#this kind of thing is not meant for people like me

[tsunodaradio]

romance isn't dead ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 you and oscar have a privacy sign on the door. (and on your whole world.)

♫ starring: oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader. ♫ word count: 1k. ♫ includes: fluff, romance. established relationship, hint 🤏 of suggestiveness. @binisainz requested paris by taylor swift. ♫ commentary box: the people.. they yearn for oscar piastri.. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

xoxo, gossip girl 🤫 tracksidetea #OscarPiastri spotted in 🗼 right after the Belgium GP! He finished a comfortable P4 today; wonder where he'll be celebrating. xo 🗨 45 ↻ 95 ♡ 1.8K

user1 Replying to tracksidetea does anyone else find it kind of odd that he went all the way from belgium to paris?? like that's THREE HOURS. ariana what are u doing here

user2 Replying to tracksidetea Petition to leave drivers alone!!! You do you Oscar sweetie!!! 🧡

user3 Replying to tracksidetea ok but i can name a thing or two that oscar and i can do in paris

There’s a ‘Please Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.

Oscar may be bone tired, but the sight of it puts a small smile on his face. He swipes his key card against the sensor. A low buzz, the sound of a click. The door unlocks; Oscar pushes it open. 

He’s not surprised to find that none of the lights are on. It’s one of your little quirks. You don’t like being wasteful of electricity, even if you’re in a four-star hotel with enough power to launch a rocket to the moon. 

But then he hears the soft sound of your breathing. Okay, so maybe the lights are out because you’re asleep. 

He toes off his shoes before padding further into the room, his steps quiet against the carpeted floor. Sure enough, you’re sprawled out on the queen-size bed— the sheets tangled around your middle, the television still playing some long-forgotten romcom. The latter gives Oscar the impression you hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and his suspicion is affirmed when he sees how your phone is still dangling precariously in your hand. 

He’s close enough to see the glare of his unanswered texts on your Notification Center. The ones that declare heading home to you now, baby and stuck in a bit of traffic, I’m sorry and do you want me to grab dinner or are we just getting room service? 

By the second text that’d gone unanswered, he had figured you were either enjoying the tub or knocked out. As he ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, he’s just a little pleased to see the residual soap in the tub. 

Oscar likes being able to read you like a book. Likes knowing you like the back of his hand. 

He goes through the motions of his evening routine. He makes it a point to pull open the blinds, though, because he’s already preempting what you might ask for if you’re roused. 

Really, Oscar tries his best. He doesn’t want to wake you. He’s sure you’re tired, sure you spent the entire day fretting and praying over his race. 

But he can’t help himself. He can never help himself when it comes to you. 

He rests an arm over your middle, gently tugging your back into his chest. He thinks okay, that’s enough, until he’s burying his face into your hair and taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo. And then it’s decidedly not enough, so Oscar has to press a chaste kiss to the side of your neck. 

Maybe two. Or three. Four, for good measure.

You make him so greedy. 

Oscar has moved on to planting kisses on your shoulder when your voice, thick with sleep, snaps him out of his mindless ministrations. “Have you eaten dinner?” 

There are so many things you could say and concern yourself with, but that’s the first thing on your mind.

“No,” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s already so close anyway; his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Not hungry.” 

“You’re always hungry after races.” The way you say it, too— like it’s a fact, like all the years you’ve known him have made him known to you in every way, shape, and form. 

“Not tonight,” he says against your skin. 

It’s a bold-faced lie. He could go for something to eat, but that would mean letting go of you. Something so unimaginable in the grand scheme of things.

He snuggles a little closer, presses his face in the crook of your neck. You’re half-asleep as you converse with him, but he addresses you like you’re completely lucid.

“Was the drive bad?”

“A bit.” 

“What did you tell your team?” 

“That I was tired and I wanted to head back to my hotel.” 

“You’re not missin’ out on anything?” 

“Never.” 

He probably is. 

Oscar can imagine the night out everybody might be having in Belgium. It’s never really been his scene— the flashing lights, the thumping music, the free-flowing alcohol. This is more like his speed. Pockets of peace with you. 

There was boon and bane to a private relationship. Oscar couldn’t post about you to his social media, couldn’t have you trackside to his races. For the most part, he liked to think the pros outweigh the cons. 

His eyes flit to the clock at the bedside table. 11:39 PM. 

“Are your eyes open, baby?” he gently asks. 

You respond with a hum of ‘mhm’, which probably means ‘no’. Chuckling, Oscar ghosts his fingertips over your stomach until you’re squirming in his hold. 

“Stop,” you whine. “That tickles.” 

“Come on, baby,” he urges. “Open your eyes for a bit. You don’t want to miss this.” 

“I’ll see it tomorrow.” 

“We won’t be here tomorrow.” 

“You’re so—” 

“Baby. Look.” 

It’s one of those moments where Oscar just has to trust you’ll listen to him. He feels your head tilt backwards just so, giving him the impression you’ve peeled your eyes open to do as he asked. 

Just in time, too. 

It’s the cliché of all clichés. The golden glow of the Eiffel Tower gives way to a dazzling sparkle, the light show stark against the inky night sky. 

He can’t see your expression with the way your head is turned away and the room is still mostly dark. But he feels everything. Your breath hitching in your chest. Your fingers curling around his. And he’d bet money, too, that you’ve got the sweetest smile on your face. 

Oscar fights the urge to lean over and check. He contents himself with instead imagining your grin, with holding your joy in the palms of his hands. 

He’d do it all again— three-hour drives, overpriced hotel rooms, keeping this secret from the entire world— if it meant having you here, soft and sleepy and so, so his. 

“That was so pretty,” you sigh. “Now let’s go to sleep.” 

A low laugh rumbles through Oscar’s chest. “All that money to get you the perfect room,” he teases, “and you want to go to sleep?”

You grumble something inaudible before turning around. Finally, Oscar thinks to himself. He squints in the darkness until he can make out the shape of your face— a shadow in front of Paris’ most iconic landmark. 

He’s busy tracing your features with his gaze. It’s why he misses the way you tilt forward, drowsily slotting your lips against his.

Oscar is so in love he thinks he might stop breathing. ⛐

[verdancy-hime]

You gotta send people recreational emails.

They're fun.

Write a little story back and forth.

Send them little vignettes about your day.

It protects you from meaningless emails to write little letters to your friends that say

"I saw a news story about an apartment building in the Bronx today. They were without heat for almost a month. The landlord wouldn't return their calls. All those space heaters were a fire hazard, I guess. The facade on the building was crenulated brick, old. Not even stained from the flames licking the windows. Arcs of water glittered against the red night. It was like a painting. I wanted to divide the grainy pixilated news station video into squares, like you do in art class, and tape them all up and paint each square one by one. I wanted it to look like everything was made of blocks. High contrast red and soft brown and deep blue. I wanted to paint it with a Gouache, but I wanted a makeup sponge on a stick. The kind you used to get in old eyeshadow. Nice squared off sharp angled tip. But it takes a while to notice. Use tape but not to leave space. Just so it looks like it's a paused frame. With the red and blue lines underneath like on television, but make them out of holographic something. No words. Just sharp. So it hurts to look at them. I wanted to imagine people walking past it and never seeing it on the wall. Like it didn't exist. I want to imagine one day there will need to be a plaque on the wall to explain what it meant."

Be more stupid and pretentious.

Send people things like

"I wish there was a lamp I could wear as a hat. And I could pull the chain to change the colors, and everyone could see things like 'Distract me today. Let's talk about you. I can't talk about myself. Don't ask me how I am. I will talk and talk and talk and it will just weigh you down. It won't make either one of us feel better. Let me be selfish. Let me make you smile. Let me bask in your light for a while.' Or "I know what you are and I see your little game and I hate you and I want you to have a seizure. I am going to pull this chain so hard and so fast it leaves marks on my palm all day. Red and angry. Blue and violet like bruises. I will not play along. I will not pretend. Let's bring it all to the surface. Let me look you in the eye. You're afraid. I know you are. You are playing in my face. Lay your cards out. You know you will lose. That's why you won't.' I wish I could leave the light on until it made that low soft buzz that reverberates in your bones like a cat's purr."

Someone will send you back emails like that.

my least favourite turn based strategy game is email

[elikajinnie]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon X Human!Reader (Recommended age 18+)

Requested by: @doudouhoon -> request

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Supernatural Elements, Hypnosis, Mature Content, Obsession, Feral Behaviour, Chasing, Blood Consumption, Suggestive Content, Stalking, Murder, Possessive Behaviour.

Wordcount: 10.4k

Synopsis: Life was going smoothly—graduation was on the horizon, and your future seemed set. That is, until the new exchange student arrives. Stunningly handsome and impossible to ignore, he quickly leaves you both captivated and uneasy. Soon, strange occurrences follow. Objects move when you're not looking, whispers fill the air, and at night, you swear you see a pair of glowing red eyes and a set of sharp teeth watching you from the shadows.

a/n: nosferatu ass.... im just kidding! please read the request before commencing!

now playing: the vampire masqurade by peter gundry | bring me to life by evanescence | judas by lady gaga | kill of the night by gin wigmore | haunted by isabel larosa | kiss me you animal by burn the ballroom

True love wasn’t something you believed in—not in this generation, at least. The idea that two souls were meant for each other, so deeply intertwined that they would do anything for one another and never love another? Yeah, right. People these days didn’t know the meaning of love. They were more interested in body counts.

That’s why, every time you watched an old movie where lovers were so consumed by each other that they would sacrifice everything—sometimes even their own lives—you couldn’t help but feel like you were born in the wrong era. The devotion, the passion, the kind of love that wasn’t afraid to burn bright and destroy anything in its path—that was what you longed for. And yet, in stark contrast, your phone would light up with another message, another boy asking you something inappropriate, something empty, something that only reinforced the view of a world that had forgotten what love was supposed to be.

So you were never interested in finding a relationship. Even now, as you were finishing your years at college, you never looked into dating, choosing instead to focus on your studies. It wasn’t that you were incapable of love—you just hadn’t found anything worth your time.

You watched your friends fall in and out of relationships, some getting their hearts broken over people who never deserved them in the first place. You listened to them cry over boys who barely remembered their favorite color, who only seemed to care when it was convenient for them. And you? You refused to be part of that cycle. You had more important things to do than entertain the idea of a half-hearted love.

The only love you entertained was the love from your fantasy romance books—emphasis on the fantasy part. The love stories within those pages were different. They all made reality seem unbearably dull.

It was the kind of love that made your heart ache, not because you had never experienced it, but because you knew you never would. Not in this world.

You would spend nights curled up with a book in your hands, losing yourself in tales of knights vowing their lives to the ones they loved, of immortal beings waiting centuries just for a single touch. You devoured every word, every aching confession. Because in those stories, love was sacred. It wasn’t something people tossed aside when they got bored.

Reality, on the other hand, had never given you anything close to that. Real love—if it even existed—seemed watered down, temporary. A series of situationships, and eventual disappointments. It was nothing like the slow-burn intensity you read about, nothing like the soul-deep connections that had you believing two hearts could truly beat as one.

So you didn’t really expect anything close to love during the rest of your time in college. You had long accepted that romance, at least the kind you dreamed of, wasn’t meant for you.

Love—real, all-consuming love—was a fantasy. And you were done chasing fantasies.

But life had a cruel sense of irony.

Because in what world would something straight out of a fairytale come to life?

Apparently, in your world.

At first, you didn’t suspect anything peculiar about him. He was just another student, another presence in a school filled with people you barely paid attention to. But the more you saw him, the more you noticed. And with that noticing came something else—something strange.

Park Sunghoon. The new student who appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the semester, walking into class like he owned the air around him. He was cold-looking, unreadable, his expression carefully blank as if he had already seen everything this place had to offer and wasn’t the least bit impressed. The type of guy who could sit in the back of the class, say nothing, and still have half the room sneaking glances his way.

You didn’t think much of him at first. Just another student. Just another stranger you’d never utter a word to.

Right?

Yeah. No.

Because, as it turned out, Sunghoon had no plans of leaving you as just another face in the crowd.

You weren’t sure when it started. The way he always seemed to be around, even when you swore you were alone. The way your name rolled off his tongue so easily, as if he had known you for much longer than a few weeks. The way his eyes—cold and indifferent to everyone else—would soften, just barely, when they landed on you.

And then there were the other things. The strange things.

Like how you could’ve sworn you saw him somewhere one night, only for him to act like he had never left his dorm the next day. Like how, when you nearly slipped on the stairs, something unseen had steadied you before you could even react—only for Sunghoon to be standing at the bottom, watching.

Like how he always seemed to know things he shouldn’t.

It was eerie. It was unsettling.

But what was worse was that no one else seemed to notice.

To everyone else, Sunghoon was just the mysterious new guy, someone to admire from afar but never get too close to. He was quiet, reserved, uninterested in making friends. A mystery wrapped in sharp eyes and an even sharper jawline.

But to you? He was something else.

Because it wasn’t just that he always seemed to be around. It wasn’t just that he knew things he shouldn’t.

It was the way he looked at you—like he was waiting for something.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

You tried to ignore it, brushing off the odd feelings, convincing yourself you were overthinking. But then the coincidences started becoming harder to ignore.

Like the time you were walking home late, your footsteps echoing against the empty streets, only to feel a presence behind you. You turned around—nothing. But the air felt heavier, like someone had been there just a second before. And when you finally made it home, locking the door behind you, your phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

"You shouldn’t walk alone this late."

Your heart had nearly stopped.

And then there was the time you were in the library, absentmindedly flipping through one of your favorite fantasy books. You barely noticed when someone sat across from you, but when you looked up, Sunghoon was already staring, his eyes scanning the page in front of you.

"You like stories like this?" he asked, his voice smooth, but there was something else in it.

You hesitated. Why did it sound like he already knew the answer?

"Yeah," you replied cautiously. "Why? Do you?"

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I guess you could say I have some experience with stories like these."

You didn’t know what he meant. Not then.

But soon, you would.

And by then, it would be too late.

Because Sunghoon wasn’t just another student. And he wasn’t just another presence in your life.

He was something else.

You never usually went out at night alone.

Stories on the internet, headlines on the news—they had done a good job of making you paranoid. You weren’t careless. You always had a companion, always stuck to a group, or at the very least, made sure you were in a vehicle when heading home.

But tonight?

Tonight, you weren’t so fortunate.

You were alone.

Your phone was hanging on to life by a thread, the battery percentage blinking in warning. You were still a bit of a walk away from your place, the streets quieter than they should’ve been. It wasn’t that late, but late enough for the usual crowds to have disappeared, leaving behind only shadows stretching long beneath flickering streetlights.

The night had started off fine—you hadn’t even planned to drink much. Just a simple outing with friends, a way to destress. But things hadn’t gone as expected. An argument, some misunderstandings, people leaving in different directions. And now, here you were.

Alone.

You glanced down at your phone, debating whether to risk what little battery you had left and call an Uber. Or a friend. Or even your dormmate—anyone who could come pick you up.

Your fingers scrolled desperately through your contacts, trying to make the most of your dwindling charge. But in your frantic searching, you failed to notice something.

Somewhere between exiting the club and now, the usual crowd had faded. The sounds of laughter and music had dulled into silence. The familiar warmth of bodies brushing past you, the comfort of knowing you weren’t alone—gone.

And it was only when you finally looked up that you realized:

You had walked too far from the club.

The streets, once bustling with life, were now empty. The neon lights that had painted the sidewalk in warm hues felt dimmer, the distant hum of passing cars too far away to comfort you.

A strange chill ran down your spine.

Something felt wrong.

And then—

A presence.

You couldn’t see anyone. But you felt it. The undeniable weight of someone’s gaze pressing against you from the darkness. Watching.

Your breath caught in your throat as you gripped your phone tighter, your pulse beginning to race.

You weren’t alone anymore.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

Your fingers hovered over your phone screen, but suddenly, the numbers and names blurred together, your focus shifting elsewhere.

The air felt heavier. The kind of heaviness that wrapped around you like invisible hands, clawing at your nerves, making your skin prickle with unease. You didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t see movement, but the feeling of being watched was unmistakable.

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head.

Nothing.

Just an empty sidewalk stretching into the distance, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement, the only sound being the faint buzz of electricity.

Calm down. You were probably just imagining things. Your nerves were heightened because of the situation, your mind playing tricks on you.

Still, your gut told you to move.

Forcing yourself to shake off the paranoia, you tapped at your screen, pressing the contact of the first person you could think of. But before the call could even go through—

A sound.

Close.

Too close.

The distinct scrape of a shoe against concrete.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.

You spun around—again, nothing. The alley beside you gaped like an open mouth, dark and endless, but you saw no one. No shadow, no figure lingering beneath the dim streetlights.

And yet, the feeling of someone watching you remained.

Your breathing grew uneven as panic clawed its way up your throat. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you shoved your phone into your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly. You didn’t care about it anymore—you just needed to move.

Now.

Your feet hit the pavement hard as you turned away, breaking into a hurried pace. You didn’t dare look over your shoulder, didn’t want to see if someone was there. The weight of an unseen gaze still clung to you, making your skin crawl, but you refused to stop.

You just had to get out of here.

The street stretched endlessly ahead, but it felt wrong. No people, no noise, just the emptiness pressing in from all sides. You swallowed hard, your breath coming in uneven gasps.

And then—

A whisper of movement. Not from behind this time.

From ahead.

Your instincts screamed at you to get on the main road. To disappear before whatever was watching you decided to make itself known.

Without thinking, you turned sharply into an alley, the dimly lit path offering an escape—except you didn’t get far.

Because the moment you rounded the corner, you slammed into someone.

Hard.

A gasp tore from your lips as your momentum sent you stumbling backward. But before you could hit the ground, strong hands caught you.

Your breath hitched.

The grip around your waist was firm, steady. And when you looked up, your heart nearly stopped.

Sunghoon.

His face was inches from yours, his cold, unreadable eyes locked onto you. The lights from the street barely reached the alley, casting shadows across his sharp features, but even in the dimness, he looked impossibly composed.

Like he had been waiting for you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden closeness, the way his hands hadn’t let go yet.

And then, finally, he broke the silence.

"Why are you running?" His voice was quiet, smooth, like he already knew the answer.

Your throat felt dry. Your mind was still spinning from the lingering fear, from the thing you had felt watching you.

"I—" You swallowed. "I thought… someone was following me."

Sunghoon’s grip on you tightened just slightly before he exhaled, his expression unreadable.

"You’re not wrong."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"What—" you started, but he was already moving, already shifting his body just enough to glance over his shoulder. His gaze flickered toward the empty street behind you, his jaw tensing.

"You shouldn’t be out this late," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And then his eyes met yours again.

"Come with me."

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And somehow, you knew—refusing wasn’t an option.

Your body tensed. Every instinct screamed at you to question him, to demand an explanation, but the way Sunghoon looked at you—the way his gaze was sharp—made the words die in your throat.

"Come with me."

He wasn’t asking. And somehow, deep down, you knew he had a reason.

Your heart still hammered from the chase—or whatever that was. The feeling of being watched hadn’t disappeared, but standing here with Sunghoon, something shifted. It wasn’t gone, but it was different.

Like whoever—or whatever—had been following you wasn’t as eager to approach now that he was here.

Your breath caught. Did he know?

Sunghoon didn’t give you much time to think. His fingers tightened briefly around your wrist before he let go, turning on his heel.

"We need to move," he muttered, already walking.

You hesitated for half a second, but then another wave of unease crashed into you, the prickling sensation of a gaze making the hairs on your arms stand.

So you followed.

The alley stretched into a maze of turns and side streets, leading you farther from the club, farther from where you thought you should be. You tried to memorize the path, but Sunghoon moved too quickly, like he already knew exactly where to go.

"Where are we going?" you finally asked, your voice hushed but urgent.

"Somewhere safer."

"Safer from what?"

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

You gritted your teeth, frustration creeping in. You had no idea why you were listening to him, why you were blindly following someone you barely knew through empty backstreets in the dead of night. But something about his presence, his certainty, kept you moving.

Eventually, he stopped in front of what looked like an old bookstore—one of those places you never really noticed, tucked between taller buildings, its windows dark and uninviting at this hour.

Sunghoon pulled open the door, glancing at you expectantly.

"Inside."

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. The street behind you was empty. Too empty.

Your fingers curled into fists as another cold shiver ran through you.

Whatever had been watching you earlier… it was still there.

Without another word, you stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, and with it, the heavy feeling of being hunted finally lifted.

But when you turned to face Sunghoon, you found him watching you carefully, as if you were the mystery, searching for something beneath your skin that even you didn’t know was there.

"Where are we?" you pressed, stepping closer. "Where did you bring me"

But he didn’t answer.

His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t even look like he was considering responding. Instead, he simply turned away, his attention flickering toward the door, as if waiting.

Irritation bubbled up inside you. After everything—the fear, the chase, the unanswered questions—he was just going to ignore you?

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your arms as another chill ran down your spine.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to give you answers, you’d just figure things out yourself.

Your gaze wandered to the window. The streets outside were still. The emptiness from before hadn’t changed—no people, no movement, nothing but the glow of streetlights.

Had you imagined it? The feeling of being watched, of something lurking just beyond your sight?

Your fingers curled slightly as you turned back toward Sunghoon, ready to demand an answer again—

But he wasn’t there.

You blinked.

The space where he had been standing just moments ago was completely empty.

Your heart stuttered.

You whipped your head around, scanning the dark bookstore, expecting to see him a few steps away, maybe wandering between the bookshelves.

But there was nothing.

No sound.

No sign that he had moved.

Nothing.

