” Cassian interjected, his voice even.

“I ran three miles without trouble, I can make it back just fine,” you argued, your heart in your throat. “So what, you think you’re locking me away for my own safety?” You mocked.

“Yes,” the man with the violet eyes began, “we are. You are not supposed to be here, and the more you can tell us, the better the chance we have at returning you.”

Returning you? Nothing made sense. 

“How can you understand me?” 

“Magic,” a sly smile grew on his face. You shook your head, your lips pressed in a thin line. This wasn’t a game, but he certainly treated it like one. 

“When you were running, what did you see? Anything strange or unfamiliar?”

“You mean, besides the men with wings?”

“Yes, besides that.” He crossed his arms.

You took a breath, thinking back to the forest, to the lake disappearing, to hitting your head. “I turned to avoid a boulder and ran into a tree. When I looked up, the lake was just… gone. I thought I was concussed,” you admitted reluctantly.

He sighed. “I needed to make sure you weren’t a threat. Clearly, you know nothing,” he sauntered over, settling into the armchair and crossing his legs. “Although… what I saw in the woods, it was intriguing. Where are you from Calida?”

“Washington,” you spat. 

He tapped the armrest with his finger, assessing you. 

“There have been reports of strange happenings in these woods. Herds gone missing only to reappear out of thin air. It’s not unheard of, though there hasn’t been a tear in…” he pondered, “thousands of years. Long before most of our family walked these lands. At least not that we know of. This one seems to be stuck open, for now, though we’re having trouble locating it.”

You blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Would you believe me if I told you the truth?”

Cassian and the other man watched your conversation silently. You looked for any sign of humor or mischief on their face, but they were unnaturally stoic. 

“Tell me then, and I’ll decide for myself.”

“Very well,” He clasped his hands with a casual grace that made you want to roll your eyes. “You must have slipped through a tear, or a door between worlds, because you, Calida, are not where you believe yourself to be. I attempted to read your mind in the forest, and saw nothing familiar. We don’t know where you slipped through. You’re in Prythian, a land of humans, like yourself, as well as Fae and magic,” he pointed to your ring, “the reason we can understand one another.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“The humans here look and smell like you, but you are wholly different. A glimpse into an unfamiliar world.”

You sat still, looking at the men in the room, deciding drugs must be involved. Your mind pulled you back to the scarred man, Azriel. He watched you, and you could’ve sworn pity lined his eyes.

“I see…” you started, “I appreciate your protection and hospitality, but I’m sure I can find my way back.” You spoke calmly, afraid of their reaction.

A deep laugh filled the cabin as the violet eyed man stood. 

“Very well, we’ll see you on your way.” He reached into a small bag and set your belongings down beside you. 

“Rhys-” Azriel began, but the man held up a gentle hand to silence him.

He nodded toward the door, and Cassian opened it apprehensively. They seemed to share a wordless communication. You grabbed your things before they could change their mind. Azriel’s worried eyes followed you through the door. The cool forest air bit at your lungs, a flutter of hope filling your chest. The men behind you made no attempt to grab you. You didn’t dare look back; your feet skipping below you as you began to run through the thick trees. Moments passed and the hope sang louder in your ears as you blindly headed West, your eyes searching wildly for something familiar as your feet skipped across the forest floor.

After some time you came to a stop, leaning on a large rough tree while you caught your breath. You heard nothing over your loud breathing. Eventually it slowed and you realized you heard nothing, no birds sang, no creatures skittered. It was silent. Hairs stood on the back of your neck. Your eyes scanned the forest. There, in the distance, something caught your eye. You were flooded with a sense of familiar dread. You squinted, afraid to move, to breathe. You leaned ever so closer.

As if day was marrying night, a thick, dark swirl of shadow appeared before you. Along with Azriel. Your scream was muffled by his hand as he grabbed your arm with his other. He hushed you and you froze. His head snapped to the right, scanning the trees. You felt your breath in his hand.

”Shit,” he breathed. Before you could blink a darkness washed over you. It swallowed you whole, its gentle claws pulling at your ankles and combing through your hair. What kept you in place was not gravity, but Azriel as he held you to his chest. And just as the darkness had appeared, in a shadow, it had vanished before the light. The cabin filled your vision and you fell promptly to the soft ground, the world around you swirling.

