#the simple thing would be to reschedule

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

the funniest thing to me is when i get a fanfic ick. like they're so random, but recently the biggest one is plot convenience.

you have a 65% (and increasing) chance of turning me off from your fic if it is obvious shit is happening just bc you wanted a certain scene

[danielnelsen]

things aren’t going well with peach. while i think my dad’s very right to be concerned that she hasn’t eaten anything in nearly 60 hours (obviously i am too), im becoming increasingly concerned that she hasn’t slept at all in around 36 hours and prior to that she was under anaesthetic, which isn’t exactly restful, so it’s closer to 48 hrs

like dad took her back to the vet today and we’ve got injections for her painkillers now because she’s not eating, and also injections for fluids (because she doesn’t drink; she only gets water from her food), so the not eating is Bad but also kinda under management, but if she doesn’t sleep soon i’m extremely worried. dad was like ‘if she doesn’t eat by tomorrow afternoon we’ll take her back because the injections will run out’ but like. if she doesn’t sleep tonight we have GOT to take her back first thing in the morning so they can sedate her or something

[fingertipsmp3]

Had to reschedule my online interview and now I’m nervous lol

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Vox Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for my beloved tv man Vox. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; Valentino mention (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Domestic Kink ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

For those who don't know, a domestic kink is being turned on by doing everyday couple things. Things like cooking, cleaning, that type of thing. Vox basically gets turned on by you two being a couple and taking care of each other. The man is so love starved he just gets sent to another planet by those simple everyday shows of affection.

If you start helping Vox get dressed in the mornings, he will melt into a puddle. Every. Time.

It started simple enough, Vox was in a rush so you thought to help him put on his coat. Sliding it onto him, adjusting the collar, straightening his bowtie... You didn't notice how still he went until you went to fix his sleeves and you looked up into his wide, almost feral eyes.

Vox desperately crashed his lips against yours as he pulled your bodies flush together causing you to squeak. Only then did you feel how hard you had made him as he grinded into you... Needless to say, Vox had to reschedule his entire morning.

Vox will come home to you cooking dinner and just bend you over the counter. Whispering in your ear, 'Your so sweet doing this for me, Sugar. Now let me take care of you."

I have had the scenario floating around of you making Vox breakfast in bed one morning just as something nice to do for him. You dont think too much of it, he has been so tired and overworked lately so you figure any extra sleep he can get would do wonders for him

Vox however, absolutely fucking loses it. When you wake him up with tray in hand, he... just kind of stares at you. What do you mean you already made breakfast? Wait you have breakfast? For him? For him in bed?

You actually thought the man might have bluescreened. It takes you setting the tray down and grabbing his hand before he starts moving again.

Vox pulls you into his lap and starts peppering kisses all over you. He just cant believe that this is actually happening; that your here with him, that you did such a sweet thing, and oh god does he love you so much.

He actually is daydreaming about it the rest of the day and bragging about it whenever he can.

Comes home early that evening just to surprise you and spend a romantic evening together (totally not because he accidentally pent himself up gushing over you all day ABSOLUTELY NOT).

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Recording/Being Recorded ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(This one might not be a niche take but I'm putting it here anyway cause I want to yap about it)

I wasn't quite sure if there was a specific name for this kink. But what I mean by this is Vox loves to specifically record you two having sex. Like an amateur porn thing. However. These videos are meant for his eyes only.

Vox would murder anyone who so much as tried to get their hands on these videos. God help them if they actually saw one. Its not even a matter of honor or anything, its a matter of only Vox is allowed to see you come apart like that. Vox is the only one allowed to hear you make those sounds.

Vox honestly isnt going to even bring this whole 'recording you two' thing up unless he trusts you completely. Even then he is super sheepish the first time he asks about it. Vox knows your going to be suspicious and, yeah, you rightfully are due to his association with the porn moth.

It takes a bit of prodding for you to get out of Vox that he sees it as a different way to enjoy you. To experience you. He will get to see your beautiful body at angles he never could while he plows into you. He can finally see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he eats you out, diving his tongue as far into you as it can go.

Vox is over the moon when you finally agree to let him place a camcorder in your shared bedroom.

You viscerally notice how much more relaxed and strangely content Vox seems to be next time you two have sex. Vox always had this certain tension to him and its just... gone now.

What you don't realize is that 'tension' was Vox's underlying fear of how transient you were. He was always trying to absorb as much of you as he could, to memorize every part of you. But now he felt like he could truly let himself enjoy the moment knowing that he will be able to listen to your heavenly sounds on repeat, analyze every little twitch he causes, and fully see every expression you make.

A deep, deep, dark part of Vox want to tell Valentino to cancel every shoot he has for a day. To reserve the studio just for you two. To spend an entire day taking you in every way imaginable. Bringing you to bliss in every messy way he possibly can. Getting you to make every obscene noise that beautiful voice of yours can make.

But Vox knows that he could never trust Valentino to not make a copy of you two for himself. So he will stick to his amateur recordings. Anything to keep you safe and to himself.

Whenever Vox is missing you at work (or whenever he gets a free moment honestly), he starts watching back one of your now countless sex tapes. He will let the odd feeling of comfort wash over him as he sees the adoring looks you give him and hears you two exchange words of love. God, he can't wait to get back home to you.

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Cock Warming ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

OKAY. I think I've gotten the point across that Vox is a certified lover boy™ who basically wants to imbibe your very being. Whelp. This is just more of that.

Don't get me wrong, Vox loves sex. Sex is great. But having you on his lap, his cock inside you, the two of you as close as two beings can physically get, and just- enjoying that... It hits differently you know?

Say its due to his mechanical nature all you want, (insert joke about 'plugging in' here) but Vox loves to feel like you two are truly connected. When your bodies actually become one like this, he is just that much closer to perfect.

As stated previously, will let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him anytime you please. Vox's absolute favorite times are when he has to do work ironically. He can never stop the blissful smile he makes as he has you in his lap. Vox will gently hold you with one arm while the other tries to get work done. You always end up giggling whenever you kiss up the side of his neck or monitor and Vox lets out the most contented sighs.

Honestly, just start going to work with him, becoming his personal cocksleeve whenever he is in his monitor room. A blanket draped over the two of you to hide what's actually going on.

Since the poor guy has no choice but to sleep on his back; you can easily do the same thing for bedtime. Climb on top of him and delicately slide him inside of you. Vox will just look up at you with the most lovedrunk expression as you bend over him and nuzzle into his neck, your body draping over his, and Vox pulling you impossibly close as you both fall asleep.

Its times like this that Vox questions why anyone would even need heaven.

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FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

One of my favorite posts that just goes over a evening being Vox's s/o can be found >>HERE<<, its by the talented @lqveharrington

Another really good post by @liveontelevision where Vox gets jealous of your work with Valentino and decides to start recording you can be found >>HERE<<

Then lastly, quick headcanons by @voxsremotec0ck where Vox is spying on the reader then catches you masturbating can be found >>HERE<<

[janovavalen]

hi, can i request percy x fem!reader or just reader if you don’t write fem.

Basically percy is dating someone from the mortal world and she asks percy to attend these important dates for her because idk she’s in ballet or something and he misses it because he’s always doing quest with annabeth and the reader feels like he’s going to leave her. happy ending pls.

a/n: awhh omg yes ofc 😭!!

✧MISUNDERSTANDING || percy jackson x fem!reader

summary: up above!

word count: 3393 (bruh i was aiming for like 1k not MF 3K WHAT IS THISSS MY THUMB HURTS…and im tired ☹️)

warnings: a bit of hurt reader and percy, miss communication, fluff and comfort in the end

y/n breathed heavily and steadily she made sure her feet were pointed and flexed to perfection. her arms being outstretched perfectly and her fingers pointed towards the walls of the studio her teacher, miss.yana, instructed her to finally move.

‘now! close your feet!—‘y/n did just so. as she held them together, unmoving she breathed steadily through her nose, making sure not to flex her face that would cause the whole class to restart.

she didn’t particularly hate ballet, she loved it beyond measure. she loved it so much—it was her mother’s favorite thing to do when she was young and when she had a small incident that stopped her from doing ballet all together, y/n promised her at the age of nine that she would continue her love for ballet.

and now here she was, four years later still doing ballet with a small collection of good metals at home to make her mother proud.

‘open feet! close, open feet! close!’ the teacher shouted to the class. they all did just as she told with no hesitance and no mistake.

if there were any—from anyone. that person would be the punching bag until next week. luckily y/n has never had to experience that, she made sure she was always perfect for the class, teacher, herself and her mother.

‘rest…good job today class, you are now dismissed. julia! make sure you keep stretching i saw slight hesitation in your leg stretches, if you need it checked out please get that down before next month.’

next month just so happened to be one of their important plays that would be watched by one of the most popular and well paid ballet teachers of all time in new york. she would be watching the class y/n so happens to be in to see who is most fitted for her privet class, and y/n had to make sure she was picked, she had to.

as y/n rested and walked over to her duffle bag that held all of her supplies, her friend maxine walked up to her. she always wore pink leg warmers and her hair in one of the tighter buns y/n had ever seen before.

‘hey y/n! were you able to hang out tonight? me and rebecca were thinking we would do a small movie night at hers? we all get these cute little themed colored snacks and watch like, horror movies or something?’ maxine smiled down at y/n who gave a tight lip apologetic smile.

‘awh i’m sorry…maybe we can reschedule on it? i’m supposed to be meeting percy today’ y/n threw on her sweats and sweatshirt to match. her new shoes being simple brown boots and her hat on to cover her head from the windy weather outside.

maxine smile and awed—‘oh! you guys are so cute together in so jealous, i though you’d said he was studying abroad?’

yeah and by that she means some place far far away were humans can’t even enter.

‘yeah…but he’s visiting today and we were going to see that new movie in theaters’ y/n smiled at maxine who nodded her head with a warm smile.

‘awh! you two have fun okay? text me the details later!’ as she walked away y/n waved her goodbye and made her way to the opposite door. leading her way out of the studio and right into to the sidewalk of new york city.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

when y/n got home she made herself known by yelling out to her parents—‘mom, dad! i’m home!’ she yelled. just then she quickly heard footsteps coming from the both of them as they smiled and hugged their daughter.

‘my sweet! how was practice? i’m so happy you got back safe i keep telling you dad here to get you a bike or a car! ah! was that nasty teacher mean to you today? huh?’ her mom rushed to her side as her dad gave her a shocked look at what she said about the car and bike.

‘you didn’t tell me—‘

‘shut up i did!’

‘nuh-uh!’

‘yes! yes (f/n) i told you a hundred times you were just always half asleep when i told you—‘

‘wh! well maybe if i weren’t half asleep i would have know—‘

‘okay guys! it’s okay i’m back! i don’t need a car but i will like a bike? and no she wasn’t mean today, i did pretty good’ y/n praised herself as she set down her bag which was quickly picked up by her dad who went to put it in her room.

‘awh that’s good to here, oh! and what about you and percy? huh? you told me you two were going out tonight is that still on?’

‘yes mom. i’m going to be leaving around five or six and back at nine like always, maybe he’ll stay, maybe he won’t.’ y/n shrugged as she was walked by her mom arm in arm.

‘well, i’ll cut fresh fruit just in case, now i know your tired so go take a nice bath! get ready for your date’ she sang while y/n felt her face warm.

‘mom! don’t say it like that’

‘well! i mean you’ve been together for how long now?’

‘two years—‘

‘two years! and you still get nervous! i still think it’s adorable don’t worry, im sure he does too’ she teased while y/n groaned and made her way to her room.

when she got there she immediately went to rush for her phone and unlocked it. her homescreen being her pet and lock being her and percy at the beach. she loved that picture so much, she’s probably posted it about a hundred times over and over on her photo dumps.

going into her contacts she was quick to text her boyfriend, percy. hoping she wasn’t interrupting him or anything.

‘hey percy! i just got back from practice. everything going well at camp?’ she texted. and almost immediately he responded.

‘hey! yeah, everything is good, i’m getting my things packed for movie night, i should be getting to you pretty soon. miss me?’ he teasingly sent making y/n turn off her phone for a second to smile with her hand over her mouth.

breathing out and unlocking it once more she texted him—‘of course i did, how could i not?’ he hearted her message and replied quickly.

‘well don’t worry i miss you just as much. i’ll see you soon okay?’ she heated his message as well and sent back a meme that he would always send her and closed off her phone.

deciding it was time to get ready she went to collect her bathroom things and started to get ready for her night.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

after about two hours of getting ready, listening to music and texting percy non stop, she finally saw it was time to leave the house. rushing to grab her purse and shoes she used down to the front door and made her goodbyes that consisted of hugs and kisses to and from her parents.

rushing out the front door, she signaled for a taxi which likely saw her and picked her up.

‘were to?’ he asked

‘the movie theater please’

as y/n said that and the taxi driver started to move, she texted percy that she was on his way which she was left with a ‘seen’.

strange…frowning her eyes bowed she kept the message open and waited for his response. he was usually really quick with this, never leaving her on seen nor delivered without a small warning beforehand of course.

‘hm…’ she mumbled.

‘we’re here!’ he told y/n who looked up from her phone in a hurry and looked to the side to see the movie theater.

‘oh, thank you’ paying him plus tip he smiled at her and said his bye which she did the same.

making her way out of the car and into the movies, she paid for the two tickets with the money percy sent her a few days prior, getting popcorn with her own money and some other snacks which was expensive as always.

looking down to see she was left on seen almost ten minutes ago, y/n double texted which she hated.

sending a small pic of the things she bought and the tickets that were next to the popcorn she held them all and walked to the movie room.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

sitting down into her seat she kept her focus on her phone, the big screen and the entrance of the movie room. hoping that one of the blondes that would walk in was her boyfriend who hopefully had a small explanation to leaving her hanging with the texts…twice!

sitting back as the room became dark she decided it was time to call him. he said he was on his way? and she didn’t mean to be obnoxious but she needed to know he was at least okay.

walking out of the room she called him…it rang. and rang…and rang.

then she heard his voice—‘hey!’

‘percy where are you—‘

‘this is percy and you’ve reached my voicemail box. if i didn’t pick up i’m either with my amazing girlfriend, slaying monsters or just sleeping, leave a message.’ scoffing a bit at his voicemail she spoke.

‘percy im at the movies and i just wanted to know if you were okay? or if you're on your way? the movie started and i'm going to be watching this amazing movie without you…call me back, please?’

hanging up and looking down at her phone and time she sighed and closed her eyes, ignoring the slight plained pit in her stomachs and heart she pushed it aside and walked back into the movie room.

sitting down and watching some of the movie she would occasionally look at her phone, the entrance. the screen. her phone, the entrance, the screen.

over, and over. until soon, without realizing it had been the end of the movie.

she still felt herself trapped in the endless loop she created for herself. her phone, the entrance and the screen.

soon enough she realized what she didn’t want to think was true, he wasn’t coming. he wasn’t showing up once again.

this happened five times in the last five months on each date that was planned every five months.

pressing her body against the seat, she sighed and placed her hands on her face. letting out a shaky breath, y/n picked up her things and made her way out of the theater.

walking until the sidewalk of new york, she felt her phone vibrate.

picking it up in a hurry she saw percy’s name flash across the screen—she answered.

‘percy—‘

‘n/n! listen im so so sorry! i—i lost track of time, i was set on a quest the second i was going to leave and i—‘

‘so what? the quests mean more than me? hanging with annabeth—‘

‘y/n please…don’t say that it’s not like that and you know it.’

‘well i sure feels like that percy! you stood me up! you left me alone again just like the picnic, the dinner, the fourth of july, my birthday!? percy…are your trying to tell me something—‘

‘no! y/n! no, it—no! stop what your thinking because it isn’t true okay? please—it isn't like that at all okay? i just….its—‘

‘explain to me percy…i’m listening.’ as y/n stood on the side of the building she felt her eyes well up with a bit of tears as her grip on her phone tightened. her purse being clutched by her side.

‘it’s….’

‘explain to me percy…please.’ she helplessly begged while holding the phone. on the other end, all she heard was a bit of noise and his breathing.

‘i—i can’t.’ he mumbled. scoffing y/n threw her head back slowly while rolling her shoulders. trying not to embarrass herself by crying in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘of course. bye percy.’

‘wait—‘ just as he said this she hung up and placed her phone in her purse. it vibrated, indicating someone was calling, seeing it might be her mom she looked and it was percy.

she didn’t pick up.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

when she got home, y/n was met with a silent house. her parents were sleep and she was kind of happy with this. she could walk to her room with no trouble.

once she got their, she immediately broke down, her hands finding ways to her mouth to silence her cries, y/n shook her head a bit and bit her lip.

the pain in her chest grew and grew to which it felt like she couldn’t breath.

was this his way of breaking up with her? was this is plan all along since she and him had to split? this whole time he was in camp…he could’ve been talking to someone else. this whole time.

sighing and crying a bit more she wiped her tears and breathed heavily, a shaky breath as she made her way to her closet and picked her pajamas.

after taking off some of her makeup, and putting her hair in a more comfortable up-do. she placed her phone on the bedside table and turned to the wall, her widow being slightly open to show the moons shine from space.

feeling her body shake a bit from her cries she suddenly heard—tik.

quieting down, y/n stopped and waiting just to hear another—tik, tik—one became two and two became four.

sighing she sat up and looked at her slightly ajar window to see there were small rocks being down at her window.

what kind of drunk is doing this so late at night? and why her window? and why on this day as of right now.

groaning she sat up and grabbed her bat to make sure bod is was handing from her window. stepping slow and close to her window she saw curls then a face—with a black hoodie on. screaming she went to swing her bat but was stopped with—‘oh my god! stop! stop! it’s me!’

stopping her movements…she knew that voice. placing the bat down and aggressively taking off his hoddie she saw it was percy.

‘what—‘

‘i know i know, what are you doing here? why are you here? what do you want you pertinacious douchebag—i know but please? let me explain…please.’ he silently begged her as y/n firmly looked down at him. giving up as she saw his blue eyes, she placed down the bag completely and stepped beside it let him in.

once he was in he turned to her. y/n had her arms crossed and her face flat, filled and prominent with upset, hurt, anger and confusion. the slight previous look of tears in her puffy eyes made his heart sink.

‘oh y/n…i—‘

‘why did you ditch me all those months? huh? i asked you and i will keep asking…if you can’t give a reason at all and it’s related to your demigod duties i will respect that and leave it alone but please just tell me something? anything.’ y/n hopelessly looked up into percy eyes who looked down at eyes and sighed.

placing his hand on her arms that were folded she let then loosen as he pressed his body against her own, embracing her with the warmth of her preciously covered body and his naturally warm one. she melting into his hind immediately and tested up again.

‘is this you breaking up with me? i don’t get it i—‘

‘i was trying to clear up my schedule to make it to your play next month.’ he answered, finally.

pulling away immediately she looked into his sad eyes that watched her own as a small tear dropped.

‘what?’

‘you were telling me for six months now about how important and exited you were for this big play so i worked and worked on many of my quiets that were already ahead of me to make sure none of them interfere with your play. i want to make there so i can see you dance, i know i’ve been really…horrible with being a boyfriend and making it to our dates and im so so sorry, half of it was planned and half of it was pure coincidence on being caught in a quest…’

‘planned?’ she asked, eyes eyebrows turning up and he nodded.

‘yeah planned…i know how serious you and ballet are and i know your always stressed at being this perfect image for the world when in fact your always perfect and there isn’t anything that can’t make you ten times better than you already are. some of the dates i missed were meant to be missed like the picnic, and the ice skating rink and your birthday…i was there, you just couldn’t see me. and now that i think about it sounds creepy and weird—‘

‘yeah it dose’ she laughed as he smiled.

‘but i didn’t show up because i knew you needed the time to freely open up and relax. your picnic was what i made you, the food and stuff i made myself that’s why—‘

‘that’s why some of the things were blue…’ she recalled.

‘mhm…and your birthday?’

‘a ocean view with blue ribbons around the napkins and flowers…but why didn’t you tell me?’ she looked up in wonder.

‘it would ruin your surprise’ she shrugged while she tilted her head in a bit of confusion.

‘my surprise?’

picking up the bag that was set next to him that she failed to notice he handed it to her and she grinned up at him, a bit nervous he watched her open the blue bag. seeing another box, she opened it.

inside were his and her favorite blue colored ballet shoes. y/n smiled and picked them up immediately, placing the box and bag on her table, she looked at them and saw a small note inside.

in it was what said—

from here on out from all of my accomplished quested i have even granted a two year stay in new york with you, and for these two years i will stay by your side non stop to make up for my missed dates, and missed hugs and talks. your favorite — percy jackson.

looking up at him with teary eyes, she launched herself at him with her arms around his neck, y/n felt percy rub her back soothingly and she immediately spoke.

‘oh my god i’m so sorry! i was so mean to you over the phone and i almost hit you with a bat! and i wa thinking of doing it anyway seeing who you were oh my—im so sorry percy oh my gosh’ she squeezed him even tighter as percy laughed a bit and held her closer.

‘it’s okay! it’s okay! i would to the same, i hoped you did so you would forgive me then baby me back to health’ he revealed making y/n pull away and push him with a scoff.

he smiled at her and pulled her in by her hand, one of his other hands making their way to hold her face soothingly and pulling her in for a sweet kiss. he was always one for words and actions. smiling and melting into it y/n kissed back all until—

‘who’s in here! my baby—what!’ the two of them turned to see y/n’s mother and father holding bats only to immediately relax.

‘percy!’

