#now i just have to decide what to read first

[badathumanemotions]

Spencer with a breeding/ pregnancy kink...

Like part of it is purely out of wanting to be a father but he can't deny that the thought of Reader having a bump and leaky tits isn't nice either. And once he actually gets her pregnant he's rubbing her belly while he fucks her...

I'm cursed I think

Breeding Season

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Masterlist CW:Smut, Pregnancy, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Oral Sex (R rec), Vaginal Sex, Cream Pie, Lactation, Squirting, Fluff, Dirty Talk. WC: 7,893 (Not Proof Read)

The conversation starts with your legs tangled under a blanket and his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along your thigh. The TV is on, volume low, playing something you haven’t been following for the past half hour. You’ve been too focused on the feel of him beside you. The way his body settles so easily into yours now, like it was always meant to be here.

You’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Not obsessively. Just in passing moments. When he kisses the top of your head without thinking. When his hand finds your stomach in his sleep. When you catch him lingering in the baby section at the store, gaze flickering over soft yellow onesies and the smallest socks you’ve ever seen.

But you’ve never said it aloud.

Not until now.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the sound of the narrator on screen.

Spencer hums, warm and content beside you. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s not exactly casual.”

That makes him shift, just enough to glance down at you. He searches your face, already alert, already open.

You draw in a breath. “I’ve been thinking about trying. For a baby.”

His expression doesn’t change at first. He just blinks, lips parting slightly like he wants to make sure he’s heard you right. You can see the way the words land in him, all at once. Not light. Not heavy. Just... real.

“You have?” he asks, slowly.

You nod, watching the way his face softens.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand moves under the blanket, finding your hip, his thumb sliding in slow, thoughtful strokes. There’s no tension in him. Just quiet, thoughtful stillness.

“I didn’t want to bring it up first,” he says finally. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. But yeah. I’ve thought about it too. A lot.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Not uncomfortable. Just full of everything that doesn’t need to be rushed.

“What do you picture?” you ask.

Spencer’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “Everything. You. Me. A house with too many books and not enough shelves. A kid who reads before they’re supposed to. You, laughing in the kitchen. You, holding them. Me, probably panicking over something ridiculous.”

You laugh softly, and his eyes light up at the sound.

“But mostly I just picture you,” he continues. “Pregnant. Glowing. Walking around in a shirt with a bump so obvious it doesn’t matter if I keep my hands to myself or not.”

Your cheeks flush. “You’d be unbearable.”

He dips his head toward you, lips brushing your temple. “Completely.”

The moment settles again. You feel the shift in it, the turn it takes. Not abrupt. Just... natural. Like the moment you decided. Like the moment he did.

“Do you want to?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“I want everything with you,” he says. “And I want to start now.”

His mouth finds yours slowly, reverently. There’s no urgency in the kiss, no crash of movement. Just his hand slipping to your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap while the blanket falls forgotten to the floor.

You sink into him, knees bracketing his hips, fingers fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt. He kisses you like he’s rediscovering something. Like your mouth has changed and he needs to map it all over again.

You feel his arousal building beneath you, hot and heavy and unhidden. He’s already hard, but he doesn’t grind up into you. Doesn’t rush it. His hands settle at your hips, thumbs grazing the curve of your lower belly, and for the first time, the touch feels like a promise.

“You’re sure?” he asks, pulling back enough to look at you.

You nod. “I want it.”

He lifts your shirt slowly, pressing his lips to your stomach. One kiss, then another, just above the waistband of your pants. “Then we’ll try.”

He kisses you once more, slow and deep, then pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Come with me,” he whispers.

You nod, breath already unsteady, and let him guide you up from the couch. His hand stays at the small of your back, thumb tracing your spine as he leads you through the quiet apartment and into the bedroom. The light is low, the sheets slightly rumpled from this morning. He doesn't rush to fix anything. He only turns toward you, both hands cupping your face like he needs a moment just to look.

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, mouth parting yours with soft insistence. His hands drift down to your waist, then lower, until he’s lifting your shirt in one fluid motion and pulling it over your head. Your bra comes next, and when it drops to the floor, his eyes flick to your breasts like they always do. He doesn’t touch yet. Just looks  with something warm and reverent behind his gaze.

His pants and boxers are suddenly gone. Your clothes follow, the final barrier slipping past your thighs before he urges you gently onto the bed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how perfect you are,” he murmurs.

You reach for him, but he shakes his head, smiling softly. “Let me take care of you.”

You lie back on the bed, and he follows, lowering himself onto the mattress between your thighs. He parts them with his hands, slow and careful, and kisses the inside of your knee. Then again, a little higher. And again, and again, alternating sides as he works up your thighs.

It’s not teasing. Not quite. It’s reverent. Like he’s tasting you one inch at a time, learning your body all over again. Then his mouth is on you.

At first it’s just his tongue, broad and slow, one long stroke through your folds that makes your back arch off the bed. You’re already wet for him, and he groans into you like the taste is everything he’s been craving.

He does it again. And again. Slower. Deeper. His tongue moves in smooth, lazy passes, coaxing your body open with steady, practiced rhythm.

He’s not chasing your orgasm. He’s building it.

His hands stay firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking your skin as he mouths at you with devastating patience. He circles your clit with the very tip of his tongue, featherlight, then presses a little harder, holding there just long enough to make your toes curl.

“Fuck,” you whisper, voice already shaking.

Spencer hums like that’s all the encouragement he needs. He shifts lower, spreading you wider with his hands, then licks into you deeper, his tongue dragging along your entrance, dipping in just enough to make your hips stutter.

He does it again. And again. Alternating pressure, pace, direction. Testing how you respond. Not because he doesn’t know. He does. But because he wants to see all the ways you fall apart for him now.

His nose brushes your clit as he works you over, and the angle makes everything sharper. You moan louder, thighs trembling around his head, and he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer.

He flattens his tongue and moves it in slow figure eights, then sucks gently at your clit until you’re panting his name into the sheets. One of your hands fumbles for his hair and threads through it, tugging hard when he slides a finger into you.

You gasp, whole body tightening as he curls it inside you, the motion slow and purposeful.

“That’s it,” he says softly, pulling back just enough to speak, voice husky. “Let me make you feel good.”

Then he’s back on your clit, mouth moving in practiced rhythm, his finger thrusting slow and deep inside you. He adds another, stretching you open, filling you until your hips lift off the mattress and your fingers dig into his scalp.

The sounds he makes, low groans, quiet sighs, the wet suck of his mouth, only drive you higher. He’s in no hurry. There’s no rush in his pace. Just endless, deliberate pleasure, wringing every last ounce of tension from your body until it feels like you could break apart from the sensation.

You’re close. You know it. So does he.

Your whole body seizes up as your orgasm hits, hard and fast and total. You cry out, shaking, thighs clamping around his head as waves of heat crash over you. Spencer groans like he’s the one coming, like tasting you like this is too much to bear.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking you through it, soft and steady, until you’re twitching, too sensitive, pushing at his shoulders as your body finally starts to come down.

Only then does he lift his head.

His mouth is slick with you, chin wet, cheeks flushed. He kisses your thigh again, slow and soft, then moves up your body with reverent care.

When he reaches your chest, he mouths over your breasts, kisses up your throat until he meets your lips. The look in his eyes is too much. Like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

He kisses you gently, slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips, before reaching down between your bodies and wrapping his hand around his cock.

You’re still trembling from his mouth, your thighs slick and parted, body already pliant beneath him. But he doesn’t move to press inside. Not yet. He just lingers there, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in the wetness he pulled from you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice thick, reverent. “Dripping for me. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You gasp as the tip nudges your clit, the pressure sharp and unexpected. His thumb presses into your hip to keep you still, eyes locked on your face as he drags himself down again, lining up with your entrance but refusing to push forward.

Your breath catches when he dips just barely inside. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to tease. Your walls flutter around nothing, already clenching with need.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s barely a whisper.

“I’m going to cum so deep in your pussy it won’t have a chance to drip out.”

You whimper as the head catches on your clit, pleasure sparking straight through your core. Spencer doesn’t stop moving. His hips roll hard, letting the underside of his cock rub against you with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch.

“I need to be inside you,” he pants. “I need to fuck you full.”

You can barely speak, but he doesn’t wait for you to find the words. He watches your face instead, like he’s memorizing every single shift in your expression, every flutter of your lashes and gasp of your mouth.

“I want it,” you breathe. “I want your cum. I want you to fuck a baby into me.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he says. “Cumming in you, watching you take it, feeling your pussy milk it out of me like you’re already carrying my baby.”

You gasp as he pushes in just a little more, your walls fluttering in anticipation.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls. “You're going to take it, every inch, and you're not going to stop me.”

And then he thrusts forward, not slow, not careful—just one long, rough stroke that seats him deep, all the way to the base, until your hips meet and your back arches off the mattress.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice low. “You feel so good. So perfect around me.”

He groans again and starts to move, hips snapping forward in sharp, desperate thrusts. The pace is immediate, all restraint gone. He’s fucking you like he needs it. Like he’s been kept from you for too long.

Every stroke is hard, deep, rough in a way that makes your whole body jolt beneath him. Your breasts bounce with each thrust and his eyes are drawn there, dark and hungry.

His voice is wrecked when he speaks again. “You're going to look so fucking good. Breasts full and heavy. Aching for me.”

His hand comes up to your chest, fingers curving under the weight of one breast as it moves with every rough thrust. You cry out, the sound caught between surprise and need, and his groan follows fast, guttural, helpless.

You gasp his name, your hips rocking up to meet him as your hands scramble to grip his shoulders. “Spencer, fuck...”

He thumbs over your nipple, slow and firm, and the sensation makes you jolt. “Yes,” you choke out. “Touch me. Keep touching me.”

He does. He fucks you harder, rougher, like your encouragement only fuels him more.

“You were made for this,” he growls. “For me. For taking my cock. For carrying my child. Fuck—your body’s begging for it.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling with the force of his thrusts. “I want it,” you pant. “I want to be full of you. I want you to cum inside me until I can’t hold any more.”

The sound that rips from his throat is something primal. He buries his face against your neck, breath scorching against your skin as his rhythm falters for a second, like he’s close already but fighting it.

“You’re going to be swollen with my child,” he says, voice breaking on it. “You’re going to walk around every day with your pussy full of my cum, knowing exactly what I did to you.”

“God, Spencer.” You clutch at him, pulling him closer, your nails dragging down his back. “Yes. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like you’re going to get me pregnant.”

He lifts your thighs higher, folding you open for him, and the angle makes you cry out loud, stars blinking behind your eyes as he slams into the deepest parts of you.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice shaking. “So tight. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”

“I don’t,” you moan. “I want you to stay right there, filling me up, until your cum takes.”

His eyes snap open at your words, wide and wild and completely undone. “You say shit like that, and I’m not going to last.”

You meet his gaze through the haze of lust. “Then don’t.”

He groans again, hips stuttering, cock dragging against every aching spot inside you. His thrusts are relentless now, every movement harder, sharper, more desperate.

“I can feel it,” he growls. “Your pussy trying to keep me in. You want this just as bad as I do.”

“More,” you whisper. “I want it more. I want you to fuck me again and again until it sticks. Until I’m pregnant and you still don’t stop.”

His hands clamp tighter on your thighs. He pounds into you like his life depends on it, the rhythm so brutal it rocks the bed under you.

“You’re going to take every drop,” he grits out. “Every last fucking drop until there’s no doubt you’re mine.”

“Yes,” you cry out. “Yes, all of it. I’ll take everything. Just don’t stop.”

His jaw clenches. You feel his body coil like a wire pulled taut, fighting the edge with everything he has.

“Not yet,” he growls. “Not until I feel you cum on my cock. Not until I know you're ready to take it.”

Spencer suddenly pulls out, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he looks down at your trembling body. His hands move fast, gripping behind your knees and lifting—higher, higher—until your thighs are flush to your chest, your hips tilted up, completely open to him.

You gasp as the change stretches you out. Your breath stutters from the pressure, the exposure, the sheer vulnerability of it. But he’s right there, gaze locked on where your bodies meet, expression wild.

“Stay just like that,” he mutters, climbing back over you, forcing your knees up even tighter. “I want to get so deep in you there’s no doubt.”

He drops his weight forward, pressing you into the mattress. Your legs are trapped between your bodies, spread and pinned, and he uses it. Leverage. Power. He slides back inside with one brutal thrust that punches a moan from your chest.

“Oh my god—Spencer.”

You can barely breathe. The angle is punishing, his cock slamming into you so deep it feels like he’s splitting you open. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

“This is how I’m going to do it,” he pants, each word timed to the roll of his hips. “Just like this. Holding you down. Unable to stop me.”

You whimper, hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but he’s everywhere. His chest presses to yours, his hips grind down relentlessly, the mattress creaks beneath the force of him.

He braces both hands beside your shoulders now, using them for leverage as he starts to fuck you in earnest. Harder. Deeper. Like the thought of getting you pregnant has snapped something loose in him.

He’s not being careful anymore. He’s fucking you with his full weight behind every thrust, each one rougher than the last, forcing soft cries from your throat. The squelch of slick between your legs is obscene, made louder by the slap of his hips hitting your ass over and over.

“I can’t stop,” he growls. “Not when you feel like this. Not when your pussy’s squeezing me so tight.”

“Going to watch your belly grow,” he mutters, breath hot against your throat. “Going to fuck you again while you’re pregnant, when you're already so full of me you can barely take another inch.”

Your head rolls back against the pillow. You're writhing beneath him, thighs trembling, body open and helpless under his relentless pace.

“Say you want it,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Say you want me to breed you.”

“I want it,” you gasp, desperate and breathless beneath him. “I want you to breed me. I want your baby, Spencer.”

His whole body tenses. He stares down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. Then he growls—low and primal—and fucks into you with renewed force.

“That’s right,” he pants. “Say it again. Say who’s going to put a baby in you.”

“You,” you moan. “You are. You’re going to make me pregnant.”

A guttural sound rips from his chest. His hips snap forward, burying his cock to the hilt, then he does it again, over and over, his thrusts harder, sharper, more demanding. He’s rutting into you like he’s trying to etch the shape of himself into your body.

You whimper beneath him, dizzy from the stretch and the speed, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room like it’s the only thing that exists.

“I’m going to watch you swell with my child,” he snarls against your throat. “I’m going to fuck you until I know it’s taken. And then I’m going to do it again.”

He presses one hand to your lower belly, just above where he’s driving into you. The other stays braced at the headboard, keeping you pinned.

“You’re going to walk around with my baby inside you,” he grits out. “Every time someone looks at you, they’ll know I did this. I bred you. I filled you up and made you mine.”

Your breath shudders in your throat. Every word hits somewhere deep in your chest. He’s inside you like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else he’s ever needed to be.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say you want to carry my child.”

“I want it,” you gasp. “I want to be pregnant. I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

He lets out a noise that’s half groan, half curse, and his rhythm stutters for a second. Then he picks it back up, harder than ever. Each thrust is like a claim being driven into your body.

“I’m going to fill you up with cum over and over,” he snarls, “until I know you’re pregnant. Until your belly’s round with my child. Until you can’t take any more.”

His voice is breaking now, wrecked with need, with possession, with pride.

“You’re going to be swollen with my child. Mine. You understand?”

“Yes,” you whimper, breath catching on the word. “Yours. I want to be yours.”

Your voice snaps the last thread of control inside him. His thrusts go ragged, pace faltering as his whole body begins to tighten above you.

“Then take it,” Spencer groans, voice low and ruined. “Take everything I give you.”

His hips move faster, slamming into you with deep, bruising force, over and over, dragging you right to the edge. His hand tightens on your waist like he’s anchoring himself, his eyes locked on where your bodies meet.

“I can feel how badly you want it,” he rasps. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight. She’s begging for it. Begging to be knocked up.”

You sob something between a moan and his name, fingernails biting into the flex of his forearm as your hips jerk up to meet his every brutal thrust.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “You’re going to look so fucking beautiful with my baby inside you. Soft and glowing. You won’t even be able to hide it.”

You whimper, completely undone beneath him.

“I’m going to keep you like that,” he snarls, slamming into you. “Barefoot and pregnant. Let the whole world see what I’ve done to you.”

He pulls almost all the way out, cock gleaming with slick, then drives back in with a vicious snap of his hips that knocks the breath out of you. His body covers yours, sweat slick and burning hot, every inch of him focused on the act of claiming, of making you his in the most permanent way possible.

“You think I’ll stop once you’re pregnant?” he pants. “Fuck no. I’ll fuck you while you’re swollen. While your tits are leaking. While our baby’s growing inside you. Because you’re mine. Every part of you.”

Then he slams in once, deep and final, his whole body locking above you as his cock throbs inside you. You feel the first pulse of it, hot and thick, and his mouth drops open in a groan so desperate it borders on worship.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck, take it. Take all of it. That’s my baby in you. Mine.”

He doesn’t stop moving. Even as he cums, he keeps grinding his hips in short, dragging rolls, making sure you don’t miss a drop. You can feel him emptying into you, thick and endless, the pressure of it sending heat spiralling through your gut.

But he’s not done.

His grip shifts, and he starts thrusting again. Slower now, but deeper. Focused. Intent.

“I’m not stopping,” he says, voice wrecked but steady. “Not until you cum. Not until I feel your pussy squeezing my cock, greedily taking every drop.”

You cry out, body shuddering beneath him. He reaches down and rubs your clit in tight circles, fingers slick from where you’ve soaked him.

“You need to cum,” he whispers, thrusting harder again. “You need to cum with my seed still leaking into you. Let it take. Let your body catch.”

You’re so close it hurts. Your hips jerk up, meeting his strokes, and he keeps talking, keeps driving it deeper.

It tears through you. The orgasm hits with brutal intensity, ripping the breath from your lungs as your back arches and your walls clamp down hard around him.

You sob his name, trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash through you, your cunt fluttering around his cock like your body is trying to milk him again.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, holding deep inside you, arms shaking. “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Make sure it takes.”

You’re gasping, dizzy, overwhelmed, his body heavy over yours as the aftershocks keep rolling.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just presses his hand to your lower belly again, stroking softly.

“Mine,” he whispers. “All of you.”

And you are. Marked, filled, claimed in every possible way.

At thirty week your belly is round, unmistakable beneath everything you wear, full with the child you made together. Your breasts ache with weight and change. Your back hurts more often than not. And Spencer still looks at you like he’s seeing a miracle.

He’s on his knees at the edge of the bed, mouth pressed reverently to the swell of your stomach, like he can’t help himself. Like he never could.

He’s been like this the whole time. Touching. Kissing. Talking to the baby whenever he thinks you’re asleep. And fucking you as often as he can manage without making you too sore.

“You’re so full,” he murmurs against your skin. “So fucking full of me.”

His hands spread wide across the sides of your bump, fingertips brushing where he knows your skin is the most sensitive now. He’s mapped it all. Counted the stretch marks as they appear, tracked your symptoms like a research project he never wants to finish.

“Thirty weeks,” he says, kissing the top curve of your belly. “And every time I see you, it’s more real. Our baby. Inside you. Growing because I put them there.”

You stroke his hair, thumb brushing along his hairline. He looks up at you like he might cum from nothing more than the sight of you above him like this. Hair messy. T-shirt stretched tight over your breasts.

He glances up, already dazed, already lost in you. “Let me make you feel good.”

You reach for him before he can slide lower, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt.

“Don’t,” you whisper, breath already unsteady. “I need you inside me.”

He pauses, lips hovering just above your belly, blinking up at you.

“I was going to eat you out,” he says, voice low, reverent. “I wanted to take my time. Taste how sweet you are when you’re like this.”

You groan softly and tug harder at his shirt, desperate now. “I don’t need your mouth right now, Spencer. I’ve been soaked all day. I can’t wait. I just want your cock.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Is it the hormones again?”

You nod, tugging him closer, voice nearly a whimper. “They’re out of control. I feel it everywhere. My nipples are aching. My cunt’s throbbing. I just need you.”

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your knees apart with careful urgency. “You want me to fuck you like this? While you’re heavy with my baby?”

You moan just from the sound of it. “Yes. Please, Spencer.”

His breath shudders out of him. You see the restraint break in his face, feel the hunger snap loose in his body.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

He moves quickly, sitting up on his knees to strip off his shirt, tossing it to the floor without a glance. Then he’s reaching for you, hands moving with focused urgency. He helps you sit up just enough to peel off your own shirt, then your bra, until your breasts are bared and heavy between you. The moment they’re free, his hands are on them.

He groans, low and aching, as he cups them fully in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples and you gasp at how sensitive they’ve become.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Full and swollen. Fuck, you're so beautiful like this. Every inch of you changed because of me.”

You moan at the sound of his voice, at the heat behind his words. He leans in to kiss you, slow and deep, hands still working over your breasts until your nipples tighten under his touch.

Then he pulls back, gaze sliding down your body. You watch the way he looks at you, the awe in his eyes, the greedy drag of his stare over every new curve, every stretch of skin pulled tight over your bump.

“I want to see all of you,” he says, voice rough with need.

He helps you out of the rest of your clothes, then stands to shove his own pants and briefs off in one motion. His cock is flushed and leaking, already so hard it juts up against his stomach. You’re bare now, both of you, and the way he looks at you makes your whole body ache.

Spencer steps closer, eyes fixed on your belly, your breasts, the slick heat waiting for him between your legs. His hands return to your hips, slow and reverent as he leans down to kiss you again, this time rougher, hotter, full of need.

Then he pulls back slightly, breath catching as he looks over your body again.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

He hooks his hands under your knees and shifts you downward, guiding you closer to the edge of the bed. His touch is careful, practiced, already knowing exactly where to hold and how much to lift to avoid strain. His gaze flicks to your face every few seconds, checking for any sign of discomfort.

Once you’re positioned just right, he straightens up, running one hand from your thigh to your stomach. His palm lingers there, slow and warm.

“I like the challenge,” he says, smirking as he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “I’ve liked figuring out every way I can still fuck you like this. How to keep you full, even when your body’s already carrying everything I’ve given you.”

You shudder, the heat between your legs going molten. “Then stop talking and do it.”

Spencer growls under his breath, fingers digging into your thighs as he steps between them. His cock bobs against his stomach, flushed and throbbing, the head already slick. He strokes it once, twice, then lines himself up with your entrance.

“You’re really ready for me?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours.

Your response is a broken sound, hands grabbing at the sheets. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I like when you beg,” he says, voice tight. “But not tonight.”

He presses forward slowly, thick and hot, your walls stretching to take him. The fullness makes you gasp, and he groans, sinking in until he’s seated completely.

You moan and roll your hips up.

“I need more, Spencer. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He looks down at you, sweat beading at his temple, lips parted.

“You want me to fuck you like you’re not pregnant?”

“I want you to fuck me like I’m yours,” you say. “Like I’ll break if you stop.”

His next thrust is sharper. He’s not careful anymore.

He starts to give you exactly what you asked for.

Spencer’s next thrust is brutal. Deep. His hips slam into yours hard enough to jolt you up the bed an inch, and you gasp, loud and wrecked, your whole body trembling from the force of it.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, already shaking beneath him.

He groans like the sound fuels him, like it sinks into his bloodstream and drags his restraint out by the root. He pulls back and does it again, another punishing thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

“You’re dripping,” he snarls, voice low and harsh. “So fucking wet for me.”

You are. You can feel it, slick coating your thighs, your heat clutching at him with every motion. You’re soaked, flushed, oversensitive in the way only late pregnancy and surging hormones can bring. Every inch of your skin feels electric. Every thrust sends sparks ricocheting through you.

“Spencer,” you moan, hands scrambling to grab his forearms, his waist, anywhere you can anchor yourself. “More. Fuck, I need it.”

His hands slide to the backs of your knees and shove them higher, angling your hips up. It’s rough, but you welcome it, arching into him, hips already moving to meet his with frantic rhythm.

“I’m not going to stop,” he pants. “You don’t get to ask and not take it.”

And then he’s fucking you. Truly fucking you. Fast, hard, relentless.

Each thrust is sharp, perfectly aimed. The bed creaks with the pace, your breasts bouncing with every motion, and his eyes flick down, hungry and wild.

Your whole body is alive. The pressure is unbearable. Perfect. Every drag of his cock along your walls makes your stomach flip, makes your head spin, makes your body scream for more.

“I can feel you,” you whimper, nails dragging down his back. “I feel everything.”

“I know,” he growls. “That’s what you wanted. To feel it. All of it.”

You nod, too overwhelmed for words, and he rewards you with another brutal slam of his hips that makes your toes curl.

“You’re mine,” he hisses. “All of this. Mine. My perfect pregnant girl. Needy and wet and so fucking full for me.”

His pace doesn’t falter. It quickens, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing something, like he needs to bury himself so deep in you you’ll never be empty again.

Spencer’s rhythm doesn’t falter, but his attention shifts, gaze catching on the way your breasts bounce with every thrust. Heavy, full, flushed at the tips. He groans low in his chest, his mouth going slack for a second as he watches them move.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at them.”

His hands leave your hips without warning, greedy and reverent at once as they come up to cup your breasts. His fingers sink into the soft, swollen weight of them, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You cry out at the contact, back arching. The sensitivity is unbearable. Your whole body is on fire.

“Can’t keep my hands off you,” he growls, squeezing tighter. “So full. So heavy. You look like you’re already nursing.”

Then you leak.

A bead wells at one nipple, then another, and Spencer chokes on a groan like it hits him physically. His hips stutter for the first time since he started fucking you, the vision of it knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Jesus Christ.”

He squeezes again, just enough to draw another slow drop, and it breaks him.

“That’s because of me,” he rasps. “Because I bred you. Body preparing our child. And you’re still letting me fuck you like this.”

You whimper under him, clenching tight around his cock as he rocks forward again, harder now, completely unravelling.

“Perfect fucking woman,” he mutters, eyes locked on your chest, fingers wet with what he’s drawn from you. “You were made for this. For me.”

Your thighs shake. You’re dizzy with it. Every nerve, every pulse, is tuned to the drag of his cock and the possessive weight of his touch on your breasts.

His hands return to your hips for a moment, grip bruising as he pounds into you hard enough to rock the bed. Then one slips up again, greedy and familiar, until it’s splayed wide across your belly.

He groans when he touches it, like the contact is too much, like it short-circuits something in his brain.

“I can’t stop touching you,” he pants, hand stroking slow over the tight curve of your stomach. “You’re carrying my baby. I did this to you. And it makes me want you even more.”

He leans down, weight braced on one elbow, palm still warm on your belly, thrusts still hard and fast and ruthless.

“I should be ashamed of how much this turns me on,” he breathes. “But I’m not. Not when you look like this. Not when I know it’s my child growing inside you.”

You gasp at the words, at the heat of his body against yours, at the fingers pressing just a little firmer into the taut skin of your bump.

“You’re perfect,” he says again, like he can’t stop repeating it. “Big and glowing and already leaking. Your body’s changing for our baby and I can’t fucking get enough.”

He rocks forward again, and you moan louder, helpless beneath him.

“You should see yourself,” he growls. “Stretched and full, taking my cock like you were made for it. Breasts so swollen you’re leaking for me. My baby growing inside you. Every single thing about you right now is driving me out of my fucking mind.”

You shudder under him, eyes fluttering shut. The angle, the pressure, the filth in his voice—it’s all too much.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers, voice ragged with need. “Pregnant. Full. Fucking glowing. And every time I fill you up, I’ll know it’s mine.”

His hand doesn’t leave your belly. It anchors him there, dragging across your skin every time he thrusts, like he needs the reminder. Like he still can’t believe it.

He doesn’t ease up. If anything, the way your belly presses against his hand seems to set something off in him.

He thrusts harder, deeper, until your body jolts with every movement and your fingers twist in the sheets just to keep yourself grounded. The slick, obscene sound of it fills the room. You’re soaked, drenched around him, and he fucks through it like he never wants to stop.

“God, listen to you,” he groans. “So wet for me. You can’t help it, can you?”

You try to answer, but it comes out as a moan. Everything’s too much. The stretch. The heat. The friction. His hand dragging down again to your hip so he can pull you harder into every thrust. He hits deep, again and again, dragging against places inside you that feel newly sensitive. Like your whole body has changed to crave this more.

He looks down at you and groans low in his chest.

“Your tits,” he pants. “I can’t stop staring. I think about them every time I close my eyes.”

His hands are on them before you can speak. He leans up just enough to cup them both, thumbs brushing over your nipples, then squeezing harder. You cry out, hips bucking into his just as your left nipple leaks a warm, sticky line down the curve of your breast.

He groans, rough and hungry, like the sight knocks the air right out of him.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s what I want. So swollen. So ready.”

He lowers his mouth and laps at the spill of milk, licking it from your skin with a low, reverent sound. His hips don’t stop moving. His cock drives into you in a punishing rhythm while his mouth worships your breast like he can’t decide which part of you he wants more.

You feel his cock twitch deep inside you as he groans again, sucking harder.

“Spencer,” you gasp, trying to hold onto something, anything, but all you can feel is his tongue on your breast and his cock pounding into you like he’s trying to break you.

He lifts his head, lips slick, and looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

“You were made to carry my baby,” he growls. “Made to be fucked like this. Big and pregnant and dripping for me.”

He thrusts deeper, angling up so you feel every inch drag inside of you. Your thighs tremble from the force of it.

“Every time you walk into the room,” he pants, “I get hard just looking at you. Just knowing what I did. What you’re carrying. My baby. My cum. My fucking claim.”

His hand returns to your belly, spreading wide across the swell like he can feel the future inside it.

“I can’t stop wanting you like this,” he says. “I don’t want to stop.”

Your walls clench hard around him. Your body is singing with it now, pulsing and slick and desperate.

And he’s still going. Still thrusting. Still holding onto your belly like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

Spencer’s rhythm is unrelenting now, hips slamming into yours with an urgency that borders on feral. The headboard knocks against the wall in time with every thrust, but neither of you notices, too lost in the chaos of slick skin and broken breath.

You're soaked. The sheets beneath you are damp with it, the mess of your arousal smeared between your thighs, all over him, everywhere. His cock slides through it with ease, every stroke deep and devastating, hitting the spots that make you gasp and twitch and sob for more.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice unravelling with each word. “You feel so good. I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you gasp, hips jerking up to meet his every thrust. “You feel too good, Spencer, I can’t—”

You break off on a whimper as he angles just right and your whole body lights up. Your legs kick uselessly at the sheets. He doesn’t let up. He’s not giving you time to adjust. He wants you ruined, wants you shaking, wants you right there on the edge.

“You’re going to cum,” he pants, mouth dragging across your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re close. So fucking close.”

His hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit, swollen and slick. The second he touches you, your spine arches like a bow. He circles it fast, tight, his hips never missing a beat.

“Oh my god,” you cry, voice broken and high. “Spencer, please—”

“You’re going to cum so fucking hard,” he growls. “You’re going to soak my cock while I fill you up again. Your pussy’s going to drag every drop from me like it never wants to let go.”

Your muscles are locking, tightening. Every nerve is stretched thin. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as your climax coils hotter and tighter inside you.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.

“Hold it,” he growls. “I want to feel you cum the second I do. I want you to milk every drop of my cum into that perfect, pregnant body.”

You sob his name, head tossing side to side on the pillow. You’re right there. Teetering. Shaking. One more thrust, one more stroke of his fingers and you’ll fall apart completely.

Your whole body is wound tight, every nerve a live wire. Spencer is relentless, hips snapping forward with deep, claiming thrusts while his fingers circle your clit in firm, precise strokes. You’re soaked, everything slick and hot, his cock dragging perfectly through you each time he plunges back in.

He’s panting above you, flushed and wild-eyed, watching your face like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You’re going to cum,” he grits out. “I can feel it. Right there, aren’t you?”

You gasp, unable to speak. Your back arches, spine bowing up from the bed as heat coils low and tight in your belly. The pressure is unbearable.

“Come on,” he growls, voice ragged. “I want to feel it. I want to see you make a mess all over my cock.”

You cry out when he presses harder against your clit, his thumb unrelenting as his pace picks up, sharp and punishing. The tension breaks in an instant. You don’t just cum — you rupture. Your orgasm rips through you with a raw, helpless sob.

The pressure releases in a sudden rush and you squirt hard, liquid gushing out of you in pulses you can’t control, soaking your thighs, his cock, the sheets. Your legs tremble violently as your body writhes beneath him.

Spencer groans loud and long, like it’s been punched out of his chest. “Oh my god. You’re squirting. Fuck, you’re squirting for me.”

He pulls back just enough to look between your bodies and watches, utterly mesmerized, as another gush spills out around the thick base of his cock. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, gripping your hips like he’ll break apart if he doesn’t anchor himself. “You’re drenching me.”

Your voice is nearly gone. “Spence—”

His gaze snaps up to your face, and whatever he sees there pushes him over the edge. He buries himself deep and stays there, cock twitching inside you as he cums hard. Thick ropes of it flood your cunt, hot and heavy, and he groans through clenched teeth.

“That’s it,” he pants, barely able to speak. “Take it. All of it. You deserve every drop.”

His hips jerk again, slower now, grinding into you like he wants to leave it as deep as it can possibly go.

Your body is still pulsing, oversensitive and spent, but he doesn’t pull out. He stays there, thick and buried and full of everything he’s just given you. One hand slides up to your belly, warm and reverent.

“I made you do that,” he says softly, like he can’t believe it. “You squirted because of me.”

You can’t even speak. You just pull him down into a kiss, still shaking with aftershocks, still stretched and filled to the brim with him.

The room is quiet except for your breathing, both of you still catching it in fits and starts. Spencer hasn’t moved. He’s still inside you, still buried deep, and his body is draped over yours like he doesn’t trust himself to pull away yet.

Your skin is slick with sweat, your thighs trembling, your muscles aching in the best way. Your breasts are sore, your stomach taut and flushed, and you feel him everywhere. In the heat between your legs, in the stretch of your body, in the fullness that’s somehow even heavier now.

He nuzzles into your neck with a soft groan, one hand sliding slowly down your side until it settles over your belly again. His palm is warm, wide, stilling as he feels the rise and fall of your breath beneath it.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, voice quiet, almost reverent. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. Over you.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “You’d better not.”

His laugh is quiet, more breath than sound. “I mean it. Everything about you. Your body. What it’s doing. What we made.”

His thumb strokes your skin gently. His other hand smooths over your hip, grounding you. You’re soaked between your thighs and still stretched around him, but there’s no rush to move. His cock softens slowly inside you, and you swear he’d stay like this forever if he could.

You turn your head to press your lips to his temple. “Did I really squirt?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s awe there. Still.

“Like your body couldn’t hold back from me even if it tried.”

You laugh, quiet and spent, and he kisses the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“Don’t get smug,” you warn, not even trying to sound convincing.

“I’m not smug,” he whispers. “I’m obsessed.”

You feel the weight of his hand over your belly again. He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s feeling for something, even if the baby hasn’t moved. Like he just wants to connect.

“We really made a person,” you say softly. “They’re real.”

He nods. “They’re ours.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You just lie there, tangled together, soaked and wrecked and content. Eventually, he shifts to clean you up, slow and careful, murmuring little apologies when you wince. He kisses your thigh, your stomach, your breast, before pulling the blanket over both of you and curling in close again.

One hand rests on your belly. The other slips beneath your neck to cradle you closer.

You fall asleep like that. Full. Claimed. Loved.

[dontrecogniserecogniseme]

I manifested my dream life after 1+ year of nonstop trying

First of all, i would like to give some background information. I've been in the subliminal community since 2017-2018, i was LITERALLY in primary school 😭

Manifestation is not a new concept to me, i tried the law of assumption in 2021 but didn't get my desire so i gave up. in december 2024 i got back into it and decided for myself what i wanted my dream life to be.

Here's everything i manifested:

desired face

desired body

desired family

desired grades + having skipped a year

seeing my long distance boyfriend in august

and many MANY other things i can't think of rn LOL

HERE'S WHAT CLICKED

I used to think that i was doing everything right, i persisted, i affirmed, i lived in the end and i NEVER wavered, or so i thought. I thought wavering was strictly contradicting your desires for example "i don't have _", i thought it was anything that implied that you don't have it.

However my version of wavering is what i would refer to as "creating a Plan B" which this post made me realise i was doing. I constantly discussed what i would do IF i didn't get it. For example: let's say i want to manifest a class being cancelled, i would decide the class is cancelled and maybe affirm a little but then i would suddenly proceed to take my notes for the class 'just in case it didn't get cancelled'. I didn't think it was wavering because i was talking hypothetically but that ALSO contradicts the mindset of me having it all.

Eventually i also came across this subliminal. I HIGHLY recommend you look at the benefits, you don't even have to listen. The subliminal talks about the law of obsession and honestly i could try as hard as i can to explain it but i recommend you just look at the document because it's perfectly worded and i would NOT do it justice i fear.

HOW DID I PROCEED ?

With this newfound clarity i decided to continue my journey differently. I would never EVER contradict my desires. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER !!!!

Now this is the part where this post saved my ass. I know for a FACT that if ur reading this ur wondering "well how the hell am i supposed to just stop my negative thoughts overnight" and let me tell you something, you don't. STOP TRYING TO PUSH UR NEGATIVE THOUGHTS AWAY !! IT ONLY MAKES IT WORSE !! And now ur DEFINITELY wondering "well wtf do i do then ??" and this is where i tell you to Just. Let. Them. Pass.

Do not entertain negative thoughts. Don't agree with them and don't disagree with them, they're quite literally ragebaiters 🥀

Ragebait is made for interaction, otherwise it serves no purpose. You should only observe those thoughts and move on, instantly distract yourself.

HOWEVER let's say you absolutely CANNOT get rid of those thoughts then i firmly recommend this post to help you deal with them so you can move on. SUMMARY

NEVER contradict ur desires, do not even dare to think about "well what if i don't get it ??" and stop trying to play it safe.

Don't try to fight wavering or negative thoughts just ignore them and move on, if you really can't check out the post i linked.

In fortnite terms 🔥

I thought I was manifesting like a pro, but turns out I was still playing scared — making backup plans like setting a reboot van just in case. That’s wavering. Real manifesting is committing like you already won the match — no Plan B, just full send.

Negative thoughts? Don’t fight them. That’s like building against a bot for no reason. Just let them glide by — they’re ragebait trying to get a reaction. Observe, ignore, move on. If they keep spamming, check out the post/subliminal mentioned — it’s like grabbing a mythic to help reset your mindset.

A BIG THANK YOU TO THESE PEOPLE !!!

@salemlunaa

@justmanifestit

@manifestingitgurlll

@itsrlymine

@ang3lrem

@urprettyangel888

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 21

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, mildly jealous!reader, possessive!rafe, silly!rafe, reader having a heart attack at the end (not literal, tho... maybe), cliffhanger bc i wanna keep things open for how i'm gonna handle the situation

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ molly got added to the girls' group chat, and while you and rafe stayed curled up watching transformers, she kept the others updated about the two of you. the girls also ended up talking about rafe leaving earlier, and pretty quickly decided it probably had something to do with ruthie. you and rafe stayed cuddled the whole movie. you suggested filling topper and kelce in on everything but you weren’t gonna tell anyone anything he didn’t want shared. he also apologized for grabbing your wrist earlier, clearly feeling bad about how he handled it. you both added each other on TrackerBuddies, the little friendship tracker app. after the movie, you rejoined the others (minus the pogues). rafe openly admitted he regretted punching topper. when cara brought up ruthie, rafe shut her down fast. not long after, sarah called cara, asking to come join you guys. you asked rafe to dip with you. as you took an uber to your place, he grabbed your dad’s corvette, and the two of you headed out for another one of those sweet late-night drives. (18+ extra summarized) rafe missed you a lot back at home and tried feeling close to you by having a little solo session. afterward, he regretted it and also came to the realization this pull toward you was more than just a sexual need.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10k+

✿ A / N ✿ probably one of my weakest chapters yet in comparison to the previous bangers. i also feel like it's 80% dialogue but i just have way too much fun w it and yeah. PLUS not sure if i’m jumping around too much but i really wanted to squeeze all the important scenes in. hope you guys enjoy anyway and pls lmk your thoughts <3 xx ᓚᘏᗢ

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for those who skipped the extra including the aftermath of the open-air event, please go back and read it as i've decided to promote it to a main chapter as it contains way too essential info and changes in dynamics. -> Chapter 20 (former extra)

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also just to be safe: avoid the comment section until you’re finished

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W E E K T W O // M O N D A Y 6 : 4 2 A M

One week ago, your whole life had been turned upside down.

Because exactly one week ago, on a seemingly uneventful Monday, your art teacher had decided to put you and Rafe Cameron together into a group for a two-week-long project.

And exactly one week ago, you'd thought this would be the end of you.

You remembered how he’d approached you after class, that unbothered expression on his face, not even properly looking at you, as he asked you to "just get this project over with" during lunch.

God, you remembered how you'd panicked afterward, how clammy your hands had gotten at the mere thought of working—no, TALKING—to Rafe. How Molly had found you pale as hell in the girls' restroom, how you'd freaked out while waiting for him in front of the gym.

You two had been classmates, project partners, no, actually, total strangers thrown together by some twisted coincidence named Arthur Smith, who wore washed-out art smocks and hair like a bomb had exploded in his face.

And now, exactly one week later, on yet another seemingly uneventful Monday, you could call yourself Rafe’s friend.

You couldn't even begin to describe how crazy, insane, downright batshit surreal that felt. Especially considering he’d been your crush for the past few years and now, within just one week, you’d gotten so close that you EVEN FUCKING CUDDLED LAST NIGHT LIKE WHAT.

HOW.

WHAT. HOW WAS THAT EVEN—like, you didn’t know what parallel universe you’d entered last Monday but LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO.

GOOOOSH, JUST THINKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT MADE YOUR HEART THUNDER LIKE CRAZY IN YOUR CHEST.

Starting from him being such a sweet gentleman, paying for your stuff, to you first sitting on the lounge bed and then scooting closer to warm each other up (after he’d had a boner but let’s never think about that again), and how sweet and relaxed he’d seemed, just for Ruthie to ruin your little cozy bonding moment with her fucked up bullshit game.

Oh, how badly you’d wanted to find that bitch after your argument with Rafe in the parking lot and slap that stupid grin right off her face. Sure, violence was never the answer, but this bitch? She could catch hands for playing him like that.

Really quite a weird coincidence though, that she’d been nowhere to be found at the event site after she’d talked to Rafe.

You’d found out through the girlies' group chat that she’d left in the middle of Barbie and had never come back. Gracie and Samantha had followed her shortly after.

As soon as Rafe had dropped you off at home, you’d gone straight to bed and scrolled through the dozens of messages in the girlies' group chat, aka them commenting on you and Rafe while trying to solve the mystery of why he’d left you behind.

And funny enough, they’d actually kinda solved it. But you hadn’t commented on anything because Rafe had made it very clear he didn’t want anyone getting involved.

Also, not them playing fucking Sherlock Holmes and talking about you and Rafe as if you weren’t in the group chat. Like, girls, come on, at least make a secret chat for that, geez.

You’d giggled nonetheless. Happy that Molly was now in the group too and also touched by how much they were cheering you and Rafe on.

Anyway, Ruthie being the reason two poor souls had to spend half the night alone? Fucking bitch.

And that just made you feel even worse about being annoyed with Topper last night. He’d probably felt just as awful as you had ughhhh.

Though, you had absolutely zero energy to spiral over how he might’ve felt because—BECAUSE—

Because Rafe.

YEAH RAFE.

Rafe who’d placed his fucking hand just inches away from your butt when he'd nudged you forward, both when leading you back inside the venue AND when you'd left. Like, okay, it was still just your lower back but from a different angle, that was just inches from your butt.

HAHAHAHAH the butterflies in your stomach had been already screaming like crazy and ripping each other’s wings off from panic and excitement, but no, this guy had taken it one step further.

Him. Always by your side. Like. The whole night.

Always close to you in some kind of way.

Not pushy, not clingy, or in any way uncomfortable. No, it felt more like he wanted to be near you, to feel the comfort of your presence, to reassure himself that you really weren’t leaving. Maybe grounding himself after being so shaken earlier.

So, when you two had settled back in on the lounge bed (ignoring Kelce’s and Molly’s surprised, smiley glances), he’d pulled you right back under the blanket. Held it open for you to scoot closer, and when you’d hesitated to cozy back up to him, he gave you this look with his big blue eyes—equal parts amusement and confusion—and said, “Don’t you dare be shy with me now.”

Yeah.

You kinda died in that moment. He'd looked genuinely afraid you might be scared of cuddling with him again, when in reality you just didn’t want to overstimulate him or crowd him after his crashout, especially considering he’d still been a bit jittery from the coke in his system.

Somehow, that restlessness faded fast once you cozied back up to him, his arm instantly wrapping around your waist as you settled back on his chest, your hand resting on his stomach. He even picked up where he’d left off, playing with the charms dangling from your bracelet—a gesture that somehow grounded both of you.

And in that very moment, you let yourself accept the fact that Rafe liked you.