Your pulse quickened. How? How had he disappeared so silently? The store wasn’t that big—you would’ve heard his footsteps, the creak of a floorboard, something.

And yet, he was just… gone.

A lump formed in your throat.

This was wrong.

This whole night had been wrong.

But before you could turn back toward the door, before you could even think about stepping outside, something inside you—something deep, something instinctual—shifted.

It wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t panic.

It was a pull. A whisper in your bones.

Move deeper into the store.

You hesitated, glancing toward the rows of bookshelves stretching into the dimly lit space. The deeper you looked, the darker it became, the light from the front windows barely reaching past the first few aisles.

Logic told you to leave.

But something else—something stronger—urged you forward.

And before you could stop yourself, your feet started moving.

Your steps echoed softly against the wooden floor as you moved past rows of towering bookshelves. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to turn around and run out of this cursed place. But your body? It refused to listen.

It was like you were being guided, dragged forward by some invisible thread pulling at your very soul.

Your breathing quickened as you passed worn-out seating areas and dusty reading nooks, the air growing heavier the deeper you went. You tried to force your feet to stop, but they kept moving, like you were trapped in a dream where no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t wake up.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you rounded another corner, stepping into an aisle far darker than the rest, the towering shelves casting deep shadows that seemed to swallow everything whole.

Your footsteps slowed as you reached the end of the aisle, stepping into a section that felt… different.

The books lining the shelves weren’t like the others. Their spines were darker, older, some bound in cracked leather with gold lettering that had long since faded. And the titles...

Legends of the Undead. Bloodlines of the Eternal. The Shadowed Ones.

The supernatural.

Your breath hitched as you stepped closer, eyes scanning the books before a sudden thump echoed through the silence.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned toward the sound, your pulse hammering in your ears.

A book had fallen from one of the shelves, lying face up on the floor.

There was no draft, no reason for it to have moved.

And yet…

Something inside you whispered, urging you forward.

You swallowed hard but obeyed, stepping toward the book like you had no other choice.

The cover was worn, the edges tattered from age, but the image printed on it sent a strange chill through you.

A couple.

A woman with wide, longing eyes, and a man who stood behind her, holding her close. But his face—his features—were strikingly sharp. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and draped over his shoulders was a dark, flowing cape.

And then, you saw them.

His teeth.

Sharp, glistening.

Fangs.

Your stomach twisted as your fingers unconsciously tightened around the book.

A vampire.

Swallowing the unease clawing at your throat, you quickly shoved the book onto the nearest shelf—definitely not the one it had fallen from, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it out of your hands.

Then, without a second glance, you turned on your heel and scuffled your way back toward the entrance, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You wanted to leave.

Reaching the door, you grabbed the handle and twisted.

It didn’t budge.

Your breath hitched.

You tried again, jiggling it harder. Locked.

Your stomach dropped.

Fumbling, you checked for a latch, a keyhole—something. But nothing worked. The lock wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t so much as budge.

Your chest tightened.

No. No, this wasn’t happening.

You peered outside, but the streets were just as empty as before. No cars, no distant figures, nothing but a dark, lifeless city.

Panic curled around your ribs as you pressed your forehead against the glass.

You were trapped.

A frustrated groan escaped you as you spun back toward the darkened bookstore.

"Sunghoon!" you called out, voice echoing between the shelves.

Silence.

Your throat felt dry as you called his name again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He had to be here. He had to be.

He wouldn’t just leave you locked inside a bookstore all night… right?

"Sunghoon, where are you? This isn’t funny!"

No response.

Your fingers clenched into fists as you hesitantly stepped between the shelves, your voice growing more frantic each time you called Sunghoon’s name.

The silence was suffocating.

You peeked into one of the sections, your heartbeat drumming against your ribs. The air felt heavier here, like something unseen was pressing against your chest.

And then—

A cold breath ghosted over the back of your neck.

Your body went rigid.

The sensation was unmistakable—icy, deliberate, like someone was standing right behind you.

Your breath hitched as your entire body screamed at you to run. But when you turned around sharply—

Nothing.

No one.

The aisle was empty. Your paranoia spiked. Your mind raced with every horror scenario you’d ever read, every urban legend about being alone in places you weren’t supposed to be.

You had to get out.

"Sunghoon!" you shouted again, your voice echoing through the vast store.

And then—

A soft creak.

Your eyes snapped to the left, where a door—one you were certain hadn’t been there before—slowly swung open.

A dark figure stepped out.

Sunghoon.

He looked… perfectly normal. Calm, even.

His dark eyes met yours, and his lips curled into a small, amused smile.

"There you are," he said casually, as if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

For a second, you just stared, your mind struggling to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation. He had just appeared from a hidden door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your initial shock quickly turned into anger.

"Are you kidding me?!" you snapped, stepping toward him. "You left me alone in here! The door is locked, and I—" Before you could finish, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

Gently.

Yet firmly enough that it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "This way."

Without waiting for your response, he led you through the mysterious doorway.

The second you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

It was another section of the bookstore—except this one felt different.

The air was filled with the scent of old parchment and something faintly metallic. The books here looked ancient, their bindings cracked with age, their pages yellowed and fragile.

This place… it felt untouched. Hidden. Like a secret only a select few were meant to see.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to Sunghoon.

"What is this place?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"The literary section," he answered simply.

Your steps felt heavy as Sunghoon led you through, then without saying much, he stopped in front of an old door, pulling out a small pair of keys from his pocket. The metallic click echoed in the silence as he unlocked it.

You expected to find another dark corridor, or maybe some secret, ancient room filled with more strange books.

But instead…

It led to the outside.

The cold night air hit your face as you stepped out, blinking in confusion. You turned around, watching Sunghoon lock the door behind you.

What even was that place? And how did he know about it?

Before you could ask, Sunghoon gently nudged you toward a sleek black car parked nearby.

"Come on. I’ll drive you home. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone," he said, his tone calm yet strangely... protective.

Your mind was spinning, struggling to process what had just happened. You barely noticed as Sunghoon opened the passenger door for you, guiding you inside before slipping into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t until the engine roared to life, and the car began smoothly gliding through the empty streets, that you finally snapped out of whatever trance you’d been in.

"Wait, wait, wait," you blurted out, turning to him with wide eyes. "What the hell just happened back there? What was that place? And why do you have the keys to some creepy store that—"

"Calm down," Sunghoon interrupted, glancing at you with that same unreadable expression. "I told you, it’s a bookstore. A safe space."

Your eyes narrowed.

"And what does that even mean? How do you know about it? Why were you even there?"

Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle, as if your panic amused him. "You ask too many questions."

You scoffed. "Because none of this makes sense!"

He glanced at you again before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Some things aren’t meant to make sense."

That only made your frustration grow.

"You’re seriously not gonna explain anything?"

Sunghoon smirked faintly. "I probably just saved you from some creep. You could at least say thank you."

You stared at him in disbelief.

He was avoiding your questions. Clearly.

But the way he spoke… it was like he knew something. Something you weren’t supposed to know.

Who exactly was Park Sunghoon?

The rest of the car ride was filled with silence. The streets blurred past the window as you watched the empty city, but your mind was stuck on Sunghoon.

You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye. His face was calm, as if none of what just happened was strange at all.

"You’re really not going to tell me anything, are you?" you muttered, breaking the silence.

"Would you even believe me if I did?"

Your brows furrowed. "Try me."

He let out a soft chuckle, but didn’t answer.

Frustration bubbled in your chest, but at the same time...

There was something about him that made your heart race in a way you couldn't explain.

You barely knew this guy, yet it felt like he was pulling you into something that you could not comprehend.

And the scariest part?

A part of you... wanted to know more.

Before you knew it, the car slowed down in front of your dorm.

Sunghoon put the car in park and turned to you. His gaze softened slightly as he spoke,

"Get some rest. It's late."

You hesitated, unsure whether to step out or demand more answers. But something about the way he looked at you left you speechless.

With a sigh, you reached for the door handle and stepped out.

But just as you were about to close the door, Sunghoon’s voice stopped you.

"Sweet dreams."

Your breath hitched as you turned to face him, as he only gave you a small, knowing smile before driving off into the darkness.

You stood there, watching the taillights disappear into the night, your heart pounding in your chest.

What the hell just happened?

Sunghoon was always composed. Always. His life had been shaped by discipline, by the strict standards of his legacy, a lineage built on elegance, refinement, and control. His every move, every glance, was carefully calculated. His desires? Contained.

Except for now.

Now, as his eyes flickered over to you across the classroom, something was breaking inside him. Something he couldn’t control.

You.

You, sitting there, so effortlessly beautiful, your presence radiating something he couldn’t ignore. Something he couldn’t bury, no matter how hard he tried.

You were tempting. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the curve of your lips as you smiled at your friend, the soft laugh that escaped you when something amused you. It was all too much. And as your scent teased the edges of his senses, it became overwhelming.

He had been keeping his distance, maintaining control, but now—now—it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

One sip. One taste.

He could already imagine it: your blood, sweet and intoxicating, flowing as he licked it from your skin, savoring every drop as if it were the finest nectar.

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, trying to suppress the need that burned within him.

You were special.

He had always known it. There was something about you, something different that called to him in ways he couldn’t explain. Something about your blood—it was made for him.

One taste and he would be hooked, he knew it. The craving had only grown since the moment he first laid eyes on you, and now it clawed at him from within.

His fingers dug into the side of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure of his grip.

You were a forbidden fruit, and resisting you was a battle he wasn’t sure how much longer he could win.

His gaze flickered back to you, and his heart clenched, a familiar hunger coiling deep within him.

Oh, how he craved you.

The sound of the classroom around him faded as his attention remained fixated on you, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t control. He tried to focus on the lesson, tried to pay attention to the teacher’s voice droning on, but it was useless. All he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse, the quickened rhythm that matched the beat of his desires.

You shifted in your seat, and it was like a jolt to his senses. His eyes followed the movement, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped lightly on the desk. Each little thing you did, each breath you took, only deepened the ache inside him. It was all too much, and his restraint—once ironclad—was beginning to feel fragile, delicate, like it could snap at any moment.

There was no doubt in his mind anymore; he was losing himself.

I can’t do this, he thought desperately, his grip tightening on the table. But it was futile. The desire was too strong, too consuming.

One sip.

Just one.

He could already taste it—the sweetness, the richness that he knew would flood his senses. He needed it. And if he didn’t get it—he didn’t know what would happen.

His fingers dug deeper into the table, the wood now splintering under the pressure of his growing need. His eyes narrowed as he tried to compose himself. But the more he stared at you, the more the temptation grew.

Control, Sunghoon. You have to keep control.

His entire being screamed for him to act, to close the distance between you two and finally claim what he so desperately wanted. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

The bell rang, shattering the tension, and students began to gather their things, but Sunghoon stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving you.

You stood, gathering your bag, oblivious to the storm that raged inside him.

He tried to steady himself, fighting against the instinct that begged him to step forward, to take you, to make you his.

But he stayed still, watching you walk out of the room with every ounce of restraint he had left.

Not yet.

Okay, you were officially convinced Sunghoon was a weirdo. After that night in the bookstore, it was like he had some sort of uncanny ability to appear wherever you went. He was always there—just lurking.

And it didn’t stop there. You started seeing him in your dreams. How? You had no clue. All you knew was that those dreams were way too personal to even think about, let alone talk to anyone about. There was something intensely wrong—and yet strangely captivating—about them. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you were afraid of him, or if you were afraid of what you might feel about him if you let yourself admit it.

So you did what you thought was the logical thing. You avoided him. At all costs.

You tried to keep your distance—barely acknowledging his presence when you passed him, pretending you didn't notice when his gaze lingered too long. But that was when things got worse.

The more you tried to avoid him, the more he seemed to indulge in it. It was like he enjoyed watching you squirm, like he was learning everything there was to know about you with every passing second. You could feel his eyes on you—always.

Every time you saw him, his stare was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just a passing glance. No, it was like his eyes zeroed in on you—completely and utterly fixed, like he was searching you. Every time your paths crossed, he didn’t just look at you. He studied you, like he could see something no one else could. His gaze didn’t break, didn’t waver, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of you, every movement you made.

It was maddening.

There was no subtlety to it—his stare was intense in a way you couldn’t explain. It felt like his gaze was undressing your soul, pulling at the parts of you that you didn’t want anyone to see. It was suffocating. You couldn’t breathe when he looked at you like that, as though you were a piece of prey and he was waiting for the right moment to claim you.

You tried to look away, to avoid his gaze, but it felt like you were trapped under his spell. It made your skin crawl, your heart race. And for some reason, you hated the way your body responded to it. How your mind kept spiraling into the thoughts you desperately wanted to avoid.

What the hell was he doing to you?

He was becoming unbearable to ignore, but you really couldn’t do much with him around. It was like he was everywhere.

Around campus. Around the dorms. At the local cafe you frequented. And worst of all, he was in your dreams, invading your nights in ways that left you breathless and disoriented by morning. Every time you woke up, it took everything in you not to curl up and hide from everything in shame.

You were going insane, weren't you? You tried to tell yourself it was just a phase, just some weird, creepy obsession you could shake off. After all, it was easy to dismiss someone like Sunghoon, right? He was weird, and you had every reason to avoid him. But somewhere, somehow, that strategy had backfired.

The worst part?

You didn’t mind it.

At some point, your mind had started craving his attention. The same attention that used to send chills down your spine, that once made your heart race with dread, now made your chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. You started looking for it, hunting for those moments when his gaze would fall on you again, when his eyes would lock with yours across the room or across the street.

And every time it happened, you felt it—this rush of something deep inside you, something almost giddy.

Like you were waiting for it.

And every time it happened—when his eyes found you, when he was close enough that you could feel him but not quite touch him—you couldn’t deny it. Something in you lit up.

You hated it, but you couldn't stop it. It was like you were addicted to it, to him. His attention became a drug you didn’t know how to quit.

Because of these dreams, you hadn’t been sleeping well at all. You’d wake up in the middle of the night, your body slick with sweat, your heart pounding like a drum. The sheets would be tangled around you as you gasped for air, your breath uneven and shallow, the images from your dreams still haunting the edges of your mind.

Every time you woke up like that, you’d look around your dark bedroom, feeling an overwhelming sense of being watched. The feeling would crawl up your spine, creeping into your thoughts until you were certain someone was lurking just beyond the edge of your vision. But when you flicked on the bedside lamp, the room was always empty. Just you. Alone.

Still, the feeling never truly left. It lingered in the corners of the room, under the bed, in the darkened space between your dresser and the wall.

It was always the same. Every night. The dreams. The shame. The emptiness that followed you as you tried to settle back into sleep, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it off. It had become a cycle, one that was slowly unraveling your sanity.

And it started to show on you.

You could feel it in your body—your mind was exhausted, and it was taking a toll. You’d fall asleep in the middle of class, your head dropping onto the desk as you fought to stay awake, but failing miserably. Or during lunch, when you would try to sip at your coffee, but your eyelids would feel too heavy to keep open.

But those naps never lasted long.

You’d wake up suddenly, the whispers of your dreams still clinging to you, leaving you disoriented and groggy. Sometimes, you would even jolt awake, your body trembling as if you had been running or fighting for your life. And every time you opened your eyes, you’d be met with the same mundane reality.

It was driving you mad.

You wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop. But it was like a chain around your neck, one you couldn’t remove no matter how hard you tried. The pull of Sunghoon’s attention, the lure of his eyes - it was suffocating you.

But it seemed like Sunghoon's presence was messing with more than just your sleep. The effects were trickling into other parts of your life, too.

The little nap accidents during classes? They were starting to catch up to you. You were behind on your work, falling behind on assignments, and you could feel your grades slipping further and further away. The last assignment had been a disaster, and your professor had been kind enough to give you a second chance, offering extra bonus work to help make up for it.

So there you were, sitting at the local café, long past your usual hours. The light above your table flickered slightly as you typed away, hunched over your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. You knew you had to get it done. You had to show your professor you could pull yourself together, that you were still capable of doing this.

But the longer you sat there, the harder it was to ignore how exhausted you felt. Every line you typed seemed to blur, your thoughts fragmented, the constant hum of the café around you mixing with the dull throb in your skull. Even the smell of coffee no longer held its usual comfort—it just made you feel sick to your stomach.

And yet, you kept pushing through it, knowing that if you didn’t finish tonight, you’d only get further behind.

By the time you finally wrapped up the work and rushed to submit it, the café was closing. The lights were dimming, and the staff were tidying up, cleaning tables and stacking chairs as they prepared to lock the doors for the night. You barely noticed as you walked out, your mind focused solely on the task you had completed, the slight relief of being done with it for now.

The sky had darkened while you worked, the deep blue stretching across the horizon, stars barely visible against the faint glow of the city lights. The streets were quieter now, the hum of cars and chatter from nearby shops muted.

You could feel the cool night air biting at your skin as you walked. And as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, you became busy scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself from everything.

But then, you heard it.

A sound—disgusting and wrong. A wet, slurping noise, like a dog drinking from a bowl. Only it wasn’t right. It was too sickening, too unnatural.

Your feet stopped moving before you could think. You hadn’t meant to, but your body had reacted on its own. Your eyes darted towards the dark alleyway ahead, and the sound was louder now, almost suffocating. A gut-wrenching instinct told you to keep walking, but something inside you refused. Something dark and curious tugged you closer.

Despite every ounce of your being screaming to leave, you did the one thing you shouldn’t have: you turned on the flashlight of your phone and pointed it into the alley.

Instantly, you regretted it.

The beam of light cut through the shadows just enough to reveal the nightmare you had walked into.

A woman lay on the ground, her body limp and lifeless, eyes wide open and white, her skin a sickly shade of pale. Her blood… it coated the ground around her in a dark pool, soaking into the cracked pavement. And beside her, bending over her body, was a man.

The man… was feeding on her.

He was hunched over her, his face a mess of blood, his mouth smeared with the crimson liquid as he drank from her throat. The wet sounds filled your ears, but what made your blood run cold wasn’t just the act—it was his eyes.

He looked at you.

His eyes were red. Red as the blood he was drinking.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Your breath caught in your throat as you stumbled back, instinctively trying to move away, but your feet wouldn’t obey. You were frozen, your body rigid with terror.

Then, as if to drive the horror deeper, he parted from the woman’s mangled neck. The blood dripped from his jaw, splattering to the ground, and he slowly, deliberately, ran his tongue over the blood that covered his lips. His tongue was long, unnaturally long, and as he licked the blood, you saw it—

Fangs.

Oh no.

The world spun around you. Your pulse raced as your body screamed at you to run, to escape, but your legs were frozen in place. Every part of you was screaming in panic, but it felt like you were drowning in fear, unable to move.

And in that moment, you were certain of two things.

One, this wasn’t a man.

Two, you were his next meal.

The man’s red eyes never left you as he slowly rose from the woman’s lifeless body, blood still dripping from his chin. He straightened himself, his movements slow, as if savoring the moment. You felt the chill of terror crawl up your spine, your entire body locked in place as you tried to find your voice.

His lips curled into a sinister, satisfied smile, revealing the sharp fangs that glistened under the dim light.

“You…” he murmured, his voice smooth and dark, laced with hunger. “You smell… so delicious.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling, as his gaze seemed to pierce right through you. It was as if he could see straight into your soul, and his words sent a cold wave of dread over you.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he continued, taking a step closer, his eyes scanning you as if assessing you. “It’s racing. Thumping so hard, so fast. It’s music to my ears. The way it echoes in your chest… it’s irresistible.”

Your knees felt weak, but you still couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear and the unnatural intensity of his gaze.

“You are a special one,” he whispered, his voice low and intoxicating. “I can see it. Your blood… It will be more delicious than hers. More… rich. I can already taste it in the air.”

You wanted to scream, to run, but the words didn’t come. All you could do was watch as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“I’ll take every drop from you,” he whispered, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “Every. Last. One. You won’t be left with a single drop.”

With that, he discarded the woman’s body carelessly, the limp form slumping to the ground with a sickening thud. She was nothing to him now—just a hollow shell. His attention was entirely focused on you now.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight.

His steps grew louder, closer, and all you could do was tremble, hoping for some miracle, some way out of this nightmare.

And before you could even process what was happening, a blur of movement shot past you, fast as lightning.

The vampire-man let out an animalistic snarl, his head snapping toward the figure that was attacking him. For a moment, you couldn’t see clearly. It was as though the air around you had thickened, time slowing down. The shadowy figure collided with the vampire, and they tumbled to the ground in a flurry of motion. You could hear the sounds of a vicious struggle, but all you could do was stand there, frozen in fear, completely caught off guard.

In the chaos, your phone slipped from your trembling hand and clattered to the cold ground. You scrambled to pick it up, eyes glued to the scene unfolding before you. The vampire-man hissed, but the figure didn’t back down.

The hissing grew louder, more frenzied. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the vampire-man struggled beneath his attacker.

You couldn’t stay there any longer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your instincts screamed at you to run, to get away before you became the next target. Your legs felt like jelly as you backed up, tripping over your own feet and tumbling away. You were shaking, the fear gripping you tighter with every step.

A voice—low, urgent—whispered in your mind.

Run. Now.

And that was all you needed to hear. You didn’t need any more encouragement. With everything in you, you bolted, sprinting down the empty street, the sound of your heavy breathing drowned out by the roar of blood rushing in your ears.

You didn’t dare look back.

Not until you reached the safety of the main road, where you collapsed against a lamppost, gasping for air, eyes darting around the empty roads.

What just happened?

Okay, you did not believe in vampires. At all. Count Dracula, Count Orlok, Bram Stoker—everything was just fiction. Fantasy. The stuff of stories, movies, and nightmares.

