#Mat problems on clocks

[sunni-stuff]

Thinkin' about stalker!Ghost who helps you in little ways.

He became infatuated with you the moment you started your shift at the pub. He subtly kept tabs on you from that day forward, showing up whenever you were on the clock, watching as you tended to unruly patrons each night.

How pretty you were, rolling your eyes as drunken regular asked for your number, a common occurrence on your work days. It irks him, seeing some bastard constantly pester you as if you hadn't shut him down countless times now.

The very next night, the regular doesn't show up, giving you a load off the usual flirtatious annoyance. You were quite caught up in your own life, work, and everything else taking precedence. You didn't have time to notice how that one day turned into countless weeks of uninterrupted work, simply serving drinks and going home.

Ghost watches you on your off days as well, keeping a safe distance while you get your nails done, sitting lovely on a cushion, hands outstretched while the nail tech paints them your favorite color.

He's seen it practically all over your apartment.

Once the tech is finished, you disappeared into the bathroom, giving Ghost the opening he needed. He stepped inside, the intensity of his gaze and build, drawing attention from the patrons. Without much said, he pays for your nails, having no problem swiping that card of his, asking to remain anonymous. He leaves just before you return, smirking to himself at your surprise face as you return, the owner telling you that your nails were paid off.

Wow, must be your lucky day!

After getting your nails done, you took a quick trip to the store, browsing for clothes when a stunning black dress connected to a hefty price catches your attention. It's gorgeous, could be worn on a date or a girls night with your friends but you weren't made out of money.

Huffing a disappointed sigh, you leave without buying it, sparing the alluring dress one last glance before going home. Hours later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, the sound of knocking at your door caught your attention.

In your nightgown, you opened the door and were greeted by a black box sitting out on your welcome mat. For a moment, you looked around, hoping to catch whoever left the mysterious package only to be met with silence and the sound of crickets chirping. Bending down, you picked up the box and flipped open the top, eyes widening at the sight of the dress from the store and with it a note.

"Anything else you want?"

[bumpen-underbeds]

It's hard enough with bills, work and everything else adult life has to throw at you, but now you have a roommate that puts the most valiant himbos to shame... At least he gets his share of the bills done on time.

I love twinks, but I also love big beefy men that have squishy pecs, so bull hybrid time! Make 'em big, make 'em stupid and make 'em hung.

It had been a slog of a week, your boss dumped more work on you with a smile and 'for the team!' before clocking out early, and the water bill had come in higher than expected meaning the budget you had was going to be a little tight for this month but everything would be okay, as once you finally got home there would be a nice warm shower followed up by a binge-watch of some TV for you.

Only, there is a notice taped to your door, that the landlord was increasing the rent and it was starting the following month.

A three hundred dollar increase was not something you could handle alone, you'd either have to move out or find a roommate and finding this apartment was a battle in the beginning so you would have to simply gussy up and find a roommate to help cover the new rent difference. But that was a problem for later, right now you were exhausted and desperate for some relaxing laziness.

The following week was a mess of posting on most of the sites for finding a housemate or roommate, posting in groups on social media and even posting a flyer or two near your work. There had been a few calls and emails, but none had been promising until you got one very unprofessional email from someone looking to take up the room, they were incredibly laid back in their response to your posting and the only reason you hadn't pushed the offer back like so many other was one key thing they casually dropped in their email.

They were willing to pay three months' rent upfront.

And now here you are, living with the dumbest bull hybrid you have met to date, sure he's handsome and very lovely to be around but...

Nothing is going on behind his eyes, sure they were pretty big brown eyes that he batted at you most evenings after work in (very successful) attempts to get you to cook his protein for him, but he was just so dumb. Played some form of contact sport as a profession, not a major league yet but he was earning enough to be comfortable and happy in life.

Opening the door to your now-shared apartment you call out to your roommate, expecting him to be rolling out his back or legs after practice, perhaps even doing his stretches on the almost comically small mat he likes to use but no, today after announcing your return you are greeted by him shirtless and soggy. He had just stepped out of the shower as you came home, the towel he has in his hands is quickly draped around his neck as he walks towards you to greet you, seemingly completely forgetting he is both naked and dripping wet.

You had expected him to be big, after all, he was a bull hybrid, but this was something else, it was also the first time you had seen just how far down the patches of white along his hips went. The dear idiot just kept walking towards you, tail swinging almost in time with the frankly huge cock that he had somehow managed to keep inside the shorts he liked to wear, how on earth did he keep that thing secure each day? You'd done laundry with him a few times and you know he does not wear underwear at all, so how on this good green earth did he keep that- that thing contained!?

Stopping him in his tracks before he could pick you up and hug you like he seemed to want, looking to the side as you tell him to put some clothes on first, the display of embarrassment from you made him laugh and chuff at you shaking his head before retreating to the bathroom to finish his shower routine.

That evening and the few after it was awkward, it's hard to not stare at him now that you had seen everything, and it's even harder when he seemed to have taken to wearing even shorter tighter shorts. Ones that make it impossible to not look at the bulge that sits front and center as he lounges on the couch, legs spread open as he makes it impossible to look away as he scratches his inner thigh or adjusts his shorts making his bulge move slightly.

This is the same person who had asked you how to cook two-minute noodles after moving in and had asked you regularly to help him set up passwords cause he kept forgetting them the week after making them, but this man, this hulking beefcake of a hybrid was seemingly teasing you.

After two weeks of very clear teasing, you had almost reached a point of no return, having people over for the night meant that he would be somewhat well-behaved. No, not even close, as the night had carried on, you had been pulled onto his lap three times, boxed in against his chest and nuzzled more times than you can count, but no one seemed to care as he just batted those big brown eyes and let out little happy moos when questioned about his actions.

You were still on his lap waving as the last guest left your apartment, sighing as you tried to get up only to be stopped by the big warm hands of your roommate on your hips keeping you pressed to his lap as he sighed contently. Smiling like a kid in a candy store as he slowly began to rock your hips against his, blinking slowly and carefully before asking if he should stop, he might be dumb as a rock but he wasn't a monster he had seen the way you stared at him since you had seen him post-shower and he was more than happy to show you again, but this time he wants you to see him hard, to see just how big he was but that depends on you and if you want too.

If anyone asked you it was just curiosity and nothing more, there was no way you had wanted to see your roommate's cock again.

The rumbling laugh he lets out when you nod your head, looking away from him for a few moments before you yelp as he pulls your back to his chest, thick fingers digging into your thighs as he spreads your legs open across his now splayed thighs, nuzzling his face into the side of your head ever careful of his horns as he does, letting out a content sound that rumbles through his chest as he ruts against your ass working himself up more and more.

Keeping you pinned against his chest as he asks you to pull his shorts down for him, gently nudging your head down to look as your hands push his pants down, letting his cock bob free.

It looked huge before but now, it looked positively massive.

The sheer heft of it seemed to make it bob under its own weight, letting go of one of your thighs as he shifts your positions making his cock press between your legs showing off the length as he laughs at the look of awe and slight fear on your face, pulling up your shirt a little he pressed the tip against your stomach leaving a little dribble of precum smeared against your skin as he murmurs about how deep he would get and how good it'd feel if he could get all of himself inside you.

Guiding one of your hands to his cock as he huffs and nuzzles against you, encouragement coming from him easily as he makes sure you can feel just how thick he is.

Perhaps getting a hybrid roommate will be the best thing to happen to you, even if that does mean you'll lose the ability to walk from time to time.

[rhyrhy]

Denial is a team sport!

Tryouts series | A.A

[content warnings:] bullying, sexual tension, talks of virginity, language, physical violence, heartbreak. R! Hates the world! Enemies to lovers. Slightly unserious.

wc: 4.4k

notes: sooo I made some edits to the prologue after I wrote the first chapter, so I do highly recommend you at least go back n skim read it!

series masterlist | previous ch

Abby swore she had a plan.

Let the liquid courage run through her veins and finally make a move on the girl she had been eyeing since move-in day. Especially now that the same girl was finally single. To be completely honest, she wasn’t sure what you seen in her teammate in the first place.

She didn’t realize her own mouth would be her worst enemy—until it was too late. The usual suave that made girls swoon? It almost earned her a slap to the face.

And as much as she hated hearing her roommate say it, she really felt like such an idiot. Now, she had a bigger problem than just her failed first impression.

The art of making a scene was a skill you and Abby Anderson had mastered. Worse, you mastered it together.

And now, in the reflection of the ticking, large brown and cream clock behind you, there you both sat—side by side in the dean’s office.

The room was quiet, a hum of an old fan and the scratch of a pen dragging across paper. Blue ink detailing your most recent development just an hour prior.

The dean exhaled sharply, finally looking up.

Your arms were crossed, one leg over the other, while Abby sat comfortably still—just as over it. Matching busted lips like accessories.

“You two just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”

Abby exhaled a small laugh—until you shot her a glare. Before either of you could defend yourselves, the morning came rushing back.

Denial is one hell of a drug.

And right now, you were all drowning in it.

Abby was trying—and failing—to shake off her drunken slip-up. She shot up in bed, eyes snapping to the clock. Fuck. She was already late.

Dina was desperately trying to keep you away from the video currently making its rounds on social media.

And you? You were pretending none of it bothered you.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You were fine last night. And you were totally fine now as you set your duffel bag down on the bench.

The girls were quiet. But you knew they wanted to ask, to poke and prod. Everyone had seen it. Joked about it. Like it was some kind of championship replay.

It shouldn’t even be a big deal. People bicker all the time. What even was said? Then you heard it again.

“At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

You whip your head around. Two teammates are hunched over a phone, the sound of your own voice mixed with Abby’s echoing from it. Oh right. The conversation was less than friendly.

“Hey! Turn that off and get to warm-ups,” Dina snaps, her captain voice demanding.

They scramble off, the video disappearing with a click, but it’s too late—you’ve already heard it. Again. Just another reminder of how right she was. You’ve been a mess, internally and on the field.

“Hey.” Dina’s voice is softer now, a hand resting lightly on your back.

“Hi.” You reply, setting out your water bottle and uniform bow, rolling your shoulders like you can physically shake off the drama.

There’s no usual pep in her tone. She knows you—knows how this is affecting you—but this is a side of you she hasn’t seen in a long time. Down, gloomy, and set off if someone even chewed too loud.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” You nod, smiling—faker than the extensions in your hair. You straighten your posture, trying to seem put together.

“Help stretch me out?” you ask, already moving toward an open mat, desperate to push past the painfully obvious.

Dina nods, sitting beside you, helping you stretch your thighs. But it’s impossible for her not to notice how off you are, how forced your words sound with each syllable.

“ lying, It doesn’t suit you.” Her hand settles on your knee as she continues. “Don’t pull the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit with me. You’re definitely not.”

“Oh, right, because I’d fall apart over some drunken argument?” Stretching an arm across your chest. “I’m saying it’s fine because it is.”

Dina shifts, turning to face you head-on now.

“I know you. And I’ve seen how you’ve been acting these past few months. I could read you in my sleep. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. You’re cracking—you’re—“

“—Jesus, Dee! Can I just fucking stretch?”

You groan, throwing your hands up before leaning back on them. Your voice is louder than you intended, ringing out across the field.

“See? There it is. That attitude I’ve been seeing all season.” Dina is pushing now, and she knows it. But she’s tired of your bullshit.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you’d rather just bottle it up until you explode. But seriously? You’ve got to stop running yourself into the ground.”

She stands up abruptly, ponytail swinging.

“So yes, you can stretch. Alone.”

“Dina, wait—” You sigh, crossing your arms, feeling the weight of a few stares and pointedly ignoring them. God, this is all Anderson’s fault. The thought loops in your head like a curse, her being the chosen person for blame.

Dina’s footsteps slow, but she doesn’t turn. Her voice carries in the air just enough to let you know she’s done. “What? I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.” You pause. “But please just—sit, okay? I’m sorry, I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”

She huffs but sits back down, crossing her legs, fully facing you. “Overwhelmed? Or just in denial?”

“Denial?” You scoff. “Please. Everyone seems highly aware of what’s going on in my life, so that’s not even possible.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s ‘highly aware’ because they have eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not yourself.”

Her gaze scans your face, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “You’ve been snapping at people left and right. Hell, you’ve chewed my head off more than usual.”

You lower your arm, a creeping discomfort settling in. The breakup, the humiliation, the anger—it’s all piling up. Your shoulders sag. “That bad, huh?”

She nods, her previous irritation fading into concern. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”

She hesitates, then presses on. “Look, I get it. Martinez messed you up, and you’re pissed.”

“It’s not about her—” you cut in, hating that name hitting your ears.

“Please. If I got screwed over like that, I’d be pissed, too. But you’ve been like this since the breakup, and now you’re just lashing out at everyone.”

The more she spoke, the more the reminders came. The tears. The weight loss from barely eating. Dina dragging you through the shared house just to make you shower. Rock bottom—all from one girl. Realizing she’s touched a nerve, she sighs, dragging a hand through her raven hair. She remembers just how bad the fallout was. Letting someone in, only for them to shut you out. Burying themselves in your heart without caring if they left traces behind.

“Look, I know you’re not gonna wake up tomorrow and turn into sunshine and rainbows, but you’ve gotta do something. Because right now? You’re on a one-way road to a full-blown breakdown town.”

A pause. Then—

“I was talking with Coach, and… maybe you need a break. Tryouts are coming back up, so it’s not like we’d be down a spot—”

You had to stop her, not wanting to hear that finished thought. “What—? Hold on, you can’t do that. You know I’ve been looking forward to redeeming myself this time around. Now you think I’m just going to sit out?”

“Yes. Yes, I do think you’re gonna sit out. Because you’re a mess right now. This isn’t about redemption. This is about you pushing yourself to the brink because you can’t get over that sorry ass.”

“I’m sick of it. The coaching staff is sick of it. Hell, even the girls at Kappa are sick of it.”

She exhales sharply, leaning forward.

“We’re taking you off the roster for a minimum of two weeks. That’s all.”

Your head snaps up so fast you’d worry it would break. You’d never been taken off, ever. If anything, you were first pick next to Dina, Caitlyn, and a few others who were almost just as polished but not quite. With the heavy shelf full of trophies, medals, and countless pictures with a proud smile from elementary gymnastics up to now—this was a part of you. All of you.

“No—no! Don’t do this to me. Please, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now—”

Dina’s expression softens, her tone lowering into a gentle whisper—almost as if she genuinely felt sorry for you.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Cheer shouldn’t be the only thing keeping you ‘sane.’ It’s not supposed to be your entire identity.”

She reaches for your shoulder again, her hand resting on the black fabric of your tank top.

“You’ll thank me later once you’ve gotten your head on straight again.”

You love Dina, but in this moment, all you want is to wrap your hands around her throat. Despite the violent urge, you stay silent.

Instead, you meet the eye contact you’ve been avoiding since last night, knowing her big puppy eyes will pull you back to reality. She’s trying to help, you know that. But what are you supposed to do for two weeks? Fourteen days. 335 hours.

Maybe for someone in a clear headspace, two weeks of rest sounds nice, but for a girl who can’t separate herself from the uniform she wears, it feels like hell.

Dina waits for the snappy reply, the angry words, or maybe just your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth might shatter. Instead, she hears a quiet:

“Yeah, Okay.”

Then, the weight of your head settles on her right shoulder. Dina lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This was the girl she missed—the softer version, even if you’d been moping around. She knew it would pass, just hoping you didn’t push her away before the gray cloud lifted, making way for a bluer sky.

For a moment, it felt nice. The intelligible chatter reminded you of your surroundings—until, suddenly, you felt out of place where you least expected it.

Your throat tightened as you blinked away the burning in your eyes. You had to push it down. You couldn’t cry now. So you quickly muttered something to get yourself out of there.

“Alright, I’ll see you at home then?”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, patting your knee once more. “See you at home.”

Dina watched as you stood up, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder and making your way across the open field. The loud whistle redirected her attention. She brushed off the few strands of grass clinging to her legs, giving your retreating figure one last glance.

The coach’s sharp voice cut through the lingering conversations. “Alright, bring it in!”

Dina pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head before glancing at the rest of the girls. “She just needs to cool off,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “She’ll be fine.”

Caitlyn leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You think she’s good, though? She’s been kinda—”

“Intense?” Josephine, the blonde, chimed in. “Yeah, I’m kinda relieved she stormed off this time. Maybe now we can finish a damn drill without her biting someone’s head off.”

Dina shot her a look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, maybe don’t talk about her like that when she’s not here to defend herself.”

Josephine scoffed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying—”

The coach clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the conversation. “Let’s go! I want focus this time!”

With that, they all fell back into line, shaking off the moment and refocusing on the drills ahead.

The walk felt aimless. If you went back home now, the questions would come. Admitting that your attitude got you put on timeout would sound too much like you were the loose cannon everyone said you were.

The sun beamed down on the exposed skin of your arms. Once the group was out of view, you sank onto the bleachers on the opposite side of the field, pressing your elbows against your thighs. The metal burned under you, but it was nothing compared to the frustration simmering in your chest.

From here, you could see the restrooms and the now-empty concession stands—during game nights, the lines were insufferable. Now, everything was still, and for the first time all morning, you could breathe.

Maybe some peace was needed after all.

Maybe you had been more intense since it happened.

And maybe you just needed a good cry.

Your shoulders sagged, defenses dropping. The tears burned as they fell, silent but unstoppable. What a shitty morning. Frustration took over, your hands moving without thinking, yanking your hair out of its perfectly tied updo. The strands fell loose around your face—messy, undone. Not so picture perfect. You hadn’t been in a while.

So bad, in fact, that they’d started calling you—

“Watch out, Time Bomb’s about to go off again.”

The snicker cut through your pity party. Laughter followed, the kind that made your skin crawl. So much for peace.

Of course, it’s one of those days—the kind where you’re forced to share the field with the rowdiest, cockiest group on campus. The ones who tackled each other for fun, who walked like they owned the place, who didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

One nudged the other with a elbow, grinning.

“Careful. One wrong move and she might start swinging.”

You should sit up, square your shoulders, act like you don’t hear them. Instead, your body felt heavy. The weight of the morning, the season, the past four months pressing down. So you ducked your head, staring at the ground like maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t acknowledge them, they’d move on.

Then came her voice. Annoyingly high-pitched.

“Knock it off.”

The condescension was thick. She didn’t actually care. You knew who it was before you even looked up. Savannah green, The replacement herself.

Long legs, smooth skin, lips always pulled into that pristine, porcelain smile. her arm lazily draped around Martinez like she had something to prove. And the look she shot you? Amused. Pitying. Like you were some kind of sad little joke.

Your jaw clenched. Nails dug into your palms.

God, you still hated her.

Hated them.

Four months earlier…

Virginity. Most girls lose it early—peer pressure, trying to catch up with their friends, or thinking they’ve found the one. They look at you differently once you share your body. Tie your soul to theirs, if you believe in that kind of thing.

But not you.

With a helicopter mom obsessed with appearances and a future in professional cheer ahead of you, relationships were hard to come by. Harder to keep.

Which is why you adored your first girlfriend.

At first She was sweet, understanding—the kind of girl who’d offer you her hoodie the second you muttered about being cold.

But lately, she’d been… pushy.

Her new group of friends had changed her, little by little. Since when was she so fixated on sex? What happened to I’m ready when you are?

So when her hand snaked into your jeans that night, fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear, and her kisses swallowed your quiet protest—You had to fully pull back, laughing nervously.

“Woah, slow down.”

She groaned, running a hand through her dark hair. “You do this every time.”

Guilt twisted inside you. You reached out, cupping her cheek. “Babe, I’m just—”

“—Not ready. I get it.” With her head already turning away from you.

The air in the car shifted. You slowly slid back into the passenger seat. thing were so different now. Life pulling you both in different directions, those promises of being able to stick together through it all feeling emptier than the quick ‘love you’s she’d throw out like it automated reply.

She was different. The kind you struggled to recognize anymore. Before you could say another word, her phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Savannah. That name again. The one she swore was just a friend. Just someone she passed notes with. Nothing to worry about.

Valeria let out a sigh, glancing at her screen before locking it again with a click. “I should take you home.”

“Oh—I thought it was date night?”

She only shrugged, shifting into reverse. “Yeah, well, it’s getting late.”

You should’ve known that night. Dina had tried to warn you, but that only earned her the cold shoulder.

She was right. She was always right. Because that night? Valeria didn’t go home. She found the first warm body that let her press up against them. The same girl she swore you didn’t have to worry about. Plastered all over that stupid Instagram page—Exposed UW. The one that thrived off campus scandals.

Abby had seen the post, too. Not that she’d been looking—it was impossible to miss. She still remembered the way your name had been tagged under the grainy party pictures, how the comments filled with half-hearted damns and yikes. The way she felt a little sick to her stomach reading them. Because sure, maybe she didn’t know you that well back then. But she knew enough to know She remembered thinking—Shit. She doesn’t deserve that. months later, you would still were holding onto that anger, looking at her like she was the enemy.

And Dina? She just patted your back as you screamed into your pillow, now wishing she’d brought earplugs.

“I hate her! I hate everything about her!”

Tears burned your face, breath hitching, body shaking as you chucked a fluffy pink pillow across the room. It bounced uselessly against the wall.

“She’d rather be the first whore to spread her legs than pick me?” Your voice ricocheted through the shared sorority housing. “Oh wow, congrats, Valeria! You’re a statistical cliché! So unique! So rebellious!“

You threw your hands up. “And her? Really? You wanted to date someone who looks like a Red Bull commercial come to life? ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re just friends.’ Yeah, okay! Well, newsflash—friends don’t fuck each other!”

You grabbed your phone, scrolling furiously. “And this post? This post?” You shoved the screen toward Dina, voice in disgust.

“From head cheerleader to washed-up has-been? Some people peak in high school. Tough break.”

Dina winced hearing it read out loud, lowering the phone to see your face again. “You know that’s not true—“

“Washed. Up. Dina. Ugh!—says some loser who probably has no life of their own. so ‘ hey why not ruin someone else’s?’. Lame! “

You flung your phone onto the bed, hands flying to your head, Hair a nest of unbrushed strands. “Jesus, I mean—I suffered through hours of her indie garbage playlist just to impress her! And I—”

Your breath hitched. Eyes widening. A realization settled over you. The situation. What this meant.

“Oh my God.” You stumbled back. “I’m the tragic ex.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I am the tragic ex!” You shouted, to the ceiling.

Dina buried her face in her hands as you threw yourself dramatically onto the bed.

Back to this morning…

They just kept going, as if you weren’t even there. As much as you hated the nickname, they were lighting a match underneath you.

Walk away. Ignore them. Walk away.

With a deep exhale and a push of your palms, you stood up, preparing to do just that.

A small group straggled onto the field—probably the ones who overslept before practice. You barely registered them because another jag cut through the air.

With a fake pout, she continued, “Aw, you guys, don’t be mean. She’s had a rough time ever since, y’know…”

The audacity. The absolute gall to gesture between herself and Valeria, like she was doing you a favor by acknowledging it.

Valeria sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Savannah, chill.” She wasn’t even looking at you.

They were already moving on, setting up for practice like it was just another day.

That did it. Your vision blurred to crimson. A laugh escaped. “No, no. Let her talk. Since she clearly has so much to say.”

“Oh, I was just saying—”

Abby heard the taunting before she even saw the scene unfolding.

Still groggy from a late start to her morning, she stepped onto the field, body already bracing for a dreadfully long practice. And on top of everything, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. That stupid viral clip of your argument looped in her head like a bad highlight reel. She’d gone over it a hundred times, picking apart what she said, how she said it, how your face twisted right before you shot back. Nora told her to just rip the Band-Aid off and apologize already. But it wasn’t that simple.

Second chances existed—sure. She was still working through how. Then, voices cut through her thoughts. Loud. Mocking. Her dark brows furrowed as she scanned the field. A few teammates laughing like they’d just cracked the funniest joke in the world.

But even odder—you. Standing stiffly, like a cat waiting to pounce.

Abby followed your line of sight, locking onto Savannah, who wore that smug little grin like she was waiting to be crowned homecoming queen.

And she knew that look on your face. The same one you’d given her the other night when you told her to stop pushing.

A slow inhale. Shoulders tensing. Abby felt it coming before it even happened

She barely had time to react before—

A collective gasp rang out, cut off by the impact of the ground.

Before she knew it, Weeks of poking a bear with Pom Poms had finally caught up. You ticked like a timebomb reaching its final countdown.

Fingers curled into the ironed fabric of Savannah’s perfect little shirt, your other hand balled into what she had coming for her.

A fist, flying right for her face.

Blue irises followed the movements of your drawn-back arm as it pistoned over and over and over and—oh my God, somebody please do something.

No. She should do something.

Her own belongings now lost on the ground, Abby decided to act fast before Savannah’s face or your fist was permanently disfigured.

With a rushed, fluid movement, strong arms locked around you, restricting any further hits. But not before your hand swung back, catching Abby in the process of prying you off the girl beneath you.

“Jesus—really?” Abby managed out, wincing as her head snapped slightly to the side.

With a heaving chest, you heard her voice first. Then the others.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Savannah, breathless, clutching her bleeding nose.

“Did someone record that?”

“Is she okay?”

“Damn, Time Bomb. Didn’t know you had hands.”

And that’s how she found herself beside you once more.

This definitely wasn’t the second chance her roommate had been talking about. But still, she couldn’t help but feel like—maybe—it could be a start.

You didn’t hit her on purpose. At least, she hoped.

As the dean finished up paperwork and wrapped up a phone call or two, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the both of you with thinly veiled exasperation.

“Well, I don’t know the full extent of the situation, but what I do know is that I have one student with a broken nose and some very angry parents.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing.

“This is a university of young adults, not a fight club full of children.”

“And while I’m fully aware of certain… patterns of behavior, I’m failing to see how that justifies violence.”

His gaze flickered to Abby , then to you. “Now, you’ve never once sat in this chair before, so I’m gracing you with a warning. But if I—or any other staff—catch you, Miss Anderson, and especially Miss Green, in any kind of altercation again…”

His voice dropped to something final.

“I can promise you, the fallout will be far worse.”

As the dark oak door clicked shut, Abby leaned back against the wall. The dean had far more choice words for you than for her.

When you finally reappeared, she got her first good look at you—disheveled, a broken nail, a busted lip from the one hit Savannah had managed to land, and a look that spoke a thousand words.

She thought back to the bubbly, soft-spoken girl she’d been pining over, and yeah… this wasn’t her. And maybe, just maybe, her stupid comment the other night had a butterfly effect. She braced herself. She knew you were going to let her have it. Again. But when you turned down the hall without so much as a glance in her direction, she felt something unexpected—offended.

“What, no ‘thank you’?” Fuck. That’s not what she meant to say.

But it got your attention immediately. Here we go. Maybe she was a masochist because the slow chuckle you let out as you turned to face her made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Thank you?” Disbelief dripped from your voice. “You want a thank you, Anderson?” You cocked your head at her,

Abby huffed, trying—and failing—to ignore the way her name sounded coming from you. God, she was losing it.

“Yeah, I do.” She held your gaze, chin jutted outward in defiance. “I just saved your ass.”

Before you could retort, she closed the distance between you. “You could be suspended. Or worse—kicked off the entire cheer team. And yet you won’t even look at me, let alone thank me.”

She was right in front of you now, almost toe to toe.

“I’m off for two weeks because of you! So it might as well be the same damn thing! Oh, don’t think that just because you decided to play Prince Charming, I’m about to kiss your damn feet.”

“So thanks for always somehow making my life worse!”

Abby’s eyes narrowed. Oh, we’re doing this? Blaming her of all people?

“Oh, right. Because it’s all my fault you can’t control your temper.” She scoffed and took a step closer, leaving mere inches between you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re—” You trailed off, eyes flickering over her face.

“You’re—!” You turned your back on her, ignore how she smells, ignore how she smells, before throwing up a hand.

“Ugh! Just piss off already!” You stormed down the hallway, needing space, air, anything but her. This god awful day.

“Oh yeah, real mature!” she called after you before turning on her heel and being off in the opposite direction.

Apologize? Her ass.

So yes, Abby swore she had a plan. She just never thought it would backfire so much in the last 72 hours.

Taglist cuties: @ferxanda @sigh-icantfindausername @caffeine-pup @grey-jedi12 @layalisthings @deadbolted @bambiaches

[propertyofwicked]

CROSS MY HEART - LN

warnings - smut!! MDNI!! soft!lando x restless!reader, sleepy sex, unprotected (stay safe yall), little bit of cockwarming ?

little one shot for a tired reader who just needs a bit of late night lovin <3

based on -> cross my heart by artemas

masterlist

she truly didn’t mean to start anything, y/n was simply trying to get comfortable. she was restless, the clock on the bedside table displaying 3:00 in bright red lighting mocking her. lando laid behind her, his arm laying haphazardly over her waist, holding her close to him, the other stretched above her head.

lando’s heavy breathing faltered for a moment, as she tossed and turned again, his eyes squeezing tight before squinting open to look at her. she was now laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling, lando’s arm still thrown over her as he moved to squeeze at her hip.

“hey,” he whispered, trying not to let his slumber leave him fully.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologised, whispering back at him.

“why are you still up?” he asked, ignoring her apology.

“can’t sleep,” she said, turning her head to look at him.

his eyes were still half closed, struggling to open with the weight of his fatigue. his hair was messy, matted down slightly from where he rested his head, a stray curl resting on his forehead.

“come ‘ere,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to her exposed shoulder before pulling at her hip, guiding her to shuffle back into his embrace. she felt his soft breaths blowing on her hair, trailing down the back of her neck, tingles shooting down her spine as she rolled further into his arms. her body moulded into his as though they were made for each other, each curve of her back fitted perfectly with his chest. her legs bent upwards, resting above his, feeling the dull warmth of his thighs spread to hers.

his hand resting on her hip, fingers drawing circles on her thigh, twisting the fabric of her shorts as he did.

“what’s wrong?” he asked again, sensing there was more to her restlessness.

“nothing,” she said with a sigh, “well, i don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

“the girl who sleeps anywhere anytime can’t fall asleep - never thought i’d see the day,” he joked, laughing lightly, his chest shaking lightly on her back as he did.

“maybe ive slept too much and now im doomed to an eternity of sleepless nights,” she replied, leading lando to laugh lightly again.

“right,” he started, “shut your eyes for me, focus on steady breathing.”

she nodded at him, hoping that lando could feel her response, as his eyes had shut again, his head rolling forwards to rest his forehead on her shoulder.

and so, y/n laid there silently for minutes, eyes closed. she’d just about given up counting sheep, trying to recall a long journey, even focusing on numbing her entire body head to toe - nothing was working. finally, she decided that shuffling backwards, further into her boyfriends embrace might help, maybe the white noise of his heavy breathing, or the warmth of his chest on her back would lull her into the deep sleep she needed.

her hips rolled back first, pushing into lando’s crotch as she did, her back moving to arch into his chest. but before she could get comfortable, the grip on her waist tightened, a small grunt escaping lando’s mouth as he held her impossible close to him.

“if you wanted me that bad, you should’ve just said,” he mumbled in her ear again, his hips jutting forwards slightly.

“i didn’t mean to,” she whined in defence, before considering the situation, “but since you mentioned it, and since i can feel a little problem forming…”

“little?” he gasped jokingly, “you’ve never complained about the size of it before.”

“ill think you’ll find i have,” she replied, her hips absentmindedly grinding down on his growing bulge as she spoke, “do you not remember the jaw pain i had after i suc-”

she was interrupted by his hand landing firmly over her mouth.

“don’t finish that sentence if you don’t want this to escalate,” he warned.

“and what if i want it to?” she teased, “might help to tire me out?”

“well in that case, i guess im obliged to help,” he sighed, jokingly conceding as his fingers tugged at the waistband of her shorts. her hand reached down to grab his, halting his movements slightly, she could feel his face contort in confusion from where it still rested on her skin.

“just pull them to the side,” she told him, “im too tired to take my clothes off.”

he laughed at her honesty, never one to complain about being lazy with his girl, especially when he himself was too exhausted to put his full effort into sex right now.

“yeah?” he asked her, needing reassurance before she nodded, mumbling a quick “please”.

lando’s hands reached around to y/n’s front, pulling her shorts to the side, running his rough fingers through her folds. his head near shot up in shock, pushing himself up slightly to look down at the woman below him, fingers still working through her heat, circling her clit.

“how are you already that wet?” he asked her, chuckling lightly as the moon’s soft glow illuminated the flush rising her cheeks, “all i did was press my cock into your ass and you’re dripping?”

“ok?” she replied, feigning offence, “all i did was push my hips into your cock and you got hard? you know, lan, most men wouldn’t complain when their girlfriends find them attractive,” she joked, exposing his hypocrisy with a giggle.

“this wet, though? all for me?” he asked again, though his voice no longer held it’s playful tone, it became almost possessive, proud of his effect on her.

“all for you,” she choked out, stuttering as his fingers circled her entrance, his thumb moving to continue his assault on her clit. he pushed into her, fingers curling in as he did.

“please lan,” she begged him, panting as he did. any other time, she’d be embarrassed how quickly she was falling apart for him, but right now she couldn’t think about anything but being full with him.

“please, what, angel?” he asked, smirking at her submission, “words, baby.”

“need you now,” she whined, rolling her hips to deepen his fingers, intensifying the pressure of his thumb on her heat.

