#the actual striking plot at times | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seyaryminamoto · 1 year ago

Text

The Shadows in her Reflection: Sokkla Saturdays 2023

One day, the moon that reigned over the skies darkened. Concerned by the rare phenomenon, the last thing Sokka expects to learn is that Azula, of all people, might be the key to solving this lunar mystery. By traveling the world together, the Water Tribe Warrior and the Fire Nation's Fallen Princess will seek to fulfill Yue's final wishes in what might just become a lifechanging, memorable adventure for the unlikely pair...

Rated: M

On FF.net//On AO3

A/N: Life's becoming very busy for me lately, so I went out of my way to start this one ASAP in the hopes of finishing it on time for the event. Alas, I haven't fully written everything for it yet, but here's my first entry nonetheless. Worth saying this is a comics-compliant story, a rarity coming from me, yes... it takes place around 10 years after the war ended. It's quite possibly my first attempt to fully write an Azula redemption story based on canon itself (Gladiator is, quite clearly, its own thing and her arc there isn't exaaactly a redemption arc, at least, not the one some people are looking for when it comes to Azula). While obviously Sokka and Azula are very important and at the core of this tale, there's one more connection for Azula in this story that's crucial for her development, and I really hope you guys will have fun seeing it develop and unfold.

Anyway, this is not a one-shot collection, for once: we're here for 8 chapters of a slightly unusual plot choice for my standards, but that I really hope many of you will have plenty of fun reading!

One day, a comet crashed into the moon.

It wasn't Sozin's Comet, which might have destroyed the cosmic body altogether with its power: it was smaller, but harmful nonetheless. The collision couldn't be seen from the planet the moon orbited around, either, for it happened on the dark side of the moon.

A cloud of debris, of filth, rose from the collision spot, where the remains of that comet embedded itself into the moon. It seemed to wish to merge with it, perhaps to take over the moon altogether: the exosphere grew polluted, and the debris from the collision didn't float away into space in due time. It remained locked around the moon, instead… it obscured it. The sun's light had once reflected powerfully upon its surface… but as bright as its rays might be, that noxious cloud muddled and impeded their connection.

And so, the moon started to fade from the sky, leaving but a vestige, a faded glimmer of white, to be seen in the night sky.

The shackled and restrained women wouldn't threaten the Fire Lord anymore. His patience had long run its course after ten years of sabotage by their group. He stepped up to the leader, chained and on her knees, merely a few paces away from the location of her last act of vicious cruelty. Hiding behind a mask of white and purple, she was responsible for the latest case of reckless arson in which he had finally captured them…

Zuko tore the mask away from the woman's face forcefully.

It was not his sister.

His shock, and the time he wasted standing near her without saying anything, emboldened Zirin sufficiently to spit on his face.

Zuko growled, pushing back and wiping the insult off his cheek hastily: his guards rushed in, as though to beat the woman up further, but Zuko raised a hand.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, glaring at the woman again. Zirin's fury failed to be disguised behind the dangerous smirk she offered him. "You… where is she? Why are you wearing her mask?!"

"Because someone had to," Zirin responded. "Because… she has matters to resolve. But she'll come back stronger… and when she does, she'll tear you to shreds as she always should have, Fire Lord Zuko!"

Zuko snarled: he had never understood why the false Kemurikage had joined Azula's ranks, or what kind of loyalty she elicited in them. But part of him suspected, even from some time ago, that it wasn't true loyalty to Azula… rather, it might be pure, unbridled hatred reserved for him. Why?

But he hadn't captured the group for the sake of understanding their grudges. While he certainly meant to make every last one of them pay for their crimes in due time, the main reason why he had chased them for so long was to find Azula.

"Where is she?" he hissed. Zirin scoffed.

"You're too late. She's going to find what she seeks, and with its power, she will destroy you. She's going to…"

"Do you realize that I could kill you right now?"

Zirin finally stopped talking. Zuko's glare froze her heart over for at least an instant: he elicited genuine fear out of her, as well as the rest of the women chained and crouching behind her. The Fire Lord scowled, making his point apparent even more effectively by raising a hand and evoking his flames in it.

"The last time you lot caused more trouble than you were worth, I told myself that another misstep of that magnitude would be enough. I'd do it. I'd execute you all. And you just went and outdid yourselves, of all things. Makes matters rather easy for me, doesn't it?" Zuko hissed. Zirin snarled.

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Azula wanted me to be a stronger Fire Lord, didn't she? The kind who makes the difficult choices, no matter how appalling they might be. Maybe it's time I live up to her expectations," he said: there wasn't a hint of falsehood in his voice. He meant every word he had spoken.

Zirin shivered as Zuko stepped closer to her, still wielding the fire dangerously.

"She's not going to come here to save you. She won't get here on time if I decide to deal my justice to you, right here, right now," he said. "The only way you get to live longer than a few more minutes is if you tell me, right now, where she went. I'm willing to go through each one of your friends, one by one, until I get my answer. Might as well start with you."

He had her. The fear in her eyes was genuine. No, this wasn't the Fire Lord he wanted to be… but they truly had forced his hand. He found patience and compassion at short supply whenever it involved his sister's terrorist group these days.

"So, now that we've established your life means nothing to me and I could snuff it out in a second… tell me: where is Azula?"

Zirin might have meant to continue fighting back… but when she opened her mouth, she spoke with words that Zuko feared might be a trick of some sort, for they were the last he had ever expected to hear as an answer to his inquiries:

"The Northern Water Tribe."

He had looked into the phenomenon in the sky: every astronomer he spoke to would reiterate that they didn't understand it any more than Sokka did. The Water Tribesman felt a worse pang of fear every time he gazed up at the moon these days: its brightness faded more each day, it felt like… was it drifting away from their world, for no reason? Would that make any sense? As much as it was harder to see it lately, it didn't appear to have shrunken in size…

The sun's glow hadn't changed, either: otherwise, life in their world would have also been impacted severely by a weaker source of sunlight. Everything was normal. Even the tides were normal. The moon was the only thing that wasn't.

"I don't know, Sokka. I've tried to communicate with Yue in the Spirit World, yes, but it just doesn't work that way," Aang sighed, after Sokka asked about it for the umpteenth time during dinner, in Air Temple Island.

"She has to look for you instead, is it? You told me she came to you once when you had run away from us, when we were only just approaching the Fire Nation," Sokka said, frowning. "Do you have to wait for her to do that again? Aang, I… I don't like this. I don't know if it's a spiritual thing or if it's something else, something more material, but it's freaking me out."

"It's not affecting my bending," Katara said. "Which, yes, I know isn't your primary concern, Sokka, but I think it means the moon is there. It very much is."

"But why is it so dim? Am I the only one who thinks something's got to be messed up here?" Sokka groaned.

"Well, I have no idea what's a bright moon or a dim moon, so you might just be," Toph said, wiggling her toes as she relaxed by the table, feet propped upon it. At this point, nobody even bothered telling her not to be so careless.

"Sokka, I'll keep trying, but…" Aang started, only for his words to be cut off by a squawking messenger hawk.

"What…? Zuko?" Toph raised her eyebrows, turning her head towards the sound. "Or are you expecting letters from someone else lately, Twinkle Toes?"

Aang rose to his feet, approaching the creature immediately. Sokka merely spared a moment's attention to the matter before frowning again at the food before him, on the table: what could possibly be wrong with the moon? He had looked into it everywhere, and nobody had ever registered a phenomenon like this…

"Uh… uh-oh," Aang grimaced, turning towards the rest of the group. "Guys? Zuko needs our help."

"Why?" Sokka said, with a grimace. "The hell did he get up to now? And hey, I asked for your help with this first! If anything, he can get in line…"

"I don't think he can," Aang said, eyeing Sokka with uncertainty. "Look, I'd love to help you, Sokka, but I'm not sure how to go about it to begin with. Aside from that? Well… Zuko's problem may be more immediate and more urgent. Didn't the moon start acting up a year ago?"

"It did, but it feels like it just gets worse!" Sokka exclaimed. "It is urgent!"

"Well, so is what Zuko told me," Aang said, breathing deeply. "I don't know, maybe it'll even help you find clues if you come with me. Maybe the Northern Water Tribe has information about the moon, they ought to be experts…"

"Wait… the Northern Water Tribe?" Katara frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

"Nobody really knows, but… apparently, Azula is on her way there," Aang said.

The room fell silent. Tension rose quickly, even if everyone remained silent: the Fire Lord's estranged sister, ten years on the run, wreaking havoc across the world, had been a sore thumb for Zuko ever since he had taken the Fire Nation throne. She turned up once in a while, but never for anything good. She continued to be a menace that terrified the bulk of the world population, a feared terrorist who mainly operated, however, in the Fire Nation itself… hence, the rest of the nations had never involved themselves in her capture. Some leaders, particularly those who still had not forgiven the Fire Nation for the Hundred Year War, appeared to thrive in knowing that the dangerous firebender was on the loose and causing chaos in her nation now, rather than in everyone else's.

They certainly would set aside such thoughts going forward, though, if she had finally started venturing into their lands.

"What the hell is she doing in the Northern Water Tribe?" Sokka asked, frowning. "She had nothing to do with that place. She wasn't even in the siege of the north…!"

"Whatever her intent is, it can't be good," Aang grimaced. "Come with us, you can investigate the moon there if you want, Sokka, but we have to go."

"Not a dull day in this life," Katara sighed, shaking her head. "Toph? Can you stay and watch over Bumi?"

"Pfft. Take him with you. I'm not babysitting no weird, loud kids," Toph snapped. Katara huffed, and Aang smiled a little at her.

"He'll be safe with us. Let's take him too, might as well…"

He was nervous. Fear guided their every choice: whatever Azula was up to, this was a profound change of behavior, entirely unlike her. Had she decided to return to the old Fire Lords' legacy after all? Did she intend to destroy the other cultures again, rather than solely focusing on sabotaging her brother's rule?

And with the moon being in such shape… Sokka didn't think he could do right by Yue when it came to that particular problem, but he certainly could help by keeping her people safe. As much as he wanted to learn more about the moon's condition, Aang wasn't wrong to suggest that he joined them. Even if he had no idea if he'd be able to help much against Azula, should it come to that, he meant to be there to offer whatever support Aang and Katara might need of him.

"Alright. Let's get going," Sokka said: his compliance, and the fact that they didn't need to say more to convince him, appeased and surprised his friends.

