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mayaree-darling · 6 months ago

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just a bit of luck your way // Self Aware Wuthering Waves (Jiyan)

Pairing(?): SelfAware!Jiyan and Player!Reader

Synopsis: You're one of the many players who started playing Wuthering Waves on release and of course the main thing you waited for is pulling for Jiyan.

From Mayaree: celebrating rn coz i got Jiyan and his weapon on my first 10 pull on each banner (dont know if that's supposed to happen but still a celebration).

CW: self aware au; no concrete spoilers because i just reached a little past level 20; swearing; second person pov (you, your, etc.)

Word Count: 2.8k (unedited)

Surely, surely there was something wrong with this game. You know for a fact you ain't that lucky - especially in these anime gacha games - so either there was something wrong with this game or the devs were just that giving to their players.

You had decided to play Wuthering Waves on a whim, caught up on the excited chatter you've been hearing all over the internet at its coming release. Patiently waiting for the servers to open worldwide, you sat down on your cozy chair with some snacks and a drink, ready to play. A grin ticks your lips upwards as you're taken to choosing your character.

You gotta say, the game is pretty amazing on your first run. Attack, parry, dodge. Seems simple enough. With a few fights, you were getting used to the routine and the enemies' patterns. If you had to nitpick something, though-

"This feels a little too easy." You were by no means an overly skilled player, as far as you were aware. Maybe it's because you're just barely past the start of the game, but it feels like the enemies were dying a bit too quickly. And you were only dealing like 10 damage per swing.

But just as you say it, you sit up in your chair in attention. Did… did they just get harder to kill? No, wait, you did just raise your Union Level, so maybe that's why. The enemies' attack patterns are slightly more advanced and although you're dealing more damage, their health bars are keeping up with you. Well, you were complaining earlier, so maybe this was a good thing? You keep playing, now being kept on your toes during combat.

After grinding a bit more - how much time have you spent already? Not enough, you think - you finally unlock what you've been waiting for this whole time.

The gacha system.

You're no stranger to gacha games. If anything, it's the reason you played this game in the first place. Sure the combat was nice, but what was better than collecting these prettily designed anime men and women and running around with them on the open world map? Nothing was more fulfilling than staring at your growing roster of playable characters the longer you played the game.

And for Wuthering Waves, the first addition to your would-be collection appears on the screen.

You'd be lying if you said you were going into the game blind. With the amount of Jiyan videos you've seen from the betas and leaks, you may as well have played him for a month now. From idle animations to his forte attack, you watched as many videos available as you could. And each one solidified for you that you needed to pull for him. That man was coming home one way or another.

Grinding a little more astrite by doing a couple of missions here and there - you had 1,300 astrite, just a little more for the home goal and then- you were ready. Sure it's just a meager 10 pulls but it was definitely a start. And you never know… right? You click the 10 pull button and-

OH??? SHIT, WAS THAT GOLD JUST NOW???? YOU KNOW FOR A FACT GOLD IS A GOOD THING, RIGHT??? You click through the 3-star results as quick as you can and- YEAH YEAH THAT'S HIS ANIMATION IT'S HIM HE'S HOME IT'S JIYAN!

You all but kick the chair away and bump your whole lower half on the table as you jump up in joy. You may as well be doing backflips while you're at it. You got him??? On the first 10 pull, no less???? This game was spoiling you holy shit. And it's only been a day.

Immediately heading over to the characters screen, you go to Jiyan's profile and just. Stare at him. Basking in the fact that you played this game on day 1, got the first available limited 5 star, and on your first fucking 10 pull.

Holy shit.

You scream into a pillow and hope your housemates don't hear. Or maybe they should hear because this has got to be the luckiest day of your life and you'd flex it on their faces if they understood the gacha game hype. Going back to the screen, Jiyan is doing one of his idles, twirling around his spear. My god, he looked glorious. His whole appearance was both beautiful and imposing. He looked so cool, hot damn.

"I'll be relying on you from now on, general." You grin once more and spin your chair with a whoop.

You level him up as high as you can, using all the leveling materials available at the moment. He's capped out at 20 right now because you did just start playing and still haven't unlocked character ascension, but you're willing to grind more just to raise him. You even move him to the first spot in your team (sorry, Rover, you can take the next spot).

You head on over to training, to gather some weapon and leveling materials but also because you want to test him out in battle. Damn it all, those beta videos of him didn't disappoint. He was just as good, if not even better since you're the one playing him right now.

He was definitely fun to play with. Of course, all the characters are fun to play with, but Jiyan was twice as fun. Would it be bold to say it was like you were meant to play as him? Suddenly the game is easier again. But not because the enemies are easy to kill, more so you feel like you're able to move better. You seem to be able to time dodging and parrying a lot better, even knowing when to attack at the best moment. Clearly, it was a really good decision to pull for him.

When you've grinded enough - he's level 40 now and you've fully accepted you're in this game for the long run - you go to level up his 4-star broadblade and then stop. You've saved up enough astrite for another 10 pull, right? Maybe you still have some luck left from the Jiyan pull, so… maybe?

"What do you think, Jiyan? Do I go for it?" You laugh at the absurdity of your one sided conversation. "I think you deserve your main weapon."

To your surprise, you watch as he laughs once, shaking his head and looking away with a barely noticeable smile (it's hard to tell with your gadget's graphics, but you definitely heard him). Was… was that part of his idle animations? You make a split-second decision to check his profile. Uh, no? No, it wasn't? Where'd that come from??? Well, maybe it was a secret animation plugged in by the devs. Game devs did like adding a little secret every now and then, right?

Anyways, although indirectly, Jiyan just gave you his answer. You were pulling for his weapon. You mean, there's still like 20 days left for you to pull if you don't get it right away, so there's no harm in building pity right now. Right? Right. To the gacha you go.

Breathing out - maybe a small prayer to the gacha gods in your head - you click the 10 pull button on the limited-time weapon banner-

WAITWAITWAITWAIT WAS THAT FUCKING GOLD??? AGAIN??? THERE'S NO SHOT. THERE'S NO FUCKING SHOT THAT THIS IS-

You stare at the golden glowing weapon on your screen in disbelief. A second passes, and then another as you stare at the green and gold broadblade. Verdant Summit. In the flesh. Excitement follows soon after like a tidal wave. You're off your chair in the next second again, fist-pumping the air like no tomorrow. You don't even care if your housemates hear you jumping around this time.

"JIYAN, LOOK, WE ACTUALLY GOT YOUR WEAPON!" You think you hear someone knock at your walls but you could care less right now.