But what you saw last night? That… you knew it wasn’t some wild hallucination. There was no way your mind could have conjured something so real, so grotesque. You felt it—every instinct screamed that what you witnessed was not just some twisted dream. And you knew that too, because when you returned to the alley the next day, the woman's body was gone.

But the blood—the blood was unmistakable. Streaks of it still marred the ground, dark and congealing under the harsh light of the morning sun. It was a dead giveaway.

Your stomach twisted as you crouched down to get a better look, staring at the stain on the pavement. No body. Just the unmistakable remnants of what had happened.

You wanted to go to the police. Hell, part of you felt like you had to—because this was serious. Someone had been murdered, right there in that alley. You could almost hear the sirens, see the flashing lights of the patrol cars, the officers coming in to take statements, investigate.

But then something in you hesitated.

Would they even believe you? You were certain they’d just look at you like you were crazy. A paranoid college student, half asleep, imagining things. They’d probably tell you it was some late-night prank or a random street fight gone wrong or even accuse you for taking drugs. And what could you possibly say? “I saw a man with red eyes and fangs, drinking the blood of a woman in an alley”?

You winced at the thought. It sounded insane even to you.

What if it was just… something else? Some twisted person? But even then, the red eyes? And the fangs? That didn’t make sense. Not in a world you knew.

So, instead of making the call you needed to, you backed away from the alley, stood there for a moment, staring at the bloodstain on the ground as your heart raced.

Your mind was a proper mess.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You had to do something, anything, to make sense of what had happened. So you did what you had to do—you investigated. And you knew where to start.

After classes, you didn’t go straight to your dorm. Instead, you found yourself heading toward the bookstore—the same one Sunghoon had taken you to that one night. There was something about that place, something that made you feel certain that the answers would be there, tucked away among the pages.

As you pushed open the door to the bookstore, the familiar scent of old paper and dust enveloped you. The bell above the door jingled softly, and you were greeted by the sound of a old woman behind the counter, softly snoring, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. You looked at her for a moment, but quickly moved past, not wanting to wake her up.

The store was quiet, with only a few customers scattered around. A woman sat in a chair near the back, completely engrossed in a romance novel—so much so that she probably hadn’t noticed you enter. A man stood near the science section, holding a stack of books, flipping through one, while another man was sorting through books, likely an employee.

But none of them mattered.

You knew exactly where you needed to go, and it didn’t take long for your eyes to find the familiar shelf. You scanned the titles, your pulse quickening as you spotted it. There it was—the same book. You almost let out a small, victorious sound as your fingers closed around it, pulling it free from between two other books.

As your fingers traced the familiar cover, that familiar sense of fascination stirred in your chest. You glanced around the shop, making sure no one was paying you any attention, before you carefully flipped it open.

You opened the book, expecting to find answers—maybe facts, some history, or even some sort of guide that could help explain what you had seen that night. But instead, you were met with something entirely different.

It wasn’t what you had imagined at all.

The first page was full of elegant prose, describing a vampire's longing for the taste of a mortal’s blood, how the scent alone would send him into a frenzy. The words were written with such intensity, each line dripping with yearning, and you couldn’t help but feel an unexpected heat rise in your cheeks as you read on.

The story was not a factual account or even a mythological tale; no, this was a love story. A sensual love story about a vampire and his human. The lines were filled with descriptions of blood—how the vampire wanted sink his fangs into his lovers delicate skin and drink.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you flipped through more pages, the story growing more heated. You felt as if you were intruding on something private. Something you should not be reading. But you couldn’t stop. You were drawn in, unable to turn away.

You felt your breath quicken, and in the back of your mind, a voice warned you that you were treading too close to something dangerous. This book wasn’t just telling a story—it was shaping something in you. Something you didn’t want to face just yet.

You slammed the book shut, heart pounding in your chest, as if you'd been caught doing something wrong. The words on the pages still lingered in your mind, their heat echoing through your thoughts. But before you could shake the feeling off, a voice broke through the haze.

"Can I help you with something?"

You whipped around, startled, to see the man you had noticed earlier—the one sorting through books. He had a gentle yet curious expression, his eyes scanning you as though he were waiting for an answer.

You took a slow breath, trying to calm yourself. "No, thank you. I’m just looking."

He nodded, accepting your answer, but then turned to leave. However, before he could walk away, he glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low.

"If you're looking for something more… to your taste, there’s a literary room in the back," he said, his gaze flicking towards a door. "It's where we keep the rarer collections. The kind of books you might find interesting."

Your stomach dropped at the mention of the door, the memory of that night when Sunghoon had led you through it coming back like a rush of cold water. You quickly glanced at the door, unease crawling up your spine.

"Thank you," you managed, offering a tight smile.

He gave you a nod, before walking away.

You waited until the man disappeared into the next aisle before making your move. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, you slipped toward the familiar door. Your heart pounded as you grasped the handle and slowly pushed it open, squeezing through the narrow gap and quietly closing it behind you.

You wasted no time, scanning the shelves for anything that would point you toward what you were looking for.

"Vampires... vampires..." you whispered to yourself as your fingers traced the spines of the worn books.

Minutes passed, and you found yourself with three books in your arms, each one titled with something related to the creatures of the night.

"The Blood Covenant: Tales of the Immortal"

"Nocturnal Desires: The History of the Nightwalkers"

"Marked by the Moon: The Forbidden Bond"

Your hands tightened around them as you glanced back toward the door. You still had the original book you’d found, making it a total of four. The unsettling feeling in your gut only grew stronger, but so did your curiosity.

What were you even hoping to find? Proof that what you saw in the alleyway wasn’t a hallucination? Or maybe... something that could explain Sunghoon and the strange pull he seemed to have over you?

Taking a shaky breath, you turned toward one of the small, round tables tucked between the shelves and set the books down. You hesitated for a moment before flipping open the first one.

As your eyes skimmed the pages, the words seemed to bleed into your mind, descriptions of ancient creatures who thrived in the shadows, who fed on human blood, who could manipulate and lure their prey with nothing more than a glance.

Your pulse quickened.

Because with every word you read, you realized...

It all sounded too much like Sunghoon.

Of course, it was only a hunch, a theory. Because in reality, vampires shouldn’t exist in this timeline... right? So he could not possibly be..

But there was never any solid proof that they didn’t.

And if the legends were true, vampires could live for hundreds of years. What if... this was one of those rare cases?

You shook your head, pushing the thought aside as you continued skimming through the books. Your eyes scanned the pages, absorbing every detail about ancient rituals, feeding habits, and the hypnotic allure that vampires possessed.

Time slipped away from you faster than you realized, and when you finally glanced at your watch, your eyes widened.

You were here way too long.

Quickly gathering the books in your arms, you slipped out of the room and made your way to the counter. The old woman, now wide awake, adjusted her glasses as she scanned the books one by one. The employee from earlier stood nearby, watching you with mild curiosity.

You paid for the books without much thought, too eager to get out of the shop and back to your dorm to properly dig through what you'd found.

As you turned to leave, the soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet shop, and you stepped out into the streets.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the sneaky glance that passed between the old woman and the employee as you walked away with a bag full of vampire books.

Almost as if... they knew.

It wasn’t that dark outside, but the streets were quiet enough to make you uneasy. The streetlights barely illuminated the cracks in the pavement as you hurried along, clutching the bag of books tightly to your chest.

Your mind was racing with everything you'd read. The idea of vampires living among humans sounded absurd, but after what you'd seen in that alley...

You shook the thought away and picked up your pace.

What you failed to notice, however, was the shadow trailing behind you.

Silent footsteps echoed yours, perfectly in sync. Whoever it was, they were keeping a careful distance, blending into the dimly lit streets like a predator stalking its prey.

You turned a corner, the familiar sight of your dorm building coming into view, and felt a small wave of relief wash over you. Almost there.

But that relief was short-lived as you barely had time to react.

A cold, calloused hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the scream that tried to escape your throat. You were yanked backward, dragged effortlessly into the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you thrashed against the grip, eyes wide and frantic as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

That’s when you saw him.

The man had eyes that glowed a deep, sinister red, and when he parted his lips, you saw them.

Fangs.

Sharp. Deadly. Hungering.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

This wasn’t like the scenes from the book. There was no heat pooling in your stomach, no fluttering anticipation.

No, this was wrong.

The fear that coursed through your veins was paralyzing. Your body instinctively fought against him, twisting and struggling with every ounce of strength you could muster — but it was useless.

He was far too strong.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

The way his cold lips brushed against your skin. The way he inhaled deeply, savoring your scent.

"You smell... divine," he murmured, voice dark and sickly sweet. "So much sweeter than any other human."

Your eyes burned with tears as you squirmed, panic clouding your mind.

He wasn’t going to stop.

He wasn’t going to spare you.

He would drain you dry, leave your lifeless body to rot in this alley, and move on to his next victim without a second thought.

No.

No, you couldn’t let that happen.

Your body moved on instinct as you kicked, elbowed, and clawed at him with everything you had. Your nails scraped against his face, but it was like scratching against stone.

“Stop—” you tried to scream against his hand, your voice muffled and desperate.

But he only chuckled darkly.

"Fight all you want," he sneered. "It only makes your blood taste better."

You felt the sharp point of his fangs press against your neck.

A wave of terror surged through you, and you writhed harder, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you fought tooth and nail to keep those fangs from piercing your skin.

But he was too strong.

You felt yourself slipping, your strength fading...

But before the vampire could sink his teeth in a blur of movement flashed before you, and suddenly the vampire was ripped away from you with inhuman force. You gasped for air as you saw the creature that had been about to kill you now pinned against the alley wall.

And the one who had saved you?

Sunghoon.

His eyes glowed a deep crimson, darker than the other vampire’s, and his fangs were fully bared as he snarled. “You dare touch what’s mine?” Sunghoon’s voice was dangerous, filled with a venom that sent chills down your spine.

The other vampire let out a guttural snarl, his eyes burning with rage as he lunged back at Sunghoon, claws out and fangs bared.

Sunghoon met him head-on, moving with inhuman speed as their bodies clashed. You stumbled back against the cold brick wall, heart hammering as you watched them move like shadows, too fast for your eyes to fully follow.

The sound of hissing and grunting echoed through the alley as Sunghoon drove his knee into the other vampire’s ribs, sending him crashing to the ground. But the creature didn’t stay down for long, leaping back up with blood dripping from his mouth and launching himself at Sunghoon once more.

Sunghoon caught him mid-air, slamming him against the wall with brutal force. The concrete cracked beneath the impact, and the other vampire let out a strangled cry as Sunghoon's grip tightened around his throat.

“Pathetic,” Sunghoon spat, his fangs glistening as he bared them.

The other vampire hissed, struggling against Sunghoon's hold, but he was clearly weaker.

Sunghoon twisted his arm, snapping bone as the creature howled in agony. Yet, even through the pain, the other vampire’s eyes flicked to you — hunger and desperation burning within them.

That only seemed to enrage Sunghoon further.

With a violent shove, Sunghoon threw the vampire to the ground, sending him skidding across the blood-stained pavement.

“Leave,” Sunghoon growled, his voice low and deadly. “Before I tear you apart.”

The other vampire coughed, blood dripping from his lips as he slowly scrambled to his feet, eyes narrowing at Sunghoon, before turning and disappearing into the shadows, limping and defeated.

You stood there, frozen in shock as the alley fell silent once more.

Sunghoon stood still in the dim light, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his hair a mess and his clothes stained with a little blood. His fists remained clenched at his sides, the tension still radiating off him as his eyes remained fixed on the darkness where the other vampire had fled.

It was only when he turned to face you that you realized your legs felt weak, the adrenaline leaving your body as reality crashed down on you. Your legs gave out beneath you, but before you could hit the cold pavement, strong arms caught you.

Sunghoon was there, moving with inhuman speed as he wrapped an arm around your waist and steadied you against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hold.

"Easy," he murmured, his voice softer now.

Your hands instinctively clutched at the front of his shirt. Your breathing was ragged, your heart racing in your chest as the weight of everything you had just witnessed pressed down on you.

"You... you're really...," your voice trembled as you tried to form the words.

"A vampire," Sunghoon finished for you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction.

You couldn't speak, your mind spinning with fear, confusion, and something dark and magnetic that drew you closer to him.

"I wasn't supposed to get involved," Sunghoon admitted, his gaze falling for a moment. "But when I saw him touch you, I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let him take what’s mine."

Your breath hitched at his words.

Sunghoon’s hand moved to gently cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his eyes.

You wanted to push him away, to run as far as you could from whatever dark world you’d stumbled into. But your body refused to move. Instead, you leaned into him, your heart betraying your fear as it pounded relentlessly against your ribs.

"What... what happens now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he leaned in closer. "Now you stay with me," he whispered, his voice low. "I’ll keep you safe."

You opened your mouth to question, but before you could, his lips brushed over yours—a soft, slow kiss that was strangely gentle.

Your body froze, the kiss a shock that sent heat pooling in your stomach. The feel of Sunghoon’s lips, the dizzying sensation of his touch—it all became too much, too overwhelming. Your breath hitched as his grip on your neck tightened, not in a way that hurt, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t letting go.

Your hands instinctively clutched at his arms, trying to ground yourself, to steady the rapid pounding of your heart.

Then, as if sensing your sudden hesitation, Sunghoon loosened his hold ever so slightly. His lips parted from yours just enough for you to catch your breath, his eyes searching yours. They weren’t glowing like before, but they still held an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice softer now. His thumb traced over your jawline in a slow, almost soothing motion. “Are you afraid of me?”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to answer. Were you afraid of him? The logical part of your mind screamed yes, you should be terrified. You had just been attacked, just seen something straight out of a nightmare. And yet, standing here in his arms, fear wasn’t what was keeping you frozen in place.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against your cheek as he let out a slow exhale. “I’ll take you home,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle. “You need sleep.”

You should have protested, but the exhaustion in your body made it impossible to argue.

Sunghoon didn't let go of you as he led you toward the street, keeping his arm firmly around your waist as if he expected you to collapse at any moment.

Your steps felt heavy as you leaned more into Sunghoon’s side, your body weak and trembling. With every step, you could feel his body against yours, and it made your head spin. Being this close to him, his scent filling your senses, his arm wrapped tightly around you — it felt dangerous.

You risked a glance up at him, only to find Sunghoon’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes fixed ahead. He looked tense, almost strained, like he was fighting some inner battle.

Was it because of what just happened? Or... was it because of you?

Your breath hitched when his grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his fingers pressing into your side as if grounding himself.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, barely able to form words through the haze clouding your mind.

His eyes flickered to you, and for a brief second, they glowed that same deep crimson from before.

You felt your stomach drop.

He quickly looked away, jaw tightening even more as he swallowed thickly.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, voice strained.

“Like... what?” you asked, your voice shaky.

“Like you want me to lose control.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t know what Sunghoon was holding back, but whatever it was... you wanted him to break. "I-I don't…" you tried to deny it, but the way your body leaned into him, the way your eyes kept drifting to his lips, told a different story.

Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you'd slip away.

"You don't get it," he whispered, his voice strained. "I’m not… myself. Not around you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"But you keep coming around me," you murmured. "Why?"

He let out a bitter chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. "Because I can't stay away," he admitted, his gaze burning. "Your scent, your blood… everything about you calls to me."

Your breath hitched.

This wasn’t normal. None of this was. Yet, here you were, walking through the streets with a man who quite literally fought off another creature of the night to protect you. And now, he was saying things that sent shivers down your spine — things that should terrify you… but instead, they pulled you in deeper.

You were already too far gone.

Before you could respond, your knees buckled slightly, your body still weak from everything that had happened. Sunghoon caught you effortlessly, pulling you closer to him. His strength reminded you once again that he wasn’t human.

"Come on, let's get you back," he muttered, his voice softer now as he contiouned guided you through the empty streets.

The world around you felt hazy, your mind clouded with too many questions, too many feelings. But one thing was clear — Sunghoon was dangerous. But you couldn’t help but want to know more.

More about him.

More about the darkness he was hiding.

You wanted to know what it felt like to make him lose control.

You were dangerous — too dangerous for Sunghoon.

After that night, when the truth of what he was had unraveled before your eyes, he tried to stay away. He gave you space, expecting you to react like any human would — fear, anger, or maybe the desire to drive a wooden stake through his heart.

But you didn’t.

On the surface, you acted like everything was normal. You went to class, hung out with your friends, and lived your life as if the darkness that lurked beneath the world you knew hadn’t brushed against you.

But Sunghoon could feel you.

He felt the way your heart beat faster whenever he was near. The way your breath hitched when his gaze lingered on you for too long. The way your body, your soul, seemed to call for him, even when your mind tried to resist.

And it pleased him.

Because your body already knew what you refused to admit — that you belonged to him.

He didn’t need to chase you. He didn’t need to lure you in with empty promises or sweet words. No, Sunghoon knew it was only a matter of time before you came to him.

After all, he had chosen you as his human lover.

No.

Claimed.

But it seemed like his fellow brethren of the night did not get the memo.

He felt the lingering stares from strangers in dark corners, shadows that seemed to follow you no matter where you went, even when you were not alone.

Cause they could smell you.

The way your blood called to them, sweet and irresistible. The fact that Sunghoon had laid claim to you only made it worse. Because now, you were not just a measly human.

You were marked.

And vampires were drawn to what they couldn’t have.

It was driving Sunghoon insane.

Every night, he could sense them lurking nearby, watching you with hungry eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And every night, he fought the urge to rip them apart.

Because if they dared touch what was his...

There would be no mercy.

Yet, the thought of scaring you, of pushing you further away, held him back.

So, instead, he followed you from the shadows, protecting you from the monsters that hid in the darkness.

You didn’t know it yet, but the only reason you were still breathing was because Park Sunghoon had already decided that you were his.

Forever.

You were struggling.

Every day that went by where Sunghoon acted like you didn’t exist made something in you shrivel and cry.

You wanted his attention. But at the same time, you didn’t.

Because this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stay away from you?

But that was back when you thought he was just some weirdo lurking around campus. Well, you still did. But now, he was a handsome weirdo. And more importantly—a handsome weirdo who could snap your neck effortlessly if he wanted to.

That should have been enough to keep you away. It should have made you relieved that he was ignoring you.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it made your chest ache, made your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, made your mind spiral every time you caught a glimpse of him in the distance.

Because no matter how much he tried to pretend you didn’t exist, you could feel it.

His gaze.

He was still watching you.

Still lurking in the shadows.

Still waiting.

And despite every logical thought in your mind screaming at you to run... You wanted him to come back.

You wanted him to come back to you.

To hold you.

To kiss you.

To bite you.

And that insane thought? It all stemmed from that stupid vampire romance book you kept hidden under your pillow.

It really wasn’t your fault.

The words in that book were too tempting, too dark, too lustful.

The idea of something ancient and supernatural desiring a mere human woman with such obsession, such hunger...

It sent shivers down your spine when you’d read the vampire’s point of view—how he’d describe his love, his yearning, his absolute need to have her, to consume her in every way possible.

It made your heart race.

It made your body ache.

And it made you realize...

That was the kind of love you’d craved all your life.

Something dangerous.

Something eternal.

Something that would ruin you.

And Sunghoon?

He was the perfect monster for it.

Every night before bed, you found yourself returning to the book.

Over and over again.

The words blurred together as your eyes skimmed each page, but you didn’t need to read every line anymore—you knew them by heart.

Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, your fingers trembling slightly as you felt the flutter of hidden butterflies in your stomach.

Your skin would flush, heat creeping up your neck as you read about the vampire’s longing.

And then, when you went to bed only to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, your mind would be tangled.

A dream of Sunghoon.

A dream you wanted to experience in real life.

You wanted to feel his touch—the way his fingers would press into your skin, as if he knew exactly where to make you ache.

You wanted to feel his fangs, how they would scrape gently against your neck before finally sinking in, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

And as the fantasy lingered in your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were no longer just reading about it.

You were craving it.

And you were starting to wonder if it was only a matter of time before Sunghoon would make you feel it.

You knew you shouldn’t be thinking this way, but the urge was undeniable. The way Sunghoon had stayed distant—emotionless, cold, and detached—was making something inside of you burn with frustration. You couldn’t stand it. You needed him to crack, to show even a hint of that desire he clearly had for you.

It was maddening how composed he was, how he kept his distance, even though you knew—deep down, you knew—he was just as drawn to you as you were to him.

Vampires weren’t just creatures of the night—they were predators. They thrived on control, yes, but they also thrived on hunger, desire, and need.

But Sunghoon was strong, and composed. Every time you thought you saw a crack in that exterior, it was quickly sealed, leaving you desperate.

You cursed under your breath, frustrated by how easily he resisted. Why couldn’t he just give in?

Wasn’t this what he wanted too?

You didn’t chase, you never did. But there was something about Sunghoon that had your thoughts spiraling. You didn’t want to keep playing this game of push and pull, but you knew that the temptation would soon be too much for him. Vampires, after all, went feral under the right circumstances. And Sunghoon? He was no different.

His control would snap eventually. You were sure of it.

It was only a matter of time.

You just needed to give him that little helpful push.

Make him crave you more than he ever had before.

You had a plan—nothing too drastic, just subtle enough to see if he would slip.

You just needed to tempt him a little bit.

You knew what you were doing. You could feel it in your veins, the heat of the game you were playing, and the temptation building between you and Sunghoon. The subtlety of your actions was a carefully calculated move, a challenge thrown directly at him, whether he realized it or not.

You started small, just enough to get his attention.