His mood hadn't been the brightest over the past months. Perhaps over the last year, altogether. It didn't suit the typically rambunctious man to grow withdrawn and thoughtful, but to most, it seemed to be a matter of guilt and fear pertaining the moon and its status. His constant investigations on the subject, his anguish, seemed to drive many people away from him… though no one had drifted quite as far from him as Suki. After making up her mind to move to Republic City, two years earlier, misfires in their relationship had resulted in their return to a long-distance relationship, though this time, one that hardly seemed to be a relationship at all. She was back in Kyoshi Island right now: Sokka hadn't seen her in over six months.

Katara often suggested that he ought to visit her again, trying her best to be supportive of her brother while also struggling to keep up with his fluctuating moods. After a first visit to Kyoshi Island after she left Republic City, Sokka never agreed to go again. His travels, as of late, solely related to meeting astronomers and researching whatever he could about a darkening moon. To this moment, he had found nothing.

Thus, he hoped things would change for the better once they landed in the Northern Water Tribe: local troops received them, standing in a rare alliance with a cluster of Fire Nation soldiers, too. That the day had come when they could work together rather than fighting each other certainly felt like a miracle, but it was one that Sokka couldn't even bother cherishing right now.

"We're expecting Azula to arrive by sea, on a stolen hot-air balloon," Zuko explained, once Aang, Katara and Sokka arrived – Bumi nestled in his mother's arms, sucking on his thumb. "It seems she took one from the Air Force's base…"

"What, she took it just like that?" Sokka asked. Zuko grimaced.

"She beat up everyone on her way in and out, if you really want me to specify that much…"

"Any deaths?" Aang asked. Zuko shook his head.

"Not that I know of. She just wanted the balloon, I guess," he said. "I have no idea if she even knows how to pilot them, but if she doesn't, then she'll take longer to arrive, or she might even…"

"You're not wishing an accident will stop her from getting here, are you?" Aang grimaced.

"Well… I'm not, not fully. A non-lethal one, maybe, but… who the hell can control how that kind of thing happens?" Zuko sighed, shaking his head. "At any rate, we'll keep watch over the skies. She'll be arriving in the shroud of darkness, we're in the dark period after all… so spotting her won't be easy. But we have to do our best to catch her once she shows up."

"We'll find her. Appa can patrol the skies, and if anything's amiss, we'll track her down at once…" Aang said. Sokka sighed, running a hand over his hair.

"It sounds like you guys have most everything under control, right?" he said. Zuko eyed him remorsefully. "I'm just going to go find a lunar expert, if there's any. It's the main reason why I wanted to come anyway, and… I think you guys will get her without issue, right? Right."

"Sokka…" Katara sighed. "Please, at least don't get your hopes too high. What's going on with Azula is manageable, at least, but…"

"Is it? Girl's been on the run for ten years and nobody's locked her down since we took her to look for their mom," Sokka said: his words hit square in the pride of his three friends. "I'm just saying…"

"If that's the kind of thing you'll be saying, maybe go find your astronomer after all," Zuko scoffed. Sokka shrugged, raising his hands defensively.

"Call me if there's anything I can do… though I rather doubt it," he said, turning on his heels and marching out of the Palace room where Zuko had been outlining their plans and strategies to capture Azula so far.

Sokka did exactly what he intended to do: the experts in the north were finally as concerned and eager to find a solution as Sokka was… but they had no idea what was going on, either. That discouraged the warrior at once.

After several hours of meetings with experts and visits to the local libraries to, as usual, find nothing on the phenomenon that concerned him so much, Sokka's patience was at an end. He felt demoralized, broken in ways he shouldn't be over what might just be some cosmic cloud of some sort hugging the moon…

But there more to his misery than that. He had failed Yue once, he hadn't been able to protect her from the terrible sacrifice she'd needed to make. She had been as good as a child, and she had given up her life to save her people. The magnitude of her sacrifice seemed to hit him harder and harder every time he thought about it…

His struggles with Suki weren't related to Yue, but the moon's state had certainly worsened matters further between them. His unwillingness to open up to Suki came from an obvious place: she didn't care to be second place to Yue in his heart, and no matter how many times he told her love didn't work that way, she refused to hear it. Suki's anxiety over the moon had nothing to do with his: she didn't care that it was obscured or not. She wanted him to have his head down on earth rather than up in the sky… and the more she had pressured him about it, the less he wanted to do that.

Memories of Yue shouldn't have been so painful, he had lost her so soon… they barely even had a relationship by the time she kissed him goodbye. He'd never know what might have been. Perhaps that, over all, tormented him beyond reason. But deep down, what hurt most was the knowledge that someone as valuable, as loyal, as true to her people was gone… the Northern Water Tribe would grieve her death forevermore, he knew they would.

His feet carried him aimlessly across the Water Tribe's streets until he reached a location he had approached by instinct: the bridge where he had met Yue for their very first private outing. Where he had given her a gift… where she had kissed him before running away from him. The mixed signals he got from her never made sense to him… perhaps that was why the moon's condition anguished him so. It certainly was much like Yue to show distress signals that simply didn't make sense and that he couldn't interpret, try as though he might…

The bridge finally came into view. He was of half a mind to step on it, to talk to the moon from there, in the abstract, irrational hopes that doing so would help Yue… when he realized that someone else, clad in a heavy blue parka, stood exactly where he had wanted to go.

He frowned: it was quite late by now. Was someone else meeting their beloved at the bridge that night? Maybe it was a popular spot for that purpose, and he just didn't know it…

But even though he could only see the person from behind, he had the feeling they weren't actually waiting for something. No, whatever they wanted, it was already there…

In the water, right underneath the bridge.

Had they dropped something? No, they weren't acting with the urgency of someone who had lost a valuable in the canal. Instead, they were… speaking. It was a female voice, he realized, as he approached it…

A familiar female voice, he thought, with a dark shiver.

It wasn't enough that she was speaking when there was no one else around: she was gesticulating in strange ways, too, as if... as if she were arguing with something. With someone. With the water? With the river?

Sokka's heart sank: Azula was already here. And from what he could tell, Zuko's claims that her sanity was somehow restored were entirely untrue, just as Sokka had constantly suspected.

"… You're entirely out of your mind if you expect I can get there just like that! He's already here, he brought soldiers, and if any of them spot me, I'll be done for!"

Sokka frowned, inching closer quietly: she knew Zuko was here, then. Of course she did…

"And no, I refuse to send the hot-air balloon away as a decoy. If I did that, I'd be stuck in this frozen hellscape unless your people so very kindly tossed me into the sea and I miraculously survived long enough to reach the Northern Earth Kingdom. And as powerful a firebender as I may be, I would not survive a dip in your terribly frozen sea."

Who the hell was she talking to? Sokka frowned. Before, she constantly spoke to someone, or about someone, who appeared to be her mother… but not this time. Now, she was talking to someone from the Northern Water Tribe…? Who had she ever even met from the Tribe? She wouldn't have come across anyone from the North Pole in the last decade, she only ever operated in the Fire Nation after all…

"Ugh, just… shut up. I brought you where you wanted to go, didn't I? Isn't this enough? Flow into this river and find your pathetic fish. Get back inside it and leave me be."

A pathetic fish? Sokka frowned. A northerner… and a fish? His heart pounded, and he frowned as he glanced towards the arguing Azula again.

It made no sense. It couldn't be.

But… could it?

Curses, was Azula connected to whatever was happening to the moon?

The idea made him see red for a moment. He snarled as he stopped hiding, striding up to the bridge with a heavy scowl: she didn't notice him, busy as she was scoffing at whatever she had just heard from the river now…

"I am absolutely unconcerned with your sad stories of failed romances, understood? What do I care if you shamelessly kissed that idiot here? Honestly, though… what kind of terrible taste in men did you have to do something like that, Yue?"

Sokka froze on the spot. His footfall startled Azula when he stopped abruptly.

She jumped, immediately taking up a defensive stance… and her eyes widened when they found his.

"W-what…? You…! Wait. Wait… oh! Oh, so that's it!" Azula exclaimed, lowering her hands again at the sight of him. Sokka gritted his teeth, taking a defensive kata of his own. "This is what you wanted! Yue, he's here!"

She turned towards the river: Sokka gritted his teeth, glancing at the water to find there was nothing there. Azula, however, spoke with such enthusiasm he was taken aback entirely.

"Azula…?" he called her, his voice trembling and uneasy.

"There you go! He came to see you! Aren't you happy now? He still loves you, congratulations!" Azula smiled wildly. "Now, would you so kindly get out of my head and leave me be?!"

The final declaration caused Sokka's confusion to increase… far more than his apprehension, though. He blinked blankly before stepping closer, startling the fallen Princess.

"You. Stay where you are. What do you think you're doing?" she said, her previous, near hysterical excitement shifting completely into wariness.

"I… need an explanation. Right now," Sokka said. Azula scowled, eyes scouring him and their surroundings quickly.

"You're… alone? Where's the Avatar? I saw the shaggy beast descending into the city," Azula said. Sokka grimaced.

"You… for how long have you been here, exactly?"

"I arrived about a day before Zuzu did. The wretch couldn't have taken residence in a more inconvenient place of the city for my purposes," Azula said, with a dry grin. Sokka scowled. "But I should be used to it by now. My brother's certain my entire life is a matter of inconveniencing him, but the longer this goes on, the more certain I become that it's the other way around, instead."

"No kidding," Sokka said, skeptically. "What, exactly, were you trying to do? You said something about… wait, Azula. You… you mentioned Yue. A fish, too. W-what were you…? Are you trying to kill the Moon Spirit too?"

"Ah. Of course you'd think that," Azula said, before letting out a derisive smile. "I would not be quite so self-defeating, mind you. If I did that, I might just cause a major catastrophe, where the ocean would go berserk as it tried to tear me to shreds, much as it did with Admiral Zhao. I wouldn't quite wish to share in his fate, you see… not to mention, that damnable fish is my only hope to get rid of the unpleasant stowaway I'm carrying in my head, so, mind you, I'd like to keep it alive and healthy for the time being so I can send her back there as soon as possible."

"Well… the experts said the fish, Tui, is alive and healthy," Sokka said. Azula shrugged.

"Good for it. Her. Whatever you want to call a fish," she sighed, shaking her head before glancing at the river again. "What do you mean….? I'm not going to do that. You haven't pestered me for a year just for me to play nice and greet your ex for you. Shut up."

"Azula… this is weird. I'm supposed to be here to help them capture you because evidently that's why Zuko came here, I don't need to tell you that…" Sokka said. Azula scoffed, glaring at him sideways.