”What was it?” Cassian questioned.

”Naga,” Rhysand spat.

You propped yourself on your elbows, your mouth hanging open, brows furrowed. You looked at the cabin, shocked. Suddenly, a swirl of shadow appeared and dissipated just as quickly as before, and a woman, the woman from the woods, stepped through. Definitely a concussion. 

”Let’s go,” Azriel pulled his dagger from his leg, nodding to Cassian. Wings, the giant membranous wings appeared on their back. This time, they moved as gracefully as the rest of them. Your breath caught in your throat. Your neck fell back as the men leapt up twenty feet in the air, their wings beating the wild grasses flat as they ascended. A cry left escaped your lips. You heard voices in the distance; you stared unblinking at the bright sky.

”You said yourself she’s harmless.”

”I said she’s not a threat. We’ll keep searching. Azriel will watch-“

”You want to keep them cooped up in that cabin? They’ll be at each other's throats. These woods aren’t safe,” She gestured toward the forest.

”The cabin is warded. We can find a spot for her elsewhere-“

“There is a spot. The River House.”

”Feyre, we’re not opening our home to her. There’s too much unknown.”

"Just for a day, Rhys. She’s human," she emphasized.

"Human, yes, but from a foreign world."

The woman stilled and they stood looking at each other for a long while. 

“You knew when you read her mind she wasn’t dangerous. She’ll be my responsibility. Madja will look over her again,” she held a hand up to stop him from arguing. ”That was me Rhys, this could have been me.”

It was decided. The woman made her way to you and knelt.

"Don’t be scared," she began, “but this may be uncomfortable.” She grabbed your arm and again you were swept up in rolling darkness.

…

“I was asleep for a day and a half?” You questioned in disbelief, eyes vacantly set on the wall before you.

The woman, Feyre as she’d told you, nodded, sighing. She was much better at calming your nerves than her husband had been. She’d expressed sympathy for not being there when you woke, something about dealing with a disgruntled citizen. She’d also apologized for Rhysand’s hostility. ‘You look similar to the people we have… political disagreements with,’ she’d said. ‘People, or “fae?”’ You’d questioned, but she’d just given you that same careful smile. 

When Feyre had brought you to the house you’d vomited on the floor, a reaction from what felt like being thrown a thousand feet in the air. Winnowing, she’d called it. You’d laid your cheek on the cool dark tile, steadying your breath. An older woman with a cautious face had appeared. She kept her distance as she moved her arms above you in slow circles. With a simple nod, she was off. Feyre seemed relieved by this and slowly guided you up the stairs and down the hall. 

You'd since decided that you died in the woods, or were clinging to life somewhere having fever-induced dreams. Now you sat on a bed in the grandest room you’d ever seen, unsure of how you’d imagined something like this. Swirls of gold decorated the walls, the wallpaper a faded, clear night sky. Painted portraits and landscapes filled the room. They glowed, the color so rich you swore you could step into the frame. The sheer pale curtains stretched high above the windows, breathing in and out with the uncertain breeze. 

Feyre had confirmed Rhys’s story. Prythian, Fae, the tear between worlds. You half-absorbed it, overwhelmed to the point of numbness. She handed you a small vile that the older woman had left, and you sniffed it suspiciously. ‘It’ll help with the nausea and the headache. I took it all the time when I was pregnant,’ she’d said. You took a sip and puckered. It tasted like lemon thyme. 

“So those men can fly.”

She chuckled, setting a pair of shoes down by the mirror and muttering something about the males being dramatic. “They can. So can Rhys and I, but we can conjure them. We had a glamour-” she paused, “we hid their wings with magic so you’d be less afraid.” 

Less afraid. You scoffed. Thinking back to the way Azriel had walked about the space so carefully, it was clear now. Maybe you hadn’t seen his wings because you didn’t want to.

“That man,” you interrupted the silence, watching as Feyre sorted through a box of clothing she’d brought to the room. “Azriel,” you continued, picking at the skin around your nails, “what happened to him?” 

She stilled. “I’m not sure that’s my story to tell.” She folded a gray sweater, and walked to the wardrobe, setting the pile of clothing inside. “As scary as these past days have been for you, there’s much worse beyond these walls. As long as you’re here, until we can get you back to your family, you’re safe.” 