You wore shirts that left your neck exposed, the skin just there for him to notice. You let your hair fall just right, grazing your shoulders, drawing the eye. When he would stare—and you knew he was staring—you would play it off, biting your bottom lip or twirling your pen in your fingers like you weren’t aware of the effect you were having on him. But deep down, you knew. You felt the shift when his eyes lingered longer than they should even if he tried to hide it.

And then, you started getting even bolder. In class, you’d casually lean into the guy sitting next to you, letting your laughter sound just a little too loud. You’d let your hand brush against his, acting oblivious to the way Sunghoon’s eyes would flash in your direction. Every glance, every flicker of jealousy you noticed, fed the fire inside you.

You didn’t need to chase him, not really. You knew Sunghoon’s pride wouldn’t allow him to come to you unless you made him. And so, you teased, gently pushing him to the edge without a single word.

Sometimes, you could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched, or how his fingers tightened into fists when his gaze locked on you. And when you caught his stare, you would give him that smile, the one that spoke louder than words, daring him to break.

It was a game, a dangerous one, and you were playing it to perfection.

You never expected it to happen like this. The tension you had been so carefully building, the game you thought you were controlling, had taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated. And that turn came the moment you stepped out of the cafeteria, your mind still buzzing with the satisfaction of teasing Sunghoon, of drawing him in little by little, only to have him slip into the kind of state you’d been aiming for.

You headed inside to the bathroom, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, still riding the high of your victory. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your top just a little to make sure it was perfectly placed. You knew Sunghoon had been watching, and the idea of that made your heart race with excitement. You were about to put on a layer of lip gloss when the door to the bathroom swung open with a loud, forceful bang.

You looked up in the mirror, expecting to see another female student—maybe one of the girls from class, who always seemed to pop in to check their reflection—but the sight that met you was far from what you expected.

Sunghoon.

He stood in the doorway, his presence instantly consuming the room. His hair was a mess, the strands messy and wild as if he had run his fingers through it over and over, tugging at it in frustration. His grip on the door was so tight his knuckles were white, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him sent a wave of tension through the air.

And his eyes.

Those glowing, red eyes. They were locked on you, burning with an intensity that made your stomach drop. The same intensity you had been teasing, pulling at with every little move you made, but now, it was so much darker, so much more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

His mouth was slightly open, and for the first time, you saw it. His fangs. Long, sharp, and hungry. Your heart skipped a beat.

He looked like a predator on the hunt.

His jaw was tight, his entire body rigid with the effort to hold back whatever was boiling inside of him. But you could tell. He wasn’t holding back anymore. Not with you.

"Sunghoon..." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. But the way his name left your lips felt so... different now. Almost like you were calling to a stranger. Something had shifted, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what that meant.

He didn’t speak, his lips curling back into a barely controlled snarl, his eyes never leaving you.

You backed up away from the mirror, but it didn’t matter. Sunghoon was already moving toward you, his steps slow but sure, like he was walking toward his prey. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your instincts screaming at you to run. But your body was frozen, captivated by the way he looked at you—like you were both the prize and the challenge.

You hadn’t expected him to break so completely. The way he stalked toward you, the hunger in his eyes, it was almost as if he had been holding onto his restraint just for you. But now?

Now he was done.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?" he said, his voice low, the growl in it sending a shiver down your spine. Every word was laced with that dangerous edge, the one you had known was buried deep inside him. And now, there was nothing left to hide it.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. This wasn’t how you had imagined it. You hadn’t expected him to break now, not when you had just been playing with fire.

But Sunghoon? He was fire.

And now, he was burning everything.

You felt your heart racing, panic starting to surge through you as you kept backing up. "Sunghoon, wait!" you tried, your voice barely steady as you looked around, desperately hoping for some sense of reason to return to him. "This isn’t the right place! You can’t—"

But Sunghoon didn’t seem to hear you. His focus was so intense, his gaze locked on your neck, it was as though nothing else in the world mattered to him.

“Sunghoon, please!” You tried to push him back, your hands pressing against his chest in a weak attempt to stop him, but he was unyielding. With a speed you couldn’t keep up with, he grabbed both of your wrists, holding them in place with a force that left no room for resistance.

Before you could react, he pulled you toward him, dragging you into a random booth, and with a loud click, the door behind you was locked.

The coolness of the booth's wall pressed against your back as Sunghoon backed you into it. His grip on your wrists remained tight, and then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours.

It was everything you wanted, intense and desperate, with no control. And the feeling of his fangs grazing your lip sent a jolt of something through you.

Then, the sharp pain.

A soft nick from his fangs, and before you could even process it, blood welled up on your bottom lip. And with a quiet, almost satisfied sound, he licked the blood from your lip, his tongue brushing gently against the small wound.

The sensation sent an unexpected rush of heat through your body, but it only intensified the swirling mess of thoughts in your mind.

Sunghoon suddenly pulled back, his eyes filled with desire, as he licked the blood from his lips. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of his struggle. His usually composed and controlled demeanor was gone, replaced with a raw, animalistic hunger.

Before you could even process what was happening, Sunghoon’s hand was at your neck, tilting it to the side. You barely had time to gasp before you felt the sharp sting of his fangs sinking into your skin.

Your body tensed in response, but the sensation of his fangs breaking through the surface of your skin was like nothing you’d ever experienced. It wasn’t pain—it was something else that pulled at you, making you feel both afraid and captivated all at once. His lips were against your skin now, and you could feel him drinking, each pull sending a dizzying wave of sensations through your body.

You should’ve been scared. You should’ve pulled away. But the way he held you, the way he drank so deeply, it was overwhelming in the most confusing way. Your mind screamed at you to stop him, to get away, but your body was betraying you, craving his touch, his closeness.

Sunghoon didn’t stop. He drank from you slowly, as though he couldn’t get enough. And in that moment, all you could do was stay still, lost in the pull.

As Sunghoon continued to drink from you, you felt your knees shaking, the strength slowly draining from your body. Every pull burned, everything inside you was on fire. Your whole body was buzzing, alive in a way that was almost too much to handle. You could feel your pulse in your neck, each beat, and with each pull, it felt like your very soul was being drawn into him.

If not for Sunghoon holding you against the wall, you would’ve collapsed on the floor right then and there. His grip was firm, keeping you upright as your legs became too weak to hold you up. You barely had the strength to breathe, your breath shallow as you fought to stay conscious.

You felt every second pass as he drank, the heat spreading through your body, mingling with the growing weakness. His body was pressed so close to yours that you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his lips moved against your skin as he drank from you. And yet, through all the overwhelming sensations, part of you wanted it to continue. A twisted, needy part of you craved more, even though you knew this was dangerous, that this wasn’t normal.

When he finally pulled away, he huffed softly, wiping the remnants of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. His gaze remained sharp, studying you intently. He tilted your jaw slightly, his fingers firm as he examined the mark he'd left on your neck.

You stared up at him, your mind still dazed, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your pulse still raced, and your body trembled, not just from the draining sensation but also from the lingering heat in your veins.

Without warning, Sunghoon leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

His hand, still on your jaw, moved to cradle your face, his thumb gently caressing your skin as he deepened the kiss. There was something both tender and urgent in the way he kissed you now, it made you forget about the chaos of everything else.

For a moment, you lost yourself in it, letting the kiss stretch on, unable to think clearly. You didn’t know where this would lead, what would happen next, but right now, in his embrace, you didn’t feel the need to fight it.

It was only when the reality of the situation began to settle in, and your body started to weaken from the blood loss, that you slowly pulled back, your breath shallow, your head spinning.

Sunghoon’s eyes remained fixed on you, you could feel him still holding on to the edge of control, but only just.

He gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. “You’re exhausted,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Sleep. You need rest.”

His words were like a soothing balm, and before you even realized it, your eyelids fluttered, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened.

He moved closer, his arms sliding around you to support your frame as you swayed against him. “I’ll take care of you now,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

And with that, like a spell, your eyes closed. The last thing you felt was him holding you close.

Waking up to soft sheets after having the best sleep you'd ever had was something you did not expect. More so, you did not expect a heavy arm draped around your waist.

Your breath hitched as you slowly turned your head, only to find Sunghoon lying beside you, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep. The usual sharpness in his features had softened, and for a moment, you forgot about everything that led you to this moment.

You carefully tried to shift, but his arm only pulled you closer, his face burying into the crook of your neck as he let out a soft sigh. The sensation sent shivers down your spine.

You wanted to try and get up, maybe find your phone and at least get your bearings, because honestly, being this close to Sunghoon was doing something to you.

Your fingers gently tried to peel his hand off your waist, but it was much harder than you expected. His grip was firm like he had no intention of letting you go. You were so focused on your little escape plan that you failed to notice the subtle shift in his breathing or the fact that his eyes were now open, silently watching you.

It was only when his hand suddenly moved, effortlessly flipping you onto your back, that your heart jumped to your throat. Your eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low as he hovered over you.

Your breath caught in your throat as Sunghoon’s face stood mere inches from yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

"I marked you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the faint bite on your neck. "Do you really think I’ll let you go that easily?"

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to run, to escape this strange pull he had on you. But your heart, your very soul, seemed to crave him.

"I-I just wanted my phone," you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Your phone can wait."

Before you could respond, he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against your neck, right where his mark was. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you grip the sheets beneath you.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your skin.

Your heart pounded wildly as he slowly pulled back, studying your flushed face with a look that made your stomach twist. He looked... satisfied. Like a predator who had successfully caught his prey.

He brushed your hair away from your face, fingers trailing down your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw, and slowly moving down to your neck. His touch was light, almost teasing, before he traveled lower, fingers grazing over your waist and resting on your hips.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he inhaled deeply, a low curse slipping from his lips. "You smell so damn good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline as he slowly worked his way down to your neck. "Do you know how hard it is... to resist you?"

Your breath hitched as he inhaled deeply, his fangs grazing your skin ever so lightly, swallowing hard, you tried to inch back, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened as he dragged you right back against him.

"You're being a brat," he muttered, eyes burning into yours. "Denying me when you know exactly what I want."

Your heart raced as his hand kept you trapped against him.

"Why do you keep running from me?" Sunghoon's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with something almost... desperate. "You already belong to me."

Your lips parted to respond, but before you could speak, he leaned in, brushing his fangs against your neck once more.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fangs barely grazed your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. You could feel your pulse quickening, and Sunghoon, with his heightened senses, could too. He was toying with you, testing your limits, waiting for you to give in completely.

"Please stop resisting," he murmured. "I know what you crave," his lips brushing against your ear. "That burning desire for a love that consumes you. A love that makes you feel wanted... worshipped."

Your breath hitched as his words pierced through every wall you'd tried to build around your heart.

"I've felt your loneliness," he continued, "how hopeless you've been, aching for someone to truly see you. To make you feel alive."

Your eyes fluttered shut as his touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I can be that for you," Sunghoon said, voice low and filled with something dark. "I can give you everything you've ever dreamed of. I'll worship you... as the woman you are. My woman."

Your head spun at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

"You... you want me that badly?" you asked, barely able to speak.

Sunghoon chuckled darkly. "More than you'll ever know."

Your heart pounded so loudly, you were sure he could hear it. And as much as you wanted to deny it, he was right. You’d unable to resist the pull he had on you.

“I… I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and he gently tilted your chin so you could meet his eyes.

“Of me?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “Of what I’m becoming… because of you.”

His gaze darkened with something unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours in a barely-there kiss.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And with that, he kissed you fully, this time with more passion and longing. You felt yourself melting into him, all your resistance crumbling as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, eyes glowing crimson as he rested his forehead against yours. But it wasn’t enough for him. Not even close.

“Please…” Sunghoon’s voice trembled as he slipped down to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, leaving trails of kisses that sent shivers down your spine. “I need another taste.”

You felt his hands tighten around you as he pressed his body closer, his desperation pouring into every touch, every kiss. “I’ve been holding back… for so long. But I can’t anymore.” he murmured, his fangs grazing your skin.

Your heart raced at his words, and the way he was losing control because of you made your head spin.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, unsure whether to give in or stop him.

But he groaned softly against your neck, his lips lingering as he begged once more, “Please... let me have all of you."

Your body betrayed you as you tilted your head slightly, giving him access to your neck. And with that silent permission Sunghoon’s fangs pierced your skin just above your collarbone. A sharp sting shot through you before it melted into something strangely euphoric.

Your breath hitched as he latched on, drinking from you slowly, It was nothing like the violent and ruthless feeding from before. No, this was different, it was like he was savoring every drop, as if your blood was the very thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, holding him closer despite the dizziness slowly creeping in. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you as he drank deeper, letting soft groans escape between sips.

You should’ve been terrified. But instead, you felt… wanted. Craved. Like you truly belonged to him.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were stained crimson, and his eyes, glowing with hunger, softened as they met yours.

“You taste... unreal,” he whispered, running his tongue over the fresh puncture marks as if soothing the wound he’d left behind, savoring every drop of your blood as if he couldn’t get enough. The warmth of his breath fanned against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he licked the remaining crimson from your neck.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes — clouded with hunger — locked onto yours. The sight of him, with blood staining his lips and his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, made your heart race uncontrollably.

“Sunghoon…” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

At the sound of his name, a desperate groan escaped him, and before you could react, he leaned in once more. His fangs sank into the soft skin near your throat, sharper and more urgent this time.

Your breath hitched as your body tensed, but soon, that familiar wave of pleasure and dizziness washed over you.

You weakly pulled him closer as he fed from you with a hunger he could no longer control. You felt yourself slipping, your mind clouding, but Sunghoon’s hold on you tightened, keeping you steady against him.

The world outside faded, and all that remained was the vampire who had claimed you, body and soul.

a/n: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! i love desperate and feral men! whos with me!? :D anyways i hoped you enjoyed reading! reblogs and commentary are welcomed! ^^ (Divider made by @kodaswrld )

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[luv-lock]

Viltrumite mark and his alien!reader fascinates me so much if you can, can you explain their overall dynamic, situation and thoughts in each other?

Alright, let’s get into it.

Their Dynamic: Love, Obsession, and Possession

She was a mistake. A flawed creation, abandoned the moment she was born. The Qu Queen that made her saw her as a defect, something that shouldn’t have existed—so she left her behind without a second thought.

And so, she was just there. Alive, but not really living. She had no purpose, no direction, no knowledge of what she was supposed to be.

Until Mark found her.

She was beautiful. Strange. Perfectly made for breeding. That’s what he thought at first. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a Viltrumite, after all. That’s how they saw things. But Mark? Mark was always different.

At first, it was just about children. She would give him offspring, and in return, he would take care of her. Simple. Clean.

Except it wasn’t.

Because she wasn’t like the other Qu. She didn’t have their mindset. She didn’t care about conquest, about power, about war. She wasn’t cold and calculating, she wasn’t a narcissistic psychopath like her kind were supposed to be.

She was soft.

And she loved him.

Not in a way that was convenient or logical. Not because he was strong, or because he was her mate, or because she was supposed to.

She loved him because he was the first person to ever care about her.

And Mark?

He shouldn’t have cared about her. He should have just used her for what she was meant for and then moved on.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because every time he looked at her, saw the way she looked at him like he was the only thing in the universe that mattered, something inside him broke.

And then, before he even realized it, she became his entire world.

Mark doesn’t let anyone see her.

Not his children, not his people, not even Nolan.

She is his.

And he is hers.

So he keeps her locked away. A room that only he can enter. No windows. No doors. No way in or out unless he allows it.

Because if anyone else sees her, they might try to take her.

And he can’t let that happen.

Even their children don’t know who she is. They know they have a mother, sure, but they have never seen her, never heard her voice, never felt her touch.

Because she belongs to him.

And the idea of someone else even looking at her makes him insane.

She doesn’t mind.

Why would she?

She only cares about him.

She doesn’t think of herself as a prisoner.

She doesn’t think of anything except Mark.

She is obsessed with him.

When he’s gone, she waits.

When he comes back, she smiles like he’s the only light in the universe.

She touches him like she needs to memorize every inch of him—because what if he disappears? What if one day he’s gone?

She doesn’t speak to anyone else. She doesn’t want to.

She doesn’t care about the Viltrumites, their empire, or the universe.

She only cares about Mark.

And he knows it.

And it drives him crazy.

Because she is his, completely, entirely, irrevocably his.

Mark takes care of her.

She can walk, she can move, she can exist on her own—but not well. She was born broken.

She’s fragile in a way that nothing else in his life has ever been. She can’t fight. She can’t fly. She can’t even function properly without his help.

So he does everything for her.

He feeds her.

He bathes her.

He carries her everywhere.

She’s always touching him. Always holding onto his arm, his waist, his shoulders.

She sleeps curled against his chest, breathing in his scent like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

She smiles for him and only him.

And every time she does, he falls apart a little more.

Because she was supposed to be a transaction. A deal. A means to an end.

But now?

Now, he can’t imagine a universe without her.

And he will never let her go.

She was never supposed to survive.

Because a Qu is supposed to be perfect. Their bodies are made for adaptation, for evolution, for dominance. They are supposed to be limitless.

But she?

She was sick. Weak. Incomplete.

She was missing organs. Not just one or two—most of them.

Her body was a puzzle with missing pieces. She didn’t have the internal systems that made a Qu so powerful.

She doesn’t regenerate like she should. A normal Qu can regrow limbs, organs, even an entire body given enough time. She can’t.

She doesn’t adapt properly. Qu are supposed to evolve to their environment—she doesn’t. If she’s in the cold, she stays cold. If she’s injured, she stays injured.

She lacks the extra nervous systems. A normal Qu can control multiple limbs, think on different levels at once, process reality in ways others can’t. She can’t.

Her bones are weaker. A normal Qu can take insane amounts of damage before breaking. She is far more fragile.

Her body is always struggling just to function.

She gets tired easily.

She can’t fight.

She can’t fly.

She can’t even walk for long periods without feeling exhausted.

She was supposed to grow fast. A female Qu reach adulthood within a few years—but she took so much longer. She barely grew at all.

And worst of all?

She’s constantly in pain.

It’s not something she talks about. Not something she shows. But it’s always there. A deep, aching sickness in her bones, in her muscles, in every part of her.

It’s why she clings to Mark so much.

Because when he’s there, it’s easier to ignore.

When he’s touching her, when he’s holding her, when he’s taking care of her, it doesn’t feel so bad.

She was supposed to die.

But she didn’t.

And Mark is her lifeline.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

ADHD and not autism here, but that story about the English teacher hit me like a truck. It also didn't surprise me at all, because when I was in high school, that was my experience with several English and humanities teachers. They'd bill themselves as accepting and "quirky," and go on huge spiels about how "everyone is welcome." And the second you're the wrong kind of quirky, they immediately make it known how much you'll never fit in.

anyway I have a personal experience with that but it's long and emotional so uh. under the cut if you don't mind

this isn't to detract from the fact that the post is specifically about autism ofc. but this is something I can really relate to and I think is a familiar experience for many nd people

Growing up, I was super into English and literature. (Still am- it was my degree and is a huge part of my current career!) As such, I DESPERATELY wanted these sorts of teachers to like me. They wanted "inspired, involved, enthusiastic students who always asked questions and thought outside the box?" Well, that was me, I thought! I had a place where I could finally feel welcome, an adult I could look up to!

Except that wasn't the case. I could tell these teachers didn't like me. I saw how they treated me vs. the other students. I saw how they were silly and joking with everyone else, and dismissive towards me. I thought, if I was witty enough, if I gave the right answers, if I asked the right questions, then they could clearly see that I was exactly what they said they wanted. And it was never enough; if anything, it only made things worse. And because I looked up to these people, because I was obsessed with their approval, I decided to switch tactics. I HAD to be normal now. So I became obsessed with being quiet, with not speaking up, with sitting still and not being too loud when I did speak. Except it was hard. I had these impulses I didn't know how to control, and I didn't know where they were coming from. I kept wanting to speak up and talk about whatever we were learning about, because I was interested in English, goddammit. It didn't come from a place of pretentiousness or intellectual superiority; it came from the fact that I was an excitable kid who really wanted to be a writer at the time. And because I had to keep talking, and because I wanted approval so badly, I ruthlessly policed every single thing I said. I graded and evaluated all my questions and answers, all my interjections I hoped were clever or would score me friends. I developed really bad anxiety; I liked those teachers, and I knew they would like me too if I just acted differently- except I didn't know how to do that.

Fast forward to college. I was taking Russian classes for a few years, because I was hyperfixated on Soviet classical music history at the time and I wanted to read some historical letters in the original language. Once, I was trying to translate some letters I found online, and I came across a word I couldn't find a single direct translation for. I wanted to ask my professor what it meant, but I remembered what high school had been like. I didn't want to be the pretentious, disruptive kid who asked annoying questions in class and irritated the teacher. So I sent her an email to ask about the translation, and the next day, she announced to the entire class that I had a great question. I was MORTIFIED. I wished she'd just email me instead; now, she was telling the whole class about how I was reading Dmitri Shostakovich's letters and asking how to translate 'blagopoluchen.' That's like, two nerd points right there. She explained what the word meant and talked about how impressed she was with me, and i wanted to die right there. Which is weird, because like... wasn't that what I wanted? Didn't I want my teachers to be proud of me for years? My high school desire to be quiet and fit in was so deeply ingrained, I was terrified of praise, maybe moreso than I was of irritating my teachers as I had been before. No matter what, I always stood out.

My experience clearly wasn't as bad as the kid's in the above story. Nor is it probably as bad as many people's in the notes. I ended up having a great time in Russian class, and in college in general. But it took a while before I was able to feel that way. I don't think I can call myself traumatized, per se, but the way those high school teachers treated me while waxing about how "it's great to be different" had repercussions. I'm still dealing with the anxiety I developed trying to please them; that's why I told that anecdote about Russian class. What should have been a good experience for me was a terrifying one.