"Indeed. And yet you're here, talking to me, not brandishing weapons, just… looking at me like you're a terrified puppy too curious for his own good," Azula said, eyeing him skeptically. "Why?"

"Because…! Because I've overheard what you're saying to the river and I…! Okay, you know what? Just… tell me: what the hell is going on?" Sokka asked, eyes wide and pleading. "Look, I should be raising alarms and telling everyone that you're already here and up to no good…"

"But you're not," Azula said, raising an eyebrow. "Which suggests you're either having a leave of your senses or… you don't trust them to help you handle me. Not that you stand a chance on your own either, but still…"

"You don't want to kill Tui, you said. But you're… talking to Yue? In the river?" Sokka grimaced. Azula huffed and rolled her eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better? I'd much rather not be doing that at all. Your adored favorite princess is actually a colossal pain in the ass," she said, with a dry grin. Sokka shuddered.

"I… I don't understand," Sokka said, shaking his head. "I don't get it. Azula… you're talking to Yue? You're seeing Yue? B-but… why? Wasn't it your mother you used to see before?"

"Heh. Funny. I thought you'd never realized what my problem was," Azula smirked derisively. "My brother certainly never did. Maybe I should commend you for having basic intelligence rather than lacking it entirely, as he and the rest of your friends do, but that's as far as I'll go with flattery in your direction. As for why am I seeing your ex? Beats me. I don't know. I didn't ask for this. It just… started happening. A year ago, or so."

"A year?" Sokka said: he raised his gaze towards the moon, darkened as it remained. "That's… that's when the moon started to darken, Azula."

"Oh?" Azula said, blinking blankly and glancing into the night sky as well. "Huh. So, this annoying fool decided she was bored of being the moon and took to hounding me about nonsense instead? Isn't that nice of her?"

"What nonsense? Azula, what is she saying?" Sokka asked. "I…!"

"Wait," Azula frowned, raising a hand as to slow him down. She raised an eyebrow slowly, inching away from him. "Mind you… if I had an ex, which I don't, and my worst enemy started saying they're seeing said ex in all reflective surfaces they come across, and even in dreams on occasion, I would likely assume they're lying because normal people don't do that."

"We've established that you see things since well over ten years ago," Sokka said, with a dry grin. "But usually, as far as I could guess, it was stuff related to you. Right?"

"Right," Azula said, folding her arms over her chest.

"Look… if this were anything else, if you were doing this at some other time, I'd assume you've lost it and that you're going crazy again. But… the moon is like this. It's been a year. Nobody has given me any answers! I've never been able to figure out what's wrong with it, and you're finally a way to unravel that, if just a bit? So… so, please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me what she wants. I-if we achieve it, maybe the moon will clear up again! And then…!"

"And then you'll appease your conscience and I'll somehow get rid of her?" Azula asked, with a dry grin. "I expect otherwise. She's fickle, annoying, childish…! Yes, you're childish! You are as good as a child to me! You're sixteen, aren't you? Learn your place and stop speaking up against your elders!"

Sokka froze on the spot: yes, Yue would be sixteen, stuck forever at that age… the age she was when she had sacrificed herself. He was ten years older than her right now. Somehow, the thought hadn't truly materialized in his head so far.

He leaned over the bridge slightly, glancing into the reflection of the river… to find nothing. Just his muddled reflection, along with Azula's.

"You can't see anything, can you?" Azula asked him. Sokka sighed and shook his head. "Well, she can see you right now. She says… that you were more handsome back when you were younger."

"She… what?!" Sokka squeaked, cheeks flushing. Azula turned up her nose, a devious smirk spreading over her face. "Y-you… take that back! She didn't say that! Even if it were true, she wouldn't have, and you…! Can she actually see me? Azula, can she really…?!"

"Oh, only vaguely. She mostly sees whatever's around me," Azula said, with a shrug, as Sokka approached her. "Or so she says. Anyway, you do believe me when I say that she speaks with me, even though it's uncalled for constantly, and that it's truly your former girlfriend, or…?"

Sokka was nearly in contact with her when she trailed off, glaring at him in disdain as she inched away from him. Sokka smiled awkwardly.

"I just figured, I need to stand closer for her to see, so maybe if I stand close to you, I'll see her too…?"

"Step back or I will send you to the next life faster than you can say 'Yue.'"

"Okay, fine! Damn, I just… fuck, you have no idea what this means to me," Sokka said, stepping back indeed and smiling slightly. "I've spent a year thinking she's… she's catatonic! That she's been attacked, maybe, or that she's in trouble…! But she's just… what, taking a vacation inside your head?"

"If only she could've picked a better head to spend time in," Azula growled, glaring at the reflection again. "Oh, shut up. Empty praises will get you nowhere."

"What? Did she… praise you?" Sokka blinked blankly. Azula scoffed.

"She does more often than not. Empty words, not unlike the ones I've spent my entire life hearing," Azula said, bitterly. Sokka grimaced.

"Yue was an honest person, though. If she has something good to say about you…"

"She might as well save it. I don't want to hear it, and I'll never believe it," Azula said, firmly. She shook her head. "I'm not here, however, to discuss my confidence, self-esteem or people's willingness to sing my praises. I brought this annoyance to the Northern Water Tribe because she missed her people and I figured I might be able to get rid of her, at last, if I brought her here. She's a deceptive little brat, though, and asked to come to this bridge first, only to reminisce on whatever nonsense you two shared as teenagers here, and then she told me that I'll have to enter this terribly secret and secluded oasis hidden somewhere behind the Palace she used to live in, because she might just be able to flow out of me and into the fish if I take her there. So… that's why I'm here. I do not care for this place, I don't have the slightest intention of bringing anyone harm unless they do it to me first, and all I really, truly need is to be free from voices and illusions and seeing things that aren't there!"

Azula's chest heaved as she finished her rant. Sokka listened patiently throughout it all, and she glared at him defiantly after she was done, waiting for an answer. Her flow of thought had gone slightly overboard, it was true, but…

"Okay," Sokka said. Azula frowned. "Look… I don't think I should trust you. I'm not sure I'd ever know how. But at the same time… you're bound to be the only way I'll ever find a solution for Yue, for saving the moon, outright. Maybe… maybe if you see her in the oasis's pond, you'll truly be able to set yourself free from this connection. Although, before that, could you ask her if she wants to connect with me instead? I wouldn't mind… I wouldn't mind seeing her again."

"You're disgusting," Azula said. Sokka shuddered, glaring at her after her words sank in. Azula turned over the bridge and scowled. "This fool has been with a face-painted Kyoshi Warrior loser for the past ten years and yet he wants to see you again, isn't that right? Not only was he disloyal to you by choosing her, now he's disloyal to her by being here, asking to see you. Is this truly the man you were quite so keen on, Princess Yue?"

"You already questioned her taste in men before, thank you very much," Sokka said, eyebrow twitching. "I want to see Yue again, and that's not a crime, damn you! I care about her, I always will! She was my first love. I'm not expecting for her to come back from the dead, she has a duty as the Moon Spirit and she has to fulfill it…! But I… I have unresolved business, okay? I have burdens and things I'd like to talk about with her. If there's anything she needs, anything she wants, I'd love to make it happen. And no, I don't mean I want a reward, or that I want two girlfriends…! I just want her to be at peace. I want Yue to be safe and sound. I want to look up at the sky and believe she's watching over me, and that she'll always be watching over her people, too. Is that so awful of me?"

"It… sounds embellished and far too idealistic now. Either you're not being honest or you're far more upstanding than I expected. And I would sooner believe it's the former," Azula said. Sokka scoffed, pressing a hand to his face.

"Leave it to my luck that the one person who can help me communicate with Yue would be you," Sokka hissed. "Look, you'll kill two birds with one stone if you can transfer her to me somehow! You won't have to take her wherever you go anymore, and I won't pester you constantly about how Yue is doing, which I would otherwise, so…!"

"Wait. Wait," Azula frowned, staring at him in chagrin. "Are you trying to tell me… that if I don't do whatever you want me to do, you intend on stalking me for the rest of our miserable lives in retaliation for my unwillingness to cooperate with you?"

"Exactly. That," Sokka said, with a proud, sarcastic smile.

Azula scoffed, rolling her eyes and glaring at him.

"I refuse to play anything by your rules. The fact that you haven't rushed off to tell my brother that I'm here is… alarming," Azula snapped. "You'll give me away to him whenever you've had your fill of talking to Yue through me, I'm sure…"

"Not that you've done any of that for me so far," Sokka said, with a raised eyebrow. "Can she hear me?"

"Somewhat," Azula said, and he couldn't gauge whether she was being truthful or not.

"And you won't tell me what she's saying, even if she's talking to me, or will you?"

"Don't take it the wrong way, but she's long learned that I'm the only one who hears her. She smiled like a fool when she heard your voice and when she could hear you, yes, but she didn't speak directly to you so far, and…" Azula's word were cut off by a most unwelcome interruption. Her nose twitched slightly with irritation before she rolled her eyes and said. "Fine. Never mind. She says 'hi.'"

Sokka, to his utter disbelief, actually blurted out a chuckle at Azula's frustration. The fallen Princess glared at him reproachfully.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you, Azula," he said, with surprising honesty. "I bet it's incredibly inconvenient. But… it feels like you and her are the most unlikely combination, doesn't it?"

"Tell me about it," Azula huffed, shaking her head. "But that's not my concern right now, is it? I'll happily break off the unlikely combination and set her free, but I need to get to that place and… and I need your word that you won't give me away to Zuko after that's done. There's that, too."

"Oh. Uh…" Azula glared at him fiercely, and Sokka grimaced. "Look, I… wouldn't really want to give you away to him, true, especially when you're the first chance I've had to talk to Yue in over ten years. But… Zuko's not in a good place right now, Azula."

"Well, he's freezing his ass off in the North Pole, evidently, but…"

"I don't mean literally, I mean emotionally, or psychologically, or… whatever," Sokka sighed. "Your antics have had him on his toes for a long time. Reforming the Fire Nation is easier said than done…"

"Why, of course it is."

"And international pressures are always gaining on him. My point is… he captured your allies, and he made them tell him where you had gone. He… basically threatened he'd kill them if they didn't cooperate, going by what he told me."