“patience, angel. gettin’ you ready for me,” he grunted, hips still jutting sporadically into her every time she moaned out for him.

“i’m ready,” she argued, “i can take it.”

“you sure?” he teased, though his hand slipped away from her, pushing her shorts to the side again and tugging his boxers down to free himself. lando tugged at his length a few times, spreading precum down the shaft before lining himself up with her entrance. he felt her lean forwards slightly, moving her leg to raise it over his, opening herself up to him.

he pushed in slowly, feeling her walls stretch around his cock as she moaned out at the intrusion, soon feeling the cotton of her shorts brushing against the skin at the base of his pelvis. her hand reached back, gripping at his arm to stop his movements.

“need a moment,” she whined.

“who’s little now?” he joked, careful to keep himself still inside her, “’i’m ready, i can take it,’“ he mocked.

“shut up or i’m leaving,” she warned, grinding down on him as she grew used to the feeling of being full.

“sure you will,” he gloated, hand moving back down to her clit, pinching at it lightly as his hips began to thrust into her at a gentle pace. she couldn’t argue back if she tried, his warmth engulfing her as he held her close, strings of curses tumbling from her mouth with every thrust.

“love having you so close to me,” he grunted, his teeth nipping at the skin on her shoulder lightly, “so full of me. feel so good, wrapped around my cock like this.”

his pace remained gentle - his thrusts deep inside her, the tip of his cock hitting the spot that had her purring for him. the feeling of lando’s hands on her, gripping at her thigh, holding her open for him to slide in and out of her. his chest pressed up against her back, a light sweat coating his skin.

it was no surprise she reached her climax so quickly, overwhelmed at the feeling of him thrusting deep inside her, his body surrounding her every senses, soft grunts that travelled through her ears and straight to her heat - he was like a drug she could never quit. she came hard and fast, body shaking around his cock as her body grew limp. lando followed soon after, his strong grip holding her body still for him to use however he pleased.

his hips moved to pull back, to slip out of her slowly but her exhausted whines stopped his movements.

“leave it in,” she mumbled, face pressed into the pillow.

“what?” he asked, trying to disguise the mixture of shock and excitement he felt at the prospect of being so close to her.

“you heard me, lan. leave it in. want to feel full,” she replied, a small smile rising on lando’s face at her tired desperation, as she shuffled back into his warm embrace once again. his arms tightened around her again, her laboured breathing lulling them both into a deep sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (2)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The store is dead. Usually, you don't mind a quiet shift but it's really dull. You come up the aisle of toiletries and watch Mikayla and Nour suddenly part and feign interest in the shelves and tags. Shoot.

Drew sends them a side-eye as he continues through the section, nearing your own. You put a jar of body scrub back on the proper shelf then turn to him and smile. "Hello sir, how are you?"

"I'm not good. There's no customers." He snips.

"Oh, right. I was using the down time to tidy--"

"Down time? Do you know the cost of down time? Do you realise what it costs to run these lights? The AC?"

"Sir, uh, yes," you stammer. "I'm sorry it's slow--"

"And your pay? What good is that if you're doing nothing?"

You gulp, "sir, I'm--"

He looks at his watch and sighs. Is it a real Rolex? It looks real but you wouldn't know one logo from the next.

"Go home."

"What?"

"Clock out," he drops his arm. "Gotta send you home." He pinches the button on the wire of his headset and you hear him through your earpiece as an echo. "Joe, send Sandra home. Place is a ghost town."

"Please, sir, I need the hours--"

"Don't you have another job?" He curls his lip. "Not my problem. Head office is gonna cut back hours next week. We gotta bank what we can for the full-timers."

You pout. Some weeks you work just as much as the full-timers and you put in twice the effort. You need this twice as much. They get benefits and you get the scraps they throw your way.

"Sir--"

"I don't have time to argue with you. I have a budget and a meeting with the regional manager. Things you can't understand," he turns and strides away, snapping his fingers at Nour. "You too, go home."

You recede into the aisle of soap dishes and bath mats. No matter how much you do, it's just all sliding back on you. You slump and shuffle to the back of the store, dejected but not yet defeated. Look at the plus side, it's only four. You have some time to spare.

You go to the back and punch out. You grab your bag and take off your name tag and radio; you put the former in your pocket and slide the other into a cubby on the wall.

You don't go straight to the bus stop. You wind around the back of the plaza and to the next block. A few streets back, past the boys and girls centre, and residential street. The food bank is still open but it's the end of the day. You'll not get the best but it's something.

Inside, they give you a box of non-perishables and a loaf of bread. Powdered milk, a bag of instant oats, some canned soups and beans, tuna, and a box of rice. You thank them and head off, straining under the weight of the box.

The bus comes an hour after that. You can't find a seat so you stand and struggle to balance your load. You get off as first drops of rain start to fall. It's funny sometimes how the world can change to mirror your life. It's not so bad. The moisture will be good for Colleen, Coraline, and Cordelia; the three chrysalis waiting to hatch in your hamper.

You're damp as you get into the apartment. Your mom is on the couch but not asleep. The television hazes over her as she stirs and groans.

"Honey, you're early." She says.

"Sorry to crash your alone time," you say as you set the box down and slip off your shoes. "Sent me home early but I got to the food bank."

"Yay," she gives a monotone whoop. After treatment, she always gets a bit dull around the edges.

There's more mail on the mat. You pick it up with the box of food. You carry it into the kitchen.

You leave the envelopes on the counter and focus on putting away the boxes and cans. Rice and some of the discount pork will be good. You have enough brown sugar for your special sauce.

The prep keeps your mind on point. Marinate on the pan then slide into the pre-heated oven, get the rice in the cooker, and put some frozen veggies in the steaming basket. Easy peasy.

You bring a cup of water to your mom. She has her forehead against her palm, leaning into the armrest. Her eyes are glassy as she stares at the TV.

"Thanks, hon," she murmurs. You pull the throw blanket over her lap.

"No problem. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Sure," she blinks sleepily.

You touch her shoulder softly then retreat. You hope she gets some sleep. You can always save the food.

You go back to the kitchen. Your stomach flips as you stare at the envelopes. The red paper visible through the window is dread-inducing. No point avoiding it.

You step forward as the smell of starch thickens the air. You tear through each envelope and slide out each paper. You lay them out. Three new ones. Big bold letters at the top in that 'Amount Owing' box. You look them over one at a time and stand in silence. You can't even pay one in full.

You stack them and fold them and shove them in your back pocket. You finish cooking dinner. You set aside your mother's portion in a container. She's asleep. You eat in the living room as her soft snores rise from her frail figure.

You wash your dishes and return to her. You help her down to her back and put her legs up. You tug the blanket higher and kiss her scarf.

You go to your room. You sit and the paper crinkles in your back pocket. You huff and reach for your laptop. If it wasn't so old, you could sell it.

You scroll through your activity. Lots of likes. Not too shabby on the followers. People are sharing your videos too. Even just the ones of the butterflies you saw near the pond on your way home.

You wish life could be as happy as that. As those little wings fluttering over the soft ripples. The breeze warm and wilting. The birds singing, the bugs humming.

You scroll through your feed. It's careless things like crochet patterns or painting videos. People are so talented. Your mom used to paint. She did the picture of butterflies hanging over your bed, a fair sitting among the swarm of colourful wings.

There's one post that gives you pause. It's a creator that makes clay earrings. She has a little donate button. Just a dollar or two for people to support her videos. That's awesome but you don't think your stuff is cool enough. You just watch cocoons.

You open a new tab. You fingers move without thinking. Thousands of results come up. You've seen these things before. People in need.

You're in need. No, your mom is. You promised you would do everything you can. You've done everything. This is that last thing. It's a long-shot. You doubt it will get anything but she always said you got to try at least once before making up your mind.

You search through your old photos. You and your mom at your graduation. It's one of your favourites. You start with that.

You stare at the text box. A story? No, that's not what you would call it.

The words pour out of you and you end with a final plea. 'You don't have to give but it would be nice if you could. Take care.'

You leave the page in draft for an hour before you post. You hit the Insta share icon and click through. Then you shut the laptop and push it away from you.

You get up and take the bills out of your pocket and leave them on the desk next to the hamper. You peer through the mesh. Soon.

🦋

The local coffee shop has free wifi. Your internet was shut off at the beginning of the week. It's at the bottom of the priority list. You have the old DVD player and your mom only ever watches the same things over and over. Who needs the news, it's all so grim.

You sit in the corner and hope no one notices that you haven't purchased anything. It's business enough and most people are on their way somewhere else. It's a rare moment where you're not doing the same; rushing to or from work, or to an appointment.

You wish work would call. As much as you need the money, you need something else to think about. Something besides your mom and the hospital bills.

You lean your head in your hands and stare at the phone's wallpaper. It's your mom with a butterfly on her nose. That was an amazing catch.

You blow out through your lips. You can't make it. Worse, because you can't, she won't. How can people put a price on health? On treatment?

An envelope icon pops up on the screen. You don't often see that one. You don't get too many emails that you don't send to junk.

You sit up and tap the screen. 'Yay! You got your first donation'. At first, you think it's a scam. Then you remember what you did. Your username is right there; butterflygirl738.

You open the email and tap the link to your profile. You log in through the browser and nearly choke at the dollar you see on screen. It can't be real. You're delusional. You've finally detached from reality.

'$10,000'. That can't be. It can't.

Below it reads. 'thank anonymous donour'. You have to. You have to make sure they didn't make some sort of mistake.

Your hands shake as you pick up the phone. You type into the chat. 'Thank you so so much <3 Are you sure?' You hit the arrow and lower the phone. They probably won't answer right away. They sent the money this morning. The email must have been caught.

An employee approaches your table, "um, miss, I'm sorry but uh..."

"No, it's okay," you stand and knock the table. "I get it. Sorry. I was uh... waiting for someone but they changed their mind."

You hurry out as your lie hangs in the air. You doubt they even believed it. You stay close enough to keep the signal as your phone vibes in your hand. You check the screen. A reply.

'I'm sure. I hope your mother is well. You too.'

You send a heart emoji as your whole body starts to tremble. Your eyes fill with tears, of disbelief, of gratitude, of joy. It's not a cure but it's an ounce of hope. It's a drop of relief in a bucket of doom.

You sit on the curb of the parking lot as the tears stream out. You keep yourself from heaving, letting the emotion trickle out until your face is cold and sticky. You wipe your cheeks and check your phone again.

'I'd like to help more. Can we talk?'

The message is confusing. More? Talk? They already did so much. It won't wipe away all your debt; not even close; but it will keep you from drowning.

'What do you mean?' You type back. That little circle with the featureless avatar floats ominously on the screen.

'WhatsApp? Audio call?'

Your lips form an O of realization and surprise. You cradle the phone. Uh oh. This might be a mistake. Should you give the money back? What do they want?

'You can think about it.' They type.

You ponder. Ten thousand dollars. You can't hope for more than that. You could never dream of this. And you can't say no. You have to think about your mother. She needs this money, it's not about what you want.

'When?'

You wait and watch the screen. Three dots pop up then disappear. You frown.

You get up as you nearly get kicked by another customer. There's the burger place across the street. They have wifi and you can hide behind the dumpsters.

You run across the road and past the drive-thru. You barely miss a bumper as you do. It's embarrassing but better than being hounded at the coffee place. The employees at the restaurant only offer to share their joints with you as they step out for their break.

'Now.' The reply blips up as your connection is restored. Below, a link to WhatsApp.

You stare at the blue text. Now? Right now? What do you say? You're not ready? You're steel reeling from that number. Who is this person? This kind kind person? What could they possibly want from you?

[rindreamery]

yukimiya, sweet or bitter (u choose), a tight embrace and secret relationship, please & thank you ♡

ORDER 4: READY TO GO !

yukimiya + bitter + tight embrace + secret relationship w.c. 1.6k+

note. thank you minjee for proofreading <3 erm so this went way above 1k👩‍🦯 i feel like if i cut it short, the story just wouldn't sound right at all, yk?? listened to the instrumental version of toxic till the end - rose while writing this, highly recommend

interested in more? check out the lounge !

there’s nothing more disappointing than being stood up.

the feeling of being so excited to see someone again, after weeks of your schedules not lining up with one another, just for them to not follow through with their plans. without notice, of all things. you understand, in some cases— some things come up unexpectedly, emergencies, problems that are simply out of your control. but as far as you’re aware, there had been no emergency.

yukimiya had simply forgotten all about your date. again.

this would mark the third time, at this point. which was so weird, so unexpected, and so out of character for someone like him. he was nothing short of practical; he was always organized with his time, and any and every event would always be marked down on the calendar in his phone. set with an alarm, a calendar widget added onto his lockscreen, and everything. 

you glance at the clock on the wall, and you sigh to no one in particular. it’s late, hours past the time he had agreed to come over. the food on your dining table had long gone cold, the candles had been blown out and the smoke had fizzled out, and you’ve changed out of your nice clothes into something more comfortable. you sit on the couch in absolute silence, your apartment still, and you stare out the window. 

the city outside is buzzing with the usual hum of nightlife, and you can hear the distant chatter and laughter as people whizz by. people on their phones talking, people with their friends, and people with their significant others. it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite name. jealousy? discontent? or are you simply just sad? you’re not quite sure. 

you’re about to get up, about to pack up the food and save it for yourself to eat another day, when a rapid series of knocks at your door pulls you out of your thoughts.

for a second, you stand there, unmoving. you chew on the skin of your lips as you contemplate opening the door— you know who it is, but truthfully, you’re unsure of whether you're in the mood to really talk to him. a second passes, a tick of the clock rings somewhere in the silence, and then another knock to your door. you walk, despite your best judgement, and you take your time opening it.

you crack the door open, only a little, and a sliver of yukimiya comes into view. 

“i’m so sorry,” he apologizes, words tumbling out of his mouth and rushed, and he sounds as if he were out of breath. beads of sweat line the crown of his forehead, his bangs are slightly matted to his skin. “i swear, i promise, my manager sprung something on me, last minute.”

you stand there, hands gripping onto the doorknob, as you take in his disheveled appearance— his typical polished, put-together demeanor crumbling right in front of you. for the first time, since you’ve known him, yukimiya looked genuinely distressed. his mouth was opening and closing repeatedly, desperately searching for the right words to say, and you can see a glint of pleading swirling in his eyes. but the words never leave his mouth, and all you’re stuck with is his rushed apology. 

“please,” he finally speaks again, “please, open the door. let me in, please.” 

you don’t, not yet.

you’re disappointed, angry, sad, all at the same time— you feel it all as one emotion, deep in your heart, and you want to shout at him. you want to open the door and shove him back, to give him a piece of your mind, and let him feel the weight of the constant disappointment. three dates worth of waiting, having hope that things might finally change, and then realizing that it won’t. 

but you stay calm, eerily so. “you’re late,” you tell him instead, voice flat and quieter than you intended. though, even to your own ears, it sounds more sad than anything. he flinches slightly, despite your hushed voice. “third time, yukki. this is the third time.”

“i know,” he mutters, “and you didn’t deserve that.”

at least you’re aware, you respond back in your head, but you don’t say it out loud. a silence falls between the two of you, thick and suffocating, and you both stand on opposite sides of your door. he doesn’t move, he doesn’t try to shove his way into your apartment, but he simply keeps a hand on your door. just there, yet somehow, so invasive. 

you’re just not sure what hurts more: the fact that he keeps forgetting about your dates, or the fact that you’ve begun to expect it. you’ve already started bracing yourself for the feeling of disappointment each time, somewhere in the back of your mind nagging you that your hopes would be crushed by the reality of his busy life. 

the life he just doesn’t seem to be able to make room for you in. (the life he keeps you far, far away from.)

"please, just open the door." with a heavy sigh, you swing the door fully open. there, the two of you stand, facing each other, unsure of what to say. 

you press your lips together, your mind swirling with all the things you want to say, all the frustration you’ve bottled up. and you end up talking before you think, “another modeling gig.” his shoulders tense at the words, and the way his eyes flit away for a second tells you all you need to know. “and you couldn’t say no, again. even though this date was planned two weeks in advance, and you ended up choosing a modeling gig over me. again.”

the words sting as they leave your mouth.

"i know, i’m sorry. i don’t know what else to say," is all he could say, his voice barely audible, and his apologies repeat like a broken record, "just, i’m sorry."

you want to demand more from him, more than just an empty, repetitive, half-assed apology. but before you can, he steps forward, closing the distance between you, in one swift motion.

you don’t step back. you don’t move at all.

when his arms wrap around you, your arms stay stuck to your sides. his embrace is tense, desperate even, in the way his arms tighten around you at the lack of response. you feel everything he feels— you can feel the way his heart pounds against his chest that’s pressed to yours, you can feel the way his fingers curl into your hair as he pushes your head deeper into the crook of his neck, and his ragged breath that fans against your ear as he buries the side of his face into your hair. for a split second, you find yourself losing to yourself, melting into his touch against your will. 

you can feel the apologies, you feel his regret— as if he’s hoping this hug would say everything he can’t put into words. but it doesn’t fix anything. it doesn’t change the fact that he’s failed you again.

it’s hard to ignore the fuzzy feeling of having his arms wrapped around you once again, the feeling of being shielded from all of your problems. but it’s even harder to ignore that feeling of fear that you’ll always be second to everything else in his life. his jam-packed schedule, spontaneous modeling gigs that he just can’t seem to say no to, and his fans who aren’t even aware of your existence— all who come before you. you’ve tried to be understanding, to be patient, but the neglect has finally worn you down. 

“we can’t keep doing this,” your words are muffled by the skin of his neck, his hand on the back of your head keeping you close to him. "i can’t do this anymore, yukimiya."

silence. 

your words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, you’re unsure of whether you've even said them out loud. but the shift in yukimiya’s grip—his body stiffening, his breath audibly getting caught in his throat, his hold on you faltering momentarily—tells you that he’s heard you. loud and clear. another beat of silence, and you realize the two of you will never get anywhere like this.

you take this chance, this moment of weakness, to put some distance between you two.

you find the resolve to rip yourself from his arms, hands pressed against his chest as you finally push him away. “i think—” and your voice cuts out as you swallow heavily. but you’ve made up your mind, and you continue. "that maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

his arms reach out for you again, but this time, you step back. "i’ll change," he pleads with you, his eyes searching to meet yours, "i’ll tell everyone about us, i’ll make sure my time is all yours. i’ll even quit, if you told me to." and you know, deep down, that he would. 

you look at him, and the part of you that still (inevitably) loves him aches at the sight. "you know i would never ask you to do that for me, yukimiya," you tell him, shaking your head. "and i should never have to ask you to change, you know."

and yukimiya knows, you’re not wrong.

still. he stands on the threshold of your apartment, unwilling to leave, not wanting to leave. but with a gentle shove of your fingertips against his chest, he steps back. and with that, you move to close the door between you, a “goodbye,” slipping past your lips, before the door clicks shut.

© rindreamery, 2024

[ang3lofdivinity]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝖲𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖳𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁! ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Relationship(s): Slightly Yandere!Sprout + GN!Toon!Reader

Genre: Fluff, some angst eventually

Format: Short story + headcanons

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, yandere/possessive behavior, otherwise none!

A/N: Sorry for such the long hiatus! School is CRAZY rn. + my life overall :’)). Take this Sprout stuff because I LOVE Dandy’s. Also, do note that the reader is a bit clumsy! Along with the fact this is a bit self indulgent.. (I promise, I’ll make Cosmo x Reader x Sprout stuff soon… trust)

Part 1: current | Part 2: In the works..

Now, this is an interesting circumstance you’ve gotten yourself into!

I wanna guess that you’re a toon that works in the diner along with Sprout, and Cosmo.

Maybe you’re a kinda dessert food item? Like, a Milkshake?

I also wanna say that you’re kinda like a waitress for the diner. Someone who runs out the food, rings in food, assigns people to different tables, etc.

You’re a hard-worker, someone who overachieves in their job. Working extra hours to help Sprout and Cosmo, and so on. You love your job, and you love your best-friends!

You and Cosmo’s friendship came before you and Sprout even knew each other. Sure, you’ve heard him be mention by others, especially Cosmo, but never really met him in person before. Well, up until Cosmo asked if you wanted to work with him and Sprout in the diner, given your experience working within the food industry before and such.

And after your interview and background check: you had officially started working as a waitress for the diner!

Cosmo was your only friend for a while, though you were cordial with Sprout- you just didn’t speak to him as much as you did Cosmo.

Though, that was until you had kitchen duty for the night.

You hummed along to the sound of the song that was playing in your headphones, washing dishes in the back of the kitchen while being oblivious to your surroundings. Placing the wet dishes and silverware on the drying mat in their respective places, you felt pleased with your work today and were in a decently good mood: no rude customers, you didn’t have to clean up most of the diner today… it was all going well!!

Well, that was until afterwards.

You checked over everything, making sure every little thing was in its proper place for the night so you could finally clock out for the night.

See, your job here at the diner is simple: serve as a waitress for the costumers, do any extra work such as doing the dishes after closing hours and sweeping the floors, and then finally clock out for the night. Simple as ever, right?

You enjoy your job. You like living here with the rest of the toons in the neighborhood! Sure, you have those bad days that always get you in a sour mood- but everyone has that problem eventually! It’s not just you. Besides, your friends are always gonna be there to help!

Finishing up your business in the kitchen, you sighed. Today was a busy day, and it had DRAINED you! So now, it was time to go home and relax, eat something, and then pass out for the night. It’s a routine that you enjoy. And on the days that you have off from work are pretty uneventful, but still enjoyable in the long run.

Turning on your heel, you began walking towards the corridor so you could head off and grab your stuff to clock out, before you suddenly stopped.

..why does it feel like you’re forgetting something.

Your brows furrowed, trying to make yourself move forward- but you couldn’t. You physically couldn’t move forward anymore and you have no clue WHY.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to look behind you where you see you’ve left one of the cupboards open! (You swear you closed it, but I guess you just simply forgot to and convinced yourself that you did).

So, you do what you were supposed to do: close it.

But the moment your foot lands when you’re so close to it, though, you feel yourself slipping. Your arms flail wildly, reaching for anything solid to latch onto as the world blurs and spins around you.

With a very futile attempt, you tried to stop your fall by grabbing onto the nearest— ….

…

Something just grabbed you.

Instead of the inevitable crash, you’re caught.

Though, with your eyes screwed shut with fear, you’re too nervous to see what happened. Your breath comes in short gasps as you cling tightly to whatever—whoever—has kept you upright. Clinging onto whatever you can to keep you from getting any more bruises than your clumsy self gets on a normal basis already is better than nothing.

If staying like this means you’re safe, then you’re willing to stay like this for—

“..You good?”

A voice spoke up. It’s.. rather closer than you would’ve thought, it’s almost as if it was right next to you kinda close. This doesn’t sound like someone you know like Cosmo, but it does sound familiar in some way that you can’t put your finger on.

Slowly, your eyes open up.

And what do you see?

..Sprout!

Your best guess is that he probably came into the kitchen while you were walking back, and you hadn’t noticed him until now. Or something banal like that, like in those silly rom-com movies.

To describe Sprout himself… : He’s strawberry that only wears a white scarf with pink stripes wrapped around his neck that also drapes over his back. He has five mint green, simple leaves, three of which rest atop their head while the other two cover his forehead like bangs. He has dark, red blush with three black freckles on each cheek. His limbs are a vivid shade of light red with white gloves covering both hands. You can’t see anything other than that- but you know that he was white and punk striped socks, and a friendship bracelet to match with Cosmo.

Cosmo’s excited look when he showed you his.. it still replays in your mind.

You pop yourself out of your reverie, blinking repeatedly as you focus back on Sprout.

“Oh—yeah—sorry!” You squeaked out, attempting to gather yourself. But you were still too stunned to move, body frozen in place due to the shock. Realizing you weren’t going to get up anytime soon, you sighed, feeling a little defeated.

Sprout didn’t hesitate. “I’ll get you checked out. Here—” he said, scooping you up in his arms before you could protest.

Your face IMMEDIATELY flushed a deep pink as he lifted you bridal style, causing your heart to race even faster.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck, your embarrassment overwhelming her as you held on tight to him.

It wasn’t meant to be such a romantic gesture, simply just trying to help you!

..right?

“Thank you, Sprout..”

That was your first ever meeting!

Cliché, no?

But: you were safe, alive, and your injuries all got healed up (which were a couple burns on your hands from using water which was too warm, and a few cuts here and there).

You found out the reason that he even caught you in the first place is because he had rounded the corridor when you just started walking back over into the kitchen! He had come to check up on you and your work so far because it was late at night.

You thanked Sprout tenfold, offering to do nearly anything as payback for helping you.

Which he then.. forced you to take some baking lessons with him.

He needed more bakers, after all!!

You wondered how this would turn out…

TO BE CONTINUED..

A/N: IM SORYRYRYE. This is such a bad drabble. It’s 1 am as we speak bro.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ fever, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it's your birthday. mat's horny. nothing new.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: this was supposed to part of a wip that i'm scraping because i hate it 🙂‍↕️🫶🏾. but this scene was tew good for me to throw in the trash so here it is!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. established relationship, language, sexual content, unprotected sex, penetration, fingering, handjob, description of ejaculation, mathew barzal is a problem.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2k.

The gentle early light of dawn crept through the curtains and scattered across your face. The sound of a distant lawnmower mingled with the song of the morning birds on the easy April morning. Your boyfriend lay next to you, breathing a soft, rhythmic hum in the quiet room. The scent of his minty toothpaste tickled your nose, hinting at his ritualistic morning routine. You felt his warm hand splayed over your waist, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles. The softness of the mattress and the weight of his arm were familiar anchors in an unfamiliar space—his childhood home.

Mat had insisted the two of you stay at his parents' house last night after celebrating the Islanders clinching their playoff spot. The excitement from the game still lingered in the air, a faint buzz of energy that seemed to have seeped into the very fabric of the room. You, however, were in a state of tranquil bliss, your mind floating in a sea of contentment. You had worked tirelessly on your master's thesis for months, and now, it was finally done—the approval email hit your inbox in the middle of the game last night, your supervising professor's praise the sweetest victory of all.

Mat leaned over, his lips brushing your forehead, and whispered, "Happy birthday, gorgeous."

Your cheeks warmed at the realization that you had forgotten to mention it was your birthday to anyone but him. "Thank you, honey," you cooed, still nestled in the warm cocoon of the bed.

Mat's eyes danced with mischief as he suggested, "How about a little birthday surprise to start your day right?" He winked and gestured towards the door, the bathroom just across the hall. Your eyes narrowed, understanding his intent. You glanced at the clock—9:17 AM—his parents were probably downstairs already.

"Mat, seriously?" you whispered, trying to ignore the thrill that danced through you at the thought.

Mat grinned, his teeth flashing white in the morning light. "Come on, babe. Live a little. They won't hear us," he said, his voice low and persuasive. Despite your reservations, the excitement in his voice was infectious. He climbed out of bed, his tall frame moving with a comfortable grace. His hand reached back to you, and you took it, allowing him to pull you out of the covers and into his embrace.

You tiptoed across the cold hardwood floor to the bathroom with shared giggles, Mathew attempting and failing to silence your sneaky amusement. You couldn't help but feel like a teenager again, sneaking out with a forbidden boyfriend. The sound of the shower cranked up to full blast filled the room, and Mat stepped in first, the water cascading over his broad shoulders. He held out his hand for you, and you took it, stepping over the threshold. The heat washed over you, a stark contrast to the coolness of the house. You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close, his warmth seeping into your skin.

Mat's eyes held yours as he whispered sweet birthday nothings into your ear, making your heart flutter against your bare chest, a silver 'M' perched between your breasts. The water streamed down your bodies, melding them together as one. His touch grew firmer, more urgent, as you kissed passionately under the showerhead. Your shyness melted away, replaced by a fiery need that matched his.

Your bodies intertwined, moving in a silent dance of desire. The steam thickened around you, turning the bathroom into a personal sanctuary. Your coils sticking to your back, your usual careful attention to your wash day routines thrown to the wind, a testament to the heat building between you. You both knew the risks—his parents' footsteps echoing below, Liana's room right beside Mat's room—but the excitement of your secret tryst only heightened the intensity of the moment.

You felt the warm water run down your face as you kissed, a perfect excuse to hide the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. Mat's hands roamed your body with the confidence of a man who knew every inch of his lover, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips and the small of your back. He picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he pressed you against the tiled wall, the coolness starkly contrasting your fevered skin. You gasped into his mouth as he entered you, the sensation of his hardness overwhelming your senses.

"Mat," you whispered, a mix of pleasure and nerves in your voice as he carried you in the steamy shower, your bodies moving together in a passionate dance that seemed to have a rhythm all of its own. His eyes searched yours, a silent question that you answered with a nod, your eyes sparkling with excitement. You always had this unspoken understanding, a connection that went deeper than words.

He held you tightly, your legs wrapped around his waist, and you felt his muscles tense and release as he moved, the water droplets on his skin gliding onto yours. Your breath hitched as you felt the peak of your climax approaching, your body tightening around him. His kiss grew deeper, his grip stronger, and you knew he felt it too. In the haze of passion, you heard the creak of a floorboard outside the bathroom door, and your eyes shot open. But Mat either didn't hear or didn't care, his focus solely on you, his love and desire a wall against the outside world.

"Do you hear that?" You whispered urgently, your eyes wide as the sound of footsteps grew closer. But he was lost in the moment, the victory of last night's game and the excitement of the day ahead fueling his passion. He kissed you deeper, his hands roaming, and you knew he wasn't going to stop. The floorboards outside the bathroom door creaked again, louder this time, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your whimpers.

Mat looked down at you, a question in his eyes, but you could see the smug satisfaction there too. He knew you were close, and he wasn't going to let anything ruin it.

With a gentle kiss to your neck, he murmured, "Don't worry, baby," his voice was a soothing rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I got you."

He reached for the shower handle and turned the water to a pulsing massage setting, the thunderous beat of the water masking any sounds you might make.

Your movements grew more urgent, the beat of the water punctuating your silent cries of pleasure. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching back as his hips snapped in a particularly rough thrust, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm gonna come," he hissed, pulling out of you as you whined at the loss of his heat.

He set you down, the cool tile a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and turned you around to face the showerhead. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he towered over you, the water cascading over your shoulders and down your back. You leaned forward, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall, your other hand reaching back to grip his throbbing cock. You felt a thrill of power knowing you could make this strong, elite athlete quiver with need.

Mat's breath hitched as you began to stroke him, your grip firm but gentle. The sound of the shower was a cocoon around you, muffling your breaths and the slick sounds of your skin moving against each other. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his hands slipping around your waist to cup your breasts. You could feel his heart hammering against your spine, his excitement mirroring your own. Mathew pulled your torso up to meet him under the spray of the shower head. Your mouths found each other, kissing fiercely, sharing the taste of mint and passion.

He whimpered against your ear, his straying hand faltering for a moment before finding the front of your body. His fingers slipped down, teasing your clit as you stroked him. Your breath caught in your throat, the pressure building as you felt his thumb rub circles around your swollen nub. The heat from the water and his touch was almost too much to bear.

Mat's breath grew ragged, his eyes squeezed shut as you worked him, your strokes matching the tempo of the water's pulsing beat. He groaned, his body tightening, and you knew he was close. You felt a thrill of excitement, your own climax just a whisper away. You could feel the tremble in his legs as he fought to keep standing, the head of his cock leaking against your hand.

Any discomfort in your spine melted away with the pleasure of his fingers on your bundle of nerves and the sound of his labored breathing and strained whimpers in your ear. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your legs quivering slightly. The footsteps outside grew closer, but the anticipation only heightened your passion. Mat's hands left your breasts to hold your hips firmly in place as he thrust into your hand, his breath hot and needy against your neck. You could feel his muscles tensing, his release imminent.

Your hand quickened, your grip tightening just the way he liked it, and suddenly, he was coming, the hot spurts of him hitting your back as he groaned into your shoulder. You stroked him through it, the intimate moment making you feel powerful and loved. Your own climax crashed over you, your body tightening around the emptiness where he had just been, your hand slowing to a stop. You both panted, the only sound in the room save for the steady beat of the shower.

Mat leaned heavily against you, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his chest heaving with exertion. You felt a bubble of laughter form in your chest at your shared secret, at the absurdity of your desperate morning tryst. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt so free.

The footsteps outside had long ago disappeared, replaced by the comforting sound of the shower. You remained in your embrace, facing each other head-on to delve back into a kiss, the water beating down on your intertwined bodies, the steam a tangible presence in the small space.

As you kissed, you felt Mat's hands slip away from your hips to glide up your body, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing the water out of your eyes, and you realized you had been crying. Tears of joy and release mingled with the shower's flow.

He looked at you with a softness that made your heart swell, whispering, "I love you." You whispered it back, the words a sacred promise, a declaration of your unspoken bond.

You took your time, the water washing away the sweat and the evidence of your love. You felt the soap slowly soothing your over-sensitive skin as you basked in the aftermath. Finally, when the water began to cool, you stepped out, wrapping yourselves in a shared fluffy towel. You placed a shy peck on Mat's shoulder, whispering, "Thank you," your voice hoarse from your passionate whispers. He grinned down at you, his teeth bright and perfect, the same grin that had captured your heart so many months ago.

As you snuck back across the hallway to Mat's room, wrapped in your shared towel, you couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest. The thrill of your secret rendezvous had you feeling giddy, like you were high on love. Mat's hand squeezed yours gently, a silent reminder of the incredible intimacy you had just shared. You felt your heart beat quicken as you approached the door, the sound of muffled voices from downstairs growing louder.