You weren’t sure why, but again you felt a peace settle into your chest with her words. You read her sincerity. She spoke with a sureness that would ease any anxious mind. You refused to think about what else laid beyond these walls. Your imagination had never been kind to you.

“Rhysand was afraid to bring me here,” you responded.

She nodded, folding her arms. “He’s protective of our family, our son. So am I.” She tilted her head. “But, I saw into your mind through his, you’re not dangerous…” She continued after a pause, “I was lost once. And I was lucky enough to have someone to help guide me back.”

You hummed in response. ‘Saw into your mind.’

“Dinner is at sunset, but until then, rest. If you don’t want to join us you’re more than welcome to have dinner in your room.”

You nodded in thanks, as she reached the bedroom door. 

“There’s a bath waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.” she gestured toward the arched doorway that led to the bathing room. “Drink the rest of that vile,” she stated pointedly. The door shut softly behind her and you fell back, arms spread behind you. Your mind twisted around her words.

You grabbed your phone; dead. With a huff you plugged it into your charger and prayed.

… 

The bath water was still steaming hours later. You’d slept for a while, the adrenaline finally retreated, leaving you a heap of heavy limbs. The knot in your stomach loosened only slightly as you stepped in. You let your head fall back onto the cool porcelain as the hot water licked your tense body. You sat, watching the sun sink slowly beyond the windowsill. You scrubbed your body and inspected your hand. Flexing your fingers, you realized the scratch was gone. A dream, you thought to yourself. You stepped out, combing your lavender-scented hair.

The clothing Feyre brought was far nicer than most of what you owned. It looked well crafted, handmade. The brown knitted cardigan fell gently over your cream silk pants that you’d slipped on, along with a white t-shirt. Everything was familiar, but not. Every detail of the clothing was slightly different than you were accustomed to. You stood, fidgeting with the ring on your finger as you stood frozen in the mirror. The hairs around your face curled as they began to dry.

Down the stairs and to the left was the dining room, you’d been told. With a breath you stepped out, your silk slippers patting gently on the tiled floor. The grand hallway was barely illuminated. Sconces lined the walls, their warm flickering glow mixed with the cool light that shone through the windows. Flickering shadows danced on the giant paintings that filled the hall; your eyes landed on familiar wings and you shuddered. With each step down your anxiety heightened. Even asleep you couldn’t escape it.

Conversation filtered through the house, growing clearer with every step. You hesitated, heart beating heavily. The voices hushed. Every gaze turned toward you inquisitively as you stepped into view. Some faces recognizable, some not. A woman with long golden hair looked over you. A dark-haired woman at her side leaned over her elbow curiously, eyes squinted. A handsome man with dark skin and pure white hair whispered into her ear. Opposite them, a woman who looked remarkably similar to Feyre sat beside Cassian. You met Rhysand’s gaze as he sat at the end of the long dining table, Feyre by his side. She stood, coming to walk you to the opposite end near Azriel. You felt their burning gazes as you stiffly took your seat.

For a moment, there was silence. You glanced around, in awe of the people before you. At the towering wings. Their unnatural beauty. That’s when you spotted their ears, Feyre’s hair had covered them before. Delicate, pointed ears. You glanced around, realizing they all had them. All except Azriel and Cassian.

“Sorry if we scared you, kid,” Cassian interrupted the silence, taking a swig of his drink with a mischievous grin. 

“Calida, you’ve met Cassian, the Commander of our Armies,” Rhysand began. “Azriel, our Spymaster, as well as High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre. These are her sisters Elain and Nesta.”

Elaine, sitting closest to you, offered you a small smile, while Nesta only stared. 

“Morrigan, my cousin,” he pointed to the golden-haired woman to your left, “Amren my Second-in-Command, and our friend Varian.” 

“Call me Mor,” She replied, before turning to Rhys. “What’s with the formalities? And why did I just get ‘cousin’?” 

“Third-in-Command, Queen of Velaris, take your pick,” Rhys responded smoothly, sipping his wine. 

“If she's the Queen, what does that make you?” You asked, eyes set on the man across the table. 