"Pfft," Azula smirked, shaking her head. "And they didn't call his bluff? That's…"

"It wasn't a bluff," Sokka said. Azula's mirth dwindled. "I'm serious, Azula. I think he wouldn't kill you, no, but… he doesn't want you causing trouble anymore, and he's becoming harsher, and colder, and… well, maybe closer to your father, in a sense."

"Well, that's… not good for me, now, is it?" Azula said, with a weak smile. "While I would gladly have him resemble my father in the respectable senses that he could…"

"Would you, really?" Sokka asked, with a distasteful grimace.

"I'm certain he's going to take after him in the worst ways. Such as… treating his sole sibling as a problem to be rid of. Which…"

"Which is exactly what you've been trying to be for him over the past years, isn't it?" Sokka asked. Azula's discomfort couldn't be more apparent. "Look, you're the key to sorting out whatever's going on in the sky. I can already tell that you are. But Zuko… he's going to be a hazard for you. So, whether you work with me, whether you get rid of Yue, whether the sky is restored or not… ultimately, your brother is going to hunt you down and…"

"And lock me up somewhere so I will no longer embarrass him," Azula recited, her voice muted. Sokka grimaced. "Someplace like… the asylum, I suppose. He did it once before. No doubt he'd do it again if he had the chance. More so if… i-if he knew I'm seeing and hearing things that aren't there again. I… Sokka, you…"

"Huh. We're on first-name basis, are we?"

"You've called me Azula, I might as well do the same," she hissed, staring at him intensely. "Swear to me you won't let me fall into his hands. Help me… and whatever the hell I need to do to fix your Princess and send her back into her fish, I'll do it."

"It's honestly quite messed up, isn't it?" Sokka said, running a hand over his hair as he scrutinized her with uncertainty. "It's like… like you're holding Yue hostage against your will."

"Or she's holding me against hers. Which is illogical," Azula hissed. Sokka sighed. "I may be wrong to think I'm a victim in all of this, but I swear to you, I asked for none of it. It was bad enough to see my mother in my head only to realize later that it was never her, and that I truly had lost my senses…"

"Azula…" Sokka said, eyeing her with compassion. She snarled, stepping away from me.

"Don't… don't pity me. That's the last thing you ought to do," she hissed. "My mind's broken state is my business. Hence why I'd much rather your former girlfriend stopped making it hers. But clearly… I'm at a standstill in a crossroads that I'd much rather not be in. So all I can think of doing, right now, is fixing this mess by returning her to where she's supposed to go. Either you come with me and help me do it, or…"

"I will."

Azula frowned. Sokka breathed deeply and nodded.

"I'll get you there. I know a way," he said, glancing back towards the cliffs that hugged the Water Tribe's Palace. "Just… will be a slightly long hike. But if you're up for it…"

"I'm ready for anything. Most of all, to stop seeing and hearing Yue," Azula said, with a dry grin. "If you're serious… then lead the way."

Sokka nodded: within moments, he and Azula, who hid her face under the hood of the parka she most likely had stolen at some point in her journey, had walked all the way to the outskirts of the Northern Water Tribe. A long climb uphill, exhausting and draining, more so under such low temperatures, eventually saw them reaching the cliffs, and from there, they had to walk the icy trek all the way to the back of the city: long ago, Zuko had escaped with Aang through the zigzagging trail that led into the oasis from the tall cliffs of the polar casket. It stood to reason that they would be able to enter the oasis undetected that way, too.

"Say… I've agreed to not hand you over to Zuko," Sokka said, walking by Azula's side: she was much calmer now, when there were no reflections from which Yue could peer at her. "But even though I did… are you going to keep causing trouble for him after this is said and done?"

"That's not your business," Azula answered, curtly. Sokka sighed.

"It kind of is. He'll kill me too if I help you keep messing with him," Sokka groaned. Azula smirked.

"He might. You could wind up stuck with me just as badly as Yue is, how about that?" she said. "A most unfortunate fate for you, peasant."

"You already proved you know my name. Use it," Sokka said, huffing.

"I'll call you whatever I please," Azula said, simply. Sokka rolled his eyes.

"Either way, my point is… can you just do something else with your life?" Sokka asked. "It has to get old, trying to piss off your older bro-…"

"No, it really doesn't."

"Seriously?"

"It's better than anything else I can do anyway. It's not like I have anywhere to be, anywhere to go, I… I belong nowhere to begin with and he's sitting on the throne that might have given me a purpose otherwise," Azula said, with a careless shrug. "As bad as his situation might be, mine is certainly worse. He can have his throne all he wants, but he's not going to keep it without pushback of any sorts."

"You're way too smart to waste your life away doing something as nonsensical as being someone's… personal pain in the ass?" Sokka said, with a grimace. Azula scoffed. "Come on, now. You can't even tell me it's still fun for you. More so when your friends, or just allies, whatever they are, are in danger. I can try to help you break them out if you want, you know? Would be dangerous, but if you promised…"

"I'll make no promises of good behavior," Azula scoffed. "I couldn't care less to spare Zuzu from my worst…"

"And your friends from getting killed?" Sokka asked. Azula frowned.

"Are they even that?" Azula asked. "Granted, you think Zuko tried to kill them, but…"

"Threatened to, if anything…"

"It's not like they hadn't already stabbed me in the back before that, anyhow."

Sokka frowned as he stopped. Azula didn't slow down, stubbornly trudging on, her bag strapped over her shoulder.

"What…? They betrayed you?" Sokka asked, frowning. "And how the hell did they know where you would be, if that's the case? Did you ask them to come with you and they refused?"

"I'm only here now because they demanded that I came," Azula hissed. Sokka sped up, catching up to her again. "I was… distracted. Constantly scattered because of Yue popping up at every possible reflective surface around me. I was jumpy at first, when I didn't understand what was going on. I couldn't even look at poorly reflective metal without seeing a reflection of a silhouette, of something that wasn't there. She shows up in every liquid surface I see... and mirrors. Steel armor, anything of the sort. At first, when I realized what was wrong, I tried to hide it… but then, things got complicated. Zirin… she caught me talking to Yue more than once. She thought I was slipping again.

"I came clean about what was happening. They told me to get it together. I tried. Our latest operations, however, had been failures and… and yes, in part, because I'm hardly fully there. Yue is… is taking a real toll on me, damn her. And damn Zirin all the more for… for telling me to either sort this out, get rid of her, or get lost for good."

"She told you that?" Sokka said. Azula smirked, eyeing him with unrestrained deviousness.

"Funnily enough… she failed to pull off whatever it is she wanted to do when I was gone. When I was the leader? I only got a handful of us captured. One operation under Zirin's leadership and the whole group goes under. Serves her right for being so full of herself…"

Azula cackled without remorse, and Sokka raised an eyebrow as he watched her with uncertainty. In any other circumstances, he wouldn't have wanted to hear a single word Azula might say… and he found that was probably a terrible reaction now. He didn't truly understand the first thing about the woman walking beside him now… and because he didn't, now Yue was her unwilling hostage, or Azula her unwilling host, and he had no idea how to approach her. If he'd done better, tried harder to be as friendly to her as they'd been to Zuko, after he turned…

There was no denying that Azula didn't make it easy. But talking to her now revealed that her dangerously clever mind was nowhere near as hopelessly broken as Azula herself might think it was.

"Either way, it's just me and Yue, going forward. While I wouldn't particularly care whether my former allies are free or not, I certainly would rather they're not murdered," Azula said, after her amusement receded. "I understand I failed as their leader, anyway. I'm in no condition to lead the group at all, and I failed to deliver on my many promises. Nonetheless… it's a sore spot for me, as you may imagine, to so much as think of allowing my allies to turn their backs on me. I've had enough of that for a lifetime."

"Surprising that you didn't lash out at them for it, though," Sokka said. "Or did you?"

"Some insults were traded, sure. A bit of fire. Some lightning. Maybe a slap or two."

"Who landed those?"

"Me, of course. Not that Zirin didn't try, but she failed."

Sokka smiled a little, shaking his head. Azula raised an eyebrow.

"And that amuses you, somehow?" she asked.

"Sounds like you were giving as good as you got. Not much of a crime when you see it that way," Sokka said. "Look… there's just got to be a better future for you. I don't know what it could be, but…"

"Stop trying to fix my brother's messes for him. He doesn't deserve that much devotion or help," Azula said, shaking her head. "Hell knows how so many of you are so eager to eat off his hand, let alone to convince me to walk away and leave him be…"

"I don't eat off his hand," Sokka squirmed, looking at her in chagrin. Azula smirked. "But… he's my friend. And more than that, his role in the world is a little bit essential at making peace a reality, you know? But he's got, uh… quite the temper. And that means that, if he gets angry or anything sets him off, he might just end up derailing all our hard work at restoring balance so far."

"How is that any of my business?" Azula said, bluntly.

"Why would it not be? He's your brother," Sokka said. Azula scoffed.

"Ask him what that means to him. I give as good as I get, as you put it before," Azula said. "I don't need a brother who doesn't need me."

Her words struck deeply in Sokka's gut: truthfully, he had seldom tried to think of things from Azula's point of view. He had sympathized with Zuko over his struggles… but suddenly, standing on the other side of that ordeal revealed that maybe Azula acted out as she did for reasons beyond what was apparent.

"At any rate, you should shut up," Azula said, startling Sokka. "This is the first chance I've gotten for some peace and quiet for hours and you keep rambling. Be quiet."

"Well… I can't be quiet just like that," Sokka pouted. Azula huffed, rolling her eyes. "There's a lot of things I want to know, a lot of things I want to ask, and…"

"And I should be the least of your concerns. You're here for Yue, aren't you?" Azula scoffed. Sokka winced.

"Right. Uh. Thing is, it's hard to figure out what to do with that, but… say, you can see her, you said? In every reflection you look at? Like, in place of yourself, or…?"

"Behind my reflection, usually," Azula answered. "What about it?"

"Well… what does she look like?"

"Oh? Either you're finally questioning the veracity of my tales or you're being a creep. I'm not sure which one is worse," Azula said. Sokka winced.

"I just… well, maybe more the first one than the second?" Sokka admitted. "Though a part of me does wonder if she really is stuck at sixteen. I'm not sure why I didn't think about that ever before…"

"Because you've grown older and you foolishly assumed so would she. Not the case," Azula said, simply. "She's indeed a sixteen-year-old girl with dark skin, blue eyes, white wavy hair that seems to float, much like her fancy white robes. Frankly, that dress she wears is far more elegant than anything I've seen the rest of her people wear. Guess they left the good fashion for the royalty…"

"Or that's just her moon outfit," Sokka said, with a careless grin. Azula raised an eyebrow.