When you're seated and back to your screen, you immediately equip the blade to Jiyan and stare again. Fuck, he really did look cool. With the sword, he's even twice as cool. Okay, he was hot, you're not gonna sugarcoat it. He was both in equal measure. You try swinging the blade around and breathe out in awe.

"It looks like it was made for you," you laugh. Well, surely it was. The blade was designed for him from the moment it was created, but still. You hear his little laugh again, but the animation seems to be cut short when you accidentally slash. Whoops.

When the excitement dies down, exhaustion sets in. You look at the time. Damn, it was that late? You really played the game for a whole day? Woof.

But you think it was well worth it as you watch Jiyan with his weapon in action. You finish up battling with a few more enemies before leaning back on your chair, content. Silly as it may be, you wish your team goodnight before logging off for the day.

Jiyan waits until he can't hear your voice or feel the warmth that overtakes him whenever you use him before he moves. He groans as he stretches. You really did enjoy using him to explore Solaris 3, no doubt about that. Not that he was complaining.

Far from it, really.

"Cheater." Jiyan blinks once before turning around. Rover stands there, arms crossed with a frown set upon their face. Jiyan could tell there was no real bite to their expression or words, but he still found it rather funny.

"Are you talking to me, Rover?" Jiyan's voice is calm and collected, but he can feel the corner of his mouth tick upwards ever so slightly.

"You know what you did." Rover scoffs, still lacking actual bite. It was more like teasing, if anything. "You wanted to make them happy that much?"

"Is it not possible I just wanted to visit Jinzhou for a bit? Their goals and mine simply aligned at the moment and I used the opportunity." A lie, but not quite.

Yes, he did want to visit Jinzhou. Word had reached him of the new Rover who even the Magistrate had taken a keen interest to. He wanted to make sure they weren't anything dangerous, despite the prophecy. Jué knows the last thing they need is the Midnight Rangers at the Norfall Barriers and an ambush in the main city.

But the moment he arrived, things were very different. For one, the very Rover he was so wary of ended up working with him in a small team of three. The Rover was no normal person, either. Yes, Jiyan could tell that they were strong and would be able to get stronger at a rapid pace. But they also seemed too observant. How should he put it? It felt like they were seeing something else he couldn't. Or they were seeing everything differently.

And then he felt it for himself.

Your voice is warm but thunderous, and yet it was not painful for the ears. Loud with excitement he can't quite understand. You're excited… that you have him? You even said you would rely on him from now on. He could laugh at how easy you were to please. Something so simple and you were already so happy. Maybe it's simply your emotions leaking into his own soul, but he could feel the genuine joy that you were feeling. He prides himself for choosing to come home as soon as he could if only to share in your happiness. He wanted to understand whatever it is that makes you so excited. After so much bloodshed, your joy felt like a breath of fresh air he hadn't taken in so long.

As you use him to walk around the world and fight Tacet Discords, it felt like he was seeing the world for the first time again. Maybe this is what the Rover was seeing with their observant eyes. Jiyan felt like he was experiencing Solaris 3 for the first time once again. Whenever you gasped at the sights of high cliffs and the boundless sky, he may as well be sighing in amazement with you.

"Right… Took the opportunity. Sure." Rover raised an eyebrow. "And the broadblade?"

Jiyan shrugs. "I find that I work better with a familiar weapon." Another lie, but not quite.

He didn't mind using another weapon. His skills lay in his own sharpened abilities, not in whatever object he had on hand. He could manage fine with any other broadblade you gave him, and he trusted you to help him fight. You fumbled a little bit here and there, made him attack a little recklessly at times, but you were doing your best. Jiyan could count on you in battle.

However, when you asked him if he wanted his weapon, he stopped. Having his sword on hand would do him good, of course. As he told the Rover, he fights even better with Verdant Summit. But, there was something about you asking his opinion. He knows you cannot read his thoughts. And yet you asked. It felt rather nice… A connection between you both. A familiarity he did not expect but was definitely not unwelcome.

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. To his surprise, you actually hear him. He frowns at the short panic this causes (did you not want to hear from him after all?), but thankfully you move on from it quickly enough. You take his laugh as a good sign and decide to acquire his weapon.

When he saw the shooting stars alight the waters below, Jiyan pondered for a second. Surely, there won't be any harm in helping you a bit, right? He reaches down and touches one of the stars, immediately making it light a glowing golden light as it shoots to the sky. He feels your joy before he hears it and with it, his own chest is filled with warmth.

There's a silence that overtakes you when you see the weapon that makes Jiyan worried. Did… you not want his weapon after all? But that can't be right, you even asked him for his thoughts. Or did you sense that you received it without effort? Did you realize he helped you get it? Maybe he shouldn't have meddled with your abilities.

Before he can overthink and sink into a spiral of doubt, your screams of joy and the sound of you jumping around in pure happiness fill his ears. Jiyan breathes out in relief, another small smile making its way to his lips. He was worried for nothing. Maybe you were just shocked for a little bit. Did you think he would not help you get it? He knew you would, he just helped you receive it earlier than you would have. He may or may not have simply wished to hear your joyous laughter at the moment.

As you give him Verdant Summit, he tests its weight and familiarity in his hand and perform a couple of swings (maybe he wanted to show it off a bit for you, just a touch). You think it was made for him? Well surely it was, and yet the comment makes him laugh a little more. You've been making him a laugh for a while now.

You enjoy a few more moments with him, battling together. He enjoys them as well, if he was honest, as you spend the time praising him and being in awe. It was rather embarrassing if he was honest, but he appreciated it all the same. Before he knew it, time had flown in an instant. You bid him and the others goodnight before leaving, and he knows you leave with a smile on your lips.

"Uh-huh. Right. I definitely believe you." Rover laughs. "Don't think I didn't see you smile, General Jiyan."

Almost on instinct, Jiyan covers his mouth with a hand, looking away. It barely concealed his embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Be careful the others don't catch you helping them too much." Baizhi suddenly speaks from the side. She was so quiet Jiyan almost forgot she was there. The Rover smiles teasingly, before they turn around with a small wave. Baizhi follows soon after with a nod. "Chixia's already complaining that they're showing you too much favoritism."

"I- yes, of course. Thank you for the advice, Baizhi." Jiyan clears his throat.

Was it that obvious? Most likely. Rover and Baizhi may have seen too much considering they've been traveling together for a while now, but if even the others were noticing his closeness to you then he was doing a poor job at hiding it. However, was there really a need to hide it? The others did not try hiding their favor for the warm voice they hear and who guides them. So, there was no need to hide it himself, was there?