You dressed quickly, your body still humming with the echoes of pleasure. Mat's playful swats to your ass as you stepped into your underwear only served to fuel the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, shorts, and a t-shirt, his eyes never leaving yours, the smugness clear as he watched you get dressed. The scent of him clung to your skin as you threw on a hoodie and shorts of your own, the fabric whispering over your sensitive skin.

[spicycinnabun]

part 3 of yogi verse ❀ rated: g ❀ pair: buck/tommy ❀ ficlet from tommy's pov ❀ tags: au, yoga!instructor tommy, shy!buck

Tommy had meant it as a joke. He didn’t really think Evan had hurt himself on purpose to gain his attention, so he was a bit surprised when a pretty shade of pink bloomed across Evan’s cheeks right before his eyes—almost like he’d been caught.

“T-that’s not why I—” Evan scratched his eyebrow right over that unique birthmark, looking down for a moment, then peeked back up at Tommy beneath his eyelashes. “I just slipped.”

Why was Evan so cute? Dangerously cute. 

“Okay,” Tommy agreed. He smiled, apologetic. “I’m only teasing you.”

And flirting shamelessly. He couldn’t resist.

Tommy assessed Evan again. He had improved with the exercises, but Tommy had noticed him favoring that one leg. An old injury that liked to act up, maybe?

“Keep the ice there for a few more minutes,” he advised, nodding towards the towel-wrapped ice pack hanging limply in Evan’s grip. Tommy fought the urge to take his hand and help him press it against his knee. Inappropriate, Kinard.

There were professional boundaries, and Tommy had nearly crossed them in the last class. He’d backed off a lot since then, which also seemed to be a mistake since Evan had gotten hurt due to his negligence.

Evan pressed the ice pack to his knee. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry I disrupted your class.”

Tommy shook his head. “Hey, no, It’s alright. Accidents happen.” 

Evan didn’t look convinced but didn’t say anything further. Tommy had heard Evan chatting enthusiastically with Maddie when they’d gotten there and they started unrolling their mats, so he assumed that this quietness wasn’t his regular M.O. He could’ve been in more pain than he was letting on, too.

“I’ll include alternate poses for our next class. Some of the ones we do can be hard on certain joints. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt again.”

Evan smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. I just need to follow directions better. You don’t need to make any special exceptions for me.”

Tommy frowned slightly. “It’s no problem, Evan.”

That was the bare minimum he could do, honestly. Altering his lesson plan was nothing. It was his job to make sure his routines benefitted everyone. Otherwise, what the hell were they paying him for? 

Also, it was more a reflection on himself as a teacher than Evan as a student if Evan couldn't follow his directions. But he could, and he had done exceptionally well for a beginner in an intermediate class. Even if he had stubbornly refused to start with the beginner poses Tommy had suggested last time. 

He opened his mouth to say as much, but Lucy, their pilates instructor who’d stepped in to help, beckoned him over with a judgy eyebrow and impatient jerk of her head. 

“Duty calls, huh?” Evan said. 

Tommy glanced at the clock and stood up. “It does. Take care, okay, kid?” 

Evan laughed. It was self-deprecating, even to Tommy’s ears. “Yeah.” 

Hm. Tommy couldn’t exactly dwell—he had to finish the class with their cool-down sequence—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also thinking about those sad puppy eyes the entire time.

༻❁༺

As everyone finished packing up and headed out, Tommy couldn’t help but cross his arms and watch the Buckleys. Evan was limping a little but trying to act like he wasn’t. Maddie, his sister, who Tommy knew much better after having her in his class most of the year, put her hand on Evan’s shoulder and rubbed it. 

Tommy had heard about Evan through Maddie. Enough that it almost felt like he knew the guy, too. She was clearly very proud of him, and they were close-knit siblings. Younger than her, Evan worked with the LAFD. He was sweet and comical, bullheaded and frustrating in equal amounts, and some of her stories about him had made Tommy full-on belly laugh. 

She waved goodbye, and Tommy waved back. Evan glanced over his shoulder almost shyly, and Tommy waved at him, too. Then, against better judgment, he followed it up with a wink. 

He tried not to smirk when Evan, clearly flustered, nearly walked into the door. An amused exhale escaped him as Evan went cherry red a second later, visible even from across the room, and fled to the parking lot.

God, Tommy was in fucking trouble.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Male Monster Musume: Feeding The Beasts Pt. III

Last Part

“Good Morning, (Y/n). Are you ready to spend the day together?”

As you expected, Centoreo was so much easier. Waking up in a timely matter with a warm cup of tea or coffee. It was relaxing, being able to rely on someone else. Able to serve little biscuits and cucumber slices without burning the house down. It wasn’t too often that you got such a quiet morning for yourself.

“Thanks, Centoreo, I appreciate it.”

“No problem, (Y/n)! As my Master, it’s a given that on my day; we’ll get to relax together.”

Sitting across from each other on the newly installed tatami mats. The morning’s light shining through the window gently warmed your face. It was quiet between you two. A tad too quiet.

Centoreo was still smiling at you. 

Constantly smiling as you began to get nervous.

“Uh so?”

“So what, my Master?”

“....I don’t know…what’ve you been up to?”

He sighed, “Only counting down the hours until my day was here.”

A mirth smile spread across your face as you imagined the sight of Centoreo waiting anxiously by a clock. You took another sip of your drink admiring his stylized room. Coming to realize there’s no clock within the room you turned back to the centaur.

“You don’t have a clock in here.”

“I do not. Back home we centaurs are taught to dictate the time by the sun or better yet to count the hours in a day.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that. That’s pretty hardcore.”

“Thank you, Master!”

“Do you guys also get trained with the sword?”

You missed the way his eyes widened and the way his hands twitched. He tilted his head when he asked his question.  

“Excuse me?”

“Like don’t centaurs get swords? I’m sure you couldn’t bring a real one with you but still.”

Centoreo hesitated, “Some do but aren’t swords considered archaic in today's age?”

Shoot. 

You mentally kicked yourself. In the anime, Cerea was very upfront about her sword replica. Having it on her waist or drawing it the second she felt necessary. It was a big part of her character. But now that you thought about it Centoreo had no such thing, even with the way you both met; chasing criminals and using the sword just wasn’t a part of it. Supposedly that had happened before you even met up with him. So without your prior knowledge, this line of questioning seemed completely out of left field. Your best chance now was to do damage control.

“Uhm yes, but I thought Centaurs preferred a more traditional type of learning and lifestyle. Like the way you chose a master.”

Centoreo seemed to nod as he accepted your lie coverup. Clapping his hands in confirmation.

“I see, how you might have thought that! But you’re not wrong, we do get a myriad of training with different weapons and I do have one.”

“A replica? Neat!”

Centorea dwelled in your excitement,” Would you like to see my sword?”

At that moment the door to Centoreo’s room slams open and in a flurry of blue feathers and a scaly tail, the two other monster transfer students barged in. Both are standing guard in front of you blocking your sight from the centaur. 

“No! There will be no showing any ‘swords’ of yours! Not before mine!”

“Yeah! I want to show my sword too! We’re not going to let you get away with it.”

You could hear his polite chuckles from behind his hand, “Oh so you don’t want (Y/n) to protect themselves?”

“Yes! I mean, wait–”

“Of course not! That’s my job!”

“No you bird brain! He’s talking about some weapon he brought overseas with him.”

“Oh…I already thought your rear-end was enough of a weapon.”

“Pypi!”

The harpy had a nonchalant expression as you scolded him while coughing to hide the snicker that threatened to spread on your face. The lamia immediately began to coil around himself in laughter, making it easy for the red-in-the-face centaur to push most of him out the door. 

With a huff, Centoreo shut his door and locked it. When he turned to you he had an angry blush at the smile you were failing to cover. 

“I’m sorry, Centoreo…but if you’re still willing to show me I’d love to see.”

A small smile spread on his face as he turned back to you. Guiding you to stand over a specific floorboard he revealed a hidden case that robotically raised out of the ground and showed a myriad of weapons…some of which were not all that traditional.

“And this is my 177 Caliber BB Gun Air Pistol…it’s not incredibly new but it’s close enough to what I’m comfortable with.”

“Oh wow….”

“What’s with that face?”

“It’s just that I didn’t think guns counted as traditional weaponry.”

He laughed, “It’s alright, that’s what we’re here for. To learn about each other.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

That was a really good point. The anime made a point to use the laws and societal changes to move the plot. It was mostly about how the girls were fitting into the human world, with their love interest somehow being all-knowing about their idiosyncrasies. Granted there were some exceptions but it wasn’t a major theme to learn in-depth about their cultures. 

You thought that was cool. 

“If you’d like I can teach you how to shoot it.”

“Really?"

"Of course.”

Sooner than you realized it you found yourself in the position of every male protagonist during a pool game. Trying to hyper-focus on the gun you were holding instead of the muscular chest on the back of your head as well as the hands supporting your back. While you could only see the target board you could feel the warmth of his breath as he gave his advice.

“Don’t close your eye, and use the sight to aim. That’s it. You’re doing perfectly my Master.”

This was a lot more than you were expecting.

Crttt Crttt Crttt Crttt

A grating sound broke the moment, thankfully. Bringing both of you to look at the curiously opened door, With only a crack wide enough for furiously yellow-slitted eyes and a fanged set of teeth gritting against each other. Centoreo let out an uncharacteristically long groan before excusing himself out of his room. 

“My Master I’ll return shortly, after I speak with…them.”

“But it’s okay I can talk to him–”

“No no dear it’s fine. Just keep practicing, I’ll be just a moment.”

The Japanese-style door slides shut and you can’t help but expect to hear screaming and sounds of a fight. But there was nothing. After a few minutes had passed you began to feel bored with just shooting the air-gun. Finally putting it down you left his room, poking your head out into the hall and finding no one. Searching around you found the monster boys in the living room with 2 of them sleeping peacefully on the couch. Centoreo was standing over them pulling a blanket over their forms, before turning to you.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my master.”

“Ah, it’s okay. I’m surprised they’d fall asleep so easily.”

Centoreo shrugged before perking up with an idea.

“(Y/n). I wanted to ask if maybe we could meal prep together. I was hoping we could be…adventurous with the vegetables this time since we usually cater to them.”

“Sure I don’t mind, though I don’t think they’d be too interested in what we make.”

“I have a feeling they’ll sleep through dinner, I convinced them to eat something hearty before they slept.”

You decided not to question the weird timing. 

“Then let’s have fun, shall we?”

“Perfect!”

______________________________________________________________

You both most certainly did. Able to even light a candle or two while you enjoyed the roasted and sauteed veggies you’d both made. As Centoreo predicted they did sleep through dinner, letting you both enjoy a quiet and peaceful evening together. It was hard to be cautious when he was just so sweet. It might have made you soften up a bit when it came to him.

“Centoreo you don’t have to call me master all the time.”

“Then what should call you then?”

“My name or some other nickname. I don’t really care. Milo’s got like a thousand for me.”

“I want you to pick what I’ll call you. Otherwise, I’ll just stick to master. Or your name, both are really important to me.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“It’s a quality of a good knight. Cheers.”

Even as the night began to close you were almost certain he’d abashedly ask you to snuggle in his bed with him. But he politely offered to let you relax offering to watch your phone and clothes while you headed to the bath. It’s become a bit of an issue with Milo and Pypi taking advantage of your unattended clothes. Even though they were asleep you were hesitant to let him. Cerea was still a prominent member of the harem; it wouldn’t be unheard of that he was as dangerously interested in you as Milo and Pypi. But you might have wanted to take advantage of the unattended bath…without the possible intrusion…an opportunity so hard to pass up.

“Okay but don’t do anything weird. I’ll be out in a bit.”

He smiled graciously as though a halo was meant to appear. “Of course, I’m here to help. Enjoy your bath.”

A refreshing bath later and a final cup of tea. You bid Centoreo goodnight as you shut your metal door. 

The schedule worked. The strengthening of your bonds was important to hopefully disassembling and keeping a reign on the alternate versions of the monster girls. This could work if you kept this up, not to mention the later events of the anime. Maybe pushing past their insecurities would be the way to go. 

Things were looking up. 

___________________________________________________________

Blonde strands of hair cascaded over Centoreo’s face as he glared at the messages from the agent. Looking down at the contact he scrolled through the text history, with scrunched brows. He felt disgusted as he glared at the mail he’d intercepted. 

It was an opt-out form.

The letter of allowance is meant to let the host peacefully transfer their guardianship to another. 

He was already burning the added note from the agent jovially informing him of his new promotion. There were other disturbing litigations in cursive but Centoreo deemed it all unworthy of thought. Taking only the main points to heart. 

“Did you really think you have a chance? While I’m here?  Please.”

It was a minor concern, that another tenant was going to arrive. This would be returned to the mailbox. The others could be burned. 

“It’s only a matter of time. Bide your time Centoreo. It will all be worth it then.”

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 15

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 15/? 10k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ The aftermath of a kiss makes thoughts come alive — both desires and fears. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut 18+ (imagined oral f!receiving, piv, creampie), cumming in pants, angst

Wednesday, December 11th 1985

The flag was whipping in the wind. Towering above the parking lot in a blur of red, white, and blue, it cracked against the pale grey sky. 

Meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror, you checked for any obvious signs of guilt. The harsh morning light made it clear what you’d missed in your haste to leave. You thought you had gotten it all, but the mascara resting in the lines beneath your eyes said otherwise. Truthfully, washing your face had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled home after midnight, and it was clear you needed more than the five minutes you allotted this morning in front of the sink. After sleeping through your alarm, it was a miracle you were here at all. Swiping your knuckles across the bags under your eyes, you figured that would have to do.

With a final, bracing sigh, you opened the door and slumped into the freezing cold. Slamming the door, you marched across the snow-dusted pavement and hiked the heavy leather strap onto your shoulder. Students scattered around you with bright colored backpacks, rushing from their cars toward the squat, concrete building that loomed on the horizon. Eyes steeled on the glass doors ahead, you swallowed a sickness rising up from the pit of your stomach. Pebbles crunched under your boots as you dodged glances, offering little more than a timid smile and a raise of your hand at the greetings hurled your way. 

Pulling open the chilled metal handle, that school smell—indescribable yet unmistakable—gusted hotly over your numb cheeks. The office was abuzz with shrill ringing phones and gently chiding voices. Eyes glued to the long, grey weather mat below, you approached the clock-in station.

“Good morning!” the receptionist greeted cheerfully at the back of your head. 

“Morning, Judy,” you offered weakly, selecting your punch card from its wooden slot on the wall. With a shaking hand, you slotted the index card into the machine, lining it up with this week’s row of black-inked numbers. It snapped to life, stamping today’s date in a crooked line beneath the rest. 

Tucking your thumb under the strap, you trudged along your usual path, raising your eyes just enough to see where you were going. Fluorescents danced over the polished tile, over the shimmering salt-stained boot marks and stray pebbles you were suddenly so captivated by. Past the glass trophy cases, inside the cafeteria, you crossed the row of principal portraits from years prior outside the teachers lounge. It was difficult to look at them today, the judgement painted so clearly on their features from inside their thick, ornate frames. Their eyes seemed to follow you as you passed. Dodging their scorn, you ducked inside the door.

Your soles met the padding of the threadbare carpet, marching toward the one thing you truly depended on, stationed at its post on the end of the long, veneer table — the coffee machine. The room was spinning with activity, a bustle of chatter you hoped you could hide in. Most were on their way out, making small talk and gathering belongings from their seats at the round tables. Your skirt swished forward as you halted before the machine, tapping the cuff of your tall boots. Grabbing a mug from the stack, you filled it with haste.

You wondered if anyone could smell it on you — the cigarette smoke that clung to your coat. Shrinking down into your turtleneck, you sidestepped to return the pot to the warmer. 

“Good morning,” stated a voice behind you with cold professionalism. 

The plastic slipped in your hand, coffee hissing against the metal plate as you fumbled it into place. “Principal Higgins! H-hi—good morning!” 

She always terrified you, even as a student here. Even before last night. Standing all of about four foot ten, her stern, nun-like demeanor and white cloud of hair remained consistent with your memory, as if she had reached a point in her aging where she just plateaued.

“How are you?” she asked. Not as though she really cared, just as something polite to say.

Whipping around as the blood drained from your face, you addressed her. “Good! I’m good. Just getting things wrapped up for the semester. You know how it is.” 

She nodded curtly. “Glad to hear,” she answered, though nothing about her expression seemed glad.  It never did. You thought you saw her smile once in September, but it could have been a trick of the light. Smiling weakly at the floor, you dipped around her and shuffled toward the open milk carton. The air was thick and stuffy, filling your lungs in shallow draws. Peeling back the soggy cardboard, you swallowed your hammering pulse. 

“Hey stranger,” Diane greeted warmly, grabbing a mug from beside you. “You ready for winter break yet?” 

Fixed on the coffee as the milk swirled like smoke, you couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes. “I’ve been ready since October,” you admitted through a strained chuckle.

Diane tipped her head back, laughing into the fluorescents. “Oh man I feel ya, I’ve been counting down the days myself.” Steam rose from her mug as she filled it.

There must have been a sign on your back. Something like kick me. A bump from behind had you lurching into the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. Snapping your head over your shoulder, you glared at the culprit. 

“Jeez it’s crowded in here,” muttered Ms. O’Donnell as she lumbered over to the coffee machine. “Everyone mingling like a flock of hens, you’d think we’d all have places to be by now.”

With a sharp sigh, you grabbed a handful of flimsy napkins from beside the sugar. Diane glanced in brief annoyance before reaching through your line of sight for the milk carton. “So, did you catch Cheers last night?”

You froze, heat creeping up the collar of your coat as the coffee bled through the paper. Images of sweating glasses on cocktail napkins and plush lips clouded your vision as you blotted up the mess with a trembling hand. “No I uh, turned in early I’m afraid.” Your stomach curdled with the lie.

“Aww, well you’ll have to catch it on re-run because it was a good one. I won’t spoil anything,” Diane said, bringing the mug to her lips as she leaned against the table. 

Grabbing the handful of warm, soggy napkins, you pivoted to toss them in the trash. Finally, she caught you with her eyes. Rich umber, deep with caring and kindness, captive for anyone who needed a good listener, for you on so many occasions. Diane was good like a cashmere cardigan, like a box of tissues passed across a desk. Your eyes met the floor again quickly, heat rising in your face. You shuddered to imagine what she’d think if she knew. 

The room became a blur of scooting chairs, of vending machines whirring, of crackers and candy dropping into the bins below. Metal flaps whined and slammed as hands reached in to grab them. It was closing in on you — the copy machine ink wafting warmly across the room as it spat out stacks of tests, the hole punchers clicking and binders snapping open to devour papers with their jagged maws. You stood there in the middle of it all, spinning like you’d stepped out of a carnival ride.

Diane leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “You ok?”

Blinking rapidly, you snapped back to attention. “Yeah—yeah I’m fine.” 

Folding her arms across her sweater, she knit her brows in disbelief. As the school counselor, it was her job to see through bullshit, and she was good at her job. Before she could comment, the bell had your stomach lurching. “I have to go,” you said with as much of a casual farce as you could muster. “I’ll see you later.” You grabbed your mug, shielding your face with it as you sipped off the top before vanishing into the hallway.

-

The AV cart was heavy despite its wheels. Avoiding your tired reflection in the glass of the large television, you braced the metal frame and peered around it, marching carefully down the crowded hallway. At least you had something to hide behind now. 

There were footsteps all around you, weaving to accommodate the metal mass as you trudged slowly forward. What became unignorable was the set behind you, shuffling down the hall at an increasing speed, growing louder as they neared. Eddie halted just behind your shoulder, bumping it slightly in his haste. “Hey,” he breathed in your ear, curls tickling your cheek.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped your head around to meet his crinkling eyes. If he had a tail, he would be wagging it. “Eddie,” you hissed. “Get—” you elbowed him away, heart pounding into your temples as a hundred eyes passed by around you. 

He didn’t seem phased. Hovering at an uncomfortable proximity, his focus stayed glued to you as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Here,” he offered, reaching over to take the reins. The meat of his palms grazed your knuckles; warm and pliant like you remembered them. 

“I’ve got it,” you insisted, gaze dutifully forward, gripping the metal frame firmly.

“Come on, let me help,” he muttered, leather forearms insisting against yours as he tugged the cart in his direction.

Face fully on fire now, you released your grip, repelling with a twinge of remorse from the solid contact of his shoulder. Head darting left and right, you scouted for faculty, keeping a steady pace beside him. Not so close as to draw suspicion, but close enough to feel his magnetism prickle your awareness. His fingers pinked under his rings, knuckles white in his grip as the strong angles of his hands kept the cart from veering. “It’s um—” Eddie started, dipping his head toward your ear again, “good to see you again,” he uttered with a fervency that could have evaporated you.

“Happy Wednesday!” chimed Ms. Click as she waved you down from outside her door. 

The blood drained from your face. Raising a trembling hand, you returned a weak smile before locking your vision on the end of the hall. It was closing in again; the lockers, the voices, the squeaking of wet boots against the tile. There was the potent scent of cigarettes, fresh on his hair like the snowflakes that clung to his curls. They were melting, dripping down his wild ringlets onto his shoulders with every step. It was beautiful, the way they bounced and swayed in the wind as he walked. The way the droplets settled in the wrinkles of his leather coat. The way it tapered toward his narrow waist. As he braced the cart, you selfishly admired the angles of his shoulders — broad and capable. Selfishly, you wondered what else they could accomplish, how they would feel, bare under your palms. Crossing your arms coyly over your turtleneck, you snatched your mind from the gutter.

Eddie lolled his head toward you, peering under heavy lids. His smile was lazy and generous, brimming with boyish glee. “God you look pretty today,” he sighed. Your uterus beat your stomach to a backflip. 

Halting outside the door to your classroom, you turned to face him. “Eddie, we can’t—” your desert mouth hung open as those soft umber eyes ushered your words into the din.

“I’m allowed to talk to you,” he asserted, shifting to the fullness of his height as he dropped his hands from the cart. 

“Not like that. Not here,” you corrected, just above a whisper. 

Brow lowering, he swiped his coat aside to access his hip, resting his hand above the chain that dripped toward his thigh. It was suffocating — the heat from his gaze, from your turtleneck, from the thoughts hammering like pinballs against the inside of your skull. 

“Listen, I just…” you swallowed, “it’s just—” you glanced around, meeting the waves and bright hellos that passed through your door with a vacant smile before lowering your voice, “—hard to be back here today.”

Eddie tipped his head forward, shifting on the balls of his feet with a subtle nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

You huffed through your nose, eyes pleading with him as you shrank toward your door.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, drifting in by an invisible tether with every inch you moved away. 

“Yeah.” Your exhale was heavy, lingering in his gaze for an aching second before ducking through the threshold. 

______

The static from the television prickled your forehead as you rewound the tape, fussing with the buttons on the VHS player seated on the shelf below it. The screen fizzled grey as as your fourth period class filed in, shuffling feet and relieved exclamations echoing behind you as they passed.

You could have left it alone and walked away, but you would take any excuse not to face them today. Leaning against the cart as you stared into the crackling static, that telltale scent wafted in on the air, tugging at memories of smoke rings and stage lights, filling you with equal parts dread and aching familiarity. You could see his silhouette out of the corner of your eye; tall and dark with a halo of frizz, boots heavy against the tile as he approached you. Swallowing your rising pulse, you couldn’t help but indulge for a second, shifting just enough to catch the soft pink of his smirk before his shoulder nudged yours in passing. Desks squeaked against the floor behind you, yielding to the weight of twenty students as they filled the five tidy rows. When the bell finally rang, you shut the door and mustered the courage to address them.

None of your classes were studying To Kill A Mockingbird. Irrelevant as it was to your lessons, you would excuse it to all of them by citing it as a great example of storytelling. Weak, but it was the best you could come up with on such short notice. You doubted anyone cared, they all seemed just as relieved as you were for a break from the fluorescents. 

You flicked off the lights and pressed play on the VCR. The room was bathed in white and blue as the opening credits rolled, and you took your place behind the big desk. Propping your head wearily against your hand, you stared down at the sea of white below you. Eyes unfocused, black ink and graphite chicken scratch blurred together as a different film played out behind them. 

The set was dramatically lit; a spotlight of interrogation that beamed down on your small chair facing Martha Higgins’ desk. The props were hyper-realistic; files she flipped through with her spindly, arthritic fingers containing your teaching license and contract for the year. The prominent lines on her forehead were growing increasingly severe as she considered the delivery of your inevitable punishment. 

A jungle of items framed the papers that sprawled across your real desk — the spider plant Susan had given you when the leaves were beginning to blush with oranges and reds, the stapler you’d had since college, the mug with a quill printed on it which now held your pens. You wondered what it would feel like to pack them all into a banker box in the middle of a winter afternoon. To lug it down the hallway, dodging the scorn of your former colleagues. With a heavy sigh, you buried your spinning head in your hand.

Eddie was seated as he always was, cheek pressed to his knuckles as he watched you from his corner of the room. A straight shot toward your desk in front of him, he gazed with reverence as the white light from the television bathed your one exposed cheekbone in a holy glow. Picking at the chipped veneer on the desk with his restless thumb, he recounted the feeling of it in his hands. The angle of your jaw, the notch where it met below your ear, the soft skin of your throat that hummed beneath the pads of his frozen digits, warming them to life with every swell and swallow as his mouth enveloped yours. He’d played it over and over the whole drive home, every moment since he’d opened his eyes this morning, convincing himself with every replay that it wasn’t a dream. 

He’d gotten a taste. Not enough to satisfy him — the opposite really. Like first bites often did, it only brought awareness to his hunger. The light played softly on your stiffened jaw. How he ached soothe it with his lips again, to feel the hard bone under supple skin, to hear and taste your sighs again; more moving than any music he’d ever heard. 

The darkness gave quiet permission for his mind to play a film of its own. In this one, the room would be the same. Just as dark but empty, save for you and him. He would scale the isle in five swift steps. Lifting your worried chin with his knuckle, he would draw you to the fullness of your height, capture your body in his arms and pull you into a searing kiss. He knew what it felt like now, and that only fueled his wild imagination. He knew you’d melt like putty, let him be the only thing holding you together, keeping you from falling to the floor with the strength of his arms around your soft cotton waist. 

He had memorized the shape of your lips, how slick with hunger they were as they slipped against his. Your hums would be quiet here, timid and shy as you glanced over his shoulder toward the door with worried eyes. On this set there were no real hallways, no extras making noise or slamming lockers. Nothing in the script suggesting an interruption, only the pretend risk that made a thrill rise in him like the tent in his jeans. The way you would shyly toy with the pins on his vest, insisting that “we shouldn’t,” and “it’s just not right.”

You wouldn’t protest for long, not in this script. Not when his teeth found your neck again, dipping down below the collar of your turtleneck. It was a nuisance really, nothing but a sponge for his spit as his tongue soothed over where his teeth left off. You would be needing it later because he would leave a mark this time. Several, tasting every moan you offered as he sucked bruises onto your delicate skin. He hadn’t tasted nearly enough of you, hadn’t felt nearly as much as he’d wanted. 

Closing his eyes, he surfaced a touch-memory; the shape of you beneath your coat. He imagined the slope of your waist in his hands as it looked like today; where the cotton met the wool of your skirt, heaving against his palms as he left his sloppy trail. Impatiently, he would free you from the confines of it, tug at the cotton and greet your warm, soft flesh with his aching fingers. You, of course, would give him full permission to remove it once you felt the insistence of his touch, felt his thumb drag over the small of your back, across that dip he caught a glance of last night. 

Tugging the cloying barrier up and over your head, he would shield you from the door with his body, letting the mass of the AV cart block any eyes wandering the hall from what he was about to do next. In the soft, flickering light from the television, your chest would rise and fall, spilling over from your white lace bra as it heaved in anticipation. 

The real you sank deeper into your chair. Shoulders slumped, shielding your eyes with your knuckles as you stared blankly down into the sea of papers. There was a heat emanating from the back corner of the room, one you could feel with the crown of your head. You knew exactly where it was coming from, and from whom. Hesitant as you were to address him, it was burning too hot to ignore, boring into you with a palpable insistence. With a swift, upward glance, you faced off. 

Eddie’s lids were heavy, cheeks pinking at the sudden confrontation. He licked his lips, eyes darkening as he swallowed. You could almost feel them again, cradling yours in a phantom kiss just like they did fourteen hours ago. His mouth had been so needy. So hot and plush, tongue slipping against yours like he’d been starving. 

Eddie closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them again, they were so heavy with want that it rippled from across the room, shooting straight between your legs. You’d never been kissed like that before. Kissed so hard it robbed you of your senses, of your oxygen, of your goodness. It was easy to imagine; doing it again. Especially when he was looking at you like that. 

You indulged for just a moment, joined him in the scene. Alone together in the dark, empty room. It was easy to imagine what those lips would feel like going further; sucking your collar bone, grazing it with his teeth, trailing his sopping mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder before his calloused thumb slipped the strap of your bra to the side. 

Wringing a hand behind your neck, you glanced toward the television with a sudden feigned interest. The feeling wouldn’t leave you though; clouding your mind with wet smacking lips and the chill of the air at your nipples. 

He knew they would be perfect. He could just tell. They would heave beneath his watering mouth, puckered and primed for him to latch. Capturing one of them in his wet heat, you would melt into his waiting arms. Back arched, mewling so needy and loud it would cause the door to open if the scene was real. He was certain he’d be able to taste your hums through your skin here too. Even better perhaps.

Eddie shifted in his seat with a mild grimace, hand darting beneath his desk in time with a swift raise of his hips as chair legs scraped the tile. He glanced at his lap, then back up at you. 

Your face became a roaring furnace, paling only to the heat pooling under you. The pale television light flickered across his flushed cheeks, his lowered brow, his smoldering eyes that held you captive. He wanted you to know. Indulging, you imagined what was going on under that desk. What it would look like if he were to stand, to scale the room in a few eager strides and show you up close. 

“Need you now, Eddie,” you’d croon with a swipe of your hand up the generous bulge he was sporting, punctuating it with a pinch of his weeping head through the denim.

Eddie took his cue. In one dramatic swoop, the papers fluttered to the floor, the plant made a mess of the tile, the stapler clattered beside your shattered mug as pens rolled down the isles. Backing you into the edge of the big desk, he kissed you again. Hot and slick, body flush with yours, pressing his need against your pelvis as he probed your aching mouth. Parting only to shed himself of his outer layer, to lay it down behind you like a blanket, shielding your bare back from the cold wood.

From the confines of his small desk across the room, real Eddie took a deep breath, lids closing heavy on the inhale, fluttering open to a pained pout on the exhale.

Seating yourself on the edge of your desk on set, you would free him from the confines of his jeans. Pawing at his belt, you would tuck your fingers beneath it and tug urgently, rattling metal and leather before working his button free. Slowly, your nimble fingers would locate and lower his zipper, and a sigh would be the second thing that escaped. 

You were an A-list actress, looking down at his proud length like you’d never seen a dick before in your whole life. The coyness with which you peered from under your lashes was thoroughly convincing. Oscar-worthy. With a timid, chalk-dusted finger, you would draw a line from base to tip, admiring the way it bobbed, the way your touch encouraged it to glisten. Real Eddie swallowed, drawing a deep, impatient breath. Convincing as you were of your innocence, he was certain those fingers would know what they were doing as they traced his ridges with a teasing curiosity.

Unable to take any more of it, his hands would find your knees; bare where the stockings left off. They would roam under your thick wool skirt, up those impossibly soft thighs and draw back the curtain as you braced yourself against the desk behind you. In this scene, of course, your costume called for nothing underneath. You would be ready for him. Back flush with his coat, legs spread, glistening with need in the pale light from the television behind him. 

Impatient as he was, he would be remiss not take this opportunity to satisfy a curiosity of his own. Crouching down to level with your sex, he would take in your scent first. Breathe in your delicious, heady pheromones, let it cloud his vision further, as if there was room for anything else other than the persistent thought of you. Eddie wondered what you tasted like. Your mouth was exquisite, so what must you taste like here? With a generous swipe of his tongue, he would find the answer. 

The real you crossed your legs tightly, as if that would stave off the throbbing between them. Real Eddie caught it, the shift in your seat, the subtle raise of your knee under your plaid skirt, the way you worried your lip with your teeth as you glanced shyly toward the papers still, unfortunately, on your desk. 

What might his tongue feel like there? The question grappled for your attention despite futile attempts to shove it away. His tongue had a certain talent, you’d noticed, as it probed against yours in the dark last night. A sense of rhythm was a hard thing to teach. His tongue would be warm, you were certain of that, saliva slick as he pressed it flatly to your heat. He would take his time, savoring every groove and fold across this new terrain as if he were committing it to memory. Propping up on your elbows against the satin liner of his coat, you would catch those deep brown eyes, peering into yours with a smoldering hunger, lower lids pinching in pleasure as he drew slowly upward.

You would paw at the crown of his head, rake your fingers through his curls and tug, feeling his approving hum against your core. Halo of frizz tickling your thighs, his tongue would lathe slow and steady, closing those plush lips over your aching bud before sucking a kiss where you needed it most.