He liked being around you, liked hanging out with you, and he also seemed to like the way you handled him and his little crashout moments. Because if he didn’t, he would’ve dipped after your argument. He wouldn’t have begged you to stay and apologized. And he definitely wouldn’t have spent the rest of the night by your side AND LEFT TOGETHER WITH YOU.

Of course, deep down, in some very dark and twisted corner of your brain, there was still that fear that he only liked the feeling you gave him. That he just liked that you stuck around. That he enjoyed the idea of having some girl around. Or worse—that he was doing all this for the project. That he was only keeping you around so you’d carry him through it, boost his GPA, and then drop you the second he got what he wanted.

But those thoughts felt so absurd, so ridiculous, you were ashamed to even think them, ashamed they even surfaced for a second. Especially after Rafe had opened up to you like that, gotten emotional and vulnerable, showing a side of himself you didn’t even think Topper or Kelce had ever seen.

Nah, fuck those thoughts.

Fuck that little asshole minion in your head that even dared to speak them out loud. Yeah, mentally, you kicked that little guy’s ass.

Better.

AHDHEKJEKW you couldn’t stop grinning to yourself as you packed your bag for school, thinking about how sweet he’d been after the movie.

Sliding right next to you on the bench at the bar, KNEES TOUCHING AND HIM FUCKING PLAYING WITH THE FABRIC OF YOUR DRESS AT YOUR SHOULDER LIKE JESUS YOU HAD LITERAL GOOSEBUMPS FROM THAT.

And oh my god—him helping you into your jacket in the parking lot after you'd left the venue, complimenting your dress again followed by a dumbass comment (“You sure you not into hookups? Shit, aight, sorry, don’t look at me like that”), which you THANKFULLY hadn’t spiraled over because somehow you’d accepted that flirty, suggestive comments were just part of the Rafe Cameron starter pack.

And also, YOU KINDA LIKED HEARING HIM SAY STUFF LIKE THAT HIHIHIHHI.

Because the fact that he found you attractive, even being down to sleep with you, and showered you with comments like that... yeah, that DID something to you. Huge ego and confidence boost and let’s just say it stirred another part of you as well.

While lying on Rafe, you felt that tingling sensation surging through your whole body, a buzzing warmth low in your stomach. That desire for his hand on your waist to slide a little further down to your butt, or maybe even higher… to rest on your boobs. Or how you wondered what his abs felt like under that stupidly well-fitting polo, or what his lips might feel like on yours. How those same lips would taste, how they’d feel on your neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs, and—

HE HAD!!! HE’D LET HIS HAND WANDER FOR JUST A TINY SECOND, JUST A TINY INCH TOWARD YOUR HIP AND… then he’d pulled back.

Had you been absolutely overwhelmed in that moment? Yes. Were you still disappointed he hadn’t leave his hand there? YES. But did the fact that he did pull back—because he cared about not making you uncomfortable—make you want him to touch you even more BECAUSE HIM CARING ABOUT YOUR COMFORT WAS SO FUCKING HOT?

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY.

You’d always found Rafe attractive (I mean, duh, even fifth-grade you had good taste), but now? This didn’t feel like just a crush anymore, like some cute guy you liked looking at. No, this was… different. Like there was this magnetic pull toward him and— okay, let’s be real, it felt like you wanted him to rip your clothes off and rock your world.

And the wildest part? Rafe apparently wanted to do exactly that, as he’d stated two days ago, and WHAT'S STOPPING YOU THEN HHAHAHAHHAHAHA.

Oh right.

Probably the crippling fear of rejection, the fact that you're a virgin with zero real-life experience outside of chaotic fanfiction, and also the sheer vulnerability of baring your entire soul and body in front of a guy while handing him the key to the most fragile little drawer of your being.

Hah. Yeah. Nope. Sex definitely wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Besides… didn’t you technically just become friends two days ago? And that only because you basically forced him into it during that horrible spiral over his intentions. And if you suddenly told him (not that you even had the balls to do that) that you’d maybe potentially be down for… something, he’d probably smash your head against the wall for being so damn indecisive and for driving him to the brink of insanity during that conversation.

HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah not happening.

Anyway.

School.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and were just about to text Rafe when your phone buzzed at that exact moment, nearly giving you a heart attack.

Seriously, this freaking guy.

How was he one of the “cool” guys at school when he didn’t even know how to use the basic features on his phone? Like, excuse me? -100 aura.

Also, him saying he hated cats for being moody when HE acted like a moody stray cat himself? The irony was almost poetic.

AND NOT HIM CALLING YOU ‘BABY’. WHAT.

Okay, yeah, he very professionally crossed the word out, but like, he could have drawn over it completely.

But he hadn’t.

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN OMFG.

Not a single day went by without him completely messing with your head with those weird, mixed (but also not mixed at all) signals. I meaaaan, he’d made it pretty clear that he wanted to bend you over, but was also totally fine being friends who flirted for fun???

Okay, the more you thought about that, the more ridiculous it sounded soooo, let’s push that thought away before you spiraled again and Rafe ended up actually smashing your head into a wall hahaha.

So you just—

Bzzrt.

You grabbed your phone again and chuckled.

You never would’ve guessed Rafe was such a drama queen and kind of needy. Not sexually (okay, maybe a little), but more like emotionally needy?

Like, the way he'd called you out for needing reassurance during your argument, and, look at him, the very same night clinging to you like a second shadow, blowing up your phone at every opportunity like you were the only friend he had.

And honestly? It kind of made you feel… wanted. Because he did it in this passive-aggressive, caring kind of way that made your chest warm up in all the right ways.

Shit, Rafe = Doberman confirmed (again).

Also, it was really sweet how comfortable he seemed with you. The way he let his guard down, showed vulnerability and affection, let himself be attached like that. He definitely didn’t act like that with Topper and Kelce.

Well, to be fair, they also hadn’t been cuddled up to him with their boobs pressed against his chest last night sooo… yeah.

Okay, you really needed to head downstairs now before Rafe showed up and gave you some kind of speech about making him wait 0.3 seconds.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Your mom loves me," he said as he pulled his Benz out of your driveway, grinning so wide he looked like the Cheshire Cat.

And, well, yeah, your mom had stood at the front door waving at him with a smile when she said goodbye. Actually, she was still standing there, her grin mirroring Rafe’s.

Ughhh, why was this so embarrassing.

"I think she’s just relieved I’m not taking her car again," you said with a small laugh. You’d kinda scratched the side mirror that one time trying to park in some hellishly narrow underground lot, oops.

Rafe shook his head, still grinning, and waved back to her before driving off. "Nah. Looks more like she just found the perfect son-in-law."

A baffled laugh escaped your lips at the absurdity. "Don’t know about that."

"Yeah? And why’s that?" He raised a brow, smirking at you as he glanced over. "Seemed like your mom and your dad pretty much threw themselves at me on Saturday."

You exhaled through your nose, amused. "Well, yeah. You looked wrecked with that bruise. Still do," you said, eyeing the purple blotch on his cheek. "Plus, my dad’s a doctor. It’s literally his job to care about people."

If only he knew how deeply your parents actually cared about him. How concerned they were after speaking to him once.

Rafe scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Next time I see them, they’ll probably start planning a wedding."

"And I’m pretty sure they’d ask for my consent first," you chuckled, though your heart did a little jump at him even mentioning marriage.

And your pulse spiked even more when Rafe gave you this weirdly serious look, almost more confused than amused. "What? Am I not living up to the princess’ standards?"

OH. WHAT.

Boy, if you only knew. You were the standard.

ALSO WHY WAS THIS THROWING YOU OFF SO BADLY, WHAT THE HELL.

Oh god, how were you supposed to respond without offending him but still giving an answer that satisfied him enough to let it go, without completely exposing your feelings but maybe still dropping some kind of hint AHHHHH???

Cheeks heating up, you let out an awkward laugh, fiddling with your bracelet. "Well, I mean… you don’t exactly strike me as the relationship type."

OH GIRL.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Shit, what? So you’re saying I’m never settling down or what?"

UMMMMM.

Heart racing like crazy in your chest, you let out a strained chuckle, shaking your head. "No! No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that, I just… I meant right now, you know?" You fidgeted with the little key charm on your bracelet. "I’m just not sure how to say it without you taking it the wrong way."

"It's that hookup topic again, huh?" Rafe asked, not entirely clear whether he was annoyed or entertained.

You shook your head. "Yes—I mean, no! Not that exactly. I just…" You sighed, feeling your neck heat up as well. "I only meant to say it doesn’t seem like you’re interested in anything serious right now. You brought up marriage and all, but that kinda needs a relationship as a foundation, right? Not that anyone our age is actually thinking about marriage." You grimaced, cringing at yourself. "Okay, please ignore everything I've said. I'm talking nonsense."

Rafe let out a chuckle and glanced sideways at you. "You know, I can have fun now and still settle down later."

UGHHHH PLEASE DROP IT.

"Yes, of course," you said, nodding like a lunatic. "I’m not judging. I was just objectively describing how you come across to me. That’s all."

He gave a tight-lipped smile, scratching his jaw, like he was letting your words settle. "I guess."

Oh no. Oh god. You’d offended him.

SHIT.

QUICK, FIX IT.

"I didn’t mean anything bad by it," you said quietly, watching his jaw clench.

The car stopped at a red light.

Rafe nodded, lips pressed together, and squinted out the windshield as he let out a strained laugh. "I dunno. You kinda made it sound like I’m incapable of committing."

WHY WAS HE TWISTING YOUR WORDS.

You shook your head, eyes wide. "Rafe, no, that’s absolutely not—"

"I mean, family’s important, right?" he cut in, his tone softer now, meeting your gaze for a split second. You nodded and opened your mouth but he kept going: "It’s about blood, loyalty, and all that shit. That’s what you build your life around." His brows twitched. "Just actually finding someone worth sharing this shit with, that’s the part that sucks."

He scoffed, raising his shoulders. "I mean, shit, there’s not a single girl at school I could tolerate for longer than a class period. Either they’re the most exhausting person alive or the most basic, boring chick ever."

Alriiiiiight.

Okay, first of all: him having this view on family and commitment? Wow. Unexpected. But then again, okay, not that surprising considering Ward Cameron was known to value family above everything else and Rafe practically worshipped his dad. So, okay, yeah, it made sense he shared that belief.

And second: wow… what were those last words supposed to mean? Did that mean he couldn’t actually tolerate you either? Which made no sense because he clearly—

“Don’t,” he scoffed, amused.

You blinked. “What?”

“Can hear your fuckass brain minion preaching some bullshit again.”

Uh…

“Obviously I wasn’t talking about you,” he said and pulled the car back into motion as the light turned green.

OH. WHAT.

WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO— WHAT. OKAY NO, THIS JUST SENT YOUR SPIRAL INTO OVERDRIVE BECAUSE WHAT DID HE MEAN BY THAT.

A baffled little laugh left your lips. “Not sure how I’m supposed to take that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, brows furrowed as he stared straight ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then he shrugged. “You’re fucking weird, so you’re not basic shit. And yeah, you are fucking exhausting, but not in a ‘buy me this, why didn’t you call me’ kinda way, blah blah,” a crooked smile tugged at his lips, “more like ‘I make easy things complicated’ exhausting.”

Uh-huh. Should’ve never asked.

You nodded slowly, raising your eyebrows. “Right.”

“Right,” Rafe mocked you with a scoff. “Just told you for like the hundredth time I fuck with you. Dunno what’s so hard to understand about that.”

Man, this guy and his attempts at expressing himself. You two really needed to work on that.

You raised a brow at him, lips tugging into a small grin. “Did you just mock me?”

“Did you just mock me,” he mimicked again, only to get smacked (more or less gently) on the arm for it.

A boyish laugh escaped him as he raised his brows at you. “Shit, nearly dislocated my shoulder.”

Idiot.

“Keep it up and Cacty’s gonna be raised by a single parent,” you said flatly, your expression amused.

Yes, during your Uber ride yesterday you’d both heavily debated what kind of plant to choose for your TrackerBuddies plant and, even more importantly, what to name it.

In the end, you’d compromised (okay, Rafe had given in because you threatened to kill the seed off). He got to pick the plant (“cactus are tough as fuck, aight”) and you picked the name (“fuckass name, plant’s gonna be a loser”).

Yeah, well, and now Cacty was already on level 3 because via notifications you’d seen how Rafe had been grinding that app since 5am this morning (not him paying for in-game coins and farming XP).

Rafe shot you the most dramatic scowl alive. “Shit, I already am a single parent. You only watered that fucker once since yesterday.”

“I didn’t have time this morning,” you replied with a chuckle.

“It’s literally one tap of a button.” Rafe raised a brow at you. “Fingers busy with something else or what?”

DUDE.

Immediate heat rushed to your face as you let out a very strained laugh. “You’re nasty.”

“Imma take that as a yes.”

HELP OH MY GOD. WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT.

Wait, no—fuck that. Last night you hadn’t been shy at all, why were you acting all flustered now? He’d literally had a boner lying next to you, like????? That hadn’t bothered you but this did?

Nah.

Time to throw that shit right back.

You gathered your courage and gave him a deadpan look. “Maybe you should use yours more often. Might help keep your libido in check.”

He only scoffed in amusement but ha! You caught that tiny furrow between his brows, the way his jaw tightened as he rubbed it.

Making Rafe uncomfortable? Shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it did.

He was just about to throw a smart-ass reply back when both your phones buzzed at the same time. His in the center console, yours in your bag.

Immediately your stomach tightened with unease. You couldn’t help but think of Ruthie. Was she trying to play real-life Gossip Girl now?

Before you could reach for your phone, Rafe grabbed his and tossed it into your lap. “0510. Who’s being annoying?”

ALRIGHT. TRUSTING YOU WITH HIS PHONE AGAIN AND EVEN GIVING YOU HIS PASSCODE. I MEAN. OKAY.

Heart beating a little faster, you unlocked it and tapped on the notification, leading you straight into his email app.

You blinked. “Mr. Smith.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“I think we should use the free period to work on the project,” Rafe said as he crossed his arms on the stone table, biceps flexing while he did.

Mr. Smith had very kindly announced ahead of time (10 min prior the lesson) that he wouldn’t be in today because he was going to an art exhibition out of town. But he’d left the art room unlocked for anyone who wanted to continue working on their project.

You pulled your iPad from your bag, eyes scanning the display as you skimmed through your school notes. Shit, maybe sitting in the courtyard hadn’t been the best idea. The screen was reflecting.

Ugh, whatever.

“Again, I’ve got a math test afterward and I really don’t wanna fail,” you said, glancing up for a second. “I mean, you could already head to the copy shop and we can do the rest after school.”

PROPS TO YOU FOR INDIRECTLY ASKING TO HANG OUT LATER HIHIHI.

Rafe grimaced and leaned back, scratching his jaw. “Nah, I’ve got no clue about that crap. Besides, I’ve got no time this afternoon. Need to talk to my dad.”

Your heart sank. You’d really hoped to see him again later and spend more time together, but he was right. The Ruthie situation took priority. He only had six more days till the Gloaming to convince his dad to accept the deal and get the video deleted from Ruthie’s stash.

So you just nodded, opening your math folder. “Do you already know what you wanna say to him?”

You’d offered to talk about it last night during your late-night drive around, but Rafe insisted on saving that for today.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing at one. “Shit, I don’t know. I mean, I gotta make him reconsider the deal.” He exhaled and shrugged. “But it’s fucked. The terms are shit, and agreeing to it would be like submitting to a guy way below him. No way he’ll even listen to me.”

Yeah, the whole thing would’ve been way easier if Rafe had to propose a new deal. But trying to make his dad rethink one he’d already dismissed? Practically impossible.

You nodded. And good thing you’d given this some thought before falling asleep. “Okay, three options,” you said. “First, you present the deal in such a way that he has to reconsider and say yes but even I think that’s the hardest route.” You pointed your Apple Pencil at him. “Second, we get Ruthie’s dad to rethink his terms. Maybe he’s open to talk. Or, I dunno, if we’re lucky maybe Ruthie is.”

Even as the words left your mouth you knew it was stupid. Ruthie never gave in. That’d just drag Rafe deeper into the shit.

“Fuck that,” Rafe said, crossing his arms on the table again AND GOD THEY LOOKED DELICIOUS DMKNCJKNCJKDS. “This bitch can’t be trusted and I sure as hell won't give her the satisfaction of handing her even more control over the situation.”

You chuckled. “I’m just laying out all the options, okay.”

Rafe exhaled and nodded, flicking his hand. “Aight. Option three?”

The juicy one.

“We play Ruthie’s own game,” you said, snapping your Apple Pencil back into its case with a soft click. “Either we hit her with an uno reverse and blackmail her so she has to delete the video.” You tilted your head. “Or we take care of it ourselves.”

An amused scoff escaped Rafe. “Yeah sure, let’s just ask her for her phone. I’m sure she’ll gladly hand it over.”

You frowned. “Rafe, I’m just trying to help you.”

He nodded, brows furrowed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know, I just…” He exhaled hard and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Shit’s pissing me off so bad, I can’t even put it into words.”

It's not like you’re capable of putting anything into words but yeah.

Still, how badly you wanted to see Ruthie burn for distressing this already distressed boy so badly. At least—and that was the only comforting thought at the moment—he didn’t seem to be falling deeper into his addiction (at least for now). His pupils looked normal, and by Rafe’s standards, he was acting pretty normal too.

“I know,” you said softly, giving him a small smile. “But again, you’re not alone in this shit, okay? And I still think it’s a good idea to let Topper and Kelce in on it. I mean, they’ve pieced most of it together by now anyway, might as well tell them the whole truth.”

Rafe grimaced, eyes fixed on the golden ring he kept fidgeting with.

“I know you’re kinda suspicious of Topper,” you went on, “but maybe we could use his closeness to Ruthie to our advantage. You know, get him to somehow delete the video or something, I don’t know.”

Then he looked up at you, eyes holding a weird glimmer, and said the last thing you expected to hear: “Or Gracie could.”

Your smile faded instantly.

Somehow that made your heart sink right away, a sick and ugly feeling twisting in your gut, and you could physically feel some butterflies die in your stomach.

“I mean that bitch follows her around everywhere,” Rafe continued, brows furrowed. “She’s basically glued to Ruthie. If anyone could actually get to her phone, it’s her.”

Sure, he always talked shit about Gracie whenever she was brought up, and yet… she was still some kind of ex-girlie of his and—UGH GIRL PLEASE.

"Yeah," you said, your voice a little too detached. "You said it yourself: she’s glued to Ruthie. And even if you somehow convinced her to betray her best friend, how are you even planning to talk to her without Ruthie getting suspicious?"

Rafe shrugged, leaning back again. “Getting her to talk isn’t the problem. I could just hit her up, say I wanna hook up again. Should be easy enough.”

...

A few more butterflies lost their wings in that moment and your stomach practically turned inside out.

You just stared at him, genuinely overwhelmed and not knowing what to even say to that.

Shit, on one hand, that wasn’t even a bad idea. Out of everyone, Gracie did have the best shot at getting Ruthie’s phone. And Ruthie being betrayed by her own best friend? That was poetic justice.

But on the other hand...

The idea of Rafe and Gracie working together when this was supposed to be you and him, and worse—what if they rediscovered their thing again and actually went through with it?! AHHHHHHH.

No. Just no. Please don’t.

“What?” Rafe asked, clearly confused, pulling you out of your downward spiral.

You shook your head, brows furrowed. “Nothing, I… I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Rafe raised his brows, waiting for more.

��Well, like I said, I don’t think Gracie is that easily convinced to betray her best friend,” you said, the distant edge creeping back into your voice. “And let’s say she does agree to... talk. There's a high chance she runs straight to Ruthie the moment you even bring it up. You’d just be shooting yourself in the foot.”

That THANKFULLY made him pause.

Please say I'm right. PLEASE SAY I'M FUCKING RIGHT.

“Shit, what else am I supposed to do?” Rafe said, clearly frustrated. “It’s my only chance at getting rid of that fuckass video. Like, how the fuck am I supposed to blackmail Ruthie, huh?” He gestured to himself, shoulders raised. “Her nudes already leaked and no one cared, her dad fucking their housekeeper—no one gave a shit for whatever reason, and I bet anything else we could dig up on her, she’d just talk her way out of. This is fucked.”

He rubbed his eye and motioned with his other hand. “Might as well just go ahead and show my dad the fucking video myself.”

NO!

Your expression softened. “There’s gotta be another option. But I really feel like using sex as a last-ditch effort to get what you want is—”

“Shit, no,” Rafe cut you off quickly, shaking his head, face twisted in disgust. “I wouldn’t actually hook up with her.” He tapped both sides of his temple, eyes intense. “Bitch is fucking crazy. And I’m not talking ‘got some dumbass minions in her head’ crazy, I mean like, ‘asks to roleplay as Ruthie during sex’ crazy.”

ALRIIIIGHT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

As much as this was the biggest relief ever, more than anything it absolutely horrified you. Then again… Gracie did seem to worship Ruthie a little too much, so this actually sounded kinda legit.

UGHHH. EW.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “I really could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rafe scoffed. “What do you think it felt like for me? Right in the middle of bending her over, she turns around and—”

“OKAY! I believe you! No need for details,” you cut him off with a strained chuckle and—SHIT! Only twenty minutes left until math class. “So, how about we continue this after school? Or uh, after your convo with your dad?” You smiled sheepishly. “I really gotta study now.”

Rafe’s brows twitched, but he nodded. “4pm? I don’t think that talk’s gonna take long. If my dad’s even open to listening.”

Slowly, the butterflies in your stomach began to piece themselves back together. A warm smile tugged at your lips at the thought of hanging out with him again later. “Sounds good. Hoping things go well.”

And just like that, a smile appeared on Rafe’s face too.

“Aight,” he said, getting up and walking around the table to your side, practically bumping into your hip as he sat down next to you. “Now lemme see how we can save your math grade from sucking ass.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"There you two cuties are," Cara said as you and Rafe arrived at the table, holding your lunch trays in hand.

Funny, haha. You both just happened to arrive at the dining hall at the same time and just happened to get your food together hihihi (they were serving wraps and you could choose your own fillings).

The other three (+ Cara, obviously) eyed you with the biggest grins ever. Molly was seated between Kelce (obviously again) and Topper, and Cara sat across from them (which, kind of weird they were seated 3 + 1 instead of 2 + 2 but um… yeahhh).

You slipped in next to Cara and Rafe moved in beside you, immediately manspreading so his knee touched yours again.

THIS JUST MADE YOUR NERVES BUZZ A TINY LITTLE BIT BUT YOU LEFT IT THERE (ANOTHER OBVIOUSLY HIHIHI).

"How was last night?" Molly was the second to speak, and you could feel how badly Rafe wanted to throw a scowl her way.

So you beat him to it with a sheepish smile: "It was nice."

"Yo, we want details," Kelce said, grinning like an idiot.

UGHHHHH THIS SOUNDED WAY TOO MUCH LIKE “DID YOU GUYS DO IT?”

"Took her dad’s Corvette and we drove around," Rafe answered, a cocky smile tugging at his lips (him not crashing out? a first).

Kelce’s eyes widened. "Shiiiii, for real? Bet it felt like sliding down clouds."

"Better," Rafe answered, still grinning, and Kelce squinted like he’d just tasted something absolutely delicious.

"Your dad allowed that?" Topper asked, directing the question to you, swallowing a bite of his wrap. His bruise somehow looked worse than Rafe’s after one day.

Cara rolled her eyes. "Duh. He’s not your mom."

The table chuckled. Only Topper frowned, but you quickly said, "Well, I figured he’d allow it if someone capable was driving."

And that actually drew a genuine smile from Rafe as he looked down at his wrap, kinda struggling to hold it together (good thing you hadn’t told him to ask for it wrapped in a paper bag, but sure, what did you know).

"So, what happened after?" Cara asked, her face way too smug.

GIRL PLEASE.

"You always this fucking nosy?" Rafe lifted his gaze from his tragic wrap to meet Cara’s eyes with an irritated smile.

EXCUSE ME SIR, that’s my bestie!

You kicked him under the table but that idiot kept holding Cara’s gaze with a straight-up challenge in his eyes.

Help. They were both stubborn as hell. This could go downhill fast.

"We got some food and that’s basically it," you said with a tense smile, hoping those idiots would get the cue. And to quickly change the topic you asked, "And what about you guys?"

WAIT NO. SARAH AND THE POGUES HAD COME OVER AFTER YOU AND RAFE HAD LEFT.

OH MY GOD. SOMEONE SHOOT ME.

"I asked out Molly for the Gloaming," Kelce said (OMG MASTER OF READING SOCIAL CUES, THANK YOU).

You smiled genuinely and turned to Molly. "I assume you said yes."

"He dragged me to the beach and gifted me a necklace," she said, giggling, cheeks pink. "So yes."

OMDNJKSCHNSDKHNCKVDSHCNKVSHVSDK.

CUTEST COUPLE IN THE UNIVERSE FR OMG (let’s ignore Rafe brooding next to you).

And now you spotted it. A silver sun-shaped necklace resting against her freckled collarbone.

I LITERALLY CANNOT.

Cara nodded. "I want at least that and a fancy dinner and the biggest bouquet of roses possible."

Lmfao, the way Topper immediately looked up from his food, probably taking mental notes. Also not Cara very obviously saying that out loud.

So she was done with JJ. After one day.

Wow. Got her cheeks clapped and dipped. Queen.

"And you?" Kelce asked, turning to you with that gleaming white grin.

You smiled sheepishly, feeling your cheeks flush. "What?"

"Well, what’s your dream ‘getting asked out’ scenario?"

OH HELL NO. YOU KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS DOING, SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF RAFE, AND THAT JUST MADE EVERYTHING. SO. FREAKING. AWKWARD. BYEEEEEE.

"Or someone already done that?" he added, eyes flicking over to Rafe for a second who was very focused on not letting his wrap fall apart (you were this close to snatching it and wrapping it properly for him).

Ummmmmmm. Literally though, if Rafe asked you out?

Dead. Instantly. Because holy shit, that? That’s what little you had always dreamed of, always hoping that the impossible would happen and Rafe freaking Cameron asking you out to Midsummers or the Gloaming.

You just let out a nervous chuckle and shrugged. "Um… no."

AND THEN THE WORST THING HAPPENED.

Kelce’s gaze shifted to Rafe again. AND YOU COULD ALREADY HEAR HIM GEARING UP TO ASK RAFE IF HE’D BE THE ONE TO ASK YOU OUT OR SOME SHIT BUT—

"Rob’s still in town until Sunday," Topper stated, and you could feel the gust of wind from how fast Rafe’s head snapped up beside you. "He’s been asking about you."

Oh… um.

A baffled smile tugged at your lips because you honestly didn’t know how to feel about this fact.

Flattered? Uncomfortable? Annoyed that Rafe hadn't asked you out for the Gloaming just after two days of befriending each other hahahahha ???

"Why the fuck is that fucker still hanging around?" Rafe asked, scowling so deep you could see the minus friends symbol appear above his head like he was a Sim.

Topper eyed him for a second, clearly still bitter about the punch, and shrugged. "High school doesn’t start for him until next week, so he’s sticking around at his aunt’s place a little longer."

Um, the tension at this table was basically tangible now. Rafe was glaring at Topper like he was more pissed at him than Rob being in town.

"And I thought if Y/n wanted a date to the Gloaming," Topper continued, "they could go together."

Cara nodded in agreement (HUH?) and turned to you. "Yeah, oh my god, you vibed so well and you’d look so cute together."

Oh, you knew what she was doing. What all of them were trying to accomplish here. And it just made you want to crawl under the table and disappear.

You knew they meant well, but trying to get Rafe to ask you out by making him jealous or competitive or whatever? Absolutely and definitely the wrong move.

And Rafe thought so too. His smile twisted with irritation, and--

OKAY GIRL LET’S DE-ESCALATE THIS.

You very politely shook your head with a smile, trying to ignore the way your palms got clammy. "That’s a nice thought, Topper, thanks, but I feel like that would just give him the wrong idea."

Topper’s brows twitched but he nodded. "Still, you could keep it in mind."

MY MIND IS FULL ALREADY, THANKS.

"Yes, thanks," you replied anyway, relaxing a little when Rafe seemed to shift his attention back to his food, finally grabbing a fork and eating his disaster of a wrap like that.

Wait.

Oh no.

You saw it. Everyone (except Rafe, who was fully focused on stabbing his wrap) looked at Molly with this quiet, knowing anticipation.

COULD THEY PLEASE DROP IT. THIS WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND.

Molly let out a small breath and gave Rafe one of her signature sweet smiles. "What about you, Rafe?"

"Huh?" He looked up, mouth full of wrap.

"You planning to ask someone out, or are you going solo?" Molly asked, and wow, instead of snapping at her, Rafe just furrowed his brows.

Molly really was an angel.

And holy shit, everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. YOU INCLUDED BECAUSE JCDKWLSJSDHJFUJDFLS.

Rafe swallowed his bite, a deep crease between his brows, and said: "If every girl keeps being this fucking annoying—"

“Yo, dude,” Kelce cut him off firmly, and oh. My. God. The way he actually looked intimidating when he wanted to, voice soft but with just the right amount of warning. Um… kinda hot, BYE.

Molly just chuckled softly, AND THANK YOU QUEEN for not taking Rafe’s moody ass to heart.

“What?” Rafe said, gesturing to his food. “Just trying to fucking eat here and y’all keep pissing me off with annoying-ass questions. If I wanted to giggle about the fucking Gloaming, I’d have sat with a bunch of 6th graders.”

Cara snorted. “Then maybe let them show you how to eat properly too.”

All of you chuckled. Except Rafe, whose face turned into a full-on scowl (keep it up and it’ll stick like that forever). He aggressively stabbed his fork into a slice of avocado (and when it slipped off, you nearly lost it).

Then he raised the now-empty fork and pointed it at everyone, a crooked smile on his face. “You know what. You’re all fucking lucky I let yesterday’s bullshit slide.”

Duuude.

Was he seriously still salty about everyone spending a few hours with Sarah and the Pogues? Pleaseee, this weird class war in his head needed to be eradicated immediately.

The funniest part was how everyone just stared at him with the most deadpan looks ever (even Kelce and Molly BAHAHAHA) over the way this boy was acting up, and how he'd behaved yesterday.

Like, stupid idiot not realizing he was lucky they let his bullshit slide, But alright, go off, king of dramatic tantrums.

For a good ten seconds, the table was dead silent—just muffled voices from the other tables and the faint sound of the dining hall’s radio—until Molly finally spoke, her kind eyes and soft smile doing the absolute most.

“Did you guys know there’s a new museum opening in town?”

And just like that, the others jumped straight back into the convo like Rafe hadn’t said a damn thing.

You barely managed to stifle your laugh as he turned his head to meet your eyes, giving you such a fucking deadpan look like he was in The Office. “Next time we’ll fucking eat alone.”

AJSDFJKDFJKS OKAY.

The fact he kept including you in everything like it was the most natural thing in the world since Saturday? MADE YOU FEEL ALL KINDS OF SPECIAL.

Cheeks on fire, you chuckled and nodded toward his plate (which honestly looked like a bomb had gone off on it). “First, you gotta learn how to eat alone.”

Instead of snapping back, he just snorted, lips twisting into the cutest smile ever.

The rest of the lunch break actually went pretty smoothly. Luckily, the others mostly avoided any topic that might trigger Rafe (which was like, a solid two in total), and they even stayed away from talking about their night with Sarah and the Pogues.

Topper brought up the upcoming surf tournament again—the one he’d already mentioned last week at Kelce’s—and got kinda grumpy about the fact that the bruise on his face might still show up in the photos if it didn’t disappear by next week.

To which Cara simply said: “Don’t be such a baby. Just make sure they only shoot your other side. That one’s better anyway.”

“See,” Rafe added, looking at Topper. “Did you a favor.”

As soon as the bell rang, everyone got up to head to class.

Molly gave Kelce a kiss (they claimed they were only dating but yeah, wedding bells were ringing loud and clear), and headed off with Cara. You didn’t even get a real chance to say goodbye to Rafe and Topper because Kelce already started dragging you away, way too excited about the fact that Rafe was using TrackerBuddies again.

“He still hasn’t added me back, though,” he said with a slight frown as you walked down the hallway.

You chuckled, remembering they’d already had a plant together before but Rafe hadn’t watered it. “I’m sure he will. He’s probably still mourning the loss of your first plant.”

“Nah,” Kelce said, waving a hand with a grin. “He’s too busy with yours.” He nodded, impressed. “Level three already after just one day.”

Um, if he only knew Rafe kinda farmed the XP using real money. You definitely needed to tell him to stop doing that.

“Yeah, I think the only reason he re-joined that app was to beat your level with me,” you said, amused.

Kelce snorted. “Not surprised. If ‘competitive’ was a person, it’d be him.” He let out a laugh as you rounded the corner. “Back in 6th grade, he started surfing just to beat Topper.”

WAIT. RAFE COULD SURF??? OMFG.

The mental image of a wet, sunburnt Rafe in perfectly fitting shorts, riding waves and jogging back to shore with a surfboard under his arm, breathing heavy and—GIRL.

“And did he?” you asked, trying to chase away those unholy thoughts.

Kelce nodded, eyes wide. “Totally did. Dude devoured Topper with every wave. If he hadn’t quit after a month because he got bored of the sport, he probably could’ve gone pro.” His voice turned a bit more serious. “That’s the thing about him. He’s got so much potential, picks up on stuff so damn fast if he actually wants to. He could do so much more with himself but he just… doesn’t.”

Yeah, you’d noticed that too.

He crushed science and economics classes and even adapted quickly in art. Like when you were working on your collage? You only had to show him a few examples and he picked exactly the snippets you would’ve chosen. Not to mention his driving skills.

He already handled his Benz like he’d been born behind the wheel, but your dad’s Corvette? He adapted to that thing like it was second nature. Which, hot as hell.

Watching him drive in general? HOLY SHIT. That was one of the few times he got that concentrated, that focused and… ughhh you needed to chill.

“You and him are closer than he makes it seem, right?” you dared to ask, voice and expression full of genuine curiosity.

Kelce laughed. “I was his first friend in elementary school. He almost beat me up after I accidentally bumped into him.” A big grin spread across his face. “But I beat him up first and I guess that tamed him. He's still salty about it to this day.”

That made you laugh too, just as you came to a stop in front of your classroom. “I’m guessing that’s where the love-hate relationship between you two comes from.”

“Nah, that's his perspective,” Kelce replied with a soft smile, tapping his chest. “I love that guy, even if he acts like a rabid dog sometimes.”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond because Mrs. Richman was already calling the two of you into class.

Yay. Two hours of English with the way-too-enthusiastic teacher in her twenties who was already married and had two kids like OKAY.

And not even ten minutes into the lesson, your phone buzzed in your bag. Richman usually didn’t care, as long as you delivered during class.

So you fished your phone out of your bag and were immediately greeted by this absolute bomb:

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

What a fucking rollercoaster of emotions that conversation had been. Like, the literal heart spike that first picture alone had given you should’ve been enough to get you rushed to the ER.

AND THEN HE HAD THE AUDACITY NOT TO STRAIGHT-UP SAY HE WAS ASKING YOU OUT AS A DATE FOR THE GLOAMING, HELP OMG. 

For one tiny fucking second, you’d actually thought he was asking you out to be his girlfriend (the delusions were truly getting out of hand). OH MY GOD, YOU COULD STILL FEEL YOUR CHEEKS BURNING AND THAT TINGLY FEELING UNDER YOUR SKIN JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

Okay no. This was too much.

And here you thought you’d mastered the art of being chill around Rafe and just being yourself, which—this nonchalant persona you’d projected during the chat? Yeah, that was just you gaslighting yourself into staying calm BUT OH. MY. GOD.

Rafe Cameron. Wanted. You. To. Be. His. Date. To. The. Gloaming.

That was.

Crazy.

Insane.

Absolutely batshit impossible.

LIKE HAD THE OTHERS MANIFESTED THIS JUST EARLIER??? OR HAD RAFE ACTUALLY FALLEN FOR THEIR 'LET'S MAKE HIM JEALOUS' TACTIC????

I’m fine :) Totally fine :)

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP PASSING OUT AHHHHH.

And god, AGAIN, how freaking clingy that guy was. It was kinda sweet and sad at the same time. He seemed genuinely excited about you, but also? The way he clung to you so tightly probably meant he was scared you’d slip through his fingers or whatever angsty stuff was going on in that boy’s brain.

The broken sound of his voice as he called after you last night, begging you to stay, still echoed in your head, making your chest clench whenever you thought about it.

However, you needed to set some boundaries. As much as you loved his attention, this couldn’t spiral out of control. Clingy was just a short step away from possessive and controlling. And since Rafe only did extremes and already had a tendency to slip into that kind of stuff real quick, you needed to be careful.

Not cold or distant, just a little more mindful.

Like when he mentioned having a claim on you for the Gloaming... Sure, yeah, he was the first to ask you out, and yeah, he technically had dibs since he wanted to give it another shot (and also he was your crush...so) but calling it a claim?

Hmm. Definitely a grey area.

HAHAHAHA. FUNNY.

From not even speaking to Rafe for literal years to friendship, cuddling, and (almost) being each other's dates for the Gloaming in just one week? Yeah.

The fact that your brain had kept up with all of that without combusting or exploding? Impressive.

“Miss Y/l/n?”

Startled, you looked up from whatever void you’d been staring into.

Shit.

Mrs. Richman was eyeing you with one brow raised and that well-known face that screamed I knew you weren’t listening.

Ughhhh.

Your face immediately flushed as the whole class turned to look at you, Kelce included, who gave you a huge shit-eating grin from the side.

Okay. No other choice.

You plastered on your friendliest teacher-face, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you said: “Sorry, could you repeat the question please?”

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“Why don’t you two just get it over with already and fuck?”

You let out a baffled laugh at Cara’s deadpan expression.

After school, you’d met up and decided to grab some smoothies at the beach. And well, obviously you’d filled her in on everything since last night after you and Rafe dipped.

Oh, and kinda everything before that too. Your little heated conversation, how you ended up cuddling again etc. etc. (you did skip the boner incident because... yeah).

AND. You respected Rafe’s wish not to tell anyone about Ruthie’s blackmailing. As much as your whole body was itching to tell Cara—because SHE would definitely know how to beat that bitch at her own game, and also she was your bestie, you usually told her everything—you kept quiet.

Luckily, she was solely focused on the fact that Rafe had asked you out for the Gloaming anyway.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” she said, blinking dramatically at you. “Like...” she gestured randomly through the air, “you like him, he likes you. You’re obviously into him, and he’s so down bad for you, too. And god, don’t even get me started on that tension between you two.” She shook her head, pointing both hands at you. “I don’t even get why you two agreed on this whole friendship thing when you could’ve just started dating.”

UM.

Another surprised laugh escaped your lips, and Cara frowned. “I mean, you basically went on three dates already, sooo.”

“C, what are you even talking about?” you asked with a chuckle, sipping your iced smoothie.

“He took you out on Saturday,” she replied, raising her brows. “Twice, actually. And last night? That was pretty much a date.” She started counting on her fingers. “Paid for your ticket and snacks, sat down with you on one of those couple lounge beds—”

“That was just a regular lounge bed.”

“For couples, yes. Anyway,” she went on, “you fucking cuddled! I’m genuinely shocked you two haven’t kissed yet. But whatever.” She held up four fingers. “And then you dipped together afterward. Tell me that wasn’t a date.”

Okay. She had a point. But.

“Rafe’s straightforward,” you said, playing with your straw. “If he wanted it to be a date, he would’ve said so.”

Cara shook her head with a smug uh-uh expression.

“What?” you asked, raising your brows.

“He’s nervous,” she said, and you almost laughed out loud. “He’s only ever had short little things with girls. But with you? You’re not into hookups or meaningless stuff, so he knows it’s either all or nothing.” She tilted her head, smiling crookedly. “Plus, it’d be his first real relationship as well, and he’s never actually dated anyone before.”

“C, please.”

Cara blinked. “What?”

“I get what you’re saying,” you said with a small smile, “but like I already said yesterday, I don’t wanna ruin this thing with him by jumping ten steps ahead.” You let out a slightly overwhelmed laugh. “I mean, I gotta adjust to this situation at first. And I wanna get to know him properly before I even start thinking about that kind of stuff.”

Cara nodded like a maniac, motioning at you. “Exactly. That’s what dating is for. Getting to know each other, spending time together, seeing who the other person really is.”

“So basically what we’re already doing,” you said, amused.

She slapped her hand on the table. “Girl, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Just make it official already. Talk to him, say the obvious out loud, and tell him nothing needs to change but instead of calling it your little meetings hangouts, you’d like to call them dates.”

Why was she so good at being convincing? Oh right, there was a reason she was in the debate club.

And honestly? If you brought that up at the right moment and made it sound like a little joke, you could test the waters and see how he reacted and then actually talk about it.

AGAIN: With Rafe, you never had to be afraid of doing dumb shit or embarrassing yourself.

He literally didn’t care. He might joke about it for like a second, and then drop it.

And didn’t he just say earlier during the ride to school that he’d be open to something serious with the right person? And didn’t Kie say just yesterday that you could be that person? And didn’t she also say he was probably into you (which, hello, you still hadn’t fully spiraled over)? 

AND APPARENTLY EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT YOU TWO WOULD BE PERFECT TOGETHER TOO??????

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH. THIS WAS TOO MUCH FOR YOUR BRAIN TO PROCESS AND DIGEST.

“Just think about it,” Cara said, her tone soft this time. “I honestly think just the fact you’d have the guts to bring it up would make him submit instantly.”

You laughed. “I don’t want him to submit. Both sides should want it."

Cara shrugged, lips tugging down. “Couldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, speaking of,” you said, a huge grin spreading across your face. “How’s it going with Topper?”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the afternoon—chatting, giggling, and sipping on delicious smoothies on the wooden deck of Harry’s Smoothie Bar, overlooking the sea.

Cara told you all about how last night had gone for her. 

AKA how she cuddled with JJ during Barbie, how she later found out he shared a blanket with Pope during Transformers (jjpope confirmed?), how extremely whiny Topper had been in the first aid tent and how much he’d complained and sulked, ranting about Rafe the whole time.

How Cara had told him to shut the fuck up if he didn’t want her to leave, and how they were the only ones left after Kelce and Molly had dipped too, along with Sarah and the Pogues right after, because they wanted to go skinny dipping or something.

“God, I would've loved to join, but drama queen Topper obviously didn’t wanna come along,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So I stayed with his pitiful ass.”

Then she told you how impressed she was with Topper’s knowledge of politics and his take on the whole system, and how she’d almost considered blowing him in the toilet stalls for that but held herself back because she wanted to keep him on edge a little longer.

“He’s gotta work a little harder than just pulling this pathetic act,” she said.

You chuckled. “Don’t think it’s an act.”

“Yeah, no, me neither. Anyway…”

Eventually, you decided to head out—Cara had a hangout planned with Topper later (why was she allowed to call it a hangout??? whatever), and obviously, you were meeting up with Rafe.

Right on time, at 4 PM, you got home, said hi to your parents, and went straight to your room. HEART ALREADY RACING WITH EXCITEMENT AT SEEING HIM AGAIN (help I'm falling way too deep).

But when you pulled out your phone and sat down in your desk chair, a weird feeling started creeping into your chest.

Zero messages from Rafe.

You’d expected more weird or suggestive reaction pics he found on Pinterest, or maybe an update about how the conversation with his dad had gone but nothing?

Weird.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if it had gone that bad. Like bad enough for him to fall back into a coke-fueled high to drown his emotions like yesterday.

You'd kinda been ignoring his addiction and little criminal side hustle because just a boy doing dumb shit HAHAHAHA RIGHT, but if he was already—

The buzzing of your phone in your hand snapped you out of your near-spiral.

RAFE!

But he wasn’t texting you. NO THIS GUY WAS CALLING YOU.

HELP.

Okay okay everything’s chill, it’s not like this is the first time he’s calling me. GIRL YOU CUDDLED LAST NIGHT WITH HIM BFFR OMFG.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice pitched higher than it should be.

“Hey,” he said, chuckling. “You good?”

You nodded—AND THEN REALIZED HE COULDN’T SEE YOU—so you quickly said, “Yeah, Cara just dropped me off and I was getting ready.”

Another chuckle, though this one sounded… slightly off? “Aight. Just wanted to check if you're already home and let you know I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll head over. So I’ll be there in like 20.”

You very quickly pushed away the rush of images of RAFE IN THE FREAKING SHOWER and asked, totally normally: “Perfect. How’d things go with your dad?”

Oh no.

That pause said everything.

“Uh, yeah… maybe better if I tell you in person,” he replied awkwardly (?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!).

Um, no. He couldn't give you a teaser like that and just leave you hanging… for like a few minutes BUT STILL.

You let out a strained chuckle. “Short version?”

“Trust me, it’s better if I tell you—”

“Just tell me if it went well or not.”

Another pause. Then: “For you or me?”

UM WHAT.

Heart rate skyrocketed. Immediate panic rushed through your nerves. And you couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with Gracie.