He spins his newly obtained sword - an old companion, but he felt like he was seeing it for the first time all over again, with better memories attached to it - and smiles softly. Yes, there was no need to hide how he favored your connection to him. It wouldn't even be a bold claim for him to say he was happy that he had made the decision to come when you called for him.

Jiyan hopes you stay with him for a while longer, if only to see what you see, feel happiness the way you do. He'd like that a lot.

From Mayaree: Said I was gonna write Self Aware Star Rail but I just got too excited. Thank you, WuWa.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves reader insert #wuthering waves jiyan x reader #jiyan x reader #wuthering waves jiyan reader insert #jiyan reader insert #self aware wuthering waves au #self aware wuthering waves #sawuwa au #sawuwa #self aware jiyan #self aware jiyan x reader #wuthering waves jiyan

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lundenloves · 1 year ago

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SIMON TAKING HIS DAUGHTER TO BASE

{✧} dad!simon once again, no one faint i don’t have insurance coverage. soap may be able to fireman lift you home.

{✧} i just wanted to write something with his work and daughters combined and thought, hmm the idea of war, blood and death doesn’t quite match up to a five year old. therefore, this was born. if you don’t fw it don’t tell me, i’ll nosedive into a pit of lava without hesitation. happy reading, kids.

taglist | masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info

↳ no warnings | 1.3k | dad!simon

“Right,” Simon crouched down to his daughter's level, taking her small hands in his. “You stay with dad, yeah?” His finger tapped the side of her nose, the two of them stood by his jeep outside of the base. This was not allowed. He knew that.

But — today was dedicated to paperwork in his office, that was the sole purpose of coming in on his time off. The only issue being, it was a day off for someone else too. His kid. “Can you do that for me?” Thumb smoothing across her cheek, standing back up upon her nod.

“What are we even doing?” She took his extended hand and swung her arms, watching as he swiped a pass through a reader and pressed down on the bar of the door to open it. “How long will we be?”

“It shouldn’t take long, lovie.” He looked down at his little girl. “Just stay with me. Don’t let go of my hand.” Her grip tightened and Simon crossed through seemingly endless corridors and rooms to little eyes, each passing soldier giving her father a firm nod followed by an utterance of ‘sir’ in acknowledgement. She found herself looking into every crevice she could find on their voyage, straying from his side a few times to touch things.

“Where’s uncle Soap?” For every two of Simon’s steps, five of her own were taken, little feet switching between hops and skips each time.

“Not a clue.” Simon mumbled more to himself, looking around corners and turning his shoulder with every voice. “He’s here somewhere. ‘M sure he’ll find you first, kid.” She nodded, trailing her finger across the wall until they had reached his office. “Right,” He continued, fumbling in his pocket for a set of keys. “We won’t be long here, alright?”

“A’right.” She said enthusiastically, her own accent mirroring his and following him into the room. Simon hung by the door for a moment, arm above the threshold to hold himself out.

“Johnny.” He shouted after a group of men, his sergeants mohawk a dead give-away. Soap turned around instantly, something between a respectful soldier and a puppy. Ghost nodded back to his office, planting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder when she had stood next to him, on her tiptoes to see over the passing men. She was barely up to Simon’s waist.

“See him?” His hand moved to her back, eyes flitting between her own and Soap who was wrapping up a conversation, her smile growing to a grin when he had crouched down in the now clear corridor — slapping his knees before holding his arms out.

“C’mere you.” His hardy Scottish accent echoing in the bleak narrowness. She ran toward him, shrieking laughter as he tickled her sides, undeniably gathering a fair amount of attention from soldiers in close proximity. “Alright sweetheart?” Johnny picked her up, holding her against his hip and walking back to Simon’s office. “Is she allowed to be here?”

“No.” Simon answered, holding the door wide for him.

“No one’ll say anything anyway.” Johnny let her down. “Ae, missy?”

She shrugged, moving behind Simon’s desk and climbing onto the seat, small hands fidgeting with the pens that were lying around. Ghost placed his hands on his hips. The dark hoodie he wore was usual, minus the bulky tac vest and belt. “You busy?”

“Will be in,” Soap held his arm up, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

Simon nodded, looking toward his daughter who had found post-it notes, clicking a pen and doodling across multiple of them. “If you see Price, tell him I'll only be twenty. Maximum.” His eyes hadn’t left her, nodding in approval once she had held up her drawing to him. A stickman.

“Will do, Lt.” Soap crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his stance. “She’s looking more and more like you. Getting big.” He mumbled the last part, shaking his head slowly as if time had passed like he was a pensioner.

“Hm,” Simon grunted in response. “I’ll see you before I leave, yeah?’

“No bother.” Soap saluted the little girl, taking a post-it she had held up toward him. “Is that me?” He pointed toward himself, folding it and slipping the note into the pocket of his tac vest after she had nodded.

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to darlin’.” His thumb caressed her cheek, taking the discarded pen and doodling his own drawing of her. “Whose that?” He smiled, sliding the post-it toward her.

“That’s not me.” She giggled, pushing it back toward him with a grin. “You’re bad at drawing.”

Simon tsked, moving behind his desk and picking her up to sit on his lap. “Eh! That is so you!” Soap’s accent bounced off the walls causing an eruption of laughter from the little girl and Simon turned the computer monitor further toward him. Thick arms huge next to hers that clung onto them to get a better view of the desk.

A short knock sounded through the room and Johnny moved from the door, hands clasped together as Price walked in. His eyes and demeanor instantly softened at the sight. “Kept this one quiet, Simon.” He chuckled, taking short steps forward to pass him some documents stamped with red classified text.

She smiled at Price although shyed into Simon’s neck, “What is this?” He asked, bouncing his knee up and down to subconsciously entertain his daughter.

“Read it later.” He instructed, nodding once at his sergeant. “Johnny, aren’t you on drill today?” Price stood with his legs a good distance apart, thumbs slotted into his pockets to splay fingers wide over his thighs.

“Ten minutes, sir.”

“And Simon, you’re eh— you’re off aren’t you?” Price continued, smiling at his daughter who was staring up at him with small hands clung to her dads neck. “Take it you’re not here for long.”

He shook his head, leaning back in the chair with hands behind his head. “Just ten minutes or somethin’, finishing these off before Monday.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Mind and not stay for long, yeah? You’re scheduled off for a reason.” Soap held the door open for him, watching as he left with a cautious look on both sides of the corridor before stepping out.

Soap leaned out of the door, eyes following the captain until he was out of view, spinning back on his heel to Simon. “Open it.” Came his intrusive thoughts, nodding toward the classified envelope that had been tossed to the side.