“High Lord of the Night Court, and more powerful than most everyone at this table,” he responded coolly.

“Most?” you questioned. 

“Most,” Feyre responded, a smile playing on her lips.

Cassian interrupted, “See Nes, you two will get along great.” The woman at his side chuckled. The atmosphere was tense. You weren’t helping. 

The focus turned to dinner. The scent of roasted meat and vegetables filled the air. You all loaded your plates and ate in near silence. It tasted so real. So many questions racked your mind, too many. You weren’t sure how to organize them, so you observed. For a ‘foreign world’, there was a lot of familiarity. Their mannerisms, the food. You stabbed a carrot with your fork. Light conversation skittered through the room. You felt Azriel’s eyes on you while you ate, as if he was waiting for you to pounce. You grabbed a slice of dark bread. Everyone seemed unsure of what to do with you. 

“Calida.” 

You looked up, startled. Elain offered you a smile. “That’s a beautiful name.” You felt lingering glances.

“Thank you,” you responded windlessly, “It’s Irish.”

“Is that where you’re from?” She questioned.

“My great-grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America,” you responded. “I grew up in Washington, near the city of Seattle.” You knew this meant nothing to them, but she nodded anyway.

“And what do you fill your time with?” She inquired.

“I’m a student,” you began, “or was. I studied English. Books and authors.”

“What kind of books?” Nesta chimed in.

You looked at her in surprise. “A little of everything. Classic literature, poetry, non-fiction.” 

She hummed in response, tilting her head and reaching for her glass.

Elain asked about your family and friends. You told them about Jack, Annie, and Brooke. A little about your parents. Sometimes they looked at you like you’d said something totally foreign. You were sure you had.

“How do you know each other?” you questioned. Cassian and Azriel looked like they could be related. They had the same large frame and dark hair like Rhysand.

“Cassion, Azriel, Mor, and I grew up together,” Rhysand answered, leaning back in his chair. You glanced at Azriel beside you, but he remained uninterested in conversation.

“My story is long and complicated. I was born human, and eventually found myself here,” Feyre added.

“Born human?” 

“Nesta and I were, too,” Elain emphasized. 

“How did you–”

“It’s a long story,” Nesta repeated, shutting you down.

This time, it was the dark-haired woman, Amren, who spoke. “I come from a different place, just like you, girl.” She set her glass down, crossing her arms on the table. Her stare felt cold. “About five-thousand years ago I crossed over from a different world. It seems we have that in common.”

“Five thousand years?” You scoffed. 

“Yes.” 

Your mind flew back to Rhysand’s comment at the cabin. You looked around the room for an answer, a rebuttal. 

“Amren’s ancient. I’m 537,” Cassian spoke, stretching his arm behind his head with a yawn. 

“I’m twenty-three,” Elain offered. You turned to her with a smile, a small laugh bubbling in your chest at the ridiculousness of it all. You decided you liked Elain. She reminded you of Annie. 

A thought crossed your mind, and you turned to Rhysand. “Why did you ask me if I was from Autumn? What does that mean?”

You felt Azriel’s gaze slip.

“It was mostly a joke. Your hair is red like the family from Autumn Court, but I knew you were human. Nevertheless, I wanted to see your reaction.”

“Autumn Court? There’s another court?” You questioned. 

Before he could answer, the scrape of Azriel’s chair pierced the air as he pushed himself further from the table, his wings flaring slightly behind him.

“We have an early morning.” He stated, focus turning to Rhysand. 

Rhysand ignored his interruption. “There are several courts. You don’t need to worry yourself. Tomorrow morning you’ll go back to the forest, search for the tear, and this will all be behind you.”

“Alone?”

“No. Azriel and Amren will accompany you. She may be able to spot the tear.”

May. Your mind and body grew heavy. You felt yourself falling deeper into the abyss of your mind. You reached out to grab the bottle of dark liquid closest to you. Azriel stole it from your hands.

“That’s not a good idea,” he stated, peering at you with dark eyes.

“I’m old enough to drink.”

“And how old would that be?”

“Twenty-two,” you rebutted. He scoffed, shaking his head. You looked at his hand that rested before you. A fresh cut sliced along the back of it.