"Huh. I have no idea how spirits handle dress codes," she admitted. "But frankly, I doubt I'll ever understand the first thing about them. Spiritual matters are unnerving."

"Really? Says the girl who was masquerading as a spirit…"

"I assumed everyone else would think they were unnerving too, and they'd run away or die of fright if we presented ourselves as such," Azula said, simply. Sokka eyed her skeptically. "What?"

"You make no sense," he said, though he smiled slightly at her. "It's kind of entertaining, though."

"Why, I aim to please," Azula said, with a sarcastic grin that suggested the opposite thing, instead.

They reached the chasm then, and Azula glanced down at the oasis. From this distance, she couldn't see Yue… but she knew she would, once they were in the oasis itself.

"Come," Sokka urged her, approaching the entrance of the zigzagging trail that led into the oasis. "This way."

Azula followed him down, and they moved as quietly and inconspicuously as possible: they could see from afar how the military alliance between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe happened to be in full swing. Numerous hot-air balloons were ready to intercept hers… firebenders, waterbenders, non-benders, everyone wanted a piece of her, from the looks of it. She sighed: it was a good thing that Yue had been able to navigate her into the city safely, and that she had lain low in it for as long as she could manage.

The oasis was a rare location in the Tribe, where it was warm enough that Azula finally stopped stoking her inner fire to get by. She sighed in relief as she followed Sokka, crossing small wooden bridges until she finally reached the pond…

Two koi fish, one black, one white, swam in its waters. Sokka sighed happily at the sight of the white one.

"Seems untouched. Good," he said, smiling kindly at the spirit. Tui and La continued swimming together, and Sokka turned towards Azula. "As you know, if you do anything you shouldn't…"

"I won't hurt the one thing that might just get me out of this mess, damn you. You don't need to say it again," Azula huffed, approaching the pond and glaring at the fish.

To Sokka's surprise, Tui broke formation from La… as though to stare at Azula. The Princess scowled… and upon looking into the water, she soon saw Yue.

"Well? Get going. Your ride is here," Azula hissed.

Youthful, kind and earnest, Yue smiled at her, and then at Tui.

"My manifested form upon the human world… it's good to see that it remains intact. This is the Moon Spirit, Azula."

"I can see that. Now, kindly get out of my head and into the fish, would you?" Azula scoffed.

Yue's smile soured slightly: the clueless expression on her face brought a scowl to Azula's.

"I… I'm not trying to say that I can't do it, but, uh, I… I don't really know how."

"You… what? You don't know how?!" Azula exclaimed.

"Don't be mad! I just…!"

"You brought me all the way here just to make fun of me? Get out of my head and into the fish, right this moment!"

"I would love to! But I don't know how, I said!" Yue exclaimed, flustered, tears in the corners of her eyes.

Azula's chest heaved as she glared at her. Yue's manipulative remorse would not affect her. It couldn't. It wouldn't. She was just…

"You miserable, irksome, spoiled brat!" Azula roared. Sokka gripped her shoulder, and Azula shook her off.

"Be quiet!" he urged her, startling Azula. She had expected a scolding over how she was treating Yue, instead. "They're going to notice you're here if you keep this up. So… shush. If you have to berate her, do it… quietly. Nicely."

"Nicely? Fuck off," Azula said, rolling her eyes, even though she didn't raise her voice again. "I've been stuck with this annoyance for a year. And she can't even figure out her problems and help herself out of my head! I'm quite certain it can't be a nice place to inhabit, even I would like a break from myself from time to time, so I sincerely doubt that she's…!"

"W-well… you're quite smart. I do like the way you think, even if you do things that aren't that nice. But you're so skilled at seeing through people, at devising plans quickly, and…!"

"Stop it! I want no pointless, ridiculous, empty praise from you!" Azula scoffed. Sokka grimaced.

"She was praising you again?" he asked. Azula snorted.

"I know! It's maddening," Azula shook her head.

"What… what was she praising about you?" Sokka asked, puzzled. Azula stared at him skeptically. "I'm just wondering…!"

"She said I'm smart. That she likes the way I see through people," Azula said, with a sardonic grin. "And I'll give her a new one right now: you're thinking there's nothing about me worth praising, aren't you?"

"What? No! I mean, there definitely are things I'd praise about you, but I'm just… surprised that Yue would pick up on them?" Sokka said, with a weak smile. Azula glared at him.

"You're a worse liar than she is."

"I'm not lying, though! You are smart as hell, that's why you're a menace to begin with!" Sokka squeaked. "And along with that, you're an incredibly powerful firebender, the strongest one alive as far as I know..."

"And don't you forget it," Azula said – somehow, his words were hitting the right place that Yue's seldom ever did.

"And you're…!" Sokka started, before freezing where he was. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Anyway…"

"I'm… what?" Azula said, raising an eyebrow. Sokka grimaced.

"Can I tell you later?"

"Later, when?"

"Later when Yue can't hear it," he said. Azula scoffed.

"What? You're…? Oh, wait. You were going to praise my godlike beauty, weren't you?" Azula smirked, turning towards the pond again. "See how reliable he is? You're so stuck on him and hung up on the fool who can't see half a pretty girl without thinking…"

"You're much prettier than what you think you are!"

Azula froze: Yue's eagerness caught her off guard entirely as the reflection in the pond almost seemed flustered to say it.

"I wasn't about to say it because I knew you'd think I was lying, but it's not a lie!" Yue exclaimed, enthusiastically. "You're a very beautiful lady. Or, uh, well… runaway. I don't know what term you'd prefer for me to use…"

"Can spirits get hit on the head and lose all sense?" Azula asked. Yue blinked blankly.

"W-well… maybe? I don't know. Could they?"

"I'm asking because I'm starting to think that's what happened to you!" Azula exclaimed. Yue winced. "I'm taunting you, damn it: he's your ex! He's awkward about praising another girl's beauty in front of you! Why would you…?"

"Oh! Oh. Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with that, actually. A lot of girls are beautiful after all, many of whom I never knew, many of whom I never will. But I can see you very clearly sometimes, and I know that you're…"

"That's not the point, damn you!"

"Well, if you think I should be jealous… I'm jealous of a lot of things, actually. But that's neither here nor there."

"Oh, so you are jealous after all? Of… of what?" Azula said, frowning. Yue bit her lip and shrugged. "Yue…"

"Let's just say… I just want Sokka to be happy," Yue smiled, hands upon her chest. "I want him to live a full life, too. That I can't do it… it's no reason for him not to. And if he likes a girl, or loves one, well… I hope he'll find all the happiness with her that I couldn't grant him."

"You… you can't be this nice. That's ridiculous," Azula said, with a disgusted expression across her face. "Moreover, why are we discussing this at all?! Get into the fish!"

"I can't do it, I said. And with you being this cranky and constantly pretending I'm lying, I feel even more disinclined to stay in the pond forever."

"What, you're going to hound me until I decide your way of thinking and living is correct?" Azula asked, with a sardonic smile. "Well, yippie, then! Yue is right about everything, ever! Sokka is allowed to ogle every girl that crosses his path because she just wants him to be happy, like the absolute selfless koala-bear cub that she is!"

"Hey, don't talk to her like that!" Sokka huffed, though he frowned. "But… she said that? For real?"

"That she just wants you to be happy? She did. Isn't it ridiculous?" Azula said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Sokka frowned. "What? You're not going to tell me that…"

"I feel the same way about her."

Azula raised an eyebrow. Sokka's face shifted into a fierce mask… one that gave away his regrets and remorse far more profoundly than anything else might. She blinked blankly.

"Well, that's… good. Good for you," Azula said with a sarcastic smile. "But it has nothing to do with me. In fact, as you're both such selfless, pure, kind souls, maybe you should look into turning into the black fish. The ocean, right? Go on, do that, swim with her forever. Or, better yet, become her host in my stead. How about you do that? Then you can spend your life looking at your reflection in a mirror and telling Yue that you want her happiness while she tells you she wants yours and…! And I'll be free. Which is all that matters to me. How about it?"

"I… look, I'd take her off your hands if I could, but if she doesn't know how to go about it, neither do I," Sokka said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "At best, maybe we could ask Aang if…"

"Not a chance. You're not involving the Avatar in this. Three's already a crowd, the Avatar would turn it into a full-blown party," Azula said, shaking her head.

"I don't know what to do, okay?" Sokka said, with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry you're involved in this because... well, technically, it shouldn't have anything to do with you. You never even knew Yue and you've already spent a year stuck in this situation…"

"Exactly," Azula said, raising her hands emphatically before running her fingers through her hair.

"But at the same time… you're the only chance I have to communicate with her directly and figure out what's going on," Sokka said. Azula scoffed.

"Why would I…?"

"If we sort out what's going on with the moon?" Sokka said, gesturing towards the grey sphere in the sky. "Maybe we can break the two of you free from each other. So ask Yue… or tell me her answer, anyway, if something changed recently. Or rather, a year ago. Ask her… if there's something wrong and we can fix it. Please."

Azula frowned but turned towards the pond again. Yue gazed at her helplessly, and Azula crooked an eyebrow.

"Well? Cat-owl got your tongue? You're a lot more chipper than that, usually," she said.

Yue sighed, lowering her gaze. Something immediately alerted Azula that Yue might be lying when she answered that question… but that was no one of Azula's business, even if that were the case.

"I… I don't really know," Yue said, nervously. "One day… something crashed into the moon. I think it was a comet? I'm not sure, I don't really know what it was. I just felt it, and it jolted me around violently. It felt like something loosened up in me, I guess. Ever since, I… I've been able to see you. Whatever happened that day, I… I can see you and only a little bit around you. I see you through every reflection. But as for why it happened, or how, or what it was, I… I don't know any of that. I also don't know how to fix it."

"So, in short, you're not much use," Azula said, cuttingly. Sokka frowned. "You don't know what happened beyond this strange cosmic collision or what you need to do to fix it."

"Cosmic collision?" Sokka repeated.

"Something crashed against the dark side of the moon, or so she says. After that, she wound up here," Azula said, pointing at her head.

She didn't say more. Didn't pressure more. She could tell that Yue was hiding something. She didn't know if she could trust Sokka to keep his cool if he realized Yue wasn't being completely truthful about whatever she had just explained.

"Then… maybe something loosened up?" Sokka grimaced.

"If you're about to wonder how does someone fix the moon, why, don't ask me. Get your earthbending friend to fly across space and do it herself," Azula suggested. Sokka grimaced.