Exhaling deeply, you toyed with a pen on your desk; pressed your thumb into the cold metal nub, studied the tension a moment before releasing. Eyes unfocused, you were helpless as the film played out behind them. Click. Click. Click. Light flickered from the TV, twenty eyes distracted and oblivious. Throbbing, you shifted in your seat and caught the scent of your own arousal. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Never in your life had you been so grateful to be in the dark.

Try as you might to gleam a single chaste thought from the words printed below you, there was no space in your head for it. Just Eddie, crouched over you like a preying animal, looking at you with those lust-blown eyes like he’d make you his meal. Wrapping those ringed fingers around your hips, shifting his to meet them as he stood. You could almost feel it; his cockhead pressing with insistence at your entrance. Almost feel the safety of his shadow, how his curls would kiss his cheekbones as he hovered above you, how his lids would flutter as he pushed in. That deep, relieved sigh you would both breathe together as the long ache was soothed upon joining.

It was a moving picture. 

From the back of the room, Eddie watched your face burrow into your hand; fingers splayed across your forehead and eyes, shoulders slumping on your ragged exhale. How desperately he itched to ease them with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. It was painful; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Silently, he thanked himself for grabbing the black pair from the pile on the chair in his bedroom this morning, certain he was leaking through by now. 

Slowly, he shifted his hips upward, relishing in the drag of the fabric against his sensitive head as it moved toward his waistband. He paused before tucking it, arching forward again with sinful fulfillment. It felt good. Too good. Good enough to do it again. The way the cotton raked against the heart-ridge of his cock, the way the stiff bend in his zipper hit that sweet spot when his hips canted forward. 

Eddie glanced around the room, flushing furiously. All eyes were forward. No one seemed to notice.  Gripping the edge of the desk, he continued to rock his hips; slow and quiet micro-movements, careful not to creak the plastic chair. The shrinking, logical part of his brain couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was a new low. Perverted, even for him. But the tension was mounting, becoming unbearable, and the relief it offered was enough to drown out the shame.

He bet you would be so tight. He could almost feel those gorgeous legs wrap around his waist, your boots crossing at the ankles behind him, drawing him closer as you whined from the stretch. He could almost see you bite your lip and knit your brows, feel your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He would go slow, knowing it’s been a while for you. You would clench and arch but take him so well as he inched his way to the hilt. Then, bracing against the wood, he would happily give you what you needed — jack hammer hard, rutting like an animal in heat. You would be sinfully wet. He bet you were right now, sitting up there with your legs crossed and head down. Pity it would go to waste. If he had it his way it would be dripping onto the desk, slicking his balls as those pretty, perfect tits of yours bounced with every snap of his hips. 

The fabric was hitting him just right, scratching that itch with each flex of his cock against the dampened cotton. It was a slow mount, subtle and teasing, but it was enough. Anything would have been enough. A breeze. Eyes closed, forehead hung on the heel of his hand in feigned boredom, he imagined it what you would feel like under his thumb; rubbing that little button of yours that made you squirm and moan so deeply he could feel it from the inside. 

The hardest part was steadying his breath. He supposed he couldn’t fault his body, it was just doing what was natural in a place he shouldn’t be doing it. He couldn’t fault his heart for hammering, or his hips from wanting to buck, or his hands for itching to expedite the relief. What he would give to crank the volume on the television, to draw a curtain and just get it over with. God forbid you wisened up to his antics, although the thought did send a jolt to his dick. He knew he should stop before he did something utterly shameful, but the spot he was hitting was just too sweet, a feeling he was helpless but to chase.

He would give you everything you ever wanted. With gritted teeth he would ream you until you came undone, make that pretty face of yours contort over and over as you writhed against the desk, howling his name into the drop ceiling. The slap of skin on skin would echo off the tile until he’d rendered you utterly stupid, which was difficult to do.

“You want it, huh?” he’d huff into your ear, peppered with nip of your lobe. “Want me? Want my cum?”

Tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you’d mewl your answer. “Yes. Please.”

Slumping forward in his desk, Eddie buried his head in the crook of his arm. Fuck. His boots dug into the tile, thighs straining, lip pinched in his teeth, desperate to restrain the bucking of his hips. There was an animal inside him, tugging like a rubber band waiting to snap. His aching balls begged as they drew upward, cockhead so sensitive it could feel every stitch. Eddie burrowed his nose into the desk, both chasing the feeling and running from it.

He would show you how much of a man he was, paint you with proof on the inside. Remind you as it slicked your thighs with every click of your boots down the hall.

Huffing into the dark cocoon, his free hand gripped the metal legs below him, holding on for dear life as the wave approached its crest. Hips stuttering, breath fogging the desk, he hit the wall. The one that made his mind go blank, his eyes roll back, his whole body tense and tingle like a yawn. 

It came out like a whimper. Warmer and wetter with each pathetic spurt. A small, strangled sound threatened the back of his throat. It tried to escape his gaping, downturned mouth, but he choked it back. It was a relief to get it out, like a dirty confession. Wave after hot, thick wave of frustration pooled in his boxers, clung to his balls as he emptied them completely. When the last of it crested with nothing more to give, his hips rocked to stillness, and the rest of his body went limp. 

He looked like a puddle of leather and hair. Squinting as you peered around the student in front of him, you wondered why his back was heaving like he had been running. 

Eddie peeled his face up from the desk; cheeks flushed, mouth slack, looking at you in a way you could only describe as absolutely fucked-out. A stray ringlet swayed in his ragged breath. There was that feeling again, that pulse between your legs that made you clench them. Quickly as he’d met your eyes, he blinked away as if it burned.

Eddie was a mess. Shifting in his seat with a grimace, he could feel the cotton cling to his skin as he sobered to the chalkboard, and the desks, and the twenty other people he prayed were oblivious to what he’d just done. It was like he was waking up from a wet dream, only he had never gone to sleep. He blinked down at his desk, mortified as his cock softened happily, lolling in its sticky puddle. It was seeping through the denim, cooling in his lap as the seconds ticked by. Glancing at the clock, he calculated another twenty minutes before he could clean it up. Twenty whole minutes to sit with the consequences, to stew in a puddle of his own shame. He supposed he could excuse himself to the bathroom but that would, of course, mean addressing you. It would mean getting up and walking in front of your desk, and the entire class, while you handed him a hall pass like a fucking child. He would rather sit.

Blinking back your thoughts from the gutter, you righted yourself in your chair, chastising yourself as you uncrossed your legs, your own mess trailing cooly against your inner thigh. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, but there was nothing you could about it now. Flipping through your Rolodex of thoughts, you searched for anything. Anything at all that was chase, or sensible, or mildly interesting. 

Looking down at your naked hands, another scene fell open. This time the set came from memory. A pawn shop in early summer. It was vivid — the rain beating against the large window framing the on-ramp of the highway, Frank Sinatra mocking from the dusty speaker in the corner. The diamond sparkled magnificently as you passed the ring over the glass countertop. Brilliant rainbow fractals brought out by certain lights. They would catch you by surprise sometimes, tickle you with delight in the supermarket or the mall. It winked at you under the fluorescents then, a fleeting goodbye. In the moment, you weren’t sure which was worse — catching your own pained reflection in the glass below you or the pity in the eyes of the man who took your once-prized possession.

You left with twelve hundred dollars in an envelope, a fraction of what it cost him. The banker box rattled in the passenger’s seat as you slammed the door. Stuffed too full for a lid, your quill mug clattered against the plates your grandma gave you. You’d run out of newspaper wrapping your knick-knacks, resorted to your clothes to pad the rest.

The mug cast a shadow across your desk now, flickering in the light of the television. 

You clenched your fists, fighting the touch-memory of Eddie’s ribs under your palms. You’d felt safe for a moment; nestled in his coat, in his hair, melting into the heat of his mouth. What you would give to live it all again, right now. What you would give to have him all to yourself, every day. For the luxury to go on a date, to be seen in public together, to explore where this was going. Glancing across the sea of twenty desks, reality stared back. Where did you think this was going? 

Eddie’s pencil clattered to the floor. His curse was audible, even from the front of the room. Was this where you would place your trust? Your career, your future? In the reckless hands of a twenty year old man? He could ruin you. With a bold move, or a misplaced word, or a drunken gloat one night with his friends. Or god forbid it all went south and in a blind fury he lashed out and retaliated somehow. He wouldn’t do that, would he? You thought you knew him well enough to know that he would never, but did you really? You’d known Eddie Munson for all of four months, which felt strange to consider. It terrified you, the depth of your feelings in so short a time. Terrified you almost as much as the consequences for them. 

Your hand twitched beside the green grading pen resting on the pile of tests you’d barely touched in the last thirty minutes. There were more in your bag to be graded — the stack you’d abandoned on your coffee table last night. It would all catch up to you eventually. The homework, the papers, the secrets. After all you’d been through, had you learned nothing? No one really knows what they want at twenty years old. You certainly didn’t. A head full of fantasies is what you had. Snatching your pen with a firm click, you slashed an X through one of the questions on the test below you and buried yourself in your work.

When the bell finally rang, Eddie hung back in his seat like he always did, waiting for his moment with you. But by the time he had stripped himself of his jacket and secured his flannel around his waist, you had already made for the door.

______

The metal serving spoon smacked the plastic tray, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce over the tangle of limp noodles. With a tight-lipped nod of thanks, Eddie took it from the lunch lady and made his way into the settled cafeteria, finding his place at the end of the Hellfire table. Steamed carrots bounced from the tray onto the sticky veneer as it fell from his hands with a clatter. Slugging off his backpack to the floor, he slumped into the empty chair that had been waiting patiently for him for the past twenty minutes. 

“There he is,” Jeff nodded to Dustin across the table.

“What’s the story this time? Got abducted by aliens?” chortled Dave.

He would think they would stop asking questions by now, but apparently he needed to teach them a lesson. “Nah, just… jerking off,” Eddie said with a deadpan shake of his head before spearing a meatball with his fork.

The half-truth earned him a rowdy chuckle from the peanut gallery, a gag from Mike. He would spare them the uglier details, like the balled up boxers shoved in the bottom of his backpack or how awkward it was to strip them off in the stall of a bustling bathroom. Glancing down at his lap, he checked that the flannel was still cloaking the drying white stain. 

Jeff’s leather jacket squeaked from the bend in his arm as he leaned against the table. “I was just filling the boys in on the show last night,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Eddie looked up with a full mouth, eyes like saucers. 

“Yeah, told them about our special guest,” Dave added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He could only respond with a nervous huff, turning back to his tray as his stomach did kick flips. 

“Is it true?” Mike asked Eddie. “She seriously got up and danced?”

Eddie swallowed the whole mouthful at once. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. “I mean, nothing too crazy. Just for a song.”

“Yeah a song Eddie made us play for her,” Jeff said with a wink. Dustin and Mike’s mouthes fell open simultaneously.

“Think I saw her tits at one point,” Dave reminisced. 

Eddie scoffed. “You did not see her tits, dude. You’re so full of shit.”

“I dunno man, her shirt was pretty short,” Gareth added with a playful nudge. 

“They’re both full of shit,” Eddie shakily assured to the two youngest members. 

They barely paid him a glance, chuckling amongst the rest while Dave rubbed lewd circles over his chest. 

“HEY,” Eddie barked. “Look at me, all of you. This doesn’t leave this table, do you understand me? If I catch wind that any of you went and told anyone about last night I’ll skin you alive, I swear to god.”

Gareth shot him a tired look. “Jesus, dude. Nothing even happened.”

The knot in Eddie’s stomach released slightly. “That’s right. Nothing happened.”

Dave snorted, stabbing his bendy straw into a leftover carrot. “Yeah man, chill out. Nobody’s gonna get your girlfriend in trouble.” 

The blood drained from Eddie’s face as the whole gang erupted in laughter. The uproarious, table slapping kind. It was a joke. A good one, it seemed. The word echoed like the pulse pounding in his ears. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. A warm, gooey word. One that made his stomach churn with longing. Biting back venom, he wondered how their faces would change if he slapped them with the truth. Would they still be laughing? Would they even believe him? They could laugh all they want—for your sake at least—but it stung nonetheless. 

Dave caught the bitter shift in his expression. “What? You clearly have the hots for her.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jeff laughed.

“ANYWAY!” Eddie punctuated with a smack of his hands against the table. “Gareth, you’ve been awfully quiet about your date this past Sunday. Please, regale us,” he gestured grandly.

Gareth chuckled nervously, pushing a noodle around with his fork. “Oh uh, nothing really happened there either.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Seriously dude? You’ve been on like three dates and you haven’t even made it to first base?”

“I told you, Cindy’s not like that!” Gareth defended before glancing around sheepishly. “But we did…kinda… hold hands on Sunday.” 

A long oooh emanated from the table. “Hands cupped or laced?” Dustin asked with a raise of his eyebrows, demonstrating with his own hands.

“Ok so,” Gareth began with an emerging smirk, “you know the Large Marge part of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where her face goes all,” he demonstrated with a bug-eyed look, hands splayed on either side of his face. 

The table responded with chuckles and nods. “Gets me every time,” muttered Dustin.

“Well, Cindy’d never seen it before, so she jumped and like, grabbed my arm,” he paused for effect, “so I just went for it.”

Approval bubbled up from his captive audience. 

“Cupped at first,” he clarified, cutting through the noise, “but after like ten minutes she didn’t pull away, so,” he laced his fingers triumphantly. There was a barking applause, fists rattling the table. Jeff clapped him on the back with a blinding grin. 

Eddie was an island. Oceans away, he managed a soft smile. His night had been far from innocent — a frantic tangle of hands, and tongues, and teeth in the frigid darkness. Phantom feelings that tugged at his lips and fingers, at the forefront of his every thought. Thumbing at the rubber rim of the lunch table, he dreamt of a universe where the walls and roles fell away, one where he could speak of his firsts too. 

______

Eddie had been watching the clock all day. In eighth period trigonometry he watched second hand crawl around the clock face fifty times as his thumbnail worked the paint off a pencil, chipping at the indents his teeth left behind. The final bell was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Slugging his backpack over his shoulder, he didn’t even bother to stop at his locker before ducking down the hall where your room resided. He almost collided with a straggling sophomore exiting your door on his way in. 

Perhaps he had arrived too early. It wasn’t the scene he was accustomed to — you, standing at your desk, shoving folders into your satchel like you were trying to make a run for it. His small wooden chair still leaned against the wall. The AV cart still towered where it was when the lights were off. Glancing down, he quickly checked to make sure the flannel was draping correctly. 

“Going somewhere?” he teased, unable to hide the concern creeping in.

Your smile was a coy, fragile thing. Chest rising with the kicking of your heart, you opened your mouth but had no words to show for it. Fumbling with an overstuffed folder, you hovered it over the opening of your bag before sliding it in with a sigh.

Eddie shut the door. 

Turning over his shoulder, he snatched your eyes with a startling hunger. Your hands went slack, leather slumping against the desk as his heavy boots met the tile. He was slow in his approach, stalking past the empty rows, parched eyes drinking in every detail of your features. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you met him at the edge of your desk.

His curls were wild, chocolate eyes fiending, a soft concern weighing his brow. Under the fluorescents you could see very clearly what you’d felt last night. The shadow of stubble, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft ball of his nose that was cold against your cheek. Under his jacket, the taught landscape of his chest rose and fell. You swallowed, toying with the wool of your skirt. 

“Hey,” he half-whispered, lids drooping ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you replied, like your tongue was feeling the word for the first time. It tugged a gooey softness from the corners of his mouth, and you cursed yourself for the pang to taste it again. So plush and pink, drawing your gaze long enough for him to notice. 

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor, tossing it hard enough to collide with the wall below the chalkboard. Shoulders unburdened, he rolled them back to assume the fullness of his height. With pupils blown, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips, looming like a wolf that sees a rabbit. 

He closed in with a step, to which you retreated. The edge of the desk bumped the back of your thighs. Heart hammering, you peered into his hungry eyes. You’d been here before. Not long ago, in your imagination. Different, darker, quieter. 

Eddie drank in the sight of you — your tight cotton shirt and your soft heaving chest. How the band of your skirt hugged the curve of your waist. You, woman.  

Like a false sense of safety, his scent enveloped you. It was dizzying, how badly your hands burned to trace the swell of his pecks, to tangle in his hair, to capture his hot, slick mouth again. Terrifying, the part of you that begged for him to press forward, to tumble you backward, to take his place on top of you. Timidly, your fingers curled over the corner of the desk. 

As he leaned closer, you could feel the tingle of heat from his chest, the ghost of his breath on your face. His arm became a cage as he steadied his palm against the wood behind you. “Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured in your ear. 

You shivered, lids fluttering closed for a selfish, greedy moment. Glancing over his shoulder at the narrow sliver of a window in the door, you peered at the lockers on the other side of the hall. There were some still slamming, slowly petering out as voices drifted further with each passing second. “Eddie,” you warned, placing a hand over his sternum. Eyes dipping slightly at your touch, the solid swell of his chest expanded under the cotton. He stepped back with a gentle push, your palm lingering before falling away. 

A deep breath fumed through his nostrils, heavy and tired. With a tight lipped nod, he backed away, pivoting toward his folded chair beside the door. It screeched as he dragged it across the tile, past the rows of desks, in front of yours, all the way to his usual place beside you. He snapped it open and paused, gripping the wood in his palms, staring down at the place where he’d sat countless times. How small it was compared to yours; padded with armrests and wheels. 

“So we just…” he flexed his fingers and shook his head, unable to suppress the sting in his voice, “go back to normal then?”

Eyes cast down at the empty seats, you sighed. “I don’t… think we can.”

“Good,” he stated, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

It was enticing, that chair with its worn leather padding. What was more enticing was the space beneath the desk; a safe haven for hands and arms, for cupped palms and laced fingers. On top of the desk lay your bag, and your keys, and the plant still alive in its unbroken pot. Your head was pounding; a dull ache that had been radiating from your temples since lunch. Lockers slammed outside the room, fluorescents hot on your skin. With a deep, lamenting sigh, you gave him all you could manage — your honesty. “It’s been… a hell of a day for me—”

“You could say that again.”

“I—” you sighed sharply, “I really think I just need to go home a-and… think things through.”

“What’s there to think about?” The words tumbled out like an avalanche he couldn’t chase. Your balking expression made him wish he could suck them all back.

“Oh gee, I don’t know,” you gestured wildly to the classroom, “we could start with my job.”

“I’m sorry that was—y-you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” The steam from the pressure could have burned him.

“We—we both clearly have feelings for each other,” he explained, lowering his voice. “I just… thought we would figure it out.”

There was a gap between you, cluttered with papers and pens. Your bag slumped in the middle of the mess, gaping and stuffed to the brim. Pulse hammering behind your eyes, you blinked them slowly with a pained sigh. “I know,” you admitted, toying with the strap. “Eddie, please, I need some time to think about all this.” 

It hurt to imagine. You, going home, sitting there in your slippers at your coffee table and deciding that he wasn’t worth the risk. Closing the flap on your satchel, you tugged the leather heap across the desk, but Eddie’s hand was quick to pounce. “No, we need to talk.” 

Frustration pinched your brow. “I know but—”

“Then let’s talk, yeah?” he gestured to the chairs.

A cluster of shadows passed by the window over your shoulder. “Not here, not right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? A table at Benny’s?” you snapped.

“You’ve got a place, right?”

Folding your arms, you shot him an incredulous look, though the thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You lowered your voice. “What happened last night was… impulsive.”

“I’d say it was a long time coming.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I think that’s enough for this week.”

Eddie would disagree, but his tongue had a wrangle on the words this time. In the pause, it was easy for both of you to picture; his clothes on your bedroom floor. Easy to picture the ways he could ruin you in private — fold you like the chair under his wringing palms. Still, the ways he could ruin you in public were equally vivid. 

You turned to grab your coat, brushing past him. The arm of his jacket was smooth against yours. Electrified by the contact, you lingered for a moment, unable to abstain from drinking in his form, his scent, from basking in the prickle of his aura. 

He could see it clearly in the harsh light — the shadow that clung beneath your lower lashes, the sagging exhaustion in your eyes. Gravity tugged at the corners of your natural lips, so different from how they appeared last night — dark and dusty red, framing a smile that outshined the moon. His fingers twisted against the wood. “Please stay,” he begged softly. 

Your eyes drifted shut, a split-second relish in the sweet pang of his voice, though the words rung a different bell; a different man saying them. In a flash, another scene appeared — you, at the door of your old home in Indianapolis, cradling the last of your belongings as your free hand gripped the knob. 

Opening your eyes to the radiator, and the windows, and the pale grey sky before you now, you relinquished a shaky sigh and tucked your fingers under the thick collar of your coat. It still held a subtle fragrance, clinging to the memory of last night, desperately as you were. Eddie watched with rapt attention as your brow pinched in pain, fingers twitching under the wool he’d memorized the shape of you through. When your lip began to tremble, his hand lost control. 

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting the soft cotton slope of your shoulder with his palm. 

Your head snapped toward his umber eyes; warmer than the hand that thawed your shoulder, callus catching on the cotton as his thumb soothed over it. You followed it down to his wrist, to the tendons flexing beneath the chain, dipping under the sleeve of his worn, leather coat. How desperately you longed to wrap yourself inside it again, to nestle into his beating chest and hide there forever. 

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and reflex had you flinching. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed, tears burning behind your eyes as you snatched your coat off the hook.

Bitterly, he dropped his hand. The contact hurt to break, almost as much as it hurt to watch you don your coat, to snatch your bag, to sling the heavy strap over your shoulder. Helplessly, he stood there, feeling like a fool until the welling of your eyes made it unbearable not to advance. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pleaded. “Like—like a big deal. Not if we don’t make it one.”

You froze, eyes narrowing as a pained fume left your nose. “That’s easy for you to say.” With a bitter huff, you turned on your heel and left him in the classroom with only the echo of your footsteps. 

______

A/N: Yes, in my story Principal Higgins is a woman. I know in canon Eddie says “flip him the bird,” but for some reason my brain didn’t register that until literally two months ago. I always pictured Higgins as a stern, ancient, nun-like woman and I can’t seem to shake that characterization from my brain. Perhaps I’m just scarred from Catholic grade school. I think it works well for this story, so Martha Higgins it is. 

Also sorry I never stated this in the tags but the upside down does not exist in this universe.

The smut is coming very soon. Pinky swear. Our Lady of Internal Conflict is just having a moment. 

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

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[butchizuku]

𝒊'𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 જ⁀➴ 1

ᥫ᭡; Midoriya Izuku

ᨳ Synop. Promised to a boy six years your elder before you were even born, engaged to another at seven, a ward of the state at ten, on the front lines at sixteen, a regular high school student at seventeen. Nothing at twenty four. Not a hero, not the owner of an agency, or the founder of some philanthropic charity. Untethered and set free to some. Aimless to others. After six years abroad, you return home to rekindle whatever lingering embers held on after such silence, if there were any at all. ໋𓈒 Details. 18+ minors dni, fem reader, lore heavy, canon compliant, some manga/anime spoilers, angst. run time; 2.4k ৎ (՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) Director's Note. The plot of this has been brewing since I first got into my hero and I've just now put pen to paper! Reader is an obvious author insert with a specific quirk so enjoy <3

The house is eerily quiet, almost unnaturally so. 

In the wee hours of the morning, long before anyone was to rise, all that filled the space was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic tick tock of the many clocks scattered around. Neatly lined up near the front door are three pairs of shoes, organized from biggest to smallest. Slipping yours off, you tuck them in on the end, throwing off the order. 

Somehow, your feet remember how to carry you in the dark. They step over each wooden board, instinctively avoiding the ones that creak no matter how lightly you walk. Your suitcase is left at the bottom of the stairs, a problem for whenever you wake up. You rest your hefty duffle bag on top, wrapping the strap around the suitcase handle so it wouldn’t topple over.

Your bedroom door sits right next to the landing. It’s left shuttered in favour of slowly sliding open one three doors down. Given the number of shoes left out, you suppose the rest of the rooms sat abandoned just the same as yours with dust collecting on their pristinely made beds. Natsuo probably moved into his marriage house, engaged to the girl who’s name you couldn’t quite remember, after the war. Fuyumi should have still been a teacher, hopefully no longer caring for her man-child father. And Touya… Still twenty four, still dead, still sitting in an oak wood box shrouded with incense smoke and fake flowers. 

Shoto sleeps in the middle of the tatami mats, his futon sprawling across the room. His chest slowly rises and falls, evenly. He’s deep in his slumber. Tugging your hoodie over your head, you leave it next to where you hope the hamper is. Quietly descending upon him. The left side of his body is half covered by a blanket, too warm to need it. That’s the side you choose to curl up beside, resting your head on his chest. He doesn’t stir, you nuzzle closer. A day's worth of travel weighing your eyes down. Sleep comes easily, it’s dreamless and weightless. A welcome reprieve to the constant racing thoughts that plagued you. 

Morning comes quickly, sunlight bleeding through the thin slats of the blinds that covered the windows. 

“You’re home,” Shoto says, his voice rough and rumbly with sleep.

His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you pressed close to him. Rubbing your eyes with the palm of your hands, you peer at him. There’s stubble on his chin, his eyes ringed with dark circles. Shoto’s hair is shorter, the white and red strands stick up wildly, slightly spiked, and resting above his eyebrows.

“I’m home.”

You echo. Your lips dip into a small frown.

“We still have your old bedroom,” he whispers, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, “Mom wanted you to always have a space here, even if you didn’t come back.”

You hum. It’s a noncommittal sort of sound. All too eager to turn back to bed and sleep a few more hours. 

“I have to get going soon, to the agency.”

It couldn’t have been past six in the morning. Hero work doesn’t stop for anybody. Let alone someone whose past just dropped into their lap … and bed. Not that Shoto was perturbed. Well, if he was, he didn’t show it, would never show it.

“You should come by someday,” he murmurs, gently twirling a piece of your hair around his fingers, “I could put you in contact with some agencies that have been wanting to work with you.”

You make another sound of agreement, feigning fatigue. Shoto slips out from under you and lifts the blanket under your chin. His feet lightly pad against the floor as he shuffles around the room to gather his things. When the door clocks shut your eyes snap open, training themselves on the ceiling. 

Bile tickles your throat as dread washes over you. It’s a sick sort of feeling that followed you throughout your teenage years. The ambition and want you had slowly chipped away. Reality was harsh, a rude awakening that crushed every hope and dream you dared to have. In the years that passed between then and now, what was to change? Was it permanent? Or, was peace a farce that would only last so long until some new heinous creature came along to destroy everything you worked so hard to build. 

Turning over to face the wall, you caught sight of your phone. Fished from your crumpled hoodie and plugged into the wall to charge. Heavy footsteps bound down the hall— Enji. He speaks to someone else in the hallway, they have a softer voice that’s barely audible through the walls. It was Rei, for whatever reason chose to remain married, to remain in that house, that damned house that fractured her so deeply.

“Shoto said she was here,” Enji gruffly mutters, it sends a chill up your spine, “Her suitcase is downstairs too.”

There was some shuffling and a pause, almost a forethought, “She’s been travelling abroad since graduation, I’m sure she just needed a place to stay,” Rei says in all the motherly grace that she had, “We never took her key, her bedroom is still made up even if a bit juvenile for her tastes now.” 

“Now that she’s finished wasting her time galavanting across the world, she needs to debut,” you can almost hear Rei sigh sympathetically, “Put all those years of training to good use. Prove to me that I didn’t waste my time on her.”

Rei says something you can’t hear, her footsteps bounding down the hall. Enji sighs in annoyance. Some things never change, some people don’t either. Even when their son dies a slow and agonizing death in front of him, or when his other children haven’t spoken to him in years. His sick greed, a perilous pursuit of greatness even when he is far too old to achieve, too injured from the war.

Sleep is a distant memory, gone as bitter resentment settles in. You sit up in bed, frowning. They were the closest thing you had to family these days. Your father was dead, your mother too– not that they’d be any better. Still, this was all you had. And maybe, this is what he wanted after all these years, you with no choice but to grovel at his feet and bend to his whim. That’s why the engagement was still tightly bound by legalities.

Reaching over to grab your phone, you swiftly unlock it and click onto the phone app. Their contact sits at the top, favourited for your convenience. You can’t help but chew your bottom lip as it rings. It only rings twice before the line crackles and a grumbly voice calls your name on the other end.

“Hello?” They say when you sit in silence, half in shock that they actually answered, “Are you there?”

You remind yourself to breathe, taking in a ragged breath, “Izuku?”

“Hi?”

His voice never quite sounded the same in the clips you watched. Somehow misshapen and distorted. But now, he sounded just like he did in your memories and dreams. Just tinged with sleep and confusion.

Tears well up in your eyes, prickly at the corners as you force them not to fall, “Hi,” is all you’re able to manage between sniffles and then, “I’m home.”

He says something you can’t quite hear over the sound of your beating heart. Your hand trembles and your bottom lip wobbles, a whimper on them. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you try to wrack your brain as to why it was him that you called, after all this time.

Your cell vibrates, your text tone twinkling. Pulling it away from your ear, you try to focus your eyes enough to read what it says:

Izuku <3 has requested your location.

Clicking accept, you sniffle.

“You’re at Shoto’s house?” he says, then something that the mic doesn’t pick up, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Thanks.”

It takes all of five minutes to make Shoto’s bed and gather your sparse belongings. It takes another to tiptoe down the stairs to the front door where your suitcase and shoes sit. Your lanyard of keys feel heavy in your pocket. They clink together obnoxiously when you fish them out, staring. In one swift move, you unlatch one of the keys. There’s a capital T carved into the metal. You place it on the square notch at the end of the railing where it's flat.

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“Rei-” Your face feels hot, like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

You’re swathed in a warm embrace before you have a chance to explain yourself. She holds you like a mother holds their new born child; afraid you’ll break like finely moulded glass. There’s a firmness there still, keeping your grounding as tears spill into her hair. It’s longer than it was before, her smooth white tresses just barely brushing her shoulder blades.

“I can’t be here,” is all you say, holding her closer.

She wears the same perfume as she did then, tinged with lavender florals and something sweet. You soak it all in, nuzzling closer as if you’d be able to crawl into her skin and hide in there forever.

“I know,” she says, stroking your hair, “I know that, but keep your key, please.”

For me.

She won’t say it but you know the words hang in the empty space between her teeth. Remain hers just a moment longer. You were never meant to, not entirely. Rei was supposed to keep you fed, bandage your bruises, and keep your hair tied out of the way– keeping you nice and strong for the endless days of hero training when most were out in the sun, learning how to ride bikes. Somewhere in there, you became something of a daughter, a second one that she never thought she’d have the chance to have; Fuyumi was given a little sister, one who she could share secrets with and play dolls while the boys turned up their noses. 

Something of a happy accident. Until …

Rei slips the key back into your hoodie pocket. You don’t stop her. Moving to cup your face, she wipes your tears away though there’s some of her own shining in the pools of her slate grey eyes.

“You know, you are always welcome here.”

You nod, a hiccuping sniffle wracking through you.

“This is your home.”

For better or for worse.

“I’ll be back later, okay?” You swallow, forcing yourself to smile.

She nods back, planting a kiss on your temple.

The front door is obnoxiously heavy as it slams shut behind you. The lawn is wet with morning dew. It soaks into your sneakers as you cut through it. The green is perfectly manicured, you’re sure if you looked behind you, you’d catch sight of an immaculate flower box, one you’d see in a gardening magazine. Dropping down onto the curb, you let out a sigh, bringing your elbows to rest on your knees. The street  was devoid of any life this early in the day. Though, to be fair you couldn’t remember if it was the middle of the week or another quick lived weekend.

A spattering of dandelions grew across the way, some yellow and some already large white puff balls that swayed in the light breeze. You tried to bide your time counting each one but a pair of tires blocked your vision. The black SUV was rather unassuming, the windows darkly tinted. Not that you’d be able to see who was in the driver's seat from where you sat.

Casting your gaze to the pavement, you had half a mind to hope that it wasn’t Izuku. You weren’t sure you could face and didn’t know what you’d say. Your throat dried up, seizing any words you might have wanted to keep for him.

The soft call of your name makes your heart skip a beat. Izuku stands before you, worried etched all over his face. The circles under his eyes are dark, they look more like bruises than they do physical evidence of his lack of sleep. He’s tall, taller. Maybe about your height. All broad shoulders and muscles. His hair is longer, still hair as unruly. It now grows over the scar that peeks out from his hairline. The one you remember running deep into his scalp.

Your legs wobble from standing too quickly, your body all but flush against his when you stumble. Izuku stares through you, like he’s seeing a ghost. He may as well have been. 

“Thank you for coming,” you murmur, your face hot.

He nods slightly, looking between you and the house, “What are you doing here?” He says, finally. He doesn’t mean this house. He couldn’t. Japan, why were you here in Japan?

Your lips open and close, trying to find a semblance of an answer. Nothing comes. You swallow hoping to wet your dry mouth but it all sticks together uncomfortably. Izuku stares down at you, waiting, unreadable. Like a stranger wearing the face of your closest friend, he was devoid of the warmth he once had just for you.

“Why did you call me?”

It's a desperate sort of question. He shakes his head in disbelief when you stare at him, mouth agape and wordless. A fish out of water if he’s ever seen one. He crouches down to your level, a sad sort of look to him, he frowns. 

When he’s this close, you can smell the aftershave that clings to his skin.

“I wanted to see you,” that was a truth. Maybe. You wanted to see him, needed to. Not that you knew why.