“It's not real,” you whispered to him, staring into his eyes intently. They almost looked brown in the dim light. He furrowed his brows.

“A small glass is fine, Az,” Feyre offered.

He sighed, sliding it over. You poured yourself a glass as he settled back into his seat. You watched his wings as they moved. The candlelight shone through ever so slightly, illuminating dark veins. You stared, amazed as you sipped the wine. It was tart, tasting like cherry or currant. It made your head buzz.

“So you read minds,” you gestured to Rhysand and Feyre.

He smiled. “Yes. But I wasn’t very successful reading yours, what with you fainting and all.”

You nodded, thankful for the absence of the ache in the back of your head. “What did you see?” 

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. 

“Faces, feelings; some things familiar, some not.” 

You hummed in response, swirling your glass on the table.

“You don’t seem upset that I was in your head,” he inquired.

You shook yours. “It reminds me I’m not making it all up.”

Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @latinxbipride @inkedinshadows @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1

[currentfications]

Ocean Eyes | Part 3

Pairing: Bada Lee x Producer!Reader

Synopsis: Latrice bailed on you for dinner, but set you up for a date with Bada instead.

Warning: Swearing, Flirting, Legs

AN: Sorry for the late upload and shorter than expected chapter!! Still trying to get over Monday - will try to upload over the next few days. Thank you to everyone for following along~

Previous | Next

After finally getting the keys to your recording studio, you were overjoyed and decided to take Latrice out for celebratory dinner.

Y/N: Dinner’s on me make yourself available

Latrice: 🤨

Latrice: u tryna poison me again?

Y/N: It was one time Latrice get over it

Latrice: I don’t have comprehensive health insurance here I’m not risking it

Y/N: 🙄 I’m taking you out for dinner

Latrice: Keep talking

Y/N: THE STUDIO IS READYYYY 🤩

Y/N: And I don’t wanna drink alone

Latrice: Wait that’s actually good news I’m so happy for you ahhhh 🥰🥰🥰

Latrice: But still no

Y/N: What why what did I do?

Latrice: Nothing I am busy

Y/N: 🧐

Y/N: Busy?

Y/N: …

Y/N: Waitttttt a damn minute

Y/N: I want a name cunt who tf you linked up with

Y/N: HELLO??? MA’AM?

Y/N: Whatever happened to sharing is caring huh?

Latrice: 👉🏾👈🏾

Y/N: Oh god what have you done

Y/N: Tell me it’s not who I think it is you dumb fucking bitch 😇

Latrice: 🤭

Y/N: Ms. Kabamba 😇

Team BEBE was filming the last bit of reaction segments with Mnet while they were interrupted by a few raps on their door. “Come in!” Lusher greeted her co-captain dance mate in with a hug.

Latrice slowly poked her head through the door, “Hey Bada can I borrow you for a quick second?”

Bada looked up, confused, but walked over nonetheless. “Is everything alright?”

“Calling in a personal favour,” Latrice smiled nervously, “can you go on a dinner tonight?”

“Dinner? Sure!” The choreographer hummed and nodded excitedly, “BEBE with Jam Republic?”

“You and Y/N,” Latrice snickered, “I have a date and had to bail, but she’ll be much much kinder to me if you’d go in my place instead.”

Bada raised an eyebrow and pointed at herself. Perplexed, she sounded a little dumbfounded, “Me? Why?”

Latrice rolled her eyes at the obvious question, “She has a fat celebrity crush on you since she the first episode aired, that’s why. Now please, pretty please with a cherry on top, would you go in my place tonight so she don’t-” Latrice stopped dead as you decided you’ve had enough of her ignoring your text and started calling her instead. Her eyes widen slightly in fear as she turned to the taller dancer. “Bada please I’ll owe you one, I’m so so sorry-” she swiped and picked up your call, “heyyyy Y/N, I was just telling Bada about your dinner plan tonight. She’s super keen! Here you go-”

Latrice palmed the phone to the choreographer like a hot potato, mouthing ‘thank you’ at the blonde.

Dinner with Bada? The sentence hasn’t fully registered in your brain as you begun to rip your high school mate a new one. “Ms. Kabamba,” you uttered with the coldest tone you could muster, a tone that Latrice knows all too well. A tone you only take with her when she knows she’s done something stupid, again.

