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sunni-stuff · 2 days ago

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All they could give you was a symbol—a medal, small yet unbearably heavy in your palm, its weight nothing compared to the grief settling in your chest. It was meant to be an honor, a token of his sacrifice.

There was no uniform, no familiar scent of oak and Ives lingering on fabric, not even remnants of his mask worn and frayed from years of use. Nothing tangible to hold onto, nothing that felt like him. Just this medal, cold and unyielding, a poor replacement for the man who had once filled your world with warmth.

The air felt thick, suffocating. Price stood before you, his head bowed, hands clenched at his sides, unable to meet your eyes. Maybe because he knew—knew that this wasn’t enough, knew that no medal, no folded letter of condolences, no words could ever replace the life that had been stolen from you.

Your fingers tightened around the medal, nails digging into your palm as if holding onto it tightly enough could somehow bridge the impossible gap between the past and now. As if it could bring him back. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

The questions flowed before your tears. How? When? Where? Was he absolutely sure that Ghost—no—Simon, your Simon, was truly gone?

There’s a loud silence, the kind that bounces off the walls with its intensity. Gaz stares at your weeping form, or more accurately, stares through you, steeling his gaze upon you as he says—

"Confidential."

Gaz's voice was steady, but the weight of that single word shattered everything. It rendered your questions useless, left an empty void where answers should have been. There would be no closure, no understanding of why—just a truth you weren’t ready to accept.

Johnny shifted uncomfortably beside you, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee before he spoke. “His pension… it’s there for you.” His voice was gentler than usual, words carefully chosen, but they felt hollow.

As if money could ever fill the gaping wound Simon left behind.

Your gaze flickered toward the stairs, toward the only piece of him that remained—the little one asleep upstairs, curled beneath a starry blanket, blissfully unaware. Too young to understand that his father would never be coming home. Too innocent to know that the world had just taken something irreplaceable from him before he even had the chance to hold onto it.

Loss had never felt so deafening.

He was gone. Just like that.

The one who had carved his name onto your heart with stupid jokes that always made you roll your eyes, with brown eyes that saw through every guarded piece of you—vanished. No warning. No final words. Just a pebble sinking into still water, disappearing beneath the surface while the ripples of his absence spread endlessly outward, touching everything, unraveling everything.

His absence wasn’t just an empty space—it was something alive, something that pressed against you from every direction, filling in the cracks he left behind. It clung to the air, heavy and unshakable, an echo of him that refused to fade. And it was everywhere.

The house still smelled like him. Coffee and cedarwood, the faint trace of his cologne that had seeped into the fabric of the couch, the sheets, the very walls. His mug sat abandoned in the sink, a ghost of a morning that would never come again. His jacket hung by the door, his shoes still beside yours, untouched. As if he had only just stepped out, as if he might walk back in at any moment.

It was absurd, really, how the world dared to keep spinning when yours had come to a violent halt.

Grief wasn’t loud, not like they made it seem in movies. It wasn’t a storm of screaming and crying, not always. Sometimes, it was the unbearable silence that pressed against your chest in the middle of the night, where his warmth used to be. It was waking up and, for one blissful second, forgetting—only to remember again with a force so brutal it stole the breath from your lungs.

And what were you supposed to do now? Go on? Move forward? How, when every step away from this moment felt like a betrayal? Like you were leaving him behind in a past that no longer existed, while you were forced to exist in a future he would never see?

For the first few months, you put one foot ahead of the other, treading through grief as if carrying a wounded soldier through combat. Each step was heavy, weighted with loss, but you took them anyway—because what else was there to do? Grief wrapped itself around you, clinging like a second skin, suffocating yet familiar, a constant presence in the quiet spaces he used to fill.

But so did hope.

Faint at first, like a flicker in the dark, barely there. It lived in the steady rise and fall of your son’s chest as he slept, in the way his tiny fingers curled instinctively around yours. It was in the mornings you forced yourself to wake up, in the days that stretched forward even when you wanted time to stop. In the darkest nights, when the weight of loneliness pressed down on you like a suffocating fog, you held onto his words, the ones he whispered against your skin, against your lips, when he was still here—I’ll always come back to you.

You'll stay waiting.

Every night, every morning. Through birthdays and quiet moments at the dinner table, through the scraped knees and bedtime stories. You told Leo his father was out there, fighting his way home, that one day he’d walk through that door like no time had passed. You painted a picture so vivid, so real, that sometimes—just sometimes—you could almost believe it yourself.

And Leo, with his father’s sharp eyes and your steady heart, listened. He never questioned. He never doubted. He simply *believed*, because you did.

Even as the years passed, as his baby fat melted away into the angular features of a young man, as his voice deepened and his stance mirrored the quiet strength of a man he never met, you held fast and he never once asked you to stop telling those stories.

Simon would return.

He had to.

And until he does, you'll wait, even if your skin begins to wrinkles and your memory begins to fade.

You were told to let go, that your endless waiting would be for naught, that the man you called your husband wouldn’t be stepping through the front door anymore. Some were gentle in their suggestions, others blunt, but they all carried the same message—move on. Remarry. Start over.

They didn’t understand.

No man could ever be Simon Riley.

You shut it down swiftly, time and time again. To every well-meaning friend, every hopeful stranger, every persistent suitor—you made it clear. You were not interested. You were still happily married. The ring on your finger was proof of that, a quiet testament to a love that neither death nor time could erase. Your beating heart, steady and unyielding, was an extension of the hope you carried deep inside, the belief that somehow, somewhere, Simon was still with you.

The years pressed heavy on your shoulders. Doubt crept in like a shadow, whispering cruel what-ifs in the dead of night. But you refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you clung to his words, the ones he left behind, spoken in the deep rasp that had once been your home. Words of love, of promises made, of a future you had built together.

And so, you waited. Not because you were lost in grief, not because you were afraid to move forward, but because love—real, true love—did not simply fade.

Because he never lied.

And if he wasn’t back yet, it only meant one thing.

He was still trying to find his way home.

Your endless rejections stirred whispers in the neighborhood. Boys—never men in your eyes, not with their arrogance—took turns trying to woo the widow who remained steadfast in her belief that her dead husband would return. They called you insane for waiting on a ghost, convinced that one of them should rightfully claim the hand of someone as beautiful as you. But if your cold no wasn’t enough to deter them, Leo was.

Your son stood tall, a quiet force of nature. His glare alone was enough to send would-be suitors scurrying, the cold glint in his eyes promising consequences for anyone foolish enough to try and take his father’s place. Yet, for you, his mother, that steel melted into something soft. Devotion ran deep in his veins. Whether by your side or not, he was always protecting you.

That much was clear when, on his way home from school, he was stopped by Anthony—the worst of them all. Ruthless, persistent, always flanked by lackeys who clung to his every word. Leo tried to sidestep him, choosing to ignore the man who had been a thorn in your side for years. But then, Anthony’s voice cut through the air, crude and dripping with mockery.

"When is your tramp of a mother gonna find a new husband?”

Leo froze mid-step. The words, crude and venomous, burned into his mind, igniting something primal deep in his chest. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he slowly turned to face Anthony.

The older man smirked, arms crossed over his chest, flanked by his usual lackeys who snickered behind him like hyenas waiting for a kill. They had always been vultures, circling, waiting for you to break under the weight of grief and loneliness. But you hadn’t. And neither had Leo.

He met Anthony’s gaze head-on, eyes sharp and unyielding. “Say that again,” Leo challenged, his voice eerily calm, the kind of calm that sent a chill through the air.

Anthony scoffed, stepping forward, puffing up his chest as if his age alone would be enough to intimidate Leo. “You heard me, kid. Everyone’s sick of watching her waste away, waiting on a dead man. She needs someone real.” His lips curled, voice dipping into something cruel. “You need a father.”

The crack of Leo’s fist connecting with Anthony’s jaw echoed down the street. The man stumbled, caught off guard, his cronies recoiling in shock. Leo didn’t stop. His knuckles struck again, again, fury pouring out in sharp, brutal movements. Years of biting his tongue, of standing guard while men like Anthony circled like wolves, all of it exploded in that moment.

Leo was outnumbered, but that didn’t stop him. He threw every ounce of his strength into his punches, his breath ragged, his body shaking—not just with rage, but with something deeper. Something that had been buried since the day his father disappeared. The bruises blooming across his skin were nothing compared to the weight he carried on his shoulders.

Then, suddenly, he was yanked backward. A strong grip seized his collar, wrenching him away from the fight. Leo's head snapped back, his teeth bared, ready to snarl at whoever dared to interfere—until he saw him.

Uncle Price.

The older man's weathered eyes were dark with anger as they took in the scene before him. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the look he shot at Anthony and his crew was enough to make them hesitate, stepping back just enough to feign innocence.

"Come on, son," Price said, voice firm but steady.

Leo exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his bag. He cast one last glare at the group, knuckles still throbbing, heart still pounding. But it didn’t matter.

He had a home to get back to. A mother to protect.

You were devastated when Leo came home, his face a bloody mess. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. Without thinking, you rushed to him, a damp cloth in hand, gently cradling his face as you pressed it against his bruises.

Your lips parted, ready to demand what had happened—but the look in his eyes told you everything.

This was the consequence of your refusal. Of your unwavering devotion to a ghost. They wouldn’t come for you. No, they would take their anger out on your son—the boy who had done nothing wrong, who only wanted to protect you. The thought turned your stomach.

You couldn't allow this to continue.

So, in the days that followed, you devised a plan. A challenge.

If the men wanted to prove themselves worthy, they would have to earn it. Earn being your husband. Bring back game—the largest boar they could find. But there were conditions. It had to be taken down with a single shot, clean and precise. And it had to be done using the same model as your husband’s prized hunting rifle. No knives. No second chances. Just one bullet.

However, you knew—none of them had a shot that clean. Not these half-men who could barely hold a rifle, let alone wield it with precision. Their hands were too soft, untouched by real work, never having held anything heavier than their own egos.

They would try, of course. Driven by pride, by the foolish belief that brute force could replace skill. But you had no doubt—each one would fail.

Maybe then, they would finally understand.

Much to your surprise, over the course of weeks, some of them actually tried. And, as expected, they failed spectacularly.

One managed to hit himself in the nose from the recoil, clearly never having held a rifle in his life. Another showed up at your door grinning ear to ear, proudly presenting a pig instead of a boar. You slammed the door in his face without a word.

Anthony was the one who nearly had you convinced—his boar was of fair size, impressive even. But one look at the wound told you everything you needed to know. The bullet hole was too wide. A different rifle. A different shot.

The door slammed in his face, too.

This little game of yours went on for some time, keeping them preoccupied and keeping them far away from you and your son. That's what mattered.

Days after his rejection, Anthony grew restless, his anger festering like an open wound. He was a storm barely contained, his temper so volatile that even those who usually followed him began to keep their distance.

Seated at the bar, he gripped his drink so tightly it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter in his hands. Around him, the air was thick with frustration—every man in this room had either failed in their attempts to win your hand or was still trying. Their collective agitation simmered beneath the weight of another humiliating failure.

Anthony’s voice slithered through the murmurs of the bar, wrapping around the ears of every man who had tasted rejection at your hands. His knuckles flexed, still white from how tightly he had gripped his drink moments ago.

"Can't you guys see we're being played?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of the room like a blade. He sneered, his lip curling. "How she holds us down while her bed gets colder. Holds us down while that boy gets bolder?"

The flickering candlelight caught the edge of his grin as he leaned forward, watching their faces twist with realization.

"Here and now, there's a chance for action."

That was the hook. He had them now. A shared glint of hunger flashed in their eyes, their minds shifting in unison. Some sat up straighter, others exhaled slow and deep, as if steeling themselves for the promise of something wicked.

Anthony pushed himself up onto the table, boots thudding against the wood. He stood tall, eyes dark and wild, his tone dropping to a low whisper despite the fact that every soul in the bar was already watching him.

"I say, we deal with the kid first. When he walks back from school tomorrow, we hold him down."

A pause, letting the weight of those words settle over them like a shroud. His grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light.

"We hold him down while I break his pride, his trust, his faith—" his fingers flexed, miming a snap, "—and his bones."

A slow, creeping murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. The men weren’t just listening anymore. They were envisioning it.

"We cut him down into tiny pieces," he continued, voice thick with malice, "then throw him where she'll never know."

A few heads nodded. Some sipped their drinks, lips curling with a sick sort of anticipation.

"And when she wonders where her dear son has gone, only the earth and the trees will know."

A hush fell over them, as if nature itself was listening, horrified.

"When the deed is done, she'll have no one to stop us from breaking her door. No one to stop us from taking her love..." He let the last words drip from his lips, dragging them out like poison.

"And more."

If any of these men had an ounce of sense—if they had learned from the old tales whispered by their grandfathers about watching the dark, about never turning their backs on the unknown—they would have known to be afraid. They would have felt the weight of something beyond their understanding, lurking just outside the glow of the dim lights.

But none of them did.

None of them noticed the figure standing in the corner, veiled in shadow, unmoving, listening. None of them realized that the dark had teeth, nor that it had been waiting.

Anthony barked out a laugh, a cruel, vile thing that reeked of arrogance. The devil inside him knew no limits, no fear. "Tomorrow, my frien—"

The words barely left his tongue before the gunshot cracked through the air, a sharp and deafening roar.

The bullet found its mark with merciless precision, punching straight through his throat. His body jolted, hands flying up as if to claw at the gaping wound before his knees buckled, sending him collapsing onto the table. Blood gushed, dark and pooling fast, soaking into the wood.

The bar plunged into silence.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They all stared, wide-eyed and frozen, at the lifeless husk of the man who had been standing, laughing, just moments ago. His glass, still half-full, teetered on the edge of the table before toppling over, the liquid spilling into the growing crimson.

Then—movement.

Eyes flicked toward the corner, toward the place where something had lurked unseen. A figure moved, gliding toward the light switch, silent as death itself.

The room plunged into darkness.

Gunfire.

It erupted like a storm, a relentless barrage that tore through the heavy air, each shot finding its home in flesh and bone. The men barely had time to scream. Shadows danced with the flashes of gunshots, their shapes twisting and writhing like specters, like the very vengeance that had come to claim them.

Retribution had arrived. And it showed no mercy.

Bodies lay sprawled across the floor in twisted, unnatural positions, men crumpled in their final moments, their faces frozen in shock and agony. Those still alive—those still breathing—scrambled in the chaos, tripping over their fallen comrades, their movements frantic, uncoordinated.

One of Anthony’s right-hand men, a stocky figure with a buzzed head, his eyes wide with panic, reached for a pocket knife. His fingers fumbled in desperation, clumsy as the adrenaline surged through his veins, his body bracing for a fight he knew he was never going to win. His hand was shaking, but he gripped the hilt with a last-ditch hope, his stance poised for the slash—except it never came.

A blade—cold, precise—pressed against his neck, the tip sinking into the flesh just below his ear. The faintest shift of pressure, and it would be over. The edge of the blade kissed his carotid artery, the promise of death within a breath.

He froze, eyes wide, unable to even speak as the weight of the situation crushed him. His body trembled as the reality hit—there was no escape, no hope of survival. Not anymore.

"I’m sorry!" he gasped, his voice trembling with desperation.

His hands shot up in surrender, palms facing out, a desperate plea for life. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. The blade remained at his throat, unwavering, a constant reminder of his impending fate.

A scoff brushed against his ear, low and humorless. The sound alone sent ice down his spine. Slowly, with the caution of a man facing the reaper himself, he turned his head just enough to see—

Those eyes.

Weathered, sharp as broken glass, burning with a vengeance too deep to be mortal.

A ghost.

A man they had long thought dead.

The knife against his throat pressed just a little harder, just enough to let him feel the edge of death. His pulse pounded beneath the steel, his breath coming in frantic, uneven gasps.

He swallowed hard, sweat beading at his temple. He had been so sure Simon was dead. They all were. It had been years—too many years. The man they had spoken of in past tense, the man whose wife they had planned to take like a prize, was supposed to be gone.

But here he was.

And the look in his eyes…

Those were not the eyes of a man who had merely returned. They were the eyes of something risen from the grave, something that had crawled its way out of hell itself.

“Please,” the man whimpered again, his hands trembling in the air. “Please, have mercy.”

A scoff. Low. Cold.

"Mercy?" Riley's voice was rough, hoarse from years of silence, of waiting, of watching from the shadows. "You want mercy?"

The man could only nod, his throat too tight for words.

Riley leaned in, just enough for the stench of blood and sweat to mix between them. His grip on the knife never wavered.

"You were gonna take my boy from me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet it carried more weight than any gunshot. "Hold him down. Cut him into pieces. Make his mother beg."

The man's lips quivered. He tried to speak, but the words refused to come.

Riley exhaled slowly, the sound eerily steady, controlled. "You prayed on a widow. Plotted against a child. And now you’re askin’ me for mercy?"