‘hi mrs.l/n…hi mr.l/n’ he shamefully waved at the two who rolled their eyes and let out a relieved sigh.

‘my god—percy please. next time use the front door’ he dad groaned as he went to walk away and back to bed only to feel his wife want aorund. turning to see her staring at the two with an adored face painted on her she awed.

‘my babies! look at you—‘ just then she was picked up and taken out of the room by y/n’s dad—her husband—‘wait! i was just checking on them!’

‘they’re fine’ he replied.

y/n smiled and covered her face with embarrassment as percy looked down at her and smiled as well, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from her face he kissed her once more.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part three

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part three word count: 22.3k

part three warnings: swearing, blood and other vampire-y things — you know the drill, plenty of tension (of both the general and sexual sort), still nothing explicit but we’re getting a little ~sexier~, a kiss 😈

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

note: my favorite chapter yet. I hope you love it too. happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

PART THREE

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Biting your lip, you stare at the screen of your phone. The email you’re currently trying to draft has been completely blank for the last eight minutes. Other than the addressee line, that is. 

Despite the elapsing time, Professor Kim’s email address is the only field you’ve been able to fill out. 

Not without good reason, of course. It’s a delicate balance you’re trying to strike. After all, the last time you saw him, he was covered in blood. Fully deranged. Convinced of whatever motive spurred his actions enough to throw a dart at you. Inject vampire poison directly into your veins. 

Fleeing from the scene of his supposed crime with a strange look in his bloodshot eyes. 

Beyond that, there are other obstacles to consider. The only contact information you have for your professor is his official university email address. You doubt it’s monitored regularly, but you’d rather not have a paper trail of damning accusations in your wake stored forever on a public server. 

Sighing, you let your phone fall to your lap for a moment. You’ve been awake for nearly an hour now, and you haven’t quite worked up the courage to leave the confines of Heeseung’s bedroom. 

It could be beneficial, you suppose, to ask him for help. He’s more than proven his discerning eye for matters like this. But that would involve leaving the safety of your current location, even if it is illusory at best. And it’s not like Heeseung has shown any support for your plan to contact your professor. 

Besides, if you can’t handle something as simple as a well-crafted email, how are you ever going to manage profiling an unusually cognizant vampire without raising suspicion? No, this is something you need to do on your own. Even if only to reassure yourself that you can.

Bringing your phone back to eye level, you type:

Dear Professor Kim, 

 It’s cordial. A standard greeting from a student to their professor. Nothing that would raise a red flag, warrant further investigation. 

I apologize for not being able to attend our scheduled draft meeting on Wednesday afternoon. There have been quite a few unexpected events in the last few days…

You frown, backspacing through that last sentence. 

Something unavoidable came up, and I was not able to provide prior notice. 

You don’t love it, but it will have to work. 

If possible, I would love to reschedule our meeting. I am still thrilled about the opportunity to discuss my draft with you in person. I took the liberty of previewing several of New Haven’s recently published works, and I believe that my work will make a fitting contribution to the existing canon. For your convenience, I have attached a copy of my current draft for your review.

Regarding the internship, I am still highly interested in pursuing that opportunity as well. I believe that my personal interests are well-suited to New Haven’s core beliefs and values. I would love to find another time to formally tour the New Haven Publishing facilities. I believe that you have a great capacity for mentorship and would be honored to work alongside you in the coming months. 

You read over your message once. Twice. Deciding that it will only sound worse the more it lingers in your mind, you add your signature to the end. Then you close your eyes, take a deep, steadying inhale, and press send before you can change your mind. 

The small whoosh sound as the message leaves your inbox and slides into his feel almost anticlimactic. You’re dealing with vampires and careful allusions in subtext. Things that seem more suited to a quill and parchment than an email typed on a smartphone. 

With the message sent, your mind is suddenly free to wander to other things. Despite the strange, frantic jumble of events that have occurred in the past handful of days, you’re still tethered to your mortality. Now, that manifests as a grumble in your stomach. 

Although you’re sure the bag next to the nightstand truly is the result of Jake’s best efforts, the rather lacking grocery run he did hasn’t been doing you many favors nutritionally. 

For a fleeting moment, the idea of only needing to feed once a year is almost something that inspires envy. It would certainly make things simpler. 

While you’re contemplating the merits of peeling yet another clementine, a knock rings out against the door. Three firm raps that have you nearly jumping out of your skin. 

It’s another unfortunate side effect of humanity, your infallible skittishness. Distantly, you wonder when that will start to fade. If it will. Fear these days has a way of feeling etched to your bones, painted against the backs of your eyelids. A shadow that never strays far from your footsteps, no matter how quiet they are. 

It’s not unexpected, given the things your mind has been subjected to as of late, but it is starting to wear on you. 

Most of all, you miss feeling safe. Not so constantly, painfully aware of your own mortality, your capacity for injury. For death. 

For now, you force yourself to breathe. One deep inhale followed by a long exhale. It’s just one of the boys, you’re sure. 

But you can’t even linger on that too long. If you do, they stop being boys in your mind and start becoming five-hundred-year-old immortal, blood drinking beings with supernatural powers. It’s a lot to handle, especially at nine in the morning. 

Shoving your fear to the side the best that you can, you force your voice into something steady. “Come in.”

It’s Heeseung that enters. Tentatively, on slow footsteps, as if this space doesn't belong to him. It’s strange, you think, how out of place a person can look in their own room. And it’s not that he doesn’t fit in with his surroundings as much as it is that he appears to be brimming with unease. A tension that sits just below his skin and won’t let him relax. 

Eyes that can’t decide where to land, that flit around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. Hands that war between resting at his sides versus making themselves busy. Pushing at his hair, tugging at his shirt. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous. 

Finally, after a moment of stilted silence, his gaze lands on you. 

And it’s all too much like time you spent in an empty classroom at adjacent desks, reading each other’s words. The moments you stole under moonlight after he insisted on walking you home. It’s not that the discomfort fades. But when he looks at you like that, it has a way of becoming irrelevant. An afterthought. 

Eyes meeting across the room, the only thing that exists between the two of you is the gentle fragility of the moment. A blip in time that extends until it’s stretched too thin. Until it snaps, forcing you back to reality. 

“I came to check on you,” he finally says. “To see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, averting your eyes. It’s a cop out, yes, but it’s also the truth. You are fine. Even if it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of it as much as you are him. 

Heeseung worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Smooth, flat, even teeth. You wonder if he has control of it, when his fangs come out. If there are moments when he doesn’t, when control passes from his careful grip to the whims of his fading inhibitions. 

But for now, at least, he’s as guarded as ever. 

It doesn’t detract from his consideration. “I thought you might want to go to your apartment,” he offers. “Get some of your own clothes. Spend a little time in a familiar place.”

Sensing an opportune moment, your stomach grumbles audibly. 

Heeseung suppresses a grin. As if he’s charmed by it, you and your undeniable humanity. “Get some real food in you.”

It’s hard, at first, not to feel like he’s trying to kick you out. And it’s stupid, probably, to be in a vampire’s house feeling insecure about the space you take up, the effects of your presence. The fragile hope that something in him wants you there. 

But you’ve gotten better at reading his intentions, even when he does his best to keep them under lock and key. You’ve traded too many secrets to feel shunned. It’s concern that he wraps his offer in, not contempt. 

And you really are hungry. “I could go for some food.”

It’s sweet, the way he asks if you have a favorite restaurant. A spot for take-out that you frequent on busy nights when you’re too tired to cook anything. 

And it gives you a good excuse to drag him along to your favorite coffee shop. You’re the one that’s stunned into silence, though, when he tells the barista that you’ll take the food to go. And when he hands her a small wad of cash before you can get a protest in edgewise. 

You don’t press him on it, but the look you give him is question enough. 

“There’s something I want to show you,” he explains as you wait for your food. “We, well, you can eat there.”

It hits you then, in the middle of a cafe you frequent, that you don’t even have to think about it. You’re nodding before his words have time to fully process. For some reason, placing  small bits of trust in him feels like second nature. 

But now, a handful of minutes later, staring up at a very tall ladder with your takeout bag in hand, you’re having second thoughts. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of heights particularly, but…

“I don’t know…” you trail off, gaze still fixated on the top of the ladder. The longer you look, the further away it seems. When Heeseung said he wanted to show you something, you didn’t think the local water tower would be involved in any capacity. “Is this even allowed?”

Next to you, Heeseung just shrugs. “I’ve never gotten in trouble.”

“You know,” you glance at him sideways, “that’s really not all that reassuring.”

“C’mon,” he urges, and he has that glint in his eye. The one that would probably have you following him off a cliff if he asked nicely enough. “The view is worth it. I promise.”

Eyes squinting against the glint of winter sunlight and the prospect of scaling a water tower, you swallow audibly. “It better be,” you grumble. 

Heeseung, like you, has gotten better at picking up on the little details. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know that he’s won. 

“You go first.” He nods towards the ladder. 

That you are about to argue against when he adds, “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

So with one final exhale and hands that tremble slightly, you walk until you reach the first rung of the ladder. 

“Wait,” Heeseung calls from behind. You turn to find him walking towards you, hand outstretched. “I’ll carry the bag.”

Wordlessly, you slide the takeout bag off of your wrist, handing it to him. At this point, you don’t care if it's chivalry or concern for your ability to scale a ladder that motivates his offer. You’re reeling either way. Despite his promise to catch you, you can’t shake the feeling that the odds of you plummeting straight to the ground from some awful height are greater than zero. You’ll minimize all the risks that you can. 

So, with a steady breath and a racing heartbeat you’re sure he can hear, you start your shaky ascent. 

Only once, during the entire climb, do you glance down. 

It’s not like you ever suspected Heeseung of breaking a promise prematurely, but the sight of him a few rungs beneath you is reassuring all the same. Even if the distance between you and the ground as your gaze shifts over his shoulder is decidedly not. 

And a few, hard earned minutes later, you have to give it to him. You hate to admit that he was right, but the view is absolutely breathtaking. 

The golden glow of late morning winter sunlight cascades over the city that raised you, now just a tangle of lights and roads and tiny buildings in the vast expanse far beneath you. It’s an entirely new perspective on the place where all of your first dreams were realized, where the plans for your future have started coming to fruition. 

In the distance, traces of snow dust the tops of the mountains. You’re nearly eye level with them now, those peaks that have always seemed so unreachable. It’s a vantage point that has you tilting your head, wishing you could capture it forever. 

Beneath you, the city teems with life. The hustle and bustle you’re usually caught up in suddenly feels far away, removed from you. Signs of life feel like something you observe, admire with curiosity but don’t belong to yourself. 

Fleetingly, you wonder if all of Heeseung’s years have passed in a similar fashion. If the sight of a million headlights in the distance makes him feel closer to his humanity or further from it than ever. 

You exhale, breath visible in the frigid air. 

Next to you, Heeseung remains silent. Lets you take it all in without so much as a word. But his presence is something your attention never strays far from. The sound of his breath, the space he takes up in your periphery and in your mind. 

Once you start looking, it’s hard to tear your gaze away. But after another moment, you turn to face him. The winter wind plays with your hair, skims across your cheekbones. The distance between you and him feels almost as much like a ravine as it does nonexistent. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. But your eyes are dancing in dangerous territory. The curve of his jaw. The bridge of his nose. The deep hues of his eyes. The sudden memory of what it was like to be inside his mind, to occupy a space so intrinsically him it felt like an invasion of privacy. 

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll respond at all. But your predictions have never been solid where he’s concerned. 

“I thought you might like it.” Reaching out, he offers you your food again. “Here. I also thought it might be nice to eat with a view. Some fresh air.”

You move to take a seat where you stand, but Heeseung isn’t satisfied yet. He’s braver than you. It may be an unfair assessment, given the nature of his established perpetuity. 

Still, your heart seizes a bit in your chest as you watch him inch closer to the edge of the water tower, slide down into a seated position with his legs dangling off of the side. 

Deciding that you’ve had enough reminders of your mortality this morning, you slide down where you are. Setting the takeout bag down beside you, you pull your bagel out. Grateful that it’s held onto its warmth, you unwrap it, taking a bite. 

It’s almost good enough to have you groaning out loud. Thankfully, you’re able to tamp that urge down before it comes to fruition. 

After another handful of equally delicious bites, your eyes land on Heeseung’s back. Frowning, you remember the first essay from that strange book you found in the library nearly two weeks ago. 

Sacred Monsters, it was called. The Taste of Blood. 

A sudden question pulls at your lips. You’re not sure what the proper etiquette is, of asking vampires about their personal cuisine preferences. Swallowing, you decide far more invasive truths have already passed between the two of you. 

He’s still looking out over the city, still a few feet in front of you. But you keep your voice quiet, as if he were seated at your side. You know he’ll hear it all the same. 

“Can you eat?” you ask the silhouette of his back. “Human food, I mean.”

Turning to look at you over his shoulder, Heeseung pauses for a moment. He must decide that standing is preferable to responding, because with the grace of a trained dancer, he rises to his full height. Takes a few even steps before he’s right next to you.

Then, he slides back down into a seated position at your side, this time separated from you by only scant inches. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I’ve never tried. But everything about it,” he glances at your bagel, “the smell, the texture, the look, is very… unappetizing.”

You wonder if that’s why he chose to sit away from you, if it’s causing him any grief to be so close now. But he doesn’t seem all that perturbed. 

“That’s too bad.” A tone of light teasing playing at the edges of your voice, you nod toward what’s left of your bagel. “I was going to offer you a bite.”

You don’t miss it, the way his eyes fall to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. The place where your wound is still healing. The bite mark he left there. It’s covered by a bangade now. The thought of walking in public with such an obvious injury felt reckless, like an invitation for unwanted attention. But you’re still painfully aware of its presence. As is he, it would seem. 

“Hm,” he muses, gaze sliding back to your eyes lazily. “Tempting.”

You know he can hear it, the way your heart skips a beat at the implication. The undeniable hint of something that clouds his words. You’re not sure how to identify it, the emotion that has heat flaring beneath your cheekbones. Thrill, maybe. The kind you get in your stomach just before the roller coaster drops. 

But there’s a sensation that pools deeper, tugs at you from just below your naval. Something lost in translation as your struggle to sort the feelings memories of that night inspire. 

Whatever it is, your body betrays you all the same. There’s a flush in your heat and a thrum in your chest and something else entirely gathering at the base of your spine. You decide that taking another bite is the best method of defusal. It takes a concentrated effort not to choke on it.

“Did you have one before?” You’re suddenly desperate to shift the direction of the conversation. “A favorite food, I mean.”

For a moment, Heeseung is quiet. You’re suddenly worried that you’ve overstepped, landed on a sore subject. 

But then he reaches out his hand, letting it hover right above your wrist. “Can I?”

He’s asking for permission, you realize, to paint more images for you with his mind. 

Tamping down on the flicker of surprise that rises, you nod. And then his fingers, gentle as the fleeting kiss of a butterfly’s wings, are once again encircling the curve of your wrist. 

You’re more prepared for it this time, the way the city, nestled in the valley of snow-topped mountains, begins to disappear. As it does, a decidedly warmer image takes its place.

You’re in a kitchen, one lost to the centuries. A woman in a long, plain dress and an apron tied around her waist leans over the fire fueled oven, pulls out a tray of delicious looking pastries. 

Her careful actions are infused with love as she sprinkles a fresh coat of sugar on top of the baking tray, as she meticulously places a handful of fresh raspberries in the center of each perfect pastry. 

In the vision, a boy appears. You feel your heart melt a bit at the sight of him, at this version of Heeseung that can’t be older than twelve. He’s brimming with boyish energy, laughing as he’s admonished for taking a bite before the pastries have properly cooled. Fanning his burnt tongue with a frantic hand. 

Grinning ear to ear when he sneaks another as soon as the woman’s back is turned.  His emotions are as plain as day, in the way children’s always are. The honesty of his joy is painfully apparent in the way his eyes crinkle in amusement, the way they hold no traces of melancholy, no weight from the world. 

And then, just as surely as it came to you, the scene begins to dissolve. As it fades, you turn to Heeseung. His eyes are the same, as that boy from his vision’s, but there’s more depth to them now. The end result of a gaze that bears the brunt force of five hundred years of weight.

“Fresh raspberry cakes,” he tells you, some kind of distant sorrow for a long lost memory outlining his words. “Those were my favorite.”

Hoping to ease some of the heaviness, you offer him a small smile. “You have a good memory. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast last week.”

But your words don’t have their intended effect. His focus is on the mountains in the distance when he tells you, “We remember everything. In excruciating detail. It’s different from humans, I suppose. Our minds don’t shift to make room for new memories. They just… expand. Hold more.” He sighs, and it’s lost somewhere in the wind. “Things from the past, no matter how distant, never blur. They never fade.”

He can paint hallucinations with his mind. He drinks blood. And still, as you gaze at his profile, you think this might be the most horrifying thing he’s told you yet. 

You can’t imagine it, having all of your past stored so fully in your mind. All the ebbs and flows, the pain, joy, sorrow from your life. 

And he has five hundred years of it. 

It strikes you then, at the top of a water tower, at the precipice of a debilitating revelation, just how insignificant this will all be for him. Your lifetime that will be nothing but a blip on a radar. A moment, never forgotten perhaps, but lost to time all the same. 

You’ll grow, age, change. You’ll graduate university and find a way to support yourself into early adulthood. You might move to a new city, learn a new language, pick up a new hobby. All of the ways people find to fill the limited time that they have, to make the most of the finite days they’re blessed with. 

You might even fall in love. Start a family. Sit on a porch one day, surrounded by grandchildren. Smiling as they laugh at your inability to understand the ways the world is changing, grinning at their disbelief as you explain how different things were in your childhood. 

And then, inevitably, it will end. The community you’ve found, the family you’ve built, will mourn you. Your life, like so many that came before yours, will fade into the background of the cosmos, surviving only in the memory of those that knew you. 

And for him, nothing will change. He’ll look the same, sound the same, be the same. Constant. Unwavering. Immune to the whims of time and the insignificance of something as fragile as humanity. 

You wonder, for a fleeting moment, how you’ll be committed to his everlasting memory. What shape the imprint of you will take. 

When he looks back, five hundred years from now, and can still recall this moment in excruciating detail, what will he think? What will he feel?

Heeseung must sense your sudden melancholy. The temperature hasn’t dropped. In fact, it’s only gotten warmer as the sun continues its steady trek across the late morning sky. 

Still, he turns to look at you. “It’s getting cold up here.” Jerking his head back in the direction of the ladder, he adds, “Why don’t we head to your apartment?”

For now, it’s enough to bring you out of your swirling thoughts. Right back to the current moment. Oh right. You may have gotten up here without much of a hitch, but you still have to get yourself down. 

Luckily, Heeseung offers to go first. And he only laughs once, a bright, airy sound you wish you heard more of, when you threaten to kill him if he lets you fall. 

…..

The lock on your apartment door has always been finicky. It takes a few frustrating tries for you to find the right angle. Finally, you hear the telltale click of the lock giving in. Sighing in relief, you push the door open. 

As you step inside and flick on the light, everything looks just as you left it. Mostly organized, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold and the coffee mug you left next to the sink. But now, overly aware of the presence just over your shoulder, you’re suddenly looking at your space through discerning eyes. 

It’s not that you feel some immense need to impress him. It’s just that you’re suddenly very aware of everything, all the little pieces of yourself scattered across your apartment. 

You don’t know why, but you realize that it matters to you, what Heeseung thinks of your space.

As you turn to gauge his reaction, you find him still standing just outside your doorway, hands shoved in his coat pockets. A polite gesture maybe, but it feels out of place among the moments that have passed between you. The intimacy garnered over the last few days. 

“What are you doing?” You eye him warily. “Are you going to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says evenly. His feet don’t budge an inch. “But I… I can’t.”

What? Your brow creases in confusion. What does he mean he can’t—

Oh. 

Oh. 

You figured there was no awkwardness left between the two of you in this regard. After all,  you’ve slept in his bedroom, in his bed, for the last handful of nights. You’ve been inside of his mind. But you suppose this is different. 

Besides, he’s from another time. Another century Despite the fact that he seems to be quite well adjusted to modern life, maybe he still holds some age-old reservations about entering a woman’s home. About being alone with you behind closed doors without six other people with supernatural hearing lingering nearby. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you suddenly find it a bit difficult to match his eye. 

Where has his mind spun to, exactly, as he grapples with the thought of entering your apartment? After all, immortal or not, he is still a guy. And university aged one, at that. Well, kind of. 

“It really is okay,” you tell him once you find your voice again. “I mean, if you think about it, I was in your house for the last few days. I know it’s different, since you have roommates, but it really is fine. And my couch is actually pretty comfortable, so—”

“___.” He interrupts you with the sound of your name, intonation flat. “I’m not worried about how comfortable your couch is.” You do glance at him then, and a patient sort of exasperation is written across his features. “Jay was right. You really do need to brush up on your facts.”

Your eyes pull down in confusion. 

Heeseung sighs. 

“I — We — can’t enter into places we haven’t been formally invited into.”

“Oh.” The realization settles, and this time brings with it a white hot flash of embarrassment. You find yourself more grateful than ever that he projects thoughts instead of reading them. What a nightmare that would be. “Well, I officially invite you into my apartment.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, crossing over your doorstep. “I thought you were gonna make me wait out there forever.”

For a moment, it’s all you can do to watch, still basking in mortification, as he enters into your apartment. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give any indication as to whether he likes it or hates it or doesn’t think much of it at all. 

And then he takes a few more steps, settling down on the couch you’d mentioned earlier with an appreciative nod. You weren’t lying about it being comfortable. 