“Sorry to disappoint,” a familiar voice broke you out of your rant. “Ms. Lee here. I heard we have plans?”

Damnit that cunt, I’ll deal with her later. You quickly composed yourself, “Never a disappointment, love. Any dietary restrictions?” You tried to mitigate your hoarse voice (from screaming ‘CUNNNNTTTTTT’ right before Latrice picked up the phone) and previously harsh tone by being as sweet as possible with your word choice, knowing that phone call rarely - if ever - made you sound more personable.

Love? Your husky delivery had the tall dancer flustered, trying to hide a blush taking form on her cheeks. Bada gulped, hard, and stumbled over her words, “N-no, I’m not picky. Where and when?” She tried to pass it off as cool and nonchalant, but Lusher seemed to have picked up on her change in tone.

“I’ll pick you up when you finish for the day? Latrice gave me their schedule.” Bada hummed over the phone, you can almost see her cute head bop as she does. Okay, dinner with Bada. One-on-one. I can do this, no biggie, fuck. “See you then, Love.”

Latrice gave Bada a parting hug when the call was over, the latter still bewildered by the unexpected call. “Thank you so, so much. You’re a life saver. Have fun later!” She quickly shuffled out the room, shutting the door behind her.

Lusher peaked over the tall dancer’s shoulder, Bada’s cheeks still warm from the conversation. She gasped as the blonde slowly clasped her hands onto her face, letting out a small shriek. “Oh god Bada what was that all about?” The co-captain raised an eyebrow at her leader’s demeanour.

“Lusher, did you bring an extra outfit?” Was the first thing that came out of Bada’s mouth.

Y/N: You’re off the hook

Y/N: For now

Y/N: I will grill you afterwards 😇

Latrice: What a weird way to say thank u but ok

Latrice: ure welcome

When you pulled up in your bike, you did not expect the gorgeous specimen to be walking out the building in a skirt. You gulped and paused for a (significant) moment, marvelling at her (legs). Her hair sat perfectly, framing her face. She smiled and waved at you, walking (omg her legs) over with a small prance (her legs y’all). “Hey, thanks for picking me up.”

“God you look amazing.” After pulling yourself together, you realised a slight problem. “I am so sorry,” you quickly apologised, motioning her skirt (legs), “I did not plan accordingly.”

She chuckled and shook her head, “Don’t worry about these, tights underneath. My hair however, is a different story.”

Relieved, you handed her a helmet with a smile and hopped onto the bike, signalling her to get on. Bada giggled and straddled herself behind you, wrapping her hands around your waist. Both of you were suddenly very grateful for the helmets for keeping you road safe and hiding blushes. “You good?” You did one last check. Bada hummed and gave you a soft squeeze before you both rode off.

Tag list: @bada-lee-ily @lil-elliesgf

[lelengerine]

helloo!!! I am so glad you are back again,really missed seeing you on my dash:(

also,from your mini drabble list, the arranged marriage au really caught my eye! can you please write it with jeno as the main protagonist? I don't have anything specific in mind except that I am obsessed with the opposites attract kinda trope but you can write it anyway you want! thank you in advance <3

love, lee

pairing | prince!jeno x princess!reader

genre | royalty + arranged marriage au, jeno uses a nickname for reader (love), no pronouns are specifically used for this, lmk if there’s any i missed!

wc | 0.9k

notes | i think my love for royalty aus are really stating to show now TT this is my first jeno work and there were actually multiple entries for jeno with the arranged marriage trope so i hope this suffices for now (maybe i’ll make a part two or follow another req if i can !!) it’s not exactly the same as what anon mentioned because i tried to condense the ideas to the size of a drabble as much as possible but i love all ur brains so much LIKE TELL ME MORE 😭😭 anw likes, rbs, and feedbacks are very appreciated ;0;

this is part of my drabble req event here!

m.list

there’s this prophecy that landed upon your kingdom just as its walls were newly established, one that spoke of prosperity if two individuals coming from royal backgrounds were to be wed under every full moon.

of course, that hasn’t come true (and you don’t believe it ever will), but both the civilians and the royal family hold onto that sliver of hope ever so dearly. though, in the position of being someone forced into the position of marriage, you can’t help but view the tradition as something simply bizarre and unnecessary.