“No.”

“Aw c’mon, we’re both 141.” He slid a seat out in front of the desk, “Just open it.” The letter opener was spun across the desk. “Ae?” Face scrunched up in a convincing nod toward Simon’s daughter. Although, she was busy attempting to climb onto the desk, and would’ve had her fathers hand not prevented it with one swoop. “Tell your dad to open the wee letter.”

“Open the wee letter.” She repeated, maneuvering onto her back across his lap and slowly sliding down onto the floor.

Johnny held his hands out in a way that proved his own innocence, as if that saying was her own doing. “The boss has spoken.” He gestured toward the little girl who stood on her tiptoes to look out the small window.

“Haven't you got drills to run?” Simon said bluntly, dotting his pen and blankly staring at Soap.

“Oh shit.” He pushed the chair in haphazardly.

“You’re leaving now?”

Johnny nodded toward the small girl who held her fist out for him to bump his on. A habitual thing learnt by none other than the Scotsman himself, much to Simon’s unreasonable displeasure.

“Shit.” She mumbled to herself.

“Johnny.” Simon scowled.

“Catch ye, Lt!”

i’m clawing the walls for price.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov

as always comments are reblogs are greatly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost #simon riley fanfic #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic

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stllmnstr · 4 months ago

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sacred monsters: part two

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part two word count: 12.4k

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Everything hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

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

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

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

That alone is definitive. Something is very wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung.

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

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

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

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

“Poison?”

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

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

Moonflower? In humans?

“Memory loss?”

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

A couple of nights ago. Which means—

“How long have I been asleep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not what has your reflection freezing.

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

Bruises. Deep, dark bruises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d almost think they look like bite marks.

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

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

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

No. You won’t let yourself spiral there.

Memories, you just need your memories.

Which means you just need a little more time.

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

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

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

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

A flicker of a memory.

A strange place, a dark room.

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

It’s coming back now, in fragments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The final puzzle piece clicks into place.

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

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

His clothes are soft against your skin.

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

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

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

He’s… he’s just Heeseung. He’s not a—

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

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

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

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

“I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

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

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

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

In your mind, the facts play on a loop.

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

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

You have to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You won’t hear it. “What are you?”

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

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

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

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

“He’s back.”

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All except for the one you match.

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

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

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

Instead, he says, “Give us a minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vampire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breathe. “What kind of ability?”

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

Instinctively, your hand finds the wound on your neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Celedis?” You frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In front of you, Heeseung looks away.

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

He changes the scene before you can watch any further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One by one, you watch as they appear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung spares you the burden of hearing it.

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

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

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

Your arm falls limply to your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are the other differences?”

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

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

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

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

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

So he had sucked it out of your neck.

Your neck. Where he bit you.

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

“You bit me.”

Heeseung meets your gaze. “I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop that!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been following me?”

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “So who was?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s impossible.” Jungwon scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungwon’s lips are tight. “Eleven.”

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung glares. “Besides you.”

Sunoo frowns for a moment, parts his lips.

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

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

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

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

You match Jungwon’s eye. “I do.”

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

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

“You’ve been overruled,” Jay interjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

#heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen x you #heeseung scenarios #enhypen scenarios #heeseung angst #enhypen angst #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines

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hasnomoxxie · 2 months ago

Note

So, if the Smile Dip Dog swaps with Bill, did he still destroy his own dimension? A dimension full of colorful talking animals? Because I’ve gotta say, that already sounds even sadder.

Right on the money boss!

Here's how I think it'd go!

First off the zodiac, this initially was the way that the beast was split and banished to the astral plane.

Now that this is here, I can list out all the main swaps hoho!

Dipper ⇆ Stan

Mabel ⇆ Ford

Wendy ⇆ Lazy Jane

Soos ⇆ Manly Dan

Abuelita ⇆ Tyler

Pacifica ⇆ Fiddleford

Gideon ⇆ Bud and mrs Gleeful (little villain couple to rival the stan duo)

Robbie ⇆ Preston

THE BEAST ⇆ BILL CYPHER

The pups are silly and playful in nature, opting to try and make things as brightly coloured and 'fun' as possible. Though this usually results in freakish abominations that do things that really shouldn't be done. Though they're not stupid, they know exactly what they're doing and how it effects others- It's mainly just for their own enjoyment.

After destroying their universe full to the brim of brightly coloured talking animals, 'The Beast' was split into halves and banished to the astral plane. This meant their reality warping abilities was whittled down to being intense illusions and hallucinations, however they typically tend to use it to try and restore their original look when they are seen by people- though that only works for a short time.

Pretty much anyone could theoretically see the dogs, either through extreme meditation or having a suspiciously high amount of sugar in your system. Safe to say, a food company having a suspicious amount of complaints from parents saying their kids are now 'unresponsive', 'babbling gibberish and mysteriously disappearing' or were 'seeing God and He's a Dog' was enough to get the entire line of candy shut down. Mabel was unlucky enough to stumble onto some smile dip during a late night work session and met the pups. They quickly bonded and the pups were leading Mabel to the weirdness left right and centre, with the end goal of opening a 'weirdness rift'.

A portal.

Safe to say, Mabel couldn't do this on her own. She's smart but not- dimensional science smart. So she called on the smartest person she knew, her twin brother Mason. At this time, Mason wasn't really doing as well as he could have, being attracted to the extraordinary he was prone to being the laughing stock of his university- but a solid breakthrough. Money wasn't an issue, especially when Mabel's old friend Pacifica was willing to help lend a hand and be on site (despite lying about her financial security in order to help her friends). So- the three of them set to building the portal.

Due to unknown circumstances, Pacifica leaves the project. When Mabel finally realises the true intention of the portal and tries to shut it down, Mason is reluctant to do this- fearing that it may be sabotaging his last chance at being recognised for his scientific works and being slightly jealous that Mabel found all of the weirdness instead of him. Either way, a small fight happens, ending with Mabels disappearance, leaving her scrapbooks behind.

The project failed and the pups still aren't free, but it's a matter of time before someone eventually sets them free

I'm litterally figuring out the timeline as I write but some things are set in stone. I'm just figuring out how to show it all off- I did get alot of outsite help for this too ^^

How would y'all feel about comics? or animations? What particular scenes? I feel like tackling this bit by bit would be the most effective way to go about it, especially for what the world is like in this flipped version.

I dunno this is my first time doing something like this umm, if this doesn't make sense lmk and I'll revise some stuff

umm

bazzinga, thanks for yer question ^^

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theminecraftbee · 2 years ago

Text

Joel and Grian are curled up on either side of Jimmy, and Jimmy is lying wide awake.