You track his movement with evasive eyes. As he gets comfortable, a realization occurs. “Wait.” You freeze, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. “You have to be invited in. So the vampires that have been attacking people…”

Heeseung shakes his head. “They wouldn’t be able to get in here either.”

“Oh.” The single syllable is all you can manage. All you can think about is the fact that you insisted on sleeping an extra night at their house, in Heeseung’s room. Practically speaking, you would have been just as untouchable here. 

You sneak another glance at Heeseung. 

For some reason, though, you don’t think you would have felt quite as safe. 

“There are still risks, though.” Heeseung’s looking at you like he understands where your mind has gone, like he wants to put it at ease. “The second you leave, you’re entirely unprotected.”

Until recently, vampires haven’t made an appearance in your city for nearly two hundred years. Only the overtly superstitious bother with any sort of precautions. Now, they seem like the logical ones, everyone else foolish.  “Garlic charms and things like that,” you wonder. “Do those actually work?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “The only real substance I know of that’s detrimental to vampires is moonflower. The dose has to be quite high, though. And there are certain forms of distilling it that make it more potent. Otherwise, it mostly just has a strong sedative effect.” 

You frown, his explanation spurring another question. “Why do you think Professor Kim shot me, then? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to inject you directly?”

Heeseung explains, “Moonflower is most effective on vampires when it’s consumed. Only the really strong stuff, specially distilled like I mentioned earlier, would be effective by injection. I don’t know how Professor Kim prepared the thing he shot you with, but it’s unlikely he knows how to properly distill moonflower to make it potent enough to hurt me directly.” 

“So he injected me…” you trail off. 

Heeseung fills in the blanks. “It’s likely that he was hoping it would be a strong enough deterrent for me not to bite you altogether,” he meets your eye, “or that it would kill me if I couldn’t find it in myself to resist.”

You’re finding it difficult to look away from him now. “How did you know? That it wouldn’t kill you?”

His silence is answer enough. 

Part of you wants to curse him for being so careless, so reckless with his own life. Another part of you is afraid that your pile of growing gratitude towards him will soon be too tall, too heavy to bear. 

Another part, small but insistent, wants you to thank him. To get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, for absolution of crimes you never meant to commit. 

“It was a calculated risk,” he tells you, as if he can see the gears whirring in your mind. As if he’s just as afraid of them as you are. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, not sure you can take any more of what he offers. 

But he stands from the couch anyway, walks towards you on steady feet. “I thought about giving it to you on the water tower, but I didn't want to take any chances.” His eyes sparkle with something that looks almost mischievous. “Just in case you got to the top and decided the view wasn’t worth it.”

That piques your curiosity enough to abate any lingering guilt at the thought of him giving you anything more than he already has. “Don’t tell me it’s distilled moonflower.”

It’s meant to land as a joke, but the look he gives you is entirely serious. 

“Close enough.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small, rectangular box. It’s wooden, you think. And it’s beautiful. Ornate in a subtle way, the dark wood is inlaid with hints of a pattern, soft edges that turn and wind and curl in on themselves. 

Like many things he’s shown you, it feels like a relic of the past, a gift from another century. Something that belongs in a museum, not the worn but undoubtedly modern expanse of your apartment. 

“What is it?” you breathe, the air suddenly fraught with something delicate. 

Heeseung reaches for your wrist, opens your palm and places the box in your outstretched hand. “Open it.”

You’re not sure what to expect. The last few days have been anything but predictable, and the box between your fingers is no exception. Despite its solid weight, it suddenly seems fragile in your grip. As breakable as the moment between you. 

It’s with a silver of hesitation that you remove the lid, revealing—

“A knife?” The look you give him is incredulous. 

Because that’s what it is. At first glance, you can tell that it’s not a weapon built for brute force. It’s small, delicate, even. It feels strange to describe a blade as such, but it’s also undoubtedly beautiful. 

You look down at it, each time discovering another detail. A striking silver blade meets a handle even more ornate than the box that houses it. A series of intricate vines wrap around each other, come to full bloom just where the blade kisses the hilt. 

“A dagger, actually,” he corrects. Heeseung just watches as you examine his gift. He must decide that an explanation is necessary. And not just for the weapon between your fingers. 

“I know I wasn’t exactly… enthusiastic about you wanting to continue working with Professor Kim,” he starts. There’s a hint of strain in his voice. It’s not an apology, but you hear the tinge of regret all the same. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or that I don’t think you’re competent. It’s just that—I mean, he’s a…” Across from you, he can’t quite bring himself to say it. 

“A vampire,” you finish the sentiment for him. His expression is unreadable when you match his gaze. But you think there’s something there, something in his eyes that begs for forgiveness you’re in no position to give. Acquittal from crimes you never bore witness to. Difficult decisions lost to the passage of time, their lingering effects reverberating around the two of you now, holding you in their unyielding grip. 

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. Because you know that his reluctance was never commentary on his faith in you. Because even when he told you, on a night that feels lost to some distant past, that your writing was awful, it was only because he knew you were capable of better. Of more. “And I’m not angry with you. So much has happened these past few days.”

Nestled in your grip, the wooden box and the dagger within feel more like an apology than something with any practical use for you. You’re not woefully unathletic, but the only knives you’ve ever held have been in the kitchen. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. “Although I do have to say, I’m not sure how much good a dagger will do me. Especially since Professor Kim is, y’know, a vampire.”

“You’d be surprised,” he counters. “A potent dose of moonflower is one way of killing a vampire, but this is far simpler.” He matches your gaze. “You just need to aim for the heart.”

Nodding towards the weapon in your hands, he encourages, “Try it out.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You want me to stab you?”

“Not particularly.” That same glint is back in his eye. The one that spells trouble, but not for any of the reasons you would have predicted when dealing with an immortal creature of the night. “But it’s a calculated risk. And we’ve become rather used to those, have we not?”

He’s taunting you, you realize. Still, your uncertain gaze flickers between him and the object in your hands a few more times. Relenting, you set the box down on the counter behind you, pulling the dagger out with no confidence left to your name. 

It’s terrible, but the thing you’re most concerned about now is just how embarrassing this is about to be for you. 

Against your fingertips, the cool kiss of metal feels foreign, invasive. Warily, you test its weight within your grip. And then you turn around to face him again. 

Heeseung wastes no time, pulls back no punches. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Sorry,” you retort drily. “I must have slept through the day in class where we learned about proper dagger grips.”

He sighs, but there’s a trace of amusement in his eyes. “Here,” he beckons you closer. 

Reluctantly, you close the distance between you. As soon as you stand directly in front of him, you stretch out your arm, offering him the dagger. You expect him to take it from you, to demonstrate a proper grip. 

There’s a comment brewing on your lips, one about how if you had five hundred years of life under your belt, you’d probably be an expert in hand-to-hand combat too, when he catches you off guard. 

Because he doesn’t take the dagger from your outstretched hand. No, instead you feel the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around your own. Gently maneuvering your grip, arranging it into one he finds acceptable. 

Hand still covering yours, he squeezes. It’s light in pressure, but insistent in nature. 

“You have to keep a strong grip,” he whispers. You feel his breath dance across your cheekbone. “Or your hand could slip. You’d only injure yourself.”

Close. When did he get so close? 

Before you can make sense of it, his hand is sliding from your fingers to the skin of your wrist. It’s instinct, at this point to brace for another vision. Maybe he’ll show you, you think. A memory of him learning, an image of proper technique. 

But the mirage never comes. Your apartment stays firmly in view as he catches you by surprise for the thousandth time within the span of days. 

With the practiced agility of a supernatural being, he spins you. Flips your wrist in his grip so that the rest of your body is forced to follow. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer facing him. Instead, you see the counter where you left the old, wooden box. Your front door just beyond it. 

And somehow, at this new angle, the space between you has only grown smaller. Your back, each and every notch of your vertebrae, lies scant inches from the expanse of his chest. You can practically feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. 

It makes yours seem all the more frantic in comparison. 

Your legs feel like jello beneath you, wobbly to the point you’re afraid they might buckle. You try to regain your sense, to get a solid grip on something, anything that will tether you to reality. 

But you’re too aware, so painfully aware of him behind you, wrapped around your wrist, tangled in your thoughts. It’s all too much. 

He doesn’t relent. “Your stance is crucial.” His whisper floats like a caress down the shell of your ear, has you suppressing a shiver in his grip. One that starts at the base of your spine and ends somewhere beyond your body, outside this plane of existence. 

Your body feels molten, less than solid. Something devoid of bones and marrow and muscled. Composed of nerves and flutters and a submission to sensation in their wake. 

The hand that comes to your hip does little to steady you. Again, his pressure is light. But there’s no question that it’s a demand just the same. “Avoid letting your weight sink here.”

Is it? You don’t know. You can’t tell. You can’t think. 

All you can do is feel as his open palm traces a steady line from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your stomach, settling in the space just above your navel. “Brace here,” he breathes against your ear. 

It dawns on you, after a handful of shallow breaths, that this is an instruction. That he won’t let up until you follow it. 

Your stomach tightens in response, just below his hand. 

“Good,” he praises, but his touch doesn’t subside. “Better.”

His other hand, the one still wrapped around your wrist, begins to adjust your grip again. Angles it so that the dagger points away from you, towards an unseen target. “And this,” he moves the dagger slightly, “think of it as an extension of your arm.” Drawing a small circle with the tip, your entire body shifts in response. The palm splayed across your stomach moves with you. “Your body is one moving piece. It’s all connected.”

You suddenly find breathing something you need to focus on. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. 

“When you shift to the left,” he adds lowly. The hand against your stomach guides your movement to mirror his words. “What happens to the dagger?”

You hope his question is rhetorical. Even if you had an answer for him, you doubt your voice would be willing to cooperate. 

“It follows,” he answers a moment later, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Just like the rest of your body.”

The hand on your stomach begins to slide towards your hip again. It follows an agonizingly slow path, pauses for a moment, before he removes it completely. The hand around your wrist falls to his side again. 

“A good weapon,” he says from behind, heat lingering, burning against your skin in all the places he touched you, “is one you can control. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t have to look impressive. It just needs to be yours. Completely under your command.”

This time, it’s him that moves. You’re grateful. You still feel frozen in place. 

He walks, circling your immobile figure, until he’s in front of you again. “If worst comes to worst and you do need to defend yourself, don’t lead with the dagger. Lead with your back foot. Let that be what generates momentum through your hip. Brace through your core again, and let your power, your control, come from there. It’s all connected,” he reiterates. “It all moves together.”

He’s not touching you, not anymore, but the sight of him, the memory of it, makes you feel unsteady all over again. 

“Root through your feet,” he instructs. You’re not sure how well you obey the instruction. It feels like all of your energy is dedicated to not collapsing to the ground in a puddle, a horribly undignified heap. 

“Okay,” he continues, “Adjust your grip again, but this time—”

The sound of an incoming notification rings out from your phone, discarded on the counter along with the box the dagger came in. 

You could almost cry with relief at the opportunity to diffuse some of the mounting tension, to have his gaze anywhere but on you, even if just for a moment. 

Relaxing your stance, you do your best to hide the tremble in your legs as you walk to retrieve it. Reading the notification once, you turn back to where Heeseung is still rooted to the spot. 

You suddenly feel unsteady again, but for a completely different reason this time. 

“Professor Kim read my draft.” You hold your phone up, facing the screen towards him even though he’s too far to read the reply you’ve just received. Voice slightly wobbly, you add, “He wants to meet with me.”

…..

The coffee shop you arrive at twenty minutes later is nondescript. Full of office workers on a late lunch, families on a winter outing, and couples enjoying a quiet moment together. It strikes you as odd, almost, how normal it all seems. Despite the way your world has shifted on its axis completely, despite the city’s recent uptick in death toll, people are just… living. Going about their day as usual. 

You find your professor waiting for you at a table in the far corner. He hasn’t ordered anything for himself, and for a moment, you wonder how long it’s been for him. How many years he, like Heeseung, has found human food rather repulsive. 

Regardless of what you now know, Professor Kim looks every bit the well-organized, put together version of himself you saw during morning lectures this past semester. Gone is the crazed, ravaging, consumed by bloodlust being whose path you crossed three nights ago. 

“I appreciate you meeting me here,” you tell him as you slide down into the seat across from him, voice guarded, expression carefully neutral. 

“I’m glad you were able to find it,” Professor Kim agrees. You don’t know why you expected him to sound different. More monstrous, somehow. He doesn’t. It’s the same even, slightly gravely tone he’s always had. “You’ll have to forgive me for not inviting you back to the publishing house. I thought a more public location might serve both of our interests better.”

Witnesses, he means. Whether they’re for your comfort or his, you’re not entirely sure. 

You didn’t come here to beat around the bush. And Heeseung, four blocks away where you forced him to wait for you, is surely anxious to hear the end result of this conversation. “Did you have the chance to read my draft?”

Professor Kim’s expression betrays nothing. “I did.” 

“What did you think?”

He waits for a moment, weighing his words. “I agree with your email. It seems that your interests are… aligned with New Haven’s mission. As you may already know, it’s a rather small publishing house with quite a niche audience. Our tastes are more specific than most.” There’s a hint of distrust when he adds, “It’s rare to find a young person these days who has the experience necessary to publish something that will entice our readers.”

And this is where you have to tread lightly. Make your story believable. Subtle, but foolproof. “I’ll admit,” you start, “my interest in your subject matter has been a fairly recent development.” Slowly, intentionally, you brush hair from the side of your neck. The bandage still covers the worst of the damage, but the fading bruises are still visible. As are the implications of your wound. “But believe me when I say that I am fully committed.”

Professor Kim appraises the side of your neck, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. 

“The woman in my story,” you continue, “the one whose dreams are stolen. I believe I’ve thought of a better idea for the ending.”

He pauses, leans forward in his chair. “Which is?”

“Originally, I thought it would be most fitting for her to die. After all, she was powerless against her enemy.” You meet his eye. “Had no way of defeating him as he grew stronger the weaker she got.”

Professor Kim nods. “A reasonable expectation. But you said your ending has changed.”

Nodding, you continue, “I think I’d like to incorporate a new plot element. A special plant, maybe. Something that makes her dreams toxic to her husband. Something that makes him ill every time he tries to steal them from her.”

Your professor’s gaze is still tight, but his eyes are beginning to relax. Glossing over with the realization of your implication. 

“In my story, the person who introduces her to this plant is a mentor of hers, and ultimately, someone she decides to work with. Someone whose mission she strives to fulfill. To protect her dreams and everyone else’s.”

“An interesting thought.” Your professor leans back in his chair. You can tell that he’s still not fully convinced. “But what if this mentor of hers turns out to be a dream stealer himself. Wouldn’t it be only natural for your heroine to be wary of him, to fear him?”

“She does,” you admit. “But fear won’t save her from her husband. And between the two of them, her mentor is not the one that has ever attempted to harm her. To steal her dreams. Between the two of them, she has no confusion about where to place her trust. Even if it is hesitant.”

Your professor considers for a moment. Then, after a second that seems to stretch infinitely, he nods. “I’d like to hear more about this story of yours. At the publishing house, if you’re able to meet me there.”

Your heart gives a traitorous lurch, but your voice is steady when you affirm, “I am.”

“Can you be there in an hour?” He’s already standing, as if this was a business meeting, a simple transaction, and he’s back to the office now. 

You confirm that you can, and he offers you one last nod.

Then, with little in the way of fanfare, he buttons his long coat closed, retreating through the front door of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance. 

…..

The metal is cold against the skin of your leg. Biting, it demands all of your attention, even as Heeseung pleads for it where he kneels in front of you. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, not for the first time. “Because you don’t have to—”

“Heeseung,” you interrupt, and he looks up, his hands pausing in their ministrations. Beneath you, he’s adjusting the second part of his gift. Because not only did he give you a dagger in a wooden box pulled from a lost century, but also a holster. One that wraps around your thigh. One that he’s currently securing into place as he tries to convince you not to meet your murderous professor at New Haven.

But that’s the least of your worries at the moment. Right now, you thank whatever cosmic forces must be on your side that you wore loose fitting pants today. First because they will help to conceal the shape of your hidden weapon. And second because they’re roomy enough to pull up over your knee, so that you’re still clothed while Heeseung helps you adjust the dagger and holster into place. 

The mere thought of the alternative is too mortifying to consider, has another spark of heat gathering on your cheeks. 

Then again, it’s not like this is much better. Just as you were in your apartment, you’re painfully aware of each brush of his fingers against the skin of your thigh. You have to suppress the urge to sigh, and not in exasperation, every time he opens his mouth to tell you how bad of an idea this is. Mostly because it sends soft whispers of breath over your flesh, goosebumps following in their stead. 

“Heeseung,” you try again. The sound of his name makes him look up at you through long lashes. In front of you, on his knees, his attention has never belonged to you more. 

“We’ve been over this.” He’s had his chance to share his woes, voice his worries. You’ll never make any progress if he pitches this much of a fight every time a new opportunity comes about. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a meeting.”

Heesung frowns. “I don’t like that he wants you to meet him all alone. Why couldn’t you have your meeting at the coffee shop?”

“Right, because I’m sure you’d want to tell me all about your vampire history while a group of twelve-year-olds down caramel frappes a few seats over.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“I’m not.” It’s the truth. Similarities between the two of them have yet to cross your mind. Despite the obvious similarity, your professor and Heeseung exist in entirely different planes as far as you’re concerned. On opposite sides of a vast spectrum. “I’m just saying, it makes sense that he would want to meet somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Heeseung slides the last strap into place, giving it an experimental tug. The holster and the dagger within it hold strong. Wordlessly, he rises back to full height. You release your pant leg, skin and weapon disappearing in one fell swoop. 

“At least let me come with you,” he pleads. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the request. “You and I both know that’s a terrible idea. If he could detect you before, he can do it again. Let’s just consider ourselves lucky that he can’t tell we’ve been together.”

Because what a disastrous nightmare that would be. 

“I can barely do that,” Heeseung counters. “We don’t have to worry about that.” The concern in his gaze doesn’t ease, though. 

You get it, you really do. And you empathize with it. It’s only natural, you suppose, that he would feel some sort of responsibility for you. Even though it was your own volition, your own actions that led you here, he was a part of the catalyst. 

But you don’t want him to feel any guilt where you’re concerned. 

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, trying to placate him. “He’s convinced that I’m convinced that he saved me that night.” Looking for Heeseung, begging for a bit of his permission, you add, “This is the first step in getting the answers we need. Besides,” you lift your leg slightly. “he won’t be able to hurt me even if he wants to. I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Heeseung’s lips only thin further. “And no idea how to use it,” he retorts under his breath.

“Hey!” you protest. “I have some idea how to use it.” You’re lying through your teeth. You don’t think you retained a single thing from Heeseung’s rather unorthodox lesson in your apartment.  But in your mind, any fight that comes down to physical strength was always doomed to be a losing battle. “And you said it yourself, I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to wait until he’s distracted. Catch him off guard.” You point right at Heeseung’s chest, finger hovering a few inches away from his skin. “And aim right for the heart.” 

But now you’re thinking of your apartment again. Of hands on your hips, covering the expanse of your stomach. Warm, steady, grounding. And so goddamn distracting. 

“I can tell that you’re nervous,” Heeseung says, voice tangled with worry. “Your heartbeat just jumped.”

You’re too mortified to correct him. 

“Of course I’m nervous. But I’ll be careful.” You meet his eye, hoping your false confidence will reassure him. For the third time, you promise, “And I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung just looks at you for a moment. Inhales. Exhales. 

And then he says, “Keep your phone on you the whole time. Leave it open to my contact so that you can message or call me faster if you need to. And if something, anything feels off, get out of there.” He glances toward your thigh, where your concealed weapon rests. “That dagger is a last resort, but don’t be afraid to use it.”

You nod. After opening your phone to his contact, you check the clock. See that it’s time. 

It feels wrong to leave without any parting words, but you’re not sure what you would say. If there’s anything left to be said. 

You turn on your heel, surprised when Heeseung falls into step beside you. Again, the two of you agreed he would wait a considerable distance away to avoid detection. “What are you doing?”

“I can walk with you a little further,” he insists, stubborn.

“No, you can’t,” you argue. “We’re only a few blocks away, and you don’t know for sure how far his senses extend.” 

“I wouldn’t even be able to—”

“Heeseung.” You stop in your tracks, turning to face him. “Remember how you told me that you trust me, just a few hours ago?”

You need him to dig deep, find some of that faith again. Or else this is just going to be miserable for the both of you.

“You’re not the untrustworthy variable in this situation.”

You sigh. “Then just…” you trail off, not sure how to put him at ease. “Just trust me to be okay. Wait here, and I’ll be back,” you plead. “Soon. I promise.”

Heeseung is nothing but serious when he tells you, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

A moment passes. Another. Then—

“Fine.” But his shoulders don’t release their tension. 

Again, you turn to walk away. To leave him behind. You feel his eyes on your back, and you’ve barely made it a few feet before he says your name again.

“What—”

“Be careful,” he whispers, so low it’s almost lost to the breeze. “Please.”

Something in you softens at the tenderness in his voice, the worry in his eyes. But you don’t have time to linger on it now. You nod, only once, before turning away from him again. 

The distance between you and New Haven feels short fades quickly. As anticipation begins to settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you replay your fabricated story in your mind, the one you’re about to feed Professor Kim. The one you hope is convincing enough to earn a bit of his trust. Tight enough that he won’t be able to poke any holes in it. 