"She wouldn't go for it," he sighed. "But… damn. Then something did happen. Something physical. And maybe… maybe she's here because of a bigger reason than we know. Like… you know how sometimes people say spirits haunt the living because they have unfinished business?"

"And she does?" Azula asked, glancing at Yue in the pond with utter skepticism. Yue's eyes gleamed upon hearing Sokka's latest idea. "I don't know about that. What kind of unfinished business are we talking about here, and how would she go about fulfilling it? Because so far, I'm carrying her around with me, but she isn't controlling me or anything of the sort. So, if you get any funny ideas of being with her through my body or so…"

"If she can't even go into the fish, how's she going to possess you completely?" Sokka sighed. "Look, I know what it looks like, but… I get it. She's the girl I lost years ago. But I'm not that boy anymore. I'm fully grown… and I just want to do right by her. I failed Yue, okay? Right here, in this very place, I couldn't stop Zhao from doing what he did, I couldn't save her from her fate. I've carried that with me from the moment it happened and I don't think I'll ever stop being burdened by that, so…"

"So… that's it. It's your fault," Azula concluded. Sokka winced. "She can't go back to business as usual because she has to fix whatever's fucked up in your head."

"Wait, what? No! It… it can't be about me! There's a lot of people here who loved her too!" Sokka exclaimed, blushing. Azula hummed, glancing about herself.

"True, to a fault. I suppose… she had her people's love. Her father's love," Azula said, bitterly. "You were but a footnote."

"I… hey!"

"He was much more than that."

"Oh, really?" Azula regarded Yue with a sneer once more. Yue frowned.

"Sokka… was my first true friend. My first chance at knowing something beyond the boundaries of the North Pole. He… he was fascinating to me. Him and his sister and the Avatar… they were younger than me, but they were heroes in the making. I looked up to them. I wanted… I wanted to know what it was like. If I hadn't died, I… I would have liked to join Sokka one day, maybe, traveling the world. But of course, that never could happen, so…"

"So, it is his fault for giving you false expectations."

"That's not true. And… actually, I know now! If Sokka is right and I have unfinished business… it's because of the dreams and hopes I couldn't fulfill. If that's why I'm still here… then that's what you have to do. Azula: I want to see the world!"

"Oh, really, now? And you think I'm some sort of magical entity that grants wishes willy-nilly?" Azula asked, hands on her hips. "You want to see the world? In case you haven't noticed, Yue, I'm not exactly welcome anywhere in this damn planet, I'm not even supposed to be here to begin with. I can't take you anywhere you want to go."

"Wait… she wants to see the world, then?" Sokka said, a slow smile spreading over his face. Azula scoffed.

"What's it to you?" she said.

"Azula… this might just be the chance to fix things," he said. Azula rolled her eyes. "I know, this all sounds stupid to you… but it's not. I never could do anything for her, but if I can help you do this, if the two of us can show her the world…!"

"Wait, help me do this? You'd help me travel wherever she wants to go?" Azula asked, amused and dismissive. "I doubt even you can pull that off, Sokka, and…"

"And what if that's the only solution for this?" Sokka asked. "What if she won't leave until she's fulfilled, happy, satisfied with everything she saw?"

"Then she'll be unfulfilled, unhappy and unsatisfied for as long as I may live, and then we'll just go our separate ways once I die. I'll just spend my entire life burdened with a spirit that decided to hitch a ride in my head," Azula snapped, glaring at the pond again. Yue pouted.

"I might just leave if it works out. If we see all the places I'd like to see, I… I'll at least shut up more often. Can I offer you that much?"

"That's hardly worth anything, as far as promises go," Azula grumbled.

"Well, beyond doing this, I don't know what else we could do. And frankly, Azula, you could do much worse…"

"Oh, I could? And what made you the judge of that?"

"I won't be that needy, I won't be that picky! I just… I just want to experience things alongside you. I could be asking you for far worse, like… like spending a year or longer folding paper cranes so that they can fulfill my wish to, say, gain a new body so that I can experience all those things myself! Would you rather do that, instead?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, you…"

"Then listen to me, please: you came this far. I love my hometown and I missed it and I'm glad that we came…"

"Just admit that you told me to bring you to the fish just because you wanted to come back and see everything."

"Well, yes, but I did think this would work. I never imagined it wouldn't. When I sacrificed myself, I just flowed into Tui's body myself. I didn't expect it not to happen now… which I think means some part of me is still there, maybe. Either way, though… maybe all spirits go through moments like these. Where you suddenly regain access to the human world, and you long for what you've lost…?"

"Like a midlife crisis, but with spirits?"

"Yes! I mean, maybe? Does that make sense?"

"None of this makes the slightest bit of sense, Yue, so that question is unnecessary at the moment," Azula huffed, shaking her head.

"I'm just saying… I'm not asking you to do anything that awful. And besides, we both know that you're not even sure what to do next. Your friends weren't very nice the last time you were with them. So… why not give this a chance? Maybe, by traveling, we can also learn more about this kind of thing, about spirits and their cycles, and even learn if there's legends about the Moon Spirit that preceded me. Might be that they went on a journey like this! Right?"

"Beats me," Azula sighed, shaking her head and glaring at Sokka skeptically. "You."

"Me?" Sokka said, arms folded over his chest. "What is it? What is she saying?"

"She's adamant that she wants us to go on this damn road trip you proposed. You say you'd go too," Azula said. "You want to do right by that girl, which means you'll be stuck with me for the foreseeable future. Do you love her quite so much that you'd bear with me for that long?"

"Uh… yeah. I think so," Sokka said. Azula laughed.

"I have the feeling you're going to regret that," she said. Sokka shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "But then… we're doing this? We're traveling the world together?" he asked. Azula sighed heavily, rolling her eyes.

"I'm all out of ideas. And I have nothing better to do. Getting pushed around and annoyed to death by this fool sounds like all I've got at hand at the moment," Azula growled. Yue, despite the insults, grinned giddily at her. "I'll just say it's rather inappropriate of you to say you love her or that you want to do right by her when you're taken, Sokka. What would Suki say, I wonder?"

Yue winced, eyeing Azula guiltily. Azula teasingly mouthed the word 'homewrecker' at her, and Yue pouted in her direction as Sokka sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't know what she'd say. She'll be fine, though," Sokka said. Azula raised an eyebrow. "I've spent the last year trying to figure out how to help Yue, she knows I have, and I'm not about to stop now. So…"

"Terribly trusting of her if that's how it is," Azula said, a pang of guilt, and even envy, blooming in her heart. To think Sokka had someone who trusted him to that extent, to the point where she wouldn't mind seeing him off on a journey where he would be reconnecting, possibly, with his first love… a relationship of that nature had to be incredibly strong.

"Yeah, well, that's neither here nor there. Where's your hot-air balloon?" Sokka asked. Azula shrugged. "I'll get my things and meet you there. Is that too much to ask?"

"I left it in a cave right past the city's walls," Azula said. "Yue navigated us into the city from there. Somehow, she didn't lead me astray. Can you get there on your own?"

"I hope so," Sokka said, breathing heavily. "I'll leave a message behind for the others to know I'm okay. I won't tell them about you, though. They'd hound us and hunt us down if I did."

"Just for the record… do you think you'll be safe, traveling with me?" Azula asked, amused. Sokka huffed.

"I'm not so brittle or breakable as to be scared of you like that, Princess," he said. Azula's amusement increased. "Along with that… if you did anything that could hurt me, I'm sure Yue would be very upset about it too. And then you'd get scolded by her constantly for having hurt me. You wouldn't want to put up with that, now, would you?"

His words did give her pause. Her amusement receded and she sighed as Sokka grinned proudly at her.

"Whatever. Meet me at the balloon in an hour. If you take any longer than that, we're leaving without you."

"Well, now, damn! No need to be so grumpy! In fact… wait here. I'll come back right here, we'll climb out, then we'll get to your balloon much easier that way. I don't know if I'd lose my way otherwise…"

"Get it over with quickly, then," Azula sighed, shaking her head.

Sokka grinned and sprung off through the wooden door at the other side of the oasis. Azula watched him go at first, before focusing her gaze on Yue. The Princess in the water smiled warmly at her.

"What weren't you telling me before? I didn't ask in front of him, but I ask now," Azula said. Yue winced. "Something's wrong with you, isn't there? Something weirder than we know. What's your purpose, exactly?"

"I'm not lying when I say that I wish I knew. But I really, really don't," Yue said, gazing at Azula earnestly. "Moreover… you'll be better off just enjoying the journey."

"Isn't the journey about you? You're the one who ought to enjoy it, not me," Azula huffed. Yue smiled.

"Going on the road with Sokka… I barely even let myself imagine that possibility. You haven't really set out yet, but it already feels like you'll help me fulfill a dream, Azula. Thank you."

"Why on earth are you so hung up on him?" Azula grimaced. "Not that I can't tell that he loves you lots, but… you are a Princess. Surely there were other better catches for you…"

"He's very handsome. You know he is."

"That's not my point," Azula said, stubbornly. "He's annoying, obnoxious, rambunctious, sanctimonious, loud…"

"He's fun. He's caring. He's kind. He's loyal. He loves people with his whole heart."

"Don't you think maybe you idealized him a little much?" Azula said. Yue giggled and shrugged.

"Then maybe I'll get to know him better, his real self, thanks to you. I do want to know what kind of man he has grown into… what kind of person he has been ever since I lost him. You could be right, but… I won't know unless we travel with him, anyway."

"Say what you will… I don't like setting out on this journey when you have ulterior motives," Azula said, curtly.

"Funny thing for you to say, considering you've been up to no good and having ulterior motives with everything you do for as long as I've known you, and most likely all your life…"

"Sass doesn't befit someone who looks as delicate as you."

"Unfortunately, I have plenty to offer you even so," Yue said, stubbornly. "I know you don't want to trust me. You don't want to trust anyone. But I swear… I don't want anything bad to happen to you. Or to Sokka. I want this journey to be… well, liberating for all three of us. It might do you good, even beyond what you expect. Don't you think?"

"Beyond cutting you loose and out of my brain? Perhaps," Azula said, curtly.