He shouldn’t be worried, of course. In a lot of ways, he’s not, really. Sure, Joel sort of smells like blood and Grian sort of smells like gunpowder, but that’s to be expected of the two of them, especially considering the amount of bloody gunpowder from the day before. Joel is happily and contently asleep, having mellowed out almost instantly after his kill for the day, and Grian had taken longer to sleep but fell into it easily enough, oddly sated, and Jimmy—

He’s still awake. He’s staring at the stars.

He sort of feels like he’s a human who got adopted by a wolf pack?

Which, like, okay. Joel occasionally hums in his sleep, which is weirdly cute. If someone tried to attack them in the night, Jimmy’s pretty sure Grian would actually bite them. Like, Jimmy’s pretty sure he’s seen Grian bite before. The rules of the game say no killing on green but Joel loves killing and Grian will tie himself in knots to avoid the rules so it doesn’t matter.

There’s nowhere in the world Jimmy could be safer, really. Like, outside of the fact Joel and Grian are both morons who convince him to do dumb things too, but from the moment Joel came across him and asked if he’s a bad boy too, Jimmy knew that would happen. It’s fine. It’s fun, even.

It’s… heady, even.

Jimmy lies on his back and looks at the stars. He feels like a human who got adopted by a wolf pack. Sure, he doesn’t know how to be a wolf, but that’s okay. They do. They’ll show him. They’ll make up for the places he can’t fight.

They’ll make up for the things he fails to hunt.

They’ll…

Grian turns over. Jimmy lies stock still.

They’ll do it until they realize he’s not a wolf. Then what? Joel brought him into the pack. Grian joined on willingly. They knew what they were getting into, really, they did. The two most bloodthirsty men on the server, they’d known what they were doing, taking on one of the only men here who hadn’t managed to kill almost at all. They had to have known, right?

They had to have known. They’ve made fun of him for it before. They still make fun of him for it now.

But.

Jimmy lies awake on his back and looks at the stars. A human adopted by wolves—it has things the wolves wouldn’t. There are reasons wolves decided to let humans run in their packs long enough to make them dogs. There are reasons to take a human in, if you’re a wolf.

Jimmy wonders if there are reasons to take him in, or if he’s just… dead weight.

Joel hums in his sleep. Grian turns over again. Jimmy doesn’t move.

For now, though—for now it’s good. Feels good, lying between two wolves. Feels good. Feels better than lying in the cold, at least. Feels like he can almost be one of them. Feels like he could understand.

Gods, he’s never telling Joel or Grian he thinks of them as wolves. He’d never hear the end of it. He wonders if Joel knows how to bark.

Slowly, he stretches an arm around both of them. They get closer.

He may as well enjoy it, he decides warily. If they never realize he’s a lamb in wolf’s clothing, that’s on them.

#limited life smp #jimmy solidarity #the bad boys #a bee fic #this is just for fun waffling around with the wolf metaphor here #anyway. just think. the guys with the two highest kill counts chose the guy with the lowest to stick to #wonder what that must feel like if you’re jimmy?

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weaselle · 8 months ago

Text

RECOVERY

I spent a lot of my life depressed without admitting it to myself and then i spent a year so depressed i could hardly make myself do the bare minimum to keep my body alive, and now it's about 3 years since i got up from that lowest point and while i am still struggling with myself things are objectively a lot better.

and i just want to put a couple things i've learned, both to remind myself of how far i've come, and in case any of what i've experienced helps anyone else.

You can't run from the darkness

When you're super depressed it's easy to focus on how much you don't want to be depressed. When everything is darkness you tend to wish you could escape that darkness.

but you can't. The darkness is all around you. You can't run away from it without running deeper into it.

instead, follow the light.

don't think of it as escaping depression, think of it as seeking joy. Don't run away from the darkness, walk toward any lights you can see.

At first it will be very small things. The taste of a food. The way your favorite color looks. A smell you like. For me one of the first things i could find to remind me of joy was the way a warm shower feels.

I would just stand in the shower and lean into the tiny, tiny joy of that feeling. I would describe it to myself, how it felt good, what about it felt good. It didn't cure me, it didn't make me less depressed, but it was a little point of joy to focus on, to breathe into like a tiny candle flame in my darkness.

I would memorize that feeling, so that later, when i felt like nothing ever brought me joy anymore, i could think, no, that's your depression lying to you, you felt joy, however small, right there in the shower just yesterday. And, maybe there is more somewhere else.

Even today, it's been a hard week, i'm feeling a lot of hopeless and helpless feelings clamoring away at me, but... i have spicy soup. And spicy soup is a NEW joy. I found spicy soup joy as i was following any little light i could out of the deepest part of my depression.

I never put hot sauce in soup before then. But today i am drinking the broth of a very spicy soup and as much as everything else is complicated and difficult and scary and dark, there is a bright mote of joy in this sip of spicy soup. And in the next one. And the next. I enjoy it, i love it, all the more that it is new, and if i had given up four years ago, i never would have known this small joy, this new favorite tiny thing.

Who knows what other little joys i may find?

If you have come to a place in life where you have lost the knowledge of how to feel joy, it is important to remember that feeling joy is like anything else in life. The more you practice, the better you get, the more of it you can do at higher levels.

And there are only so many minutes in the day. The more of them you spend acknowledging what feels good, the less of them will be left for feeling bad.

you can't escape the darkness by fleeing from it, but you can find the light by moving toward it.

Chop Wood Fetch Water

Another thing i learned was a truth about the exercise advice you always hear.

For where i am in my recovery now, common exercise has very little impact. I don't really get the endorphins people talk about, and i don't tend to feel better about myself after i work out unless i already feel pretty okay about myself to begin with. i don't mean to say there is no point in me exercising, but, i walk about ten miles a day holding onto 8 energetic dogs and i do a fair amount of lifting and bending and stuff for my job, and it's fine but it's not, like, doing a whole lot for me at this point in my recovery (tho i do think more recreational exercise will come back into play a stage or two on in my healing process)

HOWEVER

There was a year there where i was only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. When i was only able to force myself to eat just enough each day to stay alive because i'd made a promise to myself, and that promise was almost all i had left.

and the right kind of exercise is what pulled me out of that.

the RIGHT kind.

See, someone close to me needed help with a physical job. That was an important part and why this method is known historically as some variation of Chop Wood Carry Water -- it's intensely physical, which is important, but also, it helps the people around you. These days our personal communities tend to not need wood copped and water carried the same way. But you can get the same effect helping someone move all their furniture, doing all the yard work for your friends and/or family, volunteering for a charity that builds housing for homeless people, SOMEthing physically taxing that helps people.