The man's whole body shook. He opened his mouth to beg, to say anything—

But the blade slit his throat before he ever got the chance.

A wet gurgle bubbled from his lips as his knees buckled, and he hit the floor, his hands grasping at the wound in a desperate, useless attempt to hold in what was already lost.

Simon stepped back, his expression unreadable, watching as the life drained from the man's eyes.

Then, silence.

The only thing left in that bar was death.

The rain was a heavy, persistent downpour that splattered against the windows, casting an eerie, wavering glow across the room. The knock came again, soft but insistent, like a warning or a plea. It tugged at you, pulling you from the safety of your quiet home, the stillness of the night broken by this unexpected disturbance.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows, its rhythmic assault filling the silence of the house like a constant whisper. The storm outside was a living thing, roaring in the night as though it, too, were trying to get your attention. And then that knock. Soft at first, almost imperceptible under the storm's roar, but then again, louder, more urgent, as if something—or someone—knew you were inside, knew you were awake even though the rest of the world seemed to be asleep.

You hesitated, standing at the base of the stairs, your eyes glancing at Leo, curled up on the couch, oblivious to the world around him. He looked so peaceful, his steady breathing a stark contrast to the storm. You could feel your chest tighten as a wave of protectiveness washed over you. Quietly, you crossed the room and covered him with a blanket, smoothing the fabric over his slouched form as you whispered a prayer under your breath for his peace, for his safety. You didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to risk something happening to him while you were gone.

But that knock—it pulled at you. It felt like a summons, a call from somewhere deep within your soul, urging you forward, pushing you away from the comfort of your quiet home. With a soft sigh, you moved toward the door, the floor beneath your feet creaking with each step. The coldness of the wood seemed to bite into your skin as you walked past Leo, your steps careful and measured, as if the house itself was trying to hold you back, to keep you safe.

When you reached the door, it stood like a shadow before you, dark and looming. The doorknob was cool in your hand, as though it had been waiting for you to open it. You paused, your heart hammering in your chest, a knot of unease twisting in your stomach. It was an unnatural feeling, a sense that something was not right, that this moment was different from all the others before it. Another knock came, more forceful, more demanding.

Something inside you stirred, and with a shaky breath, you turned the knob. The door opened slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Standing before you, drenched to the bone, was a man—a shadow of a person. His clothes were stained in dark red, the blood soaking through the fabric in patches, his hair matted and wild, blown in odd directions by the wind. His face was pale, a look of exhaustion and pain etched across it, yet there was something eerily familiar about the figure in front of you. His body swayed slightly, as though he didn’t have the strength to stand on his own.

But it wasn’t the blood, nor the state of him that caught your attention. No, it was the nose. That crooked nose, bent in a way that only one person in your life had—one person you hadn’t seen in years. A person you’d thought lost to time, to memory.

The tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, the sobs catching in your throat. The man’s eyes—wide, filled with a pain you couldn’t quite place—met yours, and in that moment, your body went cold, then warm, then cold again.

It was him.

The man you've been waiting for.

Your arms wrapped around him without a second thought, the years of waiting, of hoping, of believing that Simon would somehow return, crashing into you all at once. The blood staining his clothes, the heavy scent of sweat, dirt, and blood—none of it mattered. He was here, in front of you, breathing, alive.

“Simon,” you whispered his name like a prayer, clutching him tighter as though he might slip away if you let go. Your fingers dug into his back, feeling the cold chill of his skin beneath the wet fabric. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. This couldn’t be real, could it? But the steady beat of his heart, the warmth radiating from his chest, told you it was.

He was home.

The words barely formed on your lips, your throat tight with emotion as you lifted your face to meet his. His eyes were distant, clouded with confusion and pain, but there was recognition there—faint, but it was enough. His arms, weak and trembling, slid around you, holding you with a sense of desperation that mirrored your own.

“I—I never stopped waiting for you,” you whispered, voice shaking. Tears ran down your face, unbidden, falling into the rain-soaked fabric of his shirt, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that Simon was here. He had come back to you, to the family he had left behind. Your heart, which had once ached with the loss, now soared with the joy of his return.

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a beat of silence where all you could hear was the heavy rain, the sound of his shallow breathing, and the thudding of your heart. He was here, alive, but something was off. He wasn’t the Simon you remembered. He was different—haunted, broken. His fingers gripped your arms, his touch gentle yet firm, as if afraid to let you slip from his grasp.

“I never… I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead,” you murmured, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “I never gave up on you, Simon. I knew you were out there.”

The way he stiffened in your arms made you pull back slightly, your hands still on his chest, your eyes searching his face. The blood, the grime, the weathered look of him—he was a far cry from the man you had kissed goodbye all those years ago. The memory of his mission, the last time you had seen him before the war had swallowed him whole, gnawed at your mind.

“I—I didn’t want you to wait for me,” Simon finally rasped, his voice raw, broken. His words trembled in the air, caught between a confession and regret. “I never meant to come back like this…”

You shook your head, brushing his hair from his face gently, as if touching him could somehow undo all the pain of the years you’d spent apart.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm that raged inside you. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

But even as you spoke, something in his eyes flickered, a shadow passing over them, making you wonder if this was truly the Simon you had known. Had the years away from you broken him too? Had they taken away more of him than just his body?

But before you could ask, his hands reached up, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as though he were memorizing your features, like you might disappear at any moment.

“I won’t leave you again,” he whispered his promise hoarsely, his voice full of something too raw to name.

“Good,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your own hands trembling as they cradled his face, pulling him closer. "Because I’ll never let you go again."

For the first time in years, you felt whole. Simon was home, and despite the blood, the rain, and the years apart, nothing else mattered and when Leo awoke, the unfinished chapter in their lives for so long would finally close.

-- Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #happy valentine's day #anyone who can tell what this is based off of gets a kiss

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thedarkestrivernymph · 29 days ago

Text

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

-> part 2 here

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign yet, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.��

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to not stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

#A Heart Of Gold #yandere #yandere story #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere royalty #male yandere x reader #female yandere #platonic yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #yandere x you #cw: abuse #yandere scenarios #long fic #yandere male

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changbunnies · 1 month ago

Text

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead.

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.”

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is.

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had.

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms.

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him.

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough.

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you.

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.”

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for.

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real.

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy.

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss.

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips.

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet.

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months?

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

#skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #hyunjin smut #skz fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #skz imagines #hyunjin imagines #skz scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #wanted this to come out sooner but ofc i got a sinus infection kicking my ass on top of everything else lmao #yes this was supposed to be a kinktober fic. yes i'm posting it in january. life just be that way sometimes gfsgsd #but i like this ver of the fic better than my original one so the delay was a blessing in disguise?

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manicmanuscription · 2 months ago

Text

By The Candlelight

Pairing(s): Azriel x Reader

Summary: When you and Azriel finally get a chance to sleep after traveling for so long he gets a glimpse of you through your shadow being reflected.

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: Mutual Pining, slight seduction, Azriel being a mess over reader. Forced proximity. Mostly written in Azriel's perspective.

Based on the request here. Thank you so much for your request enjoy!

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @cafekitsune

“Sorry.” Azriel had murmured as you finally, finally, reached the safe house. Although ‘house’ probably wasn’t the best term. It was more of a single room with walls. It could barely fit Azriel and his large frame but at least there was a small mattress and a sink so you weren’t complaining, happy to just finally be out of the cold and have the chance to rid your rain soaked leathers. “It’s usually just me staying here.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve stayed in worse.” You chirped, throwing your go-back on the mattress rifling through it as you looked for a change of clothes pulling out various daggers, healing potions and salves, and of course a few necessities for your hair.

“Sorry I was added to the mission so late. I don't mean to overstep or be a burden.” You mentioned a pang of guilt pulling on your heart.

“You are not a burden.” Azriel said quickly from behind you. You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the determination in his words.

A few moments of silence passed, the rain beating against the wooden walls, the very faint hum of magic as the few wards strained to keep this place concealed and warm.

Azriel shuffled closer so you were now standing shoulder to shoulder, his hand slightly brushing against yours and his breath hitched at the contact. He picked up your hairbrush and what looked like to be a bottle of face wash. “Really?” The Shadowsinger teased. “Rhys told us to pack light.”

You flashed him a smile, snatching the items from his hands. “I may be a Spy, Azriel but I am still a female.” You said with a playful smile, simply brushing your wet hair over your shoulder. Your smile, the way you said his names- gods- it had his knees buckling slightly.

You picked up your bundle of fresh clothes after stuffing everything else that wasn’t needed back in your bag and faced Azriel a few beats of silence passing, your face inches apart. He was too focused by the faint blush on your cheeks to notice your timidness as you spoke shyly.

“I..need to change.” Your voice broke the moment of staring and Azriel cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies.” He moved towards the door, a miracle it was still on its hinges, his hands brushing against the wooden knob when you spoke again. “You…don’t have to go outside, it's raining pretty bad.”

Azriel froze momentarily. His heart was pounding in his ears, he was sure it roared louder than the clap of thunder that rolled across the mountain. Lightning was next, flashes of it echoing through small cracks in the walls.

“Alright.” Azriel finally spoke, his voice hoarse and he slid his hands in his pockets trying to hide the slight tremor that ran through them. He still faced the door but took a step back inside if only to appease you.

He could hear your clothing being removed from behind him and a lump formed in his throat as lust and imagination clashed in his mind.

A few candles had automatically lit as the door opened when you two arrived and their light stayed a strong steady presence. He did his best to ignore your shadow perfectly casted on the wall, yet each movement you made had his eyes straying to the illusion there. The tiny space made your silhouette as accurate as possible and he did his best to breath through the desire that hit him like a brick.

He needed you more than he needed anything or anyone in his life and right now you were playing a dangerous game, albeit unknowingly.

He couldn’t even feel the wetness that seeped into his leathers, no longer feeling the cold that had settled so firmly. His shadows dispersed even further away from him, settling underneath floorboards and cracks in the walls, their absence somehow making the candles brighter and his breath hitched as your shadow enhanced at the new light. He hissed under his breath and his shadows laughed at his dilemma.

A few more minutes of intense silence passed and he tried to focus on the rain, on the cracks in the floorboard, yet his eyes could not stop straying to your shadow, to your curves and elegant movement.

Azriel was sure his breathing had stopped and his mind had emptied of all other thought’s that weren’t about you. He was clenching his teeth so hard they might break. Shame and guilt tingled in his gut yet he could not look away.

Everything about you enchanted him and knowing that you were changing just a few paces behind him, knowing that you trusted him enough to do that? His cock struggled in the confine of his pants and his mind whirred at the possibilities.

“Alright.” You spoke gently and he turned around slowly, drinking you in. You were wearing an old t-shirt that seemed just a little bit too big for you and some long sweatpants that hugged your thighs perfectly. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, staring at you with that intensity he always seemed to possess.

“Hope I didn’t take too long.” You whispered and he shook his head no, not trusting his voice.

He was entranced with your movements as you set your bag on the floor, sliding underneath the covers of the mattress and moved over, very deliberately leaving a space for him there and his heart was going a million miles a minute, his breathing stopped as you started talking once again, it took him a minute to process your words as the sound of your voice hummed in his chest pleasantly, drowning everything else out.

There was only you.

“Make sure to dry off before coming to bed.”

He nodded, turning around and running his hands through his hair, trying to calm his heart and steady his breathing. Did you not see how you were affecting him?

How having you so close yet so far was physically painful. He ached for you and silently cursed Rhys for this mission. Azriel rolled his shoulders and reached for his own bag. His hearing hyper focused on the sound of your breathing, on every shift you made in the bed.

Gods you were going to be the death of him.

#azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel pining #acotar #acotar fanfic #one shot #seduction #forced proximity #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar fic

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liveyun · 3 months ago

Text

you’re an idiot (so am i) | j.jk

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem oc/reader

rating. M

genre. enemies to 👀, university AU, neighbours AU, comedy, drama, romance, angst, slight smut

warnings. coarse language, crACK like lOTS OF IT, theyre both idiots. excessive bickering,,, gym related stuff,,, Medical school itself is a warning,, unhealthy amounts of protein mentions,, i’m Sorry if you’re a gymbro 😭🙏🏾, awkwardness, oc gets slightly injured, it gets slightly smutty 👀, unspoken feelings bc they both suck at communicating, some Cute stuff, that should be it but lmk if i missed any, its 4am

wc. 4.5k +

if this writing style flops, i’ll probably quit writing too 💀

it’s 7:04 AM

or is it really. what is the time again

unfortunately you are awake.

and it’s not by choice.

it’s because your protein 💪 PROTEIN 💪 MORE PROTEIN 🏋️ gymrat neighbour is up, doing burpees in his living room

and the walls between your apartments are criminally thin

and you’re convinced he’s trying to invent a new form of torture through burpees because the sQUEAKING OF HIS DAMN SHOES ARE JUST AS LOUD AS AN ALARM CLOCK!!

why is he even awake at this ungodly hour, you wonder for the 8293838th time since moving in

you feel like crying

for rEAL.

it was around 5:30 am when u finally had let out a sigh of relief at having finally completed your assignment

you roll out of bed, hair resembling a bird’s nest

what else is bed hair supposed to look like

“O YEA!”

here we go

again

you feel like ripping your already damaged hair bc why does he have to be so damn loud

has no occupant not filed a complaint against him yet?

so now u consider knocking on his door to complain... but you remember what happened the last time you tried

jungkook had answered the door holding two dumbbells liKe they were extensions of his arms, shirtless, smiling so brightly it could cure vitamin D deficiency

you knew you were cooked the moment smirked at you gawkinG at his physique and you felt your cheeks warming up

“oh, hey, Y/N,” he’d said, casually flexing mid-sentence with that stupid grin on his face “need something? Or just admiring the view?”

you haven’t known peace ever since

by 8:15 AM, you’ve surrendered to fate and shuffled into the kitchen for coffee

you swEar you hear Jungkook’s blender whirring as he makes another one of his infamous protein shakes

does he even eat anything which does not have protein powder

like ok you understand the value of protein

but anything which has that stupid thing in it automatically tastes like the Biggest Piece of Dogshit

and somehow that’s what you neighbour has 24/7

last week he had accidentally left one in the communal fridge

it smelled like death and regret.

absolute L

anyway u think u need to get something in ur system too and thats when u open your fridge

and sigh

it’s empty.

except for a jar of pickles and a, uh, questionable carton of oat milk

yea. you’ll have to get brunch today. no futher questions asked

10:32 AM

ur first class of the day

and guess what

u have made the mistake of sitting near Jungkook in the lecture hall.

again! 😍

u swear that u are trying to focus on the lecture but is it really your fault that jungkook looks extra,,,...,,,

beefy

his notebook is open, but instead of notes, he’s drawing a disturbingly accurate diagram of biceps

and the shading looks pretty accurate too

he notices you staring, oof “anatomy is about more than just books, Y/N.”

you feel a muscle near your eye twitch

“i really don’t remember asking.”

ouch

that came out a bit too rude. . .

you feel like u should say sorry or something but he just flashes you that golden retriever grin

and somehow, you’re the one who feels stupid

12:10 PM

you’d think a med school lunch break would feel like a break

but no

the first thing you hear is the unmistakable pop of jungkook’s tupperware lid. it’s like pavlov’s bell, but instead of a dog, it triggers your impending irritation

of course it’s chicken, broccoli, and rice. gymrat starter pack™

does this man even know other foods exist?

atleast it doesn’t look unseasoned so maybe you can take it

you’re not the one having it anyway

“bon appétit,” he says with that smug grin, shoveling a forkful into his mouth like he’s filming a mukbang

you side-eye your sad excuse of a sandwich. “don’t you ever get bored of eating that?”

he gasps like a victorian man having seen the ankle of his wife for the first time

“bored? of gains? never.”

the chewing. oh god, the chewing. it’s so loud you’re convinced he’s doing it on purpose

crunch. chew. sip of water from the world’s largest bottle. repeat.

“do you have to eat like a vacuum?”

he pauses, fork mid-air, and looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. then he grins. “do you have to be this cute when you’re annoyed?”

wha— cough!!

did you just choke at your sandwich infront of him?

-100 aura points

your brain just blue-screens

what the hell are you supposed to do with that information

12:22 pm

you haven’t touched your chips yet. you’re saving them for after jungkook’s food massacre ends

his tupperware is licked clean but he’s already eyeing your bag of chips like a hawk

“you gonna eat those?”

“yes, jungkook, i’m gonna eat my chips”

“cool”

c r u n c h

he’s already eaten half the bag.

u are genuinely considering homicide now

the girl from the next table suddenly waves at him, all giggly and twirling her hair like she’s auditioning for a romcom

“hey, jungkook! you should totally sit with us!”

he glances at you, one brow raised. “should i?”