A journey with no ill intent, no deeper meaning beyond… sightseeing. Traveling. Tourism, she supposed. The concept was odd, out of place, especially considering she was a wanted criminal in at least two nations. Then again, a devious part of her couldn't help but wonder if she could give people the slip… if she could escape notice and avoid capture by Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation forces alike. Mocking Zuko and King Kuei that way certainly had its appeal…

She smirked after that. The Avatar's friend as her companion might just be a boon rather than a curse too, provided he could give her access to places she couldn't reach as herself. She could very well go incognito, hide behind other identities…

"Maybe you truly were a blessing in disguise all along," Azula told Yue: the Princess's reflection in the water offered her a broad grin.

Five minutes later, Sokka turned up. Azula nodded in his direction, and he cast one last glance at the pond, at the place where he had lost Yue, before setting out, following Azula in the uphill climb out of the oasis, and towards her hidden hot-air balloon. Strange circumstances had brought them together, but for the first time in a year, Sokka had broken his standstill… he was ready to get going. If there was anything left for him to do to help Yue find peace, he'd endeavor to do it, without question.

They faded from view again. The light faded, once they did.

Yue smiled, tightly hugging herself as she sat in place, in that unsettling darkness with tendrils that wrapped around her legs, slowly rising. She simply wanted to wait for the next glimpse into Azula's world, for any sign of life, of wonderment… of the fulfillment she ever felt whenever she could see the woman she had connected with.

"Yue…!"

A deep growl, and afterwards, a devious chuckle. The smile froze over her face, and tears bloomed in her eyes.

"You still have hope, I see! Hope, hope, hope, you silly girl, you beautiful girl, you wicked girl…! You know they cannot save you. You know no one can save you. No one would care to. Not even that boy you crave so much…"

She didn't truly crave him that way anymore. It didn't matter if she explained: no one listened. They thought they understood her human needs… they truly didn't. She knew her fate had been sealed when she gave up her life to save the Moon Spirit, and that all hope of a future with him had died at that moment. There was but one thing she wanted anymore, and it was all she could possibly want…

"You are safe here, with me. You are mine here, mine! Mine alone! And you will never belong to anyone else again!"

The tear spilled. She covered her ears: it didn't suffice to keep the noise from booming inside her head, reminding her bitterly that she would never go free… never again.

#sokkla #sokklasaturdays #sokkla saturdays 2023 #sokka #azula #yue #I have no idea where this plot came from honestly #I had no idea what I was going to do this year #but lightning strikes sometimes #maybe it's DJATS's soundtrack's doing #I may have listened to The River an unhealthy amount of times before and after starting this #and without realizing it a lot of lines in the song actually can connect to what I wrote #funny things are funny that way #anyhow #hope you guys enjoy this one!#consider it yet another of my middle fingers at people pretending multiple things are impossible #shit's only impossible when you're a writer if you want it to be #redeeming Azula without cruelty or violence or sanctimonious selfrighteous crap to guilt-trip her into her growth #is 100% possible #and this story shall stand as proof of that #so have at it!

17 notes · View notes

torgawl · 1 year ago

Text

everyone here was soooo excited because a national channel was going to bring back this iconic tv series, directed specifically to the youth, from our childhood and adolescence that we are so nostalgic about after 11 years for them to disappoint us all with the trailer because it looks like elite 2.0

#they ruined morangos com açúcar i dont think you guys understand #this was supposed to be a cliché show with bad acting about students and dramas at school not a fucking disappearing mystery show #with parties and sex and whatnot 😭#they're making it release in 10 episode seasons like streaming shows too.... that's not morangos!!!!! anfngngnbg #the vibe is so different that it actually makes no sense why they would try to tie it with the other seasons plot and actors shsjshs #yes morangos had your occasional topics of teenage pregnancy and queerness and all that jazz but it was actually explored well #the way they're making girls kiss and parties happening and everything of those sorts in the new season is literally like any of those #spanish teenage shows with too much sex scenes and it's embarrassing actually.#the essence of our national tv is getting lost because they want to do stuff that 'sells' except morangos never sold because it was trendy #or even good because the acting was honestly not great. it was literally our company and part of our routine all year around almost #it was the show we would arrive from school to watch before dinner every day #we watched them experience the school year at the same time we did and on holidays there was a special summer edition #it was a whole thing that this new version isn't.#it was a novela directed for the youth and not whatever show they're trying to make and i'm so mad #i actually wanted to see it. morangos was special to so many of us everybody knows the songs everybody loves the artists that came from #that generation we all grew up watching it.... literally.#and capitalism strikes again 👍#the auditions were a joke too. they announced auditions for anyone who would like to because another thing about morangos is that it was #a talent factory it gave opportunity to newbie actors and pushed their careers and the new season has a bunch of already renown actors and #actresses and they didn't even care to hide how fake and rigged the public auditons were lol #anyways never building expectations about anything ever again this actually broke my heart man agjshs #i'm gonna mourn this listening to d'zrt 4taste and just girls ✊

11 notes · View notes

arolesbianism · 11 months ago

Text

Sigh. Nikola why must you be one of the more interesting oni characters. I don't wanna think abt you with your stupid spiky blond hair and your unethical science that mostly just serves to make Jackie more shitty by proxy. But I do. Because you're kind of orbo blorbo. Fuck you Nikola I hope you explode again

#rat rambles #oni posting #hes just extremely fascinating in the scientist crowd because he has a weirdly large presence in the like. actual meat of the lore.#like he has an actual arc that relates to the quote unquote plot of oni #he made the field around earth he made the neural vaculators (presumably) he contributed to the teleporters and was also involved with #some of the other projects in the bioengineering department and is one of the two scientists that we know for sure knew abt and worked with #duplicants and all of that and almost every instant of nikola being relevant hes only seen second hand #the One thing that we have that is Maybe directly from him is an email that hes the most likely canidate for #and I mean it Im pretty sure outside of that hes only ever either mentioned second hand or doesnt talk in the case of that one ellie email #even the one time we see proper dialogue from him it isnt even a recording its a second hand retelling from ruby #its soooo fascinating I dont even know if this was on purpose but I love it regardless #now tbf theres other characters who are also mostly if not only mentioned second hand but none that have as much of a lore presence as him #nails was close but then 'a seed is planted' dropped and they became a part of the troubling second hand nikola info club #watch them finally add ashkan dialogue and its just him talking abt nikola being involved in the puppy ai incident too or smth #the thing is that isnt even that out there nikola Did work on the teleporters and worked on somw gravitas time travel shit too so who knows #Im trying to think of theres anyone else whos mentioned in the logs but doesnt actually talk and I know there's steve and ada but hmmm #this isnt counting artifact or news artical specific mentions tbc we're talking within character dialogue #sorry meep mae and pei #WAIT cant believe I forgot abt devon rip bestie my sincerest apologies #I think thats it tho everyone else whos mentioned in dialogue has dialogue Im pretty sure #well direct dialogue I mean #oh tbc ashkan is also in that club #hes probably in second place on the weirdness of his lack of dialogue due to his striking presence in several log list #now tbf hes mentioned like 3 times I think? not counting artifacts ofc. so he's not talked abt That frequently #but one of those is in a paradox and the others are in story traits so its still interesting #I had already loved ashkan before doing my full lore dive so finding out this mysterious dr.ali was my boy ashkan was a delight #now ofc technically ashkan could have secret dialogue that we just dont know is him since we dont know his work id but still #we dont know nikolas either but nikola is likely in engineering and ashkan is likely in robotics so theyre both not likely to be them #they Could be as they do likely work with the bioengineering department but nikola is fully crossed out as the fossil guy at least #ashkan Could be the fossil guy but its not likely imo as theyre also the guy in the husbandry log implying theyre fully a biologist

3 notes · View notes

foxmulderautism · 11 months ago

Text

kinda love the day before work cause what other scenario has me tucked into bed at 8:47pm

#just came up with a funnn plot point (fun because of the conflict LOL) that I’m now writing in my head #I’m gonna actually try not to blog on company time tomorrow 👍 only to rb strike things on main #but I’m imagining my power if I used my work downtime to like actually read and write

2 notes · View notes

tryingtobecoollikeyou · 3 months ago

Text

@stealingyourbones

I thought of another DannyxBatpham where Danny doesn't get adopted or romantically involved:

To try and maintain some sense of normalcy for young Dick once he's settled in at the Manor, Bruce gets him involved in gymnastics. Of course, this eventually means competitions. And high level competitions all over the country.

The first competition out of state, he wins but it is a CLOSE thing. Too close. Who the hell is this dude out of Illinois? What do you mean his home practice is on the local park's JUNGLE GYM???

Or Danny started up gymnastics (for plot reasons, isn't he considered clumsy in canon? Or is that just a cover?) and found out he's actually pretty good! And it's fun! His parents are more present when competition is involved and he doesn't miss a single one. He and Dick go back and forth at every competition they're both at. It's a toss up as to who is going to win every time. And Dick kinda low-key hates how good Danny is, because he's pretty sure if Danny had his background and resources, he'd be winning every time. But Danny is also the absolutely sweetest and is always the loudest voice cheering for him and the first to congratulate him. They even strike up a little bit of a pen-pal thing.

So why does Danny suddenly quit in the middle of Freshman year?

#this is number three #help!#the challenge means the ideas won't stop coming!#dp x dc

2K notes · View notes

echoekhi · 1 year ago

Text

I’m Declaring War Against “What If” Videos: Project Copy-Knight

What Are “What If” Videos?

These videos follow a common recipe: A narrator, given a fandom (usually anime ones like My Hero Academia and Naruto), explores an alternative timeline where something is different. Maybe the main character has extra powers, maybe a key plot point goes differently. They then go on and make up a whole new story, detailing the conflicts and romance between characters, much like an ordinary fanfic.

Except, they are fanfics. Actual fanfics, pulled off AO3, FFN and Wattpad, given a different title, with random thumbnail and background images added to them, narrated by computer text-to-speech synthesizers.

They are very easy to make: pick a fanfic, copy all the text into a text-to-speech generator, mix the resulting audio file with some generic art from the fandom as the background, give it a snappy title like “What if Deku had the Power of Ten Rings”, photoshop an attention-grabbing thumbnail, dump it onto YouTube and get thousands of views.

In fact, the process is so straightforward and requires so little effort, it’s pretty clear some of these channels have automated pipelines to pump these out en-masse. They don’t bother with asking the fic authors for permission. Sometimes they don’t even bother with putting the fic’s link in the description or crediting the author. These content-farms then monetise these videos, so they get a cut from YouTube’s ads.

In short, an industry has emerged from the systematic copyright theft of fanfiction, for profit.