So, I guess my point is this. For all those teachers and authority figures who paint themselves as trustworthy, progressive, accepting people, we will believe you. People who need acceptance, who are desperate for validation, will believe you. We may let our guards down and maybe act a bit weird- and sometimes that's weird in a different way than you might want. And why shouldn't we let our guards down? Why shouldn't we view you as a sanctuary for our weirdness? That's what you said we could do.

By touting yourself as a safe space, you have a lot of power over the mental well-being of people like us. You have the opportunity to be the refuge you say you are, or you could cause lasting damage. So you'd better stick by your words, and use that power fucking responsibly.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending (bonus chapter) | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader!

summary: you and remus are married!

obs: this is a bonus chapter for a series. here's part one.

masterlist

The mornings in your little home had become one of Remus’s favorite things.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting golden hues over the small but cozy living room. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint hint of parchment and ink from the scattered books Remus had left on the table the night before.

You were getting ready for work, dressed in your healer robes, hair tied back, sipping from your tea as you leaned against the counter. Remus sat at the small kitchen table, flipping through the Daily Prophet with a deep frown. Another rejection letter lay beside his plate.

“Nothing?” you asked softly, already knowing the answer.

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not a single bloody thing. Even the shops in Diagon Alley won’t take me. Apparently, ‘full moons make me unreliable.’” His voice held a bitter edge.

You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his hair. “You are anything but unreliable.”

He exhaled sharply and turned his face to nuzzle against your arm. “I might have to start looking at Muggle jobs.”

You pulled back slightly, looking down at him. “That’s not a bad thing, Rem. Muggle jobs pay well too, and they won’t care about—” you hesitated, not wanting to say the word as if it would solidify the unfairness of it all.

“My ‘condition’?” Remus finished for you with a wry smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… frustrating.” He glanced at you. “You work so hard. I want to contribute too.”

You cupped his face gently, your thumb stroking his cheek. “You take care of me, Remus. You cook, you clean, you make sure I don’t pass out from exhaustion after my shifts—”

“That’s just because I like bossing you around.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You love me.”

“That too,” he admitted with a smirk, tilting his head up to kiss you softly.

You lingered there for a moment, lips brushing, breathing in each other’s warmth. When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. “You’ll find something. I know it.”

He exhaled sharply, leaning back into your embrace. "I just don’t understand how they expect someone like me to survive. No wizarding employer will even consider me, and I can't exactly walk into a Muggle job and say, ‘Oh, by the way, I occasionally turn into a giant wolf once a month, but don’t worry, I take my potion.’” He let out a humorless chuckle. "Very employable, aren’t I?"

You kissed the top of his head, fingers threading through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. "You are employable, and you're brilliant. You just need someone to see it."

He sighed again, dropping the newspaper onto the table. "There’s a Muggle school hiring a literature teacher for younger kids. I know I could do it, but I have no idea how Muggle children work. Wizards barely make sense to me, and I was one."

You stepped around to face him, perching yourself on the edge of the table. "First of all, children are children, whether they're magical or not. You’ve already taught James, Sirius, and Peter how to use their brains occasionally, and that’s a miracle in itself."

That earned a small smirk from him.

"And second," you continued, reaching for his hands, "you love teaching. You were basically our second professor at Hogwarts, always tutoring people and making the most confusing things make sense. If they just give you a chance, they'll see what I see."

His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands. "And what do you see?" he asked, voice quieter now.

You smiled, squeezing his hands gently. "I see the smartest, kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met. The kind of man who could make any student fall in love with learning. You’re meant to teach, Remus. And if this school is willing to give you a chance, you should take it."

He let out a breath, eyes softening as he looked up at you. "You always make me believe in myself, even when I don't."

"That's because I know you," you said simply. "And I know you'll be amazing at this."

He let go of one of your hands, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "What would I do without you?" he murmured.

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling. "You’ll never have to find out," you whispered before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He sighed against your mouth, his frustration momentarily melting away. "You know," he murmured when you pulled apart, "for someone who claims to love me, you sure do enjoy bullying me into doing things."

You laughed, nudging his knee with yours. "It's called encouragement, professor. Now, when’s the interview?"

Remus groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "You're relentless."

"And you love me for it," you teased.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Yeah. I really do."

First and last day.

When Remus got home that evening, he barely had the energy to take off his coat before collapsing onto the couch with a long, exhausted sigh. His bag dropped onto the floor with a dull thud, and he ran a hand through his already messy hair, groaning softly.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, eyebrows raising at the sight of him sprawled out like he had just fought a battle. “Rough first day?”

Remus opened one eye to look at you, his expression somewhere between disbelief and defeat. “You have no idea.”

You bit back a smile, walking over to sit on the edge of the couch near him. “That bad?”

He groaned again, rolling onto his side to face you. “Worse. They never stop talking, they ask a million questions, and none of them are even about the lesson.”

You tilted your head, amused. “What did they ask, then?”

Remus sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, one boy raised his hand, and I thought—finally, someone is actually listening. But do you know what he asked?”

You shook your head, waiting.

Remus deadpanned, “‘Sir, why do you look like you got attacked by a bear?’”

You immediately burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you doubled over slightly. “Oh no,” you gasped between giggles.

“Oh yes,” Remus muttered. “And before I could even come up with something, another one shouted, ‘Yeah! And why do you always look so tired?’”

You were practically in tears now. “They ganged up on you?”

“Completely,” he confirmed, shaking his head. “It was a full interrogation. One kid even asked if I used to be a pirate.”

That sent you into another fit of laughter. “And what did you say?”

Remus sighed dramatically. “I told them I had a very aggressive cat growing up.”

You gasped. “You did not.”

“I did,” he admitted. “They seemed to accept it, though one of them told me I should’ve just given the cat away.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “You lasted a whole day. That’s impressive.”

Remus sat up slightly, looking at you with an exhausted expression. “I don’t think I can go back.”

You pouted playfully, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. “Oh, but you must. What will the children do without their mysterious, battle-scarred professor?”

Remus groaned, but leaned into your touch despite himself. “They’ll survive.”

You smiled, tilting his chin up so he had to meet your gaze. “You’ll get used to them. And they’ll get used to you. Who knows? You might even like them.”

He sighed, running a hand up your arm. “I don’t know, dove. I might need a lifetime supply of chocolate to get through this job.”

You grinned, leaning in until your noses brushed. “Lucky for you, I happen to love a man who needs chocolate.”

He hummed, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you onto his lap. “That right?”

“Very much.” you kissed the corner of his mouth, then whispered, “I’ll even get you some tonight.”

Remus sighed dramatically. “You’re the only reason I’m surviving this, you know.”

You smiled against his lips. “I know.”

And just like that, the weight of the day didn’t feel quite so bad anymore.

That same day you received the letters from Hogwarts, Remus nearly dropped his tea all over himself. He reread the parchment at least three times before looking up at you, eyes wide in disbelief.

“They offered me the Defense position.” His voice was quiet, as if he still wasn’t sure it was real.

You grinned, holding up your own letter. “And they want me as the new healer. Madam Pomfrey retired. Looks like we’re going back home, professor.”

Remus let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this.”

You took his hand in yours. “I can. You’re the best professor they could ask for. The students are going to love you.”

His fingers curled around yours, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “And you’re going to be the best healer Hogwarts has ever had.”

Back again.

Returning to Hogwarts was surreal. The castle hadn’t changed much, though everything felt smaller now that you weren’t teenagers sneaking through the corridors. The first few weeks were spent settling into your quarters—cozy rooms near the hospital wing with a fireplace and shelves already filled with books (thanks to Remus).

Classes started, and the students took to Remus quickly, fascinated by his knowledge and the way he made Defense Against the Dark Arts actually interesting. Meanwhile, you spent your days in the hospital wing, taking care of injured Quidditch players and students who had tried to hex each other in the hallways.

The best part, though, was that you were together.

Hogwarts felt just like it did when you were younger—except this time, there was no sneaking around. You walked through the corridors side by side, just like you used to.

One afternoon, you were walking toward the Great Hall when a group of students nearby started whispering and nudging each other.

“Professor Lupin?” One brave student called out, looking between the two of you.

Remus turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The student hesitated before blurting out, “Are you two… married?”

A hush fell over the group, everyone waiting for the answer.

You smiled, slipping your hand into Remus’s just to watch him get flustered. “We are.”

The students gasped.

“No way!”

“That’s so weird! You’re both professors!”

“You mean you were actually Hogwarts sweethearts?”

Remus cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t quite—”

“He totally used to sneak out of the dorms to see me,” you cut in with a grin.

Remus groaned. “You don’t have to tell them everything.”

The students laughed, and one girl sighed dramatically. “That’s so romantic. You’re just like the couples in the books.”

A boy next to her made a face. “Ugh. Gross.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, everyone, off to lunch.”

As the students wandered off, still whispering excitedly, you nudged him with your shoulder. “See? We’re legends.”

Remus huffed but couldn’t hide his smile. “You love embarrassing me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” you leaned up to kiss his cheek before walking ahead. “Now, come on, professor. Let’s go get lunch before more students ask if we had our wedding in the Forbidden Forest.”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head as he followed you. Life at Hogwarts was going to be interesting, to say the least.

The routine quickly became your own little version of nostalgia. Just like when you were younger, Remus would find himself wandering into the hospital wing whenever he had a free period, leaning against the doorway as he watched you work.

The difference? Now, he didn’t need an excuse to be there.

One afternoon, you were restocking potions when you felt someone’s eyes on you. Turning around, you spotted Remus standing near the entrance, arms crossed and an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Professor Lupin,” you greeted, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Feeling ill, are we?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Just figured I’d visit my wife.”

You smirked, setting down a bottle. “Your students will start thinking you’re in love with me or something.”

Remus chuckled, walking closer. “Oh, the horror.”

You leaned against the counter, giving him a playful look. “I should start charging you a fee for all these visits.”

“And what would that fee be?” he asked, tilting his head.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the front of his robes, pulling him down just enough to steal a quick kiss.

The moment your lips parted, a chorus of gasps erupted from behind them.

You turned your heads to see a group of students staring, some giggling, others looking downright scandalized.

“Professor Lupin just got kissed!”

“In the hospital wing! By Madam Lupin!”

Remus groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Merlin, you’re going to make me get expelled.”

You just grinned, completely unbothered. “Oh, relax. They need to see what true love looks like.”

A younger boy next to you made a face. “Bleh. Adults in love. Gross.”

Remus cleared his throat, straightening his robes. “Alright, alright, enough of that. Off you go.”

As the students left, still whispering among themselves, you turned to him with a smirk. “You’re so flustered.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a helpless smile. “You have no shame.”

“None.” you looped your arms around his neck. “And you love it.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his forehead against yours. “I do.”

You stood there for a moment, wrapped up in your own little world.

“Wait,” you said softly, a nostalgic look in your eyes.

He arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

You glanced around the hospital wing, your gaze landing on one of the old patient beds near the corner. “Just remembering something.”

Following your eyes, Remus immediately understood. His grip on your hand tightened slightly.

“That bed,” he murmured. “That’s the one I always ended up in after full moons.”

You nodded, smiling softly. “And I was always right beside you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how you convinced Madam Pomfrey to let you stay the whole day.”

You smirked. “I have my ways.”

He gave you a knowing look. “You pestered her until she gave in, didn’t you?”

You grinned. “Of course.”

Remus sighed, looking at the bed with a faraway expression. “You were always there. Even when I told you not to be.”

You squeezed his hand. “You never actually wanted me to leave, though.”

“No,” he admitted, turning to look at you. “I didn’t.”

You smiled, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. “You’d come covered in blood, and try to convince me you were fine, that you just fell down the stairs.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “Merlin, I was insufferable.”

“You really were.” you laughed. “But I didn’t mind. I liked taking care of you.”

Remus lifted his head, cupping your cheek. “And now you don’t have to anymore. Because of you, my full moons aren’t nightmares anymore.”

You softened, placing your hand over his. “I love that I get to sleep next to you instead of watching you suffer in that bed.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You saved me back then, dove.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “So, I get all the credit?”

He chuckled. “Alright, fine. Madam Pomfrey helped a bit.”

You gasped, swatting his arm. “A bit?”

He laughed, catching your hand and kissing your knuckles. “You were my favorite nurse, though. Still are.”

You sighed dramatically. “Well, I should hope so. Otherwise, I’d have to find another husband.”

His grip tightened around your waist. “Not a chance.”

You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

He smiled against your lips. “I love you more.”

As you stood there, wrapped up in each other in the middle of the hospital wing, the memories of the past blended seamlessly with your present.

No more pain, no more suffering—just you, together, as it was always meant to be.

Finally, you pulled back, patting his chest. “Alright, professor. You should get going before McGonagall catches you loitering in my hospital wing.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only because I have a class to teach.”

As he turned to leave, you called out, “Don’t miss me too much!”

He glanced back with a smirk. “Too late for that.”

You smiled as you watched him go. You had everything you ever wanted—each other, Hogwarts, and a love that had only grown stronger with time.

Something is different.

The past few weeks had been… different.

Remus couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about you had changed.

At first, it was subtle. You were more tired than usual, curling up against him at the end of the day with a little sigh, like just existing had taken more effort than it should. Then came the hunger—you were always hungry, always snacking, and with the strangest cravings. And perhaps the most curious thing of all… your scent had changed. It wasn’t drastic, but it was enough for him (well, the wolf in him) to notice, and it was driving him mad trying to figure out why.

But you had your own theory.

“I think I might be coming down with something,” you announced one evening, flopping onto the couch beside him.

Remus, who had just sat down with a book, immediately closed it and turned to you with concern. “You’re sick?”

You hummed, stretching your legs across his lap. “I don’t know. I’ve just been so tired lately. And hungry. And my body feels weird.”

He frowned, placing a warm hand on your shin, his thumb absently rubbing circles against her skin. “You should go to the hospital wing tomorrow, get yourself checked.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in the throw pillow. “I work in the hospital wing, love.”

“Yes, and that means you should know better than to ignore your own health,” he pointed out, giving you a pointed look.

You peeked up at him, grinning. “Look at you, so responsible. Such a good husband.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Flattery won’t distract me. You’re seeing someone tomorrow.”

“But I don’t feel sick,” you whined, wiggling until you were practically draped across his lap. “I just feel… off.”

Remus glanced down at you, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair. “You’ve been off for a while now, dove. And if you’re not sick, then what is it?”

You sighed. “Maybe it’s stress. The school year’s been busier than usual, and I’ve been on my feet all day. That has to be it, right?”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

Your eyes flicked to his face, studying him. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe something is going on,” he admitted. “And I’m going to take care of you until we figure it out.”

You smirked. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Professor Lupin?”

He smirked back, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “First, I’m going to make sure you eat something real instead of just biscuits. Then, I’m going to put you to bed early—”

You gasped dramatically. “Early? How dare you.”

He chuckled. “And then, I’m going to cuddle you until you fall asleep.”

You sighed dreamily. “Okay, fine. That actually sounds nice.”

He grinned, proud of himself. “See? I know what I’m doing.”

You poked his chest. “Only because you like taking care of me.”

Remus kissed the tip of your nose. “I love taking care of you.”

And he meant it. Whatever was going on with you—whether it was stress, illness, or something else entirely—he would be there.

Always.

Unexpected news.

You spent the whole day in a daze.

It was real. The spell was never wrong. And yet, you kept repeating it over and over in your head, trying to convince yourself.

You were pregnant.

Your hands had trembled when you first saw the golden glow of the spell confirming it. Your heartbeat had raced, your breath had caught in your throat, and for a few minutes, you had just stood there, staring at the bathroom mirror in the hospital wing, completely and utterly frozen.

You weren’t even trying. You both never thought you could.

The knowledge of werewolves and fertility was practically nonexistent. No one had ever told Remus he could have children. And now…

Now, you had spent the entire day trying to figure out how to tell him.

You could hardly concentrate during work. Every time you saw a student, you imagined what your child would look like. Would they have Remus’s eyes? Your smile? Would they be bookish like their father or dramatic like you?

It was overwhelming. And terrifying. And exciting.

By the time you got home, you had made up your mind.

Remus was already waiting for you, sitting in the living room with a book in his hands. But he wasn’t reading—his eyes flicked up the second you entered, scanning your face carefully.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” he said immediately, closing the book and setting it aside.

Your heart pounded. “Weird?”

His lips twitched slightly, but there was concern in his eyes. “Yes, weird. I know you too well, dove. Something’s going on.”

You inhaled deeply, then held out the little box in your hands.

Remus blinked at it, puzzled. “What’s this?”

“Just… open it.”

His brow furrowed as he took the box, lifting the lid carefully.

Inside, there was a tiny knitted sweater—cream-colored, impossibly soft, with little buttons down the front. It was far too small for him, or for you.

Remus stared at it.

For a long moment, he didn’t react. Just… stared.

You held your breath.

His fingers ghosted over the fabric, his brows knitting together. “…Is this for a cat?”

You snorted. “No, Remus.”

His frown deepened. “Then… why is it so small?”

You bit back a smile. “Because it’s not for us, love.”

He blinked again, eyes flicking from the sweater to your face. You could see the gears turning in his head, the slow realization beginning to creep in.

And then he froze.

His entire body went still. His breath caught.

His wide, golden-brown eyes locked onto yours.

“…No,” he whispered.

You grinned. “Yes.”

“No,” he repeated, as if saying it again would make it less true.

“Yes,” you said again, laughing softly.

“But—” He shook his head, his voice weak. “I—we—I didn’t even think I could—”

“I know,” she said, kneeling in front of him, placing your hands on his knees. “But you can.”

He still looked utterly lost. His fingers curled around the tiny sweater like it was some fragile, impossible thing.

“…We’re having a baby?”

You nodded, smiling, your heart swelling at the way his voice had cracked slightly. “Yeah. We are.”

Remus exhaled sharply, as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

Then, slowly—so slowly—his lips parted in something between a laugh and a gasp, his hands running over his face before he looked back at you with so much emotion in his eyes that it nearly made you cry.

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“You’re sure?” he whispered, like he was afraid to believe it.

You nodded again, placing your hands over his. “One hundred percent.”

His breath shuddered out.

And then he laughed.

It was quiet at first, just a soft, disbelieving chuckle. But then he was full-on laughing, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You laughed too, hugging him just as tightly. “You’re going to be a dad.”

He pulled back, shaking his head in awe. “Merlin, I—” He ran a hand through his hair, still grinning. “I can’t believe this.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Believe it.”

He exhaled a breathy laugh, looking down at your stomach, then back up at you. “We’re having a baby.”

You nodded.

Remus let out a long breath. Then, in a voice filled with pure, unfiltered wonder, he whispered, “We’re having a baby.”

And the way he said it—so soft, so amazed—made your heart melt completely.

Remus had always been good at keeping his emotions in check. He had spent a lifetime doing it—learning to keep his feelings under control, to stay composed, to never let himself get too lost in things he wasn’t meant to have.

But this? This was different.

He sniffed, quickly rubbing his sleeve over his eyes as if that would somehow hide the tears that had already welled up. His hands were still cradling your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the little space between them where your child now existed.

“You’re crying,” you teased, your voice full of warmth.

He let out a weak chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not crying.”

“You are,” you insisted, grinning. “You never cry. But now you are.”

Remus huffed, rolling his eyes. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you married me.”

He laughed at that, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I did.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. “You love me.”

“I do love you.” He kissed your temple, his voice quieter now, softer. “So much.”

You stayed there for a moment, just holding each other, letting the reality of everything settle around you.

And then, without a word, Remus pulled back slightly, his hands finding your waist. Slowly, he knelt down in front of you, his fingers resting lightly on the fabric of your shirt.

You felt your breath catch.

His warm hands splayed gently over your stomach, his thumbs tracing absentminded circles against the soft fabric.

And then—carefully, hesitantly—he pressed a kiss to your belly.

Your heart clenched.

Remus lingered there for a moment, his lips brushing against your skin through the fabric of your shirt, his breath warm, his touch reverent.

When he pulled away, he exhaled a soft, breathy laugh, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, looking up at you. His expression was full of wonder, his eyes bright. “I didn’t think this was possible.”

You reached down, running your fingers through his soft hair. “Neither did I.”

He let out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, we’re going to be parents.”

You smirked. “You are going to be a dad.”

His brows lifted. “And you are going to be a mum.”

“Obviously,” you said with a grin. “That’s usually how this works, love.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Merlin help this child if they inherit your attitude.”

You gasped, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Rude.”

“Accurate,” he teased, standing up again.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re already making dad jokes. This is dangerous.”

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your and pulling you close. “It’s only going to get worse from here.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but then softened, resting your head against his chest.

For a long time, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other.

And then, you looked up at him, smirking. “You really cried.”

Remus groaned. “Dove—”

“You never cry, but this time, you did—”

He groaned louder, hiding his face in your shoulder. “Are you ever going to let this go?”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not a chance, love.”

Getting ready.

Remus was sitting cross-legged on the floor, furrowing his brows at the instruction manual in front of him as if it had personally wronged him. The half-built crib stood before him, a few wooden panels already in place, though there was a pile of screws beside him that he had definitely forgotten to use somewhere.

You sat beside him, legs stretched out, absentmindedly running your hand over your baby bump as you watched him struggle.

“You look like you’re in a duel,” you teased, biting back a grin.

Remus sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. “I swear, if James Potter can put up a crib, then I can put up a crib.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Love, I hate to break it to you, but James didn’t put up the crib. Sirius did.”

Remus froze, blinking at you. “…What?”