“Uh, what?” you asked, forcing a smile into your voice.

ANOTHER FREAKING PAUSE.

“I mean… for me, it could be real good,” he said, sounding way too excited for some reason. “But that depends on you.”

THIS WAS GETTING WORSE BY THE SECOND.

You frowned. “Am I supposed to convince my dad to take the deal or what?”

Rafe chuckled. “Shit, no, don’t think that’s something he’d be into.”

DUDE.

“Then what? Just spit it out please.” Your nerves were about to snap if he kept dragging this out.

A cute laugh escaped his lips. “Alright, alright.”

AND THEN ANOTHER STUPID PAUSE, I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT.

“Okay, uh,” he started, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You know the stuff Molly does around Kelce?”

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm.

“Being herself” you stated, completely tensed.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS THIS HEADING?

“Yeah, no,” Rafe said, letting out a nervous breath (HIM BEING NERVOUS ALWAYS MADE YOU 200% MORE NERVOUS). “That whole acting like she just chugged a love potion thing. Heart eyes, giggles, and shit like that, you know.”

UH-HUH.

“I don’t think she’s acting,” you said, smiling nervously, feeling your hands grow clammy. "Pretty sure that's called being in love."

Rafe let out a breath that was somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “Yeah, whatever.”

PAUSE.

And then he dropped the biggest bomb yet:

“I kinda need you to do the same.”

w h a t .

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @lunaleah @akobx @cokewithcameron @b00klvrs @rafesdrew @mattyskies @yktayy9669 @beabafreakbee @c1gsafterwhat @drewstarkeyswife-7 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @wintercrows @miaaaoa @setmefreemyg @pogueprincesa @chimchimjiminie16 @drewstarkeysrightarm @wtfdudesblog @wolfstarsimpxx @emmiesummers @brycesfav @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @louvrgirl @chaoticromantic @drewstarkeysrealwife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @psychicnatural @mysticbby2009 @oreocheescake-12 @miniiminie @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewstarkeyywife @persiar9

[bratzray]

ᥫ᭡Forever Theirs ᥫ᭡

❥ Chapter 1: Introduction?

Warning: Obsessive behavior, stalking, mental tension, Baby is an iPad kid {saw this head-cannon and I loved it}

Synopsis: You finally made it to Korea, in your dream apartment and neighborhood. You decide to get to know your environment better than you do now when you meet them, The Saja Boys. They were singing their debut song “Soda Pop”, you watched for a little bit before continuing on your way, slowly forgetting about the performance. You finished your day by reading in the park before noticing something was off…

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Korea wasn’t the first option but it always was an option. Living in America and just making it by wasn’t ideal but moving to another country wasn’t something you saw yourself doing but you never downplayed the idea

You spoke to your family and close friends, saying your goodbyes because you don’t think you’ll be coming back, but at least you have one of your closest friends Ji-yoo coming with you. His mother’s family comes from Korea but his father was American, he wanted to come with you because he wanted to be closer to the other side of his family. 

The trip to Korea wasn’t all that bad, in fact it was kinda enjoyable, but getting settled in was the problem. You managed to find an apartment before moving to Korea but the problem was you had to get to it and with no car it was going to be a trip. 

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You finished moving into your apartment, it took a good while because most of the stuff you wanted needed to be shipped, but the apartment is finally yours’ 

You wanted to take a walk when you get a call, you look for your phone and end up finding it and picking up 

“Hello?” 

“Why are you speaking to me like you don’t know who’d be calling you this early?” 

“Hi Ji what do you want?” you ask, trying to find your purse to complete your outfit 

“You remember our little date plan right?” he ask with a slight attitude

“Yes I wouldn’t dare to forget, I’m going out right now to get some food to make.” you say, rolling your eyes at his attitude 

“Yea you better, because knowing you if I hadn’t called you would’ve forgotten.” he said as you hear a car door slamming in the background 

“Where are you right now?” you ask before rushing to your window and seeing him leaning on the side of his car

“Why the hell are you outside my apartment right now…” you ask him as you stare him down from your window 

“Girl stop talking and get your ass down here so we can go get this food.” he replied before looking up into your apartment building and flipping you off. You repeat the action back before finally putting your shoes on and walking to the elevator. 

You meet Ji-yoo at the front before he practically tackles you into a hug 

“You take too long, you know that?” he ask before letting go of you and fixing your frizzy hair, you roll your eyes before responding 

“Let's not talk about who’s taking too long because last time I checked, last dinner date we planned it took you almost 2 hours to even make it to my house…” you say looking at him annoyed 

“We turned a new leaf [✮], we don’t talk about the past.” he said snarky before walking away towards his car. 

You just huffed before making your way towards him, waiting for him to get what he needed from the car. You guys started walking towards the convenient store before you heard and saw a crowd of people, looking around you and Ji-yoo started making your way to the crowd when you heard it 

The Saja boys. That’s what this little boy group was called, or so you assumed since that’s what people were screaming. You watch their performance and for the most part they’re pretty good, but something in you was pushing you closer to them, pushing you to speak to them. You shove that feeling away and continue to watch, humming some of the parts that repeat itself. 

You try to find Ji-yoo before seeing him standing on the other side, practically salivating at the boys. You rolled your eyes before trying to shove your way through the crowd to make it to him, you almost made it when you saw him, or more so he saw you. One of the boys made direct eye contact with you, and he was holding it for a long time. It made you nervous, but you couldn’t look away. 

It felt like hours of just you and him staring at each other, before Ji-yoo snapped you out of it. 

“Come on before we get distracted again.” he said before pulling you out of the crowd and making it to the store. 

“Ji, was it me or was that boy staring mad hard at me?” you ask him before putting some ramen and kimbap into your basket

“No, I noticed but maybe it’s just that idol boy charm, probably nothing much really.” he said before he walked away 

You shake your head agreeing but there’s something in you telling you it was more than just that, that it wasn’t just an idol boy look, he looked like he was trying to find out something about you, like you stole money from him and he wanted to make sure it was you.  

You just shake away that feeling and continue with your shopping, getting snacks that you and Ji plan on scoffing down once you make it home 

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 On the other side of the city were the Saja Boys, they had just finished their debut performance before making it back to their apartment but something had been on Romance’s mind for hours and he just couldn’t shake it off. He finally build up the courage and asked 

“Was it only me, but did y’all feel her there too?” he asked before looking around the room at the boys 

Jinu huffs, “I did, but it was probably just nothing.” he replied shaking his head, but he knows deep down it wasn’t just nothing 

“No it wasn’t just nothing, I felt her and something’s telling me I saw her too.” Romance replied, huffing slightly at Jinu ignoring what he said 

“He’s right Jin, I felt her too.” Abby finally spoke up before looking up from his phone over to the two boys, while the other two were in their own world 

Baby laughed slightly before speaking up, “I found her, y’all are just useless.” He huffed before shoving his ipad into Romance’s arms. It was your instagram, it had nearly every picture you’ve ever taken, pictures of you and Ji-yoo, your family, and even you moving to Korea. 

“YES! That’s her, that’s who I saw, I bet you that’s who Gwi-ma was talking about!” Romance jumped up before shoving the Ipad into Jinu’s arms,

 “SEE LOOK FOR YOURSELF!!” he said, before dancing, feeling like he proved a point, just then Jinu looked at the Ipad and felt his heart pang even more than it already was, it was really you. 

“Now are we all just gonna sit here and do nothing, because I found her address…” Baby said before continuing to drink out of some type of bottle. The rest of the boys looked at him before finally deciding to go out and look for you, their soulmate. 

You and Ji-yoo were having the best night ever, just watching movies and eating the snack y’all brought earlier but it was getting late and he had work the next day. You lead Ji-yoo out to his car before giving him a hug and letting him go on his way. 

It was slightly warm and nobody was outside so you decided to just sit down at a bench that was near a small pond by the side of your apartment building. You were there for a while, kittens were just roaming around before one jumped onto your lap while you pet it. 

It was calming, with a slight wind and somewhat chilly air until you got this feeling, it was the same feeling you got when you were watching the Saja boys but this one felt different. It wasn’t that warm feeling anymore, it was more or so a feeling of being watched or even observed. 

This feeling never went away so you looked around, trying to find out where that feeling was coming from, but you found nothing. Not wanting to find out anymore you made your way back into your home, the little kitten that was on your lap followed you home. You’ll just keep in mind you’ll have to go shopping for your new companion. 

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The boys observed you, they watched how you pet the kittens around you, they watched how your body relaxed in the slight breeze that was around you. They loved everything about you and they weren’t willing to let that feeling go. 

“See, I told you it was her, just look at her.” Romance said with “heart eyes” as he followed your every movement

“I don’t believe it…” Jinu said looking stunned at your beauty 

“She’s…wow” Mystery mumbled to himself before leaning in closer from the corner to look at you better 

Baby and Abby were quiet, just looking and following the way you moved, slight obsession filled their eyes, they wanted to be closer, to have more of you. But before they could do anything everyone froze, as they watched you look around, slight fear on your face. That’s when they noticed you begin to leave, but Baby wasn’t going to let you go just yet. 

As you were making your way into your apartment building, baby followed right behind you, ignoring the constant protest from the others. He was silent, just following you until he saw you open your door and close it after the kitten that was following you got inside. That’s when he walked over to your closed door and took a picture of your apartment number. 

Some may call it stalking, but he’s just getting to know more about his soon to be lover. He finally makes it back outside before he was meant with four angry faces. 

“Why the hell would you follow her?” Romance said before grabbing Baby and pulling him into the rest of the boys as they surround him in a circle 

“What if you get caught then what?” Jinu said sternly before plucking Baby on the head 

“How were we supposed to help if someone saw you?” Abby said shaking his head before huffing 

Mystery stayed silent but by the look on his face, he wasn’t happy with what Baby did. Yes they wanted to get to know more about you and yes they might be a little obsessed with you, but following you home was a different topic. As the three boys continued to give Baby a stern talking that when he finally spoke up 

“Do you want her address or not? We can send her gifts now…” He said as he looked at the other boys, it took them a while to respond before Mystery spoke up 

“No gifts right now but soon.” He said before walking away, the boys followed after him 

“Do you really have her apartment number?” Abby asked as Baby pulled out his phone and showed him the picture of your apartment number. The other two looked at the photo and smiled, they finally found their soulmate, and they don’t plan on letting you go.

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❥ Chapter 2

[zerocoded]

summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: look, this chapter is massive, so it's ok if y'all won't read it in one sit (i'm talking about length and content). pls read the warnings for a comfortable and safe reading! i love writing sunghoon's pov because i'm melancholic as hell and he is too. anyways, i hope you have a nice reading and pls tell me what you think of this chapter when you finish! #vamphoonforthehotties

warnings and tags: yearning!sunghoon OMG y'all are not ready for him • graphic vampire blood consumption description (animals and blood bags) • this could trigger some, so pls be careful! • gore, violence and action • suggestive! • angst • self-inflicted wounds on hoon's part • the word 'suicide' is mentioned but no suicidal thoughts (in this chapter) • detailed description of gore and violence • dark content • i drag everything too much bc i'm melancholic ok • sunghoon is fighting for his life on the whole chapter • jay and hoon fight a lil hehe • sunghoon and his sad boy agenda • he takes probably 6 showers in this chapter lol.

word count: 21.6k.

previous chapters: series masterlist.

the first symptom was blood.

not the thirst for it. he was used to that. no — it was the sound. the pressure behind his ears. like something had ruptured and rewired the way he processed everything around him.

sunghoon could hear it — all of it. the blood in the streets, in the pipes, in the people. the rhythm of footsteps two floors below. the drip of a leaky faucet in apartment 3a. a dog barking across the han river. and still, layered beneath it all, unmistakably—

you.

he tried to ignore it. fed from animals. warm-blooded things that gave him no comfort. drained two blood bags in one night and still felt like he hadn’t eaten in a decade. he’d hunted out of habit. bitten out of hunger. and still — the ache lingered. 

your scent under his tongue. your pulse crawling up the inside of his spine. you were becoming the itch he couldn’t reach.

the others noticed.

niki was the first to say it out loud. “you’re losing it.” on the first morning after the greenhouse accident.

sunghoon didn’t answer. just stood under a cold shower for hours that night and hoped it would drown something. it didn’t.

monday bled into tuesday like a bad wound. he fed — twice, maybe three times — but the blood felt wrong in his mouth. no texture. no weight. 

the bags sat like lead in his gut and made his gums ache. he bit into a live deer at one point, deep in the mountains past namsan, hoping instinct would override obsession. 

it didn’t. 

the heartbeat under his hands didn’t thrum like yours did. the pulse didn’t echo through his body like yours had when he’d touched the air around you. it wasn’t enough. none of it was enough.

by wednesday, his body started to fail. 

not in a human way — there were no fevers, no normal symptoms. it was stranger than that. unnatural. 

he couldn’t regulate his hearing anymore. everything sounded too loud, or too far. voices rang like sirens. even his own footsteps echoed like gunshots in his head. and when he tried to sleep, your name was the only thing that calmed the noise — but also the thing that set him on fire.

thursday he collapsed in the middle of the living room.

they found him curled near the base of the couch, pupils blown, heartbeat erratic — not slow, not fast, just wrong. 

jake tried to drag him upright, but sunghoon clawed at the floor, hissed something in a language none of them had heard him speak in years. old tongue. blood tongue. something primal that made niki’s skin crawl and jungwon go still.

they tried to talk him down. it didn’t work. he kept saying the same phrase over and over again.

“she’s hurting.”

the way he said it made jake nauseous. he was the only one with a human bond among them and he recognized that voice. the break in it. the way a bond feels when it starts to tether too tight — not with affection, but with need.

and maybe, for a moment, jake was scared. not of sunghoon. not even of what it meant to have another human soulmate among them. but of the fact that sunghoon was six hundred and thirty-three years old, and even him didn’t know how to survive this.

jake had found his soulmate six years ago. a blink, in his time. barely a dent in his age, but long enough to rewrite everything he thought he knew about control. she was human — all warmth and teeth and bad taste in cereal — and she wrecked him in ways that didn’t heal, not even with time. 

he hadn’t meant to keep her. hadn’t meant to fall that deep. but the bond made it impossible to exist otherwise.

they’d moved into an apartment next to seonghyeon jaega last year. quieter, safer.

the others called it a retirement plan. jake called it survival. because it wasn’t about the sweetness or the devotion or the dumb sitcoms they watched curled up on the couch. it was about not going feral every time she got a paper cut. it was about waking up and knowing she was real and near and his — and still managing to breathe through it.

jake had learned to live with it — the tether, the madness, the relentless urge to sink his teeth into someone he’d die for. he’d learned the rhythms, the boundaries. he had his girl, his home, his rules.

but watching sunghoon now — four centuries older than him, twice as powerful, and unraveling in half the time — made all of that feel like borrowed peace. 

jake stood at the edge of the living room, gaze fixed on the man writhing silently on the floor, and understood: there was no learning this. no blueprint.

sunghoon wasn’t surviving the bond. he was being consumed by it.

friday was war.

sunghoon came back to himself just long enough to shower again. the mirror fogged. his shirt stuck to his chest, plastered by sweat that hadn’t dried properly in three days. the water didn’t soothe — it scalded and chilled all at once, a sensation that was almost… human. that alone made his teeth grit. 

he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. not anymore. not after six hundred years. but even that ancient part of him, the one that had survived famine, fire, and kingdoms falling, was beginning to fray under the weight of her.

of you.

when he caught his reflection, he flinched. not because he didn’t recognize himself — but because he did. and he looked like a man starving. haunted. wrong.

his eyes wouldn’t shift back anymore. the red clung to his irises like fresh blood under glass, bright and feral.

it wasn’t a hunger he could reason with, not a thirst he could put off. it was something older, deeper. something that pulsed under his skin and made his fingers twitch like they’d forgotten what stillness felt like.

he could hear you again.

your laugh, but weaker now. your pain, stifled. your breathing patterns during sleep — except you hadn’t really been sleeping.

the bond had opened too fast, too hard, and now it was tangled in the roots of him. even when he tried to block it out, you found him. or maybe it was the other way around. sunghoon didn’t know anymore.

the worst part wasn’t even the ache — it was the power. it was changing. shifting. growing volatile with every hour he ignored the call. 

he couldn’t touch metal without burning it. couldn’t speak without his voice trembling with something darker. the walls around him had started to hum with static, like even the building felt the shift.

the air turned heavier when he walked past. the lights flickered. niki joked about it once — called him an electromagnetic emo ghost — but no one laughed.

by the time the sun set on friday, his nails had darkened — claws, really, bone-etched and sharpened at the tips, curling just slightly as if his body already knew what they were for.

his skin had gone pale and glassy, almost translucent near the temples, like the light was trying to escape him. and the usual cold blood that once made him still, composed — that kept his urges buried deep beneath centuries of control — it boiled. literally. it churned inside him like molten tar, too hot, too fast, too loud.

he could feel it screaming under his skin.

your voice was there too, cutting through it all. not with words, but with sensation.

the ache in your spine. the shortness in your breath. the way your body kept fighting to stay upright. he felt it like a second heartbeat. sunghoon was no stranger to pain — he’d bled through wars, watched empires rise and rot — but this? this tether to you? it was different. it wasn’t grief or fury or guilt. it was panic. pure, human panic. and it was poisoning him slowly.

when jake stepped into the room that night and said his name, sunghoon didn’t respond.

he didn’t even blink.

his eyes were locked ahead, black around the edges and burning crimson through the center. he walked out of the bathroom, dripping cold water in his wake, bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.

his shirt clung to him, half-buttoned and soaked, and when he reached the front door, it wasn’t with urgency — it was inevitability.

he wasn’t leaving to find you. he was being pulled. dragged. like gravity had picked a new center and it was you.

they blocked him before he could even reach the elevator.

jake, niki, jungwon, heeseung, sunoo, jay — all of them. the inner circle. each one braced for impact, spells already burning under their skin, marks activated and defense lines cast like they were facing a threat, not a brother. but sunghoon didn’t flinch. didn’t blink. just said, “move,” and the temperature in the kitchen dropped ten degrees. frost curled over the doorknob in front of him.

niki, ever the first to test fate, surged forward with speed that blurred his outline — and sunghoon didn’t even touch him. just flicked his wrist, eyes still locked on the door, and niki slammed against the wall with a guttural choke. the drywall cracked.

jungwon followed next, his arm glowing with a binding rune carved in thick, geometric spirals — one of the old languages, strong enough to stop a rogue turned at birth.

even he only made it two steps before sunghoon moved. he grabbed him by the throat, slammed him to the ground with a single arm, and for a moment the mark on jungwon’s skin dimmed. blinked like it was afraid.

“you don’t get it,” sunghoon said, voice low, scraping raw through his teeth. “she’s dying.”

he meant you.

every time he breathed, it felt like ash filled his lungs. your scent, your heartbeat, your fatigue — it had infected him like a plague.

“sunghoon,” jay warned, stepping forward, his own energy humming just beneath his skin, “you’ll kill us.”

“then die.” sunghoon’s voice cracked, and with it, so did the lightbulbs overhead. glass rained down like glitter.

his power wasn’t contained anymore. it wasn’t neat. it roared out of him like a wildfire — light bending, shadows twisting. the walls groaned like the building itself was trying to expel him.

a heartbeat pounded in the air — not his. yours. and it was getting weaker.

sunoo tried a barrier spell. heeseung added a pressure hold. riki used sound manipulation to stun him — but it didn’t matter. sunghoon fought like he had nothing left to lose. and maybe he didn’t. not if you slipped through his fingers first.

it took all six of them to subdue him.

sunoo was the one who finally struck the injector deep into his spine. an experimental compound, made to mimic old blood magic. it shouldn’t have worked on someone his age. but it did. barely.

sunghoon collapsed, eyes wide, teeth bared — still trying to crawl forward even as his body gave out under him. his fingers scraped across the floor, reaching for something invisible. and just before the sedative overtook him, he whispered your name.

he almost won, he could swear.

even half-starved, even frenzied — he still managed to break free. to slam jake against the doorframe so hard the plaster cracked. to shove heeseung back with one hand, dragging claws down his arm. blood spilled. fangs bared.

but jungwon had trained for this. had been the one to sedate sunghoon once, two centuries ago during the underground uprisings, and he remembered where to aim. not the neck. not the arm.

the back of the thigh, near the femoral artery.

sunghoon dropped mid-snarl. not all at once. his body twitched first, then his mouth parted, breath ragged. he collapsed to his knees, hands shaking. and still — still — he looked at jungwon like he’d betrayed him.

it wasn’t poetic.

there was nothing noble in the way he collapsed — nothing cinematic in the aftermath. their living room looked like a lion cage after slaughter. furniture split open like bone. claw marks on every surface. blood — his and theirs — smeared across the floor, thick and drying. the scent of it clung to the walls, sour with fury, old with shame.

it wasn’t the kind of story people told with reverence. not the kind of love that inspired paintings or survived the centuries. not even the kind that made sense in his own mouth. 

because this wasn’t love. not yet. not even close. this was biology. cruelty. inevitability. the bond had pulled him apart molecule by molecule, until even his instincts turned against him.

he wasn’t protecting anything. he wasn’t fighting for a future. he was reacting. like an animal. like a weapon without a name.

and that was the ugliest part of it.

his body still trembled on the floor. not from pain, but from something deeper — humiliation, maybe. grief for a self that had once known control.

nothing about this was beautiful.

not the ache.

not the silence after.

not the way jay stared at him like he was already halfway gone.

they left the city that night. no warnings. no notes. just silence in the apartment halls and an overnight drive to the edge of nowhere. jungwon’s family old camp house hadn’t been touched in years — but it had the seals, the space, the distance. it would have to be enough.

the drive itself blurred. hours passed in cold silence, only the occasional shuffle of clothes or the creak of leather breaking through. no one spoke. not even niki. the back seat was too quiet with sunghoon half-conscious and still burning from the inside out. he twitched once — then again — murmuring sounds that barely formed words. 

your name was among them. 

jake kept his eyes on the road, knuckles white on the wheel, like if he focused hard enough, he could outrun what this meant.

by the time they reached the camp house — tucked in the woods and frozen in time — sunghoon had stilled again. not at peace. not asleep. just… emptied. like his body was saving its final flickers of strength for something even worse. 

they carried him in without ceremony. laid him down in the old sunroom beneath a ceiling of cracked glass and stars. and when morning came, he didn’t stir.

sunghoon didn’t wake until five days later, on the monday after. five full days of stillness, of near-catatonia. 

his body remained motionless beneath layers of wool blankets they couldn’t tell if he needed. the fire in the hearth had long gone cold, but the heat inside him hadn’t. it pulsed, erratic and wrong, like his blood had forgotten which direction to flow. 

sweat clung to his skin in waves, soaking through two shirts and the mattress beneath. sometimes he flinched. sometimes he spoke. but mostly, he just lay there — jaw tight, brow drawn, like even in unconsciousness he was fighting something.

they’d placed ward marks on the walls and runes across the ceiling, spells meant to contain whatever version of him might try to wake too soon. 

jungwon’s sigils burned with faint light. jay replaced the restraints every twelve hours, the silver lined with mountain ash and regret. 

no one said it, but they all saw it — the way his veins lit up crimson whenever your name passed someone’s lips. the way his claws never fully retracted, even in rest. and worst of all: his eyes. open, just for seconds, sometimes. blood-bright and unseeing.

he didn’t wake like a man returning to himself. he woke like a creature crawling out of something ancient.

heart lurching. throat dry. vision bleeding red at the edges.

and the first thing he registered wasn’t the room. wasn’t the pain.

it was your fear.

a livewire emotion, distant but clear, slicing through his chest like a blade. it echoed through the mark he didn’t realize he gave you, dragging him from darkness with the violence of instinct.

his wrists jerked. his fangs scraped his lip. and the restraints — thick and triple-bound — cracked against the floorboards with a sizzle.

he woke to voices.

not loud. not urgent. just low enough to assume he was still asleep. still weak enough not to matter.

sunghoon didn’t move. didn’t breathe differently. just let his head rest against the pillow, eyes half-closed, and listened.

“…can’t rush it,” jake was saying, somewhere near the porch. “he’s still recovering. the last thing we need is another—”

a pause. footsteps on wood.

“he’s not stable,” that was jungwon — sharp, always — even when he whispered. “you felt it too. yesterday.”

“i know.” a sigh. niki, probably. “but she’s probably peaking by now, don’t you think?”

your name wasn’t said. it didn’t need to be.

something in sunghoon’s chest cracked at the edges. not pain, not yet. just the shape of it forming. jagged, slow.

jake again, quieter. “he’s going to feel it the second we cross the incheon bridge.”

“he already does,” jungwon said. “he just doesn’t know how to hold it.”

a chair scraped. someone stood.

“so we go back,” jay said, final.

sunghoon closed his eyes again.

what kind of punishment was this?

he had been a decent vampire — by his own standards, at least. didn’t abuse his power. didn’t chase conflict for the thrill. he held restraint like a badge of honor, the oldest among them not just by age, but by the unspoken weight of responsibility. 

he was the one who cleaned up after their messes. the one who kept the coven quiet during purges, who forged papers, silenced rumors, relocated them every fifty years with surgical precision. 

he was the one who stayed behind when niki spiraled in the 1960s, when his bloodlust turned clinical and his fascination with anatomy earned headlines.

he’d carried heeseung out of a burning church once. wrapped him in coats soaked in blood and memory, when grief had made him forget he wanted to keep living. after she died. after the bond snapped and left him with nothing but the echo of a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

he’d stood between jay and the world more times than he could count — whenever jay’s cold logic turned inward, whenever his distrust poisoned the air around him. sunghoon had talked him down from leaving. from disappearing. from becoming one of the monsters they used to whisper about when they were young.

and now here he was.

lying in bed like a corpse.

unable to even lift his limbs without effort. chest sunken, skin tight and pale in all the wrong places. vampires didn’t get sick. their bodies didn’t wither. but his had begun to — slowly, methodically. not in decay, but in surrender. like it was trying to fold into itself, trying to lessen the distance between him and whatever it was that tethered him to you.

and god, he hated it. hated the thought that you — some human girl with soft hands and sharp sarcasm — had reduced him to this. not through cruelty. not even through magic. but through something ancient and irreversible.

the bond.

——

the return to seoul was wordless.

they didn’t tell him. didn’t need to. sunghoon woke on the second day to the sound of tires on gravel, the low hum of the highway embedded beneath it, and he knew. 

the scent of the city clung to the hem of jungwon’s coat when he entered the room that morning — concrete, pollution, metal, humanity — the unmistakable imprint of the capital, already sinking into the seams of their clothes. 

the shift in pressure was immediate. louder air, faster wind. too many voices outside the windows. too much static in the distance. the countryside’s silence had disappeared. it made his pulse spike.

by the time the sun slipped above the edge of the trees, they were home. back at seonghyeon jaega.

if home was what you called a sterile luxury penthouse where every room had been soundproofed and enchanted to keep in the consequences of who they were. 

jungwon had already redecorated the living room. of course he had. no more blood. no broken wood. no torn fabric. even the wall where sunghoon had slammed jake’s body had been repainted — dark olive now, maybe to match the black steel accents of the new bookshelves. 

too intentional. too curated. nothing left of the chaos, not even a dent. just polished floors and shadows, the kind you could bury a memory inside of.

sunghoon was brought to the guest room and didn’t leave. not that day.

his limbs still felt like they belonged to someone else. every joint resisted movement, like his body was still deciding whether it trusted him again. the inhibitors were wearing off, but not fast enough. he could feel them in his bloodstream — not quite gone, not quite alive. everything was dulled. even his hunger. even you.

but something in his chest had begun to stir again. something sharper. something not easily ignored. it was you — it had always been you — and, fuck, sunghoon didn’t have the strength to pretend otherwise. not anymore. 

the bond coiled tight around his ribs, filled his mouth with the taste of ash and inevitability. 

again, he was tired, not stupid. this was a soulmate bond. the kind that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. the kind most vampires dismissed as fantasy, or prayed for in secret, or wasted centuries searching for and never found.

he remembered the stories now, the fragments he’d skimmed without care, when he was young enough to think knowledge was optional. when he still believed strength was enough. dusty books, passed between old covens like contraband, filled with the kind of lore that blurred the line between warning and temptation. 

that a vampire with a human soulmate could only feed from them. that if the human rejected the turning, the vampire was doomed — to hunger, to madness, to death that stretched out slow. that the bond gave the human stolen power — glimpses of eternity without the curse, the echo of strength without the fangs. but it made them dependent. fragile. their health tied to the vampire’s care, their will slowly fraying at the edges.

and worse. in the pages he’d ignored, the ones wrapped in silk covers and tucked behind locked doors — the records slipped into the kind of literature vampires didn’t speak of in the daylight. 

how having a human soulmate was the erotic dream of many. the ultimate fantasy. to be seen as both ruin and worship, a creature loved not despite the monstrosity, but because of it. 

to be needed with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood. to have a human — the ones who called themselves normal since the beginning of time — look at you like you were both salvation and destruction, to see your darkness and still reach for it. to feel that devotion pour from their veins with every touch, every breath, every trembling glance.

sunghoon had never paid attention to any of it. never cared for myths. never cared for power beyond what he already carried in his veins. 

he had been the strongest for centuries. he didn’t need to study the horrors of his kind. he didn’t need to dream of bonds he’d never wanted. 

but now — now he felt desperation like a human again. for the first time in six hundred years, sunghoon wished he had never been turned. wished he had died before this could happen. before this could become real. before you.

heeseung left first.

said he needed air, needed to walk, didn’t say where. no one stopped him. jake was asleep, sunoo buried under headphones. niki just muttered something about surveillance and leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folded tight. the quiet wasn’t tense — just expectant.

twenty-two minutes later, the elevator clicked open again.

heeseung stood in the doorway. his red hair looked darker under the low lights. his coat — long, black, double-breasted — was still zipped, but the breeze had followed him in.

“she was there,” he said.

everyone froze.

no clarification. no name. like they didn’t need one.

niki straightened slightly. “where?”

“elevator,” heeseung answered. slower now. his eyes were distant. “she looked sick. worse than before. she didn’t see me.”

the silence stretched. you could feel it recoil in their chests.

“did she say anything?” niki again.

heeseung shook his head once. “no. but the scent—” he paused. his gaze dropped to the floor like it was safer to look there. “she’s changing.”

sunghoon, from the far side of the apartment, felt it like a tremor behind his ribs. something cracking back open. as if the very mention of you was enough to loosen whatever cage he’d been trying to build inside himself.

he pulled the blanket tighter over his shoulders. tried not to notice the way his hands shook again. tried not to think about the hunger crawling back into his chest. tried not to remember the shape of your voice in his dreams. the warmth of your pulse. the scent of your skin.

he was tired.

tired of hurting.

but worse — he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to see you again.

——

at first, sunghoon didn’t have a plan. his slowly rising consciousness had made peace with the weight pressing down on him, the heavy, dull ache of his body after six straight days of suppressants. 

everything felt thick. slow. like his blood had been replaced with tar, like his bones had forgotten how to hold him up. 

the guest room was quiet in a way that felt intentional, stripped of anything sharp or reflective, the air still humming faintly with the leftover magic jungwon had laced into the walls. 

as the hours stretched thin and the bond pulled tight enough to burn, sunghoon felt the last of the suppressant haze slipping from his veins. he felt the cold of the floor beneath the bed. the hum of the city beyond the windows. the quiet voices of his brothers somewhere in the penthouse.

and underneath it all — louder than anything — he felt you. 

even though you were probably on the other side of the city right now. even though you were probably in a hospital he couldn’t name.

he felt your heartbeat. faint, uneven, too slow in some moments, too fast in others. 

the bond snapped taut inside him, and he knew, without needing to move, without needing to ask, that something was wrong. 

the first sign was the nausea. 

sunghoon had just taken his first shower since he arrived in seoul, still groggy, body heavy from the remnants of sedation. the water had done nothing but clear his head enough for the hunger to return, sharp and immediate.

the sickness curled low in his stomach. his claws broke through before he realized, tips digging into his palms, the sting grounding him for a breath. his fangs grazed his lower lip, venom pooling under his tongue, a burn he hadn’t felt in years. 

your heartbeat was in his ears now, louder than the water dripping from his hair, louder than his own. faint, but there. uneven. 

he was still thinking of what heeseung had said it — how you looked sick in the elevator, how you hadn’t seen him at all, how your skin had lost its color. he’d replayed it in his head too many times since his morning shower, trying to convince himself there was time, that he could hold out. but now he knew better.

because you were back. not at the hospital, not safe under fluorescent lights and the hum of machines — you were in seonghyeon jaega. 

he felt the exact moment you stumbled out of the taxi and tried to keep it civil. it wasn’t just your heartbeat anymore — it was the whole of you, the ache in your bones, the tremor in your breath, the way your knees wavered as you stepped onto the marble floor. it was like your bodies were sharing the same symptoms, like sunghoon could feel your body trying to make space for what it was about to go through. 

you were close. too close. the bond snapped so tight it felt like it might drag him through the walls if he resisted. and as his claws dug deeper and his breath hitched against his teeth, he noticed.

he was about to collapse into bed again, to give in to the weight clawing at his ribs, when sunoo knocked on the guest room door. his voice came before the door opened, tight and breathless, like even he could taste the desperation hanging in the air. 

“are you okay?” sunoo asked, though the answer was written all over him. sunghoon nodded anyway, slow, deliberate, like that small motion was the only thing keeping him from breaking.

“is she here? can you feel it?”, can you feel her? sunghoon knew that sunoo meant to ask that instead.

another nod. smaller. sharper.

he could feel everything. too much. and for a flicker of a second he swore he saw you, saw the shape of you, saw the soft, slouched figure of you inside the elevator burned against the back of his eyelids. it made him tremble. not from fear. not from hunger. from knowing. from the awful certainty that he was running out of time.

he heard sunoo curse under his breath, the low sound of him calling for jungwon, for anyone who might be able to hold back what was already rushing forward like a flood.

the nausea hit sunghoon again, harder, tearing through him like fire, clawing up his throat, turning his veins molten. your weakness bled into him, your pain filling his mouth with the taste of copper and the weight of regret.

the final blow came like instinct. like gravity. like all the forces in the world had been quietly waiting for this moment to shatter what was left of him.

he felt it first in his bones — the hollow thud of you collapsing, knees giving out against marble, the soft gasp of air leaving your lungs as your body crumpled under the weight of everything it had tried to endure. the sound echoed inside him, more than sound, truth, like the earth itself had cracked beneath you. 

and sunghoon snapped.

the guest room seemed to shrink around him. the runes on the walls pulsed once, as if in warning, then flickered out beneath the storm rising inside him. his claws tore through his own palms as he tried to ground himself, tried to breathe, but the air felt like fire in his throat. his fangs sank so deep into his bottom lip that the taste of his own blood flooded his mouth, bitter and copper-sharp, mixing with the venom that had nowhere left to go.

he stumbled back, hit the wall so hard the plaster cracked beneath his shoulder blades. his head fell back, jaw clenched, breath heaving like he was drowning. he saw you — saw you, not with his eyes, but behind them, burned against the dark like a brand. your slumped figure on the floor, your skin pale, your lashes resting against your cheeks as if you’d simply fallen asleep, but he knew better. god, he knew better.

and he broke.

his powers lashed out, wild and hot, snapping through the room in bursts of heat and pressure. the glass of the window splintered at the corners. the metal of the bedframe bent beneath an invisible force. the marks jungwon had carved into the floor glowed once, then bled out, powerless against what was rising. the air thickened, electric, heavy with a fury so old it felt like the world itself should kneel beneath it.

sunghoon didn’t kneel. he staggered forward, hands tearing at his own hair, his shirt, anything he could grab, anything to stop himself from clawing through the walls and tearing the world apart to reach you. 

he groaned — low, raw, a sound that vibrated in his chest like something feral. his knees hit the floor. his claws raked down his thighs through the fabric of his pants, deep enough to tear skin, to mark himself before he could mark you. his body was burning. shaking. his mind unraveling thread by thread.

he heard sunoo and jungwon entering the room again, their footsteps quick, the air splitting with the weight of what they must have felt from the hall.

jungwon saw it all — how red sunghoon’s eyes had turned, no trace of human left in them, just blood and fury and ruin. how his fangs had split his own lip, dripped red down his chin, how his mouth glistened with venom that had nowhere left to go. how he salivated, like a creature starved too long, like instinct had overtaken reason and left him shaking in its wake.

sunghoon could barely lift his head, barely keep his hands from tearing at the floorboards, at his own skin, at anything that might keep him from doing what the bond begged him to do. 

he looked at sunoo, wide-eyed, wild, trembling like a man on the edge of ruin. his voice came out hoarse, broken, almost unrecognizable. begging.

“please,” he rasped, the word raw, ripped from somewhere deep, deeper than shame, deeper than pride. “please. i can’t — i’ll tear this place apart. i’ll tear her apart. sedate me.”

sunoo froze for a breath that felt like it stretched the length of the room.

he heard the words — please, sedate me — but it wasn’t just pleading that filled the air. it was a demand, thick with something ancient, something dark.

sunghoon’s voice was wrecked, yes, but his eyes — god, his eyes — they burned dark crimson, the kind of red that didn’t just glow but devoured. they pinned sunoo where he stood, made his breath hitch, made his pulse race in his throat.

sunoo felt his mouth go dry. his hand twitched at his side. he glanced at jungwon, needing something, anything, some signal that he wasn’t imagining the danger coiled in the air between them.

jungwon met his eyes, silent, unreadable, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. he wouldn’t say it out loud — wouldn’t admit the fear — but sunoo saw it. saw the worry that matched his own. 

and then jungwon nodded. small. firm. enough.

sunoo moved. fast. because if he waited, he knew he might hesitate, and there wasn’t time for that now. he turned, heart thudding in his chest, and went for the small locked box they’d kept hidden — the one with sunghoon’s name carved into the underside in hangul.

this suppressant wasn’t as strong as the first one they injected on that day — not enough to knock him out cold, not enough to steal all the fight from his bones — just enough to dull the edge. to stop him from spiraling at the sight of you. 

sunoo’s hands shook as he unlocked it. as he loaded the injector. but he didn’t pause. couldn’t. because the longer he waited, the more sunghoon’s power filled the room, the more it felt like the world might break apart beneath them. and because sunghoon, even like this, was begging for something he couldn’t give himself: mercy.

and sunoo owed him that much.

he could’ve sworn he heard it — soft, wrecked, barely a breath of sound. a thank you, dragged from sunghoon’s throat when sunoo injected the suppressor on the side of his neck. 

his body gave, collapsing against the bed, the weight of him sinking into the mattress like a man who’d been fighting gravity for too long. sunghoon’s limbs twitched at first, sharp and restless, his body rejecting the drug in the first burst of instinct, but the suppressant did its work. 

after a few seconds, the fight dulled. he stilled. not asleep. not yet. just high enough for the edge to blur, for the bond’s pull to quiet to a whisper instead of a roar.

but sleep didn’t come. not for him.

if he’d been younger — centuries younger — maybe the suppressant would’ve been enough to drag him under completely. but sunghoon was too old for that. too strong. the drug numbed the hunger, muted the storm, but it didn’t free him. 

it left him stranded somewhere between awareness and haze, sweating through his suit, tie twisted and damp against his throat, fabric clinging to his skin in all the wrong places.

his hair stuck to his temples. the sheets felt too warm, the air too heavy. his breath came shallow, uneven, his body trying to settle, failing.

he heard the door open again. soft. cautious. another presence crossing into the storm-thick room. 

there was the faintest scrape of shoes on wood as jay stepped in, his voice low as he murmured something to jungwon — something sunghoon couldn’t catch, not fully, through the scramble of his thoughts. 

and then jungwon left. the leader’s presence pulled back like a tide going out, leaving jay behind to watch over the wreckage.

sunoo and jay tried to speak to him. tried to ground him, to bring him back to reality. but sunghoon couldn’t make sense of the words. 

his mind was a scramble of conscious and desire, tangled so tight he couldn’t tell where he ended and his desire began.

his body felt wrong, too heavy, too hot, too hungry in ways he couldn’t name without shame. so he lay there, twitching under the weight of it all, listening to jay’s voice, trying to hold on. trying not to drown.

his senses began to steady after a few minutes, the storm of hunger and fury dulling to a deep, hollow thrum in his chest. the drug worked — not fully, not enough to silence the bond, but enough that his veins no longer felt like fire and his vision no longer blurred with the red haze of want. 

his body felt numb, heavy, the same way it had the first time he’d woken after being five days out of it, dazed and disoriented, like his limbs didn’t belong to him anymore. 

sunoo and jay were still there, close but cautious, watching him like he might shatter again at any second.

sunghoon finally lifted his gaze, met theirs without feeling his irises pulse with that desperate, crimson hunger. 

he could see them properly now — sunoo’s tight jaw, the worry hidden beneath his sarcasm; jay’s calm mask, the tension in his shoulders betraying him. 

sunghoon cleared his throat, the sound rough, like it scraped the inside of him raw. slowly, deliberately, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, ran shaky fingers through his damp hair, loosened his tie, and tossed it aside. 

the fabric hit the floor with a soft, final sound. his fingers worked at the buttons of his dress shirt under his jacket, the first few undone, baring his throat, letting the too-warm air touch his clammy skin.

he felt his cold blood vibrate for a moment — the bond tugging, insistent, your scent curling around him like smoke. his pupils dilated, his mouth filled with venom, the taste of you too close, too real.

but he didn’t move for the door. he held himself steady, fists clenched against the mattress, his breath ragged but controlled, the suppressant working.

jay’s voice broke through the haze. “she was out cold, man. so weird. it’s been two fucking weeks and now she’s peaking like she’s on heat.”

the words made sunghoon’s throat work, a thick gulp he couldn’t stop, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. even the thought of you — the idea of you, vulnerable, near, his — made him tremble inside.

“i’ve never seen anything like it,” jay added, quieter this time, and the weight of his words sank into the room like a stone.

“i’m worried. i don’t want murder inside our apartment again, i swear that was so fucking disgusting—” sunoo’s voice cracked through the thick air, half a joke, half real fear, his nerves fraying at the edges. and then he looked at sunghoon on the edge of the bed. “you gotta keep it together. we’re running out of suppressants, hoon.”

“no one’s murdering no one,” he said, low and worn, that deep timbre of his carrying more weight than volume. “go after more suppressants. ask your family. anything.” sunghoon was too tired to entertain sunoo’s pouting, too close to the edge to play along. he barely realized his tone sounded more like a demand than a question.

park sunghoon wasn’t aware of his own strength sometimes.

his body ached from holding it all in — the restraint, the hunger, the bond’s gnawing pull — and their voices, their teasing, their familiar chaos, only made it harder.

he liked how sunoo and jay cared for him, but he felt too out of it to entertain their questions.

sunghoon knew they were about to come. eventually.

“you know what you gotta do, right? when she wakes up.” jay’s voice was quieter now, but no less brutal. he stood, looked right at sunghoon, steady and serious. “it’s a human, she’ll be weak.”

see? sunghoon knew.

the words hit him like a slap. he blinked once, twice, fighting the red that threatened to bleed back into his vision.

his fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his skin. he was so out of it he felt the urge — the need — to punch jay in the face for even saying it out loud. for reducing you to that. for daring to name what sunghoon was already terrified of.

it was probably some side effect of the inhibitor, but sunghoon felt the urge to be alone in that moment. sunoo and jay bicker? made his blood boil.

“actually,” sunoo cut in, voice cautious, careful, as if he could feel the storm about to break between them. “she seems strong. because she survived all this time. that’s not nothing.”

and sunghoon wanted to thank him. but the words were tangled up in the mess of hunger and guilt and fear choking him.

“she’s not feeding until we figure something out,” sunghoon said at last, voice like gravel, like it hurt to speak. he kept himself seated and stared right back at jay, impatient. “she’s not. i don’t care what it does to me.”

“seeing her in pain will make no good for you or any of us,” jay bit out, tone sharp, colder than the room deserved.

he stood with his arms crossed, black dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, dark slacks neat despite the chaos, every inch of him too put-together, too unshaken.

his eyes, dark and cutting, fixed on sunghoon with a predator’s focus. “if she wakes up in pain again, you feed her. that’s how it works. stop pretending otherwise.”

sunghoon exhaled, slow, feeling the room tilt, his body lightheaded from the suppressant still thick in his veins. 

maybe that’s why his patience hadn’t cracked yet. maybe that’s why he hadn’t punched jay in the face right after he said that. 

he was high as a kite.