Project Copy-Knight

Since the adversaries almost certainly have automated systems set up for this, the only realistic countermeasure is with another automated system. Identifying fanfics manually by listening to the videos and searching them up with tags is just too slow and impractical.

And so, I came up with a simple automated pipeline to identify the original authors of “What If” videos.

It would go download these videos, run speech recognition on it, search the text through a database full of AO3 fics, and identify which work it came from. After manual confirmation, the original authors will be notified that their works have been subject to copyright theft, and instructions provided on how to DMCA-strike the channel out of existence.

I built a prototype over the weekend, and it works surprisingly well:

On a randomly-selected YouTube channel (in this case Infinite Paradox Fanfic), the toolchain was able to identify the origin of half of the content. The raw output, after manual verification, turned out to be extremely accurate. The time taken to identify the source of a video was about 5 minutes, most of those were spent running Whisper, and the actual full-text-search query and Levenshtein analysis was less than 5 seconds.

The other videos probably came from fanfiction websites other than AO3, like fanfiction.net or Wattpad. As I do not have access to archives of those websites, I cannot identify the other ones, but they are almost certainly not original.

Armed with this fantastic proof-of-concept, I’m officially declaring war against “What If” videos. The mission statement of Project Copy-Knight will be the elimination of “What If” videos based on the theft of AO3 content on YouTube.

I Need Your Help

I am acutely aware that I cannot accomplish this on my own. There are many moving parts in this system that simply cannot be completely automated – like the selection of YouTube channels to feed into the toolchain, the manual verification step to prevent false-positives being sent to authors, the reaching-out to authors who have comments disabled, etc, etc.

So, if you are interested in helping to defend fanworks, or just want to have a chat or ask about the technical details of the toolchain, please consider joining my Discord server. I could really use your help.

------

See full blog article and acknowledgements here: https://echoekhi.com/2023/11/25/project-copy-knight/

#ao3 #fanfic #copyknight #theft #copyright

7K notes · View notes

honeyhotteoks · 1 year ago

Text

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page.

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content.

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath.

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it.

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face.

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you.

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today.

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more.

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page.

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess.

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative.

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry.

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through.

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt.

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs.

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already.

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson.

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement.

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’.

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him.

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,”

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat.

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,”

Your breath comes a little more quickly.

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,”

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him.

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?”

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand.

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,”

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already.

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling.

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?”

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait.

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?”

You smile again.

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?”

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot.

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.”

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open.

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,”

Your chest thumps hard.

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.”

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention.

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?”

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady.

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen.

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.”

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions.

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?”

Fuck.

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,”

“Fuck,” You whisper.

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,”

You’re nodding again.

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.”

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs.

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due.

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,”

Your legs spread a little wider.

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants.

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing.

You love him like this.

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,”

You pull it back reluctantly.

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,”

You comply immediately.

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,”

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone.

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,”

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear.

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,”

Your breath catches.

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,”

A moan bubbles up out of you.

“Hands off.”

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind.

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,”

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next.

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,”

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause.

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,”

You follow his instructions.

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,”

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot.

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?”

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting.

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest.

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,”

You don’t have to be told twice.

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,”

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to.

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,”

Pleasure rocks in your gut.

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,”

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it.

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,”

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling.

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?”

Pressure drops in your belly.

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,”

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back.

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.”

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful.

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you.

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,”

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can.

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,”

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,”

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel.

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,”

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere.

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,”

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot.

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,”

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over.

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,”

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you.

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes.

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,”

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you.

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.”

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you.

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,”

You blush again.

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,”

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling.

You are so, so fucked.

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat.

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post.

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company.

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit.

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day.

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five?

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall.

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries.

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention.

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now.

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone.

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here.

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning.

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering.

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby?

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found.

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?”

You’re frozen.

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows.

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,”

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,”

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks.

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?”

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,”

“Iced or hot?” He asks.

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me?

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,”

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,”

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed.

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line.

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,”

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,”

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head, “No, first time,”

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head.

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,”

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,”

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?”

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,”

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer.

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,”

Blush creeps up your neck.

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head.

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.”

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?”

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up.

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,”

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,”

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,”

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age.

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella.

“Seven,”

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,” You nod.

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,”

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,”

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.”

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,”

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!”

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,”

“See you again,”

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer.

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account.

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual.

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home.

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening.

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos.

He’s lovely.

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something.

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table.

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?”

“The train,” You glance outside.

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,”

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,”

“Oh,”

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?”

Flirting, then.

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?”

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,”

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,”

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block.

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits.

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles.

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns.

Do you tell him? Do you lie?

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t.

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking.

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.”

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?”

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes.

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,”

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,”

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,”

“Recognized me?”

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,”

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,”

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down.

It was so, so nice while it lasted.

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,”

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,”

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,”

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,”

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire.

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,”

“Undrinkable?” You blink.

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,”

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?”

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,”

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait.

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you.

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,”

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly.

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?”

“No,” You tell him firmly.

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you.

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,”

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,”

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,”

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.”

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you.

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,”

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,”

“Oh,” You soften.

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious.

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,”

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,”

“Right,” You murmur.

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,”

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting.

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.”

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking.

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,”

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,”

You wait, your stomach in knots.

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks.

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,”

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm.

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,”

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues.

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,”

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.”

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes.

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,”

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening.

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,”

A small smile appears on his lips.

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,”

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,”

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?”

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,”

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,”

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?”

You nod again.

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?”

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much.

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.”

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,”

You nod.

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him.

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,”

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words.

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.”

He nods once, his shoulders tense again.

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,”

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks.

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,”

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.”

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.”

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks.

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,”

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?”

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,”

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe.

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday.

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air.

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?”

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,”

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again.

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?”

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too.

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,”

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,”

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him.

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,”

“Right,” You blush darker.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?”

You nod quickly.

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.”

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time.

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.”

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs.

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,”

“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,”

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?”

You nod.

“And the roleplay?” He asks.

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,”

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips.

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,”

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?”

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,”

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater.

“Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,”

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan.

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,”

The button opens.

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,”

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?”

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons.

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead.

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,”

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,”

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly.

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,”

You nod, “So good,”

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,”

You’re close.

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,”

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right.

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,”

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,”

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,”

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,”

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips.

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,”

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,”

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming.

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,”

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple.

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,”

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge.

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,”

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move.

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,”

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise.

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,”

You shiver, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,”

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile.

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,”

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,”

“So come inside me,” You smile.

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,”

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,”

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,”

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,”

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,”

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions.

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,”

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh.

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,”

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?”

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit.

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands.

“Yes,” You answer quickly.

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,”

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,”

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real.

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real.

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?”

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers.

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,”

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble.

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body.

“Soon,” He promises.

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit.

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,”

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,”

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,”

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,”

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something.

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor.

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,”

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,”

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,”

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,”

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight.

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks.

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?”

You nod, still trying to catch your breath.

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,”

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,”

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,”

“It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,”

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,”

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,”

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,”

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,”

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up.

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes.

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss.

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,”

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,”

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss.

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,”

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs.

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you.

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,”

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?”

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,”

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs.

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you.

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants.

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?”

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet.

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly.

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he.

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,”

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed.

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,”

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him.

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,”

You nod.

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,”

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire.

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs.

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you.

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,”

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,”

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open.

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust.

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress.

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low.

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you.

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,”

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins.

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?”

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,”

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,”

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him.

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?”

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,”

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,”

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll.

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips.

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,”

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer.

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?”

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together.

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,”

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan.

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,”

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin.

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself.

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,”

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,”

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively.

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you.

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side.

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?”

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion.

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you.

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,”

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,”

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly.

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little.

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock.

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,”

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,”

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,”

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,”

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,”

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now.

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,”

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,”

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,”

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,”

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips.

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,”

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet.

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed.

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble.

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,”

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good.

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours.

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,”

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,”

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly.

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,”

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling.

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,”

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge.

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock.

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?”

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,”

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest.

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,”

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together.

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees.

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment.

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,”

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you.

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?”

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise.

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,”

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,”

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?”

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones.

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water.

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam.

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you.

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all.

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip.

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap.

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,”

You look up from the rippling water.

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks.

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,”

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.”

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand.

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.”

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together.

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?”

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little.

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,”

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,”

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back.

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,”

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly.

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,”

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,”

“You like me,” You peck his lips.

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,”

#honeyhotteoks updates #honeyhotteoks fics #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez #yeosang ff #yeosang fic #yeosang smut

3K notes · View notes

sparkly-vampires-again · 2 years ago

Text

My friend challenged me to a musical-adaptation-writing competition this summer, and I can't go into too much detail because it would spoil the surprise but it is so much fun. I am really hoping that having a deadline will give me the motivation to actually finish the project, and if I get it done I will definitely post about it

#for context I was a prolific (though not especially talented) song-lyric writer in middle and high school #and still periodically write when the mood strikes me #and have at least four unfinished (not very good) musical projects #but part of that is that I'm not great at plotting #ADAPTING on the other hand...#is a new field for me but one i have bery strong opinions about #we're just doing lyrics and scripts and aiming for 30min so it should be doable in this time frame #although mine is actually looking like it'll be closer to an hour #the lyrics are meant to be “you have a melody in mind but don't have to write sheet music” and I did a TON of improvised composing today #wrote full first drafts of two songs #and wrote about a third of the dialogue #summer 2023 mystery musical

0 notes

stllmnstr · 6 months ago

Text

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part one word count: 19.3k

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or, at least, it has been for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

Perfect attendance record.

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

8:59.

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

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

He has five seconds.

Four. Three. Two. One.

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

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

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

And Lee Heeseung is officially late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still, the clock ticks forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. You did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did catch up to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you hadn’t.

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

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

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

“I’m busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hook, line, and sinker.

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

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

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry.

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

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

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

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

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

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

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

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

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash.

But I don’t feel the pain.

I only feel the cold.

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

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

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades.

In a broken mirror, I see myself.

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you make your way to the university library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the first sentence begins:

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

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

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

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

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

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

The taste of blood.

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

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

-- Anonymous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

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

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

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your draft coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sacred Monsters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your words settle into the space between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught.

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

Again, Heeseung only nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

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

Bodies completely drained of blood.

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

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

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

Oh god. Oh god.

Heeseung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the alternative…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But even those things you could force yourself to forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

1K notes · View notes