You tried not to laugh. “Yeah. He gave up halfway and Sirius had to finish it. Lily said it was painful to watch.”

Remus groaned, tilting his head back. “Oh, bloody hell.”

You giggled, reaching out to grab one of the screws he had set aside. “Maybe you should just let me—”

“No,” he cut you off immediately, gently taking the screw from your hand and setting it back down. “You are not lifting a finger.”

You rolled your eyes. “Remus, I’m pregnant, not dying.”

“I know that,” he said, fixing you with a look. “But you’re carrying our child, and I don’t want you straining yourself.”

You smirked. “Then maybe you should just let me build the crib, because at this rate, our child will be graduating from Hogwarts before it’s done.”

He scoffed. “That’s not true—”

You gestured toward the half-assembled mess in front of him. “Love, the bottom part is upside down.”

His eyes flickered to the crib.

He went silent.

“…No, it’s not,” he muttered, though it very obviously was.

You snorted. “Rem, you have to let me help.”

“No,” he insisted, reaching for the screwdriver. “I am going to be a responsible father, and that means putting up this bloody crib even if it kills me.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, grinning. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

He huffed. “I’m not adorable, I’m frustrated.”

“You’re frustrated adorably,” you countered, kissing his cheek.

Remus tried not to smile, but the slight blush on his face gave him away.

“Fine,” he relented with a sigh. “You can supervise. But that’s it.”

You beamed. “Deal.”

He exhaled, shaking his head before turning back to the crib. “Alright. Let’s try this again.”

And so, with you giving him playful commentary and Remus grumbling about how he would not be outdone by James Potter or Sirius Black, you spent the next hour slowly piecing the crib together.

It was, without a doubt, the most dad mode Remus had ever been in. And you loved it.

“You know,” you started, your voice dripping with mischief, “it’s really attractive watching you try so hard.”

Remus let out a breath, gripping the screwdriver tightly. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Me? Mocking you? I would never.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Dove.”

“What?” you said innocently. “I swear I’m just admiring my handsome, capable husband.”

He snorted. “Right. That’s why you’ve been giggling every time I mess up?”

“Well,” you shrugged, a teasing glint in your eye, “it’s just… I never thought I’d see the great Remus Lupin losing a battle to furniture.”

Remus groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is worse than a Defense class.”

Yoy grinned. “Are you saying you’d rather be dodging curses than putting up this crib?”

“Honestly?” He threw his hands up. “At least curses make sense.”

You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says you,” he shot back, nudging you playfully.

You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me? I am not dramatic.”

Remus turned to you slowly, raising a very pointed eyebrow.

You blinked.

“…Alright, maybe a little dramatic,” you admitted, holding your fingers close together.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for another screw. “I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

You smirked. “You married me, love. You chose this.”

“And yet, somehow, I still didn’t choose to have a wife who makes fun of me while I struggle.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, leaning back on your hands. “You love that I make fun of you.”

He paused, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “…Maybe.”

You smirked, proud.

Remus sighed, turning back to the crib. “Anyway, let’s focus, yeah? If I don’t finish this thing, our baby will have to sleep in a drawer.”

You giggled. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mean, Harry spent his first year sleeping in the middle of James and Lily”

Remus groaned. “Merlin, don’t remind me. James still loses his mind over it.”

You hummed. “Speaking of James, should I just call Sirius and ask him to finish this for you?”

Remus whipped his head toward you. “Absolutely not.”

You laughed at his horrified expression. “But love, Sirius has experience—”

“I refuse to be outdone by Sirius Black at anything,” Remus interrupted, determined. “That man will never let me live it down.”

You were fully laughing now. “You sound so competitive.”

“I am not competitive,” he muttered, screwing another piece into place. “Only against Sirius.”

You watched him, feeling something warm settle in your chest. He was so serious about it, so determined to get it right.

You reached out, brushing his hair back from his face. “You know, you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

Remus’ hands stilled. He turned to you, something soft and almost shy in his eyes. “…You think so?”

You smiled, cupping his cheek. “I know so.”

His lips twitched into something small but overwhelmingly affectionate.

Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was slow, tender, and so impossibly full of love that you melted into him completely.

When he pulled away, he exhaled, resting his forehead against yours.

“…Alright,” he murmured, voice still laced with warmth. “I’ll finish the crib. But only because my beautiful wife believes in me.”

You grinned, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. “Good choice, love.”

And with that, Remus Lupin—determined husband, future father, and newly competitive carpenter—went back to work.

Old fears.

Remus sat on the edge of your bed, his head in his hands. The dim candlelight flickered against the walls of their quarters at Hogwarts, casting long shadows across his face. He hadn't spoken in a while, which was rare for him—usually, no matter how worried he was, you could pull him out of it. But this time felt different.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, turning your head to look up at him.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird, love.” you poked his chest lightly. “So tell me what’s going on in that brilliant, overthinking head of yours.”

His jaw tightened for a moment, and you could see him debating whether or not to brush it off.

But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “…I just—” He hesitated, eyes flickering down to your belly. “I’m scared.”

You softened immediately. “Of what?”

Remus inhaled slowly, as if saying it out loud would make it real. “…Of the baby being like me.”

Your brows knitted together. “Like you?”

“A werewolf,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You felt your heart ache.

“Love…” you sat up properly, facing him, taking his hands in yours. “What brought this on?”

You waited, patient as ever. You knew he needed time, that he had to sort through his thoughts before he could say them out loud.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head. “It just—hit me the other day. There’s no record of werewolves having children. No one knows what that means.” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “What if—what if our baby is born with this? What if they—” His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. “What if they go through what I went through?”

You took a deep breath, your hands squeezing his gently.

“If that happens,” you said, your voice steady, “then there’s no better person to take care of them than you.”

Remus let out a breath, almost a scoff. “You say that like it’s nothing.”

“But it is,” you insisted. “Because no matter what, this baby will have you. And there is no one in this world better suited to guide them through it.”

Remus exhaled slowly, staring at your intertwined hands. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” you said. “Because I know you, Remus. And I know that you’d love this baby with everything in you, no matter what happens.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “You always see the best in everything.”

You took his hand, intertwining your fingers. “No, I see you in everything. And I know that no matter what happens, this baby is going to have the best father in the world.”

Remus let out a slow breath, squeezing your hand. “You don’t understand,” he murmured. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if our baby is going to be—like me. If they’ll have to—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I don’t want them to suffer.”

You reached out, cupping his cheek. “And they won’t. Because they’ll have us. You, me, and all the love in the world. If our baby is a werewolf, we will teach them. We will make sure they grow up knowing they are loved, that they are not a monster. Just like I’ve spent years reminding you.”

Remus inhaled deeply, trying to let your words sink in. But the weight in his chest didn’t fully lift. “And what if it’s more than that? What if my blood—my curse—hurts you or the baby before they’re even born?”

You took both his hands this time, looking him straight in the eyes. “Remus Lupin, you are not a curse. You are my husband. The man I love. The father of my child.” you brought his hand to your stomach, pressing it gently against where the baby was growing. “And nothing, nothing, is going to take you away from us.”

His fingers trembled against your skin, but he didn’t pull away. He could feel the warmth of you, the steady rhythm of your breath, and even though the baby wasn’t big enough for him to feel any movement yet, he knew they were there.

A lump formed in his throat. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

You nodded, your eyes full of certainty. “With everything I have.”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled, brushing a kiss against his lips. “You do. And this baby does too.”

For the first time in weeks, Remus allowed himself to believe you. Maybe—just maybe—things would be okay. Because no matter what, you had each other. And that had always been enough.

Hope.

The cottage was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, flickering gently against the walls as the night stretched on. It had been hours—long, exhausting hours—but finally, finally, the room was filled with the softest, most beautiful sound Remus had ever heard.

A baby’s cry.

His breath caught in his throat, his entire body going still. The exhaustion from staying by your side, holding your hand, whispering reassurances, melted away in an instant.

Madam Pomfrey, steady and sure as always, was the one to make the announcement.

“It’s a girl,” she said, her voice warm with something bordering on pride.

Remus let out a shaky laugh, running a hand over his face as he tried to process it.

A daughter.

He turned to you, exhausted but glowing, your hair damp with sweat, your breathing still uneven from the effort. And yet, despite it all, you were smiling. A soft, tired, beautiful smile.

Your fingers trembled as Madam Pomfrey gently placed the tiny, wriggling bundle into your arms.

And just like that, the world shifted.

Remus swallowed the lump in his throat, leaning in closer.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, as if speaking too loudly might startle her.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Well, she did just spend nine months inside me. Not much space in there.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, but his eyes never left the baby’s face. He could barely see her—just the softest hints of features beneath the blankets, tiny fingers curling instinctively.

“…Do you want to hold her?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

Remus hesitated. His hands, usually so steady, suddenly felt clumsy and too big. He was covered in scars, rough around the edges. He wasn’t sure he should be the first person to touch something so delicate, so new.

But you didn’t give him a choice. You carefully lifted your daughter towards him, placing the tiny bundle into his arms before he could protest.

And just like that, Remus Lupin—scarred, battered, who had spent his entire life believing he would never deserve something like this—held his daughter for the first time.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled sleepily. “Of course she is. She’s ours.”

Remus traced the pad of his thumb gently across her impossibly small hand.

“…We have to name her.”

You let your head rest back against the pillows, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. But there was no hesitation in your voice when you spoke.

“Hope.”

Remus froze. He looked at you, stunned.

You smiled softly. “There’s no better name for her.”

Hope.

His throat felt tight again, his chest full to the point of bursting. Hope was his mother's name.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the tiny, occasional whimpers coming from the small bundle in Remus’ arms. Madam Pomfrey had left some time ago. The labor had been long, exhausting, but now, in the peaceful glow of the evening, nothing else mattered. Hope was here. Your daughter. Your perfect little girl.

Remus sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched as he cradled the newborn close to his chest. You lay beside him, exhausted but smiling as you watched them. Your eyes heavy with fatigue, but you had never looked more beautiful to him.

His heart felt too full, like it could burst at any moment. He had imagined this moment over and over again—had feared it, had dreamed of it—but now that it was real, now that he was looking down at his daughter’s tiny face, all he could do was stare.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly would wake her.

You let out a tired chuckle. “That tends to happen with newborns.”

Remus huffed out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “No, but—Merlin, she’s so small.” He shifted slightly, bringing Hope closer, pressing the softest of kisses to her forehead. “And she smells… human.” His voice cracked on the last word.

You smiled knowingly. “I told you she would be okay.”

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I know. I just—” He opened them again, looking back down at the tiny, perfect face staring up at him. “I was so afraid.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers gently through his hair. “Not anymore, though. Right?”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “Not anymore.”

Hope let out the softest little sigh, curling slightly against his chest, and Remus felt something deep inside him shatter in the best way possible. He had never known love like this. A love so pure, so overwhelming, that it physically hurt.

He pressed another kiss to her tiny forehead, then one to her tiny nose, then another to her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes flickering back to you.

You blinked sleepily. “For what?”

He shook his head in disbelief, his arms tightening just a little around Hope. “For her. For loving me. For giving me something I never thought I’d have.” His voice cracked again, and he let out a breathless laugh. “For making me the happiest man alive.”

Your expression softened as you reached out, taking his free hand in yours. “You make me happy, too.”

Remus brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently before whispering against them, “I love you. So much.”

You gave him a sleepy, contented smile. “I love you, too.”

Hope stirred slightly in his arms, and he instinctively rocked her, shushing her gently. She settled again, tucking her tiny hand against his chest, and Remus swore right then and there that he would do everything to protect this little girl.

He would be the best father he could be. He would give her a childhood full of warmth, of laughter, of safety. He would make sure she always knew just how loved she was.

And most of all, he would spend the rest of his life proving to his wife and daughter that he would never, ever take them for granted.

The night stretched on in a peaceful haze. Your home, which had always been a place of warmth and comfort, now felt fuller—complete. Hope was almost sleeping in Remus’ arms, and he had yet to put her down. He couldn’t. Every time he tried, he just ended up staring at her again, marveling at the way her tiny fingers curled into fists, the way her little chest rose and fell with each delicate breath.

You had finally given in to sleep. But not before Remus had whispered how much he loved you between every kiss he pressed against your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. You had smiled, murmured something about how unfair it was that he was still so handsome even after hours of stress, and then promptly dozed off, your hand still resting lightly on his arm.

Hope was looking at him.

Not fully, not with any real focus, but there was something there. Like she knew exactly who he was.

“Well, you certainly have your mother’s charm, don’t you?” he murmured, shifting slightly so she rested more securely against him. “Already making me feel like I’d do absolutely anything for you.”

Hope made a soft noise, something between a sigh and a squeak, and he chuckled quietly.

“Oh, you agree with that, do you?” His voice was soft, filled with something warm and unfamiliar. “Just a few hours old and already running the house. Just wait until your mother hears about this.”

He glanced toward the bed, watching your steady breathing. You were curled up beneath the blankets, completely at peace, and he felt his heart clench in the best way.

“…She’s amazing, isn’t she?” he whispered to Hope, rocking her gently. “You’re very lucky, you know. You have the most incredible mum in the world.”

Hope made another little noise, shifting slightly in his arms.

“I know,” he sighed, glancing back down at her with a small, lopsided smile. “I still don’t understand how I got so lucky either.”

He traced the back of one finger against her tiny fist, watching as she tried—tried—to keep her eyes open.

“I suppose you take after me in that way,” he continued, his voice a low murmur. “I can never sleep properly either.”

Hope blinked up at him, her eyelids fluttering.

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re trying, aren’t you? Trying to stay awake and listen to me ramble.” He tilted his head, considering. “I’ll warn you now, I do that a lot. Your mum says I have a soothing voice, but personally, I think she’s just too stubborn to admit she likes hearing me talk.”

Hope made another tiny sound, her fingers twitching.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he teased. “You’re already on her side.”

She wriggled just a little, settling deeper against him, and he sighed, his expression softening.

“…You know, I was terrified,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When we found out about you. I didn’t know if I’d be good enough, if I’d be able to protect you. I still don’t know. But I promise, I’m going to try. Every single day.”

Hope gave one last determined attempt at keeping her eyes open, but she was losing the battle. Her tiny fingers loosened slightly, her breathing evened out, and Remus watched in quiet awe as she drifted off completely.

His daughter.

He exhaled slowly, pressing the softest kiss to the top of her head.

“Sleep well, love” he murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

He shifted slightly, carefully positioning her so she rested more securely against his chest. He wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight—he didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. Not when he had a lifetime of catching up to do with the daughter he never thought he’d have.

He traced gentle circles on her back, his voice dropping to a soft whisper.

“I hope you know how lucky you are,” he murmured. “Your mother is… well, she’s the best person I know. And you, my darling girl, you are the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

Hope yawned, her tiny mouth opening wide before settling again, and Remus felt something in his chest tighten.

He bent down, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll never have to wonder if you’re loved, Hope. Not for a second.”

He had spent his entire life believing he wasn’t worthy of love. That he was a monster. That he would always be on the outside looking in.

But now, sitting here in the dim glow of their bedroom, with his wife sleeping peacefully beside him and his daughter safe in his arms, Remus Lupin finally understood.

He was loved.

He was enough.

And he would spend the rest of his life making sure they knew how much he loved them in return.

Home.

The warm glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the windows of your cozy home, casting a golden hue over the wooden floors. Laughter echoed through the house as Remus sat cross-legged on the floor, his three-year-old daughter, Hope, sitting in his lap, clutching one of her favorite storybooks in her tiny hands.

“Again, Daddy!” she insisted, turning her big brown, inquisitive eyes up at him.

Remus chuckled, smoothing down her messy curls—curls that were a perfect mix of his and yours. “Sweetheart, we’ve read The Little Hippogriff three times already,” he said with amusement. “I think even the book is getting tired.”

Hope pouted dramatically, sticking her bottom lip out in a way that was far too reminiscent of you when you wanted something.

“Please?” she pleaded, batting her long lashes at him.

Remus sighed in mock defeat, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Merlin help me, you’re too cute for your own good,” he murmured before opening the book again.

Hope giggled, snuggling closer to him. “Mummy says the same thing.”

“Of course she does,” he muttered playfully.

Just then, you walked in from the kitchen, a fond smile on your face as you watched the two of them. You had spent the afternoon brewing Remus’ wolfsbane potion, ensuring that everything was ready for the full moon tomorrow. It was a routine you had fallen into easily—one that Hope had grown up with, never once fearing it.

“Still reading the same book?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway.

Hope beamed. “Daddy does all the voices!”

Remus rolled his eyes but smirked. “She refuses to listen unless I make the hippogriff sound very dramatic.”

You laughed, walking over and pressing a kiss to his temple. “That’s because she’s got a taste for theatrics. Wonder where she gets that from?”

Hope tilted her head. “From you, Mummy?”

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

Remus chuckled, closing the book and lifting Hope into his arms as he stood. “Alright, little one, time for a snack. You wore Daddy out.”

Hope gasped. “But you’re a big daddy! You don’t get tired!”

He kissed her cheek. “Trust me, darling, with you around, I definitely get tired.”

Hope giggled, wrapping her small arms around his neck. She was an absolute daddy’s girl through and through. She wanted him to tuck her in at night, hold her hand when she was nervous, and she always wanted to sit in his lap during storytime. If Remus left the room, she’d call after him. If he came home after a long day, she’d come running.

And, of course, she had already figured out what he was.

As Remus carried her into the kitchen, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Tomorrow’s the full moon,” she said matter-of-factly.

Remus and you exchanged a glance. She had learned quickly.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Remus said gently, placing her in her chair at the table.

Hope hummed thoughtfully, swinging her little legs. “Mummy’s gonna give you the yucky potion.”

You laughed as you placed a plate of fruit in front of Hope. “It’s not yucky, baby. It helps Daddy stay himself.”

Hope scrunched her nose. “It smells funny.”

“That’s because potions aren’t meant to taste good, darling,” Remus said, sitting beside her. “But it keeps me safe, and it means I can stay in bed with you and Mummy instead of in the forest.”

Hope nodded. “You don’t scare me, Daddy.”

Remus’ breath caught. You smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“I know, love,” Remus said, brushing her curls back. “But I am still a wolf when the moon is full.”

Hope tilted her head, frowning. “You’re my daddy.”

Remus swallowed hard. Merlin, how had he gotten so lucky?

You smiled. “That’s what I always tell him, too.”

Hope grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Mummy’s right!”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “She usually is.”

Hope stuffed a piece of fruit in her mouth, chewing happily. Then, after a moment, she asked, “Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can I pet you when you’re a wolf?”

Remus blinked in surprise. You snorted.

“Well,” Remus said, exchanging a look with you, “I suppose… if you’re careful.”

Hope gasped, eyes lighting up. “I can?”

You arched an amused brow at him. “Just don’t let her ride you like a little broomstick, love.”

Hope gasped again, looking between you excitedly. “Can I?!”

Remus groaned, dropping his head to the table while you burst into laughter. “Absolutely not.”

Hope pouted, clearly disappointed, Remus lifted his head. “Nice try, little one. I may be a big wolf, but I am not your personal broomstick.”

You chuckled as you sat beside them, shaking your head in amusement. “You know she’s going to try, right?”

Remus sighed dramatically, reaching for an apple slice. “Yes, and that’s what worries me.”

Hope grinned cheekily, stuffing another piece of fruit into her mouth.

Later that evening, after dinner, the three of you were curled up together in the living room. The fire crackled softly in the fireplace, casting warm golden light across the room. Hope sat in the middle of the couch, snuggled up between both of you, her tiny hands wrapped around a stuffed wolf Sirius had given her for her birthday.

Remus had a book open in his lap, but Hope was far more interested in him than the book. She reached up, her small fingers tracing over the faint scars on his face.

He chuckled softly. "You’re just like your mum, you know that?"

Hope giggled. "Mummy does this too?"

You, curled up on Remus’s other side, smiled. "All the time. Your daddy has the most interesting face."

Remus huffed, amused. "That’s a very kind way to say scarred beyond recognition."

Hope, her little brow furrowing, shook her head. "No, Daddy. Your face is the best."

His heart nearly melted right then and there.

She kept poking at his scars, her tiny fingers soft against his skin. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore, love," he murmured.

Hope studied him with the same serious expression she always had when she was thinking very hard. "You’re like a real-life storybook, Daddy. You have adventures."

You snorted. "Oh, he has adventures, does he?"

Hope nodded, completely serious. "Yes. But not like Uncle Sirius’s adventures. His are bad adventures."

Remus laughed. "Thank Merlin you understand that already."

Hope reached up and patted his cheek gently, as if comforting him. Then she shuffled closer, resting her tiny head against his chest. "I like your wolf."

His arms instinctively tightened around her. "You do, do you?"

Hope nodded sleepily. "Mhm. Mummy says you're a soft wolf. Not scary."

"That's because Mummy is very smart," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You smirked. "That’s the first correct thing you’ve said all day."

Remus rolled his eyes but he was smiling.

Your little routine continued as usual. Hope insisted that Remus be the one to carry her upstairs, despite the fact that she was perfectly capable of walking. Not that Remus minded—he loved the way she curled up against him, small hands clutching onto his robes as he carried her to bed.

After carefully tucking Hope into bed, Remus sat beside her, brushing her soft curls from her face. She was already half-asleep, but she still managed to grab onto his hand, her little fingers curling around his.

"Stay, Daddy," she mumbled sleepily.

His heart clenched. "Just for a little while, darling."

Hope smiled in her sleep, content, and within moments, her breathing evened out. Remus stayed there for a long time, just watching her. The moonlight streamed through the window, making her features glow, and he could hardly believe she was real—this little person, his daughter.