“she needs to accept the bond first,” sunghoon said, voice low, the sound of it like a warning. “she’s a fucking child. i’m not about to ruin her life forever like that.”

the second the words left his mouth, they tasted wrong. because you weren’t a child. not by the world’s standards. not by the years marked on paper. not by the way he knew you — twenty-something, grown, human in every way that mattered, someone who deserved respect, who deserved the right to choose her fate. 

but he said it anyway. because with jay, it was necessary. because jay didn’t see humans as creatures who stood beside them — he saw them as lesser. fragile, fleeting, something to protect or use, but never as equals. 

sunghoon knew jay had come from that older branch of their kind, the ones who still clung to the idea that vampires were the superior species, the rightful rulers in the dark.

he hated saying it, hated referring to you that way, but he needed jay to understand what was at stake. needed him to feel the weight of it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

and also he needed jay to fuck off right now until his suppressant’s side effects slowed down.

jay didn’t blink. didn’t soften. his voice stayed even, too even that made sunghoon’s cold blood boil. again.

“sunghoon, you know the stories. the human’s choice doesn’t make a difference. you’ll die. you let her choose, you’re gambling your life. you have to give her something first so she can see she can’t live without you. it’s suicide if you let her choose.”

that’s it. that was it. jay reducing you to some gambler term? that was foul.

sunghoon’s jaw tightened. his body moved before his mind caught up. he stood up from the bed, the weight of his height, his power, rolling off him in slow, dangerous waves as he stepped closer, close enough that he could see the faint glint of jay’s fangs behind the cool mask. 

“glad to know it isn’t your choice, park,” sunghoon said, voice quieter now, deadlier. “this shouldn’t concern you.”

jay didn’t back down. not an inch. he never did. “it should when you lose every time she’s near. or not near at all, in fact.” his tone didn’t rise, but the force behind it hit hard. “are you really going to let her decide your fate? you’ll die.”

the room crackled with tension. sunoo shifted, finally breaking the standoff with a strained, desperate tone. “guys… now really isn’t the time…”

but jay’s eyes stayed locked on sunghoon’s, and his words didn’t stop. “will you let some human destroy your legacy?” he repeated, like it was fact, like it was already written.

sunghoon felt something in him crack — clean through. the room tilted with it, his breath hitched, the burn in his chest sharper than hunger, sharper than any thirst he’d ever known.

and when he spoke, his voice was low but brutal, the edge in it cutting deep, meant to wound. 

“what i know,” sunghoon said, eyes burning into jay’s, “is that i won’t take lessons on humanity from someone who’s too scared to admit that humans are real, that they matter, that they’re not just pawns for us to use up and throw away. you don’t know shit about love. you don’t even let yourself feel it.”

jay didn’t flinch. he just narrowed his eyes, voice clipped, measured, cold like always. even when it hurt, they were all too dead to take offense in their bickerings. 

“this is a bond, sunghoon. that’s all it is. that’s all she is. and you’re letting that fact tear you apart. if you don’t get ahead of this, it’ll be the end of you. and maybe us too.” his arms stayed crossed, posture too controlled, like nothing could touch him. like this didn’t touch him.

sunghoon felt the snap coming, felt it in the way his breath hitched, in the way the room seemed too small, too tight.

the air buzzed, the weight of his power pressing out from under his skin, uncontrolled, the way it hadn’t been in days. the light above them flickered, once, twice, then steadied — but not before the air crackled like a storm was coming.

sunoo stepped in, fast, voice low but firm, cutting between them before it could go too far. “enough, both of you. stop.” his tone held more weight than usual, sharper at the edges, the kind of tone he saved for when it mattered. 

his eyes flicked to the ceiling, to the light that still pulsed faintly from sunghoon’s power, then back to sunghoon’s face — seeing how close he was, how tight his fists were clenched, how the red still threatened at the edges of his gaze.

sunoo’s hands came up, half-raised, ready to push them apart if it came to that. “this isn’t helping. you’re both too close to snapping.”

he didn’t stop there. he turned to jay, voice dropping, but no softer. “jongseong, you’ve never had a bond. you don’t know what it feels like. so leave it be.” his gaze stayed steady on jay, no mockery, no venom — just the truth, and the sting it carried. “you don’t know what this is doing to him.”

the room held quiet, heavy, the tension still thick but on pause, sunoo’s words cutting through enough for now. enough to keep them standing. enough to keep them from breaking.

“she’ll wake up soon,” sunoo said, quieter, steadying the room the best he could and now turning to sunghoon. “and when she does? she’s going to be sick, confused, scared. you know that. we all know that. so what’s the plan, huh? you gonna stand here fighting jay when she needs you?”

sunghoon dragged in a breath, tried to calm the way his body wanted to tear through the room, tear through anything that dared speak your name like it was theirs to hold. because that’s what it felt like. every time either of them said her, it burned inside his chest.

he ran a hand through his hair, tried to force the red from his vision. god, he almost snapped over jay’s stupidity, what was this suppressant even made of?

“we’ll figure it out,” he said at last, voice rough, breath still uneven. his eyes found jay’s, calmer now but still firm. “but don’t talk about her like that again.”

jay stared at him for a beat, dark eyes unreadable, jaw tight. then, finally, he stepped back, tension still in his frame but the fight gone out of him. he nodded slowly and stared at the ceiling.

they stayed like that for a whole minute until the atmosphere was controlled again. jay went back to sitting on the chair, sunoo breathed loud and clear trying to read the mind of his hyungs. after a while, he gave up and sat beside jay too.

“you feeding her or not, simply looking her in the eyes will relieve some of her pain,” sunoo said, voice quieter now, but sure, steady like he’d been waiting for the right moment to say it. “my mom was once a human. remember that? i know what can make her feel better without you feeding her your blood.”

sunghoon turned, gaze snapping to sunoo, and for a second it was like the weight on his chest eased, just barely. he looked at his best friend like he had hung the moon — and sometimes, that’s exactly what it felt like. sunoo always had a way of grounding him, of cutting through the noise, the panic, the hunger. 

of reminding him that the lines between species didn’t have to matter. that none of this had to be about power or blood or legacy. sunghoon liked that about him. always had.

he stared at sunoo with surprise, because god, now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much about vampire-human bonds at all. not really. not beyond the scraps of myth and the warnings he’d ignored for centuries. 

sunghoon’s chest heaved once, nostrils flaring with your scent so thick in the air it nearly knocked him down again. the world swayed, just slightly, and he forced himself to move, to break free of the heat and weight of his suit.

his jacket hit the floor, fingers fumbling at more buttons of his dress shirt.

sunghoon was tired. tired of waiting, tired of himself, tired of the storm of the new, raw emotions tightening around his chest in ways he didn't know how to name.

he exhaled, slow, rubbing a hand over his face and over the dried blood on his chin. his eyes flicked to where jay and sunoo lingered in the room — silent, watching, knowing better than to speak now.

his gaze dropped to the floor, to where his tie and suit jacket lay abandonened, wrinkled, like proof of how far from composed he really was.

these suppressant — god, these suppressants — they were making him crazy. dulling the hunger but sharpening everything else. making him feel too much and not enough at the same time.

he wanted them out of his system, his vampire needed them out. he wanted you on his sight. and for once, he didn't want to think about what that meant.

——

sunghoon didn’t trust himself to go check on you — on your unconscious body, on the soft sound of your breathing that echoed louder in his head than anything else — not until niki came through the door. 

niki, breathless, hair a mess like he’d been pacing the hall, voice tight in a way that didn’t suit him. “she’s peaking. even while she’s out. it’s bad.”

sunghoon had counted the minutes. every one of them. you’d been passed out for five hours now.

five hours of him sitting there, forcing himself still, staring at the clock on the guest room’s bedside table as the second hand scraped its way around, dragging toward noon like it might never get there. 

he’d taken another shower, water cold as ice, hoping it would clear his head. it didn’t. he still felt high, slow, like the suppressant clung to his bones.

sunoo didn’t leave him for a second. stayed at his side, steady, talking about anything and nothing, trying to keep sunghoon distracted, trying to keep him anchored so he wouldn’t tear the door off its hinges and go to you. trying to stop him from snapping.

jay had left them the second jungwon asked him to handle something outside — no hesitation, no question. he slipped out in a blink.

since then, sunoo and sunghoon stayed inside the guest room.

niki announced your condition, and sunghoon was on his feet like lightning, faster than his mind could catch up with his body.

it was the first knock on the door since jay had left, and the sound felt louder than it should’ve, like a crack splitting the tense, fragile air. 

he didn’t even register what niki’s face looked like at first — just that the words she’s peaking hit him like a blow to the chest.

he glanced at sunoo. their eyes met, that silent understanding passing between them: now. go.

he didn’t hesitate. no more holding back, no more waiting. sunghoon bolted, feet quick and sure across the floor. he ran to your room, heart pounding, breath sharp, the weight of it all crashing down at once.

and the second sunghoon stepped out of the guest room — the first time since yesterday night — he felt it.

like walking into a storm. the weight of you inside the apartment. thick. suffocating. like the air had changed, like the walls had shrunk, like the entire building was groaning under the force of your suffering. 

the others didn’t notice it, not like he did. they couldn’t smell it the way he could. couldn’t taste it in the air, thick and sharp and wrong.

they thought it was just your blood, your scent, your presence. but sunghoon knew better. 

what they were breathing in — what coated their throats and filled their lungs — wasn’t just you. it was your panic. your fear. your pain.

and it was everywhere. drowning him. and he’d never hated his own helplessness more.

to make everything worse, they’d chosen his bedroom to keep you in. of all the rooms in the penthouse — the empty guest rooms, the study, even jungwon’s — they’d put you in his. 

the realization hit him as soon as niki guided him to the second hallway towards the penthouse's study. he looked at niki in confusion for ten whole seconds before his mind comprehended what they had done.

fuck.

some deep, buried part of him, that animal part he hated to acknowledge, felt relief at that. like it was right. like it was natural for you to be there, near, inside his space. 

but his human consciousness — the part of him that still clung to control, to decency — it panicked. it worried that this would be the thing that made him crumble. the final crack.

he turned to niki, voice tight, trying to hold himself together. “why my room?”

niki barely blinked, still catching his breath from the rush. “jungwon’s orders,” he said. simple. like it explained everything. “he said it was the safest. you wouldn’t let anyone hurt her there.”

sunghoon wanted to curse. wanted to tear the walls apart for how much harder they’d made it without even realizing.

but all he could do was sigh, long and ragged, because the weight of you inside his room was too much. 

he braced himself as he opened the door to his own room, fingers tight on the handle like it might be the only thing keeping him steady. 

the familiar scent of his space hit him first, layered now with yours — thick, overwhelming, filling every corner of the air.

the curtains were drawn shut, the room dim despite the sun climbing high outside. 

for a moment, the strangeness of it settled over him, sharp and clear. it was noon — the sun high, the city alive beyond the windows — and you were the one asleep, the human, the fragile one, caught in a world you didn’t ask for.

and yet, all the vampires — the ones who by nature should have been dead to the world at this hour — were the ones awake. every one of them. watching. waiting. unraveling quietly in their own ways.

at the center of it, sunghoon stood, feeling the absurdity of it all press in: how wrong it was, how right it felt, and how impossible it was to untangle the two.

it would’ve been funny, if it didn’t hurt so much.

he glanced around, took in the exhaustion on his brother’s faces, the tension in their shoulders. 

jake caught his eye and nodded once, silent, slipping out of the room like he knew sunghoon needed the space, like he didn’t want to make this harder than it already was. 

sunghoon felt grateful for the gesture — more than he could say. the room felt too tight already, too charged, and jake’s quiet exit gave him one less weight to bear.

sunghoon’s gaze then dropped to you, and it nearly undid him.

your cheeks were hollowed, skin pale where it had once been warm, radiant. your color was gone, replaced by that cold, sickly stillness. the scent of you was wrong too — not just blood, not just hunger, but sickness, panic, the kind of scent that clung to the back of his throat and made his stomach twist. 

the warm glow you’d carried with you through his greenhouse two weeks ago, through his every fleeting glance, was gone.

and god, he hated it.

he saw that you were still in your own clothes — and for one brief, saving breath, his human mind clung to that.

at least they hadn’t dressed you in his. at least they hadn’t crossed that final, unthinkable line. 

because if they had — if he saw you wearing something of his, draped in that final intimacy — that would’ve been the end of him. the last thread snapping. he wasn’t sure he would’ve come back from it. not this time.

sunoo stood behind at the door, quiet, steady, a shadow of support sunghoon didn’t ask for but couldn’t push away. the others had left, one by one, knowing there was nothing more they could do, nothing more they should do.

this was sunghoon’s storm to weather now. his bond. his mess.

he didn’t move at first. just stood there, the weight of it pressing down on him, watching you like if he stared hard enough he could will your color back, your warmth, your strength. 

but all he saw was the way you shook, the way your body fought even in sleep, the way your scent filled the room like a reminder of everything he was failing to protect.

and it hurt in a way he couldn’t expect. in a way he didn’t want to. because it wasn’t hunger. it wasn’t love. it was something darker, heavier — the awful, aching need to make it stop. to make you safe. to make this right.

sunghoon didn’t want to make your pain stop because he loved you, or because he cared — it wasn’t that. it was because his biology demanded it, instinct thrumming through every inch of him, merciless and raw.

there was no romance in it, no gentleness, no noble intent. it was selfish, animal, the bond clawing at him to ease you only so he could ease himself, to quiet the storm in his veins by breaking your fever, by giving you what the bond wanted, what he wanted — not for you, but for his own survival.

you were peaking, and he felt it in every part of him. he was reacting the only way the bond allowed: as a partner, as a soulmate, as the other side of the thread that had tied itself to you without his permission. 

your pain became his ache. your fever became his heat. the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled, the way your body burned beneath the weight of what neither of you had chosen — it all echoed through him. 

it felt wrong. so wrong. the crushing realization of what was about to unfold the moment you opened your eyes — of how much it would change for you, how much you didn’t know was waiting. 

it felt wrong not to clear the room, not to take you somewhere private, not to make everyone leave so it could be just you and him, the way some deep, dangerous part of him insisted it should be.

because deep down, sunghoon was certain — too certain — that he was enough to make you safe, that he was all you needed. 

but despite the weight of it, despite how much it burned, he swallowed thickly, forced himself to stay still, to let the moment pass without snapping, to wait until sunoo left to call the others, to bring the help they all thought they needed. because that was what he had to do. 

even if it felt like it would kill him.

it felt weird to say that, to even think like that. sunghoon didn’t know you that way — didn’t know you at all, actually — and that was the most fucked up part about every supernatural bond: the yearning for someone you don’t know. 

it was deep, it was humiliating, it was raw in a way that stripped him bare, and hell, sunghoon had never been the romantic type to begin with.

but here he was, feeling like a failure for not having done it right — for not courting you, for not learning the shape of your laugh, the sound of your voice in anything but fear. 

he’d been in love before, in his long, fractured life. he knew what that felt like, what it was meant to be. and even if this wasn’t love — not yet — it felt like he was already falling short of what you deserved. 

his chosen one. 

the words echoed through him like a curse. you were the chosen one, and he didn’t even know your full name. it was like his brain was only catching up now, drowning under the weight of what this meant, what he’d failed to do, what he was already losing.

you were a stranger. and yet right now, in this room, in this moment — he felt everything about you.

it sounded wrong, incomplete, unnatural. to connect with someone he didn’t know at all on a level this deep, this consuming, like the bond had skipped all the things that should’ve come first — words, moments, choices — and gone straight to this.

sunghoon closed the distance between himself and the bed where you lay, slow, measured. he lowered himself onto the makeshift chair they’d dragged beside the bed, the one that felt too small, too human for what he was, and for a moment, he just looked at you.

he traced the details of your face with his eyes — the soft curve of your lashes against your pale cheeks, the faint freckle near your temple he hadn’t noticed before, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed, fragile and stubborn at once.

details he hadn’t had the peace of mind to see earlier, when everything had been fire and panic and restraint.

he breathed you in now, guiltless, trusting the suppressants still thick in his veins, trusting the ragged scraps of discipline he had left to keep him seated, to keep him from leaning too close.

he let himself have that moment — one minute of stillness, of committing every piece of you to memory, overthinking, analyzing, aching.

but the bond wouldn’t let him stay in his head for long.

you shifted. small, unsteady, but enough. like it was mocking him. like the bond was yanking him out of his thoughts, reminding him that this wasn’t something logic could touch, wasn’t something he could reason his way through.

he saw it — your hand, small, fingers twitching slightly against the sheets, reaching without thought, drawn toward him, toward where his arm rested against the bedframe, as if even in sleep, even in this fevered haze, you knew.

it was like the bond wanted to prove its point: this wasn’t about choice or fairness or sense. it just was. and sunghoon felt it hit him like a wave, sharp and deep, as you sought him even in sleep.

his breath hitched, surprise flashing in his eyes, sharp and bright.

he didn’t let you touch him. couldn’t. the fear was too strong. he pulled his arm back fast, like your skin might burn him if it so much as brushed his. 

he stood up from the makeshift chair, breath caught in his throat, hands clenched at his sides. his gaze shot up to the ceiling like it might offer answers, like it might calm him.

and in the corner of his eye, he saw it — he swear he fucking saw it: your features softened. your brow eased. the tension in your body let go just a little compared to when sunoo was still in the room, like your body knew he was the only one near, like it recognized him even before your mind could.

your peak lessened — he felt it, clear as breath, clear as the slow, reluctant calm that spread through his chest the moment your fingers reached for where his arm had been.

the panic that had gripped his heart, tight and relentless, eased just enough for him to catch a real breath. 

he heard voices outside — faint, muffled, the others returning, moving closer, unaware of the line they were all standing on. but it wasn’t them that twisted something deep in his gut, sharp and certain.

it was you. 

he felt it like instinct, like fact, like inevitability. you were about to wake up.

the bond thrummed with it, the air shifted with it, and sunghoon knew — without looking, without thinking — that everything was about to change. 

that whatever came next, there would be no stepping back from it. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

——

your bite was sexy as hell — and it hit sunghoon harder than he could’ve ever prepared for. it turned him on, confused the hell out of him, made his body tense in ways that had nothing to do with the bond. 

honestly, at this point, he didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore. all he knew was that the second he saw how his gaze alone seemed to offer you relief, he had to get out of that room before he lost what little control he had left.

sunghoon felt the exact moment your mind woke up from the deep slumber you’d been trapped in.

it was like a light switched on inside you, and the ache that had been gnawing at him since your hand had almost brushed his minutes earlier — that small, stupid, desperate ache — vanished the second you were fully aware again. 

he could hear the way your eyes moved, tracing the room, trying to piece together where you were.

he could smell every emotion pouring off you — fear, confusion, stubbornness. 

and more than anything, he could taste your blood in the air, thick and sweet and so close it made his head swim.

he was aware of everything. too aware. and at the same time, he felt like he wasn’t in his own body at all. 

his tongue felt heavy, mouth dry and wet all at once, his limbs sluggish, still swimming through the fog of the suppressants. sharp for your movements, your voice, your scent — but slow, disconnected, robotic when it came to himself.

and maybe it was the bond talking — that awful, tangled, biological mess of instinct and need — but the second he smelled your relief, the oldest vampire of the whole korean peninsula was wrecked. 

ruined in ways he hadn’t even known were possible.

it was weirder than he’d imagined, because it was physical. not something he could power through with logic or reason, or some forgotten lesson in an old book. it hit deeper. 

it was in his blood, in his fucking bones.

jungwon, niki, and sunghoon stood there, watching you try to pull yourself together. you glanced at them at first, eyes sharp despite the haze, trying to act like you were fine, like you weren’t seconds away from collapsing again.

sunghoon pretended too. pretended his mouth wasn’t watering at the smell of your sweat alone. pretended he wasn’t losing his mind every time your gaze flicked his way.

he felt numb. weird. like his body was just along for the ride, while his mind scrambled to keep up. and jungwon — of course jungwon — saw right through it.

didn’t say a word, just caught his eye at the right moment and pulled him out of the room as soon as you stopped bickering with yourself.

you were stubborn as hell. god, so stubborn. 

sunghoon hadn’t really registered it the first time you met — or maybe he had, but now, now that you were his cosmic girlfriend (your words, not his), he was starting to see it.

starting to feel how deep it ran. starting to realize how completely, helplessly wrecked he was about to become for the next few days.

as soon as the door clicked shut behind them and niki was left alone with you in his bedroom, jungwon didn’t waste a second.

he turned to sunghoon, eyes sharp but voice steady, calm in that way only jungwon could pull off when everything else felt like it was falling apart. “you good?”

sunghoon cleared his throat, trying to swallow down the dizziness, the heat still burning under his skin. he took a breath that didn’t help, blinked hard like it might steady him.

“she’s not in pain anymore,” he said at last, voice rough but honest, “at least there’s that.”

jungwon didn’t waste a second. as soon as sunghoon spoke, as soon as he caught the roughness in his voice, the strain in his posture, he turned to where sunoo lingered near the end of the hall.

“how long?” jungwon asked, low, calm, but direct. “the suppressant. how long until it wears off? until he peaks again?”

sunoo didn’t even have to think about it. he’d been watching, reading the room the way only he could. his arms were crossed, gaze flicking between sunghoon and jungwon, thoughtful but steady.

“hard to say exactly,” sunoo said, voice quieter now, but sure. “hoon is unpredictable. could hold for a while, could crash fast if she moves, if she looks at him, if anything shifts. but if it’s holding like i think… maybe two hours. give or take.”

jungwon nodded, already bracing for it, already calculating what two hours could mean, already glancing at sunghoon like he was a timer ticking down. 

and sunghoon just stood there, swallowing hard, feeling every second slip by like it might be the one that undid him.

he had two hours — two hours to get his shit together, to brace himself, to try and steady the storm inside him before he had to face you and ask the one thing that would change everything: would you accept the fucking bond, or not? 

——

you and sunghoon woke at the same time — not planned, not gentle, just there, like the bond flipped a switch and decided that now was the only time.

you’ve been out cold since noon, body heavy from sickness, from the peak, from everything.

sunghoon and the others tried to hold the line: niki posted near your door before inevitably passing out cold somewhere on the floor; sunoo slumped half-upright, trying to guard sunghoon through the suppressant haze.

but vampires weren’t meant for this — guarding and waiting in the daylight.

sunghoon passed out for some minutes after sunoo did, exhausted and groggy.

but now, it’s five in the afternoon — the hour the coven usually stirred to life, the hour the night began.

but here? here it’s quiet. everyone else is out, sprawled and snoring in corners like the weight of the day dragged them under.

and sunghoon? the bond dragged him up the second you stirred. his senses snapped back online like a flood. his room, thick with your scent, your presence, that low thrum of you being awake. it pulled at him in a way that felt physical — his body already moving before his brain caught up.

he felt different now. the haze of the suppressants was gone, burned off in the force of your nearness. his mind was clear for the first time in seven days. no dullness, no fog — just sharp, raw awareness.

sunghoon felt the tips of his fingers tingle back to life, felt the supernatural pulse of his own body return to its natural rhythm — steady, powerful, unchained again. 

it was like his body knew — like every part of him sensed how close he was to imprinting, even though imprinting wasn’t part of sunghoon’s plan, not now, not anywhere near this week. or ever.

but still, he felt it: that lightness, that fullness, that flicker of health that vampires weren’t supposed to feel. 

then he heard it — your voice, rough, small, but still trying to stake out space in their apartment, still trying to armor yourself in sarcasm. “great. still kidnapped by the world’s most dramatic interior decorator. nice curtains.”

his lips parted like he meant to respond, but no words came. for the first time in centuries, sunghoon found himself at a loss, the bond tugging at him so hard it blurred his thoughts.

without the supressants, the tension in the room clung to his skin like a second layer, heavy and hot, and he realized he needed space — needed to clear his head before he lost what little grip he had left.

without a word, he turned, deciding another shower might buy him a few minutes of sanity.

the cold water, the distance, anything to cool the fire burning low and constant beneath his ribs.

sunghoon let the cold water hit him, sharp and clean, washing away the heat of the room, the weight of the bond, the sound of your voice still echoing in his head.

he stayed under the stream longer than he needed — long enough to breathe, to try and quiet the storm clawing at his chest.

when he stepped out, he dragged a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back, watching his reflection for a beat.

his eyes were clearer now, the red faded to a duller brown, but the hunger, the pull — that was still there.

he dressed in fresh clothes, the routine grounding him. black slacks, low on his hips; a dark fitted shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar loose, the first button undone. simple, clean, controlled. he felt better. or at least, like he could pretend to be.

when he stepped out the shower, he tried to move without a sound, every step measured, controlled, like the predator he was and didn’t want to be right now.

he didn’t want to wake anyone — not sunoo, half-curled on the couch, breath slow and deep, finally asleep after days of tension. 

not niki, sprawled out on the floor like a dead weight in front of your door, limbs a mess, hair in his face, snoring soft enough to remind sunghoon they were all too exhausted to be useful anymore.

sunghoon stopped before the door of his room and lifted his hand, knuckles brushing the wood. he knocked once — out of habit, out of decency he didn’t really feel.

he stood there for five seconds before he pushed inside.

he couldn’t wait for your permission. the bond wouldn’t let him. the air beyond that door felt thick with you, and his body, newly unshackled from the suppressant’s haze, hummed with the need to be near.

his room was dim, shadows stretching long across the walls where the heavy curtains muted the late-afternoon light. it smelled like you — thick, rich, wrong in how right it felt. 

his gaze swept the space out of reflex: the chair where he’d stripped off his jacket, abandoned; the books on the nightstand, untouched; the corner where his boots rested, dusted with the dirt from the camp house. and you — curled small on his bed, in his sheets, clutching his pillow to your chest like it might save you.

you didn’t even know.

you didn’t know the weight of the mattress beneath you was his. didn’t know the pillow you hugged was the one that still carried the faintest trace of his scent, of nights he’d stared at the ceiling, thinking he’d outrun this kind of fate. 

he wondered — for a dangerous, fleeting second — if that was why you clung to it. if it brought you some comfort, even now.

he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

sunghoon could see every detail.

the bond made the sight of you too much — too vivid, too loud. he could feel your confusion like static in his chest.

your voice broke the heavy quiet, small and hoarse. “niki?” you mumbled, half-asleep, still caught between the edge of waking and whatever fever dream the bond had dragged you through.

he saw the exact second your eyes opened fully, saw them flick to him, saw the surprise bloom there — surprise and something else. something you tried to smother beneath the weight of your pride, beneath the armor of your confusion.

sunghoon didn’t move closer. not yet.

he leaned back against the door, arms crossed, boots planted firm on the floor. his hair was still damp from the cold water he’d splashed on his face, dark strands falling over his brow, pushed back with his fingers in that careless, sharp way he always did. 

“not niki,” he said, voice low, steady, the sound of it filling the room like a storm about to break.

he could see it — how you tried to piece it together. the heat, the ache in your chest, the way your pulse raced without reason, how your skin felt too tight. 

sunghoon pushed off the door, slow, deliberate, closing the space between you with the kind of measured grace that only made him more dangerous. more magnetic.

“i know you weren’t expecting this, but the ache will pass soon.” his voice softened as he neared, enough to take the edge off, but not the tension. “it’s the bond. it’s me. it’s us.”

he stopped at the edge of the bed, gaze dropping to your face, to the pulse at your throat that jumped when you met his eyes.

your eyes locked on his, wide at first, then narrowing like you were trying to mask the surprise. trying to rebuild whatever walls you thought would hold. 

and there it was — that flicker of defiance, of stubbornness, like this wasn’t happening, like you could joke your way through the weight crushing the air between you.

“oh,” you rasped, voice rough, dry, but still laced with that sarcasm that had sunk its claws into him from the start. “great. you. so this is the part where you tell me i’ve got six months to live unless i drink your blood or marry into your vampire mafia?”

sunghoon felt the corner of his mouth twitch — almost a smile, but not quite. too much hunger behind it. too much restraint. 

god, you were tired. he could feel it in the bond, in the way your pulse lagged then sped up again, in the way your breath came shallow. 

you were exhausted, confused, and still pretending none of it scared you. he could taste the fear beneath your pride like smoke on his tongue.

he watched you as you shifted, as you propped yourself up on trembling elbows like you didn’t want him to see the weakness.

and that — fuck, that made something inside him burn. 

as he stood there, he saw it — things he hadn’t let himself notice before.

the delicate line of your throat where your pulse fluttered fast.

the curve of your jaw when you tilted your head, still challenging him, still fighting.

he noticed that spot, your skin pulling him in like a magnet — the same spot his eyes had found in the greenhouse that first day and obsessed over it, the same place that had haunted him since. now it drew him in again, sharp and magnetic, the bond tugging at him like a leash.

on that first encounter, sunghoon hadn’t known — hadn’t realized his body had already chosen you. he hadn’t understood why that one spot on your neck made him crave, made him lose control.

but now he did.

it was the bond from the start, pulling him in, tying him to you before either of you saw it coming. supernatural. inevitable.

sunghoon drew closer, slow, smooth, the tension thickening with every step. his eyes stayed on yours, sharp, unblinking, dark around the edges, crimson at the center.

“no,” he said, voice low, eyes glinting with something sharper now, “this is the part where you admit my curtains are actually fantastic.”

you rolled your eyes, exasperated, but he caught the way your mouth twitched — like you wanted to smirk but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. and damn, he liked that too much.

“are you always this full of yourself?” you muttered, voice scratchy but laced with bite.

sunghoon tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting, stepping just close enough that you could feel the weight of him. “only when i’m right.”

you huffed, trying to shift back, but the bed and the bond had you trapped. “you’re annoying, what are you doing here?”

he smiled — slow, crooked, too confident for someone holding himself together by a thread. “this is my room, doll, and you’re hugging my pillow. i'm the one supposed to ask you that.”

your cheeks burned, but you didn’t let up, the sting of embarrassment drowned out by the sharp need to keep some grip on control — even as the realization sank in, deep and disorienting: you didn’t even know what room you were in. where you were. what was his, what wasn’t.

it made your skin prickle, made the instinct to fight back all the stronger.

“maybe i’m planning to suffocate you with it,” you shot back, fingers tightening on the pillow like it might give you some leverage.

sunghoon let out a quiet laugh, low and warm, the sound sliding under your skin. “you’d have to let me get close enough for that.”

your breath caught — just for a second — and he saw it. saw the spark behind your eyes, saw the fight in you, saw the way the bond dared both of you to see who would break first.

“try me.” you said, chin lifted, voice steady even as your pulse raced.

sunghoon’s gaze dropped to your throat, the flutter there like a beacon, and when his eyes met yours again, the hunger was buried deep, but not gone. 

“i didn’t think you’d survive this long with those symptoms,” sunghoon admitted, voice low, eyes sharp as he leaned back against the window frame, arms crossed.

you shifted, clutching the pillow tighter, refusing to break eye contact. “yeah, well, some sick vampire contaminated me and ran off without telling me.”

the corner of his mouth twitched — not a smile, more like a warning. “technically, you were the one who ran away.”

your jaw tightened, pulse racing in your throat, but you kept your voice level, biting. “yes, because you begged me to. almost demanded, actually”

the air between you crackled, thick enough to taste. his eyes darkened, crimson bleeding at the edges, the bond humming like a threat beneath your skin.

he straightened, slow, deliberate, every inch of him danger wrapped in control.

“are you mad i didn’t reach out?” sunghoon asked, voice dripping with smugness he didn’t quite feel, leaning just a little more into the tension like he was testing how far it would stretch. 

you shot him a look, sharp despite the haze still clouding your head. “i’m livid because i’m being kept hostage by my weird set of neighbors, and my brain keeps fogging up.”

your words hit like a slap and a challenge all at once, and sunghoon felt it — the flicker of guilt, the pulse of the bond, the pull to you that made his chest tight.

“i’m sorry about that night,” he said, voice lower now, rougher around the edges, trying to accommodate the new feeling of guilt. “that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

you didn’t miss a beat. your brow arched, that sharp edge in your voice cutting clean through the heavy air.

“what part? the part where you had an allergic reaction to me? or the part where you looked at me with murder on your mind and told me to get lost?”

“i wasn’t expecting to react like that. it wasn’t under my control.”

his voice was low, honest in a way that made the tension heavier, not lighter.

he meant it. you could see it in the way his eyes stayed on yours, steady, like he refused to look away this time. like he owed you that much.

you didn’t soften. not yet. your pride wouldn’t let you. but some part of you registered it — the way his words weren’t an excuse, just a truth laid bare.

“you didn’t scare me.”

sunghoon caught it — the faint waver in your voice, the crack you tried to hide but couldn’t. it hit him harder than it should’ve.

“i felt unsafe, but, somehow… deep down, i guess i knew what this was all along. i just didn’t want to admit it.”

your words hung in the air, raw, real, and sunghoon felt the bond hum like it agreed, like it had been waiting for you to say it out loud. 

his chest ached with the weight of it, the pull to you sharper now, more dangerous. he stepped closer, slow, eyes dark and unreadable.

“you know now,” he said quietly, and god, he wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a promise.

“in fact, i don’t,” you shot back, voice rough but steadier now, like saying it out loud gave you something to grip. “niki sucks at explaining and… i don’t think i believe in it. like, sure, vampires exist, fine. but why me? why would your — i don’t know, supernatural, whatever it is — choose me?”

the room felt too quiet after your words, the bond thrumming between you like it wanted to fill the space your doubt left behind.

sunghoon hesitated. for the first time in too long, he felt off-balance. on the spot. like you’d peeled him open without meaning to, like you’d asked the one question he couldn’t answer with confidence, with power.

he dragged a hand through his hair, eyes never leaving yours, pulse pounding loud in his ears.

god, you didn’t even realize it — how that crack in your armor, that small flicker of uncertainty, made you beautiful in a way that wrecked him.

he took a slow breath, words hard to find because everything in him screamed to close the distance instead, to show you what the bond was instead of explain it. but he forced himself still.

“i don’t know,” sunghoon said, voice low, like confession. “i’ve asked myself that every hour since it happened. why you. why now. but the bond doesn’t ask permission. it doesn’t care if it makes sense. it just... is.”

he saw your guard slip then — just for a breath, just enough for him to see the fear behind the sarcasm, the ache behind the fight.

and it made him want to protect you. it made him want to fall to his knees.

that was what rattled him most. because the instinct didn’t feel powerful — didn’t feel like the predator’s drive to claim or guard what was his. no, it felt fragile. human. it felt like weakness.

that need to shield you, to fix what had already unraveled, scraped at his pride. it unsettled him, hollowed him out in ways he didn’t expect. he wasn’t supposed to feel this raw, this exposed. 

sunghoon hated it. hated that you, without even meaning to, had made him feel like something breakable.

“niki said you felt it too… my symptoms. is it true? how is that possible?” you asked.

sunghoon leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, the cut of his frame sharp against the dim light filtering through the curtains. 

he watched you carefully, eyes dark, steady — too steady.

“yes. everything. lessened, of course, but i felt it.” his tone was steady, no softness, just facts. “i’m a vampire. human health issues usually don’t concern me the same way. but it was there. couldn’t ignore it if i tried.”

you stared at him, trying to piece it together, trying to find some logic in it.

“how is that possible?”

sunghoon noticed it then: how your gaze kept darting away, how you couldn’t hold his for more than ten seconds without your breath hitching, without your fingers tightening on the blanket like it might anchor you.

he exhaled slow. “the bond makes it possible. somehow, that night in the greenhouse... when you got too close, i marked you. my vampire did, at least. probably without me even realizing it, that’s how soulmates work with vampires. we don’t necessarily have souls so we imprint physically. that’s why you started getting sick after we parted ways. and after a few days... i fell ill too. but in different ways.”

you went quiet for a second, gaze flicking to the sheets, thoughtful.

“so... you don’t know why your vampire chose me? isn’t that you?”

he huffed a dry laugh, no humor in it. “yes. but it’s more complicated than that. i’m supernatural. i might’ve chosen you before you were even born. vampires don’t get a say once it happens. the bond just takes what it wants.”

you squinted at him, still processing, voice sharper now. “and what do you mean in different ways? did you really need to get out of seoul?”

sunghoon’s jaw ticked. “you think they sedated me for fun?” he shot back, gaze dark. “i couldn’t stay. it was that or rip through the city to get to you.”

the tension coiled again, heavy between you, your pulse loud in his head — and he hated how much he wanted to step closer.

“oh.” it slipped out of you, small, surprised — like you hadn’t meant to say it at all. like the weight of it was only just sinking in.

you didn’t even realize, not really. not yet. that you had him — the oldest, strongest vampire in seoul — under your fingertips without notice. that the bond had tied him to you so completely he hadn’t stood a chance. that you were probably the most powerful human in south korea in this moment.

and god, seeing that realization flicker in your eyes — seeing the power shift, even for a heartbeat — it did something to him.

“is it dangerous? like, for me?” the question caught him off guard. the shift in your tone, the crack of real fear beneath it — not hidden by sarcasm this time, not dulled by pride.

“what do you mean?”

he watched as you scrambled for words, saw the way you sat up straighter, trying to regain control, to feel less small. you pulled the blanket over your legs again like it might shield you from the weight of the truth.

“like… will i die? do i have a chance?”

and fuck, sunghoon felt it hit him, deep and sharp — that sudden, violent urge to hand you the world, to promise you safety, to strip the fear out of your voice. 

it stole his breath, knocked him sideways in a way he didn’t need, didn’t expect. it made him grimace inside, made him hate the part of himself that wanted so badly to reach out.

“no. not necessarily.” he answered.

“what kind of answer is that?”

for a moment, he saw it — that fire again, your bite slipping back through the cracks of your panic. it hit him like a jolt, familiar and grounding, and god, he liked it too much.

“i’m trying not to go into cardiac arrest here, sunghoon, so i’d appreciate a little honesty. this—” your voice wavered, and suddenly your gaze dropped, like anywhere but his eyes was safer. “this whole thing is too much for me. it’s too… i don’t know. i’m not even sure this isn’t a cult yet, and niki is so smug it pisses me off, and you... you piss me off as well.”

he should’ve smirked at that, maybe. teased you. but not now. not when you sounded like you were about to snap apart at the seams.

“i’m a human. i’m twenty-three. i’m about to start college next month.” your voice was tight, but steady. “us humans don’t simply do soulmates. that’s not even a topic in our heads to begin with actually.”

sunghoon stayed where he was, watching you, feeling the bond hum between you like a thread pulling tighter with every word.

“you have to give me more than that,” you added, eyes fierce despite the crack in your breath. “if you don’t want me sprinting out of this room the second i see the opportunity, you need to be honest with me. please.”

and god, that fire in you — that stubborn refusal to just let the bond dictate the terms — it made sunghoon want you more.

“you won’t die, y/n,” he said, voice firmer now, steady in a way that surprised even him. “not if you accept the bond.”

your head snapped up, eyes blazing with frustration.

“and what the fuck does that mean?”

“it means you’ll become mine,” sunghoon said, voice low, but fierce now, no space left for pretense, no softness to soften the blow. “it means we are bound. that our biology, our instincts — they’re tied together for the rest of our lives. no reset, no undoing it. that’s what the bond is. that’s what you are.”

his eyes burned into yours, crimson at the edges, sharp and unflinching.

“you’re my human now. whether you like it or not.”

there was no threat in his voice — just truth. raw, inevitable, undeniable. and god, he hated how much his vampire nature meant it.

he saw it — that flicker in your eyes, sharp and startled, recognition hitting before you could stop it.

“mine?” your voice was tight. “like… forever? does that mean i’m turning into one of you?” the room felt smaller, the bond thrumming louder, daring him to say yes, to claim it. but sunghoon just held your gaze, steady, unblinking.

“no,” he said. “not unless you choose it. but either way — you’ll be bound to me. and i’ll be bound to you.”

his words hung heavy in the air, as inevitable as the pull between you.

“are you fucking joking right now?” you blurted, panic edging into disbelief. “like—why are you describing marriage? is that what you’re saying? what do you mean i’m yours?” he saw you spiral, “oh my god, i’m too young for marriage!”

sunghoon blinked, dead serious, but the corner of his mouth twitched — just once. because god, watching you spiral, watching you throw sarcasm at something so much bigger than either of you, was maybe the first thing that had made him want to laugh in days.

“it’s not marriage,” he said, but there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice now, like he couldn’t help it. “no vows. no rings. no cake. unless you want one, i guess.”

you stared at him, horrified. “i can’t be yours, that is not even legal! are you guys traffickers? do you think this is funny?”

his expression stayed composed, but his eyes glinted red at the edges, like the bond was just as entertained by you as he was.

“a little,” he admitted. “you’re cute when you panic. but no, we’re not traffickers… not human traffickers at least.”

and that, of course, only made it worse.

“what the fuck is wrong with you? this is serious!” you were full-on spiraling now, voice rising, eyes wide, practically vibrating with outrage. you shoved the blanket off like it offended you, like it was part of the problem — and in doing so, revealed the most tragically adorable blue bear pajamas sunghoon had ever seen.

his jaw clenched, fighting the urge to laugh. god, he wanted to. the sight of you, fuming, tiny blue bears marching angrily across your legs, made the tension snap in his chest in a way that almost felt good.

“why would you do this to me?!” you demanded, throwing your arms up. “this isn’t funny! you have to stop it! i can’t get married to someone i don’t know.”

sunghoon pressed his lips together, trying to look serious, but his eyes betrayed him — shining with barely contained amusement.

“believe me,” he said, voice tight from holding in the laugh, “if i could stop it, i would have already, doll.”

and that — that — made your glare sharpen like a blade, which, of course, only made it harder for him to keep the grin off his face.

you stormed toward him, blue bear pajama pants swishing like you meant business, fists clenched, fury radiating off you in waves. you stopped right in front of him, chest heaving, and it hit him — the scent of you, raw and real and his, filling his lungs like the first breath after drowning. 

god, you were so close. closer than you’d ever been with his head clear, with the bond thrumming clean through him, no suppressant dulling the edges.

he breathed you in like his favorite sin, his favorite kind of ruin, and for just a second, it almost soothed him. 

almost.

but you weren’t soothed — you were collapsing, unraveling, right in front of him.

“there has to be a way!” you snapped, hands flying up in frustration. “you said you didn’t even choose me — why would you want this? oh my god, you don’t even want this, do you?! this is serious! doesn’t vampires have moral compasses?”

sunghoon’s lips parted, caught between trying to answer and trying not to laugh at the pure chaos of you.

“niki said you were strong,” you fired, voice pitching up with frustration, hands thrown wide like you couldn’t believe you were even having to say this. “why don’t you do something?!”

sunghoon just stood there, leaning back slightly against the window, watching the storm that was you unraveling in front of him, blue bear pajamas and all, and damn — he couldn’t look away.

“i… we… we don’t even know each other!” you kept going, breath quick, cheeks flushed with heat, eyes blazing like you might actually hit him if he didn’t say something useful. “i don’t even know if i like you at all! you just made me feel nauseous for fourteen days straight!”

he raised both brows, finally letting the grin tug at the corner of his mouth, slow and infuriating.

“yeah,” he said, voice low, full of that dangerous calm that only made everything feel more charged. “great first impression, huh?”

“what are you on about? this is serious!” you shouted, voice cracking at the edges, furious — like a kid who couldn’t contain the storm of emotions building up inside you.

and god, sunghoon found it cute. again. too cute for his own good. 

the way you glared up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with that fire, small fists clenched at your sides — it shouldn’t have made him want to smirk. it shouldn’t have made the bond hum even louder between you, tugging him closer. 

he tilted his head slightly, watching you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen in centuries.

“you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he said, voice smooth, deadly calm, and so amused it made your blood boil hotter.

“why are you acting like this is nothing?” you snapped, exasperated, fists clenched at your sides.

“doll,” he said, low and sure, “we don’t show our emotions like humans do. but yes, i chose you. yes, it’s not practical but i want this. my vampire does. there’s that.”

his words hung heavy in the air, final, like it was as simple as breathing to him — and yet, you could feel it in the bond, humming beneath his voice, how much it meant.

sunghoon stepped around you, slow and measured, letting the tension ease just enough to breathe as he crossed to the dresser. he tugged a drawer open, pulling out a towel, running it through his still-damp hair like it gave his hands something to do besides reach for you.

when he turned back, you were exactly where he’d left you — standing there, small in your fury, blue bears and all, unmoved. it almost made him smirk again. almost. 

but then he felt it.

the bond tugged at him, subtle at first — then sharper, clearer, like a thread pulled too tight at the corner of his mind, behind his right ear where the bond always whispered loudest. and this time, it wasn’t panic. wasn’t anger.

it was sadness.

deep and quiet and raw. it hit him harder than your shouting ever had.

he let the towel fall over his shoulder, his stance softening as he looked at you.

“hey,” he said, voice low, steady, something gentler threading through it now. “i know it’s a lot right now. i’ve been a vampire for longer than i was human. i’ve seen bonds… but bonds don’t have to be the end of it. we can make an arrangement if that’s what you want.”

he took a step closer, slow, deliberate, careful not to crowd you.

“we could start off as friends, get to know each other first.” god, saying it felt strange on his tongue — but he meant it. meant it more than anything else he’d said tonight.

“you don’t get it, do you? this is not normal, not for me.” you turned on him, voice rising, and sunghoon stilled. 

because this wasn’t just anger now — he saw it, clear as day. the shine in your eyes, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands shook like you didn’t know where to put them. you were on the verge of breaking.