“why are you asking me?” you snap, already annoyed (but like, annoyed in a normal way, not jealous. definitely not jealous)

you miss the way his lips quirk in the corners

“nah, i think i’ll stay here,” he says, smirking. “you’re better company anyway”

...

why is your face heating up. why. stop it

1:00 PM

you’re walking to your next class when jungkook catches up, sipping his protein shake. the smell is somewhere between expired yogurt and pure evil

“so, lunch was fun,” he says casually, like he didn’t commit multiple crimes against your sanity earlier

“for who?” you mumble, giving him the nastiest bombastic side eye

“for both of us,” he replies, grinning. “don’t lie, y/n, you’d miss me if i wasn’t around”

“i’d miss the peace”

he laughs heartily and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to both strangle him and maybe... smile a little

1:12 PM

ur phone dings

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bring more chips tomorrow

or don’t. i’ll just steal them again

>:D

you stare at your screen for a second, debating whether to respond or block his number

you type back

you : (1:13PM) touch my chips again and i’ll report you to student conduct

his reply is instant.

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bet they’d let me off for good behavior 😛

2:47 pm.

group project time!

otherwise known as “watch y/n slowly lose her sanity” time

you're hunched over your notes, trying to come up with literally anything for this cursed assignment while everyone else is glued to their phones

“guys, any ideas?” you try, for the fifth time, because teamwork makes the dream work, right?

wrong. dead silence. you can practically hear your soul exiting your body

one guy mutters, "we could... idk, make a powerpoint?" and goes back to scrolling on instagram. helpful king

you’re about three seconds away from making a powerpoint on why you hate everyone here when the door swings open

in walks jungkook, twenty minutes late, balancing a protein shake in one hand and a clipboard in the other

like he’s about to announce his plan for world domination

he slides into the chair next to you, annoyingly fresh, as if he hasn’t just already benched three cows at the gym

“did i miss anything?” he asks, sipping his shake and eyeing you with those boba lookalike peepers like he’s the main character

why are his eyes so

cute

“yeah, we solved climate change and made contact with aliens. you're late.”

he smirks. smirks. “nice. guess i’ll tackle world hunger next.”

one of your lab mates looks up from her phone just to whisper, “he’s so hot..”

my ass.

“he’s useless”

you’re about to drop-kick the clipboard out of his hands when he lazily stretches and says, “so what’s the plan, y/n? you always have the best ideas”

and just like that, everyone turns to you like a pack of hyenas waiting for their next meal

you might actually murder him. right after you finish this stupid project.

>:-)

midnight.

you’re staring at your notes like they’re written in ancient alien hieroglyphics. focus? yup, that’s a myth

through the wall, you hear it. again.

jungkook’s obnoxious gym playlist thumping loud enough to summon the gods of protein.

how about you just summon the reaper to maybe reap your soul or his

you try to ignore it. you really do. but then the bass drops, and you swear the walls start vibrating

ARGH

that’s it. you’ve snapped. you slam your pen down and march out of your apartment like a woman on a mission

by the time you’re at his door, you’re already regretting this decision

but sleep-deprived y/n? she’s not known for her impulse control

you bang on the door like your life depends on it

>:-(

after a moment, jungkook opens up, looking like he just stepped out of a gym rat rom-com. damp hair, earbuds in, wearing a tank top that shows off way too much arm.

good lord, those tattoos..

“what’s up?” he asks casually, pulling out an earbud, as if you didn’t just nearly break his door down

whats up? what thE hELL DOES HE MEAN WHATS UP??

“it’s midnight!” you yell, waving a hand in the general direction of your apartment. “some of us need sleep to survive!”

he blinks at you, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever. “but you’re awake now. want to do a quick set of push-ups?

you stare at him. you need to go to the store from where he bought the audacity. “push-ups?!”

“yeah,” he says, dead serious. “it’s a good way to burn off frustration. i do them all the time when i’m annoyed.”

“maybe i should start,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes. “because i’m annoyed right now.”

jungkook grins like the demon he is. “great! i’ll grab my mat.”

before you can stop him, he’s already turned back into his apartment. you briefly consider running, but it’s too late.

this is your life now.

five minutes later, you’re on the floor of his apartment, struggling to do one (1) push-up while he effortlessly does twenty in the same time it takes you to collapse in defeat

you feel like someone has bathed you in sweat

“this is humiliating,” you groan, face smushed into the mat

maybe you should’ve just slept

“nah, you’re doing great,” he says, way too cheerfully for someone torturing you. “just three more and you’ll hit... like, five total.”

you debate throwing a dumbbell at him but decide against it

jail isn’t worth it.

yet.

five minutes later you’re on the floor of his apartment, now two (2) push-ups deep and already regretting every decision you’ve made up to this point

you try again, your arms shaking with the effort, your brain screaming for mercy, when—

crack

“ow, ow, ow!” you yelp as your shoulder protests in a way that’s probably not supposed to happen

“that’s it, i’m dOne” you wince, face red from the sheer humiliation and pain

jungkook is standing there with a weirdly sympathetic expression that’s 90% amusement and 10% concern

he’s crouching beside you now, and you can't help but notice his Bambi eyes, all big and concerned, looking at your shoulder like he's actually worried for you

fml

this is so unfair

“u good?” he asks, voice unusually soft, and you can’t help but notice that barely there scar on his left cheek pulling slightly as he frowns and looks down at you

you glare at him, wincing a little more than you’d like to admit

does it look like ur good lol

“i think i pulled something” you mutter, still holding your shoulder, and mentally kicking yourself for agreeing to do this in the first place

you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to him

“mm,” he hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to your face, and then down to your shoulder with that gentle focus you didn’t think he was capable of

oUuu

“you should’ve asked for help, rookie” he says with that familiar cocky grin, but you catch the slight crinkle of concern in his brow, the mole beneath his lips almost beckoning you to stare at it

why is he so dumb but also so stupidly handsome?

and then his fingers are brushing against your shoulder again, carefully massaging the area in a way that’s too intimate for someone who’s just your annoying gym-obsessed neighbor

your heart rate spikes, and suddenly the injury doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore

“i’m fine, really,” you lie, trying to brush it off, but the way his Bambi eyes are looking at you—all soft and worried—has your head spinning

oh god

“i don’t think you are” he mutters, voice low, as he places a hand gently on your waist, pulling you just a little closer

god, stop being so touchy

the fact that he smells like musk and with some citrus-y notes underneath doesn’t help either

you feel your cheeks warming and lips parting

you feel yourself leaning in despite all logic telling you to stop, and then his eyes flicker down to your lips and back to your eyes, slow and cautious, like he’s waiting for your permission

you really cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat at how beautiful he looks. no like for real, his hair is slightly overgrown, curled at the ends which fall gracefully over his face

and how soft his lips look

your brain is too far gone, and the next thing you know, you’re kissing him, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer

his hair feels so silky soft

but his lips are even softer, but there’s a desperate edge to the kiss, and you don’t know if it's because of your injury or the fact that you’ve both been playing this weird tension game for far too long

you feel like u can finally die kissing him like this

his hand slides down your back, pressing you into him as if you might disappear, and you pull away, gasping for air

jungkook’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown and heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling quickly as he looks at you with an unreadable expression

“shit, i… i didn’t think i was actually going to do that” he murmurs, his voice rough and nearly trembling if u hear closely

you stare at his lips again, the mole under them, the way he looks so dumb but also so dumb handsome

his mouth parts to say something stupid again but you shush him with your pointer on his lips

“shut up and kiss me again, you idiot” you mutter, pulling him back in without a second thought

oH WOW

Jungkook doesn’t need any more encouragement. this time, it’s all teeth and heat, a kiss that feels like it might burn the air around you both

and your shoulder? completely forgotten, left in the dust

the kiss doesn’t end in some grand, romantic crescendo like the movies promised

you both were shamelessly making out on his mat

you were perched on his lap and both of u were busy eating eachother’s mouths (it sounds gross but that’s what exactly u two were doing) when suddenly you give his hair a tug

and you hear a moan spilling from him

his hips buck up and you gasp, but it ends with him abruptly pulling away

he’s breathing like he just ran an hour on the treadmill. cheeks all flushed, lips shining with saliva and eyes wide

and your heart is hammering in your chest like it’s trying to escape

jungkook stares at you, lips slightly swollen, eyes wide and wild, and for once, the idiot looks just as lost as you feel

“i—uh—” you stammer, the words tangling in your throat because what the hell are you supposed to say after something like that

“y- yeah,” he cuts in, his voice rough and strained like he’s been punched in the gut, “same”

same? SAME?!

you glare at him, more out of panic than anger, because suddenly the room feels too small, and his scent—something annoyingly musky and Jungkook-ish—is now overwhelming you

“i, uh, should go” you blurt out, scrambling to your feet and clutching your sore shoulder like a lifeline

jungkook doesn’t stop you, just sits there on the floor, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and an expression you can’t quite place

“cool” he mutters, dragging a hand through his messy hair as his jaw clenches

you don’t say anything else, don’t even look back as you practically bolt out of his apartment and into the safety of your own, slamming the door shut behind you

breathe, you tell yourself, leaning against the door, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling from his kiss

you won’t lie, you really didn’t think it would take just a tug of hair to have Mr. Muscle moaning under you

and that kind of inflated ur ego too

>:-)

but now

as u stand behind your closed door

the warmth that had filled your chest moments ago is quickly replaced by a knot of confusion and panic

because this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with Jungkook of all people

he’s my annoying gym-rat neighbor. this is… this is stupid

or is this really?..

no matter how much you try to convince yourself, your fingers keep brushing your lips absentmindedly, and your brain replays the moment over and over again like some kind of cruel joke

the next morning, you half expect him to blast his gym playlist at full volume to piss you off like he always does

but it’s quiet

too quiet

jungkook doesn’t blast music. doesn’t clank weights around. doesn’t do anything to make his presence known, and it’s driving you insane

you don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does

when you leave for class, you catch a glimpse of him locking his door, but he doesn’t even glance your way

just slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks off like you don’t exist

asshole

yea that hurt. a Lot. like a good amount, because you are sure that you felt that pain in the centre of your chest

but it’s not like you’re any better

you bury yourself in your textbooks, pretending the kiss never happened, even though your stupid brain refuses to let it go

your chest feels tight every time you hear his door open or his voice filter through the thin walls

and you hate how you feel disappointed every time he doesn’t acknowledge you

like you really are a stranger to him

:-(

it’s pathetic, but you can’t help it

the silence between the two of you stretches on like an invisible barrier

days pass, and the two of you become masters of the fine art of avoidance

there’s a strange art to it, like walking on eggshells in your own apartment

even if u two live in separate apartments, it just feels

weird

you are so used to him being so noisy and what not

but the silence is heavy, uncomfortable, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air

and it’s clEar neither of you know how to handle whatever the hell this is

you can’t figure out whether it’s a relief or suffocating

and every time you pass him in the hallway or see him through your apartment window, it’s like a silent conversation you’re not having

and that, somehow, feels worse than everything else

you want him to say something. anything.

but he doesn’t

and neither do you

and it makes you sick how easy it is to fall back into the rhythm of pretending he doesn’t exist

even when he’s right there.

you go to class and he’s there

sitting three rows ahead of you like he’s deliberately trying to ignore you

and with that girl who cannot seem to have her hands off his bicep

and you’re… fine with it

totally fine

you are just hoping that your glare is enough to burn a hole in her skull

it’s just that you can’t stop staring at the back of his head

like maybe he’ll turn around and say something but nope

the entire lecture passes and he doesn’t even glance over

and you try not to overthink it but you’re pretty sure jungkook is doing the same thing to you

ignoring you

on purpose

you’re not imagining it, right?

lunch rolls around and you sit down at your usual spot

jungkook’s sitting at the table next to you with his back to you

he doesn’t even look up when you sit down

normally, he would’ve sent you a little half-smile or asked about your day or whatever. .

but now? nothing

it’s like you’re invisible

and that’s fine. you don’t care.

but deep down, you feel this weird lump in your chest

because you didn’t expect this coldness from him

even after everything that’s happened

and you’d even unconsciously brought his favourite flavour of chips he especially likes..

then you see him texting on his phone

and you can’t help but peek over at his screen

jungkook is texting someone

and it’s not you

for some reason, that stings more than it should, but you swallow it down and pretend you didn’t notice

the silence between the two of you stretches out for days

it’s like the entire universe is pretending you never had that moment together

the night when everything took a wild ass turn

but jungkook’s acting like it never happened

and so are you.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s better

maybe he regrets kissing you.

maybe you even made him uncomfortable?..

and maybe this is easier

you can’t decide if it hurts or if you’re just overthinking it

either way, you stop checking his texts, stop wondering what he’s doing in his apartment

you try your best to pretend it’s okay

but deep down, you miss the stupid moments

the ones where he wasn’t so distant where it feels like something ended between you two before it could even start.

it feels like it’s been over a decade

and you hate it.

but you push it aside

it’s just… the silence is way too loud now.

you’re sitting in your room, trying to convince yourself that letting go of jungkook is the right thing to do

and perhaps ur failing miserably lol

but it’s hard because every five minutes you catch yourself staring at something that reminds you of him

your notes? he doodled on them during lectures

your hoodie? yeah, it’s his. he lent it to you one day and never asked for it back

your heart? yeah. he kind of stole that too

you’re spiraling between sleep and insanity when there’s a knock on your door

no, wait—it’s not a knock

it’s banging — like someone’s fist is about to break through the wood

WHO CALLED THE COPS ON YOU ONG

you jump up, your heart pounding, and open the door

and there he is

jungkook—standing there, looking like he just ran a marathon and fought a bear at the same time

hair all messy, slight bags underneath his eyes and kinda disheveled outfit

for a split second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and suddenly having him standing in front of you is making your heart race like crazy

“i can’t—” he stops, breathless, hands on his knees like he’s about to collapse

you’re standing there, eyes wide, totally taken aback by the sight of him, feeling a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place

yet

“i can’t take it anymore,” he says, looking up at you with that ridiculous face of his

you grab that meaty bicep of him, ushering him to stand up

“what are you talking about?” you ask, completely confused

“you. i’m talking about you,” he says, taking a step closer

hUH

the air around you feels like it’s being sucked out of the room

your head is spinning because after all this time, here he is, right in front of you

“i like you. i’ve always liked you. and i didn’t know how to tell you, so i…”

“i got all this gym equipment just to bother you. i’d turn the music up way too loud, and i thought that’d make you notice me. i sat next to you at lunch, even in lectures, doing everything to annoy you because i didn’t know how else to approach you, i really thought—”

“jungkook.”

you blink, processing everything in a blur, your heart still hammering in your chest

but he doesn’t quite listen to you. “i knew you liked my sketches we had during cardio lectures, so i always made sure to draw—”

“juNGKOOK!”

you cut him off, smacking his idiotic shoulders “you’re an idiot.”

jungkook stops, eyes widening a little, but there’s this look of relief on his face

like a huge weight has just been lifted off him

almost like when u get to pee after holding it in for hours

“i know,” he says softly, and for the first time, you realize how vulnerable he looks standing there

he somehow looks

small.

“then why didn’t you just talk to me like a normal person?” you ask, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement

jungkook smiles sheepishly, his pearly whites flashing. “i guess i thought this would be easier.”

easier.

only if he knew that each moment without him felt like the earth opening up and swallowing you

AND!!! HIS FAVOURITE ONION VINEGAR FLAVORED CHIPS!! which used to be your absolutely hated flavour but somehow you’ve caught a liking to them recently

how ironic

the room feels heavy with tension as you both stand there, unsure of what to say next, but his gaze is so intense, it makes your heart skip

“say something,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “please.”

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, still flustered, but there’s something about his earnestness that makes everything else fade into the background

and the way his caramel brown eyes nearly sparkle underneath your dimly lit apartment lights

you shake your head with a smile.

“you’re an idiot.”

but you're smiling like a total fool because what else are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve been in love with just confessed to you?

jungkook’s face softens, and then he smiles too

a smile which looks so adorable you feel your heart will burst

and it’s over for you

“so, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck, looking bashful. “does that mean you like me too?”

you roll your eyes, your heart racing all over again, and grab the front of his shirt to pull him inside

“kiss me already”

the door slams shut behind you.

and the rest

as they say, is history

:-)

a/n : i love them bad :’(

mlist | let me know what you think anonymously :))

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rlyehtaxidermist · 3 months ago

Text

December 2-3, 1984

It's been forty years since a Union Carbide chemical plant exposed five hundred thousand people to methyl isocyanate in Bhopal, India. Thousands were killed in the initial event, thousands more died from complications months or years later, and at least a hundred thousand were permanently injured.

The cause of the incident was the introduction of water to a methyl isocyanate storage tank. This caused a runaway reaction, overpressurising the tank from 14 to 280 kPa over the course of two hours, at which point the tank cracked - but even with atmospheric escape of the gas, pressure continued to increase to nearly 400 kPa - at which point the gauge could no longer give an accurate reading.