You’re at the door of the publishing house before you know it, before you have the chance to fully collect yourself. Pausing on the porch, you look around for a moment. It’s just as deserted as it was last week, just as eerily quiet. But this time, at least, you think you see a light in the window. 

Knocking with a hand that’s steadier than you feel, you will your heartbeat to maintain an even rhythm. 

It takes Professor Kim less than ten seconds to open the door. He glances over your shoulder, surveying the area with no small amount of suspicion, before he ushers you inside. 

The layout is just as strange as you remember it, but the hallway doesn’t feel so ominous now that the lights are on, the faint hum of electricity buzzing in the background. Then again, standing face to face with a vampire has a way of being unnerving all on its own. 

Beckoning you forward, you follow your professor past the same closed, unmarked doors before arriving in the open space at the end of the hall. Again, like the rest of New Haven, it looks different in the light. Warmer, more welcoming. Even if it still doesn’t look like much of a publishing house. Even if it still carries with it a distinct sense of unease.

This time, at least, Professor Kim has pulled out two chairs and a small side table,so the room isn’t completely barren. Sitting in the first chair, he gestures for you to join him. You do, eyes only darting towards the door marked with his name once. 

The blood is gone, you realize. 

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Professor Kim is all cordiality where he sits across from you. Again, you struggle to reconcile this version of him with the vampire who shot you full of poison just a few nights ago. “I trust you understand that this conversation is too delicate to have in a more public space.”

“Of course,” you nod. 

“Since we’re here,” he continues, “let’s not speak in riddles any longer. I’m sure you have questions about the last night you were here.” He pauses, passing you a meaningful look. “As do I.”

You inhale, reminding yourself that as far as he’s concerned, you don’t know anything about vampires other than the usual, superstitious lore. “The last time I was here, there was blood on your clothes. Your mouth.” The shiver that traces your spine is not forced. Even now, you think it’s one of the most chilling scenes you’ve ever witnessed. Finally, in a small voice, you breath, “You’re a vampire.”

Professor Kim doesn’t try to hide it. “I am.”

You force confusion into your eyes. “But you didn’t try to drink my blood. You’re not trying to now.”

He nods at your observation. “I have ways of managing my hunger,” he explains, frustratingly vague. “You do not need to fear me.” You hadn’t expected him to spill all of his secrets within the first minute of your conversation, but that only leaves you with more questions than answers. And it certainly won’t give Heeseung or the rest of the boys much to work with. 

“But you… you threw something at me.” Again, you don’t have to try hard to put fear in your gaze. “Something that stuck in my neck.”

“Yes,” he nods again. “That was an injection of moonflower. It’s a substance known to be poisonous to vampires. I believed that injecting it into your blood would prevent you from being preyed upon.” It takes a concentrated effort for you not to show any smugness. Your hypothesis had been right. He was trying to protect you. “I’m pleased to see that it seems to have worked, although I do apologize for the bruising.” 

You realize then that the bandage on your neck covers the bite mark, the place Heeseung left a scar of his own making just next to Professor Kim’s. 

Your professor, you realize, doesn’t know that you were bitten. Doesn’t know that the moonflower was beginning to have an adverse effect. That Heeseung took it right back out of you. 

Internally, you debate. You don’t want to reveal any more cards than you need to, but you don’t know how long the scars will last. Don’t know how much longer you can wear the bandage without raising suspicion. And if he discovers later that you lied to him, it could be disastrous. 

Slowly, you reach for the bandaid on your neck. Removing it, you explain, “What you did that night saved me. I was—”

Professor Kim cuts you off. Leaning forward in his seat, his attention is honed on the twin puncture wounds on your neck. “You were bitten.” Something flashes through his eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. He looks you over again. “But you haven't changed.”

Too late, you realize your mistake. Heeseung’s words come back to you. 

“No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

Shit. Shit. 

Scrambling, you try to come up with some sort of explanation. 

“Barely,” you correct, doing your best to maintain an even tone. “I was barely bitten. I don’t think he consumed any of my blood.” Trying to create a sense of false wonderment, you ask with wide eyes, “Do you think that’s what prevented me from transforming?”

“Perhaps,” your professor muses, but doubt lingers in his gaze. He appears more guarded when he conjectures, “Or perhaps moonflower has more qualities that even I didn’t know about.”

You’re curious about it, the way he makes it seem as if he’s quite familiar with the substance. Based on what you’ve learned from Heeseung, it’s rare. Difficult to come by. 

But with that suspicion still in his eyes at the potential hole in your story, you’re desperate to change the course of the conversation. Pushing forward, you poke at another one of the boys’ questions. “Did you know that… that he was a vampire?” Your struggle to say Heeseung’s name out loud is not entirely fabricated. It’s to your advantage that it makes sense now. What university student wouldn’t be horrified at the prospect of a classmate being a monster? 

“I had my suspicions,” your professor confirms. “But I wasn’t certain. Not until that night. I apologize for leaving you there with him.” There is sorrow in his eyes. He seems genuinely regretful. “But I was afraid that he would follow me after he realized I’d poisoned your blood. That he would seek his revenge on me.” Looking at you with a newfound curiosity, eyes honed in on the mark on your neck, he levels your with a question of his own. “If I might ask, what happened?”

The best lies are always wrapped in truth, and this is one you were prepared for. You start, “He bit me. But he stopped immediately, before drinking anything. I think he was confused for a moment. He couldn't tell what was wrong with me, with my blood. To be honest, I was quite disoriented as well. I remember him leaving, although I couldn’t say for sure how long he stayed.”

You also have no way of knowing if Professor Kim returned to New Haven. You can’t tell him that you spent the night there, not if he came back at any point and found you gone. 

Instead, you tell him, “I was weak, confused. But I think I remember getting into a taxi, going back to my apartment. I slept for over a day. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. My entire body was exhausted, sore. But after a while, my memories started to come back. That’s when I reached out to you.”

He frowns. “So you don’t know then, if Lee Heeseung is alive or dead?”

You meet his eye. Shake your head. Do your best not to think of the boy waiting for you a few blocks away, sick with anxiety. “I don’t.”

Professor Kim considers for a moment, lets your words settle into the air. Eventually, slowly, he nods, accepting your warped version of events. “If he really didn’t consume any of your tainted blood, it’s likely that he’s still alive. But it’s no matter now.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad that you reached out to me when you did. And I’m glad you survived, that the moonflower had its intended effect. I do apologize for the memory loss you experienced,” he adds. “That is an effect moonflower has on humans.”

You display your palms in a sign of gratitude. “There’s no need to apologize.” You try to mean it, at least a little bit, when you say, “You saved my life. I’d rather lose my memories a thousand times over than succumb to a vampire.”

Professor Kim nods. “You said earlier that you were interested in working here, in aligning with New Haven’s cause.”

This is it, you think. This is your way in. This is how you play your part in preventing any morme unnecessary bloodshed. “I am.”

Professor Kim doesn’t smile, but he seems pleased with your answer. “I know that this was originally meant to be an opportunity to look at how a publishing house functions, but in light of recent events, I have another task in mind.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard as much as it does. You try not to let any traces of dread imbue your tone when you ask, “What kind of task?”

“We would still publish your original fiction, of course,” he assures you, “but with the recent attacks occurring, this city needs someone willing to report on them.” He speaks with the fervor of a madman when he continues, “To share the truth that other news outlets are afraid to publish. To remind the public how evil vampires truly are. To encourage their support and convince them to join in the fight against these monsters and all of the suffering they bring.” 

You’re silent for a moment, his vitriol settling with a chill into your bones. “You want me to work here as a journalist?”

“If you’re willing to,” he nods. “I know that your background is not in journalism, but your words hold power. The ability to convince people, to hold the truth in front of their eyes and force them to see it, to understand it. I won’t pretend that there are no risks involved. Although blood is their ultimate priority, vampires do have a sense of self-preservation. Those that are sentient enough may be angered by what you write. If you accept, I will offer you as much protection as I can. Including, of course, a steady supply of moonflower.”

Moonflower. You can’t help the shudder this time. Memories come back to you unbidden. You, suspended in a terrible place between consciousness and unconscious. You, waking up in an unfamiliar room, afraid and without any recollection of how you got there. 

You could go your entire life without seeing that damn plant ever again. 

“It would be difficult to write,” you point out, trying to tamp down on the panic, “without my memories, even if they’re only lost temporarily.”

Professor Kim nods. “I believe that was due to the potency of the moonflower you were given, along with the fact that it was injected directly into your bloodstream. But there are other ways of consuming it. The petals of the flower itself can be made into a tea. I have other ideas, too. I’ve been wanting to create a salve out of it. Something applied topically to the skin.”

That you do find interesting. Again, Heeseung made it sound as if moonflower is quite rare. Hard to come by, difficult to obtain information about. He did also mention that it is sometimes consumed as a tea. You make a mental note to tell him about the professor’s seemingly extensive knowledge of it later. 

You might be pushing your luck, but you have one more question. If you leave here without at least trying to get an answer, you know you’ll regret it. “Forgive me, Professor, if this is untoward, but why did you help me that night? Clearly you’re different from other vampires, but…”

“But why do I hate them so much?” he finishes for you. 

You nod. “I’m sorry if it’s not something you’d like to share. But I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around it since my memories started to return.”

At your explanation, he says nothing. For a moment, you don’t think he’ll give you any sort of answer at all. 

But then, he begins, “It’s not a very happy story. I was turned just over twenty years ago. It was around this time of year, actually. I was visiting my family for the holidays. My parents had an old cabin, way out in the countryside. Far from the city.”

A flash of sorrow crosses his eyes, as if it causes him pain to remember it. 

“By then, vampire attacks were as rare as they are today, but we both know by now that doesn’t mean much. It must have been a group of nomadic monsters that came across our cabin that night.” 

He looks at his hands, gaze full of agony. “They massacred my family, every last one of them. My parents, siblings, cousins. My wife and daughter.” 

The small gasp of horror you let out is genuine. 

“It was an accident, I’m sure, that my blood wasn’t completely drained. That I was left alive, even if just barely. Alone, in a cabin that was meant to be a place for celebration, I spent long, agonizing days turning into a monster.”

“And then,” he concludes, looking at you, “I vowed to spend the rest of my immortality hunting down every last one of those wretched creatures that took everything from me. That stole my life and everything I love and made me into a demon.” Determination is etched into his features when he tells you, “Lee Heeseung isn’t the first vampire I’ve come across, and my only regret from that night is that he left it alive. I plan to remedy that failure. Especially now that he’s leaving bodies in his wake.”

“You think that it’s him, then?” you breathe. “The one that killed the humans at the river? All the other deaths?”

“Of course it is.” There’s no question, no room for argument in your professor’s assertion. “There hasn’t been any vampire activity in this city for two hundred years. And then, suddenly, I find him trying to drink your blood the very same day the first attacks occur. It’s not a coincidence.”

“But you’re able to see past your desire for blood. What if—”

“I am the exception to the rule.” He strikes your argument down before you can finish it. “Not once, in the last twenty years, have I ever seen a vampire that’s capable of empathy. As I warned you before, the only emotions they have are driven by instinct. Self-preservation on occasion, but above all, vampires are consumed by hunger. The constant need for blood.”

It’s similar to what Heeseung told you. Variations on the same theme, the same devastating truth. But you still don’t feel any closer to discovering what it is that makes Professor Kim different from the other descendants of the eighth lord’s son. And you can hardly reveal to him the truth of Heeseung’s nature. 

Instead, you ask him, “How many people have died? Since the first attack.” You want to know how current his information is, if it differs from what the boys told you. 

“Eleven,” your professor confirms. “Eleven too many. Which is why I need you. The city needs you. Your words could save lives, prevent tragedies before they occur.”

You’re silent for a moment, pretending to be lost in thought, to be considering his offer. Weighing the pros of his words over the cons of your potential endangerment. After a quiet minute, you inhale, as if steeling your resolve, finding your courage. Against the skin of your thigh, you feel the cool kiss of the metal dagger Heeseung gave you. “I’ll do it.”

His face remains stoic, the gravity of the situation far too heavy for him to be truly excited at the prospect. But you can tell that he’s pleased. “Good.” He nods to himself. “Good. This could change things. You could change things.” 

He looks around the space, as if realizing for the first time just how strangely empty it is. “I know that there’s not much here. I prefer to do my work in other places, but if you’d like for me to set up an office for you here—”

“That’s okay.” You shake your head. “Thank you, but I have places I like to write, too.” The thought of working here, of spending more time in this odd, dilapidated building, in the immediate vicinity of Professor Kim is reason enough to decline. Never mind the protest Heeseung would surely wage.

“Very well,” he nods. “I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Typically, I wouldn't put a student on such a difficult schedule, but the truth is not something that can be delayed. I’d like you to have your first article prepared by tomorrow afternoon.” 

It’s a tight turnaround, but you’ve done more with less. For his class, even. Your ability to write in a short amount of time, at least, is something you’re truly confident in. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he says again. “Send me your piece by three p.m., and I will have my edits back to you within the hour. I want it published as soon as possible. The following morning would be ideal.”

“Are there limitations?” you ask. “Things I shouldn’t share or write about?”

Your professor considers for a moment, then he shakes his head. “The only thing I care about is that people understand why they need to be afraid of these attacks. Why they need to join the fight against them. Obviously your reporting needs to be factual, but do what it takes to get that message across, loud and clear.”

“I will,” you assure him, trying to be as much the frightened, determined girl he thinks you are. 

“I’m going to start reaching out to some of my connections,” he tells you. “Finding ways to promote this as much as we can, to get as many people reading as possible. But for now, I’ll get you some moonflower to take with you.”

Standing, he motions for you to follow him towards the door marked with his name. His office. The same place you heard strange noises emanating from the last time you were here. 

It’s confirmed as you approach. The bloodstains are gone. 

He opens the door, ushering you inside, and still, none of your questions are answered. It’s a normal office, nothing out of the ordinary. Similar to his office back at the university, in fact. Clean, orderly, meticulously organized. 

The sounds you heard that night… you swear they had seemed distant, far away. But this office is as cramped and impersonal as any other. 

In fact, the only touch of personality you can find is the large painting that hangs on the far wall, opposite from the door you entered through. Glancing at the scenery it encapsulates, you pause. There’s something strangely familiar about it. Like it’s something you’ve seen before.

It does strike you as almost comical, too, that the balance of it is off. It hangs slightly too far to the left, one side dipping lower than the other. 

You spent a semester reading Professor Kim’s lecture presentations that all had the same uniform Times New Roman 12-point font. You watched as he publicly criticized students for turning in work with nonstandard margins. And yet, it appears that he couldn’t be bothered to make sure the one painting in his entire office is level. 

It’s odd. Entirely out of character.

But you don’t have long to dwell on it before he reaches for a small bag on his desk. 

“Here.” He hands it to you. “These are moonflower petals, crushed into small pieces. You can brew a pinch at a time with boiling water. Don’t let them seep longer than five minutes, and there should be no negative effects on your memory.”

“Thank you.” You take the bag from him, doing your best to appear grateful even if your hand shakes slightly as you receive it. “I’ll use it well.”

“I’ll look forward to reading your article, then,” he tells you. “Three p.m. tomorrow.” The two of you leave his office, walking back into the large, empty, open room. You sneak one last glance at the painting before he closes the door. Frowning, you shake your head. In the grand scheme of the day’s revelations, it’s certainly not something worth fixating on. “Do you need any help getting home?”

“No.” You shake your head, already turning towards the hallway. “I’ll be fine.”

So with your bag of moonflower in hand and unused weapon still cold against your thigh, you bid your professor farewell. 

Heeseung is pacing when you find him. Wearing down a path in the grass next to the abandoned building you left him at just over an hour ago. 

He hears you before he sees you. Detects the sound of your heartbeat or your footsteps or maybe even the smell of your shampoo. Whatever it is, it has him stopping in his tracks, turning towards you with something desperate in his eyes. 

He makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, and you watch as tension drains from him visibly. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes as soon as you’re close enough for conversation. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you confirm, suppressing the urge to run a hand through his hair. Just to soothe him a little. But you don’t know if it would calm him down or make things so, so much worse. You offer him a small smile instead. “Just like I promised I would be.”

Heeseung spots the small bag you’re carrying, the gift from your professor. “What’s that?”

“Moonflower.” You hold it up to the light. “He gave me some. I was right. He shot me with it that night to try to protect me. He…” You trail off, remembering his story. The blame he is now mistakenly laying on Heeseung’s shoulders. “He has a reason for hating vampires.” 

As you recount the details of your conversation, it’s hard not to feel a distinct stab of sympathy for your professor. He’s honing in on the wrong target, yes, but his life has been informed by a deep, profound tragedy. He lost his family. A wife. A daughter. 

When you finish, Heeseung frowns. “He wants you to write articles about the attacks?”

You nod. “He thinks it will be a way to rally people together, to generate enough momentum to stop the attacks and drive out the vampires. Similar to what happened two hundred years ago.”

Heeseung is already resigned to your commitment to seeing this through. No matter how resistant he is to the fact that you’ll be spending more time with your professor, there’s no fight in his voice when he asserts, “And you’re going to do it.”

Again, you nod. “It’s a way for me to keep getting close to him. Maybe I’ll learn how he’s able to keep his bloodlust under control. And I know it’s more complicated than good and evil, but these attacks are horrific. If this helps to stop them, or at least to make people more aware of them, that could help save lives.”

That, at least, Heeseung understands. “The others are out right now,” he tells you. “Spread throughout the city near the places where the attacks occurred. We’re trying to stop what we can, too. And maybe get an idea of what’s going on. Where this vampire came from. Stop them before more are made.”

You think of Heeseung’s story, the painstaking steps they’ve all taken to allow themselves to get involved in matters like this. The sacrifices they’ve made. The dreams of a normal life they’ve all had to grieve, to give up entirely. “Have they found anything?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’ll keep looking. Vampires aren’t known for being careful. They can’t be, not with their head so full of bloodlust. They’ll make a mistake eventually, and then we’ll find them. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

For the sake of your city, you can’t help but agree. Your only wish is that no one else will have to get hurt to finish this for good. “I hope so.”

Heeseung turns to you again. The bag of moonflower is still in his hands. It strikes you, just how close he can be to poison without feeling any of the fear that seems to find you so easily these days. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything that seemed… I don’t know… strange about him? About New Haven?”

You shake your head. “I mean, the building itself is still really odd, but it seemed less sinister with the lights on and the blood cleaned up.” Remembering that Heeseung sat through his lectures too, that he’ll understand just how odd it is for Professor Kim to have a painting hanging askew, you add, “Honestly, the only weird thing was this painting in his office. You know how meticulous he is, but it was super tilted to the—”

Your words die on your lips. It hadn’t clicked, then, what was so familiar about that painting. But here, now, in the aftermath, you put two and two together. 

Heeseung’s eyes flick to yours, finding them wide. “What?” he questions, suddenly urgent as he takes note of the odd expression on your face. 

“The painting.” Your mind is racing, willing things to make sense. “There was a painting in his office. I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Heeseung’s brow draws together. “What was it?”

“The field.” You match his gaze, eyes brimming with a million unanswered questions. There’s nothing believable about it. It sounds ridiculous, an absurd lie, even to your own ears. “The painting in his office was of the field from the vision you showed me.”

…..

Jungwon isn’t answering his phone. 

“C’mon…” Instead of sitting on the navy couch in his living room like Jake was when you found him here, Heeseung paces in front of it. A few feet away, you stand, still reeling at your realization. 

Finally, on the fifth ring, Jungwon picks up. 

“Jungwon,” Heeseung breathes. “How close are you to the professor’s house? Could you get eyes on him?”

You hear the muffled sound of Jungwon’s indecipherable response from the other side of the line. 

After a moment, Heeseung says, “Okay, that’s fine. Just have him text me.” 

Ending the call, he turns to look at you, phone falling limply to his side. 

“Niki’s closer,” he explains. “Jungwon will check with him and have him message me when Professor Kim is confirmed to be back at his house.”

Because now that you’ve connected the dots, Heeseung insists that he needs to see this painting for himself. Which means the two of you need to wait until you’re certain Professor Kim is nowhere near New Haven. 

“I mean,” you try, grasping at straws to find a way for all of this to make sense, “is it possible that he’s been to that field too? Or knows someone that has?”

“You don’t understand.” Heeseung shakes his head. “That field is—was—in Celedis. It hasn’t existed for four hundred years.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, it hasn’t existed? I know you said that people forgot about Celedis, but—”

“They didn’t just forget.” Heeseung sighs. After a moment, he stops his pacing to take a seat on the couch. He looks at you from where he sits. “The blood moon I told you about, the one that comes every hundred years.”

You nod, remembering that piece of his story, of his visions. 

“It has certain powers,” Heeseung explains. “It’s a night when old magic is the strongest. And four hundred years ago, one hundred years after the seven of us stopped aging, the eighth son went back to Celedis. It was mostly empty by then. Had been so ravaged by vampires that everyone was either dead or had fled to other kingdoms.”

He doesn’t accompany this story with narration, but you see it all the same. The devastation. The vast emptiness. The tragedy of a kingdom lost to destruction of its own making.

“But he went back, and he found the oak tree where the seven lords, the seer, and his father had all cast their wishes. He didn’t understand old magic, but he was so consumed by his own bloodlust, his thirst for more, that it didn’t matter.”

Heeseung looks at his hands, turns his fingers over in the light as if the lines in his palms contain unknown answers. Explanations for sins past.