Something flashes in his eyes, “It’s been six years.”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably. Acid and bile clawing at your esophagus. If he kept looking at you with those eyes you’d throw up onto the pavement. Wet with growing tears, his emerald green eyes were pinched together, sorrow covered with anger. He never looked at you with anger. Or, such sadness that pervaded his very being.

Six years.

He was eighteen then, you are twentyfour now. You still felt eighteen, too young, too naive, knowing nothing of the world. You know nothing.

“I thought you were dead.”

© All content belongs to butchizuku. You are not allowed to modify, translate, redistribute, or plagiarize in anyway. Do not recommend outside of tumblr (tiktok, wattpad, twitter etc).

[thebunnybabyblog]

either Severus or y/n having a bad day so the other smothers then with kisses 😩

I am so so so sorry this is so late. I kind of went a tiny bit manic and my life went a lil nuts 😋✨💕 oopsie am I right fellas lol anyway if there are mistakes plz ignore I re read it like 5 times but I always forget something lol

Summery: you have very bad day and Sev saves ya from lit crying in the rain. What a good man Sev 💕

Paring: reader and Severus Snape

Word count: 2017

Type: fluff

Your keys fumbled to the ground as they slipped from your wet hands and landed on the welcome mat below. The storm that had appeared out of nowhere as you walked home from the station had really been the icing on the terrible cake that was today. Every moment of the day had something about it that added to the meltdown meter overflowing in your head.

The morning was the start of your troubles as you awoke in a wild panic. Sometime during the early morning hours you woke to still see time on the clock and you accidentally turned off the alarm in your dazed state. When you awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the sun shining you actually felt pretty good but as your eyes looked over to the clock the blood ran from your face.

You ran through the house trying to speed run your morning routine but still managed to make it to work 30 minutes late. Huffing and puffing from the run from the station, you burst through the door crashing into a pile of boxes filled with already organized documents that needed to be sent out. You fell to the ground alongside a frenzy of flying papers. Which resulted in an unpleasant reprimand by your boss loud enough for others to hear.

By the time lunch rolled around, you realized in your panic, you had forgotten to grab your already packed lunch you had put together special the night before. With your last few dollars in your bag you made your way to the corner deli and bought yourself a sandwich.

You chose to eat back to your desk, to make up for the lost time in the morning. Never great at multitasking, you began to take your first bite but distracted by your work your sandwich missed your mouth and made its home on your white blouse below. You just looked down in disbelief. “Why, literally just why.” You thought to yourself. As if you weren’t already embarrassed enough now you had to walk around looking like you were just attacked.

Your day continued to be a shit show as everyone seemed like their lives were also turning to shit because everyone was just so on edge. There were multiple fires to put out and a stick up everyone’s ass. Especially the interns that were tasked with putting back the papers you had graciously destroyed this morning. You could feel their eyes on you most of the day as they were pretty pissed but to be honest you couldn’t blame them. You watched the time slowly tick by as if it was actually purgatory and you’d be stuck in this office for the rest of eternity.

The hum of the lights were making your head ache. The smell of spilled food on the blouse was making you nauseous. The way everyone’s noises were rubbing you the wrong way, every click of a pen, every cough in the distance, every bump to your work space. You were on the verge of a total meltdown. Your leg began to bounce and your fingers tapped hard against your desk. Sweat began to roll down your forehead as it seemed to get hotter and hotter by the second.

You quickly arose from your seat and made your way to the bathroom for a moment of peace. You peaked your head into the restroom and to your amazement you were met with an empty room. Slipping into a stall you sat down, even though you didn’t l have to go, you just needed to step away. The cool air flowed around the room and you took a deep breath to ground yourself.

You reached for your phone and stared down at the screen. Scrolling through your contacts and hovered over Severus' name. Unsure if you should text him, not wanting to bother him with your trivial little problems, you quickly click your phone shut and slip it back into your pocket, or so you thought. You stand again and you must have only half shoved it down because the next thing you know you are fishing your now soaked phone from the toilet below.

You just couldn’t believe your luck today. You were half tempted to believe that someone had put a hex out against you. You just couldn’t catch a break and when the downpour began out of nowhere on your way home you just wanted to lay down in the middle of the street and let Jesus take the wheel of someone's car and take you out of your misery.

The keys falling from your hands was really the last straw though. You were so close to finally escaping the hell that was your day and you just had to endure it that little second longer. One final kick to the ribs. The tears just started flowing and with big loud sobs you were sitting there on your steps in the pouring rain crying as if no one who passed by couldn’t see you.

You were interrupted when the front door opened and you saw Severus’ wide eyed looking down at you in utter confusion. Before he could even ask you what happened you said “I… everything has just gone wrong! I was late! Lunch!” You gesture down to the large stains on your chest as Severus quickly darts his eyes down and back up to you. “My phone?!? This fucking tsunami!! And the keys! The fucking keys!!” You cry out, head now in your hands, still sprawled out on the ground.

Without words Severus swoops you up off the steps and brings you inside and up the stairs to the bathroom. Your muffled cries vibrated into his chest. This wasn’t the first time Severus had seen you have a bit of a meltdown. He wasn’t shy of having his own meltdown here and there but yours were definitely more of emotional meltdowns.

When your relationship first got off the ground and the first time the world got a little overwhelming he wasn’t quite sure what to do but he’s a smart man. He observed your actions and what things could trigger big emotions and he tried his best to counteract those stressors but life wasn’t something you can control.

When he saw you soaking wet crying on the porch he knew it was time for operation atomic damage control. When things were at its peak and there was no simple pat on the back “everything will be ok” pep talk that would fix this. He made his way with you to the bathroom and sat you down on the counter for a moment.

He opened up the curtain and began to fill the bathtub. Not forgetting to add a few pumps of your favorite bubble bath scent. He left the room and came back with a potion of silverish blue liquid. Making his way back to you he places his large palm on one side of your face and peppered your forehead in soft kisses. “I’m sorry your day was sour, my love. I think this should help relieve some stress” He whispers softly down to you.

You still have tears falling but with the kisses you are now quiet in his hands trying to savor his warm touch. You let him place the vial to your lips not even questioning what the liquid even was. “Do you need some alone time? I want to join you but if you need space I understand.” He asks softly in between kisses. Severus is the only person who you want around during these moments of sadness.

He was the strong quiet type through and through. He made you feel safe and loved even if you hadn’t even spoken. Just his presence was enough. You shook your head yes between his palms and he smiled down to you. using his thumbs he gently wiped the remaining tears from your eyes and kissed your head once more before turning his attention back to the bath.

The air was thick with steam and the smell of the bubble bath calms you down. Severus reached down to you and helped relieve you from your soiled wet clothes. Sometimes you needed to be babied a bit and this was one of those moments. He was so gentle as he slipped you off the counter and into the warm soapy water in the awaiting claw foot tub across the room.

Letting out a deep sigh as your cold skin met with the warm water, finally able to begin washing away the worries of the day. Severus moved to retrieve a low stool to sit on and sat it beside you. “Is the water the correct temperature?” He asked down to you. “Mmm yes it’s perfect.” You replied, sinking down further into the bubbles.

He chuckled as he watched you melt away in the soapy water below. His hand slipped over yours as it rested on the side gripping the cool porcelain. His large hand enveloped yours and gently rubbed into your tired skin. The world seemed to begin to melt away and your body became fuzzy and light. “Sev what did you give me?” You asked softly with eyes still closed.

“I knew you never paid attention in class.” He chuckled deeply “it’s The Draught of Peace, you learn it in fifth year but it is a pretty difficult potion to brew.” You could only hum in response as the potion was taking full effect by now. Your once tense limbs were loose and the headache that had formed from your fits of crying had now disappeared.

The added stimulation of the steaming water and soft kisses Severus was planting down on the back of your hand were making your body tingle. It felt so good just to be able to forget about your troubles for a moment. To be completely taken care of by Severus in your moment of need.

You relaxed in the tub for a while letting the warm water turn your body into a prune. After a bit of letting you decompress Severus reached for your bottle of shampoo and gently motioned for you to raise up. The cool gel sent a shiver down your back when he began to massage it into your scalp.

He watched you push your head back into his lathered touch, eyes closed savoring the pampering he wasn’t completely accustomed to showing. He smiled down at you, savoring the view of you pushing yourself to be closer to him.

He would never say this out loud but it was almost as if he could feel the love flowing between the two of you. Right from his fingertips and into you and back around again. He crumpled at the fact that after the mess of a day you had you found solace within him.

You felt comfort and safety in his presence. No matter the horrors of the work day you knew you could come home and fall into his arms and he would help you. Of course you would do the same with him but he wasn’t too accustomed to falling into anyone’s arms willingly (lol), but, you knew if he ever needed it you’d be right there for him.

He washed and conditioned your hair and helped you wash your back when the time came. He was there ready with a soft and warm towel that he had heated up with a flick of his wand. He wrapped you up tightly and made your way into the bedroom to get your coziest pjs, which was just one of his shirts.

While you changed you heard a knock at the door and an exchange between Sev and someone else. By the time you made it down to the living room, in need of a good trash tv show to binge, you noticed piles of Chinese takeaways spread out on the coffee table. “Sev you are one beautiful man you know that right?” You said looking over to him. “Well I do try my best” he said with a laugh

You slithered your way over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He instantly met your forehead once more are planted kisses down on it. You smiled feeling his lips against your skin. “Thank you for the kisses.” You cooed up to him. “Always my absolute pleasure, my love.”

[lolitakirstein]

Sore

A/N: Quick little thing I wrote that'll have a part 2. C/W: Nothing yet, suggestiveness and bad grammar as usual. Synopsis: You're sore from working out and gym owner Toji offers some additional services.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the persistent ache flare up. Going to the gym was great and all, but the constant muscle pain was becoming a problem. I decided to join to strengthen my body and relieve stress. But I’d be lying if I wasn’t easily hooked into coming by the gym's owner, Toji. 

Aside from signing up with him and seeing him around the weight room and casual hellos, I haven’t had anything other than casual conversations. But damn is he fun to look at—tall, buff, brooding. I can’t say I don’t push my ass out more when I see he’s in the gym.

But today I didn’t have the strength to hoochie-up, my neck, back, and hips were all so tense. I head to the mats at the corner of the gym in hopes of stretching out these knots.I use the foam roller and massage my back, wincing at the pain. It gets so intense that I have to close my eyes to focus on my breathing. 

In, out, relax, in, out, re-

“Sore?”

The gruff voice snaps me out of my moment. I look up, seeing Toji sauntering by, carrying a 30-pound weight to re-rack in one hand like it was a baby bird. 

I sit up, slowly and watch as he organizes the free weights. “Yeah a little bit, but…” I wince as I try to stretch forward across my outstretched legs, “I don’t know… it's not just muscle soreness. I think I’m sleeping wrong.”

He grunts. “Ever had an adjustment…seen a chiro?”

“No, I’m too scared they’ll snap my neck.” 

He booms a laugh, throwing his head back. His strong neck on display. “Takes a lot more than a little twist to snap a neck, dear.”

“And how would you know,” i tease. 

“I don’t just own a gym, hon. I actually studied the body and all its intricacies. Gotta know the body before you can be training people you know. Got my massage and physical therapy certificate before I said fuck it and decided to open this place” He says proudly. 

“Awh, so you aren’t just a meathead?” I coo.

“Psh, far from it,” he says with a smile. “But you know, if you ever want me to look at ya, check out you muscles and alignment, let me know ok?

Check me out? Look at me? My mouth dries at the thought of being in such an intimate setting with Toji. Me, laying there, him over top of me, his hands rubbing the sore spots on my body…—

“Up to you,” He throws his hands up defensively, “Sorry, I know that’s kinda a weird thing to ask a lady.”

I laugh, “No, sorry. Yeah, I’d like that.”

He nods, but I clock the way his jaw ticks and he quickly glances up and down my frame as I stand. 

“Well, I’m getting ready to lock up for the night. If you’re through here, I’ll walk you out to your car.”

After packing my gym bag while Toji finishes up closing, we exit the gym together. Toji walked in front of me, and he was quite an intimidating character in the dark. I’d rather be escorted by him than confronted by him. 

“Thanks,” I say when we get to my car and unlock it. 

“No problem,” he opens the door for me, “Offer still stands if you ever want a little TLC on them muscles.”

“Ok, I will.”

“I’ll be gentle” He leans forward, a smug look on his face, “But we can work up to some more intense work.”

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Cool kids

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Elizabeth meets your son

Disclaimer: English is not my first language; This was requested by one of you 🤗

MASTERLIST

You were just putting the baking pan inside the oven when you heard the doorbell ring from across your small house. Surprised, you looked up at the old clock hanging on the wall above the fridge - and, for a second, you realized how old it actually looked and you wished you had removed it from there before, but there was no time now - and saw that you lost track of time while baking, which wasn’t unusual. That day, though, you were extra nervous about everything and time seemed to have rushed just to spite you.

Noticing you still hadn’t moved, you cursed under your breath and closed the oven before grabbing a dishrag to dry out your hands while you rushed to answer the door. You knew who was waiting for you outside, so you stopped just in front of the door to take a deep breath and steady your heartbeat. Your gaze moved to the side and you caught sight of your four-year-old son playing with his toy cars on the mat, exactly where you had left him when you went to the kitchen, while one of his favorite cartoons played in the background.

It of course wasn’t his fault but your anxiety was mostly because of him and the person standing at the other side of the door. That was the first time your girlfriend would meet your son, something you thought a lot about before going on with that idea. You had been dating Elizabeth Olsen for a bit over four months now and it had been a dream ever since you crossed eyes while being at the same art gallery. You were there to support your friend, but Elizabeth was there because she really enjoyed those types of things, although you quickly bonded while looking at the paintings.

You couldn’t say you had been inseparable ever since because you had your work, your son and a house to take care of all by yourself, and Elizabeth had her own life going on, but you two had seen each other as much as you could. You told her about your son on the same night you met and she had never once made it seem like you being a single mother was a problem to her, but you still waited to introduce her to your son because you wanted to know her better before doing so. Also, you didn’t want to bring someone into your son’s life who would just walk away after that, or someone who didn’t actually care for him. He deserved more than that, especially at such a young age.

It all brought you to that moment, when your nerves were certainly getting the best of you while Elizabeth was still waiting for you to open the door for her. It was also the first time your girlfriend would be inside your house, something that made you much aware of how simple everything you owned was. There was a wall in front of the couch with a huge line drawn with crayons when your son was being a little brat a couple of years ago, the couch had a stain on it from when he dropped his grape juice, and that stupid clock in the kitchen could have been older than yourself.

And that was also not the best time to rethink every decoration in your house, for sure.

Not to mention the fact that this was the first time you were introducing anyone to your kid. You had dated briefly after he was born, but no one stayed around for enough time neither had them made you feel safe again about bringing them to your son’s life. You weren’t nervous about letting Elizabeth be a part of his life, but you were nervous about how he would react to having someone new around.

“Momma,” you heard your son saying, instantly snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked at him, at his round cheeks and perfect little curly hair, and you couldn’t help but smile wildly. “There’s someone at the door.”

His words were still a bit slurred, but that, along with the way his little hand raised to point at the door, made your heart feel warmer and your body relax. It was okay. Everything was okay.

With a deep breath, you opened the door finally and were immediately surprised by your girlfriend’s beauty - although it wasn’t exactly news for you anymore. Elizabeth was looking down at her shoes, probably getting a bit tired of waiting, but she looked up as soon as she heard the door and your eyes met almost like two pieces of a magnet. Her bright gorgeous green eyes never failed to make butterflies in your stomach, but it was her smile that took your breath away for a moment. Elizabeth always had a smile to bless you with.

“Hey,” she greeted you almost shyly.

“Hi,” you said, already reaching out as if you were going to pull her in for a kiss, however that’s when you remembered you still had the dishrag in your hands and you ended up blushing.

Elizabeth chuckled happily and leaned in to peck your lips the same way she did the other times she walked you to your door after a date. When she pulled away, she lifted her arm and you took notice of the thing she was carrying with her and that you hadn’t seen before since you were so busy staring at her eyes and lips. She was holding a small bouquet, very colorful and elegant, and it instantly brought a blush to your face.

“I, uh, I was taking care of my garden today and I picked this for you,” Elizabeth explained and the stutter in her words made you realize she was probably even more nervous than you were.

“Thank you, love,” you replied, picking the bouquet from her, and then reaching out to take her hand and gently pull her inside. “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” she admitted with a weird chuckle while she ran her sweaty palms down her jeans. You loved it when she dressed like that, just some jeans and a t-shirt, because it made her look so comfortable around you. “But I’m also excited. Can’t wait to meet the man that has my girl’s heart,” Elizabeth joked.

You laughed, closed the front door, and turned around to the living room. “Baby, can you come here for a second?” You called your son, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to what was going on around him. He looked up though and got up quickly when he noticed there was someone in his house that he didn’t know. He ran to hide behind your legs, hitting you with his little truck on the way, but you only smiled and placed a hand on top of his head. “He’s shy, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Elizabeth assured you before she lowered herself to be at his eye level. “Hey, buddy. I’m Lizzie.”

She waved at him, offering the kid a big smile as well, and your son’s eyes raised to meet yours in confusion. You told him one of your friends would be around for dinner - since he was so young, you wanted to slowly tell him who Elizabeth was to you exactly - but you weren’t surprised he was suddenly too timid to interact with your girlfriend. He was just a kid and not used to meeting new people. Elizabeth, thankfully, seemed to understand that because she didn’t insist, nor did she try to reach out to him, but instead she pulled something from her pocket and showed him.

“Your mom told me you like cars, so I brought you this,” she said while turning around the memory game inside the box filled with Cars’ illustrations.

Your son’s eyes widened and he let go of your leg to reach out for it, but he still looked up at you to make sure it was okay. With a smile, you nodded and it didn’t take him long to grab the game with his hands. You were ready to ask him to thank her for the gift, but your son beat you to it, once again surprising you with how sweet your boy turned out to be.

“Thank you, Lizzie.”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” She smiled at him once again. “If your mom allows us, we can play it after dinner.”

“Only for a while,” you replied since you knew your son would ask you about it. “Then you need to go to bed, mister.”

“Okay, momma.” He didn’t complain and, after another second looking at his new game, he rushed away to go back to his toys in the living room.

Once he was gone, Elizabeth rose to her feet again and you quickly pulled her in to kiss her cheek. “Are you trying to buy my son’s affection?” You joked.

Her cheeks were pink when you took a step back. “Can you blame me? I wanted to have a good start.”

You chuckled and shook your head, but you weren’t surprised by that. That was just who she was, and it was innocent enough. “Well, thank you. For my flowers too. I love them.”

“I’m glad.”

“Come with me,” you asked, already turning to the kitchen. “I will put these on a vase and check out our dinner.”

All while at dinner time, your son kept the conversation going with his rambling, asking one question after another, barely giving you any time to think about a reply before he was already talking again. You saw that it amused Elizabeth, but she also made an effort to explain to your son how trains worked to give you a break. It was good to have someone else there, although you knew it was Elizabeth who made it so amazing by just being herself.

He was also relaxed enough around Elizabeth that, midway through his rambling, he pointed at her and said: “I saw you on television!” before he kept talking about his little cars. Elizabeth and you exchanged a look and then had to try hard not to laugh at his words, but you only shook your head at your boy’s antics. Once you were all done eating, you cleaned enough room on the table for Elizabeth to spread the cards of the game she brought so she could play with your son while you watched with your heart getting bigger and bigger inside your chest by the second.

That’s what you always hoped for. Someone who could love you and your son. You hadn’t told Elizabeth that you loved her yet, but you already knew it was the case. You couldn’t be sure how she felt, but she had a way to make you feel loved with her actions and other little things that have you hooked since day one.

And there, sitting by her side while she laughed with your son, you realized you made the right decision with her. She was a keeper.

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 25.5k ❧ warnings: cursing, neck/shoulder biting and marking if you’re squeamish about that, talking about like werewolf scenting and stuff, blood, brief kissing with blood on/around mouths, this is a werewolf fic either you’re into this stuff or you’re not lol ❧ genre: fluff, so incredibly fluffy and sweet it should’ve been a warning honestly, established relationship, modern magical creatures au, college au, werewolf sungchan, human reader, ft. siren shotaro, werewolf jeno & various magical neos, same universe as strawberry sunday, sequel to changer ❧ extra info: this is a sequel to changer! it cannot be read as a standalone, you must read changer first! this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe (aside from changer to this one), they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: so this is technically the spiritual threequel (fourqual?) to my werewolf jeno fics (pupsick + abh) but you still don’t have to read those to understand this one at all! this is absolutely meant to be read by itself (after changer, ofc), and if you were able to survive changer, then you deserve a medal. and this is that medal, i suppose!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sung.” You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, holding him close with no hesitation, even as his own arms were much slower to react. But once they did, he pulled you to him with a nearly crushing force, a strength that could all but make you forget that he was only half-werewolf.

Tonight, he’d let you stay with him for one of his shifts. It was exactly because he was half-werewolf that he’d even considered it in the first place, his shifts were much less intense than full werewolves, generally less violent and possibly dangerous for anybody who happened to be around him. He’d described it to you after the last full moon, that it was more just sort of painful, confusing, and sometimes sort of like when drunk-you left problems for sober-you, like drunk-dialing people or spending too much money online. Except in his case, werewolf-him generally destroyed smaller pieces of property like school notes or clothes. When he said that he always asked Shotaro to leave the night of the full moon, you asked if you could be with him the next time. It sounded terrible to have to do that alone every month. And to your surprise, he’d only responded with a weak ‘please?’

So when you’d arrived this afternoon, you’d taken everything out of his room that you feasibly could that he didn’t want to chew up: his bookbag, textbooks, nice sneakers, photo albums, laptop, etc. And then you’d locked the door, and stayed with him.

Now he was coming out of it—a glance at his bedside clock that had been knocked out of place but was otherwise fine told you that it was almost three in the morning. You cradled the back of his fully-human-again head, not minding the matted, damp hair.

“I’m right here,” you reminded him. “I didn’t go anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt him shudder as he let out what sounded like a whine of pain. It made you worried about him staying up on his own two feet. “Sung? Do you need to lay down?”

He didn’t answer, and you realized he might not be back at the point where he could speak yet. Before you could finish weighing your options of attempting to drag the 186cm still partially-shifted half-werewolf to his bed by yourself, he’d buried his face in your neck, opened his mouth, and was resting his set of sharp canines against the curve of where your neck met your shoulder.

You breathed in through your nose, hand still on his head as he just… waited. For what, you couldn’t say. He was still whining softly, though now there was a slight undertone of need cutting through the pain you’d heard earlier.

Your hand was still resting on his head, and you gently pulled him closer, feeling the dull pressure of his teeth against your skin. “It’s okay, Sung. Whatever you need. I trust you.”

Finally, he closed his jaw. But it wasn’t a bite at all, it was more like a toddler teething on something cold to soothe their aching gums while their new teeth grew in. It didn’t hurt; he certainly wasn’t breaking skin, and you doubted that any marks would be left. The worst damage would be slobber, you were sure. If anything, it just… tickled. Suppressing a giggle at the feeling, you stroked his hair affectionately.

“There you go, Sung. There you go…” You murmured quietly. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re okay, baby…”

“Bite…” He finally let out a grunt that sounded akin to a real word.

“What? What was that?” You tried to pull your head back to be able to look him in the face, but he didn’t want to detach from you in the slightest, his whines becoming less pained and more pathetic. Giving up on the task, you shook your head just a little, “Never mind, sorry. But what were you saying, Sung? Something about biting? You didn’t chew anything up this time, actually. We kept you in check pretty well. Your wallet will thank us, I’m sure.”

Sungchan continued to mouth at your neck a couple more times before he gave another full body shudder and tremble, then fell to his knees. As wrapped up in each other as you were, you went down with him, your kneecaps only saved by the fact that he had a nice plush rug. Your forehead wasn’t so lucky, as it got cracked against his on the way down, and you bit your tongue as a result.

“Shit!” You hissed, but couldn’t even focus on your own pain for very long, because Sungchan was now leaning most of his weight forward onto you. You quickly readjusted hold him up by the underarms. “Woah, woah. You alright, Sung?”

“I… bite…” He groaned again.

“You bite your tongue too?” You guessed humorously, scooting to sit on the floor against his bed and ushering him to lay down with his head in your lap. Ideally, you’d be in the bed, not on the floor next to it, but this was close enough.

Sungchan curled up in your lap as if he’d forgotten how big he was, fitting as much of the top half of his body there as he could. It was as he turned over slightly onto his side that you finally got a good look at his face again and saw just how exhausted he looked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and his skin was warm, flushed, and drenched with sweat. You gently brushed the damp bangs away from his forehead with one hand, reaching your other up towards his nightstand. After fumbling around in the top drawer for a ridiculous amount of time considering you’d put it literally right on top, you finally grabbed the lunchbox filled with cold, damp washcloths and ice packs that you’d stored in there earlier.

Unzipping it, the ice packs were all melted, but the washcloths were still nice and cool, which was what you really needed. Taking the first one, you blotted it along Sungchan’s forehead, cheeks, and neck, following it up with fleeting touches of your hand to assess if it was really helping or not. Judging by the small, soft, not painful sigh he let out, it at least didn’t seem to be hurting.

“Y/N…” He panted, grabbing your wrist as you were pressing the washcloth to his cheek.

“Yep, I’m right here, Sung,” you reassured him, putting your other hand over his. “I’m right here, okay?”

“I…”

“Do you need something, baby? Water? Food?

“I want…”

You dropped the washcloth from his face to listen attentively. “Yeah, Sung?”

His eyes finally opened, letting you see that his irises were still the same glowing, burning amber as earlier in the night. Not quite out of his shift yet. He sat up until he was nearly level with your neck, breathing in deeply. His grip on your wrist tightened, then he all but collapsed back onto your lap again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mm… I should… We should… I wan’ to…” He was slurring his words like he was drunk, chest heaving with every breath, and his grip on your wrist relaxed until he was loosely holding your hand, pulling it down to cradle your forearm to his chest like it was a stuffed animal. “Wan’… give you my mating bite… Y/N…”

You stared down at Sungchan with wide, dumbstruck eyes. As he slowly blinked, you could see that his eyes were still that same bright gold. He just shifted further up to try to fit more of himself in your lap, though, pressing his head against your stomach and wedging his shoulder in the gap left by your criss-crossed legs.

Even as you were so shocked, you curled up and readjusted to mold your body around him, one hand giving his head a soft, reassuring pat as the other rubbed up and down his arm, soothing over the surely tired muscles.

“You…” You trailed off in your attempt to get clarification, unable to even begin to try to rephrase it yourself. In packs, mated werewolf couples bit each other in elaborate rituals. Neither of you were any of those things. Could Sungchan even give a werewolf mating bite, as a half-werewolf? Could you receive one? You definitely couldn’t give him one back. Wouldn’t he want one back? Or maybe not? Not to mention he wasn’t in a pack and had never been in his life. What did a mating bite mean to him?

God, your head hurt, and you weren’t even the one who had gone through a werewolf shift tonight.

Sungchan took another deep breath, and long, slow blink, his eyes almost back to their normal brown color. “‘Cause I… I love you. I wan’ to… ‘cause I love you… my… Y/N.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and you heard his breathing even out as he finally fell asleep in just a few moments.

It didn’t seem like you’d get the answer to any of those questions tonight. And as much as the idea of going any longer without knowing made your stomach twist into painful, uncomfortable knots, Sungchan needed the rest. He wasn’t in the right state for any sort of conversation like that. There wouldn’t be any way he’d be able to answer your questions even if you could force yourself to ask them.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned over to gently peck his hair. “Your Y/N loves you too, Sung…”

Your back ached. You had a crick in your neck. And another one in your back. And another one in another part of your back. And yet another one in one more part of your back. You groaned, rolling over in bed to try to crack some of the kinks out without having to actually get up.

That gave you pause. There was definitely a mattress underneath you, blankets covering you, and a pillow supporting your head. But you remembered falling asleep on the floor next to Sungchan’s bed after his shift last night.

Squinting one eye open suspiciously, you saw that it was still very dark in his room, but you had without a doubt been mysteriously tucked into his bed. Much too tired to investigate past that, you pulled the blankets up over your head and buried your face in your pillow, very quickly falling back asleep.

When you woke up again, it was brighter outside, and at first you thought Sungchan had put a weighted blanket on you in the middle of the night. Odd choice, considering you didn’t have one on you the first time you woke up, or at least that you could remember. And then you realized that Sungchan was your weighted blanket.

Your boyfriend was fully snuggled up on top of your back, completely passed out, as you were dozing on your front. You couldn’t even roll him over, he was dead weight. With a sigh, you closed your eyes again, wondering if you’d be able to go back to sleep for a second—third?—time this morning.

“You up?” He mumbled in your ear, voice barely above a hoarse grumble.

“You’re awake?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah?”

“So you’re suffocating me on purpose?”

He rolled off onto the mattress next to you, and immediately your lungs could work better. “Oh, so when you do it to me, it’s cute and I’m supposed to enjoy it, but when I do it, it’s attempted murder and ‘Ouch, Sungchan, get off of me, you’re crushing me with your big, huge werewolf muscles.’”

“So I don’t need to ask if you’re feeling better,” you scoffed, but nevertheless shifted onto your side to face him.

He wasn’t pink-faced and sweaty anymore, instead looking unnaturally pale, with dark circles under his eyes like he’d pulled two all-nighters in a row for finals week. You cupped his cheek, gently running your thumb under one of his eyes. His skin wasn’t warm to the touch, instead it felt the same temperature as yours—cold for a werewolf or half-werewolf.

“You’ve got a chill, Sung,” you observed with a frown, taking your hand back as you prepared to get up.

“It’s normal, baby,” he reassured you, grabbing your arm to keep you from leaving. “Just uh… returning to homeostasis or whatever. I’ll be okay.”

“Alright… if you say so…” you sighed, staying put and pressing a kiss to his forehead, sneakily taking note of his temperature that way instead. “You can at least eat, right? Breakfast sound good?”

“Sure. In a minute.”

“You stay here, I’ll go make you something. Breakfast in bed. What’s better than that?”

He pretended to deliberate on this, then grabbed you with two arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. “This.”

Tucked under his chin, you couldn’t look up to read his face, instead just staring at his t-shirt. “Really? You’re not hungry?”

“A little. But I won’t die if I don’t eat right now.”

“Are you implying that you’ll die if we don’t cuddle right now?”

“Yes,” he replied dramatically. “Absolutely. I’ll simply perish if I don’t get my Y/N time this instant.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at that, finally giving in. Not forgetting about his drop in temperature, you made sure to pull the blankets up around you two before you fully snuggled in, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“Alright, alright. Slow your roll on your imminent decay. I’m right here, Sung. Like I said last night, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He mused, tangling your legs together.

“Yeah, I did.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “Uhm… How much do you remember about your shifts?”

“While I’m fully shifted? Not a lot usually. Immediately before and after? Depends. Why? Did I do something?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the feeling of his teeth on your neck, of him asking to bite you, to give you his mating bite. Did he remember that? Sungchan wasn’t bringing it up… Surely he’d mention it again now if he remembered, or was serious about it.

“Well, afterwards… you were kind of saying some stuff. I just didn’t know if you—”

“Hey… look at me?” Sungchan requested as he leaned back from you. When you’d picked up your head to oblige, he looked you in the eye with no hesitation, his face entirely serious now. “Of course I meant it when I said I love you. I’m sorry I said it to you for the first time looking like a hot fucking mess, and again now not in much better shape, but I mean it all the same. I love you, my Y/N. So much. So goddamn much I feel like I could explode if I don’t tell you every 5 seconds. Except you might get kind of tired of me if I did that.”

Despite it not being the words you were expecting to hear, you were beaming from ear to ear, even managing out a choked laugh through the happy tears suddenly welling up in your eyes.

“Woah, hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry with how bad my confession was,” he joked, wiping at the first tear as it slipped down your cheek.

“Oh shut it!” You chastised him. “What have I told you about being a sweetheart?”

“Own up to it or don’t do it at all,” he recited dutifully. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you, so fucking much and I’m going to explode if you don’t say it back maybe? But no pressure? Also, I love you. And no pressure to say it back right now.”

“Oh my god, Sung, I love you too,” you laughed, grabbing his face in both of your hands to pull his mouth to yours. “So fucking much.”

Dr. and Mr. Jung lived in a two-story townhouse just a couple blocks over from campus. The old bricks on the face of it were a warm red, and as you got closer, you saw that there were shimmery flecks mixed into the rogue.

“How old are these buildings?” You asked Sungchan, reaching out to touch one of the bricks around the entryway. “There’s dragon scales in the brick.”

“There’s what?” Sungchan’s eyes widened, and you pointed to a particularly large chunk, about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It reflected amber in the setting sun.

“Dragon scales. They used to be incorporated into building materials to make them more durable. You know, before integration. There’s been really big debates at like, every open-door City Hall meeting about if we should keep buildings up that have dragon scale brick in them or not, since so many dragons had to be killed to make them.”

“Oh my god.”

“So far it looks like they’re going to move towards tearing down abandoned buildings made of dragon scale brick at least.”

“How-How many dragons? Were killed?”

“We have no way to know. And the thing is, you can gather dragon scales without hurting a dragon, it’s just not going to be enough to make dragon scale brick of any usable quantity.”

“So it should’ve never been made.”