“i’m young,” you said, voice cracking, “and i don’t even know you. i found you hot at first but that was it! you could be a criminal for all i know!”

sunghoon felt the bond thrum painfully at that — like it didn’t want to hear you say it, like it ached at the distance you were putting between you.

he exhaled slow, trying not to let the pull drag him too close, trying not to touch what he wanted so badly to protect. 

trying not to tease you for the fact you just admitted you had found him hot.

“i know it’s a lot,” sunghoon said, voice calm, steady, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of a storm. “that’s why we’re coming up with a plan first. jungwon will help me and i won’t force you to do anything, doll.”

“stop calling me that.” you snapped, arms crossing tight over your chest, cheeks warm with frustration. “you don’t know me so you don’t get nickname privileges.”

sunghoon smirked, slow, infuriating.

“it suits you.”

you scowled, chin jutting up. “we’re not in the 50s anymore, you oldie.”

“still,” he said, eyes gleaming as he leaned back against the dresser, watching you like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen in centuries. “it suits you.”

you huffed, pouting, glaring at him, but it only made your cheeks glow hotter, and he had to fight the urge to laugh again.

“whatever,” you grumbled, arms crossed tight, trying to mask the flood of panic and confusion behind the usual bite in your voice. “what’s the plan? who is jungwon? are you sure y’all aren’t in a cult?”

sunghoon actually laughed — a low, rich sound that filled the room and made your stomach flip in a way you refused to admit.

“jungwon’s our leader,” he said, straightening up from where he leaned, his eyes still glinting with that amused edge. “he is the only one who has royal blood so he runs the coven. keeps us in line. keeps the city quiet. you’ve already met him.”

he crossed the room, slow, controlled, like he didn’t want to spook you.

“and no, we’re not a cult,” he added, voice smoother now. “seonghyeon jaega’s our building — our territory. this penthouse? this is the coven. where we stay. where we keep things… contained.”

he stopped a few feet from you, watching you like he could see every thought racing through your head.

“you’re safe here. even if you don’t believe it yet.”

“and what am i doing here?” you demanded, frustration flaring as your arms crossed tighter. “why didn’t y’all bring me to the hospital first?”

sunghoon’s gaze darkened, serious now, the amusement fading. “human medics don’t know how to cure a bond illness,” he said, voice even, firm. “you’re safer here, closer to me.”

he stepped closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that the weight of his presence filled the space between you.

“you should be here for the next few days,” he added, gaze steady on yours. “until we both stabilize.”

and the way he said it, like it was fact, like it was final — it made the air feel heavier, made your heart race despite yourself.

“i’m stable. i feel fine. i won't let you keep me here forever,” you snapped, chin high, defiance burning through the confusion.

sunghoon’s jaw flexed, his patience thinning just enough for it to show. “you’re only stable because i’m here, doll,” he said, voice still smooth but edged now, the bond’s tension starting to wear at him.

he took a slow breath, forcing himself calm, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unblinking. “your soul is satisfied — it’s making space for the bond. that’s why you’re not feeling hungry even though you haven’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.”

you froze for half a beat, thrown off, then scowled. “i— how do you know that?!” you sputtered, crossing your arms tighter like it might shield you from the truth of it. “and i’m hungry! you’re wrong!”

sunghoon’s grin was slow, knowing, and infuriating. “sure you are, sweetheart.”

and god, that only made you glare harder, which made him want to smirk more.

“i don’t believe in you,” you fired off, hands thrown up in exasperation, pacing now like you might actually bolt for the door. “y’all dress like mafia leaders from the 20s! how do i know this isn’t some national trafficking scam? i’ll call the police!”

sunghoon blinked, then actually laughed — a deep, sharp sound that filled the room and only made you glare harder.

“you’re welcome to try,” he said, smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “but i don’t think your cops are trained for this kind of problem.”

he gestured between you, calm, composed, the glint in his eyes dark and amused.

“if you want to, i can show you the bond,” sunghoon said, his voice low, a challenge hidden beneath the calm. “this ‘soulmate’ thing you don’t believe in.”

he took one more step closer, slow and sure, close enough that you could feel the weight of him, the air between you charged, heavy. he looked down at you, and god, that height difference — it made you look even cuter to him, made his restraint pull tight like a leash.

one brow arched, daring you to call his bluff, daring you to look at him and say you weren’t curious.

“go on,” you shot back, voice sharp, chin high, a dare in your eyes that you hoped masked the way your heart pounded. “prove yourself right. i doubt you can prove this is anything but bullshit.”

sunghoon’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. “are you sure?”

you hesitated — just for a second — and that was enough for him to take a step back and look you in the eyes.

“i’m going to show you,” he said, voice lower now, rich, steady, like he was explaining something inevitable. “this is serious, doll. i’m not going to hurt you. i swear i won’t drink your blood. but i can prove the bond. just… trust me, for a second, ok?”

“i don’t trust you,” you snapped, taking a step back so you could breathe better. sunghoon sees you crossing your arms tight over your chest, trying to ignore how your breath hitched. “pick something else.”

“this is the easiest way you’ll feel it,” he said, soft but firm, gaze locked on yours, voice steady like he wasn’t asking — like it was just fact.

“that’s what evil vampires would say in a situation like this.” you shot back, eyes wide, taking half a step back, pointing at him like it might stop him. “i’m not letting you get near my precious neck, weirdo.”

sunghoon’s lips twitched, that smirk threatening again. “evil vampires?”

“yes!” you snapped, crossing your arms, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “you and your friends are evil! find another way, dracula.”

“trust me,” sunghoon said, stepping closer, voice low, smooth, but edged with amusement now. “this is the safest way to show you, doll. you don’t want to know the other ways i have in store.”

your mouth dropped open, scandalized, and your cheeks flamed hot.

“creep!” you barked, backing up until the bed hit the backs of your knees. “we’re not married yet! stop your pervert thoughts right there!”

sunghoon let out a low laugh, sharp and genuine, eyes gleaming.

“yet? are you considering marrying me already?” sunghoon teased, the grin tugging at his lips pure trouble. “we didn’t even exchange blood yet, doll.”

your jaw dropped, horror and fury mixing as your hands flew up in defense.

“exchange what?! you must be out of your goddamn mind if you think i’m letting you do that!”

sunghoon laughed, low and smooth, leaning just slightly closer, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“i’m joking,” he said, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “you’re so easy to rile up.”

“you’re an evil vampire!” you hissed, cheeks burning, pointing at him like it was an accusation. “just like your friends! i’ll call the police, i swear!”

he smirked wider, crossing his arms, watching you like you were the most fun he’d had in centuries.

“we won’t exchange blood, i swear,” sunghoon said, voice low, trying to sound reassuring — but that glint in his eyes gave him away. “not yet, at least.”

“you’re crazy!” you shot back, practically vibrating with outrage, your heart racing so loud he could feel it.

he took one slow, deliberate step closer, tilting his head, gaze locked on yours.

“don’t you want me to prove it to you?” he murmured, the bond thrumming between you like it was daring you to say no. “can’t you trust me for a second?”

and god, the way he said it made it so much harder to breathe.

“you have to promise me you won’t kill me,” you demanded, arms crossed, trying to sound firm, though your voice betrayed a flicker of nerves.

sunghoon’s smirk softened just enough, eyes dark but steady.

“sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping lower, rich with truth and something that made the air feel too tight, “killing you might do me more bad than good. trust me.”

and for a second, the weight of that honesty settled between you, thick and undeniable.

finally, with a huff, you gave a small, reluctant nod. “fine. but if you bite me, i swear—”

“i won’t,” he promised.

sunghoon took a slow, measured step closer to the bed, the tension in the room tightening with every inch that closed between you.

your blue bear pajamas shifted as you shifted — small, unconscious movements that gave you away. your fingers clutched at the blanket behind you, your legs drew in just slightly, like you could make yourself smaller, like you could hide the way his nearness made your nerves fray.

he noticed everything. the quickened breath. the way your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, like you couldn’t decide where the real danger was.

sunghoon bent down, slow, measured, his hand lifting to gently brush your hair back, fingers grazing your cheek, sending shivers racing down your spine. his palm cradled your jaw, tilting your head just so, exposing that spot — the spot — the one that had haunted him from the first day in the greenhouse.

his breath was warm, his face so close now you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the flicker of crimson in his eyes. you felt the air shift, felt the bond hum louder, felt something inside your chest crack open.

before his teeth even touched you, your knees buckled — the rush of heat, of emotion, hit you so fast, so hard, you couldn’t hold it back. the sound slipped out of you, soft, helpless, half a gasp, half a moan, shocking even yourself.

your eyes widened, the reaction catching you off guard, and your hands shot up, circling his wrists where they cradled your jaw, as if grounding yourself, as if stopping him.

“wait,” your voice came out strained, shaky with the weight of it all.

sunghoon froze, hands loosening instantly, letting you breathe. but he didn’t step back. he couldn’t. the tension between you was too thick, the bond too loud, the way your combined scents filled the room too much — sweet and sharp and addictive.

he looked at you, really looked — and saw the tears in your eyes, saw the overwhelmed flicker of confusion and something deeper.

“what was that?” you whispered, looking up at him.

he shook his head, voice low, honest. “i didn’t do anything yet, doll.”

you seemed embarrassed, nodding, trying to pull yourself back together, hands still trembling slightly where they touched him.

“i’m not going to force you,” sunghoon said, voice softer now, but the weight of the bond still thick in it. “this is just so you can see—”

“no, it’s okay,” you cut in, breath unsteady but resolve flickering in your eyes. “just... just go slower this time. i wasn’t... i wasn’t prepared.”

he nodded, steadying himself, steadying you, and leaned in, slower this time, as the air between you all but vibrated with what came next.

his hands cradled your face once again, cool and steady, his thumbs brushing your cheeks so lightly it sent a shiver down your spine. he bent, slow, deliberate, the sheer height of him folding toward you, his breath ghosting warm against your skin. 

the scent of him wrapped around you — clean, sharp, something dark and sweet that made your head swim. 

every inch of space between you disappeared as his lips hovered at your neck, the heat of him, the weight of him, the bond thrumming so loud it felt like your heart beat with his.

this time, it wasn’t any different. your knees buckled before you could stop it, before your mind could catch up, before you even realized you’d started to give in. the rush of heat, of emotion, of him so close — it stole your breath, made the room tilt, made your body betray you all over again.

sunghoon caught you before you fell, his arm sliding around your waist, holding you up, his lips ghosting the skin of your neck.

and then he nipped — just a brush of his incisors, no pressure, no break of skin.

the connection slammed into you like a wave. your body melted against his for a heartbeat before panic seized you.

you stumbled back, breathless, almost collapsing onto the edge of the bed as your hands pushed against his chest, desperate to put space between you. your fingers flew up to your neck, wide-eyed, stunned, your chest heaving.

“what was that? what did you do?” you gasped, voice high with panic, your hands checking your skin like you expected to feel blood, like you couldn’t believe what had just happened.

but when you saw nothing — no bite, no mark, just the burn of where his breath had touched — sunghoon straightened, watching you, chest rising and falling, his own pulse hammering harder than he wanted to admit.

“i told you,” he said, voice low, steady, but his eyes burned with everything he wasn’t saying.

“no...” you shook your head, still holding your neck like it might stop the feeling that still tingled down your spine. “that’s sorcery! you’re a witch!”

if sunghoon weren’t fighting for his life right now — fighting to steady his breath, to rein in the hunger clawing at his ribs, to clear his head after the littlest taste of your skin — he would have laughed. god, he wanted to. 

because the look on your face, the panic, the way you clutched your neck like it might save you from him, from the bond, from everything between you, was too much. too human. 

too you.

“that’s the bond,” he said, voice rough with the weight of it. “no sorcery, doll.”

“why… you can’t do this to me!” you blurted out, voice shaking, breath ragged, hands still guarding your neck like it could shield you from the heat still rushing through your veins. “never again, you hear me? you can’t do this to me ever again.”

sunghoon just stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and locked on yours, the bond humming loud in his ears, louder than your words. he wanted to answer, wanted to promise, but god — he didn’t trust what would come out of his mouth if he opened it.

“do you believe me now?” sunghoon said after a minute, voice low, rough around the edges, still catching his breath. his eyes burned into yours, dark and unrelenting. “it’s out of our control, y/n. the more you fight it, the more insane you’ll become.”

he took a slow breath, steadying himself, gaze softening just enough to show he meant it.

“trust me,” he added, jaw tight. “i know.”

you were too stunned to respond, lips parted like a word might come, but nothing did. your mind was racing, but the storm inside you left you lost, grasping for something solid. 

sunghoon watched, silent, seeing it all — the confusion clouding your eyes, the way your breath came too fast, the way your hands still cradled your neck like you could hold yourself together.

you sank down onto the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, gaze distant, like you couldn’t quite focus on anything in the room. emotions rolled off you in waves — panic, disbelief, anger, fear — and beneath it all, the bond thrumming loud between you.

if he was being honest, sunghoon wasn’t any different, not really. his pulse still raced, his senses still burned with the memory of your skin, your scent. but he held it in, forced himself still. this — this was harder for you. 

he knew how this was everything for you.

he wasn’t human anymore, hadn’t been for longer than he’d lived as one. but he’d existed alongside them long enough to know this moment: the collapse of what you thought was real, the weight of a new truth crashing in. he knew what it could do to someone. and he knew now wasn’t the time to push.

quietly, he stooped to pick up the towel that had fallen from his shoulder earlier, fingers curling around the fabric. his gaze stayed on you as he approached, slow, careful, the tension in the room still thick, but his steps light, measured.

you didn’t look up — not yet. just sat there at the edge of the bed, small in the storm, and sunghoon, for once, just wanted to ease it.

he stood right in front of you, towering over your small, shaken frame, the tension between you still thick in the air. his eyes searched your face, dark and unreadable, but his hand was steady as he offered you the towel.

“are you okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, almost careful.

you didn’t answer right away. your hands stayed at your neck, fingers hovering where his lips had brushed your skin, as if you could still feel the ghost of him there. sunghoon waited — waited for your breath to steady, waited for your heart to slow, waited for you.

finally, your hands fell from your neck, and you looked up at him — those big, wide, tear-glossed eyes meeting his.

“i don’t have a choice, do i?” your voice came out small, barely above a whisper, trembling at the edges. “if we don’t… stay next to each other forever, i’ll start getting ill again, won’t i?”

you still sat on the edge of the bed, blue bear pajamas rumpled, hair a mess from sleeping since noon. vulnerable in a way that made something in sunghoon’s dead chest ache, tugging at parts of him he didn’t know he had left.

“yes,” he said, reluctant, but honest. you deserved that much. and god, he didn’t know why, but lying to you didn’t feel like something he could do. not now. maybe not ever. “we don’t need to imprint, not right away. but it’ll become unbearable at some point.”

he hesitated, the weight of it pressing down on him, before adding, softer, like the words cost him something.

“i’m sorry.”

“did you know it?” you asked, voice still small but steadier now, curiosity breaking through the fear. you looked up at him, eyes searching his face like you might catch him in a lie. “like… from the start? since you handed me my email that first day?”

sunghoon hesitated, just for a breath — the first flicker of uncertainty in him since this all began. his gaze dropped for a second, jaw tight, then he nodded slowly.

“that day… i didn’t pay much attention,” he admitted, voice low, honest in a way that made your chest tighten. “you were the first human i’d talked to in years. i thought— i hoped— it was a normal reaction.”

he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes dark and steady when they met yours again.

“but that first day in the greenhouse? yeah. i guess i knew it from there.”

saying it out loud made everything more real — too real. the words felt heavier in the air, as if they anchored the bond between you, made it undeniable, unescapable. sunghoon still gripped the towel, fingers tight around the fabric like it might steady him, like the simple, human gesture might remind him how to breathe.

he watched you, eyes dark, unreadable, but something stirred beneath — an emotion he couldn’t name, foreign and unwelcome, but there all the same.

then, without warning, you stood up — sudden, fierce, no more confusion in your gaze. your head nearly knocked his chin, the motion so quick, so sure it startled him.

sunghoon instinctively took a few steps back, towel still in hand, heart racing faster than it should, pulse loud in his ears. and for a breath, the space between you felt like it might ignite.

“you suck at explaining things,” you snapped, eyes blazing now, all that confusion burned off in the heat of your frustration. “and you are banned from breathing next to me for the next week, you hear me?”

sunghoon blinked, stunned for half a second at the shift, then the corner of his mouth twitched — because just like that, your fire was back. 

he held up the towel between you like a peace offering, smirk threatening at the edge of his lips.

“noted, doll,” he said, voice low, amused. “i’ll try my best. but no promises.”

“no, you don’t get it. i mean it,” you fired back, jabbing a finger at him like it might keep him at bay. “you have to be at least two steps away from me. always. do you understand?”

sunghoon raised a brow, watching you with that infuriating calm that only made your blood boil hotter.

“no smirks. no eyes. no flirting. no saying hard words to make me confused. no talking about blood exchange, and absolutely no touching my neck. that is a no-no zone!”

he stood there, towel still in hand, trying — really trying — not to let the smirk win this time.

“got it,” he said, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “no-no zone. two steps. no smirks. no eyes. seems manageable.”

he crossed his arms and looked at you.

“does that mean you accept staying here until we manage an arrangement?” sunghoon asked, voice careful, though that glint of amusement hadn’t entirely left his eyes.

you crossed your arms imitating him, glaring up at him like you were daring him to push his luck.

“it means i need rules because you are all evil vampires,” you shot back. “i'm not accepting anything. we’re just… we’re just having sleepovers for the next week. that’s it. because i might be scared, but if i throw up first thing in the morning one more day, i think i’m going to collapse.”

sunghoon watched you, fighting the smirk again, towel still forgotten in his hand.

“sure,” he said, voice low, giving you that small victory. “your calls.” he cleared his throat before continuing. “if you’re so compliant, then i’ll show you around later,” sunghoon said, that familiar, maddening calm back in his voice. “right now? i can see you need a shower.”

he offered the towel again, holding it out like it was a peace offering. again.

your mouth dropped open, scandalized. “are you saying i stink?! how dare you!”

sunghoon just raised a brow, gaze steady, lips twitching, this close to letting the laugh out.

you snatched the towel from him anyway, muttering under your breath, cheeks burning hot as you turned, clutching it like it was a shield.

“unbelievable,” you grumbled, stomping toward the doorway. and just because you couldn’t resist — because it was you — you threw a final jab over your shoulder. “you stink too!”

sunghoon’s smirk deepened, watching you go, that unshaken calm still in place, but the glint in his eye said it all — he was enjoying every second of this.

you slowed at the door, frustration giving way to genuine curiosity, brows furrowing as you glanced back at him. you didn’t even know if that door actually led to his bathroom — god, you hoped it did.

because if you had to turn around now, if you had to ask or worse, walk past him again, the embarrassment might actually finish you off faster than the bond ever could.

“how do you guys even shower?” you asked, voice edged but sincere. “also, why does everything here smell good? why are you being nice? don’t you guys like… murder people?”

sunghoon let out a low laugh, dark and amused, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.

“you're asking a lot of questions for someone who just accused me of stinking,” he said, but his tone was light, almost fond.

and that smell you were so enchanted by? that was him. you just didn’t know it. being near him made the air shift like that — warmer, sweeter, like everything was touched by him. but he wasn’t ready to tease you about it. 

not yet.

“and we feed blood. not necessarily murder people. don’t let the stereotypes blind you, doll.”

you stared at him for a beat, mouth opening like you had one more comeback loaded — but then you huffed, spun on your heel, and stormed off toward the bathroom.

“fine. whatever. i need that shower anyway,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, clutching the towel like it was your last shred of dignity.

sunghoon watched you go, the door clicking shut behind you. a low laugh slipped out, quiet and genuine, shaking his head at the chaos you left in your wake.

but as the quiet settled over the room, the amusement faded, replaced by something deeper — heavier.

that pull on his chest returned, sharp, immediate, the bond’s hum louder now that you were out of sight. it was stupid, it was irrational, it was everything he hated about this.

but god, he felt it. the hollow ache of not having you in the room. and the worst part? he already knew — he’d feel it every time you left.

sunghoon exhaled, slow, raking a hand through his hair, and braced himself. because this was only the beginning. 

and he knew — god, he knew — how it would only get harder and harder to not have you around now that you’d both stopped fighting it.

you hadn’t said it out loud yet, hadn’t given him the words, but he could feel it all the same. 

the burn behind his ear, that constant, maddening thrum of the bond, didn’t sting as sharp as before.

what did that mean? it meant you were willing to try. to stay. to give this a chance, even if you didn’t know it yet.

for now, that was enough.

for now, sunghoon would be content with that.

author's note: i LOVE to write desperate and helpless men can you guys tell. and let's pretend he didn't took six showers in this chapter ok. reblogs and comments are appreciated! if this sucks like i feel it does, pls keep it to yourself, all of my back pain was poured onto this. send me a request • my masterpost

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[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Three

Oswald Cobblepot - The Penguin POV

Oswald sat with his men surrounding him as he watched the latest show performing at the Iceberg Lounge.

It was the new rogue.

They were singing some theatrical, eccentric song that had them throwing roses at the both the ladies and gentlemen watching. It even grabbed one of the pole dancers and pulled her into the performance too. They’d spun the girl around until she was wearing something straight out of the sixties. A knee-length dress in the same yellow as the stars on the rogue’s suit. Speaking of the newbie, they were wearing a navy blue three-piece with those baby yellow stars. Now, Oswald could respect a person who wore perfectly tailored suits. He may despise the Joker and tolerate the Riddler, but hey, what’s the harm in looking good while doing crime…

…or singing in Oswald’s club.

Oswald watched them dance with the girl across the stage.

Somehow the girl knew the choreography as well?

She seemed as confused as Oswald when she and the green-faced freak started dancing in sync. Perfectly.

Now, as for why the newbie was even performing in his club. Oswald would like to take a trip down memory lane for that…

//Flashback…//

It had been about thirty minutes before the opening of his club. Bartenders were clocking in and getting their stations ready, girls were getting dolled up and doing stretches, and the muscles of his fine establishment were taking their places around and inside the building. It was normal. What wasn’t normal was that Oswald was even here in the first place.

See, Black Mask, the human equivalent of shit stuck to the bottom of shoe, wanted to talk partnerships. As for why? Oswald didn’t particularly care. They’d both tried to kill each other in the past, it’d be difficult to mend that relationship even with all the money in the world. But, the mighty, gracious Penguin, in all his guts and glory decided to humor him.

Besides, if negotiations went to shit, he could always have the man shot in the back of the head.

They were going to talk. In Oswald’s lounge. In Oswald’s turf. That was the plan. It’d even remained the plan after the new rogue strolled in like they owned the place, immediately bee-lining it to Oswald. One of his men immediately got in the rogue’s way but ended up with an anvil dropped on his head. They kept walking until they stood in front of him.

“Pots! Just the man I wanted to see!”

“What do you want?” Oswald growled, thumbing his umbrella.

“I want to sing.” They said, placing their hands on their hips.

A small silent filled the building.

“What?” Oswald asked, confused more than anything. He blinked and suddenly the newbie was right next to him, a hand on his shoulder while the other waves towards the stage.

“Think about it! I get to entertain, you get entertainment, and if things happen to go south and I… I don’t know, accidentally blow someone up—”

Oswald cut them off. “Again, what?”

They kept lm talking as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “—I have some spare cash lying around for reimbursement! I’ve been meaning to get rid of it anyways.”

That made him perk up slightly. Cash for reimbursement. Oswald supposed he could just saw the scuffs on the floor count. “Is it dirty money?”

“The dirtiest. I… acquired it just this past week.”

“The bank robbery.”

“Correctamundo, my short friend.”

“Short?” Saying that to Oswald’s face was bold. His hands itched for his umbrella. He’d love to fill this tall freak with holes. Because admittedly, they were tall. Those news reports did this thing no justice.

“You are to me! Though I suppose I could just—” The green feller’s hands went under Oswald’s arms. Immediately every one of Oswald’s men had their guns trained on them. They paid the guns no mind. Instead of picking the him up like Oswald expected, everyone watched as his torso elongated with the higher they pulled until his hands eventually left him. “There, now we’re eye to eye.” The newbie said, though they sounded like they were about to laugh.

It reminded him of that bastard clown.

“What the hell did you do to me!?” Oswald yelled. He looked ridiculous, proportions all wrong. His arms and legs remained the same, and certainly too short for this new body.

“You don’t like it?” They asked with that damned grin.

“No! Of bloody course not!” That seemed to seal Oswald’s fate as he felt his body go tense like a rubber band then snap back. His own face hit his knees as he up and bopped the hell out of his nose. His body then moved up and down rapidly for a moment, each movement being accompanied by the sound of an accordion?

He was going to kill whichever arsehole had the cobblers to pull that with him—

The green-faced freak started to full on belly-laugh in his face. He didn’t even need to tell his men to fire before they did, not that it’d do much. Reports say that they were bulletproof but…

No crushed bullets were falling to the floor.

When Oswald finally stopped being a human accordion, the newbie had stopped laughing and the guns had stopped firing. Though, they were still standing. If the bullets weren’t on the ground, where were they?

“Ah… man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in a while!” They exclaimed. “I think I need a drink.” They pulled a drink out of nowhere and obnoxiously sipped from the straw. Everyone watched as liquid, probably soda, spurted out of multiple small holes. “Well, this was fun, Pots, but I got places to be, people to see, and a Jarritos fruit punch waiting for me at the nearest gas station. See ya later!” With that, they literally spun out of the club.

//…Flashback End//

So here they were now. Black Mask was to show up any minute and the newbie was still singing like there was no tomorrow.

That is, until the lights suddenly shut off. The entire lounge went black until a light illuminated from the stage. Specifically from the new rogue’s stars on their suit. Their hand was on a cord leading from their fedora. Oswald hadn’t noticed it before. Was it supposed to be a lamp cord?

The emergency power turned back on eventually. Oswald watched them tug the cord again, the stars stopped glowing. There he was.

The bitch of the hour.

Black Mask.

He rolled over to Oswald, men behind him. Always with the damn dramatic entrances. And he wonders why no one likes him.

Bruce Wayne - Batman - Two Hours Before Penguin and c c Mask’s Deal POV

An hour before sundown, Bruce gathered everyone into the Batcave. They needed to go over the newest rogue as a group. He wouldn’t have any of his children getting hurt by this… monster? It certainly wasn’t human, that’s for sure.

The imp theory is still possible.

First, he played the video from his lenses of the unidentified individual’s interaction with the Riddler.

“They look so snazzy! Why do all the colourful people have to be evil?” Stephanie said from next to Jason. The man grunted, looked a mix between disturbed and angered. Bruce didn’t blame him. This rogue bore a good chunk of similarities to the Joker. The smile, some of the personality, the green. Though, at least it isn’t a cheerful psychopath in the same way that Joker is. It doesn’t do anything harmful besides property damage, wedgies, and theft. And it steals a lot.

Bruce can count a piece of a billboard with his own face on it, a fruit punch Jarritos, bank money, and even a kid’s lollipop. There’s more, but the list would be longer than Gotham’s Clocktower.

“It has quite the appetite.” Tim murmured. “Invulnerability?” He questioned Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “It seems so. That amongst the abilities to turn itself into a human tornado as well as pull objects from seemingly nowhere.”

“Human cartoon.” Cass’ raspy voice whispered.

A human cartoon indeed.

It eventually got to the part where both Bruce and Damian cornered them in an alleyway. They’d walked into one after growing bored forcing people to tap dance to their will.

Right from the start, the fight had been embarrassing for the dynamic duo.

To begin with, Robin slashed at them with one of his katanas. It didn’t so much as graze them, yet the back of their hand still dramatically touched their forehead and they stumbled around almost a drunkenly as if actually wounded. “Oh! I’ve been hit!” They eventually stumbled to fall into Damian’s arms, ignoring the grunt from the younger boy. “What am I to tell my wife? My children! That their parent can’t come home from this cruel, horrible world?” Damian of course paid it no and cuffed the fellow.

“He even cuffs me on my grave!”

“Stop being dramatic.” Damian bit out, probably rolling his eyes under his domino mask.

“Oh, Robin, are you always such a little fun-sucker?” When everyone blinked, the cuffs suddenly clattered against the grimy floor of the alleyway and Robin was having his own cape tied around him while being shoved to the ground.

“Little twerp.” They gritted out. Voice doing that same similar thing to Joker where it goes from cheerful to rough and deeper, full of annoyance.

Bruce watched Jason bristle at that out of the corner of his eye.

The Bruce on screen in the jab at the back of their head before Robin even hit the ground, yet as soon as everyone blinked again, Bruce was having his own cape tied around him and pushed to the ground. And it was a push. He was right that night. It was considerably lighter than the one aimed towards Robin.

They stood over Bruce as the man struggled, grin seeming lifeless. He doubted it could make any expression other than that grin. “What? You thought I didn’t know you were watching me when I was talking with Eddie-boy?”

They flicked their wrist in a similar manner to when they had still been talking to the Riddler. Sure enough, a cane slid out. “The big. Bad. Bat.” it punctuated each sentence with a jab from the cane into Bruce’s side. “Swaddled like a baby!” It barked out a laugh. Another blink and suddenly Bruce was actually being swaddled like a baby and rocked in the rogue’s arms. “I’ll admit you make for a cute, albeit grumpy one.”

Bruce felt Duke’s gaze slowly slide to him. “…why’d you start sucking the pacifier?”

“It made me.”

“Did it?”

“It did.” Bruce emphasized this time.

Soon after that, the video ended, and everybody started to get suited up for patrol. Bruce was about to put on his cowl when he suddenly got a call. He grabbed his phone and looked at the contact.

It was from Constantine.

Constantine never calls. Not really. Not unless it’s something important. Extremely important. It got to the fifth ring before Bruce finally picked up.

“Bruce! Bruce, are you at the cave?” The man sounded panicked.

“Yes? Constantine, what happ—” Bruce was cut off by the sound of the man teleporting into the cave.

“Bruce! Someone in your filthy, bloody city has the Mask of Loki!” The man yelled, stomping over to him.

The Mask of Loki?

Of-fucking-course it’s magic.

Richard “Dick” Grayson - Nightwing POV

Dick was back in Gotham to see the fam as usual. He’d just gotten off patrol and was now scraping any glue off his face from his mask using a q-tip. He was near a work desk and placed on it. Every now and then, he’d use his pinky to scroll the article he was reading about the new rogue.

This guy was actually insane. Power-wise. And a little mental-wise too. What do you mean they have the powers of a cartoon?

Isn’t that a little broken?

Then again… imps.

He got a message suddenly. Ah, it was from Wally. Dick momentarily put the Q-tip down so he could reply, the other man was asking if he wanted to hang out sometime.

Who was Dick to say no?

Speaking of hanging out… a little bit of guilt welled up in his stomach slightly. He swiped out of his chat with Wally and clicked your icon. He was expecting another offer to hang out from you that he’d have to turn down due to hanging out with some of the other family but… nothing.

Or, at least nothing since the last week he visited. Huh. He’d been in Gotham for three days already. Not a single message on any of those days. (The first day, you were too tired to message him after using the mask. Second, too busy worrying about people finding out about you being the new rogue. And third, too tired and too excited for later that night to use the mask. He was at the very back of your mind.)

Don’t get Dick wrong, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hang out with you. It’s just that you never want to do it with the family and he doesn’t want to do it with you alone. (You don’t wanna hang out with family because there’s a 50% chance Jason can be invited and you don’t want to take that chance.) He just always feels so… awkward around you. He loves you as a little sibling, yes, but he’ll admit he doesn’t know much about you. Though, you never tried to know much about him either. (You did. It’s just that he moved out when you were about nine and even then, there wasn’t much a 17-year-old could do with a nine-year-old. Not only that, but the despite whatever everyone thinks you… don’t know their vigilantes. Guess they overestimated your detective abilities.)

Trying to rationalize it didn’t seem to help him though. His thumb hesitantly pressed the typing bar. Truthfully, despite what he’d told himself earlier, he wouldn’t be that busy with the family. He could afford to spend some time with you. Especially after all the times he’s shirked that onto others. (Despite what Dick thinks, no, you did not go to other people to ask if you could hang out with them. You didn’t have Steph’s phone number, you never got it after she’d gotten a new phone. Tim blocked you (In Tim’s point of view, it was supposed to be temporary and then he forgot to unblock you.) and you don’t have the courage to ask him to unblock you. You and Bruce have never shared a single text message in your life and Duke? You don’t have his number either because… well, you’ve had like two conversations with him)

He typed and deleted repeatedly, trying to find the right words. When he felt he did, he then tried to rack his brain about what you two might do together.

He was only coming up with blanks.

Eventually, he settled on something simple.

Dick: “Do you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?” Read 2:37am

Alright, now to wait for the mor— did that say read at 2:37AM?

Huh.

Well, maybe you’re a night owl like your family. He watched your typing bubble appear. Then disappear. Then it appeared again before disappearing for about a minute.

Finally, after a couple more seconds, your message came through.

[Name]: “Sorry. Can’t” Read at 2:39am

Dick stared at the screen for a bit.

Dick: “You busy or…?” Unread.

You’d just came back from being Gotham‘s newest rogue when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You picked it up as you threw the mask on your bed. You rubbed your eyes as you typed the passcode. The reason you’d retired so early from being a rogue was that you had a math test in the morning you wanted to be at least somewhat functional for. You absentmindedly noted that Ace hopped on your bed.

It was a text.

From who? Sammy? Kyle? Maria? Those last two were some of your other friends.

You opened the messages app.

Oh.

It’s from Dick.

Dick: “Do you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?” Read 2:37am

You went still for a long moment before quickly typing. How should you respond to this? Dick’s never invited you to do something before!

It’s literally always been the other way around!

You typed an “I’d love to!” before quickly deleting it.

That’s a little too eager.

You played around with few responses, unbeknownst to Ace curiously looking at the mask you’d also oh carelessly left on your bed.

The “bad doggie! Go away” that was hissed went unheard as you kept trying to think of a response that sounded as neutral as possible. Sure, you’d have to forgo being a rogue that night but…

…but what? Wait, you’d have to forgo being a rogue that night.

“Exactly, [Nickname]! We can’t be together if you’re off watching a stupid movie with that guy! Also— TURN AROUND AND DON’T LET THIS MANGY MUTT PUT ME O—.” That last part was practically screeched into your ear as you whipped around. Conveniently just as the dog pushed his cute little face against the inside of the mask and started spinning wildly, twisting sheets before hopping off the bed and knocking into furniture.

Gosh, is that what it looked like when you transformed? No wonder your room was always a mess when you got back!

You typed a quick response to Dick before you could even think and through your phone to the side so you could lunge at the dog and try to rip the mask off him.

Who knows what a dog with your powers could do?!

You found that out by getting slammed into the wall like three times, body-slammed onto your bed and dragged around the room by the dog while you tried to dig your fingers into the mask and rip it off.

Richard “Dick” Grayson - Nightwing POV

“Bad dog, Ace! You shouldn’t have put the mask on!” You were scolding Ace on the other side of your door.

(“Yeah! Stupid dog!” The Mask hissed.)

After a small moment of silence on Dick’s end, Ace suddenly started growling.

“Don’t say that to him! While he might be a dog, he’s my do— Wait, Ace you can understand it?”

The dog barked.

“But how?”

The dog barked a few more times.

(“Two short barks and one long bark. I think that’s dog for ‘I don’t know’, [Nickname].”)

Ace barked again.

(“I was right! He agrees with me!”)

…Was [Name] schizophrenic…? Or at least talking to Ace like he was a human? Dick had been standing outside your door for about two minutes, hand frozen in front of the door about to knock. At first, he’d heard a lot of commotion and banging until it sudden suddenly went quiet. Then you started scolding Ace, and now you were talking to yourself?

He really needed to get you out of the house. Maybe instead of a home movie, they both could go to an actual movie theater?

Dick finally knocked. “[Name], I’m coming in!” He called out before opening the door. As soon as he stepped in, he watched you hide something behind your back as you stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Dick.” You blinked wide eyes at him, sharing a surprisingly cryptic look with Ace.

“Uh… [Name]. What’s that behind your back?” Dick asked, pointing at you.

“Nothing!” You exclaimed, suddenly walking closer to him.

Wow. He’d never noticed how tall you’d gotten.

Your hand gripped his shoulder with an honestly surprising amount of strength as you shoved him out of your room and closed the door quickly. “SorryI’msuperbusybye!”

You left him standing in the hall on his lonesome.

It took a couple minutes, but he eventually walked away.

He’d never realized how much you’d grown up.

Also wow! Your hand on your shoulder actually hurt a bit. Damn. He massaged his shoulder lightly as he kept walking.

??? - The Shadow Thief

He touched down on one of the city’s buildings, overlooking the glittering lights below.

“So this is where my newest friend is?” He let himself fall forward until he was soon gliding over Gotham. “I gotta say! I do love their choice in city!”

Extra Bits of Info:

1.) You did in fact make him start sucking the pacifier. 2.) The Black Mask and Penguin negotiation ended in a shootout. 3.) Despite the fact that you don’t know the bats are vigilantes, the mask does. 4.) In case it wasn’t obvious, Dick could not hear anything the mask was saying and now thinks you’re schizophrenic.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla

[wcnderlnds]

back for you ★ hwang jun-ho

・❥・ summary: now that junho is free from the memories that had plagued him for so long, he's ready to start his life over with you. unfortunately, his brother inho has a habit of trying to ruining that for him. ・❥・word count: 2.1k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. fingering in an elevator, swearing. established relationship. SQUID GAME S3 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. ・❥・authors note: i swear to you this wasn't meant to be smut but i have a lot of junho feelings. im also bad at writing kids so... i'm so sorry in advance for how bad this might be.

Those first few weeks after Junho had finally found the island only to not get the closure from his brother that he had been craving had been eye opening for him. For so long, he had been focused on finding his brother, getting the answers to the questions that had plagued him for years. It had consumed his life, took over every single thing he did but now? Now, he knew he was never going to know and maybe that was okay. He had done his part, he had tried his best. There was nothing more he could do but move on with his life. So, that’s what he did.

It hadn’t been easy at first, it had taken a lot of time for him to find his new purpose but he had you to help him along the way. Being in a relationship with Junho over the last few years hadn’t been easy but through every single thing, you had stuck by him. That had meant more to him than he could even put into words. A future with you – that was his purpose now. You had been together for about five years. Junho had never wanted to commit fully knowing that he couldn’t give himself to you one hundred percent but now he could. That was why two months after everything had happened with the island, he got down on one knee and proposed to you.

Being your fiance was the greatest honour of his life. It was so freeing knowing that he could finally give himself to you so completely, finally.

“I really liked the red velvet one but the strawberry one was so nice, too,” you said excitedly. The two of you walked hand in hand down the street back to your apartment. Wedding planning was in full swing and today you’d been out cake tasting. It had been yours and Junho’s favourite part of the whole planning process so far. Who wouldn’t love sitting down and trying different cakes for an hour?

“I liked the strawberry one, too. Maybe we should book another tasting just to be sure,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around your shoulder instead to pull you into his side. You immediately wrapped your arm around his waist, looking up at him with a smile.

“I like the way you think, Hwang.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

You laughed which only made the smile on Junho’s face brighter. There was nothing more precious to you than seeing that smile on his face. For so long, all you had seen was him struggling, a smile a rare oddity as he searched for his brother. Life had taken so much from him but now he seemed so carefree. He seemed like the Junho you had met all those years ago back in high school. The one who laughed at everything, who enjoyed the small things in life. You knew deep down that he still thought about Inho and what could have been. You couldn’t blame him. Inho had been such an important part of his life – he had basically raised Junho but he wasn’t the man that Junho had once known. He was a completely different person now. That was why he had finally decided to move on. The brother he once had was long gone, replaced by a stranger he didn’t know. There would always be a part of Junho that was missing but as long as he had you, he knew he’d be okay.

“Is the elevator actually working today? I don’t want to walk up all the stairs again,” you scanned the lobby of your apartment building, eyes lighting up when you saw that the elevator was actually working. 

“Guess they fixed it while we were out,” Junho pressed the button, the elevator doors opening. He guided you inside, pressing the button to the sixth floor where your shared apartment was. As you rested your back against the cool metal wall of the elevator, Junho grabbed you by the waist, his hot breath fanning over your face as he gazed down at you with adoring eyes. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?”

“Maybe once or twice but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again,” you rested your hands on the plane of his chest, feeling his muscles tense through his shirt. Junho leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

It didn’t take long for things to heat up. Junho’s tongue traced along the seam of your lips, asking for entrance. The second you parted your lips, his tongue met yours in a heated dance. Each time you kissed, it felt like the first time. The sparks ever present like you couldn’t get enough of each other. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him as close to you as humanly possible.

Junho’s hand danced along the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open and dipping inside. His fingers slowly, teasingly ran along your panties, already feeling the damp spot forming there. It made him groan into the kiss. It never ceased to amaze him how your body reacted to him, just one simple touch made you a complete mess. Intimacy had been far and few over the years but now he was making up for lost time. Any opportunity he could take to show you how much he loved you, he was going to grasp. His fingers rubbed slow circles against your core, a breathy whine falling from your lips. A smirk adorned his face; he had you right where he wanted you.

“Junho, please,” you said breathlessly. You bucked your hips into his hand trying to seek more friction. There were only a few more floors before you’d reach yours and you so badly needed him to finish what he was starting.

As if sensing your desperation, he slipped his fingers inside your panties, his long digits sliding through your folds with ease. Your slick coated his fingers, making him groan, aching for more. He circled your entrance with one of his fingers, easing a finger inside you which caused you to gasp, throwing your head back in ecstasy. He began moving it slowly, his thumb finding your clit. His eyes glanced over seeing you were at the third floor. He had to speed this up so he moved faster, pumping his finger into you with increasing speed. The hand that was on your hip, held you in place, stilling your movements. When he slipped another finger inside you, the moan you let out was louder than you expected. You had never been more thankful that nobody else was in the elevator with you. Junho added more pressure with his thumb, circling your clit as his fingers drove into you. He knew your body better than anyone, he could tell that you were getting close. You just needed that push. So, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that spot that made you see stars.

“Oh my god, right there, baby, I’m so close,” you panted. The moans falling from your lips paired with how wet you were against his fingers was making his cock throb in his jeans. He couldn’t wait to get you back to your apartment so he could really show you just how much he loved you.

“Come on, baby. Come for me,” he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “We’re almost at our floor. We don’t want anyone catching us, do we?”

It took one more hard thrust of his fingers before your orgasm came crashing over you. A moan of his name echoed through the elevator. He kept his fingers moving, working you through your orgasm. He could feel your release on his fingers, the sensation making him harder than before. When he was sure you were completely spent, he pulled his fingers from you. Just in time because the elevator dinged letting you know you were at your destination.

You took a moment to take a steady breath in. You needed a moment to collect yourself before you could even think about walking. Junho brought his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing delicately against your skin. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” you said with a dazed smile. “Can’t wait to return the favour.”

Junho just laughed, guiding you out of the elevator and down the hall to your apartment. Before he unlocked the door, you leaned up on your tiptoes, kissing him. He tangled his fingers in your hair, savouring the feeling of your lips against his. It was a miracle that he managed to somehow open the door from behind while you were entangled with each other. He stepped back into the apartment, tearing his lips from yours momentarily. Just as he was about to speak, something caught his eye.

“What…?” He made his way over to the small bundle of blankets. His face paled as he laid eyes upon the last thing he thought he’d ever see in his apartment.

A baby.

“Junho, what’s wr-”

You were stopped in your tracks when you heard the cry of the baby. In his hands, Junho held a small card, the words ‘Player 222, winner’ written on it. Then, he pulled out a debit card, his eyes widening. “....Inho…”

It was almost on instinct that you picked the baby up, holding it against you to soothe it’s crying. You were no expert with kids but you couldn’t leave the poor thing laying there crying. It had been left here for a reason. The sound of his brother's name caught your attention, your confused eyes looking at your fiance with question. “...Inho did this?”

“I… yeah, I think so.” He paused. Never had he felt his heart hammering against his chest so hard before. A sense of panic washing over him. He may not be a detective anymore but it didn’t take one to figure out what this meant.  “I need to… uh, I need to go to an ATM.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re kidding me?!” You exclaimed loudly, the baby safely in your arms as you looked over Junho’s shoulder to see the balance on the ATM.

45.6 billion won.

Junho looked like he’d seen a ghost, all the memories of everything he’d witnessed on the island rushing back to him. He knew what this money was, what it meant. It was dirty money but… it was money that could help. Somehow, some way, he knew that Inho knew he needed this. He had a wedding to pay for and now… a baby to care and look after. Children had been a topic of discussion between the both of you but you had decided that you didn’t want to start trying for a few years yet, opting to enjoy just being together first before you brought a child into the world. Now, thanks to Inho, you had no choice.

Junho leaned against the wall beside the ATM. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, letting him know you were there. He wasn’t alone – he never would be again. You spoke softly, trying to reassure him. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I… we can do this. I know we’re not ready but you and me, we can do anything, yeah? We’ve been through worse.”