“Fueled by his selfishness, he wished for ultimate control over everything, to be the most powerful being in the world. Old magic took his wish and interpreted it as old magic does. It is said that moments after his wish was cast, the kingdom of Celedis collapsed in on itself, destroying hundreds of years of architecture, history, culture. All gone in a single second. And it took the eighth son with it. Returned his body to the land. After all, what could be more powerful than the earth itself? The very source of the kingdom’s magic.”

Heeseung looks at you with something fierce in his eyes. “No one alive today should know what that field looks like.” 

His assuredness sends a chill into your bones. How could it be true? You know what you saw, or at least you think you do, but how on earth would Professor Kim have any connection to a kingdom lost centuries before his birth?

Heeseung pauses for a moment, something suddenly occurring to him, the same idea crossing his mind. “You’re sure that Professor Kim said he was turned only twenty years ago?”

“Yes,” you nod. “And I think that makes sense, actually. New Haven was founded shortly after.” The publishing house he created to spark a literary revolution against the monsters that consumed his world, ruined his life. It follows logic that he would establish it in the wake of his tragic changing. 

Heeseung accepts this, prodding at the other variable instead. “And you’re sure it’s the same field that you saw?”

The more he tells you, the more you doubt your own eyes, your own fallible memory. But— “I mean, my memory isn’t perfect, but I recognized it instantly. I just couldn’t remember where I had seen it until I was outside again, with you.”

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, contemplating. An incoming message from Niki sounds out with a quiet ping, breaking the silence.

Glancing down at his phone, Heeseung’s lips tighten. He looks back to you. “The professor is home.”

A handful of minutes later, you’re back at the publishing house, this time with Heeseung at your side. 

The two of you stand on the front porch, trying to shroud yourselves in the shadows as much as possible. The whole area still seems uncannily deserted, but erring on the side of caution has never hurt. Heeseung reaches for the door handle with a firm grip, but despite his efforts, it doesn't turn.

“It’s locked,” he whispers to you. “Do you have a bobby pin or anything similar?”

“No.” You shake your head. Did the two of you seriously get this far to be thwarted by something as simple as a locked door? After a moment of contemplation, you realize that you do still have something narrow and sharp holstered to your thigh. For a handful of seconds, it seems almost too ridiculous to consider. But your pride is not the most pressing issue at the moment. Slowly, you ask, “Do you think the dagger might work?”

Heeseung pauses, turns to look at you over his shoulder. “Maybe, actually.”

Again, you pull up the fabric from your left pant leg, retrieving the weapon in question. Sliding it out of the holster, you hand it to him wordlessly. 

You watch as Heeseung struggles with the lock, letting out quiet curses every time the knife slips. And then, after a few frustrating attempts, a quiet click signals his success. 

Who would have thought? The dagger did actually come in handy at New Haven. 

Despite Niki’s confirmation that the professor is far away in his home, the two of you enter quietly, carefully. The hallway remains dark as you forgo turning on any of the lights. Instead, you let the dim light of the dying day outside guard your path. You’re not even sure you would need that. At this point, this place is starting to become familiar.  

Plunged in darkness, the publishing house is nearly as eerie as it was the first time you visited, but with Heeseung at your side, at least some of your nerves are abated. 

In the open room at the end of the hall, your two chairs from earlier still sit, now empty. 

Moving past them, the two of you approach your professor’s office. As you get closer to the door, you wonder if Heeseung will have to pick the lock again. But when he reaches forward this time, the knob twists without a hint of resistance. 

Heeseung waits until you’re in the office next to him, shutting the door behind the both of you before flicking on the light. It’s another precaution. Just in case a passerby were to look in through the window from the open room, they wouldn’t notice any usual movement or light. 

But the world outside now feels like a distant concern. 

Because the painting, illuminated by artificial light, hangs in front of you just as surely as it had an hour ago.

For a moment, Heeseung says nothing, just frowning at the scenery. 

“Well?” you prompt, desperate to hear his appraisal, “what do you think?”

“It’s similar,” Heeseung admits, eyes narrowing. He exhales, and you can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or acute relief. “Really similar, but it’s not exactly right. Those flowers there,” he points to a small cluster of bright red tulips at the edge of the painting, “there were never any like that.” 

The most prominent of your emotions is relief. At least you won’t have to add this to the growing list of mysteries surrounding your professor. 

But then, another thought creeps in. Again, you wonder what life must be like with a perfect recollection. Glancing sidelong at Heeseung, you suppose it certainly comes in handy at moments like this. Although you’re not sure the price he pays for eternal memory is worth it.

“It must just be a place that looks similar,” Heeseung concludes, as eager as you to leave New Haven far behind. “Let’s—”

“Wait.” Frowning, you take a step forward, closer to the painting. “Earlier today, the reason I thought it seemed so out of place, it was hanging off center.” But the painting in front of you is perfectly level. “He fixed it.”

Heeseung follows your gaze. “Do you think it got knocked around that night we found him here? Maybe he didn’t have a chance to fix it until today.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but the rest of his office was perfect.” Nothing else was out of place. 

Taking a few more steps forward, you stand directly in front of the painting. It’s beautiful, but the closer you look, the odder it gets. Looking at the brush strokes, it seems almost… amateur. The scene is strikingly realistic in the way only a practiced artist could manage, but the individual lines are messier the closer you get. As if unrefined hands put it together. 

An idea comes to you, along with a sinking suspicion that settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. Looking at the painting again, your eyes are assessing now.

It’s large. Heavy, probably. You’ll need his help. 

Turning to face Heeseung, you request, “Help me move it.”

Heeseung frowns at you. “Why?”

You shrug, but the last thing you feel is nonchalance. You’re thinking of voices behind this door. Too far away to possibly be coming from an office this small. “Just a hunch. If I’m wrong, we’ll put it right back.”

Heeseung still wears an odd look on his face, but he does as you ask. On the count of three, the two of you lift the painting off of its mount. Set it down. 

And reveal a small, circular opening in the wall, just large enough for a person of Professor Kim’s size to squeeze through. 

A glance passes between the two of you, composed equally of shock and dread. 

Still, you force yourself to get closer. Despite the light from the office, it’s dark when you peer in. The only thing you can tell for sure is that it goes down. Which is confirmed by the ladder that’s attached to the side of the wall. 

God, you’ve had enough of goddamn ladders today to last you a lifetime. 

Heeseung sends another message to Niki, once again confirming that Professor Kim is still far, far away. And then he hoists himself up through the opening. 

Or at least, he tries to. 

Feet back on the ground, very much still on your side of the wall, he shakes his head. “I can’t go in.”

You balk. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

The look he gives you is withering. “No, I physically cannot go in. Vampires can’t enter into places they haven’t been invited to, remember?”

“What?” It’s not new information, and with moonflower out of your system, you have all the ability to retain it. But suddenly you’re confused. That particular restriction seems like something that should have been causing him a lot more strife. “How did you get through the front door then? Or into this office?” Another realization dawns. “How did you get into class?”

“The rules are a little blurry,” Heeseung explains. “Public spaces like businesses and universities that don’t really belong to someone are usually fine. Even offices, since they still lack that true sense of personal belonging.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That is ridiculously convoluted.”

“I told you, old magic is finicky.” Looking back at the opening in the wall, he adds, “Either our dear professor feels a particularly strong attachment to the secret chamber attached to his office, or that hunch of yours must have been right. This is more than just a publishing house.”

The admittance does make you a little smug, even if you’d never tell him that. Turning towards the opening, you move past him. With a large inhale, you start to hoist yourself up. A hand around your wrist keeps you firmly planted on the ground. 

You turn to look at Heeseung over your shoulder, brow pulling in confusion. 

“This was a good plan,” he tells you, “and a good idea. We’ll just have to figure out another way to come back and—”

“Wait, what?” You frown. “Why would we go back? We’re right here.”

Heeseung looks at you like you’re missing something blatant. “Yeah, with one small problem.” After a moment of extended silence, he gestures to himself and says, “I can’t go in.”

You return his gaze, equally incredulous. He’s the one that’s missing the obvious here. “But I can.”

“No.” His lips flatten, reminiscent of when you told him you’d be seeing your professor again. “Absolutely not.”

But you don’t have the time to waste on his misplaced sense of guilt-ridden protection over you right now. “This might be the only chance we get!” you insist. “You’re willing to waste that?”

Heeseung doubles down, equally stubborn. “I’m willing to wait for another option that doesn’t include you disappearing down a ladder into a dark room alone. We have no idea where it leads. Or what could possibly be waiting down there.”

“Fine,” you concede, shoulders slumping. “I guess you’re right. Maybe Jungwon will have an idea how we can—”

Cutting off mid-sentence, you turn again, trying to squeeze yourself through the opening before he has the chance to realize what’s happening and put a stop to it. 

This time, your wrist is untouched. Instead, it’s an arm around your waist, just under your ribs, that pulls you back. 

Heeseung’s chest pressed along the curve of your spine, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Did you really think that was going to work?” His voice is low, dangerous as his irritation makes itself apparent. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.” With the hand not currently wrapped around you, he taps the base of your neck, right on your pulse point. “Right here.” He presses down, pressure light but insistent. “Your heartbeat. It races like crazy when you lie.”

You feel it in your throat now. 

“Heeseung,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you speak any louder. 

“Mm?” His breath ghosts along the sensitive skin of your ear. You suppress a shudder. The ghost of it traces your spine anyway.

“Let me go. I’ll be careful—”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know the meaning of that word.” But his grip relaxes anyway. Loosens until his arm is back at his side. 

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s still close to you. 

So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough. 

Angling forward, he places the palm of his hand on the wall behind you next to your head, just below the opening. Effectively caging you in. 

“What could go wrong?” You’re breathless and you hate it. “I have a dagger.”

“Actually,” he corrects you, “I have the dagger.”

“Well,” you argue, “if you give it back, we won’t have a problem.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. “Do you even have a light?”

Shit. You don’t. Well, except for—

“I have the flashlight on my phone.”

Disapproval makes itself the most prominent expression on his features. 

Slowly, he lets his arm fall back to his side. Then, before you have a chance to make sense of his action, he sinks to his knees before you. With steady hands, he starts to lift the bottom of your left pant leg. 

Your first instinct is to relax into his touch. Your second, not trailing far behind, is to kick him in the jaw. You doubt either of those would serve you well.

Instead, you remain motionless, prone to whatever whim spurs him on as he continues his steady path upward.

The skin of your calf is revealed, inch by agonizing inch, until he reaches the juncture of your knee. Until he stops just above it. 

You understand, now, what he’s doing. Every inch of you hones in on the sensation of gentle fingers sliding the dagger back into place. The holster on your thigh gets a little heavier. You feel his exhale against your skin. 

Slowly, he guides the fabric back of your pant leg into place, weapon now secured. From beneath you, his gaze finds yours. He maintains eye contact while he rises to his full height. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” It sounds like a prayer, and you have no idea what to do with that.

“When have I ever—”

“Please.”

It’s so damn vulnerable, the sound of him begging. Pleading with you to treat your life with care. As if it’s something precious to him, something he can’t stand the thought of losing. 

You breathe, your chest rising and falling, separated from him by only a handful of inches. Resistance feels futile. So, you muster all of your sincerity, and you mean it when you assure him, “I won’t.”

This time, he helps hoist you up. Makes sure you have solid footing on the ladder on the other side of the wall before letting you go with a reluctant grip that lingers a little too long.

“Be safe,” he whispers. One last request between the two of you. “I’ll be here.”

You nod once, committing the strange look on his features to memory, and then you’re descending. You do your best not to think about how tall the ladder might be, how far you might have to drop should you lose your footing. You couldn't see the bottom from the office, and you’re not about to risk taking a hand off of the ladder to activate your phone’s flashlight. 

Ultimately, it’s not as great a distance as you feared. You can’t have been going down for more than a minute when your feet hit solid ground. 

Still shaky from residual adrenaline and the lingering remnants of whatever just passed between you and Heeseung, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on. 

It’s not a very powerful light, and it only illuminates small sections of the darkened room at a time. Turning side to side, you get the impression that it’s a fairly large space. Crouching down, you place a palm against the floor beneath you. Stone, you think. The limited light of your flashlight helps to confirm this.

There’s a distinct sort of permeating cold down here, so far from the sun, so deep beneath the earth. You can sense large amounts of moisture in the air, too. It clings to your skin, making you feel more clammy than you already were.

It’s quiet. Eerily so. The only sounds you hear are the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance and the furious thrumming of your own heart in your ears. 

Immediately, you think of the night you heard strange noises that sounded like they were coming from Professor Kim’s office. He must have been down here, you realize. Maybe with someone else. 

Or something else. 

That thought sends your skin crawling with a deep sense of unease. You don’t know the extent of Heeseung’s heightened senses, but you’re sure he’d be able to tell if there was another living thing down here. Or, at least, you try to convince yourself that’s the case in order to ease some of your rising nerves. 

Turning to your right, you can barely make out the shadowy shape of some kind of structure a few feet away. Again, Heeseung was right. A stronger flashlight really would have been better. But you’re here now, and you’ll have to make use of what you have. 

Slowly, you begin to walk towards it. But after a few steady steps, you’re nearly sent sprawling over the stone floor as your foot makes contact with a hard, heavy object in your path. Letting out a hushed curse, you shine your light down at the ground once again. This time, stone floor isn’t the only thing you see. 

Frowning, you bend to take a closer look. Shackles. You’ve stumbled across an old, rusted pair of iron shackles. 

The discovery sends a fresh chill down your spine. What on earth is this place?

You don’t have long to linger on it. Niki is keeping an eye on Professor Kim, but even that will only give you so much warning if he should decide to come to New Haven for any reason. And you have your promise to Heeseung to consider. Nothing stupid. 

Taking care to step around the shackles, you shine your light towards the ground this time as you continue pressing forward. 

As you get closer, the structure you could barely make out comes into clearer view. But with every inch that’s revealed, your horror only grows. It isn’t much of a structure at all, you realize, stomach dropping. It’s a cell. Thick, heavy metal bars that appear to be carved into the earth itself. 

You can’t quite bring yourself to step inside, but you do get as close as you can. It’s empty, but evidence of terror remains. There are more shackles. These ones are attached to the stone that forms the back wall of the enclosure. 

And that’s not all you see. There are other strange objects in the cell. Long, long metal instruments that you don’t want to imagine uses for. Old, faded blood stains that cover the stone floor. 

Forcing your breathing to even out, you angle your phone towards the enclosure, ensuring that your camera’s flash is on before taking a photo. If Heeseung can’t come down here, you’ll bring as much of it as you can to him. 

Turning away from the cell, you start moving in the adjacent direction, the one that will take you further and further from the ladder with every slow step. In the silence, the sound of your feet against wet stone rings out like gunshots. 

You suddenly feel vulnerable. A sitting duck, an easy target. Shaking the thought away, you force yourself forward. 

Continuing to walk, more horror lines your periphery. There must be a dozen of them, at least. These strange, terrible cells that line either side of the long room. After the first one, you don’t stop for long to examine the others. 

Instead, you continue until you reach the end of the room. Similar to the publishing house above you, it’s essentially a long hall that opens into a wider room. Your eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, but you still squint to make out anything other than the solid expanse of stone. 

Shining your flashlight to the left, you can just make out the shape of two large objects. As you walk closer, they become more clear. 

The first is a desk. A simple wooden surface to sit and do some writing, perhaps. Nothing particularly strange or out of the ordinary, other than its location. 

It’s the object next to it that gives you pause, has you leaning closer with furrowed eyebrows. 

As you shine your light at it directly, it appears to be a large chest. The kind you would find at an antique store or see in a museum. Something people from past times would use to store clothes or books or other household essentials. 

There’s a lock on the front of this one, however, Complete with a large, heavy chain that makes you think its contents are less than ordinary. 

Crouching slightly, you reach down. Your fingers shake slightly as you tug at the lid. It doesn’t budge, the lock holding firm. You suspected as much, but the result is still frustrating. 

Setting your phone down for a moment, you reach for the dagger strapped to your thigh. You aren’t as well versed in the art of lock-picking as Heeseung seems to be, but you know you’d regret not at least giving it a try. 

It’s no use, you realize after only a few seconds. This lock is different from the one on the front door. It’s large, looks as if it can only be opened by an equally ancient key. One forged by a blacksmith in a lost century. The dagger slips in through the opening, but the shape is too different to gain any purchase. Your dagger can’t find anything to maneuver. 

So you settle with the next best option. As you did with the first cell, you angle your camera towards the chest, taking a photo of ir and its impenetrable lock. 

Frowning at the dead end, you stand back to your full height. You replace the dagger in its holster, reaching for your phone. It might be wise to message Heeseung for a quick status update, to ensure that you have time to keep looking around. In fact, you’re surprised he hasn’t been blowing you up since the second your feet hit solid ground. 

But as soon as your phone screen lights up, you check the top corner and find the reason for his radio silence. 

No signal. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It makes sense, in hindsight. You have to be at least several feet underground, and cell service providers probably didn’t have secret underground prisons with strange locked chests in mind when they planned their coverage maps. 

But it also means that Heeseung has no way of communicating with you. That you have no way of receiving any messages he may have been trying to send. 

You’re sure you would hear him, if he yelled loudly enough from the opening in the office. 

But if there were any reason he couldn’t speak loudly, any reason he didn’t want to draw attention to himself…

Scenarios suddenly spinning through your mind, you turn back, retracing your steps. The hallway seems even longer now that you’re trying to move through it quickly. The cells seem even more ominous, shadowy silhouettes in your periphery. 

You give a slight start when you almost collide with the ladder, so consumed with hurrying that you almost missed the wall in front of you entirely. 

Grateful that you didn’t just break your nose from a collision with a stone wall, you shut off your phone flashlight. You slide it back into your pocket, and then you begin to ascend back up the ladder you came down. It’s a precarious balance, trying to be both swift and sure footed. 

After what feels like hours but is surely less than two minutes, you’re back at the opening. 

Heeseung, just like he promised he would be, is already there, waiting. 

“Oh, thank the skies,” he breathes as soon as you come into view. If the situation were any different, you might laugh at the turn of phrase. Another relic of his unnaturally long past, you suppose. “I’ve been trying to message you this whole time, but—”

“No signal,” you explain. Your words are slightly stilted as you ease yourself down from the opening, less gracefully than you hoped. “I didn’t realize it until I turned back.” You nod at his phone. “Does Niki still have eyes on him?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods. “The professor is still in his house.”

Tension drains from your shoulders. But as you begin to tell Heeseung what you saw, show him the photos you took as evidence, it slowly starts to creep back in. 

“Jail cells?” He frowns, echos of your own questions repeated back to you. “For what? For who?”

“I have no idea.” You shake your head. “But there was also a box, a chest of sorts.” You show him the photo. “It was locked. I tried to get in with the dagger, but it was no use. The key hole was too big for it to move anything around.”

“Can I?” Heeseung asks, gesturing towards your phone. You hand over the device in question. 

Eyes narrowing in concentration, he zooms in on the photo. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a lock like that.” It’s hard not to feel defeated, to feel like everytime you’re on the brink of a discovery, some new obstacle blocks your path. After a moment, you add, “I don’t even know if I ever have seen a lock like that. Other than in movies or museums.” 

Heeseung could get into it, maybe. Either by picking it or with brunt force alone. But he can’t get to the chest. And it’s far too big for you to carry back to him. Besides, you’re hesitant to move anything, even if Professor Kim is back at him home for the evening. You doubt you could get the chest back to its exact location without shifting something around. And if anyone were to notice something out of place, it would be him. 

Even if it was just a chest in a dark, cave-like room, shifted a few inches in the wrong direction. 

“I think…” Heeseung looks up, directly at you, interrupting your train of thought. “I think I may have seen this key before.”

“What?” you ask. “Where?”

Heeseung still sounds unsure, but the more he reveals, the more you start to wonder if he’s right. “I can’t be certain, but towards the beginning of the semester, I remember seeing Professor Kim carrying an old fashioned key in his briefcase. I’d been following him all morning, and I saw him take it out once he got to the university. He put it in his office. I think he might have left it there.”

You frown. “That makes no sense. Why would he leave a key to a locked chest in his secret evil cave prison at his very public university office?””

“I don’t know.” Heeseung looks equally as confused. “And like I said, I’m not completely certain.  He might not have left it there, but… it could be worth a shot.”

You want to say that it feels impossible, but the events of the past week have made that word hold very little weight in your mind. 

“That seems…” you trail off, searching for a semantic replacement, “improbable.”

“I know,” Heeseung agrees, “but it’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s still winter break,” you point out, moving past probabilities to logistics. Glancing at the time on your phone, you add, “And it’s almost sunset. How would we even get into the university?”

Heeseung just smiles. There’s no humor in it, but there is an air of self-assuredness. “Leave that to me.”

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing at the top of a third unnaturally tall height of the day. 

“You know,” you cross your arms, “when you said you had a way of getting into the university, I didn’t think it would involve breaking in through a window on the fourth floor. You may be invincible but a fall from this height could actually take me out, you know? And aren’t there cameras?” 

Heeseung wiggles the window frame for another handful of seconds, a self-satisfied smile crossing his features when he hears a telltale pop. “This is the liberal arts building at a public university. The only security cameras that have been updated since 2005 are by the stadium and the school of business.” He pauses his ministrations, suddenly serious when he turns to look at you. “And I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You’re not reassured. “Still,” you hiss, “we’re breaking in through a window. What if someone sees—”

“Like you said,” Heeseung interrupts, sliding the window open, giving the two of you just enough space to slide through, “it’s winter break and after dark. No one is around.” He nods his head toward the open window. “After you.”