“No. It shouldn’t have.” You turned away from the wall with a shake of your head. “Anyway, that’s why I was asking how old these homes are. They’re by the university, so pretty old, I guess.”

“I have no clue. You’d have to ask my parents.” Sungchan ushered you towards the door with a hand on the small of your back.

“I don’t think I will. Not incredible meet-the-parents dinner conversation, really.”

“As much I want to say they’ll love you anyway, which they would, I do have to agree with you. Maybe save the existential horror of the materials of their home for the second dinner.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Will do.” You nodded. “Now, are you going to knock on the door, or are we going to keep standing out here like we’re casing the place?”

“Oh, sorry, you can’t hear that. My mom’s—”

And then the sound of the front door unlocking came, and you looked up at Sungchan questioningly. It was opened by a face familiar to you only from pictures.

Dr. Jung was already beaming at you. “Hello! Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you, Y/N. I was grading in my office and could hear you two coming up the steps, got a bit excited.” She gestured to the window next to the brick that you’d been discussing.

Dr. Jung was an economics professor at your university, though you’d never taken a class from her personally.

“I was about to give you a heads up,” Sungchan patted you on the back. “I heard her footsteps, that’s—”

“—why you weren’t knocking. Of course.” You nodded, then turned your focus back to Sungchan’s mother. “It’s lovely to meet you, Dr. Jung.”

“You too, Y/N.” She was still smiling ear-to-ear as she reached forward to take your hands. “You’ll have to tell me more about the history of these dragon scale bricks, I truly had no idea.”

You looked at Sungchan in alarm, and he just shrugged. But she was already leading you into the house by your hand, your boyfriend trailing behind.

“Mom, I don’t even get a hug? No hello for your own son?” Sungchan complained dramatically, closing the door behind you three.

“Well since you’re going to be a big baby about it.” A man’s voice suddenly joined in as you had emerged from the front hallway into the living room. You turned around towards the stairs to see Sungchan’s dad standing on the bottom step, still not eye level with his son even with the added height. He wrapped his arms around Sungchan with an affectionate fake growl, and your boyfriend eagerly hugged his dad back.

Mr. Jung was a middle school science teacher, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was where Sungchan got his love for science from. He never said it specifically, but he’d told you plenty of stories of doing home science experiments with his dad as a kid.

“Hey, Dad.” He was grinning so brightly as he pulled away, then eagerly gestured to you. “Dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my dad.”

“Jung Yoonseo, how are you?” The other human greeted you. But your gaze got stuck on the dip of Mr. Jung’s shoulder, where his neck met shoulder, and two-thirds of a dark bite mark were visible above the collar of his shirt.

You tore your eyes away from the mating bite to look up at his face, smiling again. “I’m good, Mr. Jung, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m very well.” He nodded to you, starting towards the connected kitchen.

“Oh, honey, Y/N was just telling me that apparently our home is made of dragon scale brick,” Dr. Jung pulled you into the kitchen as well.

Mr. Jung turned around from where he’d started peeling a vegetable to look at his wife curiously. “Sorry, you said dragon scales, Jieun?”

“Yes! Go on, Y/N. I didn’t catch much of what you were telling Sungchan, I came to get you all as soon as I heard that you’d arrived.”

You looked to Sungchan imploringly, but he just shrugged again, then mouthed something that looked like ‘go for it’ to you. So you inhaled, and went for it.

“Dr. and Mr. Jung, do you two know how old your house is?”

“I think that went pretty well,” Sungchan declared as the two of you walked down the sidewalks hand-in-hand later that evening. He had a bag filled with containers of leftovers in his other hand.

“Glad you think so. I felt like Renjun, giving people impromptu lectures at the most out-of-pocket times,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, and they loved it. My parents are big nerds like you.”

“You’re literally a STEM major.”

“Point taken.”

“So your dad wasn’t just being nice when he invited me over for tea, then?”

Your boyfriend looked down at you with wide eyes. “When did he do that?”

“When you and your mom were packing up the leftovers and he was showing me the backyard. I forgot how it came up, but I’d mentioned the boba shop, and he said if I liked tea, then I was welcome to come over for a cup anytime. Since he’s still on summer break and everything.”

Despite the smile that had creeped across his face as you spoke, you furrowed your brow suspiciously.

“What? What are you smiling for?”

He surprised you by smooching your temple loudly. “I was wrong. It didn’t go pretty well. It went great.”

“Being invited over for tea is a good sign?” You asked cautiously.

“Definitely.” He stopped the two of you on the deserted sidewalk, letting go of your hand just to immediately seize your waist, pulling you towards him. The surprised noise you were about to make got muffled by Sungchan sealing his lips over yours. You curled a hand around the back of his neck as the other gripped onto his forearm for some kind of stability as he kissed you breathless.

As he pulled back to look down at you with that same big, tender grin, you couldn’t help but let out an airy giggle.

“And what was that for?”

“I love you. And do I need a reason to kiss my amazing, beautiful girlfriend?” He punctuated each of the last three words with more kisses to your cheek this time, making you giggle again.

“Like that, in the middle of the street? Yes.” You pinched his side teasingly, earning a laugh as he squirmed away from your touch. You made sure to tack on an, “I love you too, Sung.”

“We’re not in the street, we’re on the sidewalk.”

Before you could give your retort, he’d caught your lips in another sweet kiss, and all banter was gone from your mind.

“Are you staying at my place?” Sungchan asked when you’d finally restarted your journey.

“Let’s do my place tonight, hm?” You suggested, squeezing his hand.

He tilted his head, an adorable, confused pout on his face. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have some poor roommate that we’ll be annoying.”

“Says the girl who used to specifically ask if Shotaro was going to be home before she’d agree to come over,” he snickered.

“I did that because I had a huge crush on you and you’d friendzoned me, you ass.” You elbowed him in the side teasingly. “Having Taro there made it easier to ignore the aching hole in my chest whenever I looked at you, you dick.”

You landed a gentle mock punch that was in actuality a light tap to his chest, but Sungchan was no longer laughing. He looked down at you, pensive sadness on his features.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to articulate how much I regret putting you through that. You didn’t deserve to ever feel… an aching hole, because of me.”

“Ah, Sung.” You hugged his arm to your chest, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked. “I know you would’ve never done that to me on purpose. But if we can’t laugh about it—about the uh, admittedly kind of funny scenario we put ourselves in before we started dating—then we’ll never be able to really move past it. We’re together now, and that’s what really matters.”

He sighed. “I agree. I just… I don’t think I’m past the feeling bad part yet.”

“That’s okay.” You squeezed his upper arm reassuringly. “Just don’t beat yourself up on my account. Alright?”

“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice.

“So, my place?”

“I just remembered that my mom put in some leftovers for Shotaro. Kelp rolls.”

“We should probably take that to him, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Hopefully that’ll be enough to counteract us existing around him.”

Shotaro was enthused to receive his kelp rolls, not even commenting on you staying the night as he excitedly took his food into his room.

“You want something to eat?” Sungchan asked as he put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge.

“No. I ate plenty at your parents’ house.” You shook your head. Stretching and yawning, you started towards the hallway with their bedrooms. “You make your little post-dinner snack. Feed your half-werewolf metabolism. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Feel free to take a sweatshirt or something.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Your boyfriend found you a few minutes later already curled up in his bed, bundled up in just one of his oversized hoodies. He scooted in next to you, encouraging you to move your head from the pillow to his lap as you went to snuggle up to his side instead.

“Whatcha eating, Sung?” You mumbled, mouth splitting into another yawn. All you could tell was that he had a bowl of some kind of finger food, as he’d brought no utensil in with him.

“Some fruit. Strawberries, honeydew, blueberries… Oh, you want a grape?”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not trying to fatten me up to eat, you know?” You said teasingly. “Like some mix of the witch from Hansel and Gretel and the big bad wolf from Little Red Riding Hood…”

“Banana slice?”

But you knew it was just his instinct to feed you, so you always indulged him to a certain extent—not so much that you felt like you were going to burst, but enough to calm his need to know that you were well-fed.

“Mm, grape.” You opened your mouth like a baby bird. He deposited the fruit on your tongue, but due to how you were laying, it landed more-so on the inside of your cheek. You had to sit up and prop yourself up on an elbow to chew and swallow properly without choking, but then promptly laid back down, nuzzling your face into his thigh.

Just a few seconds later, he asked you through a full mouth, “Baby? You want another?”

“I’m good, Sung, thank you,” you replied sweetly. “Your dad’s a really good cook, I ate a lot at dinner.”

“Yeah, he is,” he agreed proudly.

“Now finish your food so you can cuddle me to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And less than ten minutes later, you were laid on your side, pulled flush to Sungchan’s front, your back to his chest and your legs tangled together. You had one of his arms ensnared, fingers laced loosely with his as you wrapped the limb tighter around you. His face was buried in your neck, planting absentminded kisses to your skin as you were gently floating between waking and sleep.

“I used to think you liked him, for a little bit, you know,” Sungchan murmured next to your ear, clearly a sudden blurting from his own train of thought that you weren’t privy to.

Oh, this sounded like a conversation. You squinted your eyes open blearily, turning over in his arms to face him. Throwing a leg over his to pull him closer, you offered him a sleepy smile and asked, “Who?”

He readjusted to keep holding you like that, one hand resting where the bottom of the hoodie had ridden up around your hip, settling on your thigh. His thumb and forefinger messed with the hem of the sweater, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in the dim light as he swallowed.

“Shotaro. Since you’d always ask if he was going to be at the apartment. But your heartrate never went up around him.”

You hummed in amusement, reaching out to gently pinch the tip of his nose. “Endearing that you were listening to my heartbeat to figure out if I liked your roommate.”

“But it did… go up around me sometimes. I knew that,” he confessed, his eyes locking on yours, desperate. Like he was searching, asking you for something. Absolution, penance, maybe. “And it made me happy. Even though I had told myself that I shouldn’t have you. It still… made me happy at first, but then it’d make me sad. That you hadn’t moved on. Because I thought you’d deserved to move on.”

But he’d done no sin that you needed to cleanse him of in your eyes. He was a guy who made a few mistakes and then finally made the right choice. After you smacked him upside the head with it, but nobody was perfect. The person who really needed to forgive him was himself. He was still stuck in the past, seemingly afraid that he could lose you at any moment. But he wasn’t going to, and you wished he would just believe that.

“But you got me now,” you promised, cradling his face and wishing he could feel just how much you really meant those words.

“I do.” He brought his hand up to cover your own, and you felt like you could cry. “I do got you now.”

“And I’ve got you.”

“You’ve always had me. I just hadn’t told you yet. But you’ve always had me,” Sungchan admitted with a bittersweet smile, curling his hand around yours.

You surged forward to close the minute gap between the two of you, kissing him so hard that your lips hurt. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your hands grabbed at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to pull him closer to you. He was hugging you tight to him, thank god, because it felt like you could never be close enough. Your bones ached with a need to break the laws of physics and exist in the same time and space as him, and a tiny part of you believed that if you just wanted it enough, if you tried hard enough, maybe you could.

“You know, I thought all I’d feel was relief when you and Sungchan finally got together, but instead I’m plagued by near constant nausea.”

You stopped in your tracks in the hallway. You’d been trying to quietly pee then hurry back into Sungchan’s room the next morning, but instead, you spun around to face Shotaro, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He was standing in front of his door at the opposite end of the hall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Maybe go see a witch about that. It sounds serious,” you wrinkled your nose teasingly. Thankfully you’d had the wherewithal to pull on a pair of sleep shorts you had stashed in Sungchan’s drawers before leaving his room that morning.

“Yeah, that and my recently developed insomnia, too,” he scoffed. “Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep, you know.”

Your skin burned as you started shuffling backwards towards Sungchan’s room. “Sorry! Bye!”

You slammed the door behind you, startling Sungchan awake.

“Huh?” He blinked sleepily, lifting his head to look around.

You launched yourself back into bed, burying your face in the pillow in shame.

“Woah, Y/N, you okay?” Sungchan’s voice was thick and deep this early in the morning, but you couldn’t even focus on that. He rubbed your back soothingly as you shook your head.

You turned your head just enough to clear your mouth to speak. “We should’ve gone to my place... No roommate...”

“Oh, Shotaro giving you a hard time?”

“‘Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep.’” You did your best Shotaro impression. “I don’t think it was enough kelp rolls.”

“Ah, I’m-I’m sorry, baby.” Sungchan kept rubbing your back, but you could hear that he was holding back laughter.

You rolled onto your back, shooting him a glare before staring up at the ceiling. “Why do I always let you talk me into staying at your place?”

“Because you love me,” he replied in a sing-song voice, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheekbone, near your hairline.

“Yeah, but I mean, why do we always end up at your apartment, Sung? Why do you never want to come over to mine?”

The teasing dropped from his tone as he straightened up slightly. “It’s not like that, Y/N. I like spending time with you, no matter where we are. We could be in the cold vacuum of space, and I’d be fine with it as long as we were hanging out. And, in space suits so we didn’t die, you know. But, it’s just... I don’t know, I like having you here. In my space. It feels like everything’s right in the universe, like I know everything will be okay, that you’re going to be okay. As stupid as that sounds—”

“No, Sung, it’s not stupid.” You shifted to face him, brushing some hair back from his face. The same anxiety that you’d seen the night before was painted across his features again, and you didn’t like that you were seeing it more and more often. His sentiments weren’t stupid, they were loving, but the root of them concerned you. Was he constantly plagued by worries of something bad happening to you?

“Not at all...” You reiterated softly, running your thumb over the crease between his brows. “Sung? Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you have class today but… can I stay here? While you’re on campus? Then we can do something together when you get back. We can go downtown or something.”

You could feel his face relax again under your touch, and he nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, of course. If you think you can handle being around Shotaro for that long. He’s off work today.”

“I’ll manage, somehow.”

When it was finally time for Sungchan to go to class, though, you encountered an issue.

“Sung, you need to go to class,” you sighed, nudging him from where he had his arms wrapped around you. You’d been lounging on the couch when it struck time for him to finally depart for campus, but you were now dealing with a clingy werewolf.

“The professor doesn’t count attendance for a grade,” he grumbled. “I can skip.”

“You literally said this morning that you had a quiz today.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did, you liar,” you scoffed, trying to wriggle out of his grip. “And you need to go take that quiz.”

Shotaro, meanwhile, was observing the entire thing from the threshold between the living room and the hallway, a fascinating mixture of equal parts disgust and amusement on his features. You looked at him pleadingly for any kind of assistance, and he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless helped you anyway.

“Sungchan, dude, seriously,” Shotaro sighed, his tone on the border of exasperation and understanding. “Y/N’s wearing your clothes, staying in our apartment, and you haven’t let her go for I think the past four hours straight, not even to pee. You’ve scented her up enough to last the next month, a few hours will be fine.”

Your jaw set as there was a sudden spark of recognition in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t follow that train of thought in the moment. Sungchan loosened his grip on you, sitting up and blinking as if woken from a trance. “R-Right. Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay, Sung,” you smiled, standing up and yanking him to his feet as well. You practically dragged him towards the front door, shoving his backpack in his hands. “Now go, you’re going to be late.”

He looked down at you with a small, fond smile as well, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Bye, love you.”

“I love you too.” You got up on your tiptoes to give him a fleeting kiss goodbye, and he wrapped an arm around you for a hug. You were worried that this was about to be another borderline hostage situation, but he took one more inhale near your neck, then let you go and straightened up.

“Okay. See you in a few.” He said, his hand on the door handle.

“Go, Sungchan.”

“Fine, fine. Bye.”

And with that, he was finally gone. You turned back around to Shotaro, letting out a sigh of relief. The siren just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Werewolves, dude.” He flopped onto the opposite side of the couch from where you and Sungchan had just been.

You sat back down, kicking your feet up and pulling out your phone. “Yeah. Werewolves...”

Shotaro started flicking through a streaming service to try to find something to watch. “Hey wait, shouldn’t he be scenting you less since he’s a half-werewolf?”

“I... don’t know,” you admitted. “There’s not really any sort of research on half-werewolves. We don’t know anything about what they ‘should’ be like. Not even one of those unethical case studies from the 1800s.”

“Huh. But like I was saying earlier, you two make me nauseous.”

“Just put on your trashy reality TV that we know you’re going to pick after scrolling around for 30 minutes.”

“The browsing is part of the experience.”

As Shotaro browsed on the TV then eventually picked a show, you searched on your phone. The Real Sirens of Diamond Bay was great background noise as you dug through the internet, and you barely even realized the time until your friend was calling for your attention from the kitchen.

“Hm?” You looked up from the forum post that you’d been reading.

“I asked if you wanted lunch.” He opened the fridge, taking out the containers of leftovers you and your boyfriend had brought home last night. “Or if only Sungchan could feed you.”

“Yeah, sure, I could eat.” You joined him in the kitchen, stretching out your back. “So you noticed that too, huh?”

“Oh, the pre-mating behaviors? Well, you did give me a very convenient list when you were still in your denial phase.”

You punched his arm, making him nearly drop the plates he’d just gotten from the cabinet.

“Ow!” He rubbed the spot with a pout, handing you one of the dishes. “Rude... I’m feeding you food from my fridge.”

“No, I’m letting you eat my leftovers,” you corrected him. “Dr. Jung made us take all the steamed buns because she knew they were my favorite.”

Shotaro had been loading said steamed buns up onto his plate, then started shoveling the rest of them onto yours. “Calm down, I wasn’t taking them all.”

You looked at the empty container with a sigh, putting half of yours back. “Well, we can’t just leave nothing for Sung.”

After you’d made your plates with minimal bickering and warmed them up, you took them to the small dining table in the corner of the living room to eat. Shotaro continued playing the episode he’d been on for ambiance as he engaged you in conversation.

“So what were you so invested in on your phone?” He asked, cracking open a seaweed-infused sparkling tea drink popular with younger sirens. “You usually love Real Sirens.”

You popped the tab on your soda, taking a sip before answering. “I was doing some research, on what we were talking about earlier—”

“I thought you said there wasn’t a lot of research on half-werewolves.”

“Not a lot of scholarly research. But I found some people posting online about their own experiences either as half-werewolves themselves, or dating half-werewolves. About the scenting.” You explained, pausing to take a bite of your food. “And it seems like the general consensus is that most likely because their sense of smell isn’t as great as full werewolves, but they still can smell that kind of stuff, unlike humans, half-werewolves get a little more… intense with scenting behaviors.”

“Gross.”

“I meant the clothes and the hugging, dude.” You soft-balled a kick at his shin under the table. “Not my fault you’re immediately gross.”

“Does it ever stop?”

You grimaced, “Well…”

“No?” Shotaro asked with wide eyes, presumably having the rest of his recently renewed lease flashing before them.

“Again, there aren’t a lot of half-werewolves. Or at least ones talking about it. But there is one half-werewolf/human couple I found who says that the scenting took better, and the behaviors therefore decreased after…” You trailed off, messing with the strings of Sungchan’s hoodie.

“After…?”

“After they followed through with the werewolf mating bite.”

The siren stared at you blankly. “Oh.”

“They’re the only ones I could find online who has done that, so who knows if that’s a guaranteed result, not to mention that at that point they were also human married, and had been together for over five years, so there was definitely just a lot of security in their relationship not to mention they’d been living together for years so they were going to smell like each other anyway—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Shotaro stopped your defensive rambles gently. “You two don’t need to do that for me. Just wear his clothes and be annoying, it’s fine.”

You stabbed your fork into a bun. “Yeah, I know that.”

“That was some weird stressing of your words there, Y/N. Anything you want to share?”

You let out a long, steady breath, your lips just a centimeter away from being pressed together. Your mind was swirling with the memory of Sungchan’s last shift. Of him asking you to take his bite. He hadn’t mentioned it again since, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially because he hadn’t brought it up again since. And seeing his dad’s last night…

“Sungchan mentioned it once, but I don’t know how serious he was being, and he hasn’t brought it up again,” you admitted before tearing into the bun you’d just assaulted. It was filled with delightfully seasoned veggies wrapped in smooth, pillowy dough. God, these really were some of the best steamed buns you’d ever had.

Shotaro practically did a spit take with his tea, dribbling the sip he’d just taken back into the bottle. “He what? When?”

“Shotaro—”

“No, he brought up essentially werewolf engagement to you— What? While you two were playing video games or something? And neither of you mentioned this to me?”

“It wasn’t like that but... sure. I guess.”

“No, no, what was the context? Post-nut confessions or something?”

“God! Why are you like this?” You groaned, dragging a hand over your face in exasperation. “No, he let me be with him for his last shift, it was when he was coming out of it. He wasn’t all there, he was tired, he had all the extra adrenaline and everything else going through his body still.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “So I was right.”

You gave him an unamused look. “Think more like a boxer with a concussion.”

“And you haven’t brought it up with him since?”

“I was just focused on making sure he was okay. And now, I don’t know, he hasn’t mentioned it again. Maybe he wasn’t serious about it?”

“If he was... would you say yes? To be werewolf married?” The siren waggled his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Or half-werewolf married? Half-werewolf half-married?”

“They really need to make like even a single MCS class mandatory in the Gen Ed requirements, because what the hell are you saying to me right now?”

“You know what I mean. Would you say yes?”

“I… need to talk to some other people, I think.” You turned your eyes downwards as you tried to really think about it.

“That wasn’t a no! Hell yeah! I’m so going to be Sungchan’s best man!”

You rolled your eyes. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

As you finished up your lunch, your mind wouldn’t stop turning over what Shotaro had said. If Sungchan had been serious, would you say yes? You knew from class what the bite meant to werewolves within packs, but did it mean the same thing to Sungchan since he was half-werewolf? Did that even make a difference? Not to mention that you weren’t any part werewolf, the exchanging of bites was supposed to be an entire ritual similar to a couple exchanging rings on their wedding day. You couldn’t exactly bite him back. And the couple online was already legally married anyway…

Well, you did know one other werewolf/human couple that you could talk to, at least. You quickly texted Jeno.

[you: hey, are you home right now?]

Miraculously, he texted back almost immediately.

[jeno: yeah, just got back from a run]

[jeno: why?]

[you: mind if i come over really quick? need some advice on something with sung]

[jeno: oh sure]

[jeno: everything okay? should i have tissues out…?]

[you: omg no like werewolf stuff]

[jeno: oh good]

[you: thanks though. be over in a few]

Standing up from the couch, you stood off to the side of the TV so you didn’t block Shotaro’s show as you announced, “I’ll be right back.”

The siren gave a thumbs up in acknowledgement as his focus remained on the screen. You nodded before hurrying to pull your shoes on. The last thing to do before leaving was shoot off a text to Sungchan.

[you: hey sung, i’ve got a quick errand to run. i should be back before you get home from class, but just in case i’m not, i’ll be coming right back to the apartment! love you!]

“Hey, Jeno, thanks for having me over on such short notice.” You offered your friend a nervous smile as you stepped into his apartment.

“I’m not your professor that you’re seeing outside of his office hours, Y/N,” he chuckled, shutting the door behind you. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up? You said it’s something about Sungchan?”

“Is your girlfriend here?” You looked around the living room as the two of you sat down.

Jeno tilted his head curiously. “No, she’s at the bakery this afternoon. Did you need her too?”

“Not necessarily, it’s just...” You dropped your head into your hands, frustrated. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try to start at the beginning?”

“Right. Sung let me be with him on the last full moon.”

“Wow. I haven’t even done that.” Jeno sounded genuinely impressed.

“Well… Uhm, do you know? About Sung?”

He stared at you blankly. “Need you to be way more specific here. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You tried to pick your words carefully to give him enough of a hint if he did know without outright telling him if he didn’t know. You were sure that Sungchan wouldn’t mind if Jeno knew that he was half-werewolf, but you still didn’t feel like that was your place to go around telling people. “About his parents?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Your friend nodded in recognition. “Half-werewolf, that’s why he was able to have you there, duh.”

“Anyway, when he was coming back out of the shift afterwards, he mentioned us... he mentioned the werewolf mating bite.”

His eyes widened as he took a short inhale before slowly starting with, “Well, I can tell that you two haven’t done that.”

“I figured. So, with Sung being half-werewolf, he’s been having a difficult time with the scenting. I think because he can smell it enough to notice it, but not as strongly as full werewolves...”

“He would have a higher threshold for scenting in order to register it, right. Hence your current attire, I’m guessing?” Jeno gestured to the large black leather jacket you were currently drowning in, which was much too hot for the sweltering summer heat that was still going on outside, but still a better option than the hoodie you had previously been in.

You gave a resigned, what-can-you-do smile. “Yeah. And he’s not going to say anything about it, but I know he’s going to be stressed when I see him after this and he can smell you and Jaemin.”

“Oh, definitely.” He snorted lightly, not judgmental, but more sympathetic. “Let me guess: he gets all needy and clingy? Likes to bury his face in your neck?”

“Exactly. And the cuddles would be nice but, I don’t know... I hate seeing him like this, you know? So... anxious. It’s not like him.” You sighed, beginning to feel more guilty the longer you stayed here and got wrapped up in the smells of other people.

“It’s the first time in his life the wolf side is in charge of him and not the other way around. He’s really understanding what it’s like being a full werewolf outside of the full moon, of course he’s not having a good time.”

“Is it like that for you? With her?”

“Kind of. I can smell everything better, so I can smell the subtler things. Without going into too much detail, all those instincts aren’t on edge for me as much as Sungchan’s are right now. And we also figured something else out.”

“Something else?” You asked curiously. Last time you saw Jeno’s girlfriend, you couldn’t remember her having a bite mark. But maybe there was something that hadn’t been covered in your classes. After all, several millennia of the cultures, histories, and customs of fourteen species just couldn’t be fit into one undergrad degree. Your bachelor’s was nothing more than a survey of the two fields, to give you the broad strokes and the tools to start wading in.

Jeno pulled on a leather cord that you hadn’t even noticed was hanging around his neck, bringing a pendant out from under his collar. It was a pale white stone, flat, the size of a coin, with opalescent flecks that caught the light as he showed it to you.

“Moonstone. We have matching ones. They’re even enchanted so that when I…” he wrapped his whole hand around the stone “…hold onto it a little tighter, it reacts, and she can feel hers warm up too. So she knows I’m thinking about her.”

“And it helps with your shifts. That’s really sweet, Jeno,” you said, watching as he tucked it back under his shirt, presumably to keep it in skin-to-skin contact so he could feel if she squeezed her gem back in response.

“But that’s what works for us. It needs to be whatever works for you guys.”

You looked down at your fingers nervously. “But you two haven’t even…”

“I haven’t bit her?” The werewolf said bluntly.

“Yeah, and you’ve been together for a lot longer than us.”

“We’re not you and Sungchan. We may have set you guys up, but we’re not you.”

“You set us up? What?” That little off-hand comment had stolen your focus for the moment.

Jeno’s brow furrowed. “Did you never get the full story of how you got sent on that first blind date with him?”

“I mean, Jaemin had shown me a picture of him from your Instagram account, and I knew that you two knew each other through your girlfriend. But no, I guess I never did get the whole story. Jaemin said something about a deal, I think…”

His wide eyes and ‘oh shit’ face said it all. With a wince, he sighed, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this…”

“What? Jeno, come on,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together in front of you like you were kneeling at an altar.

“Ah, fine, fine.” He gave in easily, regret immediately coming to his features as you perked up, eager to hear the story. “We were all playing soccer one day and her—” he jerked his thumb at the empty space on the couch beside him that the both of you had both been vaguely referring to whenever you mentioned his girlfriend. “—and Sungchan made this bet. You see, something had happened at the park that day. There was another werewolf there, and he called my girlfriend something nasty. And Sungchan was saying that because of stuff like that, he wanted to just stick with dating other werewolves. He also kept saying something about love making my brain rot. It made sense in context. Sort of.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt Jeno for fear that you’d get him off-track and lose your opportunity.

“Anyway, they made a bet that if she was on Sungchan’s team and did her best in the game against me, then Sungchan would let her set him up on one blind date with anybody, werewolf or not. And he wasn’t allowed to intentionally bomb it, he had to actually put in a genuine effort.”

“And I was that date…” You surmised, several pieces falling into place. Specifically, Jaemin and Donghyuck’s initial pitch of Sungchan to you.

“Jaemin suggested you, and we thought the two of you would be a good fit.”

You added humorously, “And I’m not a werewolf.”

“Well, yeah.” Jeno ducked his head sheepishly like he was a puppy that was afraid you were going to notice the shoes that he had chewed up behind him. “But we really did put a lot of thought into it, I swear. And then when we heard he made you walk out in ten minutes, we were actually going to make him go on another one because we thought that he had sabotaged his one with you.”

“Amazingly, no, I think that really was his best effort at the time.” You snickered.

“Now I feel like I have to apologize for subjecting you to him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, he said he didn’t want to go on another date, he had to fix things with you first. She let up on him after that. Apparently believed his mind had been changed.”

“I don’t know how a ten-minute conversation where he practically accused me of being a werewolf fetishist for dating two werewolves, and I asked about his major and told him about my cheating ex could’ve possibly changed his mind but— Hey, look how far we’ve come.”

“And now you know the story of how you two ended up on that ten-minute, awful, terrible blind date that I almost wish we didn’t send you on now that I’ve heard what happened on it.”

“I’ve had worse dates.”

“But like I was saying. We—” he pointed between himself and the empty space proxy of his girlfriend “—are not you two. Just like in human relationships, the big steps happen at different times for everyone, there isn’t one right answer to when a werewolf couple take on each other’s bites. There’s even less of a blueprint for werewolf-human couples. So as far as I’m concerned, you and Sungchan? A half-werewolf and human couple? You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.”

“Unprecedented…” You repeated to yourself, drumming your fingers along your knee.

You and Jeno chatted for a few more minutes about this and that, but you soon decided that you’d have to be going. Sungchan had texted you the full sequence of finishing class, leaving campus, and arriving home while you’d been talking, and there was a pinch at your heart as you could imagine him getting more anxious with each passing minute that you weren’t there. And then there were the smells that you were going to have to deal with once you did return, too.

As Jeno walked you to the front door, your eyes drifted over to the kitchen, an idea popping into your head.

“Hey, Jeno? Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sung?” You called out into the seemingly empty apartment as you turned to close and lock the front door up. “I’m— oof!”

You were knocked off kilter by 186cm of werewolf, barely catching yourself against the door on your forearms to avoid bonking your forehead into it. Sungchan had his arms wrapped around your waist, already nosing around your hair and neck.

“Hi…” Sungchan said against your cheek, his tone apologetic. He got too excited, he didn’t mean to almost KO you like that.

Slowly, you reached over to finish flicking the deadbolt into the locked position. Then, you blindly stretched a hand back to pat him on the head. “Hey, hey.” You kept your voice calm and soothing.

He was getting down to the collar of the shirt you were wearing—one of his t-shirts, and you could feel him shifting to hold you tighter. He’d definitely noticed something was off.

“You know, I’m really sorry, Sung,” you began, turning your tone mournful and looking down at the wet patch on the front of your shirt. “I know this is your shirt, I feel really bad about this, but I spilled water on myself while I was out. Do you think I can throw this one in your wash here and borrow a new one?”

He immediately perked up at this, “Yeah, of course!”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Success.

After your dinner and night out together in downtown, you ended up back in Sungchan’s room, fitted in your new crewneck sweater—this one for a concert he’d gone to last year. You were reclined between his legs against his chest as you half-watched him game, half-scrolled on your phone, and half-snoozed. You’d been playing the game in multi-player mode with him earlier but put your controller aside some time ago when you’d let out a couple loud yawns. Ruminating thoughts of your conversation with Jeno had kept you from fully falling asleep, though.

“Sung?” You waited for a pause on a loading screen to call for his attention.

“Mm?” He hummed back to let you know he was listening, even as the new map loaded in. He hadn’t moved his character yet, fingers frozen as they hovered over the buttons.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.” Your boyfriend quickly saved and exited the game, setting the controller beside yours on the nightstand.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you tighter to him, resting his chin on your shoulder as he waited attentively for you to start with whatever you needed to talk about. You could hear him take a pause to sniff the air around you, and a small, disgruntled sound came from the back of his throat almost immediately.

“Face-to-face?” You requested quietly.

“Right, sorry.”

He loosened his arms, reluctantly letting them fall from around you.

Pushing yourself up off his legs into a full sitting position, you turned around in place, still finding yourself between his thighs. He straightened up a little bit from his spot against the headboard.

You reached out to take his hands in yours. “This is something that really stresses you out, isn’t it? The smells?”

“It’s… I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like…” He took one of his hands back to run his fingers through his hair, and your chest hurt to see the distress on his features. “Imagine being able to constantly see something right in the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head, you can’t actually look at it. You know it’s there, but you can never actually get a proper look. Humans never know it’s there, and werewolves get to look at it head-on. But I don’t get either. It’s terrible.”

“Ah, Sung… That sounds awful, baby.” You grimaced sympathetically, unable to imagine how wound up and panicky he must be all the time. You just wanted to cut this conversation short right now to wrap your arms around him, rub his back and tell him you were never going to leave him again. But for right now, all you could do was squeeze his hand tighter, and hope he got the message.

“I know that sometimes you smell right and sometimes you don’t. But I don’t know why, usually. And it’s not like you smell bad like you need a shower or anything. But like… ah, I can’t describe it.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I don’t even know what I’m smelling all the time. But it’s just—”

“Not right. I get it, that made sense. And it’s better when I wear your clothes, or spend time with you? Here?”