After roughly 30 tonnes of gas escaped, employees triggered the plant's alarm system - which was originally designed to alert both workers in the plant and the people in the surrounding city. Company policy mandated that they not alarm the populace about "inconsequential" leakages, so the two alarms had been decoupled by the time of the release. For nearly an hour and a half, the plant's management continued to tell authorities that everything was fine and they had no idea what had happened. Hospital staff had to guess what gas was causing the symptoms. No shelter in place order was given; the public siren remained silent for an hour and a half.

Union Carbide had identified 61 hazards at the Bhopal plant in a 1982 audit, but never followed up on the inspection. Mere months before the incident, UCC discussed the possibility of a methyl isocyanate reaction similar to what occurred in Bhopal at one of their West Virginia plants - however, the report and its predictions were never forwarded to the Bhopal plant, despite the similar design and process.

The Union Carbide Corporation asserts that the incident was caused by sabotage performed by a disgruntled worker. They claim that workers conspired with the Indian government to hide evidence of sabotage in order to blame the company, claiming that the safety systems were sufficient to prevent the incident without human intervention.

On the night of the incident, the tank's monitoring equipment had been malfunctioning for years, reduced to a single manually operated backup. Management had shut off refrigeration of the tank, keeping it at more than 15 degrees Celsius above the recommended temperature. The emergency flare and gas scrubbers had been out of order for months - and even if they had been active, they had insufficient capacity. Deluge guns - a type of pressurised water cannon intended to dissolve escaping gas - lacked enough pressure to even reach the gas cloud.

No motive for the alleged sabotage was suggested.

Warren Anderson, CEO of Union Carbide, refused to answer homicide charges by the Indian government, with the US government denying repeated requests for extradition. He died in 2014, months before the thirtieth anniversary of the disaster in Bhopal.

Union Carbide have divested their stake in their Indian subsidiary UCIL, and refuse to fund any efforts to clean up the abandoned site, insisting that the fault lied with UCIL management and the alleged saboteur. The company paid $470 million dollars to the Indian government - which worked out to a cost of 43 cents per share of the company. Union Carbide's annual earnings were $4.88 per share after the Bhopal settlement.

The 2012 Global Intelligence Files leak revealed that Union Carbide's current owner, Dow Chemical, had employed the surveillance firm Stratfor to monitor activists seeking compensation for the Bhopal disaster.

Dow responded to the email leak that they were "required to take appropriate action to protect their people and safeguard their facilities" - an attitude that seems to have been very lacking in 1984.

#bhopal

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bvidzsoo · 7 months ago

Text

Daemonium

﹢﹑⟡ Daemonium → evil spirit [Latin] ﹢﹑⟡

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: demon!Jung Wooyoung x female reader

﹢﹑⟡ Warning: cursing, attempts of murder, descriptions of death, usage of witchcraft, suggestive ﹢﹑⟡ Word count: 17.5k ﹢﹑⟡ Rating: nc-17 ﹢﹑⟡ Genre: supernatural!au, university!au, demon!au, crack somehow too~ Summary: ﹢﹑⟡ Starting university and moving in with an unknown dormmate should've been stressful, not to you though. You couldn't wait to finally break free from home and live life freely. But isn't it weird that you start having near death experiences quite often after you meet your dormmate, Jung Wooyoung? ﹢﹑⟡

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! The long promised demon!Woo oneshot is here! I apologize in advantage if I totally fucked up how a negative is developed, despite my research, I didn't understand much lol. Also, the usage of witchcraft isn't described too much but it still might not be that accurate so yeah, sorry for that too. I hope the humor in this isn't bad or cringey, I had quite a blast writing this story lol. I hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts about it, I appreciate and love your feedback always! <3 divider (picture Vogue Korea shoot Wooyoung, where he wore that sheer-like fabric, making it seem like he was covered in tattoos & also, Coachella Mingi, thank uu)

The first time I saw him was when I was down in the lobby, six months ago, all sorts of excited and nervous as I was waiting for my AR to show me to my room for the university year. My mother had been clinging to my arm, her eyes just as wide and curious as mine as we were looking around while giggling to ourselves about the decoration and any guy that passed by us. My father, much less impressed and excited, stood more to the back with his arms crossed in front of his chest, probably thinking of a possible excuse to save himself from having to help his only daughter move into her future dorm room. So very typical of my dad, yeah.

I was chewing on my nails, watching as another AR came down to greet the newcomers—too busy wincing as I ripped up the cuticle of my thumb accidentally—to notice the sudden presence next to me. My mother was reading through a magazine she found at the front desk, lips pursed as she muttered to herself about the atrocious décor the magazine was advertising just as my father’s phone started ringing.

Ah, there it was, his excuse to stake out in the car and do whatever he can to pass the time. Very cool, dad, yay!

I hissed as I finally was able to bite off the annoying thin layer of skin, stinging radiating up from my thumb to my palm. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I sighed as I wiped the smallest drop of blood off my skin and looked up, only to pause as I made eye contact with the figure standing next to me. I blinked once, twice—quite shamelessly letting my eyes roam all over his figure as I took him in—aura dark and definitely screaming, ‘I will kill you if you even as much as touch me, roach’. Well, isn’t that just so cool?!

The guy was taller than me by a few good inches—nothing high heels couldn’t solve—and despite his all-black outfit, he looked excentric, attention demanding. Well, with the tattoos littering his sleeves and neck, it would’ve been a little hard not to demand for one’s attention—even if he was just standing next to me, sharp eyes narrowed at my still gently bleeding thumb. His face looked like it was sculpted by a Greek God itself, who had taken their time to make sure every single feature of his guy’s was perfect. His jaw was all sharp in this angle, making one appreciate his profile even more. His lips were rosy red, and a silver lip ring towards the left corner of his mouth had my eyes lingering on it a second too long as I noticed it cut into his plush looking flesh. His nose stood tall and quite captivating with its special Romanic feature, not very common around here. I took notice of the mole underneath his left eye as well, my gaze slowly shifting to the two silver dots—piercings—underneath his eye that made his gaze even more alluring than it already was. And his eyes seemed to be uneven, the left one sharper and more monolided than his right one, making it feel like you were looking at two different persons depending on which eye you were staring at.

Almost at once, it seemed like my mother and father finally noticed this extremely intriguing guy standing next to me, however, their reactions seeing him were quite different. My father scoffed and gave him a scrutinizing look before walking off, motioning towards his phone in a way that was supposed to convey the fact that it was an important call, yadda yadda—it wasn’t; meanwhile my mother’s jaw dropped open as she very rudely gapped at the guy while nudging my side. Finally, it snapped me out of my blatant staring, and I quickly wiped the little blood off my thumb, smiling widely at the guy when our eyes met. For a moment, my smile faltered at the darkness swirling in his eyes, the depth in his sharp gaze, but as he blinked, it almost completely went away. It must be the light messing with us, because his eyes were a dark brown, almost midnight black like the hair that was falling messily in his eyes. With a sexily raised eyebrow, he gave me a questioning gaze, looking displeased by the attention from my mother and myself, and then he turned and stalked off towards the elevator. I whistled under my breath and my mother giggled like a schoolgirl, muttering something about how she’d devour him if she were young and wild once again—not cool, mom.

And after that encounter with the sexy and intriguing stranger, my RA finally made it to me and with his and my mother’s help—thanks dad for not giving a shit, again—I was up on the fourth floor, standing inside my shared dorm room with a dormmate that I still have had yet to meet. Dorms were mixed here, so unless you specifically made a request to share the dorm with the same gender, you could end up with either a guy or a girl dormmate. I have no specific preferences, therefore I left it up to whoever was assigning us to pair me up with whoever. The dorm room had one shared living space, it was quite spacious and served well for a living room, a small kitchen that could fit at a maximum four people inside, and, thankfully, a private bathroom so that we didn’t have to share it with everyone on our floor. And there were two separate rooms serving as our dormitories too. All in all, the dorm was fancy and quite to my taste, and I felt quite satisfied with it. Once I have claimed the room to my right as my own, I settled inside of it and unpacked everything, letting my mother help me as I knew she wasn’t just yet ready to part ways with her only daughter—who she thinks is sheltered, but turns out, I am quite the opposite of it.

Once my mother left and I was all settled in, I made for the bathroom for a long shower, needing a refresher as the days were still hot and made me sweat buckets. But the warm spray of the water compelled me to wash my hair as well, and I complied happily as I heard noise coming from the living room. My dormmate must have finally made it to our dorm, it made me giddy as I was finally done with my shower, only just now realizing I didn’t bring clothes with myself. Well, I should have thought of that before, now it was too late, but thankfully I had my towel with me and I securely wrapped it around my body, water dripping from my hair as I walked outside and into the living room. My smile was wide and voice chirpy as I exclaimed before even seeing my dormmate, “Hi! You made it! I was just taking a shower, my name’s—”

“Hell, why is your voice so high pitched?” The low grunt cut me off as my eyebrows furrowed, looking for the source of voice as I couldn’t see anyone in the living room. Was my voice high pitched? Nobody’s told me that before.

“Uh, well, I guess I’m just excited to meet you.” I made sure to lower the pitch, accidentally sounding like a creepy man that was trying to sound like he totally wasn’t about to grope you or act like a freaking creep. But I still couldn’t see the person, so I walked closer to the sofa, “Where are you—”

My eyes widened as my dormmate finally came into view as he stood up, eyes still so dark as he looked unimpressed, “Oh, it’s you.”

Well…he didn’t sound too excited, that’s for sure. I gulped, suddenly blushing as I realized I was stood in front of the hauntingly sexy stranger from the lobby in nothing but a towel. However, to my surprise, he seemed quite uninterested as he turned back around and crouched down again. I leaned just a little forward, curious as to what he was doing crouching underneath the window, “Yup, it’s me, we’ve met like…an hour ago? What a coincidence that we’re dormmates!”

“If only I had a little more luck in this shitty realm…” The guy grumbled underneath his breath and my eyebrows furrowed at his peculiar choice of words, oh, was he like…into some type of fantasy stuff? Like…does he think he’s like an elf or an alien or like…a zombie? Wait, no, he’s too sexy and normally behaving to think he’s a zombie, “I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung.”

I quickly plastered on a wide smile as he stopped and turned back, eyes calculating as he raised one eyebrow, “Nice to meet you, Wooyoung! My name’s Hwang Y/N.”

His eyes narrowed for a second before he grunted again and turned back to whatever he was doing, my curiosity only growing as I kneeled on the sofa and leaned against the back of it, craning my neck. As he moved to the side again, I noticed he held a small bowl in his hands which contained something solid and white. Huh, is it salt?

“So, whatcha doing, Woo?” I grinned as he turned around again, looking quite disgusted.

“My name is Wooyoung, not Woo.” His tone was snappy as he pursed his lips, giving me a once over again, “And I’m putting salt underneath the window, don’t want anyone with a big ego and stupid brains coming inside.”

“Isn’t that why we lock the front doors?” I arched an eyebrow as confusion laced my voice, and Wooyoung just blinked as if he was waiting for me to get to the butt of the joke.

“Humans,” He hissed underneath his breath before he stood up tall, knees popping and making me bite my lower lip before I could chuckle. It was funny for no reason, apparently only to me as Wooyoung looked still as unimpressed as ever, “Anyways, Y/N, I have some ground rules that you’ll have to respect heavily.”

“Ooh, lemme hear ‘em.” I grinned as I leaned my chin on my folded arms over the back of the sofa, making Wooyoung sigh long and loud. Did he not like me? Was he irritated by my presence?

“First, and most important rule, is to never enter my room, okay?” He leaned down, face coming closer to mine as his dark eyes bore into my curious ones, “Never ever, Y/N, understood?”

I pursed my lips and hummed, tilting my head to the side, “Sure, I’ll stay out of your room, but—are you like doing some rituals in there or what? You can come inside my room as long as you ask, you know, I don’t mind.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed again and he tsked, shaking his head a little bit, “Rituals or not, human, you stay out. I bet your mommy would cry if you were to disappear.”

“She certainly would.” I did a mock salute, making Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow as I chuckled, leaning forward, the gap becoming smaller between our faces, “Don’t you worry you weird little creature—human—I won’t go inside your room. I am quite capable of respecting people’s wishes, you know?”

“Anyways,” Wooyoung cleared his throat and stood back up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “second rule, if you see salt scattered around the floor or on the windowsills, do not get rid of them, got it?”

“Sure, you’re lucky I’m not some clean freak maniac, though.” I chuckled, sitting back on the sofa before I stood up, suddenly aware again that I was standing in only a towel and my hair was still dripping water everywhere.

“Hell, why do you have an answer to everything?!” Wooyoung pinched the bridge of his nose before he turned his back to me and went to spread more salt underneath the window. I just chuckled and took off towards my room.

“Anything else, Mr. ‘I have two rules you can’t ever break’?” I raised my eyebrows as I grabbed the doorknob and Wooyoung scoffed loudly, looking quite unimpressed when his head turned to face me.

“Yeah, rule number three, don’t ever touch my chocolate if you want to live another day.” I started laughing, but when I realized he was dead serious about it, I stopped and cleared my throat, mock saluting him again.

“Yes, sir, yes!” Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed again and he closed his eyes as he muttered something, then turned back to finish whatever weirdo thing he was doing. I giggled and finally went inside my room to get dressed and dry my hair.

Well, all of that was six months ago and Wooyoung changed nothing. Albeit, I didn’t change much either, apart from the fact that I cut my hair after Wooyoung accidentally managed to somehow burn the strands sitting against my back. It was a freak accident and we still don’t know how the fire got close to my hair as I was sitting at the table while he was cooking us dinner. But it was quickly forgotten as many of Wooyoung’s peculiar habits and actions. If you overlooked his weirdness, he had quite the persona. I rarely saw him smile, unless he was with that obnoxiously tall blonde guy, but he did stop glaring at me nonstop. Now he’d only glare for a few seconds whenever he saw me and then pretended I wasn’t even there. It was a good deal on my part, not that I had a habit of clinging to others and bothering them, but Wooyoung was quite good at setting up boundaries, and he certainly was teaching me how to stay in my lane and respect others wishes. I could be a little nosy, but Wooyoung was the first person to be bothered by it. I didn’t mind as long as he would watch ghost hunting shows with me every Wednesday and Friday. He hated it, but he didn’t complain—I viewed that as a small victory, especially if he bought salted caramel popcorn to snack on while we watched the new episodes.

The seasons were changing and the weather was turning warm once again—slowly but steadily—and that also meant more storms and power outages. Which were quite frequent around our campus, especially in our building. There wasn’t one storm where the power didn’t go out, and the last time it happened, I heard Wooyoung cussing loudly inside his room, something shattering, and then Wooyoung storming out of his room and our shared dorm with something red trickling down underneath his eyes. He could’ve been cosplaying or something, so I didn’t question it too much. Tonight wasn’t different, the storm hit at around 7pm and it kept going well into the night, making it difficult for me to fall asleep as the windows were quite old in this building and did a shitty job at insulating the sounds coming from the outside. Struggling to fall asleep, I had facetimed my mother and somehow managed to fall asleep to the gory story she was retelling that’s happened to her at the morgue yesterday. She must’ve hung up upon seeing that I have fallen asleep, because when I awoke due to the relentless and loud howling of the wind, the screen of my phone was black and the phone itself had been almost falling off my bed on the other end of the mattress. I could get quite restless in my sleep if outside factors were bothering me, and I groaned as I rubbed at my eyes, barely seeing anything in the darkness of my room. The window rattled against its hinges as the wind blew even harsher, the rain hitting the glass loudly and making me feel like I was inside a caravan on a stormy night. At least the thunderstorms haven’t started yet.

I yawned as I finally felt my phone under my extended palm and rolled over, burying my head in the spare pillow as I pulled the phone under my body. I was tired as hell and I wanted to go back to sleep right away, but something told me to check the time. It was a little past 3am and I groaned as I flopped back onto my back, reaching over for the cable of my charger. Feeling around for it, and growing frustrated that I couldn’t find it, I pushed up onto my elbows and turned my head over, completely freezing as I noticed my bedroom door was wide open, with a black figure standing in the doorway. My eyebrows furrowed for a second, brain hazy with sleep, and I blinked my eyes fast, thinking that I was just seeing things. But rubbing both of my eyes for a few seconds only made me see black spots, making the figure look like it was further inside my room when my vision finally cleared. My grip tightened around my phone as my eyes narrowed when I noticed something silvery in the person’s right hand. Wait—was it a knife? Our sharpest knife, and Wooyoung’s favorite knife to cook with? Ah, Wooyoung!

“Hey,” I called out, voice a little scratchy from lack of water, “something bothering you?”