Tossing him one more glare, you maneuver your body through the open window. Heesueng follows you, sliding into the fourth floor hallway of the liberal arts building with more poise than you could ever hope to embody. 

He pulls the window shut behind you, slides it back into place with a firm tug. Brushing his hands on his pants, he turns to face you, expression light as if the two of you have just walked through the front door of a bowling alley, not committed a federal crime by breaking and entering through a fourth floor window. 

It’s all you can do to stare at him blankly. What has your life turned into?

“His office is on the third floor,” is all Heeseung says, “at the end of the hallway.”

“I know where his office is.” You sound petulant even to your own ears. But the location of your professor’s office is not the problem. The fact that you’re breaking and entering into a public university to try and locate a key to unlock an ancient looking chest in the prison-esque secret basement of your vampire professor’s publishing house, however, is. 

Still, you match Heeseung’s pace as he begins to walk, following a steady path to the third floor offices. After descending the staircase, the two of you round a corner, turning down the long, narrow hallway that leads to your desired destination. 

“How likely do you think it is that he even keeps the key here?” You’re whispering. The two of you are alone, so it’s probably not necessary. But speaking at full volume in a situation like this would just feel… wrong.     

Heeseung shrugs as your footsteps erase the last of the distance between you and Professor Kim’s office. “Only one way to find out.”

“Wait.” You stop, now directly in front of the door as another thought occurs to you. A particularly annoying limitation of those afflicted with vampirism. “Are you even going to be able to get in?”

“His office at New Haven wasn’t the problem,” Heeseung points out. “Besides, I actually have been invited into this one.”

You arch an eyebrow. 

“What?” Heeseung shrugs. “I went to office hours once.” 

Office hours. You’d been a regular at those too. It suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. 

Reaching forward, you try the door handle. It’s locked. 

“I think we might need the dagger again.” You reach to retrieve it, a memory flashing through your mind. The last time you were here, you were armed with a first draft of a homework assignment and enough anxiety to make you nauseous. Now, with a dagger in your hand and a vampire at your side, the contrast is stark. 

Handing the knife to Heeseung, you watch as he methodically jiggles it for less than thirty seconds before you hear a soft click. 

“Thanks.” He hands the dagger back to you, waiting for you to secure it back into place. Then, he opens the door, and the two of you enter. 

It feels illicit. It is illicit, but the first thing that strikes you is just how similar this office is to the one at New Haven. Meticulously organized. Not a file out of place. The only thing missing is a painting that looks eerily similar to visions of Heeseung’s childhood. Oh, and the secret basement hiding behind it, of course.    

Here, however, there would be nothing to hide it behind. And no matter where your eyes wander, you can’t seem to find anywhere worth hiding a secret key, either. No glaringly obvious evil drawer of a file cabinet or particularly sinister potted plant. 

But Heeseung must see something you don’t. He approaches your professor’s desk slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. His gaze is fixated on the far corner of it, where the only indications of personality in the entire room are arranged in a neat row. 

Three small figurines. At first glance, they appear wooden, hand-carved. The first is a tree. The second is a rose. And the third is a startlingly lifelike human heart. 

They’re all relatively small, about the size of your closed fist. The closer you look, the more intricate they become. Details are carved with phenomenal precision. From leaves to petals to veins, the craftsmanship is remarkable. 

Heeseung is staring at them with a distinct intensity. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, still fixated on the carvings. “I just feel strangely… drawn to them. The heart in particular.” But he still doesn’t do anything about it. 

Spurred by his inaction, you reach for the figurine, lifting it to eye level. It’s smooth to the touch, nothing particularly noteworthy about it other than the intricacy of the carving. 

But then you give it a slight shake. The two of you lock eyes when something rattles inside. 

“Do you think…” you breathe, sentence trailing into oblivion. 

Heeseung’s eyes flicker from you to the heart. “Does it open?”

From your current vantage point, there’s nothing obvious. But then you turn the heart upside down. Whatever’s contained inside follows the flow of gravity, settling heavily inside the upturned figurine with a small thump. 

And on the bottom of the heart, there’s a latch. Tiny, but unmistakable. Your hands are shaking, almost too hard for you to get a proper grip. But once you do, the latch clicks open without a hint of resistance. 

Turning the heart upright again, all you can do is gasp as a large, ornate, metal key falls into your open palm. 

Your gaze locks on Heeseung’s, jaw open in disbelief. “How did you know?”

He shakes his head, just as dumbfounded as you. “I have no idea.”

But now you have another dilemma. Do you take it with you? Go back to New Haven now? If Professor Kim were to make a stop by his office or the publishing house for any reason, the two of you could be in deep, deep trouble. For something far worse than breaking and entering. 

But you can’t just leave it here. Not when you’re nearly one-hundred percent certain you know exactly what it opens. Not when you’re dying to know what’s worth guarding with that much effort.  

You’re about to voice your concern to Heeseung when he beats you to it. Eyes flicking to yours, imbued with a sudden intensity, he whispers, “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” you whisper back. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” He listens for a second longer. “It’s not Professor Kim. I can tell by the footsteps. But whoever it is, they’re headed in this direction.”

“Do we stay in here?” It’s unlikely that whoever it is will check your professor’s office, but if discovery is inevitable, it would be better for the two of you not to be found not inside a university employee’s locked office.

Again, you glance around the room, this time frantically searching for somewhere, anywhere to serve as a hiding space for the two of you. You come up empty handed. 

Then, to your relief, Heeseung says, “They turned down a different hall,” It’s short lived when he adds, “Let’s go. I think we can make it back to the fourth floor.”

Making a run for it feels like the worst possible option. “Are you serious?”

“Do you want to be found in here?”

You don’t, but the sound of footsteps in an otherwise empty building will surely alert whoever it is to your presence. Staying put feels like a far better choice. “Can’t we just wait for them to leave?”

“We don’t know when they will,” Heeseung argues. “Or if they’ll come this way before they do.”

He’s right, you realize, something sinking in your stomach. You know he’s right, but staying in place feels safer to you somehow. Making a mad dash back to the fourth floor feels like a suicide mission. 

“Okay,” you agree, breath suddenly rapid as you slide the key into your pocket. “Okay.”

“Give me the dagger.” Heeseung holds out his hand. 

“You’re not going to stab—”

“Of course not! We need to relock the door.”

Mollified, you retrieve the dagger before handing it to him. 

As quickly and quietly as possible, the two of you tiptoe out of your professor’s office, key heavy in your pocket. Heeseung slides the door shut behind you, slides the dagger into the lock and maneuvers it back into place. 

As soon as it clicks, his hand freezes. 

When he turns to you, it’s with panic in his eyes. “The footsteps,” he whispers. “They changed again. They’re headed in this direction.”

Shit. 

Shit. 

Maybe making a break for the fourth floor is still an option. 

“Do we still have time to—”

Heeseung shakes his head. You know he’s telling the truth. Because now you, even with your mediocre human senses, can hear the footsteps too. The way that they’re getting louder. Getting closer. 

You’re frantic now. “Don’t you have super speed or something?”

“The only exit is down the hall,” Heeseung returns. “We’d just be running at above average speed towards the person.”

“Well, can you make yourself invisible?”

“I’m not a wizard!”

“Oh, well forgive me for assuming the immortal supernatural being who can project visions from their mind through physical touch might be able to do something useful in this situation.”

Arguing will do little to save you now. The footsteps are only getting louder. Even if you wanted to, there’s no way you’d have time to get back into Professor Kim’s office before you’re discovered. 

Heeseung confirms this. “We have approximately three seconds.”

You look up at him, his features soft in the low light of a nearly abandoned building. Panic etched across his face, eyes locked on yours. 

Panic still outlining your words, you whisper, “Do you trust me?”

He recoils an inch, obvious distrust written in his expression. “Why?”

You roll your eyes. You should have expected as much. “Never mind.”

But you reach for him anyway, before he has time to register what’s happening. His supernatural senses will do him little good here. They warn him when your heart starts racing, yes, but they don’t make your actions predictable. Especially not the ones you don’t feel entirely in control of yourself. 

And of all the improbable, impossible things to happen today, this just might be the most unexpected. 

He’s surprisingly easy to maneuver, you realize, when he’s caught entirely off guard. There’s no resistance when your hand wraps around the nape of his neck. Nothing but acceptance in the way his muscles give as you pull him down to your height. 

There’s a second, a fragmented splinter of time, in which his lips hover just above yours. A millimeter of distance. A chance to retract regret borrowed from the future. 

But like every moment you’ve stolen with him, it slips from your fingers just as surely. 

And then, with the steadiness of a sure thing, his lips are on yours. 

You won’t pretend to be privy to the extent of his knowledge, the experience the past five hundred years have afforded him, but all you can think is that it feels a little bit like a kiss you would steal behind the bleachers in eighth grade. 

Hesitation renders him all but immobile. It’s written into the way his eyes are still open in shock, mouth screwed shut, hands anywhere but on you. 

Despite his obvious reluctance, despite everything in you screaming that this was a bad idea, your mouth parts against his, a breath escaping between your lips. 

He swallows it, and for a moment, everything is still. Until it’s not. 

Hands on your waist are the first thing you feel. The first initiation in this dance between you that’s of his doing. The second is pressure returned against your lips, firm, insistent. 

A line is being crossed; a barrier is being broken. Desire that he keeps tethered on a firm leash is slipping through his fingers as they land on the base of your spine. 

This was always going to be something forged between the two of you. In response, you bring your second hand to join your first at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair you find there. 

He pushes forward, and you’re left with nowhere to go but the expanse of the wall behind you. Back flush against it, you can’t help the small noise of surprise that escapes. Somewhere between a sigh and a hum. 

Whatever it is, it has Heeseung doubling down. As if he wants to swallow every sound you make. As if he wants to earn them first. 

His mouth opens against yours, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere. Your spine, your hips, the hem of your shirt. He pushes further, crowding you against the wall. Until it feels like your desire, the feverish heat brewing beneath your skin, doesn’t belong to you anymore. 

Sensation is suddenly a shared thing, and you’re both chasing fleeting glimpses at a future neither of you thought you would ever have. 

Fingers tangling further in his hair, you can’t help the small, pitiful noises that escape now. Crawl up your throat and drip from your tongue with every give and take, every push and pull. 

Heesung is anything but immobile now. And he’ll give as good as he gets. 

It’s on an unsteady exhale that you feel it, a quick, sharp pain on your bottom lip. Hissing in pain, it’s nothing but a knee jerk reaction when you pull away slightly. 

Heeseung doesn’t let you get far. Mouth chasing yours, he hovers just a fragment of an inch above you. Whatever remains of his inhibition keeps him there, a hair's breadth away from you. 

Slowly, you raise a finger to your bottom lip. To the source of your gasp, the site of the small flicker of pain. When you pull it back to eye level, your fingertip comes away red. 

You’ve never seen his fangs before, as your eyes drop to his mouth, you realize that they’ve made an appearance. Sharp, predatory, destructive. All the things you’ve been told to fear, raised to run from.

His eyes, however, hold nothing but apologies. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s still just as close, but you can feel the way he’s pulling away, retracting into himself even as he remains tangled in your embrace. “I didn’t realize I had—”

You don’t hear the end of it. It doesn’t take much to erase the space between you again. 

And where you expect to find that same resistance from before, where you expect to have to fight his hesitation, convince him to give into the sensations building between you, you find only a feverish desire. 

If you thought you were falling into him before, you’re surely drowning in him now. Consumed in your entirety. 

There’s no space for you to breathe, to think, against the sudden insistence of his mouth, the fervent exploration of his hands. Pretenses between you have been vitiated, and the only thing you crave now is the feeling of reciprocation, some kind of indication that he’s fallen victim to it, too. 

You don’t miss it, either. The particular attention he pays to your bottom lip. The way he bites at it, pulls at it. Careful of your injury and meticulous about using only the teeth of his that don’t double as weapons, yes, but it’s desperate all the same. 

“Fuck, ___,” he whispers, the taste of you on his tongue, sliding down his throat. You feel his words reverberate down the length of your spine, settle heavily in that space just behind your navel. It’s sharper this time, more poignant. You want to follow it, trace all the lines between you until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. “Fuck.”

It’s slipping from him, that facade of aloofness, that pretense of detachment. It belongs to you now, all of it. His attention. His desire. His feverish lust for everything his inhibitions have always kept him away from. 

His tongue presses against the sensitive skin of your broken bottom lip just as his hand slides under the barrier of your shirt, traces a steady path up your spine until it finds a place to settle, just beneath your rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” he’s still whispering, because he hates himself for wanting this, loathes the way it feels like he’s stealing something from you. Your blood is on his tongue and your trust in his hands. He’s never felt more like a monster, never had such selfish prayers. 

But this was never transactional in your mind, and you feel the furthest from fear that you have since you woke up with his wound etched in the skin of your neck. 

You pull away, only slightly, breath forgotten as you look at him. Your chest heaves with it now. His eyes are cast downwards, as if he can avoid the reality of what’s passed between you by averting his gaze, by looking away. As if his hands aren’t still sitting on your skin. As if he can pretend nothing has happened between you.

It’s not a particular peace you’re willing to give him. And an apology was never what you wanted.

Sliding your hand to his jaw, you turn his chin upward, forcing him to look at you. Your touch, like his, is gentle but firm. Insistent. Again, despite the obvious mismatch in your strength, he lets you adjust him to your will. Allows himself to be manipulated. 

You don’t want his apologies. You don’t want his regret. You hate every unearned sorry he lays at your feet. “Don’t be.” 

Slowly, you bring your other hand, the one not tangled in his hair, up until it’s at eye level. Without breaking eye contact, you press the pad of your fingertip, still stained with a drop of your blood, against his mouth. He opens it under your insistence, maintains eye contact as his lips part, wrap around the tip of your finger. 

When you retract it, the night air feels cold against the wetted skin of your finger. 

It’s only then, when his lips descend on yours again, imbued with a sense of desperate urgency, that you realize you were never disturbed. That the footsteps have faded, lost somewhere that your mind has no use for now. 

The only thing you hear now is the mingling of sighs and the fervent thrumming of your own heartbeat. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUU for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. all the best <3

[its-avalon-08]

y/n neglecting danny boy, shes being a bitch abt it because of work. angst, happy ending

THANKS!

a inconvenience in your world (dr3)

✦ pairing - daniel ricciardo x female!reader

✦ genre - alot of angst, tears, neglect, happy ending

The faint scent of burnt toast hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual aroma of freshly brewed coffee that greeted Daniel most mornings. He shuffled into the kitchen, his back already protesting the sudden movement. The Baku crash still lingered, a dull ache settling in his lower back every time he spent too long sitting or inactive.

Y/N was hunched over her laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. She glanced up at him briefly, a tired smile flickering across her face.

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice strained. "Big day?"

Daniel forced a smile, the gesture feeling stiff. "Usual training. You sure you can't make it for breakfast again?"

Y/N sighed, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "Look, babe, I know we rescheduled last night, but this project is a monster. Maybe next week?"

Disappointment gnawed at him, but he pushed it down. "Yeah, sure. Text me when you're done, okay? We can grab dinner."

Y/N nodded absently, her eyes already glued back to the screen. "Sounds good."

two weeks later

Daniel scrolled through his phone, a growing sense of unease settling in his gut. Y/N's last text, a hurried apology for missing their planned movie night, had been three days ago. Calls went straight to voicemail, texts remained unanswered. He knew she was busy, but the complete lack of communication gnawed at him.

He finally caught her on a Wednesday evening, her voice breathless and clipped.

"Hey, Y/N, finally—"

"Daniel, I'm in the middle of something super important. Can we talk later?"

"But—"

The line went dead. He stared at the phone, a hollow feeling blooming in his chest. He tried texting again, a simple "thinking of you," but it remained stubbornly on "delivered" just like the others.

friday night

Exhaustion weighed on Daniel as he returned from training. He longed for a home-cooked meal, some quiet time with Y/N. But the apartment was empty, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. He reheated a leftover curry, the taste bland on his tongue. The once vibrant apartment felt cold and sterile, mirroring the distance growing between him and Y/N.

He sank onto the couch, picking up his phone. Y/N's social media profiles were a whirlwind of work updates and inspirational quotes, a curated life devoid of any mention of him. A sharp pang of jealousy stabbed at him, quickly followed by a wave of sadness. Where had the goofy selfies and mushy captions gone? Where had his sunshine smile gone?

a few days later

The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, a punctuation mark to a fight Y/N didn't see coming. It had started innocently enough, the clatter of a plate hitting the counter as Daniel placed it in the drying rack.

"Seriously, Daniel?" Y/N snapped, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. "Couldn't you just leave it in the sink? I'm swamped here."

Daniel froze, the plate suspended mid-air. A deep frown creased his forehead, a stark contrast to the grimace he'd been trying to hide for the past hour. His lower back had been throbbing ever since his training session that morning, but adrenaline and the hope of spending some quality time with Y/N had kept him going. Now, both the pain and his hope were fading fast.

"Y/N," he started, his voice strained, "it would have taken two seconds to put it away."

"Ugh, not this again," she sighed, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen. "Look, I appreciate you making dinner, but I'm on a deadline. Can we talk about this later?"

Daniel stared at her, his jaw clenched. "Later? That seems to be our new thing, doesn't it? Later for dinner, later for that movie you promised, later for even a simple conversation."

Y/N bristled. "Don't make this about you. I have a very demanding job right now."

"Demanding?" Daniel scoffed, his voice laced with hurt. "Who just spent the last two weeks glued to that laptop, cancelling every date night, blowing off my calls mid-conversation because of some 'urgent' email?"

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, then stopped. The accusation hung heavy in the air, a truth she couldn't deny. Shame burned in her gut, hot and unwelcome.

"Look," she started placatingly, "I know I've been distant, but this project is huge. Once it's over—"

"Once it's over?" Daniel cut her off, his voice tight with a mix of anger and pain. "What about me, Y/N? When was the last time you even asked how my back was after that crash in Baku?"

Y/N flinched. A vague memory of a news report about the crash flickered in her mind, but the details were hazy, lost in the sea of emails and reports flooding her inbox.

"I, uh…" she stammered, guilt twisting in her stomach. "You said you were fine."

A humorless laugh escaped Daniel's lips. "Right, because superheroes don't feel pain, do they?" He slammed the plate down on the counter, the clatter echoing in the tense silence. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

"I do everything for you, Y/N," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Cook your meals, clean the apartment, manage your schedule – all while training and racing across the globe. But apparently, that's not enough. Because apparently, I'm just a fucking inconvenience to fit in between your precious deadlines."

Tears streamed down Y/N's face, a dam finally breaking. The words hit her like a physical blow, the truth stinging worse than any deadline.

"Daniel, I—" she started, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Just save it," he said, his voice raw. "I need some air."

He stormed out of the apartment, leaving Y/N alone in the deafening silence. The echo of his words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the love she'd been neglecting, the connection she'd taken for granted. The laptop screen glowed accusingly, its light failing to penetrate the suffocating darkness that had settled around her.

The deafening silence that followed Daniel's departure pressed in on Y/N, heavy and suffocating. The laptop screen remained a dull beacon, its light failing to pierce the shame that gnawed at her. She numbly pushed herself to her feet, drawn to the kitchen counter where the forgotten plate stood.

Her gaze drifted around the room, finally seeing for the first time in weeks. The dishes were gleaming, not a single one left in the sink. The fridge hummed contentedly, stocked with fresh groceries. Panic clawed at her throat. This wasn't takeout night. This was Daniel, anticipating her needs, taking care of them without a single complaint.

She stumbled through the apartment, every corner revealing another silent testament to his love. Folded laundry sat neatly on the couch, a stark contrast to the usual clutter. Her work papers, once scattered across the dining table, were now organized into neat stacks on her desk, a laptop charger coiled beside them - fully charged, a silent reassurance.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. How could she have been so blind? He'd become an invisible pillar, supporting her life while his own needs went unnoticed. Grabbing her phone, she dialed his number, her heart pounding in her chest. But there was no answer, only the cold, impersonal voice of voicemail.

Panic twisted into a knot in her stomach. She couldn't wait. She threw on a jacket, her phone clutched in her hand as she sprinted out the door. His favourite park, their usual coffee shop, all flashed through her mind, rejected one after another. Where would he go?

Suddenly, a memory surfaced. A conversation weeks ago, about a quiet spot by the river he'd discovered during training. With renewed hope, she hailed a cab, directing the driver to the location.

It was a small clearing, a patch of green tucked away from the city's bustle. As she approached, a choked sob escaped her lips. Daniel sat on a weathered bench, head buried in his hands, his broad shoulders slumped. Even from a distance, she could see the tremor that ran through him.

The river shimmered in the fading light, casting a golden sheen on the tears that streamed down Y/N's face. Daniel sat beside her, a tense silence stretching between them, broken only by the gentle gurgling of the water. Finally, Y/N broke the quiet, her voice thick with emotion.

"Daniel, I..." she started, her voice catching. "I don't even know where to begin."

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. The vibrant blue of his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, was clouded with hurt.

"You could start with an apology," he said, his voice low and controlled.

Y/N flinched. "I am apologizing, Daniel. From the bottom of my heart. I was so caught up in work, in this damn deadline, that I completely lost sight of everything else. I neglected you, ignored your needs, and for that, I am truly sorry."

A bitter laugh escaped Daniel's lips. "Sorry doesn't quite cut it, Y/N. You weren't just a little busy. You were completely absent. Remember all those cancelled dinners? The calls I practically had to beg you to answer? The constant feeling that I was just an inconvenience in your schedule?"