A warm hand touched his shoulder.

"Come to bed," you whispered softly.

He turned to look at you, and even in the dim light, you were beautiful. He reached for you, pulling you close. "Just give me another moment," he murmured.

You smiled, understanding. "You’ll fall asleep in her bed again."

"I won’t," he promised. "This time."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

With one last gentle kiss to Hope’s forehead, Remus finally stood, taking your hand and leading you out of the room. He closed the door quietly behind you before pulling you into a warm embrace right there in the hallway.

You melted into him immediately, resting your head against his chest. "You know," you murmured, "I love watching you with her."

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Do you?"

"Mhm," you hummed, tilting your head up to look at him. "You're such a good dad, Rem."

His arms tightened around you at that. He still wasn’t used to hearing it, but every time you said it, it settled something deep in his heart.

"I just… I want to be," he admitted quietly. "For her. For you."

"You are," you promised, reaching up to trace his jaw. "And do you know what else?"

"What?" he asked, amused.

You smirked. "You’re also my very handsome husband, and I think you need a proper goodnight kiss."

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, do I?"

"Yes," you whispered, already leaning up on your toes.

He didn’t hesitate, meeting you halfway, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. You sighed against him, your hands tangling in his hair, and for a moment, the whole world melted away.

When you finally pulled apart, Remus rested his forehead against yours.

"You always do this to me," he murmured, smiling. "Turn my brain to absolute mush."

You grinned. "I have that effect on you, huh?"

Remus huffed a laugh. "Dove, you have every effect on me."

You beamed, absolutely delighted. "Good. That’s exactly how it should be."

Remus let out a soft chuckle, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “You know, tomorrow night, I’ll probably wake up with Hope curled up next to me in wolf form again.”

You smirked. “Mmm, and you love it.”

He sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, yes.”

You laughed, pulling him towards the bed. “Come on, big bad wolf. Let’s get some sleep before your little shadow wakes us up at sunrise.”

Remus followed you without hesitation, wrapping himself around you as you settled in for the night. With you in his arms and your daughter safe in the next room, he had never felt more at peace.

—— 🌙 ——

A note from the author:

Hello my beautiful people!

This took a long while, I know, blame law school for it.

This is officially the last part. This story has a special place in my heart, I loved writing all the ten parts.

I tried my best to put up the most special moments between them, how their story developed since Hogwarts and how it shaped the rest of their lives. And of course, after much time, they came back to the place they started it all, it's a full circle!

Remus being a girl dad was just meant to be. I could not see this Remus being anything else. He was made for it. He was always so caring and loving with his wife, and now he is much more with their daughter. Hope came to make Remus never doubt himself anymore.

Anyways, thank you so so so much for the love this story received, for all the comments, for all the reblogs and mentions of it in other lists.

See you in my next stories!

With love, Izzy! 🤍

Taglist: @iloveremmy @jjamjamie @breakawayfromeveryday @oursweetmoony @whimsical-mistakes @froggiedragon @sophie-0012 @deathmybride @nerdbirdsworld @wolfstarsprongs @mischievousmoony @httpvomitello @msfandomsblog @starofthedawn @malenk @diiyaa @theonyxstate @waitforiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit @theredvelvetbitch @ohheyitsrowan @a1ienmush @michtellch @weirdstartshere @arcane-fan @ilovejamespottersomuch @koolayee @lovelyteenagebeard @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @worldofsaturnsblog @lovelyygirl8 @myalchemicalgnomace

[heretherebedork]

I think one of the most painful aspects of this episode was the show telling us that Yotha thinks he knows Faifa but really, really doesn't. He thinks he understands his brother and has convinced his friends that he knows him but he really just knows the mask Faifa wears. Yes, he knows there's more to him but he assumes that the rest of Faifa is more like himself and Newton rather than who he really is.

Yotha truly has no idea how fragile and hurt Faifa is, how desperate he is for affection, how much he needs to be loved and feels abandoned and how much he wants the connection between them. But he acts like he does! He convinces everyone he does! He tells Gun he understands Faifa and tries to sell his own version of the narrative as nothing but the truth.

Yotha sees Faifa being too kind to everyone and doesn't see behind it to the why because all he sees is the problems it causes and even when he thinks about the why he only thinks about the surface and not what he's doing to him that plays into all of it.

Faifa loves his family so much but it is that same love for his family that has trapped him into this loop, this giving of himself until he has nothing left because he has nothing else. Nothing but giving. And now they simply expect it of him.

Five hours. Newton and Yotha left him at the airport for five hours and neither told him a thing and it doesn't seem like anyone apologized or even that Yotha knows he was left there from the greeting and conversation at the bar is any indication. And so Faifa has nothing but his own sacrifice and people who don't seem to care at all because the only way they care is to either take from him or show up for a moment to support him (Yotha punching the guy) only to yell at him and then instantly leave.

And this is why it hurts the most. Because this part of Faifa is born because of his family and how they treat not just him but their relationships with him, how they treat him within their family and within their brotherhood, how Yotha's conviction that he knows Faifa well is actually hurting Faifa more than he can know.

Faifa always defended Yotha to anyone who asked. He was so clear that for all his brother pushed people away he never meant anything bad even when, frankly, Yotha did. But Yotha throws Faifa away every chance he gets, constantly saying he doesn't know how to love or how to fall in love or how to win the boy or that he knows something he doesn't.... but Yotha thinks he's helping and that's why it hurts me so much. That what Yotha thinks is loving and supporting his brother is actually just hurting Faifa more and more, twisting a knife, keeping him apart, never giving him what he needs to feel loved and comfortable and part of the family.

[seravphs]

“You always have to do things the hard way,” Kaiser grunts as he bangs down the door.

Or tries to, anyways. It’s solid metal.

“Never want to take the easy way out even if it kills you. Are you addicted to trouble?”

Yes, obviously.

“Or just stupid?”

“If you keep yelling at me,” you tell him calmly, belied by enormous eyes with eclipsed pupils, “I’m going to start a fire with my lighter and suck all the air out from this room and then we’ll both die.“

A pause in the conversation from both of you. Feeling suddenly awkward and unfinished, you stick your tongue out at him. “So there.”

Immediately, you regret it. It was an idea meant to be ironic, but perhaps Kaiser read it as post ironic - does it look childish? Anyway, you don’t care what he thinks, you-

He laughs at you outright.

“You’re so dramatic,” he scoffs. “And anyway, you’re proving my point. Killing us both because you got us stuck in the storage closet? Way to say ‘you’re right, Kaiser, I’d rather cause catastrophic damage than admit I’m wrong.’”

“Says you,” you snap back. “There’s no way you, of all people, are going to call me dramatic. And move-“ you punctuate this by shoving him aside. “You’re going to break your shoulder against that door, dumbass. All of you footballers have muscles for brains. Obviously it’s not going to work if it hasn’t worked for the past minute.”

“So what do you suggest,” Kaiser drawls, now leaning back against the wall. His posture is still perfect; his pose suggests haughty grace and elegance. He looks down his nose at you, his eyes narrowed with cunning. “Miss perfect?”

“I-“ You swallow hard. You actually didn’t think this far ahead.

“I mean, you’re the one who got me in this mess.” He’s walking closer. He’s walking closer and this room is literally closet sized and there’s no space for you to back up and-

Kaiser smells so, so good. Like winter air and freezing waters. More of an illustrated impression than a combination of particular notes, it reminds you of the family vacation you took to Alaska years ago. You were a child and you’d wandered outside. Everyone thought you were going to die - your mother cried when you were found - but you don’t remember that.

You remember sitting on a snowbank with your head craned back, watching the aurora borealis dance above you. The landscape was only beautiful because it was so severe, the wind whipping heat into your cheeks, the snow melting in your eyelashes.

Kaiser smells like that memory, like finding comfort in the ice.

He has you pressed up against the wall now. His scent surrounds you. You’re so close that you can imagine the heat of his body through his jersey; your front feels warmer than your back, pressed against the cold steel of the closet.

You can’t look up. Can’t meet him in the eyes. There’s a horrifying thrill in you, some kind of instinct telling you something terrible will happen. You’ll turn to stone or he’ll ensorcel you or -

“Hey.” His fingers slip under your chin and force your gaze to his. “Pay attention to me. No way I’m going to let you lock me in a closet and ignore me.”

“I know,” he smiles like it’s just dawned on him. You know damn well it hasn’t. “Why don’t you make it up to me, hm?”

[idontknowreallywhy]

100%.

Anecdata incoming, cease reading if you don’t want personal experience.

I had a “missed miscarriage” where you find out there is no heartbeat at the 12 week scan despite everything seeming to have proceeded as usual.

It was a real shock. I’m a fairly well educated person but I’d believed up to that point that miscarriages meant bleeding and pain and… well, something obvious. Not your body continuing to act as if it was still growing a new human and refusing to let go of it.

Almost the worst thing after the amount of unnecessary guilt I’d piled on myself (I’d had a very high stress week of work the same week they calculated my little quiet bean stopped being a living bean) was when I got pregnant again, well-meaning people saying things like “now you make sure you look after yourself this time”…

No!! Just NO!

Absolutely no link between stress and miscarriage.

FWIW, The scan actually showed the bean had not been developing as it should have for its size, so although it is impossible to be sure, it was certainly more likely something had just gone wrong and this one just wasn’t compatible with life rather than I’d somehow damaged its chances by daring to have a life and a job.

Even knowing all that, the phrase still haunts me occasionally, years later.

Do not say stuff like this, it is not based on any evidence and if you are trying to say something kind, know this is NOT kind.

We should teach children about miscarriage during sex ed. Here’s why

I feel this in my bones

Miscarriage and still births are still so taboo, which contributes to/exacerbates the feelings of isolation and despair which often follow. And it's not at all helped by the misinformation that's out there.

Some of the most unhelpful types of advice I frequently see involve versions of 'avoid stress', which, if you think about it for more than a minute is not only something of an empty platitude, but also makes no sense given the number of full-term babies born into extremely stressful conditions throughout human history

Properly understanding and talking about the potential vagaries of pregnancy might also go some way to challenging anti-abortion rhetoric, which tends to fetishise pregnancy (always at the expense of the pregnant person. And reality). It was quite apparent that some of them don't understand how pregnancy works when those US politicians started waffling about 're-implating foetuses' during in ectopic pregnancies... I dare say people like that have never heard of a molar pregnancy, for example.

Basically, we need to demystify pregnancy for everyone's sakes

[biblical-chronicles]

Sibling rivalry

__________________________________________

where the two both take a likin' to you, but who will you choose?

(you actually get to choose, more than one thing)

__________________________________________

It started, as many things did, with a pint.

You’d only meant to pop into the pub for a quick drink—a quiet end to a long day. You weren’t looking for company, weren’t looking for a story to tell. But fate, and a bit of dumb luck, had other plans.

You’d just settled onto a barstool, a fresh pint in hand, when someone slid into the empty seat beside you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—just another bloke looking for a drink. But then he turned, nodded at you, and said, “Not from round ‘ere, are ya?”

You glanced up, eyebrow raising slightly. Dark hair, sharp features, an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and boredom. He had a quiet sort of confidence, like he’d seen it all before and wasn’t in any rush to be impressed.

“I live round here,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “Do I not look local?”

He smirked. “Nah, just don’t recognise ya. And I know everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“More or less.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “What, you the mayor or somethin’?”

That earned you a quiet chuckle. “Somethin’ like that.” He leaned against the bar, tilting his head as he studied you. “Noel.”

You introduced yourself in return, shaking the hand he offered. His grip was firm, his palm slightly rough—calloused, like someone who spent more time with a guitar than he did sitting behind a desk.

It didn’t take long to fall into easy conversation. There was something about him—dry humour, sharp wit, the kind of effortless cool that couldn’t be faked. You talked about music, about Manchester, about nothing in particular. It was the kind of conversation that flowed naturally, like two people who had known each other much longer than the twenty minutes you actually had.

And then, just as you were mid-sentence, another voice cut in.

"Oi, Noel—ain’t that bird too fit for you?"

You turned just in time to see a new figure saunter up, all swagger and mischief. He was taller than Noel, broader in the shoulders, with messy hair and a cocky grin that looked permanent. You knew who he was before he even opened his mouth again.

Liam Gallagher.

You barely had a chance to react before Noel sighed heavily, like he’d been expecting this exact interruption. "Fuck off, Liam."

Liam ignored him, plonking himself down on your other side. "Nah, serious question," he said, looking at you now, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You actually enjoyin’ talkin’ to him, or has he been borin’ you to death with some story about how he single-handedly reinvented music?"

You smirked, glancing between the two of them. "He’s been alright, actually."

Liam huffed, looking affronted. "Christ, standards are slippin’ round ‘ere."

Noel rolled his eyes. "Don’t you have someone else to bother?"

Liam ignored that too. Instead, he turned his attention fully to you, draping an arm over the back of your chair like he’d known you for years. "Right, well. If you’re lookin’ for an actual good time, you’re talkin’ to the wrong brother."

Noel scoffed. "Oh, fuck off."

"What?" Liam spread his hands. "It’s true! You’re sat here actin’ all mysterious, talkin’ in riddles, meanwhile, I’m an open book. Dead easy to talk to, me."

"You’re a gobshite, is what you are."

"And yet, people love me."

Noel shook his head, lifting his pint to his lips. "No one fuckin’ loves you, mate."

Liam turned back to you, expression dramatic. "See what I have to put up with?"

You just laughed, shaking your head. "You two always like this?"

"Absolutely," Noel muttered.

"Since birth," Liam added.

Noel shot him a look. "Well, since your birth. I was sound ‘til you showed up."

Liam grinned. "Jealous ‘cause I’m the better model?"

Noel’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, mate. That’s definitely what it is."

You were barely holding in your laughter at this point. The banter between them was so seamless, so automatic, you almost felt like an intruder just watching it unfold.

Liam must have noticed, because he turned back to you, leaning in slightly. "See, I’m just tryin’ to make sure you have a good night, but he’s makin’ it all about himself. Typical."

"Fuckin’ hell, Liam," Noel groaned.

"You are doin’ a lot of talkin’ for someone who’s meant to be the quiet, cool one," you teased.

Liam snorted, nudging your shoulder like you were already in on the joke. "See? She gets it."

Noel sighed, shaking his head—but you didn’t miss the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "She’s humourin’ you, mate."

"Bet she’s not."

"Bet she is."

You grinned, glancing between them. "You lot always this competitive?"

Noel lifted a shoulder. "Only when he’s losin’."

Liam scoffed. "I never lose."

"You’re losin’ now."

"Am I fuck."

The bickering continued, neither of them willing to back down. You just sat back, sipping your pint, thoroughly entertained.

You had walked into this pub alone. But somehow, between a drink and some good conversation, you’d landed yourself in the middle of a full-fledged Gallagher standoff.

“Gonna step out for a cig.” He paused, then—almost casual, almost like he wasn’t particularly arsed either way—nodded towards the door. “You comin’ or what?”

You raised a brow, setting your glass down. “You inviting me, Gallagher?”

He scoffed. “Reckon so, yeah. Unless you’re havin’ too much fun watchin’ him”—he jerked his chin toward Liam, who was now gesturing wildly about something, pint dangerously close to spilling—“chat absolute shite.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Nah, I think I like it here.”

...

The rest of the evening carried on much the same—Liam and Noel, constantly taking jabs at each other, each trying to outdo the other in whatever way they could. It wasn’t always obvious, but you could see it—the way Liam would shift closer when Noel spoke, the way Noel would cut in when Liam was making you laugh a little too much.

At one point, Noel offered to buy you a drink. Liam scoffed.

“Eh, don’t let him,” he said, leaning in. “Tightest fucker you’ll ever meet.”

Noel, completely unfazed, just exhaled, shaking his head. “Right, and what, you’re the generous one?”

“Absolutely.”

You just laughed, letting them bicker as you took a sip of your drink.

Later, when Noel had been dragged into a conversation with someone else, Liam nudged your knee under the table. “Gotta say, didn’t expect to have such riveting competition tonight,” he said, smirking.

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting less of a challenge?”

Liam grinned, tipping his pint towards you. “Course.”

“You’re both as bad as each other,” you said, shaking your head.

“You love it, though,” he teased.

You pretended to consider. “…Maybe.”

As the night wound down, the pub thinning out, you checked the time and sighed. “I should probably head off,” you said, standing and stretching.

Noel, who had reappeared beside you, arched an eyebrow. “What, leavin’ already?”

“Some of us have responsibilities,” you said, grinning.

Liam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Tragic, that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. “Here,” you said, handing it to Noel first.

He smirked but took it, tapping in his number before handing it to Liam. Liam squinted at the screen before doing the same, then passed it back to you.

“There,” he said. “Now you’re stuck with us.”

You laughed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Lucky me.”

Noel grinned. “You are, actually.”

Liam snorted, shaking his head, but he was grinning too.

You took a step back, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Alright, lads, it’s been fun. Try not to kill each other, yeah?”

“No promises,” Noel said, lifting his pint.

You laughed again, turning for the door, feeling their eyes on you as you walked out into the night.

Back home, you flopped onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling, mind still buzzing from the night.

What the fuck was that?

It wasn’t just that they’d been fighting over you—that much was obvious. But what did it mean? Was it just some drunken game between brothers, a bit of fun for the night? Had they just seen an opportunity to wind each other up and taken it, and you’d been caught in the middle? Or had it actually been something more?

And if it was something more… what were you supposed to do about it?

You didn’t even know if you had a preference. If it had just been Noel, or just Liam, maybe you’d have a better grasp on it. But no, it had been both of them, equally persistent, equally charming in their own ways. The whole thing left you feeling unsteady, stuck in some weird limbo where you didn’t quite know how to move forward.

Not that it mattered, apparently.

A couple of days passed without a single word from either of them. No texts, no calls, nothing. And that, really, gave you the answer, didn’t it? It had just been a bit of fun at the pub, and you’d read too much into it.

Probably already been forgotten, you thought bitterly, rolling your eyes at yourself.

And then your phone buzzed.

You nearly ignored it, but when you glanced at the screen and saw the name—Noel—your stomach did a weird little flip. You scrambled to grab your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers.

Noel: You still alive?

You blinked. What?

Noel: Got some time this evenin’?

For a second, you just stared at the screen. Then your heart lurched into your throat, and you had to physically shake yourself out of it.

Okay. Okay. Breathe.

You had not been forgotten. Not entirely, at least. And—more importantly—Liam hadn’t been the one to reach out. Just Noel. The choice had been made for you, clearly.

You: Yeah, I’m free. What’re you thinking?

Noel: I could come round yours?

Shit. Shit.

You felt another little rush of panic, followed swiftly by a wave of excitement. You hadn’t even entertained the idea that one of them would come over, but now it was happening, and you suddenly felt grossly unprepared.

You: Yeah, sounds good. I’ll text you the address.

Noel: Sound.

You let out a breath, staring at the messages for a moment before jumping to your feet. If he was coming over, your place needed to not look like a disaster zone. You spent the next hour tidying up—nothing too obvious, just enough that it looked effortlessly presentable. And, of course, you changed. Not too much, didn’t want to look like you’d tried too hard, but… a little.

By the time there was a knock at the door, you were as ready as you could be.

You took a deep breath, then pulled it open.

Noel stood there, hands in his coat pockets, a small bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm.

You blinked.

“…You brought flowers?”

He smirked, shifting them toward you. “What, can’t show up empty-handed, can I?”

You huffed a laugh, taking them from him. “Didn’t peg you for the romantic type.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, stepping inside.

The evening had settled into something easy, something comfortable.

Noel had made himself at home on your couch, legs stretched out, a drink in hand, looking for all the world like he’d been there a hundred times before. You’d thrown on a record—something older, something good—and the two of you sat back, talking shit about music, about gigs, about whatever came to mind.

It was nice. Flirty in that natural, unforced way, the kind where neither of you were really trying but it was there anyway, in the small smirks, in the teasing lilt of your words, in the way his eyes lingered when you talked.

At some point, he got up to flip the record over, and you watched him from where you sat, drink dangling from your fingers.

“You’re a proper music snob, aren’t you?” you mused.

Noel scoffed. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. If it’s not from some band that was big before I was even born, you don’t wanna hear it.”

He turned back, narrowing his eyes playfully. “It’s called havin’ taste, mate. Some of us have got it.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and he grinned, dropping back onto the couch beside you. The conversation continued, winding and effortless, and you let yourself enjoy it—just sitting there with him, the warm glow of the lamp, the quiet crackle of the record.

Then your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first, too caught up in whatever Noel was saying. But a few minutes later, when his glass was near-empty, you took the chance to get up.

“I’ll grab us another drink,” you said, standing.

Noel just hummed in agreement, settling further into the couch as you made your way to the kitchen.

As soon as you were out of sight, you pulled out your phone.

Liam.

Liam: Oi, you free later? Was thinking of swingin’ by late evening.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What were the fucking odds? A couple of days of nothing and then the moment you finally think, alright, Noel it is, Liam decides to pop back up?

You chewed your lip, staring at the message.

Alright. Two options.

Either you told Liam you were busy—simple, easy, no drama—or you somehow got Noel to leave early without making it obvious.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

“Y’alright?”

You jumped slightly at the sound of Noel’s voice from the other room.

“Yeah!” you called back, forcing your voice to stay normal. “Just getting the drinks.”

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you grabbed the bottles from the counter and took a deep breath.

As you walked back toward the living room, drinks in hand, you made a split-second decision.

You shifted one of the bottles to the crook of your arm, freeing up a hand to grab your phone. Fingers moving quickly, you typed out a reply.

