#get a load of this Noodle

[yappacadaver]

And through it all I just want a snackie

[transgender-catboy]

ugh, I need to buy meat at some point. most of what I'm cooking is meatless and the repeating textures are gonna kill me

[citrusitonit]

sending my little sister out with my wallet to buy us food and drinks im so sorry little one but ur manang is litrally boutta DIE

[skullmoss]

i am kind of sad that mass effect multiplayer is not a part of legendary edition.

i did have a lot of fun with it, even if it was a sign of the times and the fuckery EA was going to repeatedly pull

[edenarchives]

♯┆𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A joke profile on a sugar daddy site turns serious when @TimeIsMoney starts paying—and praising—you. What begins as harmless fun spirals into obsession after one night in his hotel suite leaves you aching, ruined, and wanting more.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: daddy kink, age gap, sugar baby stuff, praise, rough sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, money kink, dirty talk, power dynamics, he’s obsessed, reader gets absolutely ruined, aftercare, light choking, finger fucking, reader gets called good girl a lot

𝐖𝐂: 4,000

PART 2

It starts as a joke.

Wine bottles rattle as Nobara kicks the recycling bin closed with the heel of her foot, the sound of glass clinking against cheap plastic barely audible over the laughter echoing through your tiny, overstuffed apartment. Maki flops onto the couch beside you, stretching out like a cat, her legs hooked over the armrest and one arm draped across her eyes. The air smells like takeout and wine, sweet and familiar, the kind of scent that clings to memories. Finals are looming like storm clouds, rent is due in a week, and the textbooks on the kitchen table are collecting more dust than notes. The weight of it all sits heavy in the background, but for now, there’s laughter—loud and warm and so completely alive it makes you forget that you’re broke. That you’re stressed. That everything feels impossible sometimes.

“I’m telling you,” Nobara says as she refills her glass, the wine sloshing close to the rim. “Sugar daddies are the answer. Tuition? Handled. Rent? Done. Textbooks? Bought by some old man who just wants to stare at your feet and be told he’s a good little pay pig.”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing as you wave her off. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

But Maki’s already pulling your laptop closer, pushing aside the half-eaten box of noodles and flicking the screen to wake it. “Come on, let’s just look. You never know.”

The three of you huddle close as the website loads, the layout exactly as tacky as you’d expect. It takes ten minutes to craft a profile that’s both over-the-top and strangely believable. You use a slightly sultry selfie from last month—nothing too scandalous, just a little cleavage and a coy smile. The bio is ridiculous: College student. Lit major. Broke but charming. Let’s make a deal. You don’t use your real name. The username you pick @YourSweetestSin is half a joke, half something that makes you snort. By the time the profile is live, you’re all laughing so hard your stomach hurts. It’s stupid. It’s harmless. You never intend to take it seriously.

But you don’t delete the profile either. Not that night. Not the next day.

The first message comes two days later while you’re curled in bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, half-focused on an essay you’re bullshitting at the last possible second. The ping startles you, the notification bouncing in the corner of your screen.

@TimeIsMoney: Hello.

That’s it. No gross pickup line. No emojis. No sleazy GIFs. Just a greeting. Curious, you click the profile, expecting a troll or someone who looks like he just escaped from a retirement home. But there’s no picture. Just a clean profile with a short bio: Professional. Discreet. Generous. It makes you snort. “Sure,” you mutter under your breath. But you reply anyway. For the bit. For the laugh. You can’t wait to show the girls.

Except it doesn’t end there. He writes back. You respond. The next message comes within the hour. Then another. And another. Each one short, to the point, polite in a way that disarms you. He asks how your classes are going. What books you’re reading. He doesn’t flirt. He compliments you, but not in a way that makes your skin crawl. It’s strange. It’s addictive. You start checking the app more often. You start replying faster. There’s something comforting about the consistency of it, about the way he always answers. Predictable. Reliable. And that’s something you didn’t realize you were craving until now.

Then, on the fifth night

I want to see you.

The message appears while you’re lying on your stomach, feet kicking behind you, chin resting in your palm. You read it three times. Your heart skips a beat, your stomach flips, and your first instinct is to laugh. This is the part where you bail, right? Where you screenshot it and send it to Nobara with a “can you believe this guy?” But instead, you’re walking to the mirror, pulling your hair over one shoulder, angling your phone just right. You pick your best push-up bra—the black one that hugs you perfectly—and snap a photo. You send it. Doll eyes. Slight pout. Your lips parting like you’ve done this a thousand times.

The response is immediate.

Good girl.

Then, a second later, another notification.

You’ve received $500.

You sit up. Blink. Refresh the app. But it’s there. Sitting in your account, waiting to be transferred. Your jaw drops. Then you scream. Then you laugh. Hard. You’re breathless. You don’t tell Nobara or Maki. Not this time.