Wooyoung seemed frozen, unmoving and unblinking as his red tongue poked out to lick at his plush lips slowly. Yeah, I could use a glass of water too right now. It was a little unsettling how well he blended in with the darkness, almost as if it swirled around him, pulled him into itself. His eyes were so dark that only the whites of them were visible, and his two piercings were almost as bright as the butcher knife clutched tightly in his hand.

“This storm sucks so much,” I sighed, turning over and instantly finding the cable, “I could barely fall asleep, and now I’m awake again because of it.”

I successfully plucked in my phone and then placed it on my nightstand, “You can’t sleep either?”

I rolled onto my back again, settling comfortably underneath my warm blanket as my soft pillow cradled the back of my head. Wooyoung still hasn’t moved nor said anything, and a wide smile spread onto my lips at the sudden thought I got, “Wanna cuddle, Woo?”

The figure grunted, the sound a lot lower than Wooyoung’s usual voice, and then it visibly shivered as I made grabby hands at him. When he still hasn’t moved, I smiled brightly at Wooyoung and raised my eyebrows questioningly. That’s all it took for Wooyoung to snap out of his weirdly frozen state as he visibly gagged, making me pout as he whirled around quickly, knife glinting as he pressed it against his lower back. And then he was out of my room, slamming the door shut loudly behind himself, “Sweet dreams, Wooyoung!”

My exclamation was probably drowned out by the heavy rain and I sighed contently as I nuzzled further into my comfortable bed, turning to lay on my belly as I felt my dreams threatening to kidnap me into dreamland once again.

The morning that followed after the storm was cold and mostly quiet. Branches had been torn off trees and they lay astray on the streets, the city maintenance were out early in the morning to clean them up so that there wouldn’t be more traffic jams than usual. I was glad for once for not owning a car as I walked towards the coffee shop that is closest to our campus and university, my best friend probably already there. He’s always way too early and then complains about me being late, when in fact, it’s always him arriving fifteen minutes early while I’m on time. It’s an argument we’ve been having since highschool, and he still thinks he’s in the right and I’m just bullshitting my way through the argument. The big guy, in fact, cannot lose in anything and will obliterate you if you doubt his skills or piss him off while playing games. He’s a monster when it comes to playing games, and it’s been more than on one occasion that he managed to scare me to the point I burst out in tears. But I promise he’s the softest and kindest and safest human being you’ll ever meet—as long as you keep him away from anything that he can turn into a competitive game, like…who can eat more walnuts in three minutes. Don’t ask, but we ended up in the ER after that little stunt of ours—he’s allergic to nuts but he apparently wanted to prove a point. What point…we still haven’t figured it out. Maybe that he’s immortal or something—he isn’t. He once broke his arm and cried about it for a week, it was the funniest thing ever. I still have the videos of him laying in his bed with snot running into his mouth as he sobs about losing whatever points he’s made in Valorant or something—I wouldn’t know, I’m not much of a gamer.

I grinned as I finally reached the coffee shop, sidestepping a couple that were giggling to each other and having no spatial awareness to someone that was trying to enter the building that they were blocking the entrance to. I pushed the heavy door open and as expected, Yunho was already sat at our usual table with a cup in his hands, gazing out nostalgically the window. I chuckled and hopped over, scaring the shit out of him as I threw my arm around his shoulders and pressed a fat kiss against his soft and chubby cheek. He spilled a little of his coffee on the table as he whined and yanked himself free from my clutches.

“Yunho!” I grinned as I took a seat across from him, “I missed you!”

He looked tired as he gave me a short glare, taking a napkin to clean up the mess caused by me, “You’re lucky I didn’t spill it on my new dress pants, or else we’d be in the bathroom with your head flushed down the toilet.”

“Hey!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I wriggled out of my jacket and draped it over the back of my chair, placing my backpack underneath our desk, “Sometimes I wonder if you really love me or not…”

“You can’t guilt trip me when you made me spill my favorite coffee.” He deadpanned as he placed the cup down on the table, intertwining his fingers and placing his hands on the table, giving me a serious look. I huffed and pouted as I grabbed my own cup, knowing that it was my favorite as I raised it up to my lips, taking a tentative sip. The sweet taste of caramel invaded my senses and I hummed in content, closing my eyes.

“I’m buying next time.” I said as I placed the cup back down and leaned over the table to ruffle Yunho’s hair.

“You better.” He mumbled as he leaned forward, letting me pet his hair for a little longer. He loved it when others played with his hair, he’d often fall asleep in my lap if I played with his hair, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Yunho knew I hated storms, and after having offered to sleep over last night but I declined because he had an exam today, I knew he’d be a little worried about me not sleeping much, “Yeah, I struggled to fall asleep, but I did manage to sleep more than I expected.”

“That’s good, the power went out at around seven in our building.” Yunho rolled his eyes and we both leaned back in our chairs, our legs playfully pushing at each other underneath the table, “I hate these old buildings, they are so freaking creepy. It makes me feel like I’m a Victorian man getting haunted by my enemy’s ghost or something whenever I have to leave my room. The library is so dark too, I almost shat my pants last night when I ran into a dude in the very last aisle, you know, in the back where the light barely reaches even with the power on.”

I snorted in amusement as I fiddled with my fingers in my lap, shaking my head at my best friend, “Only you would be in the library when there’s a power outage, Yuyu, it’s you who’s creepy at this point, not the possibility of encountering a sexy and hunky ghost—”

“Don’t say that about ghosts, oh, my God!” Yunho gave me a disgusted look as he shivered. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders and soft cheeks, but fierce eyes if pissed off, yet, at his core, he is just a big scaredy-cat. He hates anything paranormal related, and when I once dragged him ghost haunting with me, we ended up in the confession box the same night with him begging the priest to bless him—and me—because he was convinced a demon attached itself to him. It was hilarious, especially when he stole a small vial of holy water and downed it on our way home.

“Anyways,” I playfully rolled my eyes and then took another sip of my coffee, “the power went out in our building too, but was back at 3am.”

“What were you doing up at 3am?” Yunho asked with furrowed brows, holding onto his warm cup of coffee.

“I dunno, the wind woke me up.” I shrugged, placing down my cup and mirroring Yunho, “And then I noticed Wooyoung standing in my doorway with his favorite butcher knife in his hand—”

“What?!” Yunho’s loud voice had heads turning our way with inquiring gazes and I chuckled, bowing my head slightly in a silent apology for being a nuisance. Then, I faced my best friend again and shushed him as he suddenly stood up from his seat from across me, and instead fell into the one right next to mine, “Are you okay?!”

“Yes, Jesus, what’s up with you, Yuyu?” I scoffed and gave him a look that said he’s crazy, making Yunho stare back at me as if I was the crazy one.

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” And before I could answer, he leaned forward and cupped my cheeks, squishing them together so that I couldn’t speak, “What the fuck is wrong with that dude, Y/N, you seriously need to change dormmates. We can move in together, I’ll pay the bigger part of our rent, I don’t care at this point. That guy is trying to kill you!”

I groaned loudly and rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto his wrists, pulling Yunho’s hands off my cheeks as he instead grabbed onto my shoulders firmly with his long fingers digging into my turtleneck, “You are overreacting, again. He isn’t trying to kill me, Yunho, he’s just peculiar. He was probably cooking something and came to check on me as he knows I struggle sleeping when there’s a storm—”

“Right.” Yunho cut me off with an obnoxious scoff, “He was cooking at 3am, Y/N, sure.”

“He does eat at weird hours, sometimes.” I shrugged and yelped when Yunho started shaking me violently.

“Wake up, woman, that man is weird and probably is a serial killer, and if you don’t move out you’ll be his next victim, please, Y/N, when has my intuition been wrong?!” Yunho’s voice was dripping with desperation and I bit my lower lip, blinking at him innocently.

“Back in highschool when you thought that guy you liked from drama class was gay and you kissed him at that legendary party?” Yunho’s eyes widened into saucers, completely mortified at the mention of the cursed exchange—which he have sworn never to speak about.

“Shut up!” He yelped, pressing his big palm against my mouth, “We agreed that never happened! And don’t divert the subject, I am serious, Y/N. Something is very wrong with that guy and you’re just stubborn and don’t want to see it, because you think I’m only saying all of this because I hate him.”

“Well, am I wrong?” I raised my eyebrows and Yunho sighed in exasperation, his hands falling from my shoulders.

“He’s trying to kill you, of course I hate him.” He snapped, eyebrows furrowing deeply, making me roll my eyes as I grabbed my cup and took a sip of my Caramel Macchiato.

“Yuyu, you can’t even pinpoint one instance when he’s tried to kill me, stop being dramatic—”

“Oh, I can’t pinpoint one instance?!” Yunho’s eyebrows angrily shot up, “How about I pinpoint a dozen then, you stupid woman!”

“I’m all ears.” I singsonged and leaned back in my chair as Yunho groaned loudly, leaning closer, as if that would make him sound less insane and make me finally agree with the way he thought things were.

“Fine,” He snapped and pressed a finger against my chest quite painfully, “you had been living with him barely for three weeks when it just so happened that there was a fire scare in your apartment, and your door was locked from the outside? Not even two weeks after that, he walked inside the bathroom while you were bathing and pushed your hairdryer into the bathtub, but thankfully it wasn’t plugged in, right?! Oh, and how about on Halloween when he dressed up as Ghostface and only chased you around and got arrested when the cops realized he had a real knife as a prop?! What about, I don’t know, when he quite literally broke a bottle and held it against your neck under the excuse that he wanted to see how you’d react ‘under pressure’?! Let’s not even mention him burning your hair when you were feet away from the stove. Or that time when the lunatic was playing around with throwing knives and almost fucking gauged your eye out with it? He’s set your favorite blanket on fire, Y/N, while you were underneath it! And you said he tried to push you into the river while you were out taking photographs for your portfolio for class—”

“Alright!” I raised my hands in defeat, sighing loudly, “I do admit it’s weird how often it happens that I’m placed in harms way whenever I’m around Wooyoung, but they are just coincidences, Yunho—”

“Coincidences my fucking ass!” Yunho hissed, cheeks and ears reddening from anger. I sighed defeated and placed my elbow on the table and then rested my chin in my palm with a pout on my lips. Yunho only cussed when he was really angry.

“Yuyu,” I poked his hand with my left hand, lightly scratching his smooth skin with my nails, “I love and you love me, and I know you worry about me because ‘you know how men are’, but Wooyoung is inoffensive, trust me. He’s odd and yeah, weird things happen around him, but I actually quite enjoy his personality. He’s a rational and down-to-earth guy, he tells me as things are and he’s quite fucking good at photography. I probably passed a few of my classes due to his help, so please, try not to think of him as a serial killer.”

Yunho shook his head and looked down, timidly intertwining our fingers, making me beam at him as I knew he wasn’t actually mad at me, “I’ll never like him, and if you freaking disappear, I’m going to dismember him and—”

“You sound like a serial killer right now—”

“And once the police get your case, they’ll tell me I was right, because that dude is nuts and has been trying to kill you for months now, but whatever.” Yunho scoffed and I rolled my eyes, squeezing his fingers between mine, “Let’s change the subject, I don’t want to go to classes angry.”

I grinned, leaning closer to his face, “You texted me something last night about a guy…”

Yunho’s cheeks flushed, and he yanked his hand out of mine as he stood and sat back in his initial seat, “Right, I think I have a new crush.”

I gasped, grinning from ear to ear, “Let me see him!”

Yunho cleared his throat as he unlocked his phone, his ears reddening as he opened Instagram, reluctantly turning his phone around. The guy looked familiar and I narrowed my eyes as I read his handle, wondering where I had seen him before. His eyes were sharp but he had dimples when he smiled. He looked shorter than Yunho, and that was weird, because Yunho preferred guys his height or taller than him.

“Is this Choi San?” Finally, his name clicked as I looked at Yunho with one raised eyebrow, making his eyes widen.

“You know him?” He asked surprised, turning his phone to look at San’s picture, “He’s on the university’s hockey team, majors in sports and such.”

“I know him,” I chuckled and leaned back in my seat, knowing that Yunho will hate what I was about to say next, “and he’s on pretty good terms with Wooyoung.”

Yunho’s face fell and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back, “Great.”

I chuckled and grabbed my cup of coffee, sipping on it as I watched Yunho have a visible meltdown in front of me. This man, he could be so dramatic at times. And maybe I lied a little bit, maybe San and Wooyoung on ‘pretty good terms’, but they did hang out…for business that I couldn’t disclose due to our unspoken dormmate confidentiality.

Between two-hour long classes and everlasting lectures, I was lucky enough to have a two-hour break, away from all the brain maiming material that I had to sit through and study thoroughly for our fast-approaching exams. As I still had a project to finish, I was headed to the darkroom to check out if my negatives have developed well. It’s been a few days since I had been there, and I was curious to see how my pictures turned out. The porter of our university already knew me—like most photography majors—and as I knocked on his cubicle’s little window, he flashed me a grin and swiftly fetched the darkroom’s key. I thanked him as he handed it over and then I was off to the room, bouncing on my every second step as the hallways were littered with students eager to escape this hell-site. I shared their distaste for having to study so much, but I quite enjoyed what I was studying as long as it required of me to take photos and then present them to the teacher or to our class. Wooyoung, visibly to his horror, shared the same major as me and thus was forced to sit through lessons with me by his side, diligently taking notes and sometimes snorting at whatever the teacher was saying as I mockingly said it back to Wooyoung. He rarely reciprocated any of my jokes and even more rarely interacted back with me. Not that it bothered me, he usually ignored me even in the shared space of our dorm—unless it came to studying and things he didn’t understand. Like how a coffee maker machine worked, which was weird but I didn’t say anything about it to him. He had called himself an old soul or whatever, I didn’t dwell much on his words, unless he was screaming at me for accidentally sweeping up his little funky salt ‘barriers’ that he’d litter our dorm with. It wasn’t my fault I accidentally confused it with breadcrumbs as it was quite literally around our table in the kitchen.

The darkroom wasn’t too spacious nor lit up—hence its name—and I placed my backpack on a stool once I was inside, the door secured shut behind myself. I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket as I walked towards the hung-up strings, the ones I have put up there four days ago. I haven’t developed many negatives this time as I hadn’t taken many pictures, too busy studying instead of focusing on this project, but I was glad that they came out well. I gently took each one down from the string and took my time studying them, smiling as most were taken when I was hanging out with Yunho. However, there was one that was of my oh so lovely dormmate, Jung Wooyoung. He had been sitting on the floor at our coffee table in our living room when I had arrived home, too focused on scribbling things down to notice the click of our door’s lock. I stood in the doorway and took my time to take him in, rarely being able to see a serene look on his face. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, the strange runic like tattoos on display on his arms. There was barely an inch of skin bare, and as he was leaned forward, his t-shirt fell a little low and exposed his neck and collarbones, tattoos similar to the ones on his arms peeking through. The black ink was thick and it made me wonder whether it hurt like a bitch or not when he got them.

I had reached inside my backpack for my camera as Wooyoung’s upper teeth got caught in his lip ring, sucking it between his bottom lip and front teeth. You see, Wooyoung isn’t an unattractive guy and despite his odd behaviour, I am just a woman that appreciates gorgeous things. And so, I couldn’t be blamed for wondering what the lip ring feels like when it makes contact with your own lips, whether it’s bothersome or turns you on even more. Not wanting to pass up on the moment, I quickly snapped myself out of my thoughts and snapped a picture of Wooyoung just as he looked up. He looked taken aback, eyes widened and lower lip jutting out as I grinned and waved at him. His serene expression didn’t last for long, however, as his eyebrows furrowed and a glare made it onto his face. But I ignored it, like I always did, and then went up to him and joined him despite his complaints of wanting to be left alone. When I said he could go to his room and I wouldn’t ‘bother’ him anymore, he noted that the scent of the incense he had used was giving him a headache and he couldn’t stay inside his room today. What a bummer for him, all I saw was an opportunity to finally bond!

I chuckled at the memory as I unclasped the negative Wooyoung was on and excitedly raised it up, close to my face, to see it better. But I froze at the image, wondering whether I have messed up when I was developing the image. Somehow it seemed a little distorted, not much, but if you looked close enough you could see it. The background was unnaturally dark and it almost looked like it was leaving Wooyoung’s body under a mist like form, wrapping around his neck weirdly. The black ink on his skin seemed to be almost glowing and it was his face that made my heart race a little bit, wonder whether my hands were shaky or not when I took the photograph. His eyes seemed to be brightly glowing, only the whites of them visible—much like last night when he had come inside my room—and it made my stomach stir, bringing this unsettling feeling forward in my brain. I have never been scared of Wooyoung before, there wasn’t a reason as to why I would be scared of him, but now I found myself feeling uncomfortable the longer I looked at the picture. There was a creak behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I swiftly spun around, gasping in fright as Wooyoung stood with his hip leaning against a table, watching me with hooded eyes.

My heart started racing in my chest and I quickly hid the picture behind my back as I plastered on a wide smile, “Wooyoung! Hi! You scared me.”