Junho nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“This baby has nobody, Junho. We have to give it the life it deserves. We don’t want everything that happened to be in vain.”

“I just wish he’d have.. come to me in person. Why won’t he just talk to me?” He sounded so defeated. Of course Inho had a way of ruining everything, setting Junho back just as life had gotten good for him.

“Fuck him,” you said. “What matters now is you, me and this baby. Nothing else. We’re in this together, okay? Inho is a thing of a past. It’s his loss that he’s cut you out, not yours. That is not your burden to bear. You tried, baby. You tried so hard and don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay,” Junho nodded. His eyes landed on the baby. “I saw her. All those months ago on the island. She won the games. I don’t know how, I don’t want to know how or why she was even involved in them but… we can’t ever tell her, okay? I don’t want her to ever know where she came from. Not from that place. She doesn’t deserve to live with that.”

“She won’t. She’ll have a good life with us. Now, come on. We have 45.6 billion and a baby to cater for now. We better go shopping.”

Junho had never been more thankful to have you. The way you could lighten a situation and make him feel like he was going to be okay. It was more than he could ever ask for. Raising this baby wasn’t going to be easy but together, you could do it. You could do anything.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @str8t2video @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib

[rooksamoris]

RENAISSANCE PRINCESS !!

💞 — in which malleus meets and falls for the renaissance princess living in ramshackle dorm. 💞 — malleus draconia x fem!reader (she/her and princess used) 💞 — gender neutral reader. 1k words. warnings: none. this was fun. completed request for @imhereiguess420 hope you enjoy!!

“Thou may refer to me as ‘beastie,’” you said.

Malleus raised an amused brow, “You are not willing to share your name?” 

You both had only just met a while ago. You introduced yourself as a princess, giving him your hand for a kiss to your golden rings—but not your name. Apparently, you had some poor experiences with fae, and you knew better than to share your name so readily. He had taken very well to your demeanor. There was something welcoming about you. Somehow, you had no magic and yet your very essence was magic itself.

It lured Malleus in when he first saw you, weaving holly into your hair outside of Ramshackle. What was meant to be another lonely walk became filled with tales of all manner. He learned about your world, where there were legends and histories of all manner. You had told him about how you wove the holly into your hair to attract the faeries, after you had heard something from Ace about faeries attending Night Raven College.

You grinned and shook your head at him, “Aye,” you said, “Thou art a faerie, yes? Perchance, once my guards lower their spears, I shall share with thee my true name.”

The reasoning was sound, but it still felt quite silly. Perhaps he needed to spend more time with humans and he would hear such things more… he assumed most humans did not know such little details like this regarding faeries. Rarely did he catch another soul deep within the library’s archives where such information would be kept. He would have to meet with the Headmage and ask that the texts regarding his people should be more accessible.

He nodded, “Alright then, beastie. Till we meet again.”

“Fare thee well, good fellow.”

Ever since then, Malleus was fully bewitched by you. You had this whimsy about you which he adored. It was clear in the way you spoke, though most of that could be attributed to your antiquated manner of speech. Antiquated to everyone except Malleus, for he can recall all of his childhood reads being written the way you talk. There were also your little quirks, holly in the hair to attract faerie friends, or the way you seemed so shocked over how certain fruit could be harvested in the wrong seasons. Did you not know that magic fruits could be imported from all over the world? It was such a delight to have you come to him with new fruits, fascinated at the way they looked and tasted despite being out of season.

It did not take long for you to figure his name out. One day, as you were walking at the sides of Deuce, Ace and Grim, all of whom you referred to as your knightley companions, you pointed him out. Before you had shared stories of the stranger you met with during the late hours of the night, and today you decided to give the Heartslabyul card soldiers a visual to go with your stories.

They were more than shocked, to say the least.

You were now telling Malleus of their reactions, a bright smile on your face, “Ah— I laughed myself into stitches, dear stranger,” you said, reaching up to wipe a tear from your eye, “Lo, my unbridled tongue fills the well. How sayest thou?”

“I have been very well,” he replied, “Much better in your presence, I believe.”

“Marry, tis comfort to my ears.”

The smile seemed stuck on your face at this point. The more and more time you spent with Malleus, the more you realized you liked him very much. He had an otherworldly charm about him, and you learned quite a bit from him. It made your stay in this foreign world much better. You were so confused about the new technologies. The electrical things and the common use of magic overwhelmed you, and though Malleus was a magical creature, he made everything seem much more simple. You both sent letters to one another, despite being just a mirror away from each other. You preferred it to texting, which Cater had tried to teach you. Your heart was overflowing.

So, quietly, you shared your name with him.

Malleus had been taken off guard, “You do not fear I will play some trick upon you?” he asked. 

You shook your head, “I place my trust in thee, kind stranger. Thou art pure of heart.”

How could you be so sure? How could you tell him such honey flavored words? He felt his heart skip a beat. It has been doing such dances quite often these days. Each minute spent with you was pleasant, and each minute away with you was filled with this antsy want to be near you. He practically bragged about you to Lilia and he had to get extra ink much more often since he was always in the mood to write to you. 

He smiled, “I am honored,” he said, before turning to face you, holding out his arm, “Though, I would hope you would be less trusting to another faerie,” he warned, lightheartedly.

“Aye, I shall take heed and move with prudence,” you replied, taking his elbow and pressing your head to his arm as he walked you back to your dorm.

“She shared her name with me today,” he said, “The princess.”

“Ah, she has, has she? Well, she must like you very much,” Lilia grinned, as he floated at the side of the prince. 

Malleus had only returned a bit ago, practically dripping with joy. Of course, no one could really tell by just looking at him. Sure, he had a little smile, but what really proved it was how the halls seemed to brighten with his steps. Each time he passed them, the candles seemed a bit brighter. He stepped into the lounge of Diasomnia, and turned to face his guardian, “I would hope she does.”

Lilia tilted his head to the side, “So do I. I believe everyone has become too used to hearing her name.”

The prince frowned and glanced off to the side, not appreciating being teased for how chatty he became when the topic was the princess living in Ramshackle. He sighed. He needed to confess soon.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[bloomseishiro]

you prank rin by telling him a tiny, fabric headband is your new top ₊˚ෆ⊹.ᐟ

before you read. fem!reader, very suggestive at the end lol, mdni!! 

“Rinnie, look! My package finally came,” you squealed, peeling the tape off the box and opening it up. 

He glanced up from his laptop to look at the excitement on your face. Rin paused the video footage of his practice game before he asked, “What did you order again?”

“A new top!” you said, picking up the fabric headband you had strategically placed in the box only a few hours before. 

The headband was a pastel purple made of a soft, stretchy fabric. Was it enough coverage to be a shirt? No way in hell. But maybe you could convince Rin it was a top and watch his sanity crumble. 

The perks of having a chronically offline boyfriend. He never knew what pranks were trending. The perfect victim for you to mess with whenever you were bored!

You tried to hide your laughter as his face changes from one of neutrality, to one of concern, confusion, then anger. 

“Well, where is it?” he asked. 

You blinked slowly, forcing a bemused look onto your face. “What do you mean? It’s right here.” You waved around the purple headband before holding it up to your chest. “It goes around you like this. A tube top!” 

“A tube top,” Rin deadpanned. “I’ve seen you wear one of those. They’re normally, like, ten times longer than whatever that piece of string is.”

“But it stretches,” you insisted, pulling the headband wide with your hands. 

He winced as he watched you manipulate the fabric. “It’s getting even thinner as you stretch it. That covers nothing!”

You pouted, folding your arms across your chest. “So you think it’s ugly? My boyfriend isn’t supportive of my new fashion sense?”

“Is being nude your new fashion sense?!” 

A giggle escaped you at his outburst. He was finally snapping.

“Well, micro is the new trend,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, you know microskirts? Now, micro tube tops are in! Let me show you.”

Rin shook his head in disbelief. He sighed before challenging you, “Fine. Yeah, show me then. How the fuck do you wear that thing?”

You grinned. Just the question you wanted him to ask. “You’ll see.”

Smothering your fit of giggles behind your hand, you skipped out of the room to change out of your shirt and into the headband. You looked in the mirror, trying not to burst out into laughter at the stupidity of this prank. You just hoped the headband would hold together and not rip apart until Rin absolutely lost it. 

Once the fabric lay flat against your breasts, barely covering a single thing, you walked back out into the living room to show off to Rin. 

“It’s ooooon!” you sang, striking a cheeky pose. “Do you like it?”

Instead of being annoyed and calling it stupid like you expected, you noticed Rin was quiet. Oddly quiet. 

You looked up, quirking your head to the side in question. 

His face was red and it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. “I…”He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, unable to form a full sentence. “You look…”

Heat rose to your cheeks. Oh. So it was like that. 

Despite your own embarrassment, you decided to tease him further. No one knew how to push Rin’s buttons like you.

“I think we should go to the grocery store now,” you said, walking over to the front door to grab your keys hanging on the wall. “We need some more eggs—“

Before you could open the door, you felt Rin behind you, hand on the door to keep it shut. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. 

“…To the grocery store?” you said innocently. 

“Nope.” 

Before you could retort, Rin picked you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style down the hallway into your bedroom. You squealed at his roughness and urgency, throwing your arms around his neck to secure yourself. 

“Maybe I should wear this more often,” you giggled as he peppered kisses down your neck towards your very exposed breasts. 

Rin scoffed but relented. “Only if I can see you in it first.”

“Always!” 

[starlostjisung]

you could call me babe for the weekend

chapter five: was it?

wc: 4.6k

cw: smut (wrap it before you tap it guys)! don’t interact if you’re a minor!!!!

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a/n: please make sure you read the author’s note at the end of the story, after reading the chapter

you were sure you hadn’t heard him right. that at some point you must have fallen asleep and this was all a dream. that chan was not really there, in the middle of your apartment. that you two hadn’t almost completely fallen apart and that he hadn’t said that he loved you.

you were sure this was not happening.

“wh-what?”, you blinked trying to make some sense of what was happening because it all felt surreal

chan closed his eyes and turned around, like trying to distance himself from the moment. from your apartment. from you.

you could see how he had lowered his head and was shaking it. like he could not comprehend what was happening.

neither did you.

“chris”, you stepped closer to him, “what did you say?”

he turned around again and you saw it. you saw everything.

you saw the tears in his eyes. how tired he was. of what? you didn’t know.

you could see how defeated he felt, like he had been in a battle and he had raised the white flag. he had surrendered, he was protecting himself of further pain.

he couldn’t do this anymore.

he let out a tired laugh, “do you ever get tired of pretending?”, he said, his voice low

your heart stuttered, “pretending what?”

“this”, he gestured towards the space between the two of you, “us”

silence. a beat too long.

“i can’t do this anymore, i’m sorry”, he raised his head and you saw the tears threatening to fall, “i can’t keep acting like it doesn’t matter. like you don’t matter. like i don’t feel anything for you that’s not platonic friendship. i can’t keep pretending that i don’t think about you all the time and that everything i do is for you. every song i write. every thought that i have revolves around you. or when i’m at the studio and my phone lights up and i hope that it’s you looking for me. or when i’m at home hoping you’ll walk in at any moment because y/n that’s all i ever do”

you were breathless now. you could feel your heart beating so fast you thought it was going to come out of your chest and fall right into his hands.

the place where it actually belonged.

“i know we said we’re friends”, you saw a sad smile on his face, the exact one you had mere minutes ago, “but that’s not what this is. at least not for me and… it has never been”

he rubbed his temple and ran his hands through his hair, trying to come up with the right words because he felt like all your friendship had come to this. he could lose you if he didn’t choose the right words.

the tightrope was in a critical condition on the floor, but maybe he could climb up again and try to cross it. hopefully with you.

he sighed again and looked at you. really looked at you.

this was it.

“i’ve been in love with you since the very first moment i saw you. since the first time i saw you walking into the room and lighting everything up with your smile. with your laugh. and then you stopped right in front of me, introduced yourself and i knew i was gone then. i still am”

he swallowed, slow. his eyes fell to the floor, while he shook his head again trying to come up with the right words, and then he looked at you again.

“i thought i had come to terms with the fact that we would never be together, and i thought i was fine with that. i honestly thought i was okay. but when you came up with the trip and the fake relationship and all that, i decided that i was going to be selfish. for once in my life. just this one time. i knew that i couldn’t have you in real life. but if my only opportunity to be with you was in a fake relationship for a weekend, i was fucking sure i was going to take it”, he closed his eyes and sighed again, “it turns out i’m still not over you”

the silence between you felt heavier than ever. none of you knew how to continue from that. the moment felt incredibly delicate, almost fragile. you were scared to even breathe.

“i-i didn’t know you felt like that”, you stepped closer to him again

he choked on a sad laugh. the first tears fell then, “because i never said anything”, he smiled sadly, “that call the other day, what you’ve told me, that was the only thing you heard, right?”

you nodded, “i didn’t want you to find out i had heard you and i honestly couldn’t be there listening anymore, so i left after you said well… that”

he ran his hands through his hair again, a bit frustrated - at himself - this time, “i get it, i really do. but you didn’t hear the rest of the call. you didn’t hear what i told changbin then”

you looked at him and his face showed you everything you both were feeling. fear. hope. honesty. everything tangled up together.

“what did you tell him?”

he walked closer to you this time, still leaving space between the two of you to not make you uncomfortable.

“that we could never be together because you deserve someone better than me. that i’m the one not worthy of being in this relationship. us not working would be because of me. not because of you. never you”

you were lost for words. confused. you didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

someone better than him? was that even possible? you doubted it.

“chris, i honestly don’t get it, i-“

“you deserve someone that can give you everything you want. the entire world. someone that can be there for you whenever you want him to be. someone that isn’t working all day and night and that doesn’t leave you for weeks or even months to go to the other side of the world and leaves you here alone”, the tears were still falling down his face, harder this time, and you just wanted to reach out and kiss them away, “you have no idea how much i’ve always hoped and dreamt to be that person for you, but unfortunately i’m not, i-i can’t be-” he was choking on his own tears now

“what do you mean you’re not chris? no one treats me better than you do”, you crossed the space between you and grabbed his head with your hands to make him look at you

he had his eyes closed, he was shaking his head, “chris, chris, please, look at me”, you pleaded him

he opened his eyes and saw how yours were exactly like his. full of tears, showing all of your emotions, showing how vulnerable and exposed you were at that moment.

it was now or never.

“i don’t want that person you’re describing, i’ve never wanted that person. i only want you. i only need you”

he gasped. he swore his heart stopped beating, “what? you do?”

it was your turn to choke on your own tears, “of course i do, chris. i’ve been in love with you since forever, but i thought you would never feel the same way about me, so i never said anything. i was scared of losing you”

he closed the space between you even more, putting his forehead on yours. you could feel you heart stuttering once again.

“you will never lose me, you heard me? never”, he told you while closing his eyes

you smiled softly at him, feeling your tears continuing to fall down your face, “you will never lose me either”

he opened his eyes only to find you already looking at him.

“chris, this weekend has made me realise that i don’t want us to only be friends anymore. i can’t do that anymore. i can’t continue pretending not to be completely in love with you. the only person that i want to be with is you, and i hope you want to be with me”, even though he had just confessed his feelings for you, had told you how in love with you he had been and still is, you couldn’t help but leave your vulnerability out in the open. at the end, this was going to change everything.

you only hoped it would be for the best.

chan saw your eyes, full of tears and hope and fear.

and that’s all it took.

he put his hands on yours waist and kissed you. he kissed you like he had been holding it in for years. like he had dreamt of this moment every day since you first met. like this was all that he could ever ask for. like every lyric, thought, wish, were only about you. only you. like he hadn’t fully existed until now.

you kissed him like your life hadn’t even started until this point. like you had begged, looking at the sky for him. like everything you could see, hear and feel was him. like everything you needed was him, his arms around you and his lips in yours.

he pulled away, just enough to whisper against your lips, “i love you”

“i love you too”, and with that, you kissed him again

one of his arms moved to place his hand on your cheek. your hands - that were still holding his face against yours - moved to his hair, trying to pull him closer to you, even if that was impossible. your bodies were so close together it was impossible to know where one began and the other ended. you were just one, as if it was meant to be this way.

one kiss led to another. and another. and another. your hands were tracing different parts of your bodies, as if they were learning the other in a new way. a more intimate and delicate way.

“stay”, you told him against his lips, “stay with me please”

“always”

he made you jump and put your legs around his waist. he moved the both of you to your bedroom, slowly, like you had all the time in the world. because now, you did.

he closed the door behind him and walked towards your bed. he placed you on your back on your bed, delicately, like you would break if he didn’t do it slowly. like you were the most delicate treasure he had the honor of protecting now.

he placed himself on top of you and slid his hands underneath your shirt. you felt his fingertips brushing your skin, tracing every part he could find, memorising every inch of you. you did the same. your hands moved from his hair to his neck, to his jaw, any place you could reach. trying to anchor yourself to this moment. to him.

“you have no idea how long i’ve dreamt of this”, he mumbled against yours lips

“me too”, you opened your eyes only to find him looking at you. you both smiled putting your foreheads together once again, like you both couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

“is this okay?”, he asked you quietly

you nodded, “yes”

he kissed you again, deeply, more passionate this time. he moved his lips down your neck, exploring, learning, holding you. his palms pressed against your back, pulling you closer to him. you clutched his shirt, trying to take it off of him. he helped you and got rid of it.

he then did the same with yours. he lifted your shirt, while checking your face for any sign of hesitation. when he found none, he took it off completely and moved his lips to your collarbone, marking you there.

“chris…”, you moaned his name, grabbing his hair once again, pulling him closer, arching your back towards him

“fuck… you’re so beautiful, love, so beautiful”, he moved his lips to the other side, kissing the curve of your shoulder, moving his lips to your ear. you moved your head to give him more space.

you could feel yourself trembling. he was too. the moment too delicate and beautiful. he was nervous, and so were you.

you moved your head, looking for his lips. he kissed you pouring everything in the kiss.

all the i love yous.

all the i need yous.

all the i want yous.

you didn’t know where you got the strength from, but you pushed him on his back and got on top of him. he let out a surprised gasp, a gasp that was quickly silenced by you, kissing him again.

your hands were everywhere. his chest, his pecs, his arms. his hands were on your waist, on your back, on your hips. you were learning each other, but also appreciating. adoring. admiring.

his hands reached your bra, “can i?”, you nodded

you felt your bra falling somewhere in your room, and his hands on your chest. your lips were on his neck, where you found his soft spot. he groaned, clutching at your skin.

“y/n”, he moaned against your ear

you looked at him and he captured your lips in a kiss, the type of kiss that showed how enamoured you were, the type of kiss that showed how long you both had waited for this.

when you broke the kiss, you moved down his body, leaving kisses everywhere that your lips could find. once you reached his waist, you looked at him, making sure he was fine to continue.

when he nodded, you got rid of his pants and underwear at the same time. once you freed his member, you took it in your hands, slowly moving up and down, smearing the pre-cum that was already on his tip.

“shit… just like that baby please”, he involuntarily pushed his hips towards your hands, while you used your free hand to grab his thigh.

he couldn’t stop moving and you couldn’t help but feel powerful from the sight, he was like this because of you. his hands were everywhere, his hair, his eyes, the bedsheet. he was trying to hold on to you, but you were too far.

you were going to help him.

you lowered your head, and took him in your mouth, “y/n”, he moaned even louder and you saw his jaw tightening. he moved his hands to your head, grabbing your hair with his hands, “i-i’m already close, i’m not going to last very long”, you could hear his breathing quickening

“it’s okay, i’ve got you”, you took him in your mouth again, using your hand on the parts that you couldn’t reach

he swore he had never felt as good as in that moment. he felt his climax almost there, and he wasn’t able to hold it anymore, “baby, i-i”

“let it go baby, i got you”, and that’s all it took

you felt him spilling in your mouth and you swallowed everything. he felt like he had been spiralling and was slowly regaining consciousness. you held him through all of it, making sure he was okay, before you moved any further.

once you saw his breathing becoming more steady, you let go of him and moved up his body, leaving kisses again. you kissed his jaw and he grabbed your face to pull your lips towards him. he moaned into your mouth.

when you broke the kiss, you saw him looking at you, with a look of incredulity on his face.

“what?”, you laughed at him

“nothing you just… you just gave me the most mind blowing orgasm of my life and you’re here, looking like an angel sent from heaven, honestly did it hurt when you fell from there? i’m pretty sure it did”

“chris, stop it”, you hit his chest while the both of you laughed together

the laughs softly stopped and he moved the both of you again, placing you on your back once more. he kissed you slowly, while his hands went slower until they found your breast.

you moaned against his mouth, a whine that he swallowed with his lips. his lips went from your mouth, to your neck, to your collarbone until they found your breasts.

he softly bit one of your nipples while he used his fingers on the other. you let out a broken breath, arching your back towards him, trying to entangle your bodies together. you needed him closer, this wasn’t enough.

he swapped places, making sure each breast received the same attention.

“chris, please…”, you said

“patience baby, we have all the time in the world”

he moved his lips slower, until they found the waistband of your pants. he asked you permission to lower them and once you agreed, they were gone.

his eyes were on yours the entire time. you both felt like the only people in the world, like nothing else mattered or even existed. that’s how chris made you feel like.

he dragged his hands up your thighs, spreading your legs open, so he would have enough space between them. he put his lips on one of your knees, tracing kisses from there up to your thigh.

you couldn’t stop moving, so he placed both of his arms on your waist, trying to stop you.

“don’t tease me please”

“i’m not, i’m just admiring you, my love”, he said while he moved to the other leg to do the same thing

you could feel yourself dripping for him, needing him more and more.

just when you were about to beg, you felt his fingers, tracing your folds, slow and teasing. you back arched one more time.

“baby, you’re dripping, shit, you’re so beautiful”, he told you, closer to where you needed him the most.

you whined, your hips twitching, “chris…”

“i know”, he kissed the inside of your thigh, “i’ve got you”

and just like that, he kissed you there. he wrapped his lips around your clit, at the same time you felt one of his fingers entering you.

“chris”, you almost yelled, your hands going instantly to his hair, to pull him closer, to pull him away, to ground yourself, you didn’t know for what exactly. you weren’t in control of your body. this was all him.

he stroked you slowly, slipping another finger inside, curling them just right. his lips weren’t just kissing you, they were venerating you, learning and memorising all the right places that made you lose control and fall apart for him.

“i-i can’t, this… too much”, you weren’t even sure what you were saying at this point

“i know baby, i’m here for you”, he moved away just enough so that you could feel his lips brushing you with every word he said.

you felt on the edge, you were just about to fall. but you knew chris was going to be there to pick you up. a sweet landing.

“i’m close chris, i-“

“let it go baby, i’m here”

and with one last kiss and his fingers hitting the right places one more time, you let go. you let yourself fall into chan’s mouth and fingers. you weren’t losing control, you were passing it to him.

he held you through it all, making sure you were alright all the time.

once he made sure you were fine, he licked his fingers and moved to kiss your forehead, “you with me?”, he asked you while he traced your cheek delicately

“yeah, all good”, you let out a soft and tired smile, he swore he felt his heart exploding from the look on your face - in a good way this time.

you blinked, in a daze. he kissed you slow and softly, and then gently moved his body so he was between your legs. he didn’t rush anything, he just laid there, kissing you.

you moved your hands to grab his shoulders, leaving some marks that you were sure would be there the next morning. his hands didn’t leave your face, his lips never leaving yours.

“do you have any condoms?”, he asked you

“in the drawer”, you felt him reaching for them, and then putting one on

you brought his face to yours and kissed him this time. you could already tell that you would never get tired of kissing him. luckily, he felt the same about you.

“you sure you want this?”, he asks you one more time, looking at you again, to make sure you were telling him the truth

“yes chris, i want you”

he swore under his breath, closing his eyes for a second, letting his forehead fall against yours, “you have no idea how many times i’ve dreamt about this… about you”, he told you while kissing you again

“me too, i’ve dreamt about you for so long”, you grabbed his back now, pulling him closer to you, feeling his member close to your entrance.

he gripped himself in one hand, lining himself up at your entrance. this was it. the moment you two had dreamt of.

then, he’s doing it, slowly, carefully, trying not to hurt you. he’s slowly pushing himself inside you, giving you all the time you needed to get used to him.

“oh my god”, you gasped against his lips, “chris-“

“shhh”, he soothed you, putting his forehead against yours one more time, “i know, baby, i know”

he pushed himself in more, slowly, “you’re doing so good baby, just like that. that’s it”

you felt like you couldn’t breathe. like you couldn’t form any words. a good type of suffocation.

you felt yourself stretching around him, both of your legs trembling as he filled you. you could feel how he was holding himself back. he moved his hands to your hips, trying to ground himself to you. he was completely inside now.

“you okay?, he whispered against your lips, his voice breaking

“never better”, you looked at him and felt some tears falling from your face

“hey, is there something wrong? did i hurt you?”, he instantly got scared, thinking he may have done something wrong, he may have hurt you. he got ready to move away from you.

you grabbed his back again, pushing him towards you while you shook your head, “no no, i’m fine, it’s just… i’m really happy right now”

you looked at him, with the brightest and most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life. he couldn’t help but let some tears fall as well, and smile at you the same way.

“i’m really happy too”, you kissed again, feeling the tears of the other, falling down both your faces. soft, sweet, desperate.

you moved your hips slowly, finally ready and used to his size. he started moving again, making sure he hit all the right places he had memorised before.

“that’s it”, he breathed against your mouth, “my good girl”

“i’m yours chris,” you moaned against his lips

“fuck… and i’m yours too, baby”, his movements started gaining speed

you sobbed into his mouth, your nails scratching down his shoulders and back. his hands were everywhere now, one of them placing both of your legs around his waist, the new position making him go deeper.

“shit, chris, just like that”, you felt yourself losing control one more time, but it was just as sweet and safe as the first time

he kept talking and praising you, you did the same. whispering between kisses, moaning into each other’s mouths. showing how much you loved each other. saying i love you at any chance you could.

you needed each other, you couldn’t take it any more.

“you are everything i’ve ever wanted”

“i don’t want to be apart from you ever again”

you both were close. he reached between the two of you, and rubbed your clit in tight circles, making you cry out for him. you clenched around him, making you both almost completely lose it.

“chris i-i can’t… i’m so close”

“i know baby, me too”

he kept thrusting into you, making you both reach the point of no return.

“so good for me… let it go baby, i got you, i’m with you”

your body snapped. you clenched around him, pushing him over the edge with you. he gasped your name, you moaned his. you both let out broken moans and whines against each others mouths. he held you tight, as his hips came to a stop. he fell forward into your chest, you placed his head there while tracing your fingers in his hair. both of your breathing unstable, trying to regain it. your eyes squeezed shut.

you both were sweating and shaking, with your arms wrapped around each other, like you were afraid of letting the other go. your lips brushed his temple, he hugged you tighter against him.

“you okay?”, you heard him whispering

you nodded, burying your face in his hair, smiling, “more than okay, and you?”

he looked at you, with a smile on his face, “never better”

“good because, that was… intense”, you both laughed

“yeah, it was”, he looked at you, with the sweetest look on his face you had ever seen and kissed you again.

he kissed you slowly. full of everything he hadn’t said until now, but knew he had the rest of his life to say.

promises of your future together.

your life together.

he leant his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed.

“i want to stay with you, tonight and forever”, he told you

“i wasn’t going to let you go anywhere”

you don’t remember falling asleep. after you both had gone to the bathroom and cleaned yourselves, you went back to bed, and laid there in each other’s arms. at some point the two of you must have fallen asleep, entangled in each other’s bodies. like you had always dreamt of.

you saw the rays of sunshine sneaking in your bedroom, the early morning waking you up. you felt chan’s arm around you, and you couldn’t help but let a smile on your face.

he must have been already awake and sensed you moving, because he pulled you closer to his chest and kissed your shoulder, “morning, love, did you sleep well?”

you turned around to face him, “never better, and you?”

“really good, thank you”, he said while leaving a kiss on your forehead

you pulled his head towards yours and kissed him, morning breath and all that long forgotten.

you felt him deepening the kiss, curling his arms around you even tighter. you grabbed his neck, pulling him towards you even more.

you pulled apart to breathe, but even then you didn’t stay from form each other, putting your foreheads together.

you opened your eyes and smiled at each other. he let out a soft laugh against your lips and smiled softly again.

“what?”, you asked him

“nothing it’s just… i’ve just realised what i’m wearing”, he told you while bitting his lips

you frowned looking at him confused, because none of you were wearing anything.

“what are you wearing?”

“the smile that you gave me”

“oh for fuck’s sake, chris”

you let your head fall against his chest, while he kissed the top of your head and the two of you laughed.

it was crazy to think everything that had happened in the past two weeks.

you had been really close to losing each other, but now you had everything you had ever wanted and more. and you would never change it for anything in the world.

“chris, was it?”, you asked him quietly

“was it what?”

“a bad idea?”

he knew what you were referring to. the trip. the lie. all that had happened these past two weeks.

he kissed your forehead and pulled you closer.

“no, it definitely wasn’t”

< previous | navigation | next >

chapter 5 is out my loves!!!! if you saw the first post of this story, i’m sure you saw this was the last chapter, however… there’s going to be an epilogue!!!!

to be brutally honest with all of you, this was the ending of the story for me. when i pictured the story in my head, before i wrote it and shared it here, i thought this was going to be the ending and there would be no more story.

however, seeing all your reactions and your love for the story has made me really happy and i’m so thankful to all of you. so, we’re getting a special chapter after this. it’s not going to be as long as these chapters - i think - but it’s my way of saying thanks to all of you for all your love for the story 🩷

my other fics

taglist (ask in comments to be added)

you could call me babe for the weekend taglist: @beyunjinnn @emmiesoverthemoon @skzbiasot8 @havennz @hyunjinxxs @reetheratt @heartwithoutaname @ahseyy @hyvneluv @domicaru @annyeongffs @necrozica @lavunyan @0x1lovesong1 @leylaasroom @bluesungology @sleepyzeiff @velvetmoonlght @encoredesires @sammhisphere @we-are-bloody-inspired @straykids4lifeee @xxestxays @4ng3l-ch1ld @geni-627 @how-are-you-not-fine @luvbangchan @btch8008s @the-life-of-stella @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @strsforjsb @n3ha @idiotmaterial @skinnyjeans-tanktops @wolfhallows4 @lyftyyy @infinite-lucid-daydreams @artfairyyyyy @sofix-hc7 @sunflwerstar @lomllino @alifeinthelifeof @sayuri122014 @changbinshearteubeateu @aniski @iamlazychip @beabidoobee @cherie31 @scarletwitchywitchbitch

[a99jazzybean]

With a Taste of Your Lips... (Part 2)

Part 1

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 3.4K

includes: chancexfem!reader, oral, breeding kink, slight dom/sub, smut

a/n: Here's the second part for my lovely readers. Thank you for all of the love from the first one! This is pure smut! No minors!

“Oh? Did you have something else in mind?” You ask Chance  with a hooded gaze. 

His face turns red as he tries to find the right words. So much for his attempt at taking control. Seems like he’d remain putty in your hands as long as you were sitting on his lap. 

Taking advantage of the pause, you pressed your lips to his die. Leaving a long kiss against the eight side, eliciting an overstimulated whine from the man below you. His cock jumping at the ghost of your lips. 

“Ah! Fuck…” He gazes up at you with pleading eyes. “You’re gonna get me hard again.” 

“Is that a problem?” You gave him a cheeky smirk before bringing the dice back to your lips. Leaving a trail of kisses along his body, ending with his cock. 

He whined again, grabbing your hips tightly with his hands. So that’s how you want to play? 

His pleading syrupy gaze suddenly turned dark and calculated.  Licking his lips, he pressed you closer to his body. Now back to a dominating mindset. At the move, you felt your heart rate pick up. 

Leaning up, he pressed wet kisses up the column of your throat. One kiss hitting your sweet spot, making you keen. Pressing your breasts against his chest. Warm hands trailed up your shirt, cupping and squeezing them. You felt so soft. With nimble fingers, he teased at your nipples. On his lap you squirmed with a whine. Your crotch brushed up against his re-hardened length. Both of you groaned at the feeling. 

“C-Chance…” You breathed out shakily. 

“Hmm?” His eyes remained dark and hooded. The lustful gaze made you shiver. 

“What are you doi- oh!” He pinched your nipples. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked lowly. 

Oh, this was certainly a change of pace. The man that had been writhing and whining below you just mere moments ago was suddenly very, very confident. Perhaps it was a case of post-nut clarity. Regardless of the reason, you knew you wanted this. Wanted him. Badly. However, it didn’t seem like you could form a coherent sentence when your mind was soaking in his dominant manner. 

“Oh, um, I…” 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He gave you a knowing smirk. 

“N-no? Ah!” He pinched your nipples again. 

“Then why won’t you tell me what you want?” He lifted up your shirt, pressing soft kisses up your belly and sternum. 

Pulling back, he raised a brow. Waiting for you to give him an answer. 

Biting your lip, you tried to come up with something. There was nothing coming to mind though. So many options of what he could do was overwhelming. Flitting your eyes around, you wracked your brain. But no conclusion was to be found.

A warm hand took yours, grounding you. Chance brought it up to his lips placing a tender kiss against your palm. 

“I can choose. I am your Game Master, after all.” He winked at you with a smirk. 

How that phrase managed to be the sexiest thing ever? You have no idea, but it had you soaking your panties nonetheless. 

As if he could read your thoughts, Chance dipped his fingers under your waistband. Tenderly brushing over your panties he groaned. Those dark eyes looking back into yours with a hunger that had you shivering. 

“You’re soaked.” A blunt statement said in a husky voice that had you reeling. “I bet I could easily slip in and fuck you right now.” 

A long moan escaped you as you felt his fingers press harshly on your clit through your panties. His thick fingers continued to tease over your clothed sex. His ministrations making you grind against his hand. Your body desperate for more friction. 

A strong hand forced your hips to stay down, making you take the teasing motions. 

“Look at you now, not so high and mighty anymore, yeah?” He chuckled lowly. “Think you’re the only one that’s capable of teasing?” 

“N-no.” You hiccupped out as he lightly flicked over your sensitive nub. Still over your panties.

Fuck, this was frustrating. You gave him an irritated pout. He used your expression as an opportunity. Kissing you slowly, then nipping at your jutted out bottom lip. Quickly, you caved. Allowing his tongue to take over your mouth. Greedily lapping against yours with a groan. 

When he pulled back, he smirked. Eyes memorizing the dazed look you held. A flush on your cheeks as your mouth hung slightly open, just begging for his tongue to tangle with yours again. 

All in due time… 

First, he wanted to try something. Strong arms looped around your thighs, making you lock your legs around Chance’s torso instinctively. He lifted you off the chair with himself, then lowered you onto your office rug. His body pinning you beneath him. 

Slowly, his warm hands pulled off your shirt. His eyes studied you for any objections. When you nodded in approval, he quickly discarded the garment. As he looked over your exposed torso, he whistled lowly. Letting out a quiet “Holy Crit!” That you just barely made out. 

You weren’t wearing a bra under your shirt. Allowing the man to see your bare glory. Again, you were like a goddess in his eyes. One that he desperately wished to worship. 

He looked at your hand that was holding his die and grabbed it. Pulling it to your lips, he gave you a command. 

“Kiss it.” 

You obeyed kissing the die on the number five, the sweet feeling of your lips on his thigh had him shivering.  

“Again.” 

You nodded, kissing the 10 this time, right on his lower belly. 

“Mmmph.” He held back a moan, bringing his attention to you. “Everywhere you kiss on the die, is where I will kiss you.” He watched your eyes light up at the thought. 

Before you could turn the die to the eight, his hand stopped you. 

“Ah, ah! Not so fast, sweetheart. Any number but the seven and eight. Got it?”

As you nodded, he released your hand. Above you, he motioned for you to continue. Deciding to start safe, you pressed a kiss to the 19. Chance let out a content sigh, then leaned down. Soft lips pressed into the crook of your neck. The kiss landing right on your sweet spot, making you shiver. 

This time, you pressed a kiss to the six. Chance shuddered, cock jumping and the touch on his thigh. Looking down he gave you a smirk and airy chuckle. What a tease.

“May I?” He asked, hands resting at the top of your pants.

“You may.” You nodded a bit too enthusiastically. 

Slowly, Chance peeled down your pants. He chuckled at your panties. A pair that had G&G graphics covering them. 

“Were you expecting something?” He questioned with a smirk. 

“Not necessarily. They’re comfy. But do you like them?” 

“I love them.” He was being honest.

Maybe it was his love of the game, but you in nerdy attire did something to him. Something that had his cock straining even harder than before. As much as he enjoyed your underwear, he decided those had to go too. 

Now you lay before him full bare. A mouthwatering sight to say the least.  Between your legs your pussy glistened with want. Slick dripping onto your thighs. 

Following the little game he had begun, Chance kissed your inner thigh. Earning him a whine.  As he neared your sex, he let out a low groan. You smelled so fucking good. He couldn’t wait to get a taste. 

Putting the dice to your lips you kissed the 14. Chance felt the kiss on his bicep. Tenderly, he lifted your arm, placing a kiss there. 

When he pulled back he was met with your gaze sparkling with adoration. His heart swelled in his chest. Leaning back down, he couldn’t help it. He pressed a deep passionate kiss against your lips. Your hands went to his head, fingers carding in his hair. 

You continued to kiss the die, and Chance’s lips would follow. Trailing down your neck to your breasts. Tongue teasing at your nipples before continuing further. Featherlight kisses down your belly, on your thighs and arms. His mouth on you felt like bliss with only kisses. You wondered how he would feel elsewhere…

His hand slid down between your thighs. Thick fingers teased at your slick lips and he groaned. You were absolutely drenched right now. All because he was kissing you. 

He brought his fingers to his mouth, letting out the most lewd moan you had ever heard. It had you practically gushing. 

“Fuck, you taste good.” He moved to kiss you again, tongues tangling with the aftertaste of you. 

“I want more.” He growled lowly. “Kiss the eight and seven.”

You followed his command. Kissing the spots on the dice with a long press. He clenched his eyes shut and moaned as he felt your lips press against his length. He kissed back down your belly, then stopped between your thighs. 

Spreading them, he groaned. The sight of your slick, needy pussy was too much. He desperately needed a taste. So he dove in. Kissing and sucking at your lips and whining at your taste. Unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He would gladly get drunk on your weeping cunt if you would let him. As of now, it seemed you would. 

Your body jolted as he began to eat you out with fervor. Whines and moans escaping your lips as he lapped away at your folds. The feeling of him moaning against you had sparks of pleasure travel through your body. It was pure ecstasy. 

With what little thought you had left in you, you managed to bring the die back to your lips. This time trying something new. Sticking out your tongue, you gave it a light lick. Between your thighs Chance let out a low groan. You licked the dice again, earning you a moan. 

“Oh, oh. That…” Chance lifted himself up from between your legs. Lips glistening with your slick. 

He leaned himself over you, then pinned the hand holding the dice down. His gaze was dark and hungry. 

“If you keep that up, I’ll cum again.” You spotted a twinge of worry in his eyes as he said that. 

“Is that a problem?” You cocked your head to the side.

“Yes.” He said lowly, like he was holding himself back.

“Why’s that?” You bit your lip with a smile.

Leaning next to your ear, his hot labored breaths had you shivering. 

“Because I won’t get to cum IN you otherwise.” He trailed kisses down your jaw as you whined at his words. Feeling a smirk on his lips against your skin.

Lifting up, he took a long look over your naked form. He hummed in approval. 

“Now, may I get back to my meal? You’re quite delicious.” He winked at you, a flush on his cheeks. 

You nodded, and he slid back down between your legs. Immediately, his lips returned to your pussy. Licking stripes up and down your cunt had you writhing and moaning. Occasionally he would flick his tongue over your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. His actions were making a heat grow within your belly. The licking flames of pleasure would soon turn into your climax. 

The man wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, pulling you as close to him as possible. Burying his face in your pussy, licking through your folds quickly. He nosed at your clit as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. It felt like he was one. There was no way he wouldn’t be addicted to your taste. Especially when him tasting you had you making those lovely noises that were shooting straight to his cock. 

With each pass of his tongue over you, you felt the heat grow more and more. Till it was becoming too much. You knew it was going to snap soon. 

“C-Chance, ah! I’m ah!” You couldn’t make a coherent sentence, instead focusing on the pure pleasure coursing through your body.

Chance groaned against your heat, pushing you over the edge. 

Thighs locking around his head, your climax had you gushing over his face. Which Chance lapped up gratefully. Accepting every and all of the offerings your body had to give. 

With slow licks, he helped you down from the high. Your body buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Legs shaking and breaths labored. 

Before Chance pulled away, he pressed a kiss to your clit that had you yelping at the overstimulation. He smirked, crawling back over you. Leaning down, he pressed a wet kiss against your lips. Making you taste yourself on his tongue. It had you shivering with anticipation. 

For a moment, Chance paused. Taking in everything that had occurred so far. You beneath him, shivering from your earth shattering orgasm. His cock, straining against his pants after all of your teasing. Fantasy was one thing, but this reality was something he never could have thought up. 

Bringing him back to you, you gave a kiss to the 20. Chance feeling your lips on his cheek, gave you a bright smile. It was interesting, the shift between the man’s playful and dominant side. Not that you minded, all of it just made you want him more. It seemed like he wanted you too. 

Looking down, you could see the outline of his hard length pressing through his pants. With a cheeky grin, you trailed you hand down his chest to his crotch. Giving his cock a soft squeeze through his clothes. He whimpered as your hand worked him through his pants. As soon as you started, he made you stop. Pinning your arm back. A wild desperate look in his eyes. 

As quickly as he could, the man stripped himself of all of his clothes. Leaving you staring at him open mouthed. You trailed your eyes over his body. He was fairly fit with a tight and broad chest, but had a bit of a soft tummy that had you drooling. Trailing further down, your eyes widened. Oh, he was large. Extremely thick. Almost concerningly so. However, you looked down between your own thighs. Yeah, you could probably handle it at this point. Probably. 

Chance crawled back over you. Warm hands slid up your thighs as he closed the open space between your bodies. The head of his cock was hot against your pussy lips. He teased you, brushing up against your clit. His movements make you keen, raising your hips to grind against him. With a strong hand, he pressed down on your stomach. Forcing you to take his teasing, a satisfied smirk on his lips. 

He leaned down, giving you a quick peck. Then he lined his cock up with your weeping entrance, just barely pressed in. 

“Ready?” 

There was a brief hesitation on your face as you realized you weren’t using any protection. You were on birth control, but there was still a chance…

As if he could read your mind once more, he let out an airy chuckle. Hand cupping your face tenderly, he reassured you.

“I’m a personified object. I can’t get you pregnant.” He gave you a soft smile. 

“What if you could?” You genuinely wanted to know.

The question had his face blooming red. Getting you pregnant… it wasn’t like he never thought about it. What object wouldn’t dream of a reality like that? 

“Uh, well. Um, I can’t, but I have thought about it once or twice.” He bit his lip, nervously. 

“You’re not the only one.” You shuffled beneath him, feeling the head of his cock press into you more. 

Pulling him down to your face, you gave him a deep kiss. He groaned as your tongues tangled.

“Now,” you breathed against his lips, “please fuck me.”

“Mmm, since you asked so nicely.” Slowly, he pressed into you.

Wet warmth greeted his cock, as he moaned. You felt fucking amazing. Soft, warm, wet, perfect. 

You felt similarly as he filled you up perfectly. His length hitting every part of you perfectly. The head of his cock just pressed against your gummy sweet spot.

After you both adjusted to the feeling, Chance began to move. Slowly pumping in and out of you. Both to not hurt you at first, and to make sure he didn’t bust right away. You felt fucking amazing, and he felt like he could cum at any second. While he was very excited to cum in you, he desperately wanted to feel you cum around him. Your pleasure was his top priority. 

Beneath him, you were a moaning, writhing mess. Hips jolting up to meet his thrusts as his cock continually pressed against your gummy spot. His pelvis brushed against your clit in the most delicious way. Every movement he made had pleasure coursing through you. If he kept this up he would get his wish soon enough. Your pussy spasmed around him with each thrust, making him groan. 

Each pulse of your pussy made his cock twitch inside you. Above you, Chance was a moaning mess. Letting out sounds of pleasure that shot straight to your core. Knowing you were making him feel as good as he was making you feel made you feel, well, amazing. 

“You are perfect… oh!” He moaned out.

In your hand, you realized you still held his die. Deciding to have some fun, you brought it back to your lips. Placing a kiss to the eight side had him shuddering against you. His eyes were wide as he realized you had brought the die back into the fold. The mixture of feeling your pussy and lips on him was very unique, and felt amazing. Then you made it better, tongue flicking out against the eight side. 

The action had him shuddering against you. If you kept this up he was certainly going to cum before you. So, he had to make sure that didn’t happen. 

Lifting your legs, he shifted them onto his shoulders and folded you over. Putting you in a deep mating press. The head of his cock now brutalizing your sweet spot with perfect precision. Each push against you had you crying out. The pleasure growing that heat in your belly once more. He continued to pound into you, shooting sparks of pleasure through your body. 