In my case, my aging father needed help re-shingling the roof. So i promised i'd help.

So i got up every morning because he was expecting me. And i climbed the ladder because he would see me if i didn't. And i lifted and carried and hammered and worked hard. It took a week of six to eight hour days.

Right away, the fact that it was helping someone else made it not matter so much that it didn't feel like it was helping me at first. I couldn't deny that i was doing something good, that my existence had positive meaning, however small.

But very soon, it changed something fundamental in my state of depression. You can't do physical labor in the sun 7 hours a day without drinking a bunch of water. Without working up an appetite. Without getting very tired at the end of the day.

See, i had been struggling to make myself drink enough water, i was fighting to make myself eat even one small meal's worth of food each day, and i couldn't get a good night's sleep to save my life. And these things all made my depression much much worse. You think you get sad or angry from skipping a meal, consider being chronically undernourished. You think your mental state is worse after pulling an all nighter, think about what never getting a good night's sleep does.

But a couple days into this job with my father, and suddenly i was hydrated, i was eating full meals, and i was sleeping soundly at night.

THAT is what pulled me out of that deepest part of my depression.

So in a way, it was exercise that saved me. But not how people often say "have you tried exercising?" More like pushing myself physically to the point that my body demanded the things that previously i couldn't get it to want for itself.

Instead of forcing myself to eat i was craving food. Instead of staying up to all hours and then tossing and turning, i was physically exhausted and slept early and hard. (and, weirdly, being physically exhausted was somehow a relief from being emotionally/mentally exhausted)

Lastly

Healing often isn't noticeable while you're doing it

"healing is a process" is something you hear a lot, but i think it's more helpful to say something like

"Healing is like growing your hair out from short to long. You can look in the mirror every day and not notice it happening. And even when you can tell for sure it's longer than it was, you still can't really do anything with it, and it may seem pointless. But then one day you can tie it back in a ponytail and you realize how much it's grown and how many options are open to you now and you're really glad you stuck with it"

Now excuse me while i go meditate on the joys of my remaining spicy soup.

#long post #my life #idk maybe this will help someone #depression

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harunayuuka2060 · 8 months ago

Text

MC: *in the middle of arguing with the 3rd-years* No. I'm not taking any of you in Devildom.

Cater: But why, bestie~? We want to meet hot demons too! <3

MC: ...

MC: Are you serious right now?

Trey: That is not the point, actually. What we want to suggest is to have an exchange program between Devildom and Twisted Wonderland.

Rook: Oui! It's for the sake of learning!

MC: ...

MC: I can't deny that you have some point there; however, I need to consult Dia first.

Lilia: The Devildom prince will probably agree.

MC: That will take a considerable amount of paperwork. *sigh* You guys really enjoy putting a lot of work on my plate, don't you?

MC: Anyway, if it gets approved, I will only be choosing at least two to three students.

???: If I may make a suggestion, would it be possible to choose the most beautiful individuals among them?

MC: Eh? *turns to look who it is*

Queen Rose: *smiles warmly* Hello, MC.

Epel: Dame event?

MC: Yes. It's an annual event held for Queen Rose. *smiles* Everyone will dress as ladies and is expected to move and act with grace to a high degree.

Epel: ...

Epel: Oh. Okay. I'm not participating in this one.

Vil: You can't, Epel.

Epel: Why not?!

MC: Before Queen Rose came to me, she had already spotted you and made a specific request to see you at the event.

Epel: !!!

Epel: But... I don't want to...

Vil: Everyone in Pomefiore will be joining.

Rook: *chuckles* I can't wait to witness everyone dressed as elegant dames.

Epel: T-Though can we ensure the safety of students that will join?!

MC: It will happen here in NRC.

Epel: Oh, yeah? Then how about the others? Is it only Pomefiore?!

MC: Savanaclaw also signed up for the event. Same with Heartslabyul and Diasomnia.

Epel: ...

Vil: Just give up now, Epel.

MC: If you don't really want to dress up as a girl, then being elegant will suffice.

Epel: ...

Epel: Really?

MC: Yes.

Epel: ...

Epel: Hehe! Thank you, MC!

Professor Crewel: Pup, have you also become a dame in this event?

MC: Yes, Professor Crewel. I think twice.

Professor Crewel: Oh? And how was the experience?

MC: ...

MC: It wasn't good.

Professor Trein: Why? What happened?

MC: I almost caused a stampede.

Professor Crewel and Professor Trein: ...

Professor Crewel: Oh now, child. I want to see you as a dame.

MC: Uh, no. But Solomon is free.

Solomon: *who's with them reading fashion magazines*

Solomon: Why me?

MC: You're more beautiful, Sol.

Solomon: Eh... But I didn't cause a stampede. *chuckles*

MC: *frowns a little*

Lucifer: Queen Rose, The White Wolf of The Frost Flowers...

Diavolo: What is it, Lucifer?

Lucifer: Are you not wondering about it, Diavolo?

Diavolo: Well, I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me.

Barbatos: There is nothing to be concerned about this.

Lucifer: What do you mean, Barbatos?

Barbatos: I have returned to Devildom to see how things are going.

Barbatos: And certain news arrived to my ears.

Diavolo: What news?

Barbatos: That MC has achieved what Solomon has.

Lucifer: ...

Diavolo: ...

Lucifer: Are you saying-

Barbatos: Yes. *smiles* Thirteen confirmed it herself.

#twisted wonderland #obey me mc #twst mc #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me queen rose #twst cater #twst vil #twst trey #twst rook #twst malleus #twst epel #obey me solomon #twst trein #twst crewel #twst x obey me

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citricacidprince · 2 months ago

Note

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

197 notes · View notes

my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 3 months ago

Text

L Lawliet X F!Reader Smut Oneshot

VERY SMUTTY SMUT, 18+

FINALLY finished! This was so fun to write, but I've been so distracted recently that I haven't been able to work on any of my hobbies. I apologize for going AWOL for like, what, a month? Anyway, hopefully finishing this will be the start of bringing writing back in my life. Enjoy, L fans, and let me know if you have ideas for more!

Warnings/contents: Oral (reader recieving), PinV, cowgirl, happy trail, slight amounts of biting, and a very tired man

L has been working far too much, and it's showing. Not only has he not been leaving the CTV screens, he's stopped sleeping all together. Not even at his seat. For someone so smart, you'd think he'd know to take better care of himself.