He remained emotionless as he tilted his head, pushing off the table as he very slowly—as if I was his prey—approached me. My heart continued to race in my chest and I wondered how I missed him coming inside the room when the door’s handle was a little faulty and it made a lot of noise. I cleared my throat and watched him curiously, raising my eyebrows, “You’re here to develop some pictures for our project too?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Wooyoung muttered, his voice deeper than usual. I gulped and hummed quickly, trying to keep the smile on my face. I didn’t understand why I felt so nervous all of a sudden, why the hairs stood up on my arms. I shared a living space with Wooyoung, we’ve walked in on each other more than once when the other was showering or bathing—so why now was I feeling like I should be running away instead of waiting for him to reach me? It must be that Yunho’s words got to me, and I was already jumpy seeing the negative. Plus, it was dark and Wooyoung was dressed in all black too, his dark eyes almost invisible as the whites of them shinned brightly. He was dressed in ripped jeans that had scribbles on both pantlegs in a language I couldn’t understand, the soles of his thick boots high, making him taller. The white shirt he wore was buttoned up to his neck and peeking through the neckline of the black fuzzy sweater he had on top of it. Wooyoung’s raven hair had gotten longer these past few months and he had decided to let it grow out even longer, the strands now jelled back and falling messily in his eyes. Eyes, which were outlined with dark eyeshadow and kohl eyeliner, making him look menacing for once. His many earrings matched his silver piercings, and I felt myself step back when he was stood in front of me.

My heart was now racing so fast I could feel the vein thump in my neck, making it harder to breathe when a smoky and intense scent hit my nostrils, Wooyoung’s perfume had always been distinctive and strong, “Got something you want to show me?”

I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as Wooyoung took another step, backing me back up into the closet behind me. I chuckled and shook my head, feeling confused all of a sudden. His expression bore no emotions, but his lips slightly twitched and his eyes narrowed, and I could swear he looked almost amused.

“N-no, not really.” His lips pulled into a smirk and then he reached out, making me freeze as his arm went around my hip and his cold fingers lightly traced the back of my palm until he gripped the negative I was holding, and ripped it out of my grip. My eyes widened and I coughed as he chuckled, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “Oh, I—I took that when we were studying, remember?”

“I rarely forget things, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s voice dripped with honey, sounding too nice compared to how he usually talked to me, “You took this photo without my permission, now look how it turned out.”

I gulped and looked at it again as he turned it around for me to see, making me inhale deeply. Something still wasn’t right with the picture, but I suppose I fucked up when I had developed it. I exhaled and leaned back against the closet, giving him an easy smile, “It’s not you, I probably messed up developing it.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and his smirk widened, he was almost leering, “It’s not me looking like a monster of your nightmares, but you messing up the developing of it?”

“Yup,” I shrugged and took the photo from his grip, smiling brightly again, “and I don’t have nightmares so I wouldn’t know what those sleep demons look like.”

Wooyoung’s sharp eyes narrowed and he leaned incredibly close, making me gulp as I laughed nervously under my breath, feeling a little weird due to our sudden proximity. He usually fled the room if I was inside it, and if we happened to accidentally touch he’d glare at me and rub at his skin as if I had rabies or something, “Would you like to meet one?”

“Not really,” I scoffed, quite glad that I had my peaceful sleep every night, “besides, I have my own little demon living with me, why want another one?”

“What?” Wooyoung froze, expression falling as I giggled and playfully pushed his shoulder.

“You’re a little rascal,” I started, giving him a smug look, “you act like you hate me, but I know deep down you’re secretly into me.”

Wooyoung scoffed as if I had said something very inconvenient to him, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I cannot stand you, Y/N, you’re too cheery and irritating.”

“Sure.” I giggled and leaned forward, our faces merely inches away once again. Wooyoung’s eyes flickered down for a second, then all over my face before he was back to glaring deeply into my eyes, “Are you possessed by a little demon or something? Is that why you sometimes act so animus?”

Wooyoung chuckled, his lip pulling back into a smirk as he turned his head and leaned forward, lips brushing against my ear. I froze once again, taken aback by how bold he was being. Like I had said, he hated it when we touched.

His lip ring felt weird against my warm ear, and I gulped as his voice had dropped lower than ever before, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I would, very much so.

Today has been a long day. It almost felt like it never wanted to come to an end. Maybe because I’ve been studying all day long, blessed as our one and only Friday class got cancelled due to our professor catching a nasty flu, and so, I could sleep in and then…study all day long thanks to my misfortune. It was tiring, brain maiming, and absolutely atrociously torturous. But I have survived it and now I’m twice as smart as I was before I thought of looking through the professor’s power point presentations and the book he wrote and selflessly promotes every chance he gets. I mean, I get it, money from a side hustle always comes in quite handy. But the torture and suffering are over now, and all I have to do is get ready for tonight’s movie date with Yunho! We had been planning on having a movie night for quite a while now, but failed to find an evening when we were both free. We have agreed that as long as Yunho brought the snacks and alcohol, I’d be the one cooking for the night. Which turned out to be a fun and entertaining feat to do after the day I have had. The little speaker connected to my phone was blasting my favourite ass-shaking music as I cooked the ramen, probably having bought too much for just two people. But that wasn’t an issue, at least Wooyoung and I would have leftovers for tomorrow. The little sausages were the first thing I got to prepare as I fried them in a pan in a little sunflower oil since they work well with corn-cheese and the ramen I was preparing.

I was in the middle of stirring the ramen with one hand and putting more mayo into the bowl containing the corn as I was nearly shouting the lyrics of the song playing, unaware of the presence lurking behind myself. I raised my right hand holding the spatula in the air, hitting the beat as I scratchily whipped out my best high note to match the singer’s, shaking my ass in the process as I whirled around, jumping just slightly forward. Something cold and sharp poked my abdomen where my crop top had ridden up, and my eyes widened as I jumped in fright having come face to face with my dormmate, Wooyoung. His expression was cold and very unimpressed, brows set in a deep frown and lips pulled into a grimace that screamed disgust, and—his favourite butcher knife was clutched tightly in his right hand, the sharp edge of it pressing just slightly against my flesh.

“Wooyoung!” I exclaimed with a grin and scurried off to lower the volume of my music, “Hi! I didn’t hear you coming in.”

“With the way the music was blaring, I’m not surprised.” Wooyoung hasn’t moved from his spot as I went to take the cooked ramen off the stove, making way for my corn-cheese.

“Sorry, figured since I was alone it wouldn’t be bothering anyone—”

“Just our neighbours.” Wooyoung muttered and then finally moved, lowering the knife as he walked up next to me, leaning against the counter. The knife was still held firmly in his hand, but upon one prolonged stare at the side of my face, he placed it on the counter with a drawn-out sigh. I flashed him a wide smile as I placed the ramen away from the edge of the counter, not wanting the pot it was cooked in to burn our skin if we were to accidentally touch it.

“Yunho is coming over in a bit to watch a movie, do you mind?” I asked Wooyoung as I went back to the stove, placing another pan onto it before I poured some oil in it. Wooyoung grimaced, giving me a small glare as he suddenly approached me, pushing my hand away when I went to grab the bowl of corn, mayo, and a little bit of butter.

“My kin is coming over too.” I giggled at the weird word he used for the term friend, already knowing who he was talking about. The tall guy, as tall as Yunho probably, was a rather intimidating guy, more so than Wooyoung was. His sharp eyes were piercing and he always scrunched up his nose when he looked at me, tilting his head as his eyes followed my every move. He was quite the oddball, but he was hilarious, and besides that Choi San guy, he was the only one who could make Wooyoung laugh so loudly that it sounded like I was living with an evil witch or something. Mingi was quite cool and rather similar to Wooyoung, I could see why the two were friends.

“If Mingi is coming over too,” I grinned as I leaned closer to Wooyoung, but he was busy pouring the corn into the pan to notice me, “the four of us could have a movie night!”

“Absolutely not—” Wooyoung flinched as his head whipped around, probably surprised by the proximity. I chuckled and leaned away, grabbing the cheese as I sprinkled it over the corn in the frying pan, “Mingi and I don’t want to join you for your stupid movie night.”

“Wooyoung,” I whined, pouting in a way I knew would irk him, “please, I already made too much food. Mingi loves ramen and corn-cheese, you always make it for him when he comes over. Wooyoung, please, don’t be a party popper!”

I knew the whiney and high-pitched tone I used would drive Wooyoung up the wall, and he squeezed his eyes shut and then hissed when I leaned closer to bat my eyelashes at him in a disgustingly cute way. He didn’t appreciate it, obviously, and gave me a nasty stare.

“I’ll burn you alive if you act like that ever again.” I gasped in delight as Wooyoung threw another harsh glare at me, knowing that he had given in already. I blew him a small kiss and squeezed his bicep playfully as he wore a loose sleeveless tank top. The blank ink looked to be swirling around underneath his sun-kissed skin, and my eyes lingered on them before I went to wash up the dishes I have used for cooking.

Despite Wooyoung’s initial sour mood and snarky comments, once the four of us got together, him and Yunho seemed to be enjoying themselves the most as the two of them forced Mingi and I through a variety of board games. I was in a team with Yunho and Wooyoung with Mingi, and the two were at each other’s throats as Mingi and I sat back and let them battle it out in Activity. But Mingi, having been ogling Yunho since the second he stepped foot in Wooyoung and I’s dorm, wanted to switch up the teams and due to his plan backfiring, the two of us were stuck as teammates in a game that we were so very embarrassingly loosing as Yunho and Wooyoung powered through all stages, obliterating us as best as they could. Having known Yunho for more than five years, I could notice the subtle jabs he’d send at Wooyoung, the way he’d ‘accidentally’ elbow him in the ribs way too often, or the way he barely let Wooyoung do his own thing once they became teammates. Wooyoung being rather smart had noticed it too, and besides the unimpressed glances and hasty glares, he let Yunho be without voicing his ever-growing irritation.

Alcohol got mixed into our games, and after we ate the dinner I had cooked, it seemed like everyone got bolder as we started randomly throwing shots back of whatever hard liquor Yunho had bought, our actions to be regretted probably tomorrow. The music was turned up to a normal volume so that it wouldn’t bother our neighbours and our laughter echoed in the living room more often than not. The alcohol made my skin feel tingly and there was a pleasant buzz in the back of my head, up-lifting my mood even more as I let loose after the stressful day I have had. Yunho, tipsy but not dumb, stuck to my side as best as he could, muttering things to me about Wooyoung he had noticed, and I decided to let him be and nod along to whatever far-fetched thing he was saying. Like the fact that his tattoos looked rather like pagan sigils used in witchcraft than just normal tattoos, or the fact that his eyes continued getting hazier and darker the further we got into the night, the whites of his eyes almost glowing. And then there was his irrational fear of Mingi, flinching away any time the blonde as much as looked his way, making Yunho almost climb on my back when Mingi decided to sit next to him, their legs and shoulders brushing against each other. I had to give it to Yunho, there was something weird about Mingi that I haven’t noticed before. He looked to be borderline salivating and it was almost as if he was constantly sniffing the air—and if he leaned in and took a deep waft of the air after Yunho basically ran off to the bathroom, I decided to store that away in the back of my head and analyse it another day. Similar to Wooyoung, Mingi had thick tattoos lining his chest—he was rather fond of deep cut V tank tops—and his arms had wire-like ink decorating his fair skin. The guy sometimes looked sickly, and his platinum hair only added to his pale complexion. I have asked Wooyoung more than once if Mingi was okay, and apparently, he just rarely went out in the sun. Come to think of it, the two had similar dressing styles and even spoke similarly; maybe they are from the same province.

Before we’d sit down and start the movie—something Yunho has chosen and I already forgot the name of—I went to the kitchen to mix another cocktail for myself, a lot tamer and less alcohol infused compared to the last one Mingi had mixed for me. I was in the process of pouring Vodka into my tall glass just as Yunho came basically bulldozering inside the kitchen. His eyes were wide as I looked back, and his cheeks were completely flushed, having reached his ears even. My eyebrows rose and I chuckled amused as he rushed to the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing his face and soaking the collar of his white t-shirt, his silver rosary not hidden underneath his t-shirt anymore.

“Are you okay—” Before I could finish my sentence, his head whipped around and he gave me a wide-eyed stare.

“No!” He exclaimed and then glanced behind himself frantically, as if he was being chased by a monster and had to hide, “That guy—Mingi, there’s something very wrong with him, Y/N!”

“What do you mean?” I asked confused, grabbing the cranberry juice to mix the Vodka with, “Does this have to do anything with your whole belief of Wooyoung being a serial killer?”

“But he is!” Yunho whisper-exclaimed, crowding against my side as he leaned down so that he could continue whispering, “And Mingi isn’t completely sane either—he sniffed me in the hallway when we crossed paths when I was coming here and he was going to the bathroom! He literally leaned in, crowded me against the wall, and sniffed me, Y/N!”

I pressed my lips together and hummed, closing the lid of the cranberry juice as I grabbed a teaspoon to mix the drinks, “Yeah, he’s probably drunk too. People act weird when they are drunk. Remember that one time my ex tried to jump out of a window almost blackout drunkenly?”

“That’s—Hongjoong was a freak! You can’t compare him to Wooyoung and Mingi!” I leaned against the counter and raised my eyebrows at my best friend, intrigued all of a sudden where this conversation was going.

“So are you saying you two slept together because he was a freak and not because maybe he’s not so straight and you were drunk as fuck—” Yunho’s eyes widened into saucers and he pressed his palm against my mouth, his blush spreading down to his neck and no doubt to his chest. He looked mortified as he gaped, apparently struggling to find his words just yet.

“That—that was—that’s irreal! I never—I didn’t even know he was into me!” Poor Yunho, I tried to maintain a serious face as he spiraled even more into despair, his other hand clutching my nape, “Girl, we agreed to never bring that up, why are we talking about Hongjoong and I sleeping together, I—wait, I thought you didn’t care, Y/N, is this why you love to torture me? Because you secretly hate me?! You weren’t even together anymore; you have long forgotten about him and I was on a resort on a vacation with my miserable family and he was there and he was hot and I just—”

The laughter I couldn’t hold back anymore was loud and atrocious as I threw my head back, my throat starting to hurt from how loud it was. I could feel tears spring into my eyes as I held onto the counter for dear life, Yunho becoming speechless as he grabbed my glass and took a long sip of my drink. My belly was shaking and contracting from the good laugh I had, and once I had calmed down, I had to wipe my tears away. Yunho looked a mixture of angry, in despair and amused, and I threw myself at him as my arms tangled around his neck, hugging him tightly like I knew he liked it. His body was tense, but then he slowly eased up into the embrace and returned the tight hug, sighing loudly into my ear.

“Baby, Hongjoong is a closed chapter—has been for long—I’m actually glad you got the best lay of your life with my ex, even I can’t deny he wasn’t good in bed.” A beat of silence passed before we burst out laughing at the same time, Yunho’s body shaking as he nuzzled his nose against my neck affectionately, “How the fuck did we end up talking about Hongjoong when you were just being paranoid over Mingi for no reason?”

“Not for ‘no reason’, woman!” Yunho exclaimed and pulled back, eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed my glass again and took a long sip—there goes the drink I mixed for myself, “He looks at me like he wants to eat me—”

“Is that so bad?” I wriggled my eyebrows suggestively and Yunho groaned, grabbing my chin.

“Focus, woman.” He pointed his finger at me in warning, and I giggled as I stuck my tongue out, licking at his hand because I knew it would disgust him, “In an ideal setting, it wouldn’t be bad, but his saliva was literally dripping down his chin, Y/N! And I don’t know how else to put this into words, but he looks demonic, okay?!”

I chuckled, my eyebrows shooting up at what my best friend just said. Okay, we were apparently reaching the delirious stage of drunkenness, “Well then…Wooyoung and Mingi are one demonic bestie duo, huh?”

“I am being serious!” Yunho exclaimed in annoyance, fed up that I wasn’t on the same wave length as him, “You’re so irritating, you never believe me. But you will see it’s going to bite you in the ass—”

“Isn’t that what you want Mingi to do to you—”

“We’re watching that movie, now!” Yunho pressed his palm against my mouth again as I giggled, grabbing a bottle of water as Yunho took my glass and pulled me after himself, back inside the living room. Mingi was sprawled out on the sofa with Wooyoung sitting in front of the bed, typing away on his phone. As Yunho and I barged inside, Wooyoung lowered the volume of the music and Mingi sat up, eyes almost glowing as he leered in Yunho’s direction. My giant best friend grimaced and gave me a pointed stare as he went to fetch the remote control.

“Are we watching that movie now?” Wooyoung asked unimpressed, raising one eyebrow as I plopped down on the pillow next to him, leaning close as I grinned.

“Yes, excited?!”

“No, I’d rather be sleeping.” Wooyoung muttered and gave me a short glare before he grabbed the glass Yunho had placed on the coffee table to take a long sip of it.