moreover, you haven't a clue who you are about to marry. the thought irritates you to the core, and your mother’s repetitive words on how this was ‘something she experienced too’ not making you feel any better — in fact, it was dampening your already sour mood even further.

just why hadn’t this been dropped centuries ago? the answer to that question doesn’t seem to be keen on revealing itself to you.

and so here you are, behind tall wooden doors in a dress you struggle to move in — much less breathe in — that will soon reveal a banquet hall filled with your and your groom’s relatives, a plethora of aristocrats that you couldn’t even dare to name no matter how long you stared at them, and reporters who were ready to swarm you with questions whenever they’d get the chance.

“there’s no need to fear, my dear.” your mother states by your side, and a scoff is the first response she receives.

“i hope you understand that what you’ve said lacks any sensitivity for my situation.” you bitterly reply with a blank expression, not even turning to face her once. with that, she decides to keep silent, not wanting to aggravate you any longer.

the doors open, finally placing you on display for everyone to see, and the first person your eyes search for is your husband-to-be.

he stands in front of the beautifully decorated altar in a navy blue suit and fur coat that looks just as uncomfortable as the white gown you’re wearing, and you start to feel a little sympathy for him knowing he probably didn’t have any plans of marrying you either.

you were both victims in this grand scheme, after all.

a step, two steps, and before you know it, you’re meeting his gaze for the first time. he offers a soft smile that puffs up his cheeks ever so slightly, pupils shining beneath the lights that brighten up the entire hall, and for a moment, you forget how much you’ve detested this day to come.

‘get a grip, it’s definitely for show’, you mentally tell yourself as your lips return the kind gesture.

the ceremony soon starts, and the words spoken by the priest pass through your ears like static fuzz, not paying attention to the prophecy that was being retold to the audience.

“i assume you were forced into this?” you begin in a whisper, wanting only the person beside you to hear your voice.

you turn to gaze at him and he looks a little surprised you actually started a conversation. “sure.”

sure? what kind of response was that? the least he could do was respond with a decisive yes or no to not leave you hanging like this. perhaps that smile from earlier really was to fool the reporters on a loveless marriage

“could you at least tell me your name?” you try to reach out once more, “it’s laughable as is to know we are in the middle of being wed and i have not a single clue on who you are.”

“lee, jeno.” he responds, and though it technically is an answer to your question, you’re oddly left unsatisfied at how perfunctory it was. “yours?”

“l/n, y/n.” you state in the same manner as if you wanted him to feel the same as you did just moments prior. “how does it feel to get married to a stranger? because i surely find this unsettling.”

you tried to play into humor, hoping to get a better reaction out of him, but what he says shocks you instead. “we aren’t strangers though.”

“what-” you start to sputter, however the priest cuts you off at the mention of announcing your respective vows.

“i’m sure you’ll recall it soon enough.” jeno’s expression finally shifts from his icy facade to a sly smirk that perfectly exemplifies his features, and you’re not sure whether to find the sight unsettling or absolutely breathtaking. “because i’ve known you my entire life, love.”

the nickname has your mind reeling in circles, paying no attention to the vows jeno was now dictating like a memorized poem of sorts. there was ever only one person who’s called you by that name, though it could never be someone like him… could it?

you snuck out of the castle to one of the town’s bakeries back when you were younger, meeting a boy who told you he was doing the exact same thing because he swore their garlic bread was absolutely out of this world, and that’s exactly why you came in the first place. it was like you both clicked, and that meeting became the first of many. though, as you grew older, your hectic tutoring schedules made it difficult for you to frequent the bakery as much as you used to.

still, you remember he suggested exchanging letters as a means of keeping in contact, and he’s the only one who’s referred to you as love. his love.

you’re abruptly taken away from your thoughts as the priest repeats your name, “princess, your vows if you may.”

“oh um, sorry.” you quickly apologize, trying to gather yourself back up.

jeno’s gaze on you looks much more animated than before, almost as if there was a playful glint that replaced the cold ones from earlier. where was the man you met moments ago as the event started? “i suppose you remember now.”

“yeah.” you breathe out, “yeah, i do.”