Well, tonight, he's finally returned to your shared bedroom, only to retrieve some important flash drive. You were laying upside down on the bed, your legs propped up on the headboard and your hands busy with a rather riveting game of snake.

As soon as you heard him walk in, you perked up, flipping around and watching him with intent, your phone playing a sad little song at your loss of the now irrelevant game. "Hey! are you done working?"

He had his hands in his pockets, his steps light but slow as he felt weighed down by his lack of energy. "I'm never done working," he answered simply, walking to the nightstand and crouching down in front of it.

He opened a drawer, which contained a safe. He typed in the 12 digit code, opening it and finding a few small files and three flash drives...none of which were the right one. "I put it right here...did you take the red drive from this safe," he asked with slightly narrowed eyes, turning to the left to face you.

"No...is something missing?"

He examined you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, taking in everything about you. This was the problem, he could never tell if you were lying. Whether it was that he was so infatuated with you he couldn't imagine you lying to him, or if you were simply that good, It was frustratingly inconvenient. Perhaps you simply never lied...that was the delirium from not sleeping speaking, most definitely.

"Are you lying," he asked simply.

"No, unfortunately. I wish I had it...I can help you look," you say sweetly.

"I will find it myself...thank you," he nodded, throwing the polite thanks on the end.

"If you say so," you say in obvious skepticism.

He stands back up, looking down at you as you laid back once more. "Do you doubt my ability," he asked challengingly.

"Well...no...It's just..." you look back up at his big, tired eyes, his face discreetly shifting back and forth between curiosity and annoyance.

You look back to your phone. "You've been so tired, you're running on fumes...I just don't think you're in the right place to be effectively searching for and finding things...or, remembering where you put things...or...doing detective work..."

Silence.

You slowly look back up at him, already wincing at how he must look. When your eyes met his, he just seemed...surprised?

"Do you really think my lack of sleep is affecting my efficiency in a palpable way?" He seemed to be considering the notion.

"I do. Very much so."

"Well...I don't have time to sleep," he mused lowly.

you could work with this. "Would you at least shower? It could help you relax, get your mind off things. It'd only take, like, what, 20 minutes?"

He thought about this.

"I suppose it may assist me in 'getting my mind off things'," he sighed. "Fine. But I'd like you to look for that flash drive while I'm gone," he said firmly. Even without the team around, he still acted like he was your boss. You looked up at him with raised brows.

"...please." This energy deficit was making it harder to engage in social conventions, it took a level of consciousness he did not have currently. Another reason he needed sleep.

"Sure," you said with a smile, sitting up. "Go on, go shower, I'll start looking right now," you assured, standing and guiding him to the bathroom. He walked on his own, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed, turning to face the room, scanning it, your brow furrowed. Then, the water turned on. You glanced to the door. You could hear the rhythm of the raining droplets interrupted by him getting in.

With a deep breath, you relax, walking to the nightstand and opening it back up. You typed in the code to the safe, It was a seemingly randomized combination of the numbers within you and Watari's respective birthdays.

Reaching into your bra, you pulled out the flash drive, placing it atop everything else. You'd have to confess and apologize later, for tricking him. You really just needed a reason to get him away from his computer.

With a satisfied huff, you laid back down, continued your game of snake, and waited for him to get out.

fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door gently pushed open, and out L walked, seeming slightly better. he had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, a slight and sparse amount of black hair barely visible above the pristine white of the fabric. Another towel was slung around his shoulders, catching the water dripping from his spiked black hair.

perfection.

You sat on the edge of the bed, smiling happily at him. "Hey, how do you feel? Better? About the flash-"

"I'd like to have sex."

Your mouth hung open for a moment, the suddenness shocking you. You supposed it was because he was lacked so much energy before, because him being so direct wasn't rare in the slightest. Meanwhile, he simply stared at you, waiting for a proper response.

"Right...right now?"

"Do you have any other plans?"

"Well, no," you say, laughing a little. "I thought you were tired. You should be tired."

"I am tired, but I've come to the conclusion that sex with you would be beneficial, more so than the shower, and more time efficient than proper rest."

You just laughed even more, giggling at his frankness. "Sure, yeah...so, I'm assuming you'll want to get straight to things? make it quick?" Nothing was unexpected with him, that was for sure.

"Well...not without foreplay. I'm not completely helpless," he muttered, his brows furrowing slightly at the insinuation he wouldn't. He could tell that's what you were thinking.

"Is that so? Here I was, thinking you'd leave me high and dry," you tease.

He took a step closer, before putting his foot up and onto the bed next to you and leaning over you. His hands were at his hips, the natural placement for him after so much time putting them in his pockets. "Do you think that lowly of me," he asked softly. His eyes were half lidded, staring deep into yours as if he were reading your soul, and his lips were parted, slowly taking in air, his breath warm against your face, so impossibly close to you.

Your skin was warming, blood rushing to your cheeks and nose as you take in the sight before you. Then, you smile, bringing your hands to cup his face. "You're trying too hard," you taunt, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. He closed his eyes, and when you pull away he leans in farther for a beat, as if he's trying to chase you. His serious expression disappears, and he sits up just a little more. "Am I," he asked, genuinely, cocking his head a little in curiosity.

He just makes you giggle, he's so funny without even realizing. "Yes," you laugh jokingly, nodding for a moment before you calm down. Then you lean in a little more, glancing down at the foot propped up on the bed, and quietly say, "No. It's nice, fun...but, I'd rather you just be yourself." You tilt your head up, your lips brushing against his, before you give him a true kiss.

He closes his eyes, a shiver running up his spine, and when your mouth opens to slide your tongue across his bottom lip, he gladly opens his own. Your hands stay to the sides of his face, and his eventually make their way to your shoulders. You stop for a moment, scooting backward. Without even thinking, he sits completely on the bed, just to follow your lips, and as a reward you waste no time kissing him again.

You stay like that for a while, making out while he sort of straddles your legs in his usual crouch, until he moves past your mouth and to your jaw. It surprises you for a moment, but you quickly adjust, your hand moving to his damp hair to steady yourself.

He leaves wet, meaningful kisses up your jawline, his hand sliding up to your neck to hold you in place. "Did you know," he starts, planting a kiss to the spot where your ear meets your jaw. "That the ear is one of the most sensitive parts of the body," he finishes, kissing at the shell of your ear and sucking on your lobe for a moment. He wasn't even trying to be overly sexy, at least not in his words, you could tell he simply said it because your ear made him think of it, but the candidness of this moment that was so L made you melt...especially because of his soft, low voice.