“Hey! I made that drink for myself, why is everyone else drinking it but me?!” I whined and slapped away Wooyoung’s hand as he placed it back onto the coffee table, barely anything in the glass anymore, “Asshole.”

Wooyoung smirked as he looked at me, making me roll my eyes at him. Yunho, huffing loudly as he ruffled his brown hair had finally found the remote control as he joined us, leaning against the sofa, eyes switching between myself and all the empty space next to Mingi, “Won’t you sit with me?”

“I’m going to sit with you.” Mingi’s deep voice was strong and determined as he grabbed Yunho’s arm, basically yanking him down next to himself. Yunho went stiff as his eyes widened, sending me SOS signals with his eyes, but I just chuckled and turned my back to him, knowing that I’d never hear the end of it. Wooyoung’s jaw hung open as he gave his friend a rather nasty glare, subtly shaking his head no at Mingi, the two communicating with their gazes. I snatched the remote control from Yunho and finally turned on the TV, wanting to get on with this movie watching already. If I heard Yunho gasp and looked back to see Mingi squeezed uncomfortably tightly against his side, eyes boring into the side of my best friend’s head, I bit back the laugh that threatened to bubble up and instead kicked Wooyoung’s leg to annoy him.

The movie took nearly three hours and by the time we have watched it everyone was sleepy, and so, the movie night was cut short as the time was nearing 2am. Yunho was drunk, not to the point that he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself, but he’s had brighter times. I proposed to him to sleep over tonight, but he insisted on going home as he apparently had to be somewhere early in the morning tomorrow. I just shrugged and then offered to walk him home, having sobered up enough, but he insisted he was a big guy and that he could take care of himself. And as if Mingi had been planning for this moment, he swept in and said that he’d make sure Yunho got home safely and that he'd text Wooyoung to let me know my best friend was safe and sound in his little apartment. I didn’t know how to proceed next, knowing that Yunho felt uncomfortable around Mingi, but when I opened my mouth to interject, Yunho threw a heated look Mingi’s way and scoffed, clumsily tying his shoelaces as he accepted Mingi’s offer, yanking the blonde man out of our dorm by the collar of his leather jacket. Wooyoung just blinked and then gave me a lasting look, sighing deeply as he muttered something under his breath which sounded a lot like Yunho had no idea what he had just done. Suddenly feeling a little bit skeptical, I could only hope Yunho was wrong about this whole serial killer fiasco.

“Mingi’s a good guy, right?” I had asked as I followed Wooyoung into the kitchen, my phone still connected to the speaker as music was quietly playing in the background.

“Why, do you fear for your beloved Yunho’s life?” Wooyoung’s voice was coated in amusement, but there was something darker in its undertone, almost morbid like fascination. I was taken aback and hesitated for a second in the doorway.

“He’s my best friend, somebody I love. Of course I fear for his life, should I call the cops—”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Wooyoung’s eyes were crinkled as he turned his head, the first time he’s ever looked amused by something I have said, “Mingi won’t do to him anything your friend doesn’t want. I know you noticed him acting weird, but that’s just what alcohol does to Mingi.”

I felt myself relax a little upon hearing Wooyoung’s words, and I grinned as I waltzed inside the kitchen, pulling myself up to sit on the counter by the sink, “I knew it, I told Yunho he was just overreacting, but he never really believes me.”

Wooyoung paused for a second and then turned on the faucet, taking the sponge to pour dishwasher on it, “Maybe you’d live longer if you had listened to him…”

My eyebrows furrowed as I handed Wooyoung the first dirty bowl, “What do you mean?”

He chuckled as he washed the bowl and I crossed my legs, narrowing my eyes at him. He didn’t seem drunk despite having drunk twice the alcohol I have, but then again, I didn’t know much about him. He was quite the mysterious person and kept everyone at arms-length. However, I did notice he was touchier than usual, kissing Mingi’s cheeks rather often while we were playing board games, especially if Mingi nailed something.

“You’re naïve,” Wooyoung answered as he looked at me, taking the other used bowl I handed him, “and too trusting of others, my love. People will take advantage of you.”

“Nobody’s taken advantage of me before.” I huffed and watched as Wooyoung washed the rest of the dishes, a smirk on his lips as he kept glancing at me, “And just because of what I seem to be like to you and to other people doesn’t mean I’m dumb, or that I don’t notice things.”

Wooyoung smirked as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink, leaning closer to me as his eyes seemed a lot darker than they usually were, “Really now? Do you just play dumb then, for the fun of it?”

“Not for the fun of it,” I averted my eyes as Wooyoung bit his bottom lip, his eyes raking over my body as I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling a little flustered under his watchful gaze, “it just happens, it’s what my personality is like—and I know you don’t like me.”

“I’ve never said I don’t like you.” Wooyoung tsked, leaning closer as he continued to wash a pan, “I’m just not too fond of obnoxious personas.”

I scoffed and grinned at him fakely, making him smirk for the nth time tonight as he turned his head and looked down at the pan he was washing. I didn’t say anything to him as I continued looking at him, wondering whether the lights were playing a trick on my eyes, or whether the black ink really seemed to swirl under his skin. A bit too curious and with the last remnants of the alcohol in my system pushing me to do as I wished, I tentatively reached out and gently traced the abstract tattoos on his left arm. Wooyoung froze, eyebrows furrowing as he whipped his head around, his serene demeanor back to its unimpressed and glaring one. His muscles tensed the longer my fingers touched his soft, but unnaturally hot, flesh and he suddenly turned the water off with his other hand, all the dishes washed. I snapped out of it and gulped nervously as I looked away, turning away from Wooyoung. I could feel his eyes on me as he walked towards the table and grabbed a towel to dry his hands in, lips slowly morphing into another attractive smirk.

“You know,” He started, voice low and almost sultry, “humans usually cherish their lives and have a deep rotted fear of losing it.”

I hummed and picked at the cuticle of my thumb, seeing him approach the counter from my peripheral vision.

“I’ve never quite met someone like you,” He paused and chuckled, and I saw him grab something from my peripheral as I had drawn blood from ripping the cuticle up, “a little stupid and ditzy, yet loving life so intensely.”

I gulped and finally looked up, eyes falling on Wooyoung’s right hand as it was slowly inching towards his abandoned butcher knife. I felt a lump raise into my throat as I looked back in his eyes, the same feeling that I have felt in the darkroom returning. I felt like his prey once again, defenseless and unable to run or hide if he were to do something unacceptable to me. His dark eyes seemed like endless pits of darkness, boring into mine as its whites seemed to glow brighter. I gulped again, hoping for the lump to disappear, but instead, something deep coiled in my stomach as his thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the butcher knife, his plush lips pulling into a sly smirk. He looked amused; his sun-kissed skin almost glowing as if he was feeding off of something. His upper teeth got caught in the silver piercing in his bottom lip, and I found myself wondering again what he tasted liked. I cleared my throat and licked my lips, our gazes connecting as Wooyoung raised one eyebrow, looking like he knew something I didn’t. My heart had picked up its rhythm, beating quickly, almost in anticipation as he dragged his hand against the counter, the sound of the knife getting dragged across the counter making me wince.

“You should have left when you still could—” I didn’t think for another second, pushing the alarming bells to the back of my mind as I jumped off the counter, marching up to him. Wooyoung seemed taken aback by my confident stance, and as his eyebrows furrowed, whatever he was about to say swallowed down, the littlest remnants of alcohol in my bloodstream fueled my curiosity strong enough to make me grab onto his cheeks and yank our lips together. Wooyoung yelped, the sound getting lost in the back of his throat as my eyebrows furrowed, his face just as hot as his arm was. But I was curious—and sort of needy from all that alcohol—and so I didn’t pull back, no, I pressed my lips harder against his, his silver lip ring cutting into my own lips. I ignored the tiny voice in the back of my head telling me to run, to get as far away as possible from this peculiar man. Suddenly, I felt his left hand grab my wrist harshly. My heart was hammering against my chest, making my temples sweat as Wooyoung’s body heat was too warm, and at last, I decided to pull away. Now at least I knew what his plush lips felt like, soft and a little wet, the lip ring prominent and cold against the flushed skin.

My grip loosened around his cheeks and I had started pulling back when suddenly something loudly crashed against the tile floors, and both of Wooyoung’s hands had me pulling back in by the cheeks as his calloused hands harshly cradled against my cheek. My eyebrows shot up, but I fluttered my eyes closed again and instead pressed our bodies together, fingers tangling into his loose t-shirt at his sides. Wooyoung’s perfume was still as overbearing as always, and it made me feel lightheaded as he suddenly parted his lips, sucking my lower lip between his teeth to clamp down onto it harshly. I hissed and tangled one hand into his long black hair, slightly yanking on the strands to get him to release my bottom lip. Wooyoung chuckled deep in the back of his throat and finally released my lip, pulling back. My eyes opened as I threw him a glare, and from being this close to him, I could finally see his eyes were black and the whites of them were actually glowing. Before I could allow my brain to really react to that discovery, I pressed my lips back against Wooyoung’s, walking him backwards as our lips slotted against each other perfectly. Our pace wasn’t slow and sweet nor patient, it was rather rushed and sloppy as Wooyoung kept trying to bite onto my lower lip, his teeth feeling sharper than anyone’s before; he could’ve drawn blood if he wanted to.

He gasped when he collided against the table and I smirked as I pushed him against it, throwing my left arm around his shoulders as I played with his hair with my right hand, Wooyoung’s legs parting as he leaned against the table comfortably. To tease him as I figured he’d hate it, I pulled back just enough to lick at his lips, prompting him to tsk and open up his lips enough for me to slip my tongue past them and into his open and inviting mouth. Wooyoung moaned in an instant, fingers of his left hand digging into my lower back, my t-shirt having ridden up, his nails burning my skin as they dug into it, and I felt my legs go a little weak as he eagerly sucked on my tongue, more moans leaving the back of his throat. I didn’t think he’d be very vocal, and suddenly I felt heated all over as he pulled me even more into himself, to the point it was almost painful, his right hand holding onto my neck firmly, fingers curling around my skin.

I let him lick into my mouth, explore it to his liking as my left hand travelled down his shoulder to his pecks, squeezing and fondling his nipple through the t-shirt, making Wooyoung groan as he suddenly whirled us around, placing me up on the table. I gasped and found myself pushed down against the table by the hand Wooyoung had around my throat, his eyes glazed over as I struggled to catch my breath, Wooyoung’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as well. His lips looked swollen and I bit my bottom lip as Wooyoung ever so slowly leaned down. His fingers tightened around my neck and made my stomach coil as he suddenly leaned down, lips brushing against the exposed skin of my lower stomach due to my tank top having ridden up again.

The breath stuttered in my throat as he pressed his lips firmly against my skin, his piercing feeling cold against my flushed skin, and I grabbed his wrist with one hand as he teasingly sunk his teeth into the skin of my stomach, making me grunt as I looked down. But he was already looking up with a smirk on his lips, chin brushing against my exposed skin. I gulped, my grip tightening against his wrist as he held eye contact while slowly kissing his way up, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I trapped him in between my legs as I raised my thighs and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer in as he lit my skin on fire with his kisses, making it harder to breathe as he squeezed my neck just a little bit more, making me gulp almost nervously.

Wooyoung’s lips were finally hovering over mine and our breaths fanned each other’s faces as we stared down each other, probably wondering where this was going. I tangled my fingers of my free hand in his hair again and brought his head closer down so that I could gently take his lip ring between my teeth, making Wooyoung’s eyes widen as he whined quite loudly. I didn’t expect him to curse nor to slam his lips right onto mine next, let alone feel his bulge as he rutted against my thigh, making me moan as I was slowly starting to crave some friction. Wooyoung seemed too far gone to care about the quality of the kiss as his lips moved messily against mine, biting at my lips and sucking on my tongue as he rolled his hips against mine more frequently, driving me closer to wanting more. And I didn’t dwell much on the feeling, I grabbed the hand he had rested next to my head and gently guided it down my body, letting it rest where I needed him most. Wooyoung moaned loudly as he pulled back, cupping my clothed core and applying the slightest pressure, making me sigh loudly as I bared my neck more for him to do whatever he wanted with it.

And then—as quickly as everything happened, it all stopped. Wooyoung’s body almost flew off mine, eyes wide and expression conveying complete shock as he stared down at me sprawled out on the table and I stopped breathing for a second as I stared up at him. Yeah, I guess we shouldn’t have done that, perhaps my curiosity led me a bit too far. But I couldn’t deny it anymore, Wooyoung was attractive. He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and I chuckled as I sat up, running my fingers through my hair.

“This—”

“I’m going to sleep.” I cut him off as I announced with a chuckle, hoping off the table, watching Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Thanks for the kiss, handsome.”

“What the fuck,” Wooyoung muttered and he turned after me as I walked past him, “you know how to make-out?”

I snorted as I paused in the doorway, giving him a sneaky look, “I’m not that naïve anymore, am I?”

“Goodnight.” Wooyoung’s voice had turned cold, unimpressed once again. I chuckled as suddenly Wooyoung’s expression turned nonchalant again, and I shook my head as I was off to sleep off the alcohol and pray that I wouldn’t be hungover in the morning.

And as expected, the alcohol I have drank last night came back full force in the morning, to bite me in the ass. The bile in my throat that threatened to send me running to the bathroom refused to go away, and feeling like a complete zombie, I had no choice but to get out of bed and brew some coffee for myself. It was the only thing that could help this awful hungover, and I stood stared blindly at the counter as I listened to the shitty coffee machine make noises it wasn’t supposed to make. Wooyoung didn’t like coffee, so it was mostly me who used it, and because I didn’t have enough money, I couldn’t buy a better machine. This one would do for two more months, until I was finished with this university year—not that I was too happy of moving back home for the summer break, but it had to be done as I didn’t have a job yet and couldn’t stay in the city. Yunho would probably let me move in with him, but I didn’t want to bother him as long as I didn’t have a job. I sighed as my phone on the table dinged once, then twice, then thrice, and I dragged myself to it very lazily and painfilled. Yunho’s contact name stared back at me as I curiously tapped onto his message, wondering if he was feeling any better than I was.

My fake boyfie<3: Y/N. I…might have fucked up Can I come over?

My eyebrows raised as I walked back to the coffee machine to turn it off, desperate to feel the first drop of caffeine on my tongue.

Me: I’m on the brink of death and I also have to study Did something bad happen? Can’t you tell me through text? My fake boyfie<3: I don’t want to type this down, but it can wait Don’t mind that your best friend is on the brink of death too, for other reasons than you…

I scoffed and took a sip of my coffee, the plainness of it harsh, but very much so welcomed right now.

Me: Stop being dramatic and tell me instead. My fake boyfie<3: Are you free tomorrow for brunch? Me: Sure am, see you at our usual spot? My fake boyfie<3: Yes…unless I get abducted by a fucking demon Y/N. Me: Lol, okay Not you being paranoid again Ttyl

The loud footsteps coming to a stop in the doorway made me look up from my phone, and I smiled upon seeing Wooyoung’s dishevelled form. Someone had a good night’s sleep, apparently, and seemed rather fine despite the many drinks he’s had, interesting.

“Morning.” I smiled at Wooyoung as I leaned against the counter behind me, taking a sip of my coffee. His eyes narrowed as he walked inside the kitchen, never leaving me as he was headed towards the fridge. I snorted and watched as he grabbed the cartoon of milk greedily, then let the fridge door slam shut.

“Shouldn’t you be hungover?” He asked, eyes narrowing as I downed the remaining bitter coffee in one go.

“I am, but can’t let that stop me.” I shrugged, and walked to the sink to wash my cup.

“It’s a full moon tonight, are you going anywhere out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded suspiciously nice and forced, and I threw him a quick quizzical glance before turning the faucet off.

“No, I have to study for our exam on Monday.” I sighed and wiped my hands down on my pyjama pants.

“Good.” My eyebrows furrowed as Wooyoung smirked, turning his back to me as he muttered something under his breath. Knowing that I couldn’t waste any more time on useless things, I walked back to my room to study some last-minute things I have missed out on previously. Wooyoung and his quirkiness could wait for another day to be deciphered.

Studying with a hangover was the worst possible idea I’ve ever had, but since I have procrastinated terribly, I had no choice but to power through the suffering like a champ, and save the whining for another day. By 10pm I felt completely brainless and tired out of my mind—quite literally—and so, I have decided it was time to call it a day. I have studied as much as possible, and now I felt positive about passing this class—unless the teacher has something secretly against me, unlike with Wooyoung, with whom he isn’t so secretive about the fact that he can’t stand my dormmate. With a rumbling stomach and body begging for a long and refreshing shower, I pulled my hair into a bun with the short strands falling out annoyingly so, and changed into some fresh pajamas so that I wouldn’t have to carry it with me to the bathroom. I stepped into my flip flops and shut the lights off, throwing my door open.