“I’m sorry…” He said weakly.

“Woah, hey, where in there was I asking for an apology? I’m trying to figure this out together, okay? Not make you feel bad for being unable to turn your nose off. I don’t like that you’re this stressed all the time, you know?”

“In my normal, thinking brain I know you should—and I want you to—be able to wear whatever clothes you want to wear. And I’m glad that you’re spending time with your friends, and I want to go wherever you want to go, whether that’s out somewhere, or to your place. I loved our date night out tonight. It’s not those actual things that bother me at all, it’s just that you smell different.”

“I know, I know.” You reassured him, continuing to hold his hand and gently rubbing his forearm with your free hand. “So maybe there’s something more permanent we can do to help you with the smells?”

Sungchan met your gaze uncertainly. “Permanent?”

“You mentioned it after your last shift. Me taking your bite. I found one other half-werewolf/human couple who did it, online, and they said it helped with the scent anxiety.”

“Y/N…” He breathed your name out.

“I understand if you’re not ready for it. I know it’s a really big step for werewolves. But I had to put it out there, if there’s any possibility that it’ll help.”

“This is not how I imagined this conversation going at all.”

“What?”

“The human reassuring the werewolf that it’s okay if the werewolf isn’t ready for a mating bite yet.” He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh my god. We really are one-of-a-kind, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle too. “When you put it like that, that is pretty funny. You thought you were going to have to convince me, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to badger you into it if you didn’t want it, that’s for sure. But I mean, I didn’t bring it up again after my last shift because I wanted to do it more… I don’t know, romantically than being a sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess in your lap. I just hadn’t figured out how to do that yet because I’ve been too focused on spending every spare second I can with you.”

“I thought you were a very cute sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess when you asked me last time,” you giggled.

“Right, thanks.”

“So, do you want to do it, then?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

Jeno’s words came back to you: You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing anything any specific way, Sung. We just do it. But if you want to ask me, go for it.” You smiled at him encouragingly. After a few beats of silence, though, you pinched his thigh teasingly, “I’m waiting.”

“What—Right now? Really putting me on the spot.” Sungchan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Well when else—”

“No, I’ve got it.” He squared his shoulders, face turning serious as he turned his eyes to you. Briefly kissing the back of your fingers first, he began, his voice much shakier than you had expected, “Y/N, I’m ready to give you my mating bite, if you will accept it. But I don’t want it to just be me biting you. I-I want you to do whatever you need to do to make it feel complete to you, too. Since you can’t give me one back. If that’s okay with you?”

Despite you (mostly) knowing what was coming, you still unexpectedly found yourself tearing up as you went to nod your head yes. “Of course, Sung. That’d be perfect, yes. You’ll have to give me some time to figure it out, but yes, I love that.”

“I love you.”

You stood up on your knees to wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss before burying your face in his collar. “I love you, too.”

Sungchan hugged you back tightly, pulling you back with him into almost the same position as before, with you against his chest. He pressed kisses to any part of you that he could access, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your ear. You turned your head enough so that the next one he could plant on your lips, a sweet, loving kiss.

“Ah…” He sighed, his eyes squeezed shut, a bright smile on his face.

“What?” You traced over the smile lines at the corner of his eye.

He was almost nose-to-nose with you when his beautiful brown eyes were open again. Looking at you, he admitted freely, “I’m just… so happy.”

“Me too.” You beamed.

“And I can’t believe I almost let myself miss out on this, on you, so many times.”

“Let’s see… the night we actually got together.” You teased, ticking the instances off on your fingers.

“Mm-hm.” A pink flush was starting to creep up Sungchan’s neck.

“Valentine’s Day at the boba shop. Which you owe me emotional damages for, by the way.”

“Yeah. Sorry…” The pink had overtaken his neck and was starting to flush his cheeks.

“Our first date.”

Completely red-faced, he nodded and sighed. “Like I said, I’m just happy that—”

“Oh, and the bet.”

“Huh?” He was entirely frozen, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

“I saw Jeno today,” you stated.

“Yes, I did smell him when you came home.”

“I finally got the full story of how you ended up on our blind date, Sung.”

“Listen, I am a proud member of the Love-Rotten Brains Club now.” He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his nose along your cheek and neck as he spoke, making his lips brush over your skin in ghosts of kisses. “I’m the president and the whole board and the social media intern and whatever else. Never have I ever been more proud of being wrong. I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Ah!” You squirmed and laughed as he was over a ticklish spot. “Alright, you don’t have to do that. But I’m glad they pushed you out of your comfort zone.”

Sungchan let up, allowing you to simply rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“To my credit, I was the one who offered the terms of that bet in the first place.”

“Really? You had to know that they were definitely going to set you up with someone who was not a werewolf, right?”

“I knew. I figured I could make polite small talk for an hour and be done with my end.”

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly, from the gut. “Oh, baby, if polite small talk was your goal, then you failed miserably.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said remorsefully.

“Now, I’ve got to know.” You poked his chest pointedly. “Everyone seems convinced that you were like, in love with me and a changed man from that one plane crash of a conversation. Shotaro says that you kept walking around talking about how you wanted to apologize to me for weeks after. Jeno and his girlfriend didn’t set you up on another date despite you not really holding up your end because she was content that you had changed your mind. So?”

Sungchan’s chest rose and fell under you with a deep breath, and he took a pause as if piecing together his thoughts before responding. “Even if we didn’t end up meeting again, I think that date with you was always going to be an important lesson for me, about getting my head out of my ass. I’m just glad I got to take what I learned back to you and apologize and show you that. Like, yeah, our first date was only a few minutes, but I kind of hate to admit that I thought about it for weeks afterwards, because that sounds like weirdo behavior. I mean, literally until the night we saw each other at the boba place. It’s not that it was even romantic at that point, it was more guilt than anything else. I knew I was in the wrong, and I felt awful that I might not be able to tell you that I knew that.”

“I’m glad you found me again at the boba shop. Not a lot of guys would’ve had the guts to actually apologize. Probably would’ve grabbed their drink and ran. Or ran as soon as they saw me and not even ordered.”

“I just wish I had the guts to actually ask you out that night.”

“Me too. But I’m not entirely blameless either. The start of our relationship isn’t a weight that falls solely on your shoulders just because you’re the guy, or the werewolf, or whatever.” You shrugged. “And we figured it out eventually anyway.”

“Yeah, we did.” Sungchan pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Stopping in front of a familiar red brick townhouse, you ran up the couple short steps to knock on the front door before you could psych yourself out. You and Sungchan had decided to go through with the mating bite after the next full moon in one week, which was a couple days after the end of the summer semester. It gave him time to focus on his finals, and fell in the two-week break between the summer semester ending and the fall semester starting. This was going to be your last year as undergraduates, both you and Sungchan were graduating in the spring. You could hardly believe that you only had two more semesters left of your bachelor’s degree. And then you had grad school.

But right now, you had this: The front door being opened to reveal Mr. Jung to you, a smile immediately crossing his face as he recognized you. Even behind the glasses perched on his nose, you could easily see Sungchan in his features.

“Hi, Mr. Jung,” you greeted him politely.

“Oh, hey, Y/N.” He tucked the pen that was in his hand behind his ear. “Here to see Jieun?”

“Uh, no. Sorry to just drop in, but I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Do you have time for some tea?”

He backed up, waving you in. “Sure, of course. Come on in.”

“Thank you.” You walked in with a grateful head dip, taking your denim Jasmine & Pearls baseball cap off as you passed over the threshold of the front door.

“Sungchan’s got a hat just like that,” Mr. Jung commented, leading you further into the home. “Or is that one his?”

“Oh, we actually won them in a game at the boba shop that Shotaro works at. We each have our own.” You looked over the purple embroidered logo fondly. “It’s kind of how we met. The second time.”

“Right, the boba tea place that Shotaro works at…” He echoed, recognition in his tone.

You followed Mr. Jung upstairs, which you didn’t get to see the last time you’d been over for dinner. He led you into a room with wallpaper depicting cartoon spaceships, planets, moons, and stars. The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars, and even the curtains were embroidered with star maps. The furniture itself was set up to be an adult’s home office, though, despite the shell having clearly been a child’s bedroom. There were still some shelves on the wall with trophies from science fairs and sports teams.

“Sorry, Jieun doesn’t drink tea, and the electric kettle in the kitchen is busted.” Mr. Jung half-explained why he’d brought you in here, another electric kettle in his hand. “Give me a second, I need to fill this up.”

“Of course,” you nodded, not entirely paying attention to what he was saying. Truly, you were still looking around at what was obviously Sungchan’s childhood bedroom.

Any kids’ furniture was gone and replaced with a desk, laptop, two chairs, and a printer. But you didn’t mind, as you leaned in to read the little engravings on his science fair trophies, and from his soccer teams, and baseball teams, and spelling bees, and mathletes competitions—god, you were dating a mathlete? He’d failed to mention that. There was a picture that looked like it was from a field trip from primary school, of his whole class in front of a space shuttle at the closest space and natural history museum. You squinted your eyes as you studied the picture, trying to figure out which one was your boyfriend.

“Sungchan’s the really tall one that you probably thought was a teacher’s helper,” Mr. Jung said humorously, announcing his return.

You turned around, the picture still in your hand, and your eyes immediately landed on the child he was referring to. Gangly, awkward, nearly a head taller than the rest of the kids, but still smiling so brightly—his crooked smile gap-toothed at that moment in time—because he was just so, so excited to be there.

“Ah, yep. There he is,” you smiled fondly, setting the picture back down.

“He gets his height from Jieun’s father. In case you were curious.”

Mr. Jung set the kettle back on its stand on the desk and started heating it up. He cleared a huge stack of papers off a second chair that was next to the desk, then gestured for you to sit. You did so, watching him take down a couple mugs from the shelves over his desk, and pull open the top drawer to root around in it.

“Jasmine?” He asked.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

He took out one tin, right as the kettle made a small ding to let him know the water was ready. Mr. Jung poured the water into both mugs first, then took out a couple small, empty pouches. He measured out the loose jasmine tea into each before sealing them and dropping them in the water.

“I figured you would’ve wanted to talk to Jieun about the bite,” he said as he handed you your cup. “Also, let me know if you want some honey for that.”

“I’m good on the honey, thanks,” you smiled awkwardly. “So he told you already.”

The other human eased himself down into the office chair in front of you. “Yes, Sungchan’s been keeping us appraised. He was nervous to tell us at first, since you two haven’t been together very long.”

“Well, yes—”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s a decision for you and Sungchan to make, not his parents.”

That put you at ease again. “Thank you.”

“And it did make Jieun laugh when she heard that you were the one who did the mating bite talk with him. She likes you a lot. We both do.”

“Oh, thanks…”

“So why did you want to see me? I’m always happy to have some tea with you, but it sounded like you came with a purpose.”

“I wanted to ask about what it’s like? Taking a werewolf’s mating bite as a human?” You plunged into the conversation head-first. “The only other werewolf/human couple we know hasn’t done it, so I don’t really have a point of reference. Like, in class, I’ve learned about the sociocultural importance of it within werewolf packs for mated werewolf couples, but… Sung and I are a bit different, you know?”

Mr. Jung nodded thoughtfully. “I can tell you what my personal experience is, sure. It may be different for you since Sungchan is half-werewolf.”

“Right, of course.” You sat forward, interested. Blowing over your tea, you took your first sip, the lightness of the jasmine dancing across your tongue.

“The biting itself hurts at first. If we were werewolves, my understanding is that it’s nearly painless since their bodies are prepared for it. Humans, not so much.” He rubbed at his mark absentmindedly. “So it will hurt, which I’m sure my son will feel awful about. The shoulder will be a little sore for maybe half an hour or so after, but he won’t even draw blood. And it heals very fast, too. Then you’ll be left with the mark. Werewolves who receive bites have something happen biologically in them with pheromones or something. Again, we don’t have that going on. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t be meaningful for you at all. That meaning will just manifest differently, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jung. That was really informative.” You took another drink of your tea.

“Of course. And you know that it’s not a one and done, right?” He warned.

You let out a half-chuckle. “I do know that, yes.”

“Again, I don’t know how much it’ll vary since Sungchan is half-human, but the bite will need to be refreshed more often than if you were both werewolves. My guess would be even more frequently than if he were a full werewolf, but that’s just purely speculation.”

“That would make sense. Thanks for the heads up.” You said, watching the metal of his wedding band glint as he lifted his mug to his mouth. “Can I ask… when did you take your wife’s bite?”

Mr. Jung sighed, a bittersweet sort of smile coming to his face. “It was before we were married. We’d been dating for some time at that point, a couple years. When we first got together, there were some… vocally unhappy members of her pack, but they did quiet down after a while. However, I think they hadn’t expected us to last so long, or that Jieun was just going through a phase or something. After a while they started pressuring Jieun to break up with me and date within her pack— or at least another werewolf. We’d discussed the bite once or twice before, and she thought that if I took it on, it would make everyone leave us alone; that we’d look like any other mated pair of werewolves. It ended up doing the opposite. It was way too far in the eyes of Jieun’s pack. I already knew at that point that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, so from there we eloped, settled down here, eventually had Sungchan a few years later.”

“And you all… have you spoken to her pack again since?”

“No. Unfortunately Sungchan has never been able to meet his family on that side. I suggested it to Jieun when she was pregnant, but she looked me in the eye and asked me if her pack reacted that way just to us being together, then could I imagine what sort of awful things they might think of our child? And would I want to put our baby through that just for some romanticized idea of family? I never brought it up again.”

“What about your family?”

There was no more bitterness in his smile anymore, just pure love and fondness. “They’ve been incredible. Never looked at Jieun or Sungchan as anything other than family. I know Sungchan would probably rather have the pack but—”

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“I know he doesn’t tell people he’s half-human. And really, it’s alright. I get it, being a human isn’t anything to brag about.” Mr. Jung sounded like he really had come to terms with that, that his son would rather not tell people about his dad, about where he came from. Which wasn’t even true.

“That’s not why he tells people he’s only a werewolf. He’s not ashamed of you, or of what he is, on either side. He loves you, a lot. He does that because if he tells people that he’s half-human half-werewolf up front, they take it as a free pass to ask him weird questions.”

The man’s face relaxed, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I never realized that. Thank you, Y/N.”

“And I mean, you didn’t need me to tell you that. Just look around you. It’s not like he’s exactly got wallpaper of spreadsheets and supply/demand graphs in here, right?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at that. “You’re right. It’s… comforting, though, to have outside confirmation.”

“I know, I get it.”

Mr. Jung gazed past you, out the window behind your head wistfully, taking another sip of his tea. “Growing up how he did… we—Jieun and I—were worried about him for a while, you know.”

“Worried how?”

“Well, that he’d spend so much time trying to protect himself from what our life was like, that he wouldn’t actually be looking for what he wanted.” Mr. Jung’s eyes focused back on yours then, and he smiled at you. “But as soon as he brought you home, we knew we could rest easy.”

“Because I’m human?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, lifting his mug to take another relaxed sip of his tea. “We would’ve loved you if you were human, werewolf, fairy, dragon, anything.”

“I’m sorry but… I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“When he was in high school… he and his mom used to get into fights. Teenager hormones, half-werewolf teenager hormones… it was a lot. I know the fact that he was the only half-werewolf at his school, and the only werewolf not in a pack, too, didn’t help either. A lot of it was Sungchan not understanding his mother’s choices, either about leaving her pack, or dating a human in the first place, or not going back to the pack, or whatever else he decided she’d done wrong that day. He’d pretty much always declare that he’d make the ‘better choice.’” Mr. Jung put air-quotes around the last two words. “You know, have a werewolf partner so that his family wouldn’t get harassed, join his future partner’s pack, things like that. Sungchan mellowed out a bit more after he started college, and they started properly getting along again once he moved out last year.”

That mostly lined up with what Jeno had told you about his conversation with Sungchan at the park, his previous policy to only date other werewolves. You frowned thoughtfully, taking a long, slow drink of tea.

“Seeing how Sungchan is with you… he’s not hiding from anything,” he finished fondly.

“I’m sorry I was so dismissive before, Mr. Jung,” you finally said, your voice quiet and contemplative. “When you were talking about Sungchan not telling people he’s half-human. I jumped in completely forgetting that you’ve known him for his whole life… and there could’ve been a lot more reasons why you would’ve thought he was ashamed to be human.”

“Hey, Y/N.” Mr. Jung put his tea down on the desk, perching on the front of his seat to gently place a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, really. For one, I know you meant well. And two, we know Sungchan very differently. Obviously, yes, I’ve known him his whole life, but you were lucky enough to meet him now, when he has some stuff already kind of figured out. And I’m very glad you did. Because trust me, you should not have met Sungchan in high school. I love my son, I’ve always loved him, but I definitely do not think that if you two had met in high school, you and I would be sharing a cup of tea right now.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, thinking not only of the high school version of Sungchan that had just been recollected to you by Mr. Jung, but also of yourself in high school, who honestly wasn’t any more put together. “Yeah… I don’t talk to any of my high school boyfriends anymore. Saw one of their moms at the grocery store last week actually, and she still recognized me, gave me a nasty look, and blocked the aisle with her shopping cart so I couldn’t get by her. I dated her son almost five years ago now, I think?”

The other human laughed, giving your arm a couple pats before taking his hand away and reclining back in his desk chair again. “Not to mention, if we both had known him his entire life, then I wouldn’t get to tell you any of the fun stories about him as a kid. Has he told you he was a mathlete?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Team captain junior and senior year. They were semi-finalists both years he was captain and even won the State series his senior year.”

“Did he have like a little dweebus uniform or something?”

“Polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, the whole nine.”

“Please tell me you have pictures.”

“Oh yeah, him and Shotaro.”

“Taro too?!”

[you: attached image]

[you: attached image]

[taro: HOW DID YOU GET THOSE?????????]

[taro: WHAT THE HELL I MADE SUNGCHAN PROMISE ME THOSE WOULD NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN]

[you: did you make Mr. Jung promise you though?]

[taro: does sungchan know that you’re getting blackmail material from your new bestie, HIS DAD??]

[you: what do you mean blackmail material?? personally, i think you look SO cute in those pictures in your little mathletes uniform]

[you: i didn’t even know sirens could need glasses and braces]

[you: wait does this mean you wear contacts??? i feel like it’s illegal to know this]

[taro: it is, now i have to kill you]

[you: ooooohh, wait till i tell sung]

[taro: not if i drown you first]

[you: you can’t kill me, i know where Mr. Jung keeps the mathletes photos]

[taro: damn it]

[you: and the ones from your first school dance]

[taro: DOES THIS MAN JUST HAVE A SHOEBOX LABELED “OSAKI SHOTARO BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” OR SOMETHING WHAT THE FUCK]

[you: no it’s labeled “jung sungchan blackmail material” actually but you just happen to be in a lot of the pictures too]

[taro: wait for real?]

[you: no, dumbass, he’s sungchan’s dad, of course he’s going to have a lot of old photos of his son and by extension, his son’s friends]

[taro: don’t get a guy’s hopes up like that, damn]

[taro: alright come on, let me see the bad pics you got of sungchan now]

[you: noooo, they’re not bad, they’re actually really cute 🥹🥹]

[you: attached images(+5)]

[you: like just LOOK at my little guy 🥹 he was so little and cute]

[taro: the FUCK are you talking about]

[taro: he’s clearly like 20cm taller than me and everyone else INCLUDING THE TEACHER SPONSOR]

[you: yeah, and he’s JUST a little guy, so little and cute]

[you: i wouldn’t expect you to get it, taro…………sigh]

[taro: attached image]

[taro: THIS IS YOUR MANS????]

[you: WELL WHEN YOU ZOOM IN ON ANYBODY’S FACE LIKE THAT OF COURSE IT’LL LOOK A BIT OFF]

[taro: the favoritism is so real right now]

[you: i’m so tired of your dramatic ass like what fucking “favoritism” 😭😭 of course i like sung better he’s my boyfriend]

[taro: and??]

[you: you’re not??? the fuck you mean “and??”]

[taro: and i think a good friend should be fair and impartial]

[you: i came here to name and shame you to your face, not to be fair and impartial i don’t know how you could’ve been under any other impression]

[taro: i’m so telling sungchan about this]

[you: don’t forget to leave in the part where i called him cute and you intentionally manipulated a picture of him to make him look worse]

[taro: i regret ever setting you two up]

[you: actually jeno and them did it first]

[taro: and i should’ve left you two crashed and burned and SINGLE where i found you]

[you: love you taro 🫶]

[taro: nice try demon that lives in my apartment and doesn’t pay rent 🫶🫶🫶]

[you: SUNGCHAN DOESN’T LET ME WHEN I TRY TO CHIP IN FOR HOW MUCH I’M OVER THERE I SWEAR]

[taro: i figured, which is why i don’t let him pay more than his half either]

[you: then why are you being mean to me about it 🥺]

[taro: do you feel bad enough that you’ll delete those mathlete photos off your phone now?]

[you: nice try demon that i’m never paying rent to 🫶🫶🫶]

Pushing open the door to the next shop on this street, you were pleasantly surprised by the calm, quaint atmosphere that you were greeted by. The bright red and gold pillars outside of the toy and watch shop had suggested otherwise, but inside of it were a few display cases filled with watches and other pieces of jewelry, while the other half of the shop had shelves upon shelves of toys. Every item in the store seemed handmade, and even to your untrained eye, you could tell that several had magical properties. A girl about your age was behind one of the watch and jewelry counters towards the front of the store, which also had the register on it. She was fiddling with an open watch, and you watched as she readjusted the light of the lamp above her with just a flick of her wrist—not touching a single button or switch on the device. All the jewelry and other accessories she was wearing already made you think she might’ve been a witch, but that just locked it in for you.

Some music played throughout the store, though you couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from, as there were no visible speakers on the ceiling or elsewhere. Briefly dragging your eyes over the display cases as you strolled up towards the employee, you spotted quite a few watches, of course, as well as necklaces, rings, earrings, and small trinkets. But nothing that quite stuck out to you as what you were looking for.

The witch perked up as you came to a stop in front of her, setting her tiny tools down on the small rag alongside the watch pieces. “Hi! Welcome in. Is there something I can help you with?”

“This is a magical kind of shop, right?” You asked curiously. Apothecaries usually stuck out as such, but having a witch and a couple things that glowed didn’t guarantee anything.

“Yep! This place is ran by my coven!” She told you proudly. “We make everything in here by hand in the back, fine tune the mechanics and the magic ourselves. Are you looking for any particular kind of magic thing?”

“Yes, well, sort of…” You trailed off sheepishly. “I’m kind of gift shopping right now.”

“What’s the occasion?”

After a split-second internal debate, you figured this witch had probably dealt with weirder, and you would definitely need her insight and experience when it came to the magical properties of all of the options in front of you.

“My boyfriend is giving me his mating bite in a few days, but I don’t want to show up empty-handed, you know?” You scratched at the back of your neck. “Like, it’s not an engagement-level thing for us, but it’s still big, and I want to be able to give him something too…”

She didn’t seem thrown off in the slightest, instead seeming to ponder this for a moment, tapping her chin, before her features lit up, and she slid over to the other end of the display case. You followed her down.

“Now, I’m guessing you already know about moonstone—” She explained, pulling out a small display of rings. “Helps their shifts.”

You nodded as you looked over the many rings inlaid with opalescent stones like the one on Jeno’s necklace. “Yeah. And, I mean, his aren’t that bad. Just sort of… disorienting and confusing. Though I hate how sickly he gets the day or so after.”

The witch gave you an intrigued look. “He’s… half-werewolf?”

Darting your eyes back up to her, you wondered which part of what you just said had given it away. The less intense shift? The ‘sickly’ bit?

“And half-human?” She took your silence as an apparent cue to finish her guess.

You slowly nodded.

Immediately, the rings were whisked away from under your nose. She was practically alight with excitement as she flitted over to a completely different display case, grabbing just one singular piece from there and bringing it back over to you. It was another ring, a thick silver band of one width, with no obvious gem settings or other such features.

“So, you wouldn’t really be worried about the shift itself, then. Or, at least not the pain part, which is really what the moonstone helps werewolves with. Easing the transition into and during the shift.” The employee rambled enthusiastically. “The symptoms that he really has a problem with are about getting back into balance after. Since he’s half-human, his body has to work a lot harder to return to homeostasis after an ordeal like a werewolf shift.”

“He’s said something about that before. Homeostasis.”

“Then what you really want is something like this—” She offered the ring out for you to take, depositing it onto your palm. You curiously looked it over closer. “Instead of moonstone, like most things designed for werewolves, this has concentrated moonflower essence in the chamber that makes up most of the band.”

You tilted the ring and could in fact see a small amount of mostly clear, but shimmery iridescent cobalt blue liquid shift around in the light. The container that held the liquid must have been incredibly thin to fit along the ring whilst adding negligible bulk.

Moonflower was of course familiar to you from Magical Botany Club. While the plant itself wasn’t magical, it had a slew of magical applications, and could be distilled down to a magical essence. Much like moonstone, which also wasn’t in and of itself magical, it had an effect on magical beings that were also tied to the moon, most notably, werewolves. Moonflower paste was a common ingredient in traditional werewolf medicine, and even in modern pharmaceuticals, many medications with different formulations for werewolves—or formulated to treat diseases that only werewolves got—often had ingredients derived from the moonflower. In addition to healing properties, the smell tended to have a calming effect on them as well, both in and out of their shifts (unlike moonstone, which exclusively aided their shifts).

You had a moonflower plant in your own apartment, which had been useless for any werewolf purposes as of late with Sungchan never coming over, but hopefully it wouldn’t be that way for long. It had been slightly altered so that it would be suited to growing indoors; moonflower was typically a vine, which was difficult to keep in a one-bedroom apartment with limited balcony space, so after a little bit of help from Jaemin, your moonflower grew as a cute little potted bush instead.

But there was still one more feature on the ring that hadn’t been explained to you. A single, silver, almost-circle on one side of the outside of the ring, entirely flush with the top of the container that held the moonflower essence. The outline of the rest of the circle was there, but it wasn’t quite filled in all the way, a small crescent of darkness keeping the silver from being whole.

“And this?” You gestured to the symbol.

“Tracks the lunar cycle. Waxing gibbous, we’re just a couple days away from the full moon. He probably instinctually knows what phase of the moon it is, but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra reminder.”

Turning the ring over in your hand again, you found yourself nodding and smiling. “Yeah. This is perfect.”

“And you said it’s happening in a few days? So after the full moon, right?”

“Oh, uhm, yes.”

“We could totally make another by then, if you wanted a matching set,” she offered.

“Really? So quick?”

“A lot of the initial process is the R&D,” the witch explained with a laugh. “But we already know how to make this one, it’ll be easy. Promise.”

You thought this over for a moment. After telling so many people that it wasn’t marriage or engagement, getting matching rings… But the whole point of exchanging mating bites in the first place was to match. Well, almost, since no two werewolves would have the same bite. To coordinate. To give each other your own version of the same thing. Your own version of the same thing.

“Do you think you could make it without the chamber with the moonflower essence, actually?” You asked. “Like, still with the lunar tracker. Just the main band and the little part that tracks the lunar cycle.”

She lit up. “Absolutely! Should be even quicker, actually. Probably have that done by the end of business tomorrow, morning after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! Say the word and I’ll start as soon as you leave.”

“Yes, please!”

Sungchan hadn’t let go of you once since you arrived at his apartment the evening that you were to be receiving his bite. Either with an arm around your waist, pressed up against your back, or holding your hand. Shotaro had already vacated the premises by the time you’d gotten there, a half-excuse of him staying at Jisung and Chenle’s place tonight being given by the werewolf when you asked.

The two of you ate dinner first. He wanted to feed you, making sure you had eaten and were hydrated before. You were finally taking your class on werewolves this looming fall semester, and had already bought and read ahead in the textbook for it. Specifically, you’d lost count of the amount of times that you’d read and re-read the sections on mating bites, mating bite rituals, and anything else that you could imagine would be relevant to your current predicament.

For mated werewolf couples in packs who were going through the actual ritual, the first step was to usually share a meal consisting of raw meat—fresh kill. Neither you nor Sungchan could or would actually eat that, so you just had a hearty serving of your favorite takeout orders.

Sungchan didn’t even let you sit in your own chair, having insistently pulled you into his lap right at their kitchen table, lifting bite after bite of food to your mouth, always sure to follow it up with your slowly draining glass of water. You were mindful of him, too, making sure he didn’t ignore his half-werewolf appetite in his concern over you.

“‘M full, Sung…” You murmured, gently covering his hand with yours to maneuver the food towards his mouth instead.

He frowned thoughtfully, not parting his lips even as you bumped the spoon against them, looking like a very serious toddler who wasn’t enjoying the game of airplane being played at the moment. “You sure?”

“Yeah, promise.” You nodded with a smile. “It was delicious, and I’m all done. You took good care of me, Sung. Can you let me finish taking care of you, now?”

Your boyfriend’s features softened at that, and he parted his mouth, letting you feed him the spoonful. He happily chewed and swallowed, looking especially blissed out as you gently scratched his scalp with your free hand. In between continuing to feed Sungchan, you finished off your water, and made sure he drank his as well.

Finally, he too declared that he was done eating. Curled up in your boyfriend’s embrace, with a full belly and a full heart, you could’ve almost thought that this was any normal night; nearly forgotten what was going to come next. Nearly.

Sungchan took you to his room next, which wasn’t really necessary, since you had the whole apartment to yourselves. He held you to him with an arm around your waist as he shut the door behind you two. You raised an eyebrow when you heard the door lock.

He buried his face in your neck, wrapping both arms around you now as he half-growled, “Smells like Shotaro out there…”

“Locking the door to keep the smells out…” You hummed in amusement, leaning your head on his shoulder and resting your weight back against him. You decided not to outright point out the flaw in logic there, nor the fact that the two of you could’ve also done this at your place, where there was no smells of Shotaro or anybody else, just you. But of course, you figured it needed to be here because it smelled like Sungchan. It had been so long since Sungchan had been to your home that you were doubtful even a full werewolf would be able to catch a trace of him.

He lifted his head and breathed in like he was about to say something, but you just pulled his arms tighter around you and reassured him, “It’s perfect, Sung. Our own little space. Just you and me.”

Dropping his cheek back down to your shoulder, Sungchan let out a long but shaky breath. Putting your hands over his, your slotted your fingers with your boyfriend’s.

“Sung? Baby? Everything okay?” You asked.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Hey, if you’re not ready for this, we can stop. If you don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

“No, I want to,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. He coughed, his voice softening again but sounding a little strained as he continued, “Really. I mean… I can’t believe I’m doing this with you. I seriously thought I’d royally fucked things up forever. Multiple times.”

“Well, you didn’t,” you told him strongly. “Now, can I go first?”

“You… go first?” He repeated, confusion coloring his voice so clearly. Apparently, he’d forgotten that you’d be doing more than just getting bitten tonight.

“Aw, I would love to, thanks, Sung,” you tittered jokingly, patting his cheek. “Close your eyes, please?”

He chuckled, and a beat later, announced, “Okay, they’re closed.”

You craned your neck just the slightest to be able to peer at him out of the corner of your vision, seeing that he was in fact squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Reaching into your pocket, you retrieved the small pouch that you’d picked up from the coven’s shop this morning. You shook out the two rings inside into your palm, and put yours on your left middle finger first, a simple silver band with the lunar indicator welded into it. It looked almost like a full moon, but you could see just the faintest strip of black showing that it was actually beginning to wane. Next, you gently put the other on Sungchan’s right ring finger, his with a faint shimmer of the moonflower essence.

Holding the side of his head to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you declared, “Done. You can open your eyes.”

He did so, immediately holding up his hand to inspect what you’d done to it. As he looked over the new jewelry, you explained, “It has moonflower essence, all around the band. And the moon design on it will actually change with the phases of the real moon.”

“Thank you, Y/N. It’s beautiful,” he picked up your left hand, bringing it up towards his face that was still hooked over your shoulder—presumably to kiss the back of it—but stopped short as he seemed to have noticed your new accessory as well. His fingers turned your silver band until he could get a good look at the lunar tracker that matched his.

“I got one too,” you added, skin turning warmer and starting to prickle the longer he went without saying anything. “It’s a lot prettier than those phone apps that track the lunar cycle, right?”

Then Sungchan was turning you around by the hips. He grabbed your face with two hands to kiss you, and you got on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly kissing him back. You could feel the cool band of his new ring pressing against your cheek, warming up with every passing second from yours and Sungchan’s bodies.

Breaking the kiss, he reached behind his neck for your left hand with his right, bringing them both down to rest over his chest. He pressed your palm against him firmly, and you could feel his heart beating under your touch.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he said quietly, earnestly, his voice cracking over your name. “So much… that it doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

“What do you mean, Sung?”

“Like, one person shouldn’t be able to have this much love in their body. Or at least, I shouldn’t.”

“What?” You let out a breathy chuckle. “That’s what so beautiful about love, there can only be more of it, it’s infinite. Of course you’re capable of so much love. How could you think anything else?”

“I used to never understand how my mom could choose to fall in love with a human. To doom her family—me—to our life. No safety or identity that comes with a pack. Even after I realized I had fallen for you, I-I was afraid I was so… messed up from thinking like that my whole life that I wasn’t going to be able to love you like you deserved. Like something might’ve been broken in me.”

“Sung…” You touched under his eye with your free hand, where a tear had fallen. “You’re not broken. You’ve never done anything but love me with your whole heart, I know that. You’ve been so good to me, always.”