Ah, can’t tonight. Another time?

Yeah, I'll send you the address in a bit x

...

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. The soft hum of the fridge, the distant sound of traffic, all of it pressing in on you like a weight.

How did you even get here?

You hadn’t meant for things to get complicated. Both of them were clearly willing to try something with you, both of them offering something real, something worth exploring. And yet, the more you thought about it, the more it felt wrong.

You can’t have both.

Your chest tightened at the thought. If you chose one, the other would be hurt, and you'd be left with the awkward tension of knowing you’d led them on. You couldn’t stand the idea of breaking Noel’s heart—he was your rock, your best friend. He deserved better than to be caught up in this mess. But Liam, too, had been nothing but kind, and the pull between you two was undeniable. What if you picked Noel, but Liam felt left out? What if choosing him meant losing Noel?

What do I do?

The anxiety hit, and your breath grew shallow. Your hands shook as you scrolled through the threads of messages again, looking for some kind of sign that would make the decision easier. But there was nothing. Just the two of them, both wanting something from you. Something you weren’t sure you were ready to give.

If you choose one, you’ll lose the other.

You felt trapped, suffocated by the pressure of making the right choice. You didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all Noel, who had always been there for you. You didn’t want to hurt Liam, who seemed so open, so genuine. But there was no way around it.

You couldn’t keep leading them both on. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t know what your heart really wanted.

With shaky hands, you grabbed your phone, quickly choosing

Liam's number

Noel's number

________________________________________

don't know where to include notes, but I'll do it here since it's the main skeleton I guess? hopefully, it was not too messy to read?? anyhow, hope ya lot liked it, this was the reason the stories were a tad shorter lately xx

also, made a whole separate blog just to post the choices, since I didn't know how to do it so that I wouldn't a) completely spoil the endings b) spam the shit out of ya

[urdreamydoodles]

THE WILD & THE SOFT — A Logan Howlett One Shot

Pairing: Logan Howlett (comics) x Fem!Reader

Description: How your relationship with Logan begins and evolves.

Theme: Pure fluff and comfort

Words: 2330

You were never afraid of wild things.

Perhaps that was why you came here, to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, where wild things walked the halls in the shape of children, in the shape of warriors, in the shape of men who did not know how to be gentle.

Perhaps that was why you never feared Logan.

—

From the first day, the school accepted you like the missing piece of a puzzle. The children adored you—your warmth, your wit, the way you spoke to them like they mattered. You were their teacher, but more than that, you were their listener, their protector, their friend.

Even the X-Men—those who fought in shadows and carried their burdens like armor—could not help but like you.

But Logan?

Logan watched.

Not like the others. Not with admiration or curiosity or anything so simple. No—he watched like a wolf circling a fire, wary of getting burned.

He watched you with something sharp, something unreadable in his dark eyes, as if he were waiting for you to be something other than what you seemed.

Maybe he didn’t trust softness.

Maybe he had been burned before.

But you? You had never been afraid of wild things.

—

It started in small ways.

The first time you met him, he had been leaning against the doorframe of Charles’ office, arms crossed, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere else.

“Logan,” Charles had introduced him, tone dry but amused, “I believe you two will be seeing a lot of each other.”

You had smiled at him then—just smiled, the way you did with the children, the way you did with everyone. Not cautious, not guarded, not expecting anything in return.

Logan had narrowed his eyes like you were some kind of puzzle he didn’t have time to figure out.

That should have been the end of it.

But then there was the time you had caught him in the kitchen at two in the morning, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Isn’t it a little early to be brooding?” you had teased, stealing a slice of apple from the counter.

He had grunted in response.

“You know, most people actually use a glass for that.”

He had given you a look that was half exasperation, half amusement. “Most people ain't me, sweetheart.”

You had only smiled, biting into the apple. “I know.”

And then there was the time a training session had left him bleeding—nothing serious, but enough that you had frowned when he walked past your classroom, fresh claw marks on his arms.

You had stepped into his path, arms crossed. “Logan.”

He had barely paused, voice gruff. “What?”

You had reached out, tracing your fingers lightly over the already-healing wounds. “Do you ever take care of yourself, or do you just let your body do all the work?”

He had stilled under your touch, not used to hands that meant no harm.

You had felt the tension in him, the restraint, the way he was always ready for something to go wrong.

You had smiled, slow and knowing. “Let me guess—no one ever fusses over you, huh?”

He had scoffed. “I don’t need fussin’ over.”

You had only hummed, eyes twinkling. “That’s what people say right before they realize they kinda like it.”

And then you had walked away, leaving him standing there, scowling after you.

—

He was drawn to you, though he wouldn’t admit it.

It wasn’t just the teasing, the laughter, the way you pushed at him without pushing too hard.

It was the light you carried.

It was the way you made people feel safe. The way you made this place feel like a home instead of just another battlefield.

He watched you with the kids, saw the way they flocked to you, the way you always had a gentle word, a patient smile, a hand on a shoulder to remind them they weren’t alone.

He watched you with the X-Men, how even the hardest among them softened in your presence, how you made Scott chuckle when no one else could, how you knew when to leave Ororo alone and when to pull her into conversation, how you treated Jean like she wasn’t just power wrapped in skin but a person first and foremost.

And he watched how you treated him.

Like he wasn’t something to be wary of. Like he wasn’t just a weapon, wasn’t just sharp edges and violence.

You treated him like a man.

Like he was worth something.

—

And then, one day, he overheard you speaking about him.

It had been an accident—he hadn’t meant to listen. He had just been passing by a classroom, the door slightly open, when he heard Jean’s voice.

“…he’s complicated,” she was saying.

And then—your voice.

“Complicated isn’t bad.”

Logan had paused, instinct keeping him still.

Jean sighed. “I just mean… he’s not easy to get close to.”

You had laughed, a soft, knowing sound. “Jean, I grew up around people who built walls higher than their own heads. You know what I learned?”

Jean hummed. “What?”

“That the people who build the highest walls are usually the ones who want someone to climb them the most.”

Logan had felt something tighten in his chest.

Jean had been quiet for a moment. “You really think that about him?”

And then you had said the thing that unraveled him completely.

“Logan isn’t just claws and growls and bad tempers. He’s got a heart in there, even if he doesn’t like showing it. He protects people. He cares. He just doesn’t think he deserves anyone caring about him back.”

Logan had gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose.

And then, softer—softer than anything—your voice, warm as sunlight.

“But I care about him anyway.”

—

He found you later that day.

It was after classes, after the halls had emptied, after the sun had started dipping toward the horizon.

He found you in the library, tucked into a chair, a book resting open in your lap.

You looked up when he walked in, smiling like you always did. “Hey, stranger.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked up, stopping a foot away. Looking at you like he was trying to figure something out.

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

He exhaled sharply, then—before he could second-guess it—he reached out, brushing his fingers over your hand. A small touch, but a deliberate one.

You blinked at him, surprised. But then you smiled, slower this time.

Softer.

He swallowed, voice rough. “You really mean all that?”

You didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about.

You just nodded. “Yeah, Logan. I do.”

He looked at you for a long moment.

Then, gruffly—awkwardly—he muttered, “Guess I’ll have to get used to that, huh?”

Your smile widened. “Guess so.”

And when he sat down beside you, closer than he had ever allowed himself to sit before, you didn’t say anything.

You just let him.

Because you had never been afraid of wild things.

And, somehow, he wasn’t afraid of your light.

—

Logan wasn’t used to tenderness.

He had known heat, sure—fast, reckless, mindless. The kind that burned bright and burned out just as fast. He had known touch, but not the kind that lingered, not the kind that meant something.

And you—God, you were nothing but meaning.

—

It started slow.

Neither of you named what was happening, neither of you talked about it, but something shifted that day in the library when he sat beside you and let himself stay.

After that, he found himself seeking you out more than he wanted to admit.

It was small things at first—passing by your classroom more often than he needed to, finding himself in the kitchen at the same time as you, showing up at your door under the pretense of asking something unimportant.

And you let him.

You never called him out on it, never pushed, never asked him to be anything other than what he was.

You just let him orbit you, like he was some untamed thing slowly finding his way closer.

—

The first time you touched him without thinking, something inside him nearly broke.

It was in the courtyard, late afternoon, the students long gone to their dorms. You had been sitting on the steps, the sun slanting golden over the grass, laughing at something he said.

And then—without hesitation, without thought—you reached out and smoothed a hand over his arm.

It wasn’t much. Just a touch. Just a brush of warmth over his skin.

But Logan had gone still.

Because he realized—then and there—that he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like that. Not because they wanted something. Not because they feared him.

Just because they wanted to.

You didn’t even seem to notice what you had done, didn’t seem to realize that something inside him had gone very, very quiet.

But after that, it kept happening.

You touched him more often, casually, naturally—your hand against his arm when you teased him, your fingers brushing his wrist when you laughed, your knee knocking against his under a table.

And Logan—Logan let you.

Because, against all odds, against all instinct, he didn’t want you to stop.

—

The first time he thought about kissing you, it terrified him.

It was nighttime, and you were outside, standing at the edge of the mansion grounds, looking up at the stars.

He had found you without meaning to, his body drawn to yours the way it always seemed to be.

You had turned when you heard his steps, smiling.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He had only shrugged, stepping closer.

You tilted your head at him, something knowing in your eyes. “You thinking too hard again?”

Logan had scoffed, shaking his head. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’ve ever met a man who thinks less than me.”

You had laughed, soft and warm. “You think more than you let on, Logan.”

And then you had reached out—like it was nothing, like it was natural—and brushed a piece of hair from his face.

That was the moment.

That was the moment he felt it hit him like a blow to the ribs—the want, the need, the thing he had been holding back ever since you first smiled at him.

Because you weren’t just kind. You weren’t just soft.

You weren’t just teasing words and warm hands and understanding smiles.

You were you.

And Logan—God help him—wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything.

—

He kissed you two weeks later.

Not because he had planned to, not because he had finally decided it was time.

But because he couldn’t not kiss you anymore.

It had been after a mission.

You hadn’t been in the field, but you had been waiting when they returned, helping with injuries, checking on everyone.

Logan had been the last to come inside, his knuckles bloody, his jaw tight.

You had found him in the hall, eyes immediately scanning him for wounds.

“You okay?”

He had grunted, rolling his shoulder. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

But you had frowned, reaching for his hand, your fingers tracing over his scraped knuckles.

And that was it.

That was all it took.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his, the moment you looked up at him with that quiet concern—something inside him snapped.

He had kissed you without warning, without hesitation.

One moment, he was standing there, aching in ways he didn’t know how to name.

The next, his mouth was on yours, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you close like he needed you to keep him standing.

You made a small sound of surprise against his lips—but then you melted.

You kissed him back like you had been waiting.

Like you had known.

And Logan—who had spent his whole life surviving—felt, for the first time, like he had found something worth living for.

—

Being with you was new.

Logan had been with women before. That wasn’t the new part.

The new part was this.

The way you laughed against his mouth when he kissed you. The way you stole food from his plate without asking. The way you curled against him on the couch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The way you made him feel like he wasn’t just a fighter, wasn’t just a weapon, wasn’t just something sharp waiting to cut.

The way you made him feel human.

And God—he hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

—

He wasn’t perfect.

He could be gruff, stubborn, difficult.

Sometimes, he pulled away when he didn’t mean to.

Sometimes, the past got too close, the memories got too loud, and he needed space.

But you understood.

You didn’t push. You didn’t demand more than he could give.

You just waited.

And when he came back—when he found you again—you were there.

Always there.

Like the stars, like the sun, like something steady and endless.

—

One night, months later, he found you in the same spot where he had first wanted to kiss you—outside, beneath the stars, looking up like they held answers.

He had stepped up beside you, silent, solid, familiar.

You had smiled. “You always find me out here.”

Logan had smirked, voice low. “Guess I’m gettin’ good at it.”

You had turned, looking at him fully.

And then—soft, certain—you had reached up and cupped his face in your hands.

Logan had gone still.

Because, even now, after everything, he still wasn’t used to this.

To being held.

To being wanted.

But you only smiled, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“I love you, Logan.”

And Logan—who had spent lifetimes losing things, breaking things, ruining things—looked at you and finally, finally let himself believe.

He exhaled, voice rough, hands curling around your waist.

“I love you too, darlin’.”

And when he kissed you that time, it wasn’t because he couldn’t not kiss you.

It was because he wanted to.

Because you were his, and he was yours, and for once in his life—

Logan was exactly where he was meant to be.

[bcacstuff]

Sorry but Sam has been on way too often to be away with a girl. Any girl. Maybe a catch up or day trip if in same country but come on, I know you keep track of his SM times and so do I. What doesn’t add up to me is that story was posted on Saturday (as far as I know that girl posts on the day) not days later…. On Saturday Sam was on Saturday morning 10.30am reposting MPC and SS, then 1.45pm posted about the rugby and somewhere near that time liked the Scotland team post, at around 4pm he liked Pieters post as well. Maybe I missed stuff on Saturday night but was nothing for him to repost. Now if he was sight seeing at the waterfalls he must of been there the day before because no way he was on that often during the day if he was there. Also on Friday he was on in the morning early then again around 8pm and that’s the night he was commenting on fans posts at 10.30. I’m confused why you’d even be looking at those posts unless so bored and alone. What people don’t get is why would any man away on a vacation with a girl he hasn’t seen in months be on his phone that often reposting the most un-important things. Bloodshot 5 year anniversary too and starz outlander post we’ve seen a million times… no I would think you’d throw your phone away and enjoy your time alone together finally after all those months… if she meant anything to a man

Sorry for the rant but it’s crazy to me. And if he posts from Mexico and posts the waterfall it still means nothing to me because of what I just explained up there

I got a mailbox full of, well all kind of messages, I think I relate the most to yours... Today especially it looks like he's hanging at the pool or something with his 2 best friends; his phone and a bottle of his booze

But I post a selection:

OMG that ring has got nothing to do with this 🤭

the 'date' vs 'friends

I think calling it 'dating' is overrated and also jumping to conclusions. That fan pic and read Anon 1 above, and today's activity on IG screams to me not 'dating'

Exactly!

I don't think you can compare Roman (a cast member he had many scenes with) with VF

I was telling from the start when he was with Sarah in GC and even in the same villa, that the connection was Hyrox and sports. I was yelled at, laughed at, I was called all kind of things! But in the end..... you got it!

Still Sarah is not half his age, nor a crew member, and he doesn't look like a divorced dad when she's his company.

I don't

I'm sorry...... but ... uhm.... I'm just gonna say no and smh

[immortalmolloy]

Daniel certainly was not in the mood for sex either. He just wanted to feel Mina’s skin against his skin. He was comforted having her as close as possible. “Same,” he agreed.

He was so happy to be home which really meant he was happy to be back with the people he loved, the place didn’t matter. The house didn’t matter. They would build a new home together. As long as they were safe and had each other then that was all that mattered.

“I missed you too,” he told her. He really did miss her. He always felt like a part of him was missing when he was away from her.

Daniel considered what they would do about their next home. It would definitely have to be more secluded and there was going to be a lot of security. They couldn’t take any risks anymore.

“Yeah, we’ll definitely have to be smarter about things going forward,” he agreed.

The comment about fangirls almost made him laugh. He was quite used to the fans of Lestat. Daniel couldn’t blame them for being into Lestat. Daniel knew though that Lestat’s heart belonged to him and Louis and even Mina.

“We’ll paint our new home together,” he said. “It’ll be fun. Louis did tell me telepathically that we could get a big place all together. He and Lestat could have their own section of the house but they’d be close if there was ever any kind of danger. He’s already got plans about increasing security.”

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[pnfc]

curious if theyll do any more jokes around the idea that perry's noises are a kind of grammatically complex/comprehensible 'platypus talk' like they did in mml -- because they never did that in pnf, they deliberately eschewed it, at most doof joked about pretending to understand what his noises meant.

as cute as the idea is of doof learning his animal language, the idea always kinda bugged me. in part because its just too cartoony for me to accept, that perrygrowl.mp3 can have multiple complex meanings (and also no meaning, like in the ep where pnf build an animal translator and they find that his growl means nothing.)

but also like ... if there is such a thing as platypus talk, as a complex language, how would perry have learned it? he grew up around people speaking/writing english. his voice is built to produce animal growls, sure, but he didn't hear other platypuses communicate growing up, as far as we know. (or, i like to assume.) thats kinda why i lean into sign language in my stuff, perry already communicates a lot with his hands, if he's gonna communicate in complex ways i prefer that, and it's more versatile, as a language humans already use.

[djdjdjmk]

Ford and Art

Continuation of this post.

At some point Ford founds out about "the artist room”

At first he's curious, he goes through each sketch and doodle, looking for nothing in particular

Then he notices small notes

-"Today I had a dream about an old woman again. We were sitting in the kitchen and making some kind of meat dumplings. It was nice."

-"I had another nightmare about Ford shooting me, maybe it would've been better if tha—"

-"I was a child and on a boat with Ford today, we were playing in the sand and even built a sandcastle"

-”I had a dream where i got turned into a cat and Ford liked me more that way”

-"Two kids were sleeping next to me in a dream. When I woke up they weren't there."

-"I had a dream where i died in a car crash right after i got kicked out–”

-”This damn lizard was talking to me about my “Traumas” again. It’s kind of annoying, I hope this thing is not real and it’s just the fever I got after infecting that stupid burn.”

-”I had a dream where Ford turned me into the zombie.”

-”I had a dream where I went to a college with Ford”

But before Ford manages to go further in those notes Stan catches him snooping around and starts screaming at him, very reasonably mad at his brother. At some point in the heat of the argument in an impromptu tug-o-war Ford rips one of Stan's older drawings in half, thematically it's one of those drawings that were depicting Ford and Lee as kids, split going right in the middle over them holding hands together.

Ford immediately regrets it

But Stan is having none of it. He storms off, accidentally taking the rift with him in some way, (he mixed his art supply bag and Ford’s, they both were at the exit and in the heat of the moment he took it with him)

There he encounters Bill, he tries to con him but fails. So the demon tries to tackle him instead, causing them both to crash and breaking the rift in process. Bill traps Stan in a bubble, surrounding him with everything he ever dreamed of: a family, his brother - everything he ever wanted. Yeah, they may appear to not have faces (because he never remembers faces of people he haven't met before), but they love Stan. And that's all that matters.

Bonus doodle for Not meant for me:

[alphajocklover]

I was wondering if you could make me a super hot movie star. Like the kind of guy who plays the main male role in a rom com. I’m good either way of it makes me straight as a side effect.

You had never really liked rom coms growing up. You didn’t hate all rom coms, as some were generally good and creative, but a lot of them were just so… formulaic and repetitive. It felt like it was always the same damned story, the same formula over and over again: A stereotypical meet cute between two people who are just attractive enough to be in the movies leads to scripted, unrealistic but fairly cute bickering, which turns into them semi-dating, which is complicated by some dumb misunderstanding that breaks them up, before the two leads dramatically get back together and realize love is the answer to literally every problem in their lives. You knew hating Rom Coms because they were formulaic wasn’t very original either, but you couldn’t help it. They were just so… cheesy! But as you grew up, your opinion of them started to change. You still thought they were repetitive, but you couldn’t help but admire the male leads. They were always so strong, handsome, naturally charming and romantic, everything you, as an awkward young gay man who couldn’t get a date, weren’t. Even the actors had an effortless charm, and you began to fantasize about what it would be to be like them. To be that charming, handsome guy, the kind of guy who could sweep a girl off their feet without even trying, who the camera and audience just loved. Your fantasy evolved from you just being like a rom com male lead, into you actually being one of those actors. Which was why you were so thrilled when you got those free lessons in the new local acting classes. You knew it was probably a little too late to break into the movie scene, but these lessons gave you a chance to live out your leading man fantasies, even just for a moment. 

“Ok, first I need you to take off your shirt.”  “I’m sorry, what?” You asked, confused. You had been more than a little disappointed to find out that, besides the woman actually teaching the class, you were the only person to actually show up. It was a little concerning, but you figured that the class was free, and that less people meant more one-on-one attention from the teacher, a blonde girl named Kennedy who seemed very nice. Until she asked you to take off your shirt, that is.

“Look, I need to know what I’m working with. I know it sounds shallow, but a lot of acting has to do with image, and like it or not, certain physiques get certain roles.” She said, sending you a disarming smile. You weren’t exactly comfortable taking off your shirt in front of someone, as you were a little embarrassed by your average physique, but… it was just the two of you. And it wasn’t like she was a hot guy or anything. While still uncertain, you decided to just get it over with and quickly stripped off your shirt. For a moment you couldn’t meet Kennedy’s eyes, too embarrassed, but a quick look up turned all your embarrassment into utter confusion. It took you a moment to realize that the voluptuous blonde was looking at you with… lust? You felt your cheeks burn as she stepped closer, and a strange feeling built up in your stomach. Seeing the shocked look on your face, Kennedy giggled, a light, almost ditzy giggle that made your head spin. What the hell was happening?

As Kennedy stepped closer and closer to you, your head swam and your skin burned. You felt an unexpected sense of confidence and arousal come over you as she brought her hand up to your beefy chest. Something about that felt… wrong, but… who gave a fuck when this whole thing felt so right? You smirked slightly as you squeezed her ass with your big, manly hand, and pulled her into a deep, dominating kiss. You knew going to a movie intimacy class would be fun, but you had a feeling you and Kennedy were going to have a lot more fun than just pretending to fuck. It wasn’t like you really needed the help anyways. You had kissed and fucked a lot of girls, both on and off the screen. Not a lot of guys can do both professional acting and actual porn, but hey, you were just that good.