The first thing I noticed was the salt weirdly scattered in a perfect line right underneath my doorway. That wasn’t there in the morning, and I have never seen Wooyoung place it there before, so I made sure not to smudge it as I stepped over it—for some weird reason waiting for something to happen. But nothing did, and so, with a shrug, I closed the door behind me and looked around the dark living room. Smog seemed to lightly coat the air, and I scrunched my nose up at the overbearing scent of something strong—rather earthy and weed-like smelling—making me wonder what Wooyoung was up to.

I knew his room was off limits, but I also knew he was home. And the smog seemed to come from underneath his door. The whole dorm seemed to hum lowly, hushed voices traveling through Wooyoung’s closed door, and I bit my bottom lip, wondering whether I should approach him or not. But I’ve never been inside his room before and I was curious—I have always been—and almost as if I couldn’t control myself, I found my feet carrying me towards it. The hushed voices turned into low whispers the closer I got, and I found them changing in pitch as I gulped nervously, raising my hand to knock on his door. Despite the weird drive to barge inside, I felt myself hesitate for a second—and then I was knocking on his door, not waiting for an answer as I pulled it open and stepped inside. However, the sight I was presented with wasn’t something usual, nor one I had expected to see.

Wooyoung’s room was coated in pitch darkness, except for the black candles that were placed in a circle and lit up, barely illuminating the weird sign that was painted on the floorboard with black ink. Salt was drawn in a circle around the candles and the drawing, and the room reeked of that earthy and weed-like smell I have felt earlier, making me cough. Wooyoung was sat on his knees inside the circle, in the middle of it, three different ancient looking books opened up, one of them sizzling slightly. He wore a sleeveless tank top once again and grey sweatpants, the black ink underneath his skin darker than before as it swirled around, curling around his arms in weird patterns. The floorboard outside of the salt and candle circle was covered in different runes—I could only assume that’s what they were—and as Wooyoung’s gaze met mine, I was taken aback by his completely black eyes. The whites of them were completely gone, and they instead looked like endless pits of blackness, keeping me rooted to my spot as my eyes widened. When he grinned widely, his teeth were sharper and much whiter than usually, and the image sent my heart into a frenzy.

“Well, well, well,” Wooyoung chuckled, sitting back on his ankles, “exactly who I needed, thank you for making this easier for me.”

I gulped, feeling unsure and really confused, “Uh, what’s this?”

“I suppose since you’re about to die, I can tell you…” Wooyoung chuckled as his fingers touched the yellow paper of the book he had right in front of himself, “It’s a death ritual, my love, more exactly a sacrificial one.”

“Oh,” I whispered, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up, “that’s—I thought satanism is illegal?!”

Wooyoung threw his head back and laughed darkly, making a shiver run down my spine, “Satanism is beyond me, my love, I am what satanist love to blindly and dumbly worship.”

I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as I tried to think whatever that could mean as Wooyoung’s eyes fell back on my figure, narrowing as he leered at me, “So you’re like…a cult leader then?”

Wooyoung’s expression fell for a second, jaw clenching as there was a snort coming from somewhere I couldn’t see. My eyebrows furrowed as I surveyed the room, but the darkness was too permeating for me to see anything beyond it. The candlelight cast eerie shadows over Wooyoung’s face as he grabbed something that lay next to his left hand—his favourite butcher knife. I gulped and considered leaving the room for a second, but I felt rooted to my spot, like something was keeping me there.

“You’re so dumb, it’s tiring at this point.” Wooyoung hissed and I chuckled, scratching the back of my head in embarrassment, “But I also must be grateful to your naivety, or else you wouldn’t still be here.”

“I pretty much don’t want to be here anymore, but I find it hard to leave when something invisible is clutching at my ankles.” I grinned widely at Wooyoung, feeling a little panic rising up in my veins as he chuckled, slowly standing up. Why did he look taller than before? That wasn’t a good sign, was it?! I chewed on my bottom lip, tensely watching out for his next move. That butcher knife clutched tightly in his right hand didn’t seem so inoffensive anymore.

“Are you terrified now that your useless little cross can’t do anything to protect you from me?” My eyebrows raised in surprise as I looked down, patting the golden cross that sat underneath my hoodie. I never thought Wooyoung noticed my necklace, I always wore it underneath my clothes as I wasn’t a very religious person. I only wore it because my mother thought it would protect me from demonic and evil entities and energies. Don’t know about that anymore…Wooyoung looks pretty demonic to me right now.

“I’m more confused than terrified, to be honest, Wooyoung.” I chuckled and shrugged at the same time, ignoring the cold sweat my body broke out in all of a sudden. My heart was still pounding fast in my chest, but I ignored it.

“I can’t be bothered anymore with you; you are so irritating.” Wooyoung groaned as he twirled the knife in his hands, “I am going to stab you, and you won’t scream. And before blood loss can kill you, I’m going to carve your heart out.”

Well, shit. That didn’t sound too pleasant, nor like a fun time. I gulped, my mouth having gone dry, and I plastered on my friendliest and most innocent smile, hoping that it would somehow change Wooyoung’s mind and make him like me in just a few seconds. Perhaps he’d choose someone else for his sacrifice then, “Okay, but…may I know why you chose me for this complicated and totally cool sacrifice of yours?”

Wooyoung froze for a second, looking puzzled as deep giggles came from somewhere in the darkness again, making me look around confused. Was there actually someone else in the room with us?

For a second, the look Wooyoung gave me screamed that I was completely mad, and then he pinched his nose and heaved out a long sigh, “I need someone pure and innocent for this ritual to work. You see, I’m a demon but I’m not exactly very powerful, nor everlasting, just yet and the heart and blood of a virgin will help me rise in the ranks.”

Oh, “Wooyoung, uhm, this is a little bit awkward, but, uh, what I’m getting from what you just said is that you assume I’m a virgin?”

Wooyoung smirked as he stepped over his ancient looking books, “Exactly. You’re perfect for me, my love, I have to thank you—”

“Actually, you don’t.” I cut him off with a chuckle, pushing my hair behind my ears as I felt my cheeks flush, “I’m not a virgin.”

Wooyoung froze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. There was another loud snort in the room, and my eyes narrowed as I tried to see past the darkness to notice an even darker form, but I wasn’t successful, “You can’t lie to me, there’s nothing you’ll say that will save you now—”

“I’m not lying, though.” I shrugged, clasping my hands together behind my back, “I really am not a virgin.”

“What?” Wooyoung scoffed, eyebrows furrowing as he took me in, his dark eyes raking over my body slowly, “How is that possible?!”

“Wait,” I deadpanned, mouth falling open in hurt, “are you saying all this time you assumed I was a virgin and kept trying to kill me?! I can’t believe Yunho was right—”

“Yunho knows?!” It was Wooyoung’s turn to look shocked, eyes darting around the room as they stopped on something further inside his room, near his bed. I looked towards it and narrowed my eyes, trying really hard to see whether there was someone there or not. And then, almost as if a mist lifted off that side of the room, I was able to make out platinum blonde hair.

“He doesn’t know we’re demons,” Suddenly a deep voice spoke up, sounding beyond amused, it was Mingi, “I mean, he doesn’t know you are a demon.”

“Then how—” Wooyoung’s head whipped back in my direction, his eyes narrowing again, “you told him everything?!”

“Obviously!” I exclaimed with a scoff, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I noticed my heart wasn’t beating that fast anymore, even my muscles seemed more relaxed, “He’s my best friend, of course I tell him everything!”

“But then—” Wooyoung paused, pointing his knife at me, “You really aren’t a virgin then?!”

“No, I’m not!” I exclaimed exasperated, rolling my eyes as I saw movement in my peripheral vision, “I literally lost my virginity when I was seventeen, Wooyoung. And I mean, I know you still might not believe me, but there’s someone who can prove it—oh, hi, Mingi—if we were to hit up Yunho right now, he could totally prove that I’m not a virgin—wait! I don’t mean that Yunho and I slept together, because he’s not exactly the straightest person I know—”

“Yeah, I know.” Mingi’s plump lips were pulled into the widest smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief as he finally made himself visible, walking towards us with his arms crossed in front of his chest. My eyebrows furrowed and I took a deep breath to fill my lungs with air, watching Mingi with confusion.

“What do you mean ‘you know’?” Mingi remained silent as he nonchalantly leaned against Wooyoung’s dresser, raising an eyebrow smugly. Oh. Oh. My jaw fell open as my eyes raked over Mingi, something in my stomach coiling as realization dawned upon me. No. Fucking. Way. There’s no way Yunho and Mingi…is that why Yunho was so desperate to speak to me today? Oh, my God, “You slept with Yunho?!”

Mingi chuckled as he looked down at his hands, checking his black painted nails with much interest, “It’s more like he slept with me, but yes, and it was pretty fucking amazing—”

“Can we focus?!” Wooyoung exclaimed, throwing Mingi a heated glare before he turned back to face me, looking rather pissed off.

“Right, right.” I huffed, throwing Mingi a small glare before I looked back at Wooyoung, “You said Mingi was a good guy…”

“I also mentioned he wouldn’t do anything to your friend as long as he didn’t want it—”

“Oh, he rather desperately wanted it—”

“Enough!” I exclaimed, thankful for the invisible force keeping me rooted or else I’d be at Mingi’s throat, beating him up for taking advantage of Yunho when he was drunk, “Fuck, okay, so Yunho was in the next room when I slept with my boyfriend for the first time—and many other times to be fair, poor Yuyu suffered enough because we were often horny—you can literally ask him. I’m not a virgin, Wooyoung, so unless your sacrifice would still work, can you release me?!”

Wooyoung tsked, tapping the knife against his head rather carelessly, “This is bad…I can’t believe I wasted six months on finding ways to kill you, and you aren’t even a virgin. I have to wait another year until I can perform this ritual again, Y/N.”

I scoffed and glared at my dormmate, “Is it my fault you dumbly assumed I was one—why did you even think that?!”

“Well, first of all, you’re super lame.” Wooyoung gave me a once over, pursing his lips as he placed one hand on his hip, “You’ve got no game and you never brought any guys over. I didn’t even see you interact with one, besides Yunho, and he doesn’t count. Secondly, you’re too loud, nosy, and annoying—no guy likes that, my love. Thirdly, I don’t like you, getting rid of you would’ve been perfect, but now I’ll have to continue being dormmates with you for another two years—straight up horror.”

Well, that wasn’t too nice, and it did certainly hurt a little bit, “You know what, fuck you, Wooyoung. You’re not the nicest person—”

“I’m literally a demon, but whatever—”

“Shut up, idiot, I’m talking now.” I snapped, glaring at Wooyoung as I was able to move again, and I stepped closer to his stupid circle, making his eyebrows shoot up, “Despite our differences, I remained nice to you, and here you were, planning my death all this time. You know what? It serves you right that your stupid little ritual failed and you deserve to wait another year until you can try again. And by the way, it’s on you for not realizing sooner, considering what happened last night—”

“Oh, what happened last night?” Mingi grinned like a little child, wriggling his eyebrows at us.

“Shut up, I’m mad at you.” I snapped, directing my glare onto him now, “You shouldn’t have slept with a drunken Yunho, I’m going to beat you up real bad for it, you just wait. And Wooyoung and I made-out—quite heavily at that—who knew Wooyoung is just a whiney idiot—”

“Okay, you’re mad, but you don’t have to call me an idiot in each sentence you say—”

“Yeah, I have to, idiot—”

“Okay, for the record—” Mingi’s hands were raised in the air, eyes big as he looked comically innocent, “Yunho wasn’t drunk by the time we got to the fun part, Y/N. I might be a demon, but I like my partners sober and rather conscious when we get down to business—”

“Just say sex like any normal person, you dumb fuck.” Wooyoung groaned, throwing his butcher knife onto the floor as he sighed, looking at the mess he had created, as if it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t go through with his ritual.

“But I’m not a normal person.” Mingi teased, sticking his tongue out as Wooyoung sighed, running his hands through his hair multiple times. I sighed and turned to leave the room, but Wooyoung yelped, making me stop and turn back.

“Where are you going?!” He sounded rather panicked, eyes wide as I rolled my eyes, “What are you going to do now?”

“I am going to take a fucking bath and if you come inside, I swear to God, Wooyoung, I will cut your balls off in your sleep—demon or not.” I narrowed my eyes at him, “Unlike somebody, I was busy studying my ass off today, and now I have a headache thanks to your awful incense—open the windows for me, please.”

“So, you—won’t call a priest for an exorcism or the Catholic church and the Pope on me?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded small, lower lip jutting out as I looked at him confused, wondering if I had started hallucinating now. Was this Wooyoung’s real personality? Gosh, I desperately needed that bath and sleep.

“Do you still plan on killing me?” I raised my eyebrows as Mingi’s phone buzzed. He smirked as he unlocked it, and I didn’t miss the quick glance he took at me. That fucker, he must be texting with Yunho now.

“Not really.” Wooyoung muttered, sounding rather disappointed. I scoffed and stepped over the threshold, grabbing the handle of his door.

“Great, good to know.” I muttered and plastered on a fake wide smile, “Then, my dear dormmate, can you put out your candles before they fucking burn down our whole dorm? Last time I checked, carpets aren’t fireproof. What sort of idiot sets candles alight near a very flammable thing? And let me not even get started on the wooden floorboards—”

“Don’t worry, it isn’t his first time doing this.” Mingi chuckled, and then extended his leg, putting out a candle with the sole of his shoe. Which, shouldn’t have been on his feet, but I had a feeling he hasn’t come through the front door like a normal person would’ve.

“Oh, shit.” Wooyoung muttered and then quickly got on all fours, blowing out the candles one by one. I shook my head and went to leave, but paused and looked at Wooyoung with a shit eating grin.

“Wooyoung?” He hummed and cast a fleeting glance my way, too busy with making sure no candle would burn his carpet to ashes, “You’ve got one day to study for our exam, you know that, right? And with how much Mr. Kim dislikes you…I wonder if you’ve got some ritual to help you pass your grades too…”

Mingi giggled and then crouched down next to Wooyoung, murmuring something under his breath that I didn’t understand before he broke the salt circle, and stepped inside of it to help his friend clean up faster.

“Can’t you just help me out with your notes?!” Wooyoung snapped, throwing a heated glare my way. I chuckled and leaned against the door, smiling sweetly at him.

“Weren’t you just about to sacrifice me for an everlasting life and more power?” I singsonged, “You’ll have to make it up to me generously before I help you out, handsome.”

“So, like…” Mingi looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief, “with sex?”

“Mingi! Shut up!” Wooyoung and I exclaimed at the same time, making Mingi pout with a hiss as he knocked over two of Wooyoung’s black candles. He grumbled something under his breath again, and then with a loud crack, he was gone. I blinked once, twice, and then sighed, feeling my mild headache turn into a full-on painful pounding. God, if I sleep for a whole week, will this madness stop?!

“I can make you all sorts of potions,” Wooyoung spoke up after the stretched silence, smiling tentatively, “to help you relax while you bathe, or when it’s storming outside to help you fall asleep. If you catch a cold, I can brew you something that’ll instantly heal you or whatever you want, to be honest. I’m quite good at brewing stuff.”

“I thought you were a demon.” I hummed, leaning my head against the door as Wooyoung shrugged.

“There’s many types of demons, my love.” Wooyoung said, the whites of his eyes finally returning as he chuckled, “You’re lucky I’m the nicer kind.”

“Nicer, my ass.” I huffed and closed my eyes for a second as the headache made me feel nauseous.

“I’ll make you something for your headache, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s smile was soft as he stood again, gathering the thick books in his arms, “You go ahead and take a bath.”

“Okay, fine, but if I get sicker, I’m reporting you to the Pope.” Wooyoung froze for a second, and then his head fell back and he started laughing loudly, making me giggle quietly as I watched him place the books on his desk. He turned around and grinned widely as he leaned against his desk.

“So, a soothing potion, and—” His eyes narrowed for a second, and I wondered whether it was a trick of the light making them looked suddenly hazed over with desire, “Sex does fix quite a few issues, you know.”

I chuckled, my eyes narrowing challengingly at Wooyoung as I pushed off the door, undoing my bun, “Really? See you in ten minutes, then.”

I winked and then pulled my hoodie over my head, wearing nothing underneath it. Wooyoung’s eyes widened as they fell onto my breasts and I chuckled, threw my hoodie at him, and then turned around and took off towards the bathroom, skin on fire as I felt Wooyoung’s lustful gaze burn my body apart as I pushed the sweats off too before I stepped inside the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“Fuck.” I heard him curse loudly before I turned on the water, letting the bath fill as I smirked to myself upon hearing Wooyoung drop something and curse again, run from his room to the kitchen, then back to his room.

Well, guess Yunho won’t be the only one getting that magick demon dick anymore. Another thing to bond over as besties, yay. At least he’s not getting boned by my ex, again.

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