“I know,” he nodded zealously, accompanied by a sniffle. “I know now, that I’m not broken. That I can have all this overflowing love in me, and it’s so awesome, but also kind of terrifying?”

You chuckled lightly at that. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I love you so much I get a little scared too, because I’ve never loved someone like I love you. And we haven’t even been properly dating for that long, so if I already love you this much, then how much more am I going to love you in six months? A year? Two? Five? Ten?”

He snapped his head up from where he’d been gazing down at your hands, eyes locking on yours. You smiled back at him weakly. The urge to stuff your words back in your mouth was there, but you knew you couldn’t. It was the truth, that you could picture yourself with Sungchan that far ahead in your life. For the rest of it, if you were going to be that honest, but you bit your tongue before you got there.

The two of you had unintentionally moved onto the next part of the werewolf mating ritual: moonlit confessionals. The light of the nearly full moon shone down on the two of you in front of one of his bedroom windows. Your textbook hadn’t been terribly explicit on the exact content of the words exchanged at this point, just that it was an opportunity for the couple to truly bare their souls to each other, make sure there was nothing hidden that would make the other not want to go through with the rest of the ritual.

“After my last relationship… ended like it did, I thought I might be a little broken, too,” you pushed on with your confession. “I was afraid that in my next relationship, I’d just see cheating everywhere. I was honestly a little relieved when our first date blew up, because I thought that if I dated someone again, I’d treat them like a criminal. But never once has it ever crossed my mind with you, never once have I ever doubted you, have I ever felt anything less than absolutely loved and adored.”

“I do, absolutely love and adore you,” he replied. “And I’m so glad you brought up the future, because I think about it, too. Like, all the time. When I imagine my life after college, or what my life is going to be like in five or ten years… I don’t know much, but I always imagine that you’re there. Like, I don’t know what I want to be, other than happy, with you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing him by the neck to yank his mouth down to yours. Pulling him with you towards the bed, you stopped when you felt your legs back up against it.

“Do it, Sung. Bite me,” you murmured against his lips.

He let out a low, throaty groan at your words, tipping his head back as he took a couple deep breaths. You pressed a few more open-mouth kisses to his Adam’s apple and collarbones. Sungchan made another sound that was between a sigh and a grunt.

“We should be sitting down for this,” he stated, though he made no move to follow through on his words.

You removed your lips from his skin to happily plop down into the center of his mattress. The front of you was a bit cold since you were no longer pressed up against him, though you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be for very long.

Sungchan sat down facing you, scooping you up into his arms. You easily settled into his lap, your legs finding familiar places on either side of his hips. Fondly brushing some hair off his forehead, you would’ve been rather content to just stare down at your Sung bathed in moonlight for the next several minutes, so handsome and all yours. But you had something you needed to do tonight.

Grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing—Sungchan’s, of course—you shucked it over your head and off onto the floor. That left you just in a tank top with nearly negligible straps. You could see your boyfriend’s eyes zero in on the bare expanse of skin from your shoulder to your neck that you’d just exposed, where his bite was supposed to go.

“I had my turn,” you said, slipping the thin strap off of the shoulder he was staring at, and tilting your head to open up as much space as possible, make it as clear of an invitation as possible. “Now it’s yours. Go on, baby. I trust you.”

Sungchan didn’t say anything more, but he did grab both of your hands by the wrist—his grip surprisingly gentle—to wrap your arms around his waist. You splayed your hands out over his lower back under his shirt, indulging yourself in his warmth, and smoothing a thumb over his skin. He then wrapped his around you to hold you even closer, if that was possible, and you watched him open his mouth, his white teeth catching the pale moonlight, glinting, and looking much sharper than normal— reminding you of how they looked during his shifts.

Then those teeth were biting you, sinking into your muscle.

Renjun had described what being bitten by a vampire was like to you, once. He had a bucket list for that sort of thing—magical encounters. He said it was a small pinch, barely more than the pressure of a needle, then it was all pleasure from thereafter. Vampire venom, of course, was meant to do that so that those they were biting felt so good so they wouldn’t resist while the vampire drank as much as they pleased from them.

Werewolves were predators in an entirely different sense, with the teeth to match. Theirs were meant to grab prey, hold them in their jaws no matter how much they struggled, and rip flesh from bone. As much damage as possible in one go, so that if said prey happened to escape, they wouldn’t be able to get very far with their injuries.

It was visceral pain, the moment Sungchan bit you. You couldn’t hear the noise that you made—only aware that you made one as you felt the gurgle of something in the back of your throat—through the white noise that exploded behind your eyes the instant his teeth hit bone. You were glad he’d directed you to put your arms around him just moments earlier, as your nails were now firmly embedded in the skin of his lower back—you were sure those would’ve been drawing your own blood in your palms if they hadn’t been there.

A memory suddenly flashed in your mind. You were seven, in your backyard with your dad, watching two squirrels chase each other across the grass. Then your neighbor’s dog came out of nowhere—maybe slipped his collar—and got one in his mouth. Your dad couldn’t get his hand over your eyes quick enough. You didn’t want to pet Mr. Lee’s dog when you saw him a couple days later, despite how well he sat, the adorable way his tongue lolled out from between his razor-sharp canines, and how fast his tail wagged.

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

You trusted him, of course, or you wouldn’t have asked him to do this. Not let him; but suggested, encouraged, requested, told him to. Your fingernails dug into his back even harder at the idea, as much to anchor yourself and provide an outlet as to hold him to you as well. Surely you had to be breaking skin at this point.

You had the urge to bite down on something too. It was a need that came from deep in your jaw. Like when people were given something to bite on for painful procedures in old medical dramas. Or maybe reciprocity.

This go around, you kept your teeth to yourself, though, sinking them into your bottom lip. That pain didn’t even register past the supernova radiating out from your shoulder.

Sungchan finally pulled his teeth out from your flesh, and the rest of your senses snapped back into focus. Your eyes fluttered open—when did you close them?—back to Sungchan’s bedroom, your fingers slowly unfurled from where they’d dug into his back, and you could hear him talking to you as he gently inspected the bite wound.

You brought your hands back around in front of you. Your eyes widened minutely as you realized that there was bright red under a couple of your fingernails. And it wasn’t yours. The beds of your nails were perfectly intact, meaning that you really had broken his skin.

“Oh God, Y/N, the blood. I’m so sorry.” Sungchan muttered under his breath, reaching for something on his nightstand.

For half a second, you thought he meant his, and you were about to apologize as you were still staring down at your hands mostly in awe. But then you actually saw his face for the first time as he turned back around, clutching a damp hand towel.

There was a red tint to his lips, and you realized that wasyour blood. Electricity jolted up your spine before the thought had even fully formed.

…he won’t even draw blood. So much for that, Mr. Jung.

His tongue darted out to instinctively investigate the wetness on his mouth, and a sudden thrill shuddered through you as you watched. You decided not to ask how it tasted to him, despite the question certainly popping into your mind.

You pressed a kiss to his cheekbone instead, so far back it was nearly in his hairline. “I’m okay, Sung. I’m okay.”

Without a word, he started gently cleaning up the bite wound, and you had half a mind to ask for another towel for his back, though you knew that would be futile until he got you situated. So, you sat patiently, keeping your head craned to the side to give him plenty of room, and watched his intent face as he worked.

“Sung?”

He sighed, a sound that let you know he was already beginning his mental descent through the seven circles of werewolf hell. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“Can I bite you next time?” You asked simply.

The towel stilled over your bite.

“You… next time… bite… me?” His eyes glassed over as his mouth stumbled to even form around the individual words.

“I know I won’t leave a mark like you but… so I can have something to do?” You used the hand of your unbitten shoulder to trace a line from his ear down his jugular, under his collar, to his shoulder, then back to his collarbone. You took your hand back as you went to joke, “Unless you’re expecting extravagant and meaningful gifts every time?”

“No, no. I mean yes! I mean—” Sungchan took a second to shake his head and blink, clearing his mind. “I don’t expect gifts every time. And yes, you can bite me next time. I didn’t think you would be up for a next time after I… well, after all this.”

He gestured vaguely to the wound that he’d gone back to tending to. A quick glance at it out of the corner of your eye showed you that it had already stopped bleeding and was starting to mend itself. At least Mr. Jung was right about that part.

Even through the acute worry over the unexpected severity of the bite, you could tell that Sungchan was already more clear-headed and overall relaxed, the constant nervous tension in his body gone, replaced just by a determined set of his shoulders, and momentary furrow of his brow as he cleaned up the bite. Brushing his hair off his forehead, you trailed your hand down to cup his cheek fondly. “Sungchan, this is the most yourself I’ve seen you in a long time. Yes, I’m going to keep your bite.”

Just the bright, tender smile on Sungchan’s face—the recognition of being loved and reflecting it back to you—would’ve been more than enough for you to do this again, whether or not it helped the scent anxiety. You could always work on another solution for that. But this you wouldn’t take away for the world.

He set the towel aside again, and you grabbed his hands now that they were free, messing with the brand-new ring adorning one of his fingers.

“Besides, even if I can’t leave a mark like yours next time, I can still mark you up,” you mused quietly, almost as if it were to yourself, except for the fact that you had a werewolf practically chest-to-chest with you. And you knew very well that you did. “They just won’t last as long.”

“Why wait until next time?” He suggested, and you heard the long inhale he took after. You wondered if you smelled any different to him already, or if he just needed to breathe.

You looked up from your hands to him with a smirk. “I like the way you think.”

Sungchan captured your lips in a kiss that tasted of hunger, and love, and metal— your blood was still around his mouth. And you smiled into it before doing as promised and dropping your mouth to the column of his throat, well above his collar, and letting your teeth graze his skin. You could feel his gasp rush in under your lips as his hands pulled your hips firmly down against his.

You decided that Jeno could be a ‘puppy’ all he wanted. You had a wolf, and you were more than happy with that.

“I think I made it out more marked up than you, you know,” Sungchan called out to you from the bathroom the next morning.

“Really?” You replied just as loudly, amusement in your tone as you stretched leisurely in his sheets.

“Shotaro’s going to be concerned for my wellbeing at this rate.”

Sitting up and scooting towards the corner of his bed closest to the mirror, you checked out your own reflection as you imagined he was currently doing, your fingers trailing over the dark bite mark now set into your skin. There was no scab or blood, just the faintest ring of raised skin and distinct outline of teeth. Rolling out your shoulder, you winced as a dull pain radiated out from the bite. Dropping the arm back down, you continued staring at the mark, a certain giddiness fluttering around in your stomach. You’d have this for… who knows how long. The rest of your life, maybe.

Clearing your throat and your mind, you responded to Sungchan with a disbelieving snort, “No he’s not.”

“No, he’s not,” he agreed with a sigh as he walked back into his bedroom just in a pair of sweatpants. Which let you get a great view of the countless blue and purple hickies, love bites, long red scratches, and faded remains of crescent-shaped nail marks that littered his neck, chest, shoulders, and back. You bit down on your bottom lip, a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment welling up in your chest. Sungchan fixed you with a shit-eating grin, putting his hands on his hips. “But my parents will be when we go over for dinner next week.”

“We’re going over for dinner next week?!” You yelped, covering your mouth in horror, panic, and mortification. A lot of the worst of those bruises were well above the collar of all of his shirts. “Why did you let me—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off with a chuckle, lumbering over towards the bed to flop down beside you on the mattress.

You smacked his arm as you hissed, “I’m going to kill you, Jung Sungchan! Don’t do that to me!”

“Ouch, full name.” He pouted.

“God, I was about to preemptively die of embarrassment!”

“So it’ll be fine for them to see that,” he pointed to your shoulder, “but not these?” He gestured from his own neck down.

“Different situational and cultural contexts!”

He nodded slowly, “Oh, right, of course...”

“You’re half-human, Sungchan, don’t pull that ‘I’m-just-a-simple-werewolf’ act on me!”

“I upset you. I’m sorry,” he apologized, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it.

“You better be, Sungchan.”

“I am, baby, I am.” He gave your hand a half dozen more fervent, rapid-fire smooches. “Now are you done calling me that?”

“What? Your name?” You scoffed.

“You know what I mean, baby...”

“So we don’t have dinner with your parents next week?”

“Nope. Two weeks.”

You shook your head and sighed. “And so you live to see another day, Sung.”

“I’m half-werewolf, I would’ve been all healed up by next week, you know,” he pointed out, sitting up behind you and pressing a couple lingering kisses to your shoulder with your new mating bite.

“I know, I know.”

He continued trailing sweet kisses up your neck and jaw. “Which means I’ll also be all healed in two weeks if you were to give me some more…”

“I don’t know, you just played a very mean trick on me, Sung,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest as if you were genuinely deliberating not giving in and absolutely devouring this man right now.

“I know,” he murmured between kisses, gently holding your chin with one hand to turn your head back towards him. “I’m the worst.”

“You are,” you breathed out against his lips.

“So now that we agree on that…”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You jabbed the crosswalk button repeatedly.

“It’s going to be fine, Y/N,” Sungchan reassured you, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ve already met your parents before and it was fine.”

“Yeah, once, for like two minutes, as my friend.” You pointed out, banging the button with the side of your fist when it still hadn’t changed.

You were of course talking about a random Sunday afternoon way back in the spring semester, before you and Sungchan had started dating. He had come over that day to help you put together your new coffee table that you’d finally gotten around to buying. Except, upon starting the assembling, the two of you had realized that neither of you had one of the tools required for it. Thankfully, your dad did, and offered to bring it by since he and your mom were about to head out to run errands anyway. Cue some very brief, very awkward introductions between your parents and Sungchan when they’d brought the promised tool. You weren’t counting, but you would’ve bet money that you had called him your friend at least ten times during that less-than-five-minute conversation, with so much stress and nervous emphasis on the word that you wouldn’t have been surprised if your parents had left your apartment that day already thinking that the two of you were dating.

But now you were actually supposed to be introducing him to them as your boyfriend, and you felt like you were going to throw up and pass out and die before you even got there.

Sungchan wordlessly let go of your hand to smoothly step between you and the crosswalk button, picking up your other hand to hold.

“Come on, you said it yourself that they were impressed with me after that two-minute conversation,” he reminded you. “Imagine how great of an impression I’ll leave after two hours.”

“All I said was that my dad told me later that he was surprised that you were a werewolf because you were so calm,” you corrected him. “He’s used to all my friends from high school who had the bouncing-off-the-fucking-walls energy like Jeno.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Which, by the way, I’ve already told them that you’re not in a pack or anything like that, but pretty much all they know about werewolves is from my classmates and friends from when I was in high school. So… apologies in advance for any assumptions or comparisons they make.”

“Right, the two packs you went to school with.”

“Yeah, them. I told them you’re not in a pack, and don’t have any of that going on. It actually made my mom relax a lot more. I think all that stuff kind of scares her.”

“What? Afraid that I’d whisk you away with my big werewolf muscles to my werewolf pack and she’d never hear from her poor little human daughter ever again?”

You burst out into an incredulous laugh. “You have got to stop talking about yourself like that or I’m seriously going to hurt your feelings one of these days, baby.”

“By saying what? It’s not like I’m lying?”

“Your ego is as stupid big as your stupid big werewolf muscles.”

“Ha!” He cheered out victoriously. “So you admit it.”

“Wasn’t falling in love supposed to rot your brain? Make you more docile or whatever? I think it’s just made you even worse…” You tutted, shaking your head.

“How could I not be on an ego trip? I mean, have you seen my girlfriend?” He retorted. “She’s crazy beautiful, and smart, and funny, and so sweet. I’d be jealous of me if I wasn’t me.”

You rolled your eyes, but squeezed his hand tighter. “Alright, you sap. Maybe the ego trip is warranted. But seriously, don’t talk about yourself like that in front of my parents or I’ll die of secondhand embarrassment. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

So far lunch was going okay. Your mom had invited the two of you over for a late Sunday lunch, which always meant sandwiches and lemonade in your house. And it was going okay, aside from the initial reaction you’d gotten when they’d opened the front door. You could still hear your mother’s shocked gasp and ‘Oh my God…’ muttered under her breath as her eyes were glued onto your neck. More specifically, you knew she was staring at your new mating bite. Or, the half of it that she could see— you weren’t exactly hiding it, so you’d picked your t-shirt today only for comfort in the lingering end-of-August-cusp-of-September heat. It was just over three weeks since Sungchan had given you his bite, a couple days shy of the upcoming full moon, and yeah maybe you should visit your parents more often. But in your defense, you’d been a bit busy between getting the bite in the first place, and the new semester starting.

Your father didn’t have much better of a reaction than your mother, eyes going wide behind his thick, frameless lenses before his jaw clenched. There was still a certain tension in his muscles that jumped every time he saw Sungchan touch you, whether it was a brush of arms, holding your hand, or an innocent squeeze of your knee as he stood up to head to the bathroom that he’d just been gestured towards.

Picking your glass of lemonade back up after Sungchan had left the room, you took only a sip before your mom was reaching across the table to gently take your hand in hers.

“Hey, sweetie…” She said softly but with a certain worried tenseness in her tone that made your stomach drop.

You tried to mimic the front she was putting up, smiling back at her brightly and innocently, “Hey, Mom?”

“Listen... We are so happy for you, and we love Sungchan, we really do.”

“Okay, then why does it feel like this is about to go somewhere that I’m not going to like?”

“Don’t you think that the two of you might just be moving a little fast?”

Entirely dropping all sunny pretenses, you narrowed your eyes at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“The-the bite,” she explained with a wince, pointing to her own shoulder.

“That’s sort of like marriage for them, right?” Your dad cut in gruffly.

Despite it being phrased like a question, his tone made it sound much more like an accusation, like he already knew he was right and was just letting you know that he knew the truth—or at least what he thought the truth was. It reminded you of when you’d get in trouble as a kid and he’d ask you if you knew how the vase in the living room got broken despite very much already having a good idea himself. Giving you the opportunity to fess up before he punished you even more severely for the initial bad deed and then lying about it on top of that. But you hadn’t done anything wrong this time.

“Sort of, not really, it depends. In some packs, I guess. But Sung’s not in a pack, you know that,” you reminded them firmly, straightening up in your seat.

Your mom jumped back in, “Right, but still, don’t you think he kind of rushed you into—”

“It was my idea,” you cut her off before she could even finish articulating that thought. You knew you’d get all the way pissed off if she did. It was already taking a lot to dampen your anger now and keep this at a civil conversation. It’s just because they didn’t understand. You had to keep telling yourself that, and do your best to explain, calmly, and make them understand. Not everybody had three years of Sociology and Magical Creatures Studies under their belt like you. Your mom had been a stay-at-home mom all your life, and your dad was just a few years away from retirement, having worked in a human-dominated field for his whole career. An architect.

Those same sharp eyes that would pore over building designs late at night in his home office while you sat in his lap and did your own colorful sketches in crayon—and eventually fell asleep in his arms—were now regarding you with a clear distrust. “Darling, really, it—”

“Look, when we first started dating, Sung was having a really hard time with scent anxiety,” you once again spoke over him authoritatively. “All the usual scenting stuff, it wasn’t working. He was really stressed, and anxious, and just… worried sick all the time about me like spontaneously combusting or something if we were apart for even a second. Me taking his bite was the best solution. And now, the beginning of the semester has gone off without a hitch. Classes, my Magical Botany Club, his astronomy club, his senior thesis meetings, my research mentorship project... I don’t know if we would’ve been able to do all of this apart, clear-headed like… literally a month ago. And yes, I brought it up to him. I’m fine, I promise. This is what I want, he’s what I want.”

The two of them exchanged perturbed, skeptical glances, before your mom nodded, and your father let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, sweetheart. Like we said, we like Sungchan. We just don’t want you two doing anything that you might regret. Either of you.”

“I know, Dad. But we’ve got this. Seriously, it’s… really good with him,” you promised him, a giddy smile coming to your features with your last words.

“We’re happy to hear that, sweetie,” your mom patted your hand.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I don’t want to know anything else about how it happens, but— Does it hurt? Like, right now, does it hurt you?”

“Oh, no, Mom, it’s not painful to the touch or sore or anything,” you reassured her, carefully skirting around the how and instead focusing on the now, pressing on the bite mark to demonstrate that it wasn’t tender like a bruise.

“Good, good, I’m glad.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed down the hall to you, and you turned around to smile at Sungchan over your shoulder as he started back towards you all.

“Well, I think it’s time for the tart I’ve got in the fridge, huh?” Your mom beamed at everyone, standing up from the kitchen table.

“That could’ve gone worse,” you declared as soon as your parents’ front door shut behind the two of you, leaving you and Sungchan on the sidewalk. There wasn’t much in the way of leftovers aside from the berry tart, which your mom sent you off with so that your father wouldn’t eat it all.

“You think so?” Sungchan asked warily. “Because I uh… I did hear what you all were talking about when I was in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I thought you might’ve.” You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry about all that, Sung. I think they get it now. And really, it was my fault for not at least giving them a heads-up about the bite, it didn’t even cross my mind. We just caught them off-guard.”

Sungchan suddenly stopped the two of you on the empty sidewalk. He cupped your cheek in his hand, running a thumb over your cheekbone, then down your jaw, the side of your neck, until he stopped right over where you knew the mating bite was. His thumb once again stroked over your skin, tracing the shape of the bite and pushing aside your collar when needed.

“Hearing you say that this is what you want, I’m what you want… made me really happy,” he declared simply, eyes still locked on the mark.

“It’s true,” you replied.

A bright, giddy smile spread across his face. “I know. And I knew it as soon as I heard you say it, too.”

You grinned back up at him. “That makes me really happy to hear, Sung. I always want you to know how much I love you.”

He leaned in nearer, and you closed your eyes anticipating a kiss, but instead he just dropped a fond peck to your nose before standing up straight. “I think it’s starting to finally uh, get through my thick skull.”

“Finally,” you echoed with a giggle. “Alright, your place?”

“I actually wanted to ask… Can we go to your place tonight?”

“Finally going to give poor Taro some peace?”

“That, yeah. But I wasn’t even thinking about him to be honest. I just… I want to.”

“Okay, Sung. Come on.” You tugged him down the street in the direction of your apartment.

Sungchan had been to your place on several occasions as your friend and your boyfriend, and yet you were drawing a blank for exactly the last time he had been there. Maybe your third date? Or, technically your fourth date, but you and Sungchan had unanimously agreed to not count that first awkward blind date that the guys set you up on as your official first date. Regardless, it’d been… a while since he’d been over. You kicked your shoes off by the door and didn’t bother to turn the lights on as you deposited the leftover tart in the fridge before beginning your nightly plant-tending. There were a few that needed to be misted still, then you could fully relax. You did the majority of your plant care-taking duties during the actual day, there was just the odd handful that needed a couple good spritzes.

Sungchan watched you patiently as you did so just in the moonlight coming in through the sheers you had over a window. Then, once the spray bottle was put back down, you led the way into your bedroom with maybe a little bit of a skip in your step. While you weren’t a werewolf, you were understanding how nice it felt to have your person in a space that you felt safe and warm and good in again. Like everything was going to be okay forever, maybe.

“You want to wear one of my hoodies?” You joked, rifling through your drawers for some pajamas for yourself.

“You have anything that’d fit?” Sungchan perked up from where he was laying on your bed to ask. He’d already located his few pieces of clothing still stored away here, meanwhile you were struggling as it turns out you very much needed to do a laundry day.

“Try that.” You tossed one at him before turning back around to the dresser. After a few moments, you hadn’t heard anything from behind you, though. “Sung? Love? Everything okay back there?” You looked over your shoulder to find a very cozy-looking werewolf in your extra, extra large hoodie—which just fit him regularly. But it was the eyes-closed, soft, happy smile on his face as he had the hood up around his head, his hair strewn about messily, and he held the ends of the sleeves up to his nose that made you stop in your tracks to just take him in.

His eyes snapped open, and he dropped his hands almost sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, all good. It fits. Thanks, baby.”

“Of course.” You nodded, feeling a fond smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

You quickly got into your own pajamas for the night and climbed into bed as well. As you reached over to turn off your lamp, Sungchan stopped your hand.

“Are you going to sleep right now?” He asked.

“Well, no,” you said, an eyebrow raised as you watched his eyes flick between your hand and your neck.

“Can we leave the lights on for just a little longer? You can turn them off as soon as you need to sleep. I just… So I can see it?” He let go of your hand and instead graced a finger over your bite mark.

You dropped your hand, nodding. “Sure, Sung.”

He smiled brightly at you. “Thank you.”

With the added light, you decided to do some reading, and Sungchan kept busy alternating between his phone, and folding and unfolding the same origami heart on your bedside table next to him. But you could feel him look over at you every so often, and you knew he was getting used to the still-new image of you with his mating bite. As you came to the close of a chapter, you tucked your bookmark—the film strip of you two from Valentine’s Day at the boba shop—back in and set the book aside.

“Sung?”

“Mm?”

Now that you’d gotten his attention, you wordlessly opened your arms, and he immediately launched himself into them. You let out a punched-out giggle as you suddenly had an arm- and lapful of werewolf. He settled in with his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, his lips right against your bite again, his arms wrapped around your waist, and one of his legs slung over you, caging you in. You rested your cheek on the crown of his head, threading the fingers of one hand in his hair as you rubbed your other hand up and down his back. The metal of your lunar ring glinted from among his soft brown locks. Waning crescent.

“Can I turn the light off now, love? I don’t think you can see it from this angle, right?” You requested humorously.

“Hm?” Sungchan made a low, slow, questioning noise in the back of his throat, and you knew he hadn’t even processed your ask.

“Light. Off?”

“Mm, yeah, mkay.”

You could feel him nod against you.

Reaching over towards your lamp was a bit difficult, but you were finally able to stretch your fingers enough to turn it off, plunging your room into darkness. Shifting to relax a bit lower into your pillows, you returned your hand to your boyfriend’s back.

“You’re cuddly tonight,” you commented. Cuddly, not clingy like before the bite. You didn’t feel guilty for reading earlier, he’d been content to do his own thing in the meantime, and you’d been the one to initiate the cuddling now. He’d just been very enthusiastic.

“Don’t you know, Miss MCS Major?”

“How long have we known each other, and you don’t know my major?”

“‘Miss Interdisciplinary Major with a concentration in Magical Creatures Studies’ is a bit long, don’t you think?”

“It’s correct.”

“Miss MCS Student?”

“That’s… acceptable.”

“Anyway, don’t you know about werewolf mating bites, Miss MCS Student?”

“Only whatever was covered in my Intro course, the sociocultural importance of them in packs. We haven’t covered that in my class on werewolves yet. And unfortunately, Dr. Kwon’s Interspecies Marriage class didn’t fit in my schedule last year.”

“Scent swapping. After a werewolf couple exchanges bites, they swap scents until they eventually just have one new one.”

“Ah, so it’s my turn to scent you.”

“Something like that.” Sungchan shrugged. “I know that’s the scientific explanation, like, the magianthropological one or whatever. But really… I just know that being here right now feels right. Like I was never meant to do anything else. Like I could go to class, or go hang out with friends, or something. But after, this is where I’m supposed to be. With you.”

“Home.” You replied simply. “You feel like home.”

“Yeah. You’re my home.”

Unable to come up with anything to say near intelligible, you pressed a long kiss to the top of his head before nuzzling your cheek back into his hair. His arms tightened around you minutely, holding you just that much closer to him.

“And you can’t just start calling me ‘love’ and expect me to just do nothing,” he added teasingly.

“Sung.”

“Yeah?”

The darkness made it so that you couldn’t see Sungchan as the two of you laid together, but every place that you touched felt much more alive, so much more real, connected. “I love you.”

He grabbed one of your hands, just to hold it. You let him.

“I love you, too.” His words didn’t hang in the air, they laid over you like a warm blanket, wound and weaved through your mind like your favorite song, and wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You stayed silent as you basked in them, letting out a soft, content hum as you cradled his head closer to your chest.

“I think I really understand her now,” Sungchan spoke up after some time.

You were used to his non-sequiturs by now. “Who?”

“My mom… Who you love isn’t always a choice, but where you go from there is. The choices you make with that love is up to you.” His hand tightened around yours.

“I can’t wait to be there to make more choices with you, Sung,” you murmured, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Entering Half Moon Bakery with a skip in your step, Sungchan stopped you just past the front door. The two of you had been out and about running various errands all day, and had finally popped into your friends’ workplace for a little breather.

“I’ll be right back.” Sungchan pecked your forehead.

“I’ll go order.” You nodded, watching him disappear around the corner that led to the restrooms.

As you walked up to the counter, you offered the familiar wolf behind the counter a big smile. “Hey Jeno!”

“Hey, Y/N!” He grinned back. “So what can I get—”

He was cut off by a clanging from the kitchens behind him that made you jump out of your skin. The werewolf whipped around, concern etched on his features. He looked to you apologetically, “Sorry, I need to—”

“Go check on her,” you agreed, not liking the distinct lack of cursing that had accompanied the raucous noise. “I wanted to pick something new today anyway, so I’ll need some time.”

“Thanks, be right back!” And with that, he darted into the back.

You did in fact meander over to the display case of pastries, bending at the waist to peer at your options. Humming along to the song playing over the speakers, when you heard footsteps coming up behind you, you figured that it was Sungchan.

“Back so soon, love?” You asked with humor in your voice, standing up straight and turning around. All warmth that was in your chest froze and turned to dread when you saw who was actually behind you.

“Y/N. Been a while since you called me that.” You hadn’t seen your ex in over a year. Not since a week after you’d found out he’d been cheating on you throughout the entirety of your short-lived relationship, when he’d come to pick up what few things he had at your place. But somehow he was at your friends’ bakery now.

“I never did.” You reminded him through gritted teeth. “And clearly I didn’t mean to now.”

Pivoting back around, you crossed your arms and stared straight ahead at the menu board behind the counter.

“Back to your old type, huh?” He was peeling back the collar of your blouse to reveal all of your mating bite.

You snapped around, slapping his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Humans weren’t good enough, so you’re back on the werewolf dick, of course.”

You couldn’t stand to be in here for another second with him sneering at you like this. He wasn’t worth it. You could leave, go around the corner and text Sungchan and tell him where you are and what happened. The two of you could just go somewhere else for the afternoon.

“I’m not going to justify myself to someone like you, so if you’ll excuse me—” You tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

He seized your wrist. “Y/N, come on—”

“Let go of her.” Jeno had appeared at your side, stepping in between you and pulling your ex’s hand off of you.

“Oh, Jeno,” you breathed his name out as a sigh of relief, almost absent-mindedly, as you withdrew your hand back to your chest.

The human was unfazed, though, a sick delight lighting up his eyes as he looked Jeno up and down. “You must be the lucky dogboy. I should tell you, for your sake, she has a type, if you know what I mean. Dated two werewolves before me, and she broke up with me because I just couldn’t satisfy her like she was used to.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed.

“She broke up with you because you’re a cheating scumbag, actually.” Sungchan was back from the bathrooms, and strode up behind your ex, a deep frown already etched onto his features.

“That’s the lucky wolf whose girlfriend you just manhandled.” Jeno pointed up at him.

Sungchan clearly hadn’t witnessed anything, as his eyebrows raised minutely at the word ‘manhandled’ before his frown became a hard glare and he pushed your ex back against the wall by the shoulder. “If you grab her again, you lose the hand and the arm it’s attached to.”

The human looked around Sungchan at you with wide eyes. You nodded firmly in agreement with what your boyfriend had just said. Sounded plenty reasonable to you.

“Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back, we don’t want scumbags for customers,” Jeno growled, folding his arms over his chest.

The human had to wrench his shoulder out from Sungchan’s grip, giving the lot of you a final glare before storming out of the bakery. When you could finally no longer see him, you let out a shaky breath, and Sungchan immediately came over to wrap his arms around you. There was a vein protruding on his forehead that you weren’t used to seeing, and his jaw was still clenched tightly.

“Thanks, Sung.” You pressed yourself into his side, all too happy to be back in his familiar warmth. You weren’t going to forget about your friend that had come to your aid first, though. “You too, Jeno.”

“Yeah, thank you, Jeno.” Sungchan clapped the other werewolf on the back sincerely. “On one hand I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Y/N, but on the other… I’m kind of glad I wasn’t because—”

“You might’ve actually broken his hand if you had been. I know, I know.” Jeno interrupted him humorously, despite how not humorous that outcome would’ve been. Satisfactory in the moment, yes, but ultimately not worth the criminal charges he could’ve pressed against Sungchan. “Try some werewolf meditation apps.”

“They have those?”

“You’ve never had to look into those before. Ha! Mr. Zen Werewolf taking advice on werewolf meditation apps from me! Oh, hold on, she’s going to get a kick out of this one, I’ve got to go tell her.” Jeno pointed to the kitchen over his shoulder with a thumb, turning around and pushing a door open, laughing the whole way back.

As Jeno relayed this hilarious revelation to his girlfriend, Sungchan led you over to a small loveseat in the corner of the bakery, settling the two of you down on it. Judging by the dual cackling laughter now coming from the kitchens, it was going to be a while before you’d be able to get your pastries.

“I know I can’t prevent everything bad ever from happening, but…” Sungchan laced his right hand with your left and rubbed slow circles into your skin with his thumb. “I hope you’ll always let me be there with you after.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, gazing at your lunar rings displaying matching half moons. “Always, Sung. We made a deal, remember?”

“Of course,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

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