Y/N's head hung low, the weight of his words crushing her. "I know," she whispered. "I have no excuse. I just… work became this monster, this all-consuming thing that stole everything from me, including my ability to see what was right in front of me."

"And what exactly was in front of you, Y/N?" he asked, his voice laced with a barely suppressed anger. "Because all I saw was a woman who didn't have a single moment to spare for the man who loves her."

Shame burned in Y/N's gut. "No, that's not true. You… you're the most important person in my life. You're my best friend, my confidante, the person I want to share everything with. But I let work come between us, creating a wall I didn't even realize I was building."

Daniel remained silent, his gaze unwavering. Y/N reached for his hand, but he pulled away, a flicker of pain crossing his face.

"You know," he began, his voice tight, "the worst part wasn't the missed dates or the cancelled plans. It was seeing you come home exhausted, glued to that laptop, barely acknowledging my presence. It made me feel invisible, like I didn't matter."

Y/N's heart ached. The image of him, sitting alone at the dinner table she never made it to, fueled the fire of shame within her.

"I see that now," she choked out. "And the truth is? You do matter, Daniel. More than anything. You're my rock, my anchor, the sunshine that makes my world brighter. I was just… so foolish to take it all for granted."

"Love shouldn't be taken for granted, Y/N," he said, his voice softening slightly. "It needs nurturing, attention. It needs to be a two-way street."

Y/N nodded, tears pooling in her eyes. "I understand that now. And I'm willing to put in the work, Daniel. To make things right. To show you just how much you mean to me."

He looked at her, a flicker of hope fighting its way through the pain in his eyes. "Actions speak louder than words, Y/N. Can you prove it?"

"Yes," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "I'll prove it every single day. I'll set boundaries with work, prioritize our time together, and be the partner you deserve. I won't let my career overshadow our love."

Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It won't be easy, Y/N. Trust takes time to rebuild."

"I know," she agreed. "But I'm willing to put in the time, as long as you are."

Silence fell again, but this time, it was different. It wasn't a tense gap, but a space for contemplation, for a shared breath.

Finally, Daniel reached for her hand, his touch gentle but firm. "I… I want this to work, Y/N. But I need you to understand, if this happens again, if work takes over once more, then I can't keep going down this same path."

Y/N squeezed his hand tightly. "I understand. It won't happen again. I promise."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the river, a fragile hope blossomed between them. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with open communication, a commitment to change, and the unwavering flame of love.

The last rays of the sun painted the river a fiery orange, mirroring the burning intensity in Daniel's eyes. Y/N held her breath, waiting for his answer, the weight of her apology heavy in the air.

Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the burden of weeks, Daniel reached out. Not for her hand, but for her. He pulled her close, engulfing her in a hug that spoke volumes more than any words could.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, his hold a mixture of relief and lingering hurt. Y/N buried her face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body a sudden comfort.

"Just… don't do it again, alright?" he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Work will always be there, but you… you're irreplaceable."

Y/N nodded, tears soaking into his shirt. "Never again, Daniel. I promise."

He loosened his grip slightly, tilting her head back to look at him. His eyes, the color of a summer sky after a storm, were still troubled, but a flicker of forgiveness danced within them.

"You scared me, Y/N," he confessed, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. "The thought of losing you… it was unbearable."

A choked sob escaped her lips. "I love you, Daniel. More than words can say. Don't you ever doubt that."

He cupped her face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "I know you do," he whispered, his voice husky. "And that's why this matters so much. Because I love you too, Y/N. More than racing, more than anything in this world."

He leaned in then, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with forgiveness, with a renewed promise, and most importantly, with a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger.

As they pulled apart, foreheads resting together, a gentle breeze ruffled their hair. The setting sun cast an orange glow on their intertwined figures, a symbol of a new beginning, a love story rekindled with the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

[alizayildiz]

Announcement: I don’t know who sent me a request bc it was anonymous but girl if you see this I misse posting too. But my exams are over and I’m back on posting regularly. I have to write a few requests on Wattpad and I’ll upload them on tumblr too!

This one is especially made for you!

Summary: Kenan’s thinks you can’t come to watch his important football game due to both of y’all’s schedules. However you manage to surprise him.

„Miss Yildiz, what a beautiful surprise that you showed up" Coach Montella spoke as he pulled me into a hug.

I don't know since when but it's gotten into a habit that everyone calls me by Kenan's last name. Not that I mind it, I quite enjoy it and to be honest Kenan does too.

Yildiz.

"Well, I try my best to support you guys" I speak as Coach Montella and I walk towards the VIP Lounge of the Allianz Stadium in Berlin.

After the Turkish National Team won 3:1 against Georgia they now play against Czechia. Normally they would play against Portugal but something came up with them and now it's Turkey vs. Czechia.

And normally I would be in New York City right now having a photos shoot for Victoria's Secret. A massive brand with a good name.

But I decided to reschedule the photo shoot. It costed me many nerves and phone calls to reschedule it but in the end I managed to do so.

I wanted to support Kenan through this entire European championship and that didn't work from the beginning on.

Because I missed the opening match against Georgia, he even scored a goal. So now I try my best to make up for it.

Kenan has always been my biggest supporter at everything you do in life. So it's only fair that I'm his biggest supporter too.

As Coach Montella talks me through the details of  today's match I can't get my mind of the fact that Kenan's ex girlfriend Karlotta will be here too.

I absolutely despise that girl not only for what she has done to Kenan but also for that she has done to me.

„So five minutes before the game ends security will walke up with you to the pitch, is that alright ?" Montella speaks looking at me for an answer.

„Absolutely, yes, thank you" I speak smiling at Kenan's coach before the man leaves.

As I walk around the VIP lounge I make myself comfortable, one hour until the game stars and two hours till the game ends.

My outfit was simple but yet elegant, knowing that Kenan prefers if I walk around more elegantly than slutty.

After plugging my phone into the charger I open my Spotify playlist, good thing that these VIP boxes are sound proof.

Not so sound proof when Kenan fucks me in here though...

Opening the refrigerator I pull out a redbull and wash myself some fruits like strawberries and cranberries.

After placing them nicely on a plate I walk to the couch and let myself fall on it.

Gosh, sitting feels good.

I grab my iPad from my handbag and start to work online.

~

As planned I got done with everything I had on my to do list for today.

As I stood up I looked down at the pitch, the Turkish National team singing their national anthem.

Kenan was the tallest player in the team, he was also starting in the first eleven lineup. After finishing singing they positioned them for team pictures.

In the first one Kenan had the post serious face ever, probably because he thinks I'm in New York and not here at his game.

The second picture turned out more motivated, still his smile dropped instantly as the cameras got away from his face.

The Czech people took their time with their national anthem as well as with taking pictures.

While Kenan positioned himself on the pitch the Czech players waved as fans.

Kenan made a quick prayer and so did Arda and Hakan.

All three of them praying for good luck on the match.

During their prayers the commentators of the match called up the line up from both teams. First Czechia then Turkey.

I looked at the big screen and let a a high pitched yell as I saw Kenan's name on it. The stadium loosing it too as soon as they saw him.

Kenan looked up to the VIP box where I was sitting every few minutes, before and during the match.

It's like he knows I'm here. I know that he possibly can't even see me from down there but my gut feeling tells me he does.

Kenan has this gift to spot me whenever I am, he just feels my presence.

As the referee whistled the first half of the game started. Clearly Turkey had more dominance.

In minute 25 Bariș Alper Yilmaz scored.

Two minutes later Kenan scored.

The stadium went loud fans jumped up and down yelling his name. Kenan held up both his hand and then placed on his heart. Dedicating his goal to the Turkish fans.

Clapping both of my hands together I smile down at the football field.

With that Kenan breaks Cristiano Ronaldo his record. What a great success he achieved for his career.

I pull out my phone making photos of the remarkable moment.

Then seven minutes after Kenan scored Arda scores.

3:0 it stands.

Turkish fans are going wild while Czech fans are watching their team loose.

Coach Montella jumps up exited and kisses each of the three guys on their heads, hugging each of them.

Fifteen more minutes pass and then the first half ends. 3:0 for Turkey.

~

"Miss Yildiz, it's time to head to the field" the security guard spoke as he pulled me out of my thoughts.

I sept half break arguing with Karlotta and how she should just leave me and Kenan alone because she and he are in the PAST.

But what if they aren't, and he just lies to me ?

I gather myself following the security guard.

4:0 for Turkey, Hakan scored a goal in the second half which is about to end in exactly five minutes.

As we passed trough different VIP boxes and different hallways I finally was on the pitch.

Behind the barrier but close enough.

And like always it didn't even took Kenan more than thirty seconds to spot me.

He was on the other end of the field and immediately came up running towards me.

The referee had whistled a minute ago so the match was over.

As the cameras focussed on Kenan running towards you fans and commentators applauded at the two of you.

Kenan was not wearing his jersey anymore he pulled it off himself as a form of celebration, so did the rest of the Turkish national team.

Jumping over the barrier he pulled you into his arms giving you thousands of kisses on your forehead.

"Kenan" I chuckled between laughs.

"Did you watch the whole match ?" He asks out of breath.

"Yes Baby, and I'm beyond proud of you" with that Kenan pulls you into a kiss.

I didn't care if he tastes like sweat or even smells like it I just wanted to feels his lips against mine.

The fans going crazy loud even congratulating Kenan on pulling such a beautiful girl like you.

Kenan he let go of you.

"I love you, that's the best surprise you could ever do for me" not even letting me time to respond he crashed his lips on mine again, depending the kiss.

One of his hands had a firm grip on my jaw while his other hand travelled down to my lower back.

Totally worth rescheduling my photoshoot.

Fans were busy taking photos of the two of you and so were you and Kenan.

He's the biggest golden retriever boyfriend ever so he absolutely adores posing for pictures with you.

As he gave you a kiss on your forehead you closed your eyes enjoying the moment.

What a luck that your camera went off in that exact minute. The most wholesome picture ever of the two of you just got made by your phone.

A jealous Karlotta standing in the crowd, eyeing the two of you.

[snowysosturn]

Blowing Smoke - Matt Sturniolo

Pairing: y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n realizes her relationship with Matt has grown distant and hollow. After struggling to hold on, she sends a final goodbye message, accepting it's over. Trying to move on from a relationship while dealing with contrasting feelings of jealousy and freedom when thinking about Matt's new romantic interests.

Warnings: toxic relationship, breakup, jealousy

I sat on my couch, staring at the TV, but I wasn’t really watching. The soft flicker of the screen cast shadows across the living room, but the sound was muted. My phone was in my lap, the screen dim, notifications silent. I could still hear the last voicemail Matt left, the one I hadn’t been able to delete yet. His voice had been even, calm, like nothing was wrong. But I almost felt it echo in my apartment.

"Just wanted to check in. Miss you" he had said, the words almost mechanical.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the burning ache in my chest. The truth was, I wasn’t sure what he missed, because lately, it felt like we were just pretending everything was fine. The version of "us" I had built up in my mind had begun to unravel, but every time I thought of confronting it, I backed away, lying to myself that things would get better if I just waited.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, the weight of it all pressing down. I’d been holding onto something that was already slipping through my fingers.

The texts were sporadic now, and the calls even less frequent. Sometimes, when Matt did reach out, it felt like he was doing it out of obligation, out of some sense of duty to the version of us that used to be. I could hear it in his voice, the way his words lacked the warmth they once had, the way he filled the silences with meaningless chatter. There was no depth anymore. It was like we were both trying to keep up the illusion, neither willing to face what was actually happening.

I unlocked my phone and opened our iMessages. The last message was from a week ago. A simple "Sorry, busy this weekend." from Matt, with no explanation, no attempt to reschedule. I’d responded with an “okay” not wanting to push him. I knew he wasn’t busy. He just wasn’t bothered. But now, staring at that single word, I hated it. I hated how passive I had become. I had let this whole thing drag on for weeks, maybe even months, hoping at some point Matt would realise what we were losing.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Matt wasn’t going to change his ways. There was no more effort he was going to put into this. He brought so much baggage into our relationship, baggage I was willing to work through. But I can’t do it all for him. Sure, he might call or send a text now and then, but the emotional connection was severed. What we had before was gone, and I had been too scared to admit it.

It hadn’t always been like this. When we first met, things were easy. We clicked in a way that made me feel like I’d found someone who really understood me, someone who saw me for who I was. The late night talks, the spontaneous road trips, the quiet moments where we didn’t need to say anything at all. We spoke about our hopes and dreams, about our previous relationships, I opened up about how past partners have always seemed to let me down, and he took that opportunity to make me believe he would never do the same. I'd never felt so sure of something in my life. It fit the fantasy I always had.

But now? He just felt pretentious. Now it felt like I was constantly trying to reach him, but he was always just out of my grasp. Every time I tried to get him to open up, he’d brush me off with a joke, or worse, with silence. And the more he pulled away, the harder I tried to hold on. I was chasing something that no longer existed, and I was starting to hate myself for it.

I stood up, pacing the small space of my living room. I walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly, looking out at the empty street below. The night was still, the air thick with humidity. I wanted to scream, to shake Matt, to make him see that we couldn’t keep pretending anymore. But I couldn’t. Every time I had the chance to bring it up, I chickened out, afraid that if I said the words aloud, it would make everything real.

I wanted to believe that he thought about me, that he missed me, that he was just as torn up inside as I was. But with each passing day, it became harder to convince myself of that. The Matt I knew - the one who used to make me laugh until my stomach hurt, who sent stupid memes in the middle of the day just to make me smile, was gone. Or maybe he had never really been there, and I had just been seeing what I wanted to see.

I knew what I had to do, and hoped it wouldn’t hurt as much as I thought it would losing Matt, but losing the version of myself that had existed when we were together. I wouldn’t miss the girl who didn’t second guess every word, every action, who didn’t feel like she was constantly on the edge of falling apart.

I grabbed my phone again, my fingers trembling as I opened his contact. I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know what I wanted to say. But I needed to say something.

Hey. Can we talk? I typed, then stared at the message for a long moment before hitting send.

My heart pounded in my chest as I waited, staring at the phone like it might explode. The seconds dragged on, stretching into minutes. No reply.

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the familiar sting of rejection settle in. I tossed the phone onto the couch and sank down beside it, pulling my knees to my chest once more.

I wished I could tell him how I really felt. That I was terrified of losing him. That the thought of not being with him made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain. But I also knew that if I said those things, it wouldn’t change anything. Matt would still be distant, still slipping further away, and all my words would do was confirm what we both already knew: that this was ending, and neither of us had the strength to stop it.

Hours passed, the night slipping away as I lay on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. My phone buzzed, and I scrambled to grab it, my heart leaping into my throat.

But it wasn’t Matt. It was my best friend, Emma.

You up? the text read.

I stared at the message, debating whether to reply. I didn’t really feel like talking, but at the same time, I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts any longer. So I texted back a quick Yeah, what’s up?

A minute later, Emma’s name lit up my screen with an incoming call. I hesitated before answering, my voice thick as I spoke. “Hey.”

“Hey” Emma’s voice was soft, concerned. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you holding up?”

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m fine” I lied.

Emma didn’t buy it. “You don’t sound fine.”

I closed my eyes, the tears I’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “I just.. I don’t know what to do. Matt is pulling away, and I don’t think we can fix it. I keep waiting for him to come back, but he’s not. And I feel so stupid, like I’m the only one who still cares.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Emma spoke again. “You’re not stupid. You’re just.. human. You’re allowed to care. But you can’t keep blowing smoke, pretending like everything’s okay when it’s not.”

My chest tightened at her words. Emma was right. I had been blowing smoke, convincing myself that if I just waited long enough, if I was patient, Matt would come back. But deep down, I knew the truth. He was already gone.

“I just don’t know how to let go.” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“I know” Emma said softly. “But sometimes, letting go is the only way to stop hurting.”

After the call ended, I sat in silence, Emma’s words echoing in my mind. Maybe it was time. Time to stop pretending, stop holding onto something that wasn’t real anymore.

I picked up my phone again, my heart heavy as I opened Matt’s contact one last time. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and for a moment, I thought about typing out a long message, telling him how I felt, how much I missed him, how much it hurt to let him go.

But instead, I typed two words: Goodbye, Matt.

I hit send, then deleted his contact. It wasn’t closure. It wasn’t the ending I wanted. But it was the ending I needed.

I leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, the silence around me thick and heavy. I wasn’t okay yet, but I would be. I would stop blowing smoke, stop pretending that everything was fine.

I would learn to let go.

-

I stood in front of the mirror, pulling my hair into a loose bun, catching my own reflection in the dim bathroom light. Reflecting back on the last few weeks since I ended things with Matt,I had spent too many nights crying over him, too many sleepless hours replaying our last few months, trying to pinpoint the exact moment it all started to fall apart. But that was behind me now. 

I felt freer now. There was nothing left to hold onto, no reason to keep chasing after someone who had already made his choice. Matt had moved on, and if I was honest, so had I, at least on the surface. I bit the bullet, and it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Maybe that was because I had already felt the sting so many times before, watching him slip away slowly, his texts becoming more like formalities, his affection a ghost of what it once was.

But even though I had let him go, there was still that thought, one I couldn’t shake. It lingered in the back of my mind like a stain I couldn’t scrub out. The thought of him kissing someone else. I hated it. I hated the thought of his lips on hers, hated that I could picture it so clearly even though I’d never seen it happen. It was a wound that reopened every time I allowed myself to think about it. I had to tell myself this was all for the best, that eventually it would all make sense, but some part of me still cringed at the thought.

I wondered if he was with her now, trying to shake off the jealousy that curled around my heart like a thorny vine. I could picture it too clearly - him, standing in her doorway, while she lay on her bed waiting for him. I clenched my jaw. I’ve seen the pictures of her on Instagram, it made me wonder if she was just as pretty in real life. The thought hit me like a flash of cold water. I usually would never go searching for this new girl online, I never wanted to put myself through that kind of self-inflicted comparison, but this time I couldn’t help myself.

They don’t even strike me as two people who have much in common, what do they even talk about? That was the thing about Matt, he could fake it so well. He had a way of making you feel special, like you were the only one in the room, even if his mind was somewhere else. And I knew, deep down, that he wasn’t really in it with this new girl either. It wasn’t about connection. It was about a new thrill that allowed him to avoid the weight of everything he carried, the emotional baggage he was too scared to unpack.

But people always bought it. Matt had always had this way of shining, of standing out, even when he didn’t try. But his light wasn’t real. It was a reflection, bouncing off the surfaces of the women he charmed, hiding the darkness underneath. I knew what he was. I’d seen it. I knew how he pulled away when things got hard, how he used other people to bury his problems instead of dealing with them. I let out a soft sigh, I knew Matt was doing what he always did - running. Running up another hill, to another girl who he would put on a pedestal for a short time, who would help him hide from the pieces of himself he didn’t want to face. He wasn’t looking for love, he was looking for escape. I wondered how long it would last this time, how long before he felt the weight again and started drifting away from her too.

I leaned against the sink, staring down at my hands. I knew something the new girl didn’t. I knew everything Matt kept hidden, everything he’d tried to drown it behind his easy smile and surface level charm. I knew about the nights he couldn’t sleep, about the way he’d freeze up whenever things got too real, too close. I knew that no matter how far he ran, no matter how many women he kissed, he couldn’t outrun himself.

And that was the difference between me and him. While he's out sleeping around, I'm sleeping alone. And I’m completely fine with that. At least one of us is healing, and not drowning our sorrows on nights out, looking stupid. I thought bitterly, picturing him at some bar, flashing that bright smile at someone new, pretending like he had it all together, throwing himself at anything that’s got a pulse. The thought stung, but it wasn’t far from the truth. Matt wasn’t looking for something real anymore, he was looking for something easy, something that didn’t ask too much of him.

I smiled to myself, a small, bitter smile. I knew Matt. I knew he wasn’t as carefree as he liked to pretend. I knew eventually, he would think of me , late at night, when he couldn’t sleep. He’d think about the way he had left things unresolved, about the girl who had seen him for what he was and still loved him. He’d think about me, and he’d feel something, maybe not regret, but an emptiness that the new girl couldn’t fill. He’d feel the weight of it, even if he never admitted it to himself.

I shook my head, knowing that Matt was just going through the motions, letting this new girl believe she was special, letting her think she could be the one to fix him. But I knew better. I had been that girl. I had thought I could fix him too, thought I could be the one to make him stay. But Matt wasn’t someone who stayed. He was someone who drifted.

They’re just blowing smoke, I thought, brushing my hair back from my face. Like history repeating itself. I imagined the new girl’s friends, telling her how lucky she was to have found someone like Matt, how charming he was, how sweet. But it was all an illusion. They didn’t know him like I did. I know everything they don’t.

And that was my power now. I knew the truth. I knew that Matt wasn’t the perfect guy he pretended to be. I knew about the insecurities he hid, the emotional distance he couldn’t bridge. And knowing that, really knowing it, made it easier to move on. Because I could see him clearly now, without the rose tinted glasses I had once worn.

I stood up straight, looking at my reflection one last time. I wasn’t the girl who had fallen for Matt anymore. I wasn’t the girl who had waited for him to come back, who had spent nights wondering where she had gone wrong. I was stronger now. I had let him go for my own peace of mind, and for the first time in a long time, I felt free.

I turned off the bathroom light and walked into the quiet of my apartment, my footsteps light. Matt could keep running, keep searching for something that would never fill the void inside him. But I was done. I didn’t need to chase after someone who was always running away.

I knew the truth, and that was enough.