"Is that so," you ask, your voice wavering a little.

you could feel his smile against the skin of your ear as he left another impassioned kiss to the shell. "It appears it is," he hummed, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Maybe he was trying.

You could do nothing but let out a nervous giggle, your back arching upward until your chest met his. You turned your head, your ear no longer accessible to him, and planted a kiss to the side of his neck. You could feel him stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. You kissed him again, this time slowly, and his hand moved to be in your hair, the other planted firmly on the top of your hip to steady himself.

You take the moment to remove the towel around his waist, glancing down to see just what you were working with...and there he was.

He was fully erect, around 6 inches, the pale pink tip beading with pre. Perfect. You almost reached out to touch him, to please him, but...

Finally, and rather suddenly, he mutters, "Sit back....please."

You don't argue, you just...do. You sit back from him. You could have kept going, just to tease him, but just in case he was overwhelmed, you sat back.

He wasn't overwhelmed, to your delight, and you knew because he leaned forward and brings his lips to your clavicle, placing a gentle but impassioned kiss there. He hears your breath catch, and as he looks up at you with his usual moon-eyed stare, he catches the way your nostrils flare, and your lips part. "You are aroused," he states softly, his hands running up your sides and under your shirt.

"I am," you titter, his cool hands sending a shiver up your spine as you watch him intently.

"If you take your shirt off, I may be able to assist you," he hums sarcastically, a slight, gentle smile across his face.

You roll your eyes, a big smile on your face as you remove your shirt, setting it aside. You take your bra off too, and your pants for good measure. The only thing left on you is your underwear, something that, as he trails feather light kisses down the valley of your breast and the center of your abdomen, he carefully removes with his thumbs and index fingers. By now, he's on his knees and bent forward completely, his hands holding your legs apart as he brings himself to be face to face with your aching folds.

he gazes up at you, not in question but in curiosity, almost a way to tease you. do you want this? how badly? you really want this, don't you?

He slowly licks his lips as his eyes flick back down to what was before him. He sticks his tongue out, giving a long, tentative lap up from your entrance to your clitoris. as his tongue slides up your clit, beneath the hood, your hips buck, just enough to let him know you're excited. With that, his lips lock onto it, his eyes half lidded as he lavishly sucks and laps, soft groans reverberating through you ever so gently as he pleasures you.

He always seems to enjoy this as much as you do, and with each moan you release, he responds to you with a particularly angled prod of his tongue, or a vibrating groan in return, rewarding the crescendo of your sounds.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, nestling in the soft black stands and gently pulling at the base. At the feeling, he releases a breath he seemed to have been holding, the air fanning against the skin of your thighs and lower abdomen. The sturdy grip he has on your hips tightens a little, and as your hips stutter with the eventual arrival of your orgasm, he looks back up at you, his eyes peering, examining, daring you to look anywhere but at him. You can't help but to stare back.

With one final lap of his tongue, you finish, back arching, head tossing back, your voice ringing through the room in what he can only describe as the song of the angels. He helps you through, gently sucking on your clit, and when you finally come down from it, he pulls away, licking the fluid from his chin and upper lip. It was sort of endearing, watching him do something that looked so...stupid, to put it bluntly.

You laugh despite your panting, smiling as he sits back with his knees rather relaxed compared to usual, not to his chest, although arched halfway there. "you were...considerably louder than usual. has it been a long time since you've experienced an orgasm?"

you almost wanted to chide him for asking a question that had such an obvious answer, but you supposed it was good he didn't negate the fact that you could self pleasure. "Nope. I guess you could say I've been saving myself for you," you sigh teasingly, crawling closer, over his legs, bringing your face and hips above his, respectively.

He instinctively takes your hips, looking up at you with a thoughtful expression. "Why would you do something like that," he asked disdainfully.

You laugh a little. "Does it matter?"

He pauses, looking to your hips. "I suppose not. It makes no difference to me," he muses.

You smile down at him with endearment, your hands sliding to his shoulders. No time to waste.

You lower yourself down his vehemently leaking cock, his grip tightening around you as you push yourself past his tip.

he leaned forward, his knees coming up, your body now between his chest and his legs as your hips met his. he wasn't especially girthy, but his length more than made up for it. You take in a breath, steadying on his shoulders, and slowly slide upward.

He watches with a sort of aroused fascination as you begin to ride him, his eyes not leaving the sight of your body taking his dick in and out, watching and feeling every twitch, listening to every sound, the variations, the angles, everything perceived. You wouldn't think he was enjoying himself all too much, given the fact he was only releasing tempered pants and the occasional hum, but it was his attention that gave it away. Nothing besides his work, and now you, has captured his attention so quickly and so intensely.

If he weren't so tired and in need of a proverbial "quickie," he'd have you in as many different positions as possible. He has a need to see every facet of you, to know how you look and feel and sound in every angle and situation...but, for now, the usual cowgirl will do. And it does, it does rather nicely.

He only looks up at your face when he takes notice of your own noises, growing in volume and desperation. Of course, when he looks up, he can really only see your tits, bouncing away, and he really has no choice but to lavishly suck on your nipple. a formality, truly. The sounds and expressions that elicits is simply heavenly.

He grips your hips tighter, and as the air from his nose fans across your chest, he thrusts himself up. You cry out, his tip unexpectedly hitting your cervix, and all you can do now is shift back and forth as he thrusts up, peer into his large observant eyes as he tongues your breast and uses your body as he wishes. The sight, the feeling, the sounds, it was all too much for you. You moan louder and louder, signaling an orgasm, and the moment his tip pounds a particular spot, you're done. Your hips buckle, your body shakes, and best of all for him, your walls constrict.

in mere moments after you, he begins to truly moan, his cheeks flushing as his orgasm grows closer. After one particularly fast and hard jerk of his hips, he's calling out your name, his teeth pressing into your chest as his lashes flutter, his cum releasing within you in quick spurts, riding the wave as your hips roll against his.

He said this would be quick, a way to relax while staying time efficient, but fortunately he was too tired to take his own tiredness into account. He fell completely asleep beside you, his head pressed into your chest and his legs pressed to your torso as you stroked his hair. He'd sleep for the next 14 hours, and while you got up to pick up the slack at work, get something to eat, or use the restroom, you always returned to him.

I genuinely looked like coraline's dad writing this. I had fun, but wow was I lethargic. I'd like to do this again though, hopefully when I'm feeling more determined!

Taglist: @cheekyweekymouse

#fanfic #fan fiction #l lawlight #l lawilet #l lawiet #l x reader #l death note #death note #death note l #death note fanfiction #death note smut #l lawliet smut

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