“S-so deep…” You mumbled, cock drunk. 

“Yeah? You like that?” He groaned at the feeling of your pussy tightening around that. “Bet you’re gonna cum soon, huh?” He was babbling at this point now. The only thing on his mind was making you reach your peak. To have you screaming and clenching around him. Just so he could fill you full. 

“I l-love it, mmmph…” Your eyes rolled back as pleasure overtook your body.

Any moment now you would cum. He could tell. The way you were pulsing around his throbbing cock, oh you wouldn’t last long. Just what he wanted. Then he could follow, spilling into you. 

God, he wanted it so badly. He hadn’t realized how badly till he had you folded over beneath him. Cock abusing your overstimulated pussy with thrust after thrust. 

“C’mon, please.” He moaned, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Cum for me, cum for me and I’ll fill you up. Just like you want.” He panted, trying desperately to hold back his impending orgasm. 

His words had the heat in your belly hit its peak. Body shaking with ecstasy as your climax flowed through you. Sparks of pleasure shooting from your clit through every nerve of your being. It had you screaming out and clenching around Chance. 

With the feeling of you clamping around him, Chance came. Hot ropes flooding into you as he continued to ride out both of your orgasms. Each pump of his cock making you whimper with overstimulation. 

With a groan, his body relaxed. Gently, he unfolded himself from you and placed your shaking legs back down onto the floor. He lightly laid his body over yours, cock still stuffing you full. Both of you twitching with aftershocks. Letting out soft moans and whines as you came down from your highs. 

When you returned to earth, you brought the die in your hand to your lips once more. Placing a soft kiss to the 20. Chance nuzzled your nose, then placed a soft kiss against your lips. 

“You know… as much as I enjoy you mouthing my die. I think I prefer the real thing.” He gave you a sweet smile. 

Both of you joined lips, humming with content. 

[cutehoons02]

The4Boys series (photo feed/preview)

The4Boys are one of the most famous bands in the world, made up of Jake, Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon. Every fan who follows them dreams of having a chance with them but what would happen if, with the start of their new summer tour, all four fell in love with four completely different girls? Between cities like Los Angeles, Rome, Nice, and more… stolen kisses before a concert, paparazzi trying to figure out who the four new girlfriends of the hottest rockstars are, and the realization that even those who seem to have everything might still be missing something: love.

*tags: These four stories can be read in any order, as each one will have its own happy ending. They are written for an adult audience , as there will be plenty of spicy scenes. Each member of The4Boys has a very different personality, and their character development will blend fantasy with inspiration drawn from how they behave in public and in various videos. This is a standalone series but if readers enjoy it, there may be a future spin off featuring Jungwon, Sunoo, and Ni-Ki. Below, you'll find the summaries, the romantic tropes and the photo feeds for each story.

-> taglist is open!!

First story: Sunghoon (Friday 4 July 2025)

Ordinary Life

Photo feeds:

*pairing: pervy ice-rockstar Sunghoon x Influencer girl

*trope: grumpy boy x sunshine girl/fake dating

*synopsis: Sunghoon had never been an outgoing guy, and in the world of music and being a "rockstar," that was seen as a bit odd. There had never been any drama surrounding him—no paparazzi photos of him with girls, and people only talked about him on social media or TV because of his stunning looks and the hundreds of brands eager to work with him. Fans often wondered if Sunghoon was even capable of love or of showing a more "human and affectionate" side. So, it came as a shock when he suddenly found himself at the center of a media storm after being photographed at Milan Fashion Week with Y/n—one of the most famous influencers in Europe and beyond. But the truth was, he couldn’t stand her. She was overly dramatic and talked too much, and in his eyes, she was just an attention-seeking brat looking to boost her fame. But what would happen if fans started "shipping" Sunghoon and Y/n? The staff of "The4boys" decided to take action, aiming to show the public a more human side of Sunghoon. They proposed a six-month contract where the two of you would pretend to be a couple. But what happens when the Ice Rockstar slowly starts to see you differently—and even more attractive? Is it all just an act… or is it becoming something real?

*tags: Sunghoon at first is cynical and cold with her, the main character loves to tease him, fake dating, you at first are a little teeny with him, you’re obviously downbad for him, many kisses, a lot of tension, humor, fingering, female and male masturbation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) sex mirror, explicit sex, dirty talk, pet names (hoon,hoonie) (sunshine,brat) statement with song by The Weeknd

I Wanna Be Yours

*pairing: pervy rockstar Jay x innocent good Girl

*trope: brother best friend/she fell first, he fell harder

*synopsis: Having a teenage crush on one of your brother’s best friends might seem like just a “phase” most girls go through, but not for you. Your crush on Jay has lasted nearly ten years, long before they even debuted as The4Boys. All three of your brother’s friends and bandmates are completely off-limits, especially Jay: the true "rockstar" of the group. You’ve known Jay for years, and from the moment you first met him as a teenager, you thought he was incredibly cute. But now, he’s a man… and lucky (or unlucky) for you, you’ll be spending the entire summer with them. Your parents didn’t want to leave you home alone before university starts, so now you’re stuck spending 24/7 with your ultimate crush. But what if Jay liked you back?Jay knows you as Heeseung’s little sister, but for the past couple of years, you’ve been living rent-free in his mind. Having you around might just be a ticking time bomb because while the rest of the group still sees you as the sweet, innocent girl they grew up with… in his eyes, you’re very much a woman now.

*tags: Jay has always made fun of you because underneath he knows that you have a crush on him, you are definitely downbad for him for almost 10 years, you are ambivert but with him you can express your feelings, a lot of fluffy moment, a lot of kisses, flirty moment, jealousy, virgin reader, Jay is a green flag, fingering, female and male masturbation (first time for you) public masturbation (car in Monte Carlo) protected sex/unprotected sex (don't horny ppl) white lies told to your brother, protective brother, statement with a song of the Arctic Monkeys

Confident

*pairing: pervy rockstar Jack x social media staff Girl

*trope: sunshine boy x grumpy girl

*synopsis: Working for a record company had always been one of your dreams and moreover creating social content was one of your passions, so after graduating in Communication and Social Media you were part of the world of "The4Boys"; The4Boys was one of the most famous bands in the world and for your disgrace there was only one member that made you go crazy: Jake Sim. You and Jake were the opposites in everything, he the light you the darkness, the white against the black, you were slightly shy and did not dare to contradict the rules instead he was cheeky, confident, liked to filter with any girl and hated the rules. The tension between you two could be felt miles away and a new world tour was coming, what would you do between trand on Tik Tok, paparazzi shots and stolen kisses before a concert? Jake Sim was all you had to stay away from but he didn’t think so at all…

*tags: Jake loves to tease you and you don’t like it at first, Jake is seriously downbad for you and you’re his type and he’s not ashamed of not hiding it, psychological games, dirty talk, humor, fluffy moments, many kisses, kisses and physical moments before a concert, female masturbation, physical touches, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) shower sex, jealousy, post concert statement

Starboy

*pairing: pervy starboy-rockstar Heeseung x hostess Girl

*trope: fan x idol romance

*synopsis: Heeseung had never sought out love in his life. To him, it was a waste of time, especially with the hectic lifestyle of a “rockstar,” spending one month in one country and the next on the other side of the world but with a break that stretched out over four long months, for the first time, he wondered what he would actually do without stages, tours, or interviews. He had Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, his family, and the love of the fans... but there was no one who had ever made his heart beat in a different way. Except for one person. Someone who, to make matters worse, was absolutely off-limits. Y/n was one of the three flight attendants on their private jet, and she had joined the team just under six months ago. Yet from the very first time he saw her, Heeseung had felt something. It wasn’t love at first sight, but a strange curiosity that found its way in between tours and cities. She always had that sweet smile for everyone... except for him. Maybe because, right from the start, he had acted distant maybe even a bit like a jerk. But what could possibly happen when, one night in Los Angeles, that same flight attendant, the prettiest he’d ever seen, after a few too many drinks, lets it slip that she’s a huge fan of The4Boys? And that her bias is none other than Lee Heeseung? and what if that moment of confession ended with a stolen kiss, right in the middle of a crowded club?

*tags: Heeseung is the classic mysterious guy and you are a sunshine girl but a little intimidated by him because it was your bias before you found out to work for them, you love teasing him but also he loves to tease you especially when he finds out that you’re a fan, embarrassing moments, alcohol consumption, first kiss to Heeseung drunk, many moments of physical touches (in the plane) jealousy, male and female masturbation, unprotected sex-cowgirl (don’t horny ppl) post concert statement

[midnightquillz]

I might have done this wrong, but I really wanted to try ✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ So i decided to try it out heh i'm pretty sure i did this wrong BUT HEY, WE CAN'T GET BETTER IF WE NEVER TRY AND LEARN RIGHT?-

Content Warnings:

Blackmail and coercion

Threats of violence

Surveillance and stalking

Psychological manipulation

Anti-LGBTQ+ themes

Targeting of marginalized communities

Financial exploitation

Implied threats to family member's safety

Note: This story deals with an organization that specifically targets chosen families and LGBTQ+ support networks with harmful intent.

The Interview

Riley had been sitting in the same coffee shop for three hours, nursing their second latte and pretending to read the same page of their book. The interview wasn't for another twenty minutes, but they'd rather be early and anxious than late and unemployed.

"You look nervous," said a voice from the next table.

Riley glanced up to see a woman about their age with kind eyes and paint-stained fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore the kind of vintage band t-shirt that suggested she'd actually been to the concert.

"Job interview," Riley admitted, closing their book. "First one in months."

"What kind of job?"

"Research assistant at some nonprofit. Heritage Foundation or something? I honestly just need the income." Riley laughed nervously. "I'm probably overqualified anyway. PhD in sociology, but apparently that doesn't mean much these days."

The woman's expression shifted slightly—so briefly Riley almost missed it. "Heritage Foundation, you said?"

"Yeah, do you know it?"

"I might have heard of it." She extended her hand. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Riley. And thanks for the distraction. I was starting to spiral."

Sam smiled. "What's your research focus?"

"Community dynamics, mostly. How marginalized groups create support networks, that kind of thing." Riley felt themselves relaxing. Sam was easy to talk to, the kind of person who listened like your words actually mattered. "I spent two years embedded with queer youth in foster care, documenting how they find chosen family."

"That sounds important."

"It was. I mean, it is. The work matters, you know? Even if academia doesn't seem to think so." Riley checked their phone. "I should probably head over soon."

"Where's the interview?"

"Some office building on Pine Street. Tenth floor." Riley gathered their things. "Honestly, I didn't research them as much as I should have. Desperate times and all that."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Riley, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you were doing your research—with the foster kids—did you ever feel like you were... I don't know, exploiting their stories? Even with good intentions?"

The question caught Riley off guard. "I... no. I mean, I was careful about consent, about making sure they had agency in how their stories were told. Why?"

"Just curious about research ethics." Sam's smile didn't quite reach her eyes now. "You should probably go. Don't want to be late."

Riley stood, slinging their bag over their shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Sam. Thanks for calming my nerves."

"Good luck with the interview."

The Heritage Foundation's office was smaller than Riley had expected—just a few rooms with generic furniture and motivational posters about "preserving traditional values." The receptionist, a tired-looking man in his fifties, barely looked up when Riley announced themselves.

"Ms. Henderson will see you now," he said, gesturing toward a corner office.

Ms. Henderson was exactly what Riley had pictured when they'd applied: polished, professional, the kind of woman who probably had her calendar color-coded and her meals planned a week in advance. She stood to shake Riley's hand, her grip firm and confident.

"Dr. Okafor, thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat."

Riley settled into the chair across from her desk, trying to project confidence they didn't feel. "Thank you for considering my application."

"Your credentials are impressive. PhD in sociology, focus on community dynamics, extensive fieldwork experience." Ms. Henderson flipped through what Riley assumed was their resume. "Tell me about your work with marginalized communities."

Riley launched into their practiced spiel about ethical research practices and community-centered approaches, but Ms. Henderson's questions kept steering toward specifics—names, locations, identifying details that made Riley increasingly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Riley said finally, "but I'm not comfortable sharing that level of detail about my research subjects. Confidentiality is paramount in this kind of work."

Ms. Henderson smiled. "Of course. We completely understand the importance of... discretion. That's actually why we're so interested in your particular skill set."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dr. Okafor, the Heritage Foundation's mission is to preserve and protect traditional family structures. Your research into how certain groups form alternative family networks could be invaluable in helping us understand—and address—these concerning trends."

Riley felt their stomach drop. "Address them how?"

"Well, by working with local authorities, social services, that sort of thing. To ensure children are placed in appropriate, stable homes rather than these... unconventional arrangements."

The room suddenly felt very small. "Are you saying you want me to help you break up chosen families?"

"We want you to help us protect children from being exposed to lifestyle choices that could be harmful to their development."

Riley stood up so quickly their chair scraped against the floor. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. My research supports these communities—it doesn't undermine them."

Ms. Henderson's expression didn't change. "Dr. Okafor, I think you'll find our offer quite generous. Especially considering your current financial situation."

"How do you know about my financial situation?"

"We do our research too." Ms. Henderson leaned back in her chair. "Student loans, credit card debt, eviction notice last month that you managed to avoid by borrowing money from... let's see... your sister Maya?"

Riley's blood ran cold. "How do you—"

"Sit down, Dr. Okafor."

Riley remained standing. "I'm leaving."

"I don't think you are." Ms. Henderson pressed a button on her desk phone. "Security, please come to my office."

Two men appeared in the doorway—not the tired receptionist, but two large men in dark suits who looked like they'd stepped out of a movie about corporate espionage.

"Dr. Okafor was just leaving," Ms. Henderson said pleasantly. "But I think they forgot their phone."

One of the men held up Riley's phone—the one that had been in their bag, the one they definitely hadn't taken out.

"You can't just—"

"Actually, we can. You see, when you filled out our application, you agreed to a background check. Very thorough background check. We know about your research, your subjects, your financial troubles, your family..." Ms. Henderson smiled. "Your sister Maya, for instance. Interesting girl. Librarian, lives alone on Fourth Street, takes the same route to work every day."

Riley's knees nearly gave out. "Don't you dare—"

"Oh, we won't touch her. As long as you're reasonable." Ms. Henderson gestured to the chair. "Please. Sit."

Riley sat.

"Excellent. Now, as I was saying, we have a very generous offer. You'll provide us with the names, locations, and details of every chosen family network you've encountered in your research. In exchange, we'll pay off your debts, provide you with a comfortable salary, and ensure your sister remains safe and undisturbed in her quiet little life."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, that would be unfortunate. For several people."

Riley stared at her, mind racing. "This is insane. You can't just—"

"Dr. Okafor," Ms. Henderson interrupted, "do you know how we found you?"

"My application—"

"No. We've been tracking your research for months. Every interview you conducted, every subject you spoke with, every coffee shop where you met with potential participants." Ms. Henderson turned her computer screen toward Riley. "Including this morning."

On the screen was a photo—taken from across the street, through the coffee shop window. Riley could see themselves clearly, sitting at their table, talking to...

"Sam," Riley whispered.

"Sam Morrison. She's been documenting your research methods for us. Very thorough notes about your subjects, your ethical concerns, your financial situation. Even helped us time this interview perfectly."

Riley felt like they might throw up. "She's been—"

"Watching you, yes. Getting to know your patterns, your vulnerabilities, your pressure points. She's quite good at making people comfortable, isn't she?"

The coffee shop conversation replayed in Riley's mind with horrible new clarity. Sam asking about exploitation, about research ethics, about the Heritage Foundation itself. The way her expression had changed when Riley mentioned the organization's name—not surprise, but recognition.

"The question about research ethics," Riley said slowly. "She was testing me."

"Making sure you were as idealistic as your research suggested. People with strong moral convictions are so much easier to manipulate, don't you think?"

Riley's phone buzzed on the desk. Ms. Henderson glanced at it. "Text from Maya. 'Hope your interview goes well.' Sweet girl."

"Don't."

"Then we have an understanding?"

Riley looked at the phone, at the photo on the computer screen, at the two men still standing in the doorway. They thought about Maya, about the queer kids they'd interviewed, about chosen families being torn apart by people who thought love could only look one way.

"I need time to think."

"You have until tomorrow morning. Sam will be in touch to... help you make the right decision."

One of the men stepped forward and placed Riley's phone on the desk, then both men left the room. Ms. Henderson stood up, smoothing her skirt.

"Oh, and Dr. Okafor? Don't try to contact any of your research subjects to warn them. We're monitoring your communications now. Any attempt to compromise our operation will result in immediate consequences for your sister."

Riley picked up their phone with shaking hands. "This is kidnapping. Blackmail."

"This is business. And you're now part of our business model." Ms. Henderson walked to the door. "Sam will pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. She'll drive you to your first interview."

"My first—"

"With the Rodriguez family. The one you wrote about so beautifully in your dissertation—the teenage runaway who found a home with that lovely older gay couple in Capitol Hill." Ms. Henderson smiled. "Social services is very interested in investigating their... living arrangement."

Riley stood frozen as Ms. Henderson left the office. The two men had disappeared, the tired receptionist was back at his desk as if nothing had happened, and Riley was alone with the horrible understanding that they'd walked into a trap that had been months in the making.

Their phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number: Coffee was nice this morning. See you bright and early tomorrow. - Sam

Riley stared at the message, then at the address attached—Maya's apartment building.

The photo was taken from inside Maya's building. From the hallway outside her door.

I don't feel as confident with this but don't worry i'm going to re-write and make another one that might hit better. BUT EITHER WAY I DO HOPE YA'LL ENJOY LMFAO.

🔪 3 Plot Twists That Slap (and 1 that should be arrested) 🔪

hello and welcome back to me yelling on main about storytelling crimes. today we are talking about plot twists. specifically: the good, the god-tier, and the why-would-you-do-this-i-trusted-you tier.

let’s go.

✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ a.k.a. the “wait. WAIT.” twist. This is when you drop a twist that doesn’t just add drama - it recontextualizes the entire story. It makes the reader go back and reread earlier scenes like “was this character ALWAYS sketchy or am I just stupid??” It retroactively changes the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. Suddenly that offhanded comment in chapter three hits like a brick. The romance subplot becomes 500% more tragic. The villain’s motive makes SENSE now. Delicious.

✅ Best used when: the breadcrumbs are subtle but real. The twist shouldn’t come out of nowhere - it should feel inevitable in hindsight. Like Sixth Sense, Knives Out, that one betrayal in your favorite anime you still haven’t recovered from.

2.🧨 The Emotional Betrayal It’s giving: “i would’ve died for you” energy. This is the kind of twist that hurts. You thought they were loyal. You thought they cared. They did care - and still did it anyway. Or they never cared, and now you’re spiraling. This twist slaps because it’s not just about plot, it’s about trust. It stabs the characters AND the reader in the same motion. Bonus points if it’s a slow burn betrayal. Bonus bonus points if the betrayer feels genuinely torn up about it.

✅ Best used when: the reader is emotionally attached. Don’t waste this one on a side character we barely know. Save it for the love interest. The best friend. The mentor figure with dad energy. Make it personal. Make it RUIN lives.

3. 🧊 The “They Were Dead the Whole Time” but Make It Interesting Listen. This one’s risky. It’s a classic for a reason but also easy to flop. But when done well? Haunting. Creepy. Unhinged in a gorgeous way. It doesn’t have to be death either - maybe the character’s been possessed. Or they’re not real. Or the narrator’s memory is lying. The KEY is to not lean too hard on the shock. Lean on the vibes. Give it eeriness. Make it a slow unraveling. Give us dread. Give us melancholy. Give us psychological decay with a side of unreliable narrator.

✅ Best used when: you’re writing something surreal, gothic, speculative, or emotionally weird. This twist isn’t about plot logic, it’s about atmosphere and emotional rot.

🚨 The Twist That Should Be Arrested: “It Was All a Dream” 🚨 I’m sorry but. no. if I read 80k words of someone’s descent into madness just to find out it was their stress dream and now they’re normal again?? I will throw the entire book into a lake. This twist erases tension instead of escalating it. It invalidates everything the reader emotionally invested in. It’s the narrative equivalent of gaslighting. don’t do it. UNLESS - and this is a big unless - you’re doing it with INTENT. Meta intent. Dream-within-a-dream psychological horror intent. If you’re gonna do it, it better haunt me. It better RUIN me. Otherwise? Into the lake.

okay that’s all. go forth and commit plot crimes responsibly. bonus points if you use all three Good Twists in the same story and then look me in the eye like “oh was that too much?”

it wasn’t.

tag me when you emotionally destroy someone with it.

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[viviansturns]

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊'𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 - wc 8k+

...every time chris has ever fucked up and apologized

cw: angst, crying, begging, repeated toxic actions, extremely toxic relationship, totally unresolved, codependancy, mentions of alcohol, no physical abuse

a/n- hi guysss i'm putting this in the text of fic so you read it!! so this is for my 1,000 follower special! i've done a long fic before (here) so i decided to do another but this ones terribly sad!

it's important to note that i did this is a completely different writing style than mine, especially nearing the end, and I really don't know how much I like it. in addition, i reached the maximum number of "blocks" due to the absurd amount of enters, so theres a continuation to this post. anyways, enjoy! and i'm sorry in advance

Sorry for being a dick

The party is loud enough that you have to lean in to hear what your friend is saying, but you don’t really mind. You’re not even sure you wanted to come at first—it’s one of those crowded, slightly pretentious housewarmings where everyone brings craft beer or overpriced wine.

Still, you like the kitchen best. It’s bright and a little too small for the twelve-ish people squeezed in, the chatter bouncing off white cabinets and cheap tile.

You’re perched on the counter, boot heels knocking softly, drink in hand, laughing at something stupid your friend tells you about her boss. You feel loose, relaxed. You’ve even forgotten for a second that you don’t know most of these people.

That changes when he walks in.

He doesn’t exactly enter the room so much as commandeer it.

Tall. Broad. Annoyingly handsome in that way you can tell he knows. He’s talking to someone behind him, voice a little too loud over the music in the other room, eyes flicking around like he’s casing the joint.

He sees the group in the kitchen, and his gaze lands on you for a second too long before moving away again.

You notice.

“Who’s that?” you ask your friend in a hushed voice.

“Chris,” she mouths. “He’s... you know. He’s cool.”

Which apparently means handle with care.

You shrug. Not your problem.

Except he walks over anyway.

He leans against the counter next to you, beer dangling between his fingers, sizing you up in a quick, dismissive glance.

“What are you all talking about?” he asks, all casual arrogance.

“Hey Chris. My boss,” your friend says.

You smirk. “We’re also mocking ourselves for being fake adults. And I was saying I still write poetry sometimes.”

“Poetry?” he snorts. “Christ. That’s—pretentious as hell.”

It isn’t said playfully. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it. Just tosses it out there like a fact everyone would agree on.

The conversation dies for half a beat.

You blink, then let out a sharp little laugh that has no humor in it.

“Wow,” you say, tilting your head. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission to have a hobby.”

That gets his attention. His eyes snap to you, startled.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

For a second, he actually looks embarrassed.

“Shit,” he mutters. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck. The air shifts—his arrogance deflating fast. “Okay. You’re right. That was... dickish. ’m sorry.”

You raise your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at your mouth despite yourself.

“That’s it? Dickish?”

He winces. “Super dickish.”

“Better.”

Silence stretches, filled with the muffled bass from the living room and the sound of someone laughing down the hall.

He huffs out a laugh, looking genuinely sheepish now.

“I really am sorry,” he adds, voice low enough that only you hear it.

You believe him. Which is stupid. You barely know him.

But he looks so uncomfortable.

You exhale, shoulders relaxing.

“Fine,” you say, smiling slow. “You’re forgiven.”

He blinks.

“That easy?”

You shrug, swirling your drink.

“I forgive way too easily. You’ll come to realize.”

His eyes lock on yours then, the apology softening into something else. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.

A silence falls between you that is surprisingly comfortable.

Finally, he clears his throat, suddenly awkward in a way that makes you bite back a laugh.

“Can I, uh—can I get you another drink? For being a pretentious asshole.”

You tap your glass thoughtfully.

“You can try,” you tease.

He grins—genuine this time—and holds out a hand for your cup.

You let him take it.

_______________

He disappears into the living room, leaving you with a flutter in your chest you’re definitely going to blame on the cheap wine.

Your friend gives you a knowing look.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin that creeps up.

“Shut up,” you mouth.

But you’re already looking at the doorway, waiting for him to come back.

Sorry for forgetting

You don’t really expect him to text you.

But you check your phone the entire next morning anyway.

Your friend teased you about it all the way home. “Oh my god, you like him.” Which is insulting, actually. You don’t like rude boys who say sorry too late.

Still, you left the party thinking about the way he’d looked when he realized he’d actually hurt you. The awkward apology. The hand rubbing the back of his neck. The real, messy way he’d said I’m sorry like he wasn’t used to saying it at all.

You shouldn’t care.

But you’re not immune.

So when his name finally lights up your screen, you have to bite back a smile before you even read the message.

Chris: hey. you around today?

You roll your eyes at the lack of capitalization.

You: Depends.

Chris: on?

You: On whether you’re gonna insult me again.

The typing bubbles appear. Vanish. Come back.

Chris: i was gonna try not to.

You laugh.

You: Fine. When?

Chris: like an hour?

You glance at the time. You’re not really free but it’s not like you have anything you can’t move.

Your thumb hovers.

You: Sure.

Chris: cool. i’ll let you know.

_______________

That’s how you find yourself sitting in the cramped back corner of your favorite coffee shop, half an hour later, pretending to read while checking the door every three seconds.

He’s late.

Not “five-minutes-traffic” late.

Twenty. Thirty.

You try not to care.

But you’re annoyed.

You check your phone. Nothing.

Finally, you toss your book onto the table and fish your phone out again, thumbs flying.

You: So was this the part where you show up or just leave me hanging?

You hit send. And immediately regret it.

It takes five minutes for the bubbles to appear.

Chris: fuck.

That’s all.

You scowl.

You: Oh my god.

A minute later, your phone rings.

You almost don’t pick up.

But you do.

“Hey.”

His voice is low, rougher than you remember.

“Hey,” you snap.

Silence.

“I’m… sorry.”

You snort. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I… I forgot.”

Your mouth twists. “You forgot.”

He exhales, sounding wrecked. “Yeah. I don’t have an excuse. I just… lost track and I didn’t remember.”

Silence stretches.

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“You do realize that’s actually worse, right?”

He groans softly on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I know. That’s on me.”

Your shoulders drop.

You didn’t want a fight. You just didn’t want to feel stupid sitting here alone.

“I cleared time for you,” you say quietly.

He’s quiet too.

“I know.”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

“I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he says finally.

You blink.

“Chris…”

“I know. Don’t say it. I’m an asshole. A coward. Whatever. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

You sigh. The coffee in front of you has gone cold.

“You did waste it,” you admit.

“I know.”

“But…”

You close your eyes.

“I forgive you.”

Silence.

He actually laughs—a short, disbelieving sound.

“Again?”

“Again,” you say. “But you’re running out of freebies.”

He hums, sounding a little relieved.

“I’ll pay you back for the coffee.”

“You will.”

“And I’ll actually show up next time.”

You let out a small laugh.

“You better.”

Another beat of silence.

“Hey,” he says, voice suddenly softer. “Thanks. For… not hanging up.”

Your chest twists.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He lets out a breath.

“I’ll try not to.”

You hang up first.

You don’t finish your coffee.

But you do leave the shop smiling a little anyway.

Because you didn’t want to like him.

But it’s hard not to like someone who doesn’t know how to be good at this, but tries anyway.

Even if he’s late.

Even if he’s an idiot.

Because he said sorry, and you believed him.

Which is probably your biggest mistake yet.

-

-

-

-

-

-

You’re dating now.

It still feels weird to say out loud.

Not because it doesn’t fit, but because somehow it snuck up on you.

You can’t even say when it happened exactly. One minute you were teasing him about flaking on coffee, the next you were making out in his car, both of you too proud to admit you’d been waiting for it.

It’s not perfect. Nothing about Chris is perfect.

But it feels like it. He’s magnetic in a way you can’t describe. You don’t think you could stop liking him if you tried

—-- 1 month later —---

Sorry, work was crazy…

Tonight, it’s supposed to be your night.

You planned it.

A small, no-pressure dinner at your place. Just pasta, garlic bread, and that movie you keep saying he has to see because you love it and you want him to love it too.

You even clean your tiny apartment. Real cleaning, too, not just shoving socks under the bed.

You light a candle. One. You’re not that desperate…

You’re actually a little nervous.

Which is stupid. He’s seen you at your worst. (hair a mess, drunk at 2 AM crying)

But tonight feels like a test somehow.

And then he’s late.

You tell yourself it’s no big deal.

You know he’s busy. He works stupid hours. You knew that before you kissed him, before you let him press you against his stupid car door and promise to do better.

So you wait.

And wait.

You text.

No answer.

You end up sitting cross-legged on your couch, cold pasta in a pot on the stove, arms folded over your chest.

You’re not angry. Not yet.

You’re hurt.

Which is worse.

___________

When he finally knocks, you think about not opening the door.

You do it anyway.

He’s there, hands shoved into his jacket, eyes tired, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it all night.

He doesn’t look arrogant now.

He looks like someone who knows he fucked up.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You don’t move.

“Hi.”

He winces. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate.

Finally you step back.

He closes the door behind him carefully, like it might explode.

You don’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Yeah?”

“I am,” he says. He actually sounds wrecked. “I lost track of time. Work was crazy. I meant to text you, but—”

You hold up a hand.

“I don’t want excuses.”

He flinches.

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your eyes.

“Chris, I don’t care if you’re busy. Just tell me.”

“I know,” he mutters.

“Seriously,” you say, voice shaking a little. “Do you know what it feels like to be sitting here like an idiot? Stirring pasta for someone who’s not coming?”

He grimaces, biting his lip.

“I do now.”

Silence stretches.

You can hear the candle burning.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

He looks up sharply.

“Say you’re sorry.”

He doesn’t even hesitate this time.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

Your chest tightens.

“Yeah.”

He steps forward cautiously, like he’s worried you’ll bolt.

“I don’t want to make you feel like that again.”

You sniff, blinking fast.

“You probably will,” you mutter.

He actually huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. I probably will.”

For a second neither of you says anything.

Then you let out a shaky breath.

“I saved you some pasta.”

He breaks.

Laughs, low and a little relieved.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get excited. It’s cold.”

He grins, eyes softening in that way that ruins you.

“Can I have some?”

You roll your eyes but turn to the stove.

He follows you, close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back.

When you set the pot on the counter, he slips his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

You stiffen for a second.

Then relax.

Because he’s warm. And he’s here.

And because even if he’s bad at this, he’s trying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

You sigh.

“I know.”

He kisses the side of your neck.

“Still like me?”

You snort.

“Maybe.”

He chuckles, mouth brushing your skin.

“I’ll take that.”

Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that

He’s got one arm around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. You’re telling him about your latest project for work—except you’re excited. Animated.

You don’t even realize you’re babbling until you hear the edge of your own voice.

“So anyway, if this client approves the new pitch, it means I could actually lead the whole campaign, which would be insane. Like, it’s not that big of a company, but still—”

You’re cut off by his laugh.

Not a mean laugh. Just dismissive.

“Babe,” he says, squeezing your arm. “You’re really geeking out about this.”

You go still.

Your face warms.

“I’m… what?”

He raises an eyebrow, still smiling, oblivious.

“You’re geeking out. It’s cute, don’t get me wrong. Just—I don’t know, you’re acting like it’s some world-changing thing.”

You pull away a little.

“Wow.”

His grin falters.

“What?”

You set your jaw, swallowing back the stupid sting in your chest.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Hey.” He sits up straighter. “What?”

You shake your head.

“It’s just funny, I guess.”

He frowns. “What’s funny?”

“That you think it’s cute. Me caring about my job.”

He blinks, mouth opening and closing.

“That’s not—Jesus. That’s not what I meant.”

“Really? Because it sounded like ‘Aw, look at you pretending to be important.’”

His face falls.

You hate the way your throat tightens.

“It’s not pretending,” you add quietly.

He scrubs a hand over his face.

“Fuck. Okay. Wait. Hold on.”

You stand up, pushing off the blanket.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting water,” you mutter.

“Please don’t walk away. Can you—just. Listen to me?”

You freeze halfway to the kitchen.

Your fingers curl against your palm.

“Fine,” you bite out, not turning around.

He gets up too, crossing the tiny space between you.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

He exhales sharply.

“Please.”

Slowly, you turn.

He looks miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately.

You stare at him.

He lifts both hands, palms up, as if surrendering.

“I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean it like that. I was… fuck, I don’t know. Teasing? But it was stupid. And dismissive. And—just wrong.”

You cross your arms.

“It matters to me,” you say. Your voice cracks, which you hate.

He winces.

“I know.”

“It’s the one thing I’m proud of.”

He steps closer, carefully.

“I know,” he repeats, voice low.

He’s so close you can smell his cologne, can see the tiny scar on his eyebrow.

“I love that you care about it,” he says quietly. “That you’re… passionate. That you can talk about it for hours. It’s one of the reasons I fucking like you so much.”

Your breath catches.

He swallows hard.

“I’m sorry I made you feel stupid about it. That’s on me. It was careless.”

Silence stretches between you.

He waits.

And waits.

You sigh, deflating.

“You are an asshole,” you say.

He nods immediately.

“Certified.”

You try to glare at him. Fail.

Your mouth twitches instead.

He sees it.

“Forgive me?” he asks, voice small.

You roll your eyes.

“God, you’re pathetic.”

He grins.

You let your arms fall to your sides.

“Fine,” you mutter.

He steps in, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against your hair.

You huff.

“I know.”

I’m Sorry I Didn’t Trust You

It’s one of those nights where you don’t expect anything to go wrong. That’s the worst part.

Because you’re actually happy when you get there—half-buzzed on cheap wine, buzzing from texts with Chris.

You’d invited him.

You told him about this gathering all week.

“Low-key,” you’d promised. Just friends from work and a couple of their partners. Nothing huge. Nothing to worry about…

He said he might come.

Didn’t promise, but you’d hoped.

So when he shows up halfway through the evening, you’re actually thrilled.

You spot him in the doorway, holding a six-pack, eyes scanning the room.

You wave.

You’re laughing when you do.

Because you’re in the middle of a story with Daniel—who’s literally your friend from work. Who’s engaged. Whose fiancé is in the kitchen.

Daniel had just made some dumb joke about your mutual boss’s hair transplant.

You’re giggling helplessly, cheeks flushed with cheap cabernet.

“Hey!” you call when Chris finally notices you. “You made it!”

But the second your eyes meet, you see it.

The way his jaw tightens.

The flash in his eyes.

Your heart sinks a little.

“Chris,” you say brightly, patting the couch cushion next to you. “Come sit—”

But he doesn’t.

He glances at Daniel. At your hand resting lightly on Daniel’s arm.

Your platonic friend.

And his face goes cold.

“Didn’t realize you were busy,” he says flatly.

You blink.

“Chris.”

Daniel gives a polite, awkward smile.

“Hey, man.”

Chris’s answering nod is so sharp it could cut glass.

You bristle.

“Sit down,” you try again.

“I’m good,” he mutters.

“Chris.”

He sets the six-pack down a little too hard on the coffee table.

“Didn’t know you had company.”

Your friend’s eyes widen.

You swallow.

“Daniel’s my friend,” you bite out.

Chris’s lip curls.

“Yeah. Looks real friendly.”

Silence slams into the room.

Daniel coughs.

“I’m gonna… refill my drink.” He escapes, shooting you an apologetic look.

You watch him go, then whip around to glare at Chris.

“Are you serious?”

Chris doesn’t back down.

“What? You two seemed cozy.”

You stand up so fast the blanket slides to the floor.

“Don’t you dare.”

He lifts his chin defiantly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t accuse me of… whatever that was.”

He folds his arms, eyes hard.

“You tell me. You were laughing, touching him—”

“He’s my friend. And he’s engaged!”

Chris’s jaw works.

You see it, the way he wants to back down. But he doesn’t.

“Didn’t look like you remembered that.”

Your mouth falls open.

“That’s low. Even for you.”

“Maybe don’t act like you’re single, then.”

The words are quiet.

Mean.

You flinch.

It’s like getting slapped.

People are staring.

You feel your face burn.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, voice shaking.

He blinks.

You don’t wait.

You shove past him and storm toward the door.

You hear him mutter something, but you’re already outside, cold night air hitting your face like a wall.

Your eyes sting.

You’re furious.

Humiliated.

Hurt.

You don’t even know where you’re going, just that you have to move.

You make it half a block before you hear footsteps behind you.

“Wait!”

You don’t stop.

“Wait. Please.”

He catches up, grabbing your arm.

You spin, shoving him away.

“Don’t touch me,” you spit.

He recoils, hands up.

“Okay. Okay.”

You glare at him, breathing hard.

He’s pale in the streetlight.

“Chris, what the fuck was that?”

He swallows hard.

“Please. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, bitter.

“Sorry? You just called me a fucking cheater in front of my friends.”

He winces.

“I know.”

“You embarrassed me. You made me feel like—like shit. For laughing with someone.”

“I know.”

Your voice cracks.

“Why would you even think that about me?”

His face crumples.

“Because I’m an insecure piece of shit.”

You blink.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard.

“I saw you with him and I just—snapped. I was jealous. Fuck. I hate that I’m like this.”

You clench your jaw.

“You didn’t trust me.”

“I know.”

He sounds wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Silence.

Your arms are wrapped tight around yourself.

You want to leave.

But you can’t.

Because he’s standing there looking like the ground just gave out beneath him.

“Look at me,” he pleads.

You do.

He steps closer, slowly.

“I trust you,” he says desperately. “I do. I just—sometimes I get scared I’m gonna lose you. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

You swallow, throat raw.

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I know.”

“You can’t accuse me of shit because you’re scared.”

He nods rapidly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll work on it. I swear.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

He waits.

Finally you whisper, “Say it again.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.”

Your eyes burn.

“I didn’t deserve that.”

He shakes his head.

“No. You didn’t.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t.”

“I won’t,” he repeats, voice breaking.

Silence.

You take a tiny step forward.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t touch you without permission.

Finally, you sigh and collapse against his chest.

He wraps his arms around you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair.

You close your eyes.

“I know,” you whisper back.

But you’re still angry.

I’m sorry I took it out on you

You know he’s had a long day.

You can tell from the moment you hear his keys hit the door.

It’s the way they don’t just jingle—they clatter.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, stirring something on the stove. The apartment smells like garlic and butter and the candle you lit an hour ago.

You want it to feel like home.

You want to be the good part of his day.

When the door swings open, you can hear him sigh.

Not relief, but exhaustion.

You peek over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just dumps his bag on the floor. Runs a hand over his face.

“Hi,” he mutters eventually, voice scratchy.

You swallow.

He looks… bad.

Hair a mess. Shirt wrinkled. Eyes shadowed.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you smile gently.

“I made dinner.”

He snorts.

“Of course you did.”

You freeze.

The words are flat. Not grateful.

You stare at him, spoon paused over the pan.

“…Excuse me?”

He doesn’t look at you.

“Nothing.”

You set the spoon down carefully.

“No. Say it.”

He exhales, jaw clenching.

“Just—fuck. Can you not do this right now?”

Your stomach twists.

“Do what?”

He finally lifts his eyes to yours, and they’re sharp.

“This.” He gestures vaguely. “The whole perfect-girlfriend routine. Cooking. Candles. Acting like everything’s fucking fine.”

You go still.

Your throat tightens.

“I wasn’t… acting.”

He scoffs.

“Sure.”

Silence.

You can hear the pan sizzling.

Slowly, you turn off the burner.

You swallow hard.

“Okay.”

You walk past him toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

“Where are you going?”

Your voice cracks.

“Anywhere you’re not.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

You don’t wait.

You shut the bedroom door behind you.

It’s not a slam.

But it’s final.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, wiping at your eyes furiously.

You hate crying over this.

Over him.

You hear nothing for a while.

No footsteps.

No apology.

Just silence.

Your chest aches.

Of course. He won’t come.

He never—

The door creaks.

You look up sharply.

He’s standing there.

He doesn’t look angry now.

He looks wrecked.

His shoulders sag.

“Don’t,” you croak.

But he steps in anyway.

“Please.”

You turn your face away.

“Just—go away.”

He crosses the room in three strides.

He kneels in front of you, palms on your knees.

You try to shove him off.

He doesn’t let go.

“Look at me,” he says, voice raw.

You don’t.

“Please. Look at me.”

Slowly, shaking, you lift your eyes.

He’s pale.

Eyes glossy.

“Say it,” you whisper.

He swallows so hard you can hear it.

“I’m sorry.”

Your lip trembles.

He squeezes your knees gently.

“Say it better.”

He closes his eyes.

When he opens them, there’s nothing but desperation there.

“I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps going, voice cracking.

“I had a shit day. Everything went wrong. My boss was on my ass. I didn’t want to come home because I knew I’d just… ruin it. And I did.”

He lets out a choked laugh.

“I ruined it. Like I always fucking do.”

Your eyes burn.

He shakes his head, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle twitch.

“You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

You sniff.

“No. I didn’t.”

He nods, tears welling.

“I know.”

Silence stretches between you.

Your hands are clenched in your lap.

Finally, carefully, he covers them with his.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean any of that. Not one word.”

You swallow.

“I just wanted you to be happy to see me,” you admit, voice tiny.

He breaks.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

He surges forward, arms wrapping around your waist, face pressing into your stomach.

You stay stiff for a moment.

Then your hands move.

They tangle in his hair.

He shudders.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your shirt. Over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your throat tightens.

“I know.”

He doesn’t move.

He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

You stay like that for a long time.

Silent.

Breathing.

Trying to forgive him.

I’m sorry I shut you out

It starts small.

A text left on read.

No big deal. He’s busy.

You tell yourself that the first day.

By the second, your stomach’s twisting a little when you check your phone.

He’s not ignoring you exactly.

He answers.

Short.

Flat.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Fine.”

“Want to hang out tonight?”

“Can’t. Busy.”

No smiley faces. No jokes. No “I miss you.”

Just… silence.

You’re used to him being hot and cold.

But this feels different.

It feels like talking to a wall.

_____________

On the third day, you call him.

He doesn’t pick up.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

Instead you show up at his door.

It’s late. You know he’s home because his lights are on.

You knock.

Nothing.

You knock again, harder.

Finally, the door creaks open.

He peers out, looking wrecked.

Eyes red-rimmed.

Like he hasn’t slept.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer.

Just steps back and lets you in.

The place is dark.

Messy.

You stand in the middle of his living room, arms folded tight over your chest.

“Chris.”

He sinks onto the couch.

Elbows on knees. Head in hands.

You wait.

He doesn’t look at you.

You swallow hard.

“Talk to me.”

Nothing.

Your voice cracks.

“Please talk to me.”

He drags his hands down his face.

“Don’t,” he mutters.

“Don’t what?”

He lifts his head finally.

Eyes glassy.

“Don’t try to fix me tonight. I can’t do it.”

Your heart lurches.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you whisper.

He huffs a bitter laugh.

“Sure.”

You blink fast, willing tears not to fall.

“You’re shutting me out.”

He flinches.

“You know you are.”

Silence.

You step closer.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say carefully. “I just need you to let me in.”

He shakes his head.

“You don’t want in here,” he says, voice breaking.

You go very still.

“Try me.”

He swallows hard.

Then he breaks.

“I’m scared,” he rasps.

Your breath catches.

“Of what?”

He lets out a choked laugh.

“Of this. Of you. Of fucking it all up.”

You exhale slowly.

“Chris…”

He grips the back of his neck.

“I don’t know how to do this. Be good at this. Every time I think I am, I fuck it up. I say something shitty or push you away or… I don’t know.”

He wipes at his eyes roughly.

“I don’t want you to see me like this. Like some fucking mess.”

You move before he can stop you.

You sit beside him and pull his hands from his face.

He resists for a second.

Then gives up.

Your fingers wrap around his.

“Hey,” you whisper.

He won’t look at you.

You squeeze his hands tighter.

“Look at me.”

Finally, he does.

Broken.

You blink back tears.

“Do you think I’m here because you’re perfect?”

He huffs a miserable sound.

“Do you?” you demand.

He shakes his head.

“Then stop shutting me out,” you whisper fiercely.

Silence.

He breathes hard, chest rising and falling.

Finally, voice wrecked:

“I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his hands tighter.

“Say it better.”

He blinks, tears threatening to spill.

“I’m sorry I shut you out.”

Your throat tightens.

“I hate when you do that,” you whisper.

He nods rapidly.

“I know.”

You sniff, tears falling now.

“I don’t want to be on the outside.”

He swallows.

“You’re not.”

“It felt like it.”

“I know,” he chokes.

Silence.

You let go of his hands only to wrap your arms around his neck.

He freezes.

Then melts.

Buries his face in your shoulder.

Breathing ragged.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair.

You nod against him.

“I know.”