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss

[astralis-ortus]

everything will be okay

✱ a bang chan headcanon

— everyone deserves a chan in their lifes.

w.count → 0.4k genre → hurt/comfort warning → mentions of traumatic experiences, mild cussing, subtle mention of possible intoxication a.n → could be triggering, so please check in with yourself if you're in a good headspace before reading ⋆ see masterlist

wouldn’t it be nice to be chan’s friend?

sometimes he’d call you up just to show some random stuff he’d been working on, or maybe he’d tell you about something odd he came across just a while earlier that reminds him of you. sometimes it’s a simple voice call, but more often than not he’d facetime you even if it’s just a couple minutes long. he’d take the time you check up on you, because he knows what it feels like to be lonely and didn’t want his friends to ever feel the same way.

when he’s on break, chan would be sure to make up all the postponed and rescheduled game nights or short getaways he couldn’t tag in. he’d go through lengths to make sure everything is perfect; be it something as simple as foods, to something bigger like flight tickets and accomodation. after all, he wants everyone to be happy during the rare times he could spend with them—so when next time he again became the only one to miss out on all the fun, the lot wouldn’t forget to keep him up to speed and looked forward to the next time he could be there in person.

oh, don’t even start with birthdays. chan would make sure the presents he got you is the perfect fit for you. sometimes he’d just straight up ask what you wanted or need, but on the rare occasions he wanted to go the extra length (or maybe when you just refuse to take any presents from him), he’d definitely ask around your friend group to hear about any squeak of ‘oh i need to buy this’ or ‘damn i really wanted that thing’ you might’ve let slip within the past couple months. he'd want to make you feel the best on your birthdays, because he knew how terrifying it is to feel like hitting rock bottom on his birthdays.

as your best friend, chan wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything when you texted him you needed someone to talk to. he’d come over with sweets and ice cream because he didn’t want you to intoxicate yourself while you’re not even in your best shape, or if he’s not physically able to be there, he’d make sure to facetime you straight away while texting a couple other friends to physically drop by and check up on you. chan would be there and listen, because he knew how suffocating it is having to bottle everything up inside.

chan would be the best out of any friends you’ve ever had in your life,

hence,

when it’s your time to be there for chan,

no matter how big or small his worries might be,

you’d make sure to show up for him in a heartbeat.

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 22 || 675 Words || Read on Ao3 —

13 October 1986

“Did you always know you were going to marry dad?”

Harry’s talent for asking blunt questions was bound to land her here one day, but still, Lily finds herself momentarily frozen while putting away a host of dinosaur plushies. There’s a simple answer to this: Yes, of course I did! I’ve always loved him and I knew we’d live happily ever after!

But she was very opposed to lying to her child.

So instead, Lily gives her six-year-old son a small smile, putting the stuffed toys in the basket in the corner of their living room and crouching down to his level.

“Well, no,” she starts simply, looking for the words to be honest and simplistic at once. “Your dad and I didn’t really get along much for a long time.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Well…” Lily trails off, looking for a way to skirt around the truth of he was a bit of a bully. One day Harry would get the full picture with all the nuances, but those specific details seemed unneeded at the current time. “We were very different. We liked different things and different people.”

“Then when did you start to like each other?”

Her lips twitch up in the beginning of a smile. “Your dad says he liked me from the moment he saw me on the Hogwarts Express,” Lily tells him. “But I think that’s a load of dragon dung. We started dating in seventh year.” Again, a little bit of a fib, but their six-year-old doesn’t need to know about the five-month secret-relationship that predated their public relationship.

“Seven years?” Harry exclaims, dumbfounded. “But if dad liked you, why didn’t you like him back?”

“Oh, Harry,” she laughs, smoothing down his hair. “When you get older you’ll learn that people don’t make much sense, ever. Less so when there are feelings involved. Your dad and I became friends in sixth year and that helped me to really get to know him, and fancy him.”

“You didn’t like him at all?” He’s slightly horrified, and she feels a blush creep up her neck.

“If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell?” Harry nods vigorously, and Lily leans in. “There was a time—when we were in fourth year—where I fancied your dad something awful.”

“But then why—”

“Just because you like someone doesn’t mean you want to marry them. There was a lot going on at that time, and though I liked your dad, there were other people that I was better friends with, that I had known longer, and they were more important to me.” She shrugs. “But when I got older, I realized those people weren’t really my friends, and your dad was there to make me laugh and feel better, and I realized that we had more in common than I expected, and when we started being friends, it all just clicked into place.”

Harry’s silent, ruminating on all this information, and Lily rises to her feet, affectionately smoothing his hair down again. “So I didn’t always know, but once I let myself see it, I knew pretty quickly.”

“That sounds really confusing,” he decides, face scrunching up, and Lily can’t help but laugh.

“You have no idea, my love. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

Harry scrambles out of the room, and when Lily passes through the doorway to the kitchen, she’s surprised to see James leaning against the wall, a smug smile on his face.

“I thought you were doing dinner with the boys?”

“Remus has been powering through a splitting headache all day and Peter got called in for a surprise audit, so we’re rescheduling,” he explains with a half-shrug.

Lily nods, going over to inspect the bag of take-away James has brought home and placed on the counter. She keeps her voice light and unaffected. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pushes off the wall and comes to stand across the counter from her, the grin wider. “Longer than you’d like. Fourth year, huh?”

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Good Morning Hawkins I Have Dad!Eddie Munson Headcanons

Why are we as a society not talking about Stay At Home Dad Eddie?

I know we want our little domestic fantasies. But this man consistently says “fuck the system” every day. No forced conformity in this private domicile.

If you’ve got the drive to want to work after having the kid, he volunteers to stay home and take care of the baby.

Honestly, with his reputation it might be easier should you decide to stay in Hawkins because you’re the face of the relationship. It might actually be harder for him to find a job in town than it might be for you.

He also 100% cleans up his act, stops selling, and goes on the straight and narrow after having a kid. He doesn’t want baby reaching into cabinets and getting into things they shouldn’t get into.

He may still sell a little grass on the side, but he keeps it hidden in the van where little fingers can’t access it.

Eddie might not be the best housekeeper, but god dammit he tries. Like, he will genuinely try over and over to get things right even if it kills him. You don’t have to worry about weaponized incompetence with him.

He’ll start having favorite brands of cleaning products, favorite brands of formula and diapers, and he might get fussy if you bring the wrong ones home.

He’s a nerd. Plain and simple. He’ll be picking up Dustin in the van and taking little munchkin to the library to find any kind of book in relation to parenting, cooking, etc.

I can see Eddie actually becoming a very competent cook. He even makes the kid’s meals into fun little shapes for their lunchboxes.

Fun finger foods is his main staple when he’s not being Betty Crocker.

Literally does not care how he looks, he’ll push the most dolled up little stroller around Hawkins in broad daylight. He’ll wander out to Bradley’s in a polkadot apron and a pink baby sling. And when the kid is old enough to play salon with daddy, he’s gonna wander out in public with anything from pink scrunchies and glitter polish to a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack and magic marker on his face.

I can see Eddie being a little shit and purposely buying the most girly pink items for the baby when they’re little, no matter the gender.

He likes wearing pink in public. It pisses off the conservative parents who see him and the kid coming.

The only thing is you have to have a serious talk with him about is smoking around the kid, because Eddie’s one flaw may be that he’s got the propensity to be a cigarette mom. (It’s the late 80’s, and this was reality for a lot of older Millennials.)

So throw away his Camels and pay Dustin to tail him with a fire extinguisher.

Dustin is going to be Parent Number 3 in this relationship. I’m sorry but it’s reality.

Has absolutely no idea how to take care of a baby but is willing to learn.

Eddie would probably have to reschedule D&D nights with his buddies, because money would be hella tight now that the two of you have a little gremlin and one income. So you can’t exactly pay a sitter.

But he loves to make campaigns based on the stories he tells to the baby during bedtime.

RIP to y’all but once you have that baby, Uncle Wayne’s gonna refuse to let you and Eddie move out. He’s gonna change his work schedule too so he can spend time with the baby.

It would probably take a lot of overtime and a bit of Eddie’s extra side hustle, but the single wide is eventually going to get upgraded to a two bedroom double wide.

Uncle Wayne will insist on giving you, Eddie and the baby the master bedroom. Hell, he might even try to give the kid his bedroom.

Eddie is going to fucking refuse to let his uncle sleep in the living room of the new double wide.

Eddie might also become a little codependent on the kid. School will be a nightmare, because he’ll suddenly be alone in the trailer all day and chain smoke waiting for the kiddo to come home from school.

[piratefishmama]

Crashed the Wedding, Part1-3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Steve found himself tuning back into his forced nuptials at the sound of… what sounded like a gunshot, but then… surely not, right? Maybe he was imagining things, hoping for some kind of miracle to pop up and get him out of it, at least if something out of his control stepped in then maybe…

Maybe he’d be able to stall, maybe he’d be able to figure out a way to get around his father’s threats, but— no. Even he knew that was nothing but a pipe dream. His parents would get their way, regardless of random gunshots in Hawkins. He wouldn’t be able to run from it, wouldn’t be able to stall, they’d likely just reschedule for the next day, throw money at whoever had it booked up for the day to get them to move.

His parents were nothing if not resourceful.

Nobody else seemed too bothered by the sound, eyes on the reverend at the head of it all, currently blathering on about Corinthian’s 13 as if it had any right being part of the mockery of love that was that wedding, he almost laughed at the segment he’d tuned into.

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

Sure enough, it never ended, but… he let his eyes glance to his side, to the woman he didn’t know, or care for. Was its end relevant, if it’d never begun in the first place? How could love never ending be relevant to a loveless marriage? He had a love already, had let it slip through his fingers through some stupid self-appointed duty that was never his to carry.

Someone had to stay behind though. Who better than the one with no other path to take? The kids were all going somewhere all brilliant in their own fields, Nancy wanted Emerson, she wanted out of Hawkins, a life of journalism, seeking the truth of the world, Robin had followed her seeking her own love, promising to write, to call, she always fulfilled that promise.

He’d never been left completely alone, even if sometimes he felt like it.

And Eddie. God… Eddie. Where was he now? Probably writing some song in a tour bus or playing Dungeons and Dragons with the band in a hotel room during a rare moment of quiet, or hell, maybe he was just passed out in a bed somewhere, holding someone who wasn’t Steve. At least he’d be safe. His life, his career, everything Eddie had built for himself since leaving the hell hole that was Hawkins, would be safe.

If that meant he had to marry a woman he neither knew, nor loved, if that meant he had to live a life without love for himself, well… he’d take that sacrifice too. He just wished he could see him one more time, in person. Not on a TV screen, or in some magazine, although he’d collected each magazine Eddie had appeared in after leaving Hawkins for fame and fortune, nothing beat the real thing.

Nothing could beat that teasing smile in person, those chocolate Bambi eyes, the smell of leather, calloused, guitar string worn fingers skimming up and down his arm as he drifted off to sleep. Nothing on Earth or any other whacky dimension, could beat those simple things that only one person could give him.

“I now ask the Bride and Groom to stand facing one another with their hands intertwined.” He hadn’t bothered to write vows, he knew she hadn’t either, they’d gone with the simple, pre-written ones built into the ceremony. Facing her, seeing how much makeup she was wearing, her features manicured, not a hair out of place, sharp stormy eyes full of judgement and… boredom, she offered her hands; it took every ounce of his will power to take them. Too small, too dainty. He didn’t bother disguising the distain from his face. She paid no mind to it. “Steven Anthony Harrington, do you promise to love, honour, cherish, and respect Harriet Reid above all others, from this day forward until your very last day on Earth?”

“I—”

The doors swung open at the far end of the church, all eyes automatically turning toward the sound as it was followed by an amplified “I object” in a deep, familiar drawl that took Steve’s breath away close, but not nearly as much as the figure in that doorway. “Sorry m’late, sweetheart, traffic was a nightmare.”

Part 8

[formula-nyoom]

Hi! Can you do a simple sickfick comfort reader x platonic!charles. Having fever in the middle of holidays is NOT fun :((

A/N: Sorry this is really short, I couldn’t think of a lot of things to put into a sick fic.

Summer break was supposed to be the time where drivers could get some much needed rest relaxation. No need to think about racing, or media duties, it was vacation time! But with there now being a full month of no racing, your body decided that now was the perfect time for you to be home sick with a cold. 

It really wasn’t the perfect time to be sick, today especially since you were supposed to meet Charles for lunch at one of Monaco's many restaurants. But waking up this morning with a high fever and a constant cough, you ended up deciding it was best that you stay home and sent Charles a text saying you would have to reschedule. 

What you didn’t expect was for the Ferrari driver to show up at your front door in the middle of the day with a grocery bag and a face mask on.

 “Charles, what are you doing here?” You asked him as you stood in your doorway wrapped in a blanket. 

“We’re having lunch.” He said, lifting up the grocery bag and letting himself into your apartment. You were too tired to really mind Charles letting himself in.

 “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to get you sick.” You told him as you followed Charles into your kitchen.

 “I don’t mind. Plus we had made plans to get lunch together, and you being sick shouldn’t prevent that. I decided to bring lunch to you.” He said. Charles reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two to-go containers from the restaurant you were suppose to get lunch from. Charles handed one to you. It was filled with your favorite soup. 

 “You really didn’t have to.” You told him. Charles shrugged.

“But I wanted to.” Charles said, before directing you towards your living room. “Come. Let’s enjoy our food and watch a movie.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day on the couch, watching movies. While it wasn’t the rest and relaxation you expected to enjoy on your summer break, it was still a welcome way to spend your vacation. 

Charles did send you a text a day later.

Charles: Guess who has a fever.

(Y/N): I told you!

[catmask]

Been meaning to catch more of your streams because they're so fun and relaxing and inspire me to do art alongside you! but I have a question?? How on earth have you managed to keep a streaming schedule? (kudos!!!!) I've tried it a few times and after about a month of consistency I get so tired and drop off of it, do you get guilt about rescheduling? (saw some announcement from the other day and it was so communicative and professional) and, how do you measure your own levels of energy to know how long you can stream for? Some people are just Built Different but I don't hear it often talked about how being social like that can drain people, especially when popular streamers in this era are usually streaming all day every single day of the week! Honestly love your work and everything you do, from what you share we seem to have a lot of similar tastes and experiences so I was just curious if this was something you encountered, and if so would love to hear any routines or strategies you have, if you're comfortable doing so! :3

for one thing, this isnt my first time around the bend! i used to stream about four years ago to a much smaller audience, and i feel like that gave me a lot of experience that was useful now as a streamer. i was also still in college/working full time then, so it sort of gave me the like... 'if i stop now im going to sink and die like a shark' mentality about a LOT of my hobbies. art and streaming both.

i do fully understand the feeling of burnout, and with anything you do its important to develop a gage as to how tired you are to determine whether or not you need to reschedule. killling your momentum of doing something can often result in dropping the habit altogether, but at the same time you are a human being with needs so theres gonna be some days you have to just call it off.

my internal 'system' for sickdays/delays is 'if i cant fix the problem in an hour, its a sick day, and if i can its a delay. if i can fix the problem in ten minutes and im avoiding it, then i need to remember im gonna have a lot of fun after its fixed and get up off my ass'

sometimes that 'problem' was as simple as 'i got yelled at at work today and idk if i can handle being smiley and funny for people when i feel like shit', but reminding myself that i always felt better after i streamed was often enough to pull me out of that. if the problem was i was tired/felt like shit, id take a delay and prepare a dinner, shower, and sit down for a bit. then id generally feel okay enough and streaming was no problem!

its easy to beat yourself up for not maintaining a consistent schedule fr streaming when you start out, but the thing you should really be asking yourself is - did you take care of yourself, the streamer, so that consistency was possible? good food, good sleep, and alone time to relax are imperative to any public facing activity, especially something like streaming!

[rayisemo]

Webtoon comics I think are underrated.

Now, I just want to make it clear that when I say “underrated” I don’t mean as if it isn’t heard of or been read, just that it’s underrated in the sense that nobody talks about it, makes posts about it, fanfics, fan arts, etc.

…and if you haven’t read these then I highly recommend you do!!! It’s so worth it, trust! I’ll add in a little review too!

1. DEATH: Rescheduled (Thriller)

The story in short is about a world where you have the Kill Law, a law where you are legally allowed to kill one person a year, no consequences. However the “Penny” Kreyul and his friends disagree with the Kill Law and are going to put an end to it no matter what.

Death: rescheduled had me so captivated that I refused to sleep before I finished reading. I even spent money on this shit because it was so entrancing! My favourite episode was by far 66, it was so funny and it builds up ships and just pure wholesomeness of the group.

The characters all have great personalities, the story is amazing and omg the art is so beautiful. You’ll love it.

2. Sable Curse (Fantasy)

This story follows a young girl named Tarron, a girl who is cursed and will die in 6 months. Her (honestly abusive) parents decide to take her and her sister to a holiday retreat. There she ends up finding new friends, herself, potential love, and maybe even a cure for her curse. But as it turns out, she’s not the only one cursed either.

This story is amazing! The art is wonderful, the characters are perfect, some we hate, some we love. We learn throughout the story more about this curse, and even about this special holiday retreat. There is so much mystery to uncover and it is one of my favourite webcomics.

Now, I’ve heard that most people have actually read it, but I encourage that we make a proper fandom for this series!

3. Marionetta (Fantasy)

Two best friends decide to go out and visit the travelling circus. However after a while Julia’s best friend Kamille disappears. Julia is determined to find her again and hunts down the circus, where her best friend is now living. Julia is still going to bring her home and end up losing something very valuable. Her life. For this circus is for the dead. Now Julia has to uncover the true secrets behind the circus whilst still trying to bring her and Kamille home. Will she manage? Or will she have to kill Anthonn Gremminger to save her life?

When I tell you this webcomic is a roller coaster of emotions. There are plenty of ships to chase, characters to stan, and many theories to explore. I love this webcomic so bloody much and I was actually surprised that there wasn’t a lot posted about it.

This is such a cool and dark story, with lovely and cute art. I could talk about it for hours.

4. After School Activities For Unripe Apples (Drama)

A wholesome slow burn between Mi-ae and an old childhood friend, Cheol. When another year starts and Mi-ae needs to take school more seriously the son of the family friends shows up in her class, but now seen as Lucifer, a hostile boy who ends fights - but is that the boy Mi-ae remembers? Who she know knows and loves?

This is a cute, funny and entertaining webcomic. You would think that things would be so simple, however due to school, parents, and other issues the characters face of themselves and others, it is difficult to understand and accept your own feelings. This is exactly why I love this series so much, it’s relatable and adorable. We especially love Mi-ae.

There are a few fanfics out there, but honestly where is the love it deserves??

5. My universe (Romance)

Apart from the normal college life Hayeon lives, she has this special gift.. she can communicate with the universe. She ends up communicating with an alien, who she gives the name Ujun. They want to be able to actually meet each other, but alas that is nearly impossible. But imagine the surprise when Ujun ends up taking over the body of one of Hayeons classmates, and crush, Hyeonsu. Now they must figure out a way to send him back whilst still spending some time together. However the peacefulness and secrets can’t be kept as the aliens are taking over. What will Hayeon do now? And can she even trust Ujun anymore?

Now this story deserves its own universe fr. The art is super cute as is the story, however things get more complicated as the story progresses. When I was still reading this the first thing I would do in the morning is read the next episode as soon as I got the daily pass because it was so good! Obviously I’m not going to spoil the ending, however the waves of emotions this series brings you is inhuman.

All in all it’s a fantastic webcomic that deserves so much love and attention!

6. Stray Souls (Fantasy)

In a world of magic and string weaving, some are fortunate and some are not. Eylin isn’t particularly good at string weaving, however that doesn’t stop her and her friends from stopping the wicked and doomed Amethyst King. Follow along the difficulty journey with friendship, love, and a whole lot of mystery. But what is it all worth in the end?

Holy moly this story is AMAZING. The plot is genius and the art is fantastic, the characters are so original and all have such amazing personalities!! Although, it’s a bit hard to keep track of them all😭 still love them all.

All in all it’s so amazing and has so much potential to be incredibly popular, yet there is no fandom!? Give it attention!!

7. Spirit Fingers (Drama)

Adorable Amy Song is incredibly self conscious and insecure. She has no support and no confidences, however after stumbling upon an art club drawing each other and their wacky poses - she ends up becoming their model too. After meeting a cute guy and getting his number she enters the group herself! This group accepts her with love and so much care, and she finally starts to feel more confident in herself and her art! She might even get a boyfriend!

This is quite literally the cutest and most heartwarming webcomic I’ve read in a while. And there is no one talking about it!!’ It’s been around for sooooo long too!!! When I tell you I cry, and laugh, and smile so hard at every chapter!! If you love a heartwarming, coming of age, and found family comic - then this is perfect!! And the art is beautiful!! It’s a perfect read for artists!!

Miss Amy is literally so relatable for those who don’t feel very pretty or have any sorts of insecurities regarding looks or academics. It’s a beautiful, long, and mostly free (if you’re fine with ads) comic, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever found.

Now! So far this are all the webcomics that come to mind! I think all of these are great and I just know that so many more will enjoy these if they gave them a chance.

I’d love to talk about these with other people, and I’d even love it if others would like to share some webcomics they believe are underrated too.

All of these comics are from Webtoon, and are so worth your time! Please let me know if there was anything I missed.

(I might add more in the future 😉)

Edit: sadly the pictures are now a little awkward and too big for my liking… but I hit the limit of 10 pictures 😔🙏

💗- Anyways lots of love!