You feel his arms wrap tight around you.

Desperate.

Needing.

You hold him just as hard.

Neither of you says anything else.

But you both know this isn’t fixed.

Not really.

You’re just holding the pieces together.

I’m so sorry I wanted to hurt you

It starts over the dishes.

You can’t even believe it later.

But that’s all it is.

A sink full of plates and mugs and silverware that smell like old takeout.

You’re tired.

He’s tired.

You’ve both had long days.

You’re the one who says it first.

“Can you please help me clean up?”

Your voice is gentle. Careful.

But he’s sitting on the couch scrolling his phone.

He doesn’t even look up.

“Do it later.”

Your jaw tenses.

“I don’t want to do it later. It’ll be worse.”

He sighs—exaggerated, rolling his eyes.

“Jesus. It’s fucking dishes.”

You feel something snap.

“You said you’d help.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired,” he bites out.

“So am I,” you say, voice sharp.

He finally looks at you.

Eyes cold.

“Why are you always on my ass about this shit?”

Your mouth falls open.

“My ass? Chris, I just want you to keep one promise. Help with one thing.”

He snorts.

“Oh, one thing? Fucking hilarious.”

Your chest tightens.

“Don’t.”

But he’s not stopping.

He stands up.

“Here we go. The fucking lecture.”

You throw the dish towel down.

“Because you don’t listen!”

“Because you won’t shut the fuck up!”

Silence slams down.

You both freeze.

You blink rapidly.

Your lip trembles.

His chest heaves.

He doesn’t back down.

“Seriously,” he sneers. “It’s always something with you. Always needing me to do this, do that. You’re so fucking needy.”

You feel the tears immediately.

You try to swallow them back.

He sees.

He sees and he keeps going.

“God, it’s pathetic,” he spits.

You flinch.

He sees it.

He knows.

But he doesn’t stop.

“You act like I’d fucking fall apart without you. You think you’re so goddamn important.”

Your vision blurs.

“Stop,” you whisper.

But he’s shaking.

Voice rising.

“Maybe I’m sick of feeling like a fucking project you’re trying to fix. Like I’m some loser you can save.”

You gasp, choking on a sob.

He freezes.

It’s silent except for your breathing, ragged and wet.

You see his face crumple.

“Wait.”

You take a step back.

“Don’t.”

“Wait—fuck. Wait.”

Your voice cracks.

“Get out.”

He flinches.

You’re crying in earnest now.

“Get out. Get out get out get out—”

He doesn’t move.

He’s shaking too.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Get out!”

He drops to his knees.

Your eyes go wide.

He’s on the fucking floor, palms flat, head hanging.

“I didn’t mean it,” he sobs.

You hiccup.

He sounds broken.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes.

You try to back away, but he scrambles forward, grabbing your legs.

“Please.”

You push at his shoulders.

“Stop it—Chris—stop—”

He clings harder.

“I’m sorry. I wanted you to feel small because I felt small. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You can’t even see through your tears.

He’s crying too.

Loud. Ugly.

He presses his face to your stomach, sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your shirt. “I’m sorry I wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry.”

Your hands hover over his head.

Shaking.

You want to hit him.

You want to hold him.

You do neither.

You just stand there, crying, as he clings to you and begs like his life depends on it.

“Please,” he sobs. “Please don’t leave me.”

You close your eyes.

Your fingers twitch.

Finally, they sink into his hair.

He chokes on relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

I’m sorry I cant be better

It starts quiet. Too quiet.

He’s been different lately. Not in the way that used to scare you—the shouting, the biting sarcasm.

This time it’s worse. He doesn’t shout at all. He doesn’t say much of anything.

You catch him reading something on his phone in bed. He closes it before you can see. You spot the dog-eared therapy book on the table, spine cracked, pen tucked inside with notes you’re not allowed to read. He goes. Every week. He even tells you. But he never talks about it.

It’s like he’s built walls you’re not allowed behind.

You’re lying on the couch together. Except you’re not together. He’s at one end. Staring at the ceiling.

You finally can’t take it. Your voice cracks when you speak.

“Do you even want this anymore?”

His head turns slowly. Brow furrowed like you’re speaking another language.

You swallow hard. “This. Us. Because if you don’t, just tell me.”

He blinks. “You think I don’t want you?”

You huff, eyes stinging. “I don’t know what you want. You won’t let me in. You don’t laugh, you don’t fight, you don’t—”

You stop. Breathing hard.

He’s silent. Eyes flickering. Like he’s fighting with himself.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows.

“I’m trying,” he says finally.

Your chest squeezes. “I know.”

“But I’m… fuck.” He sits up. Rubs both hands over his face. “I’m scared if I don’t try I’ll hurt you. So I’m trying to… not feel anything.”

Your lip trembles. “Chris.”

He drops his hands. He looks so small. So young. So tired.

His voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, blinking away tears. “That’s not enough anymore.”

He lets out a wet, hopeless laugh. “I know.”

Silence.

He sniffs hard. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.”

You exhale shakily. “Look at me.”

He does. Eyes red.

“You don’t have to be better. You just have to be here.”

He nods like he understands, but you see the fear in his eyes.

You crawl across the couch, pressing your forehead to his. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t touch you.

He just breathes you in. Shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

You close your eyes. “I know.”

I’m so fucking sorry.

It’s late when he shows up. You’re already in pajamas, teeth brushed, trying not to cry. He’s been at “work” for hours later than he should be.

You open the door anyway. He’s standing there swaying, hair a mess, eyes red.

He reeks of cheap liquor.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You stare. Say nothing.

He runs a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but you. “Can I come in?”

Your throat works. “Why.”

He flinches at your voice. “Please.”

You don’t move. He steps forward anyway, close enough you can smell the sweat and alcohol. Close enough you see it on his face.

Something dead in his eyes.

Your voice cracks. “Chris. What did you do.”

He breaks. Shoulders shaking. He chokes on it. “I’m sorry.”

You feel the floor tilt. Your hands tremble. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head violently. “I can’t. Fuck—I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

He covers his face. Muffled: “I fucked up.”

Your stomach lurches. “Chris.”

Silence. He won’t look at you.

Your voice is a whisper. “Did you sleep with her?”

He makes this awful, broken noise in his throat.

You feel your heart stop.

“Answer me.”

He finally lifts his head. Eyes glassy, tears streaking down his cheeks. He nods once.

You can’t breathe.

He sobs. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, backing away like he’s poison. “Get out.”

He steps forward, desperate. “No—please—”

“Get out.”

He drops to his knees. Your vision blurs.

“Don’t do this,” he begs. Voice wrecked. “Please. I didn’t mean it. I was drunk—I was so fucking lonely—I didn’t want her I just—I just wanted to feel something.”

You cover your mouth with your hand. He claws at your leg.

“Please look at me.”

You can’t. You’re crying so hard you can’t see.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry I did this. I’m sorry I broke us. I’m sorry I’m so fucking weak. I’m sorry I ruined everything good in my life.”

Your voice is raw. “You did. You ruined it.”

He chokes. “I know.”

“You ruined me.”

He collapses against your legs, face buried in your thigh, crying like a child. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You try to shove him off but he clings tighter. Begging. Mumbling.

“I’m sorry I broke us. I’m sorry I broke you. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix me.”

You finally wrench free. You stumble back, gasping. Sobbing.

“Get out,” you scream.

He flinches. Truly sobbing now.

“I love you,” he chokes.

Your heart splinters. “Get out,” you whisper, voice dead.

He stares at you like he’ll die if you say it again. But you just stand there shaking.

Finally he stands. Sways.

You watch him stagger to the door. He turns back one last time. Tears streaming. Voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You slam the door in his face.

Then you sink to the floor and scream as hard as your lungs will allow you.

—- 1 month later —---

You sit at the edge of the couch, knees bouncing.

He’s across from you, elbows on his thighs, head bowed.

Silence.

Your throat is raw from crying for hours before he even got here.

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t dare.

Your voice cracks. “Say it.”

He flinches.

“Say what you did.”

He swallows hard. “...I cheated on you.”

Your eyes burn. Your nails bite into your palms. “Why.”

He chokes. “Because I’m fucking broken. Because I hated myself. Because I wanted to hurt me more than I hurt you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Congratulations,” you rasp. “You did.”

He sobs once. “I know.”

Silence.

Your voice is dead. “Why are you here.”

He finally lifts his head. Eyes ruined. “To tell you I’m sorry.”

You breathe. Shaky. He waits.

“You think that fixes it?”

He shakes his head violently. “No.”

Silence.

Your jaw trembles. “I hate you.”

He nods, tears falling. “I know.”

You sniff. Your voice breaks. “I don’t want to.”

That shatters him.

He cries for real. Ugly. Loud.

You lean forward, grabbing his shaking hands. He startles like he’s been burned.

“Look at me.”

He does.

Your voice is shredded. “I forgive you.”

He chokes on it. “No.”

“I forgive you,” you repeat, voice rising. Angry. Sobbing. “I forgive you, okay? I fucking forgive you.”

He sobs so hard he can’t breathe. Collapses forward onto your lap.

You card your fingers through his hair. Both of you crying.

But you whisper, so quiet he almost misses it: “But I don’t know if I can ever love you the same way.”

He clutches you harder. “I know,” he sobs. “I know. I’ll take anything. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

>> continuation (sorry, tumblr only allows 1000 blocks per post and i'm trying this goofy ass writing style)

[scannainscanrula]

shadowed corners (iii)

part one here \\ part two here

author's note: grma for being patient divas. i've a cheeky jimmy fic in the works for those interested and i'll probably have another femmick fic out too! i just wanted to say i've been so so stunned by how kind you've all been about my writing and i'm so glad you all enjoy it so thank you again and enjoy! warnings: horror elements, vampire violence, lots of talk about shark attacks, fingering, hand jobs, f/m sex, riding, biting

PART THREE

One week passes and you don’t see Remmick. He didn’t come over that next day, and once again you don’t have a way to contact a guy you asked out. So you don’t see him. You just can’t. 

You have a few phone calls with your agent and she loops your publisher in on what’s happened. 

You talk to your therapist, your friends. 

You learn, based on the tox report, that Chris the lifeguard was drunk and very, very high. That dispels the misplaced guilt you felt over his tragic and accidental death. The only thing inside of you now is pure dread.

Because the dreams persist. They happen more frequently, and they become more intimate. Every night the monster visits you. Every night he becomes more of a man. Every night he claims you, but you want it. You’ve become more feverish. On one occasion, you fall asleep on your couch and when you awake to the absence of your otherworldly admirer and his delicate touches to your face, you actually cry. 

Mo shíorghrá. My eternal love. 

A new page is opened in your notebook. A new concept is drafted. Something old, something ancient that loves you. 

Loves her. Her, not you.

You sigh, dragging both hands down your face as you lean back in the chair. 

“Fuck,” you hiss.

It’s early. Very early. You woke up sweating after the you from your dreams let the monster take you from behind. You need to stretch your legs, to get your blood pumping. It’s daytime, no chance of running into Remmick out there. 

You want to see him again. You’re desperate to apologise for the awkwardness of that night a week ago, and even more desperate to kiss him again. His touch lingers on you. His lips against yours, the snug fit of his hips between your thighs, his handprints seared into the skin at your waist. 

Instead, your curiosity gets the best of you as you go to the browser and search for the shark attacks that happened up the coast. You just want to know if there were any similarities, or if this was the same shark. You had researched the ones in Jersey Shore Chris told you about, and they were as gruesome as you imagined.

So you begin to read. You find a YouTube video about it from a true crime channel you vaguely recognise.

So the rabbit hole begins. 

At 1PM, you start with the shark attacks three years prior at the Atlantic Tranquility Resort and Spa. Then you’re taken to something similar six years ago in Rhode Island. And the cycle continues. Every three or four years, all men, always at night, always missing a limb. When you get to seventeen years ago, they start traveling down the coast and you reach Delaware in year twenty two.

This is when you decide to go to the library. The library in town is small and humble, but the librarian is chipper and kind to you when you explain what you’re researching.

“You’re the author, right? The one who found him?”

You hesitate, but nod.

“Word gets around in a small town.”

She smiles at you.

“You have any titles I would know?”

“Oh, um… well, I’ve only got three published works. Um… Ivory Fortress was the first, then Gut String Empire, and my most recent is Shadowed Corners?” 

Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head, laughing.

“You know there is a group of college girls in this town who have been begging me to order those.”

“Well, I have copies of each of them. I’d love to donate to the library.”

“That’d be very generous. The real problem is that I just don’t want to explain to their parents why I let them check it out!”

You laugh at that and she points you to a study room. You take your laptop to set up in there, collecting archives of newspapers and weather reports that stack around you. 

You log onto archival websites, keyword searching shark attack so many times it hardly looks like English. You scan through the newspapers delicately, as the old paper is brittle. 

You use the printer and print out a map of the East Coast, marking the spots with your pen. You take down particulars in a document on your laptop. 

After you’re there for far too long, you make the last mark. 

Corolla, North Carolina. 

North Carolina. 

Where have you heard that recently?

You do a quick search, your leg bouncing as your eyes follow the words on the page. Corolla is an extremely small town, it was a hunting ground for English settlers in its early days, in 1875 the Currituck Beach Light was built-

Lighthouse. 

Remmick.

Remmick is from North Carolina, you remember, blinking. 

There’s a knock on the doorway.

“Miss? I’m so sorry, but the library’s closing.”

Shit, have you really been here for four hours? 

“Oh, I… um, let me help you put these away.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

After helping the librarian put away the dozens of newspapers you took out, you pack your things.

“Um… I just have one more question.”

“Sure, sweetie.”

“The man who works at the lighthouse, do you know his name?”

“The older one or the younger?”

“The younger one.”

“I believe it’s Remmick… oh, Kirby or Kerwin, maybe? Something like that, I’m not sure.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

You head back to your place on the bike. As you ride You get home and decide to skip weed or wine, you’re zeroed in on a particular subject and you have got to be clear headed and laser focused. 

You’re going wild, pacing around as you listen to a video explaining the types of sharks who most commonly attack. 

You stare at your laptop, biting your nails as you fight the urge to type in the name. You lose the fight, sitting at the desk and tying in Remmick Kirby. 

Nothing. So you try Remmick Kerwin North Carolina. 

Did you mean: Rory Kirwan? 

You click on the correction and lead yourself to another archive website, a newspaper clipping from 1935.

ATTACK NEAR CURRITUCK BEACH LIGHT SPARKS SHARK HUNT  -Corolla, NC  Late in the evening last Tuesday, the body of Maryland crabber Jim Barnett appeared on shore. The body was by lighthouse worker Rory Kirwan. Barnett was missing his left arm, which had been bitten off by a great white shark. The hunt is on for the beast. Kirwan, an Irishman who recently immigrated to North Carolina, said the body was “a proper awful sight”. 

Are you so weird that you just discovered this guy’s relative? 

You close your laptop and shake off the icky feeling inside of you, deciding you need a hot shower.

You let the water run over you and sigh, feeling the warm water calming your nerves and your back, creaky from sitting all day. You take a long and slow shower, just content to stay under the steady stream of hot water. 

You lay in bed wrapped in your towel, scrolling through various other authors talking about new projects and book deals and adaptation rights.

You drift off with your phone in your hand.

The monster’s large clawed hands curl around your chest, lifting you up like you weigh nothing.  

You’re a sack of grain in its hands, just looseness in the shape of your body as you melt into his touch. You still can’t speak. You try though, only managing to moan softly.

“Mo chroí,” it rumbles. “Lig isteach mé.”

My heart, let me in. 

“Le do thoil,” it begs you.

Please.  

It sets you down gently and parts your legs, leaning down to press its fanged maw to the soft and sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasp and twitch, cunt tensing up.

The pointed teeth pierce your flesh, a sharp pain that makes you twist and cry. A hand plants on your stomach and holds you down as it drinks your blood. 

“Le do thoil, mo ghrá. Táim ag an tairseach.” 

Please, my love. I’m at the threshold. 

You wake up and groan, slick between your thighs. You dress groggily and pad down the stairs, sighing as you open the fridge. You flinch at the sound of a knock on the front door. The clock on the oven says it’s 10:46 PM. You sneak over and peer through the peephole. 

Remmick stands there awkwardly, hands in his pockets. He reaches out to knock again and you open the door.

He says your name in surprise, like he didn’t think you would answer.

“Hey,” you greet him softly.

“Hi.” 

He stands there for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I… I was just gettin’ worried about you. I ain’t seen you in a while.”

“Sorry. I kinda ghosted you.”

He doesn’t quite know what that means, but he can work it out.

“Well, I’m the one who didn’t show up. And I didn’t give you any kinda way to… talk to me.”

“It’s alright. I um… I think I needed some alone time.” 

You look rejuvenated. Like something caught you again. He knows what an artist in their element looks like, and that’s you. 

“I should probably go,” he starts.

“Oh, no. Come in, please.”

That please makes him bite back a groan more than your last one. You mean it. You’re desperate, you’ve been aching for him.

He steps in through your doorframe and stands by you, unable to meet your eye.

“Um… you’re doin’ okay?”

“I’m weirdly… good.” 

“Yeah?”

“I um… I spent all day in the library, actually,” you explain, leading him over to your desk.

He shuts the door behind him and follows you.

“I get hooked on something and I just have to chase it.”

He knows the feeling.

“And I just couldn’t stop thinking about all this shark stuff-”

“That wasn’t your fault-”

“Oh, yeah. I know. He was… super intoxicated when he got in the water. Whoever he was doing that with is the guilty one.” 

Remmick is a bit shocked by your response. remembers feeling loose and airy after drinking the lifeguard’s blood. 

He was secretly hoping you were holed up in here, going mad with guilt or regret or fear. He’d swoop in and make you feel better.

He just blinks at you and you point to the map.

“Anyway, so, I was looking up those attacks at that resort and then I sort of… spiraled.”

“Right.” 

“Um, but I wanted to ask you, I’m going down the coast, right, and I get to North Carolina, in… Corolla?” 

His heart skips a beat.

“And I see this name, and- I asked the librarian but she didn’t know your name-”

“It’s Kirwan,” he answers quickly. 

It’s been a long time since he last gave someone his family name so willingly. But he wants to give it to you.

“Kirwan. Right. Um… so there’s this lighthouse worker, he’s called Rory Kirwan.” 

You show the scanned newspaper clipping on your laptop.

“Is that… are you related to him?”

You cringe, feeling so vulnerable suddenly. He has no expression on his face for a split second. 

Because Remmick only has a second to think before whatever he says next sounds like a complete lie.

“That’s the lighthouse in Currituck?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, that was- well, we called him Uncle Rory, but he was a great, great uncle.” 

He lies effortlessly. Like it’s just another one of the languages he speaks. 

You grin at him.

“I couldn’t find any pictures. Is that how you spell it?”

“Well, in Irish it’s Ó Ciardhubháin. The English changed it.” 

“Right.”

“But that’s it. With an I and an A.”

“Um… do you want to make up for that movie night, Mr. Kirwan?”

He smirks at you.

“If you’ll have me.”

You scroll through the options on the TV for a while. It seems like Remmick really doesn’t watch a lot of TV or movies. He recognises a few older titles, ones you remember from dusty VHS tapes at your grandparent’s house. 

“Fright Night, that one’s a riot,” he says, pointing to the screen.

You always love a sexy vampire. You click on it and he squints at the TV.

“Dude, I forgot McLovin is in this,” you snort, seeing the trailer autoplay. 

Remmick blinks at you. 

“Is this… did they make it again?”

You scroll down and see a listing with the same title from the 80s.

“Yep.”

“Aw, hell.” 

“We could watch the old one.”

Remmick huffs. You make him feel like an old man. He is an old man, he’s literally thousands of years old. He does his best. He’ll do better once he turns you, and gains your memories and your thoughts. 

“You seen this one?” he asks, pointing to the remake.

“Yep.”

“Any good?”

You shrug.

“It’s fine. But the vampire is hot,” you joke.

His mouth twitches when you say that.

“Put it on.”

“Fright Night twenty-eleven it is.” 

Remmick watches you more than the television, observing the way your face twitches or the way you giggle at the jokes. He sees you shift in place when the vampire appears. Something in you changes, and your gaze focuses. You’re like a hawk scanning for mice.  

You catch him staring at you.

“The TV is over there, y’know,” you joke, pointing forward. 

“I know,” he answers, eyes still on you.

You feel that need again. The one that lives in your ribcage and grips your lungs.

You’re both just staring at each other, breathing softly as the movie plays on.

You scoot closer to him and lean on his shoulder as you watch the film. 

Remmick feels your heartbeat in your temple, the heat from your skin radiates through his sweater. He aches for you. Being with you in dreams isn’t enough, it doesn’t heal even the smallest bit of hurt. It’s torture, that your soul and his know they’re meant to be together and you are so lost. 

He’s still gazing at you. You turn your head to look at him and smirk, sitting up slowly.

“Can’t help yourself, huh?” you tease, getting up on your knees.

You kiss each other feverishly, like something might rip you apart at any moment. You climb into his lap again, his thighs flex as you do.

“Yes, fuck,” he groans, feeling you grind on him. 

He’s hard and thick, you finally feel all of him. Your hands brace on his pecs as he holds your waist. You’re wet, gushing into your panties as you push down on him. 

“She droolin’ for me?” he jokes, a strand of spit hanging from his lip.

“You wanna find out?” you egg him on.

He looks at you for a moment and kisses you again, his hand cupping the nape of your neck.

“I been thinkin’ about you all week,” he confesses against your skin, kissing your jaw and trailing down your neck. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he groans. 

His hand slides over your hip and to the front of your body, splaying over your tummy over your womb.

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

You love a tummy touch. It’s in all of your books. 

“You need me, too, I can feel how much you need me,” he tells you, almost begging. 

His hand slips into your waistbands, pushing to your pussy. 

“S’like a goddamn river down here,” he mumbles against your temple. 

You see him smirk.

“She need me? She need these fingers?”

You nod, nipping at his ear as your hand slides down his chest and to his pants. You unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, shoving your hand in his underwear. 

“Oh, shit,” he breathes, his face in your neck.

You grip him and he slides a finger inside of you. You knew his hands were big but his fingers are thick and rough. You gasp, your back arching. Your grip tightens on him.

“Fuck, baby, b-be gentle with me,” he croaks.

You meet his eyes and bring your hand away, loving the whiny sound he makes when you do. You squeeze his cheeks and collect some drool, using that to slick your hand over his cock. He bites his lip, eyes closed. He starts to pump his finger inside of you slowly, your hips keen as you try to follow his fingers, desperate for his attention.

“She’s tight,” he murmurs in a voice that makes your cunt clench.

You’re both so touch-starved it’s almost embarrassing, pushed close together like you want to be glued to him. He adds another finger and you swipe your thumb over the velvet tip, making him twitch in your hand. He pushes his fingers in all the way, the heel of his hand crushed against your clit. 

“Remmick,” you whimper, grinding your hips forward as he curls his fingers, stroking that soft spot inside of you. 

He makes some sort of noise, like he might be trying to say your name, but it fails on his lips. He just moans, his head lolling back as you speed your hand up.

You feel pressure in your stomach and he curls an arm around your waist to hold you upright.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, please, I wanna feel it,” he begs you, fingers driving in and out of your cunt as you slick, slick, slick your hand over the length– the fucking insane girth and length– of his cock.

The way he says please, the gasping breaths, and the way his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead have you trembling. You howl as you cum, digging your nails into his shoulder. His breath quickens and he makes a sound like you gut-punched him, bending his back and whimpering as he cums. 

You both sit there for a minute, catching your breath and lazily moving your hands.

You take a shuddering breath and laugh, brushing away hair from your forehead. He quickly wipes at a rivulet of drool that was traveling down his neck.

“That good?” he murmurs, his voice thick.

“So fucking good,” you answer, kissing him again.

“You,” he swallows, “you good to go again?”

“Greedy,” you snip at him. “I need this fucking thing in me, now,” you growl, patting the front of his pants.

“Do you wanna… do you wanna go to your bedroom?” he asks softly.

“I said now, Remmick,” you remind him firmly. 

You both strip like your clothes are on fire and he moves forward on the bed. His body has you drooling too. On his ribs and his side he has a large cross tattooed. He’s strong and broad where it counts, with a waist your readers would call slutty. He looks like a slut, sitting there with his legs spread, panting expectantly, waiting for you to ride him.

“You’re a fucking manwhore, baby,” you tease.

You see something behind his eyes change and he leans forward. You mount him again, grabbing his cock at the base and stroking it once as you line up your cunt. You only just take the head, moving it in and out as you keep eye contact with him. His mouth falls open and he winces.

“Oh my God. You are such a fucking slut,” you laugh cruelly.

Remmick says nothing, just squeezes your hips in a silent plea.

“I really thought you’d be this… sexy dominant lighthouse guy, but you just want to get used,” you tell him, sinking down on his cock.

“Yeah, baby, use me,” he echoes, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

You curl a hand into his hair and tug his head back. He fucking mewls, yelping as you push him back against the sofa cushions. 

He’s still holding you, still subtly guiding your hips. It’s almost an illusion of control, the way he’s restraining himself. 

“Y’so fuckin’ tight… pussy so hot, baby, she grippin’ me like hell,” he babbles, his throat straining as he speaks.

You lean down and kiss his neck. Your teeth scrape against his skin and you bite him, sucking a hickey right by his Adam’s apple.

You bit him. You bit him before he bit you.

It would infuriate him, but he can hardly think more than one word at a time, only feeling that velvet grip of your pussy as you bounce on his lap.

“You gon’ eat me up, baby? Huh? You takin’ this cock like you own it- shit, you fuckin’ do,” he pants, watching you move. 

He moves a hand to brush on your clit, moaning when he feels you tense up around him.

“That’s it, girl, take this fuckin’ dick, s’all yours. All yours, honey, don’t stop now,” he encourages you.

He’s pussydumb now, babbling as you drip down his length and onto his balls, which makes him feel faint. He hasn’t felt faint in decades. Not like this, not from pussy.

He’s never had it so good in his life, never had someone take it from him like this. 

You’re not just using him as a fucktoy, you’re claiming him. You’re breaking him like a wild stallion and you won’t stop until he’s yours, body and soul.

You got his soul already and the way his balls are tightening he knows you’ll have his body soon, too. 

You feel him grab your ass and pull you closer. He plants his feet on the ground and fucks into you, punching whines out of you every time his cock kisses your cervix.

“Remmick- fuck! Shit, oh my God!” You sob as you cum, filled to the brim with him and fucking overflowing. You feel him so deep, you feel everything so deep. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s my girl. She done so good, she took this fuckin’ cock so well,” he praises you as you cry.

You kiss him and he swiftly pulls you off of him, settling you on his flexed thigh to ride out your orgasm as he pumps himself towards his own. He cums, over his hand and onto your thigh, jerking and groaning as he does. 

You sigh, leaning forward and resting your head on his shoulder. He chuckles hoarsely and pulls you to sit in his lap sideways, kissing your temple.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

“I just did,” you joke.

He pinches your hip.

“Smartass.”

You trace the hickey you left, already blooming as a bruise.

“That’ll look so pretty next time,” you tease.

“You want a next time?”

“Shit, that was the best I’ve ever had, handsome.”

“Ah, well. I try.”

“You could um… you could stay the night, if you want?”

“I’d have to leave early,” he says, trying to craft a better lie.

He’d rather burn alive than tell you no, he’s caught.

“You can leave early,” you murmur, kissing his cheek.

He wants you so bad. Wants to turn you, to bite you.

“You wanna see the lighthouse?” he offers.

“Now?”

“Right now,” he answers, echoing your words from before.

You climb up the steps of the lighthouse and look out at the void of the night. It’s foggy, and the beacon lights up what can’t be seen, but it’s still dark.

“You scared?”

“The ocean looks so… terrifying like that.”

“Can be,” he answers you. “But I’m here.”

He stands behind you, boxing you in. You don’t mind it. You feel safe with him.

Protected.

“Y’know… I don’t know what you saw in that guy,” he starts, his lips ghosting your neck.

“What?”

“All those guys, the real ones and the ones you write about. Nobody’s good enough for you. Nobody knows you.”

“Yeah, because you know me so well,” you quip.

Remmick is done joking.

“You’re all mine, love,” he whispers to your skin, his fangs sliding out. 

You gasp and try to squirm away, but he has your wrist in a clawed grasp.

“You’ve been mine for ages. I’ve waited for you for centuries.”

“Let go of me!”

“Don’t fight me, mo ghrá,” he tells you, tugging you toward him and dipping you down like some sort of cruel, sick dance. “It’ll only hurt for one second, love. Only one second.”

You see a flash of white fangs and red eyes.

You watch rolling clouds, laying back on lush green hills. Of a fjord that stretches miles and miles, of cool air that whips your hair. You see sheep grazing and hear someone’s voice.

“Ruairí!” a woman’s voice calls. “Tar anseo!”

“Táim ag teacht!” you tell her, standing as you run down the hill and follow her voice.

She embraces you. You’re small. Just a little child in her arms.

“Mo mhac,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Is breá liom tú, mo chuisle.”

“Is breá liom tú go mór, mhamaí,” you tell her.

You wake up feeling everything. You can hear a lamp buzzing, the sea moving in waves.

You sit up slowly and feel nervous. But it’s not your nerves you feel. 

Remmick sits across from you on his knees. His mouth is bloodied. He smiles a fanged grin at you, his red eyes blinking in the night.

“You saw it,” he says.

His voice sounds different.

“The fjord. She wasn’t from there, my ma. But she fit there like a glove. Like she’d been there all her life. And the Catholics came. And the priest who gave me this…” he gestured to himself with his clawed hands, “this curse. He told me it was God’s will. So I… I remained in my home, like a parasite. Killing sheep and evil men and when the English came I was like a plague. I killed so many soldiers I forgot how to be a man. Even when I left the only place I’d ever known, came here. I haven’t been a man in ages, but you…”

He exhales, shaking his head.

“You make my dead heart beat and my cold blood pump.”

You feel tears in your eyes as you listen to him.

“You know me. From your dreams. I… I wanted to claim you, to make you my bride, but you claimed me. You won me.”

He sniffs, looking at you from the floor.

“Mo shíorghrá,” he murmurs. “My bride forever.”

You finally find your words, though they’re slurred and lispy with your fangs.

“What’d you say, baby?”

His tone is dripping with adoration. You feel it in your chest, how much he loves you. How much he wants you, needs you. His instinct to protect, to keep you safe.

“I’m hungry.”

He grins.

“Then let’s eat.”

[lieslab]

Aphrodite, hear my prayer

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X gn reader

Summary: After a friend makes a cruel remark at a party, you're left devastated and self-conscious.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3k

Eating disorder resources

Trigger warning: Mentions of alcohol and drinking, eating disorders, reader briefly being compared to a pig, mentions of skipping meals, weight gain, and body dysmorphia.

A/N: Requestee, I finally got to this one and I made sure to make it based around Jeongin. Weight gain and loss can be so difficult and I have a hundred things I could say about it, but I'll just let you read this instead of rambling. Please take care of yourselves <3

_ _ _

The cool touch of the rings wrapped around your fingers kept you calm. Down below, bodies scattered through the kitchen and piled into the living room. When your friend announced they were hosting a party on a Friday evening, you hesitated to show up. Not that you hated parties, but your boyfriend was off work early tonight. You missed him an unimaginable amount. 

Your friend flicked another piece of their chipping black nail polish onto the floor. A red solo cup sat in their hand. One leg slung over the other, they leaned back on the edge of your other friend’s bed. “Are we done here? How about we go downstairs now?” 

“How about you just take another sip of your drink and shut up?” In the vanity mirror, they shifted their hair again, trying to tame it down. “This stupid fucking piece of hair, I need more hairspray.” 

“You’re going to suffocate all three of us to death.” 

“Drink and shut up.” 

They held up their hands, threw you a look of pity, and took a sip of whatever was in the cup. You had your suspicions of alcohol, but you didn’t know for sure. Downstairs, heavy bass boosted. The only thing keeping strangers out of the bedroom was the turned brass lock. 

“You look good,” you finally commented. “Really, whether you use the hairspray, or not, your hair is fine.” 

“Easy for you to say, you know how your hair works.” 

You couldn’t disagree with their statement. Over the years, you managed to tame the wild beast that was known as your hair. Whether you combed it down and grew it out, or kept it short and manageable, you figured out how to perfect the art of your hair. Your friend couldn’t say the same. 

“Remind me again why you decided to host a party?” Your other friend asked. 

“Uh, hello? It��s a Friday night! What’s wrong with having a good time?” 

“We’d be having a better time if we went downstairs.” 

They were cut off by the hissing sound of hairspray exiting a silver canister. Your nose scrunched up at the floral smell and you tried not to let it bother you, but it did. You waved your hand, fanning the faint fumes away from your face. 

Coughing came from both parties. “Holy shit, that’s it. I’m leaving your room. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready. Whatever you do, don’t light a lighter, or you’ll make a goddamn fireball.” 

“No promises.” 

Grumbling and shuffling footsteps. The lock flipped open and then shut again. Left with the party host, you remained standing in your spot. Waves of the dry shampoo cleared, but the smell continued to linger. You brushed a thumb over your nose and sniffled. 

“There.” They patted the top of their head and spun around to face you. “All better. Now come on, let’s go be fashionably late to my own party.” 

“You act like you’re not the host.” 

They grinned and held out an arm to you. You shook your head, causing them to scoff. “Fine. Whatever. Come on, let’s just get downstairs already.” 

You followed them through the dimly lit house. Strangers you didn’t recognize stood around. You thought you knew everyone your friend knew, but clearly you didn’t. Your friend rushed down the steps first. Before you could catch up, they disappeared into the crowd. 

You tried to hide your disappointment, but it was obvious. Shoulders sank and the frown didn’t disappear from your face. You debated on where to go before someone cleared their throat from beside you. Between the wooden stairwell railings, your second friend stood with a smirk. “Hanging out all by yourself, sweetheart?” 

“Haha, very funny.” You rolled your eyes, grabbed the railing, and finished walking down the stairs. “You know I’m not the best at parties.” 

“You should check out the food table. They might not be the best host, but they do have good taste when it comes to food. Come on, let’s go.” 

A hand grabbed yours and you let them lead you through the crowd of people. Bass shook the floor and strobe lights flickered. Reflecting off of people’s glasses and red solo cups, time felt different, it stopped entirely. 

A group of guys laughed. Their thighs pressed against one another’s. A girl you didn’t recognize sat on the tallest brunette boy’s lap. Lanky arms hooked around her waist and his chin rested along her shoulder. You didn’t know for sure, but you assumed the pair were dating. 

In the kitchen, a clear bowl held fruit punch, infused with frozen fruit as ice. The music grew distant, but warm bodies remained the same. Strings of conversation tethered together. Bowls of snacks and plastic tongs sat beside the punch. Layered tiers of pastries, you knew your friend liked to bake, but you never thought it’d lead to this. 

“You’ve gotta try one of these cupcakes. I practically inhaled mine.” Your friend grabbed one and held it up to you. You couldn’t see what flavor the cake was, but white icing swirled around the top. Topped with a strawberry in the center, you couldn’t resist. 

You grabbed it and gently peeled off the paper. Before you could take a bite, a voice cut you off. “These are my two friends. This one here is the piggy of the group and this is-” 

You didn’t hear the rest of the words your friend said. You stared at them, completely caught off guard. Your heart ached at the words and your other friend noticed. They stepped forward blocking you from the other. “Hey, knock it off.” 

“Oh, come on! It was just a joke!” They pushed them to the side and their eyes narrowed at you. “You can take a joke, can’t you?” 

You weakly laughed and nodded, but your heart hurt. The guy they were with chuckled and took another swig from his solo cup. Sunglasses hung on his forehead. A button-down t-shirt, khakis shorts, if you remembered right, this was the crush of your friend. They grabbed his hand and steered him away. 

Your friend, who handed the cupcake to you, turned around to say something, but you were already gone. The half unwrapped cupcake sat back on the snack table. They frowned, glancing around, trying to locate you, but they couldn’t and they wouldn’t find you. 

The moment eyes were off of you, you took off, bolted through the crowd, and left through the front door. 

~ ~ ~ 

Your fingers shook when you reached out to try and open the front door. Unsteady fingers and wet eyes. You tried to shove the key in the doorknob and missed. Pawing at your eyes a few times, you tried again. You tried again and again, but you continued missing. The words of your friend rattled around your skull. They drove a dagger into your heart. 

Your weight had always been something you’d been so insecure about. You couldn’t remember the last time it didn’t bother you. Some people said you weren’t fat, you were average, others called you curvy. You didn’t know your own body. Body dysmorphia pulverized your thoughts. How big were you really? 

You twisted the knob after finally getting the key in. Stumbling inside, you sucked in a deep breath and tried to collect yourself. Footsteps rushed in your direction. Jeongin appeared with an eager grin and outstretched arms. “You’re home!” 

He knew you were going out to a party. He trusted you and he knew you wouldn’t betray him. However, when he saw the look on your face and the tears falling down your cheeks, his smile fell. “What happened? What’s wrong?” 

You shrugged, kicking off your shoes. You tried to avoid the question. “A friend made a remark about me and it ruined my night, that’s all.” 

“Do I have to beat them up?” 

The usual smile didn’t appear on your face. Your heart soaked in self-hatred and sank. In the pit of your stomach acid, you struggled to cope. They were right, you didn’t need the cupcake, right? As if your night couldn’t get any worse, your stomach rumbled. Just by the look Jeongin gave you, you knew he heard it. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“No.” 

“Your stomach says otherwise.” 

“It’s digesting food from the party.” You tried to walk away from him, but he grabbed your arm and stopped you. You didn’t want to look at him and fall apart. It was just a stupid comment, it shouldn’t have cut so deep. 

But what if your friend was right? 

What if you were fat? What if Jeongin was pretending to like you? What if? What if? What if? Thoughts spiraled like a tornado and uprooted your sense of self-security. Alarm sirens whirled, but there was nothing you could do while self-doubt destroyed you from the inside out.

“Why are you lying to me?” 

“I–” You tried to push out words, but there was nothing to say. You didn’t have a reason. You knew you were always a terrible liar. You fidgeted too much, avoided eye contact, and the pitch of your voice changed. 

“Baby?” 

“My friend made a comment about my body,” you finally uttered. Your eyes found the tile floor. You couldn’t bear to look at him and watch his soul crumble. Everything that affected you, it bothered him as well. “I just…” You weakly shrugged. “I haven’t been feeling great.” 

“So you plan on starving yourself?” 

“I never said that.” 

“But you’re hungry and you’re not eating.” 

“Skipping one meal won’t hurt.” 

“Yeah, but that’s how it always starts. It’s one meal and then it’s two. Next thing you know, it’s a full twenty-four hours and then it’s a ‘let’s see how long I can go without eating’ thing.” 

“Oh my god, Jeongin, just because you’re my boyfriend, it doesn’t mean that you get to tell me how to eat!” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your anger was a loaded gun and your words turned into deadly bullets. 

You stayed in your spot, not moving, not daring to look at him. Your jaw clenched and then unclenched. Jeongin’s hand cautiously raised towards you and he gently squeezed your shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean that,” he whispered. “That’s not you talking, that’s your hurt.” 

You finally lifted your head, meeting his eyes. His face blurred. Tendrils of messy black hair poked up in all the wrong directions. He must have been rolling around in your shared bed before he heard you enter the apartment. 

Your bottom lip trembled and his arms engulfed you. Safe and warm, he pulled you into his embrace. A safety net, your favorite person, the only one who could make you feel like you were wrapped in the warmth of a cocoon. Full of love and devotion, nobody else pulled your heart strings like Jeongin did. Nobody else loved you like him. 

The soft scent of baby powder hit your nose. You didn’t cry, not anymore. Your fingers curled into the cotton fabric of his white t-shirt. Silently, you hoped he’d never let go.

“Jeongin?” you whispered. Your lips brushed against the side of his neck, accidentally. 

His heart swelled at the softness of your voice. So sweet and tender, he never wanted anything to hurt you. He wanted to hide you from the world and keep you cloaked in velvet sheets. Fed with honeysuckle and full of sweetness, he’d make sure you never starved. Even if he had to take a hundred cooking courses from Minho, he’d never let you go hungry, not willingly. 

“Hmm?” 

Vibrations ran through his throat. His adam’s apple hitched and you breathed in. Inhaling him, soaking in his touch, basking in his warmth. “Am I ugly to you?” 

“What?” 

“Am I ugly? Because if I’m ugly and my weight is an issue, I need to know. I need to know what I really look like. I-I can’t–” Your voice turned shrill. “I can’t lose you, Jeongin.” 

He pulled away, looking at you with concern. “Can you give me a moment?” You hesitated, but slowly nodded. He squeezed your hand before spinning around and hurrying back to the bedroom. 

Footsteps faded and he disappeared into the hallway. Silence filled the air and you waited. The living room fan didn’t whirl, he must have turned it off before going into the bedroom earlier. You always kept it on, you needed white noise to drown out the silence. 

In moments like this, your internal voice grew louder. Shame damned you. Your brain screamed and you were left alone and defenseless. No white noise. No music. Nothing, but the sound of your quiet breathing and internal thoughts. 

Jeongin came back with an open wallet. Leather pockets revealed themselves as he opened it. His driver’s license and a pearly white grin stuck out through a clear sheath. They made him take off the baseball cap when he took it. His hair stuck up in messy tufts, but you still adored the way he looked. 

“I carry this around with me. I don’t think you know I have it, but I do.” He flipped through his wallet, until he found a photo of you. Baby-faced and bare. Light filled eyes, a gummy grin, and your tongue poking out between your lips. 

Your eyebrow raised in confusion. “Is this one of my baby pictures? How do you–” 

“I might have stolen it from your photo album, made a copy, and put it back. I have this one in here as well. This one is my favorite, but sometimes I come back to the baby photo.” He tugged out a photo of the two of you. 

One of the guys took it for you. You were wrapped around Jeongin’s side, talking about something. He beamed at you as you excitedly explained something. Your face was lit up, he looked at you as if you were a diamond. Your heart melted. “I didn’t know you had those.” 

“Of course, I have these. Maybe it’s weird to have a baby picture of you, but this is you. Sometimes I find myself struggling and I pull out this picture. You were just a kid here, a toddler, so much of the world was unexplored for you. I have to remind myself that this is who I used to be as well.” 

He shifted, nearly dropped the wallet, and finally tugged out another card. A similar sized photograph appeared. Another baby photo, this time it was him. Wide eyes, a small smile, and tiny brown bangs to cover his forehead. 

“When we grow up, we forget that we still are these people, you know? We’re still just these kids deep down. Maybe we look older and we’re wiser, but this is still us. We’re still them.” He wiggled the two baby photos and tucked them back into his wallet. “We shouldn’t be mean to them. Would you ever belittle your younger self, no matter what they looked like?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Exactly. I’m just a boy with a bigger belt size. I’m still that little boy that thought his parents picked him up from beneath a bridge.” 

You chuckled, “I can’t believe you thought that.” 

“What are you supposed to do when your father says he found you beneath a bridge? I thought I was a kidnapped kid.” 

You laughed, distracted by his story. He playfully rolled his eyes and gently nudged you in the side. “Don’t laugh. It was serious for me. I was terrified, you have no idea.” 

“What happened after you ran away?” 

“I came back home because I grew tired.” 

“You’re silly.” Your hand reached out for his and he gently grabbed it. 

He leaned over and planted a faint kiss on the side of your head. “You should give yourself some grace. You’re still that little kid here.” His other hand reached up and he tapped the outside of your heart a few times. “People might say hurtful things, but just because they say things, it doesn’t mean they’re always true. Some people have really ugly personalities.” 

“Or maybe they say things that are true and we’re just in denial.” 

His eyebrows scrunched and his head shook. “Uh, are you aware of who you’re talking to? I’m thee Yang Jeongin. Like you know, from Stray Kids. If you didn’t have redeeming qualities, I wouldn’t be here. I’m still that little kid, you know? He had pretty specific tastes and he never liked ugly people.” 

“Are you saying that the younger version of yourself would have had a crush on me?” 

“What?” He scoffed and shook his head rapidly. “No, I’m saying that I obviously would have married you at recess and we would have been married for the entirety of elementary school.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really.” 

You smiled, but it was interrupted by your stomach growling again. You frowned and pressed a hand to your stomach. He grabbed your hand and tugged you along. “Come on, let’s find something good to eat.” 

“But I–” 

“The toddler in you is hungry and, as the one who wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, that means it’s snack time. Little me says it’s snack time because we have to have energy to grow big and strong.” 

You sighed, “you’re nearly impossible.” 

“Maybe, but with you, anything is possible. We’re Yin and Yang, we balance each other out. I’m literally the Yang, get it?” He led you into the kitchen and started looking through cupboards. He laughed at his own joke and pulled out a cup of instant noodles. “How about some Ramen?” 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Hyunjin and his poetic words.” 

“Yeah, but it’s better than spending too much time with Han and learning how to make Han River Ramen.” 

You couldn’t argue with that, he had you there. 

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