From that moment on, it’s a blur. More messages. More requests. Nothing below the waist, not yet. Just photos. A little more skin each time. He never demands. He always asks. And he always pays.

Take off your bra. $500.

Show me your nipples. $700.

Each time, the money lands in your account within seconds. And each time, you find yourself a little wetter. A little more flushed. A little more eager to read the next message. You don’t just do it for the money anymore. You do it because his praise makes your stomach flutter. Because you feel seen. Desired. Wanted. Powerful.

Then comes the night he asks to call you. Your hands tremble as you answer. His voice is everything you didn’t expect. Calm. Smooth. Deep enough to settle in your bones and echo. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t tease. He tells you exactly what he wants. Exactly how he wants to hear you fall apart. You’re already naked when the call starts. The toy he told you to buy is buzzing between your thighs before he even finishes the first sentence. His voice doesn’t falter. He talks you through it like he’s done it a hundred times. You come so hard you see white. He pays you $1,000.

You don’t bother pretending anymore. You wait for his messages. You ache when he disappears for too long. You’re careful not to get too attached, but it’s hard not to wonder. Not to imagine what he looks like. How he might taste. How it would feel to have those hands on your skin instead of just your imagination. So when the next message comes, you already know how you’ll answer.

I want you meet you

When and where?

The hotel he books is far nicer than anywhere you’ve ever been. Just stepping into the lobby makes you feel like an imposter. Crystal chandeliers, velvet furniture, a floral arrangement so big it probably has its own budget. Your heels click across the marble as you walk toward the elevators, your trench coat clutched tight around your body, hiding the lace beneath. You keep your head down. Pretend you belong. The nerves bubbling in your stomach are loud enough, sharp enough to echo.

He said he’d meet you in the room. Top floor. Private. You know the number by heart. You’ve read it over and over again on the message thread. Your fingers hover over the keypad outside the suite door. You press it before you can talk yourself out of it.

The door swings open almost immediately. And there he is.

Nanami Kento.

He doesn’t look how you pictured. He’s younger. Broader. Tall enough that you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Blonde hair, glasses, expensive-looking suit. He smells like cedar and something clean and expensive. His jaw is sharp. His expression unreadable. But his eyes, they roam your body like he knows exactly what’s under your coat.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You move past him into the room. The suite is massive. Soft lighting, a king-sized bed with crisp white sheets, a view of the city skyline that stretches beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You hear the door close behind you. The lock clicks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says.

Your voice barely works. “I wasn’t sure either.”

“Are you nervous?”

You nod.

“Good.” He steps closer. “It means this matters.”

Then he touches you.

It’s not a grab. Not even a full reach. Just the brush of his fingers down your arm, slow and steady, his touch so light it makes your skin prickle. He looks at you like he’s reading you, analyzing every twitch, every flutter of your lashes. His fingers find the belt of your coat. He doesn’t tug. He doesn’t ask. He just looks at you.

You nod.

He undoes the knot slowly, methodically, like he’s unwrapping a gift he doesn’t want to damage. The coat falls open. His breath catches.

The lingerie is sheer black lace, delicate enough to feel sinful. You chose it for him. You’ve sent him pictures in it before. But the way he’s looking at you now—it makes your knees weak.

“Beautiful,” he says. It’s quiet. Like he’s talking to himself.

He slips the coat from your shoulders. It falls in a soft thud at your feet.

“Get on the bed.”

You crawl onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress, your heartbeat thudding loud in your ears. The sheets are soft beneath your hands, cool against your flushed skin, and you feel him watching you. Not just looking—watching. The heat of his gaze crawls along your spine as you settle on your back, your legs folding to the side, thighs tight with anticipation. He doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, drinking you in like you’re art, like you’re something to be studied.

Then he begins to undress.

Each movement is precise, deliberate. He removes his watch first, setting it on the nightstand with a soft click. Then he unbuttons his shirt, one button at a time, his fingers steady and sure. You watch his chest slowly come into view—firm, broad, sculpted in a way that makes your breath catch. His shoulders are wide, his waist trim, his skin smooth and golden under the low light. When he slides the shirt off and starts on his belt, your thighs press together involuntarily. The buckle clinks. The zipper lowers. And then he steps out of his slacks, revealing long legs, tight black briefs, and the hard line of his cock already straining against the fabric.

He climbs onto the bed with the kind of calm confidence that makes your stomach flip. He doesn’t pounce. Doesn’t rush. He kneels between your legs and runs his hands up your thighs, spreading them slowly, pushing them apart with the patience of someone who knows exactly what you need and intends to give it to you—on his terms. The cool air kisses your heat, and you realize how wet you already are, your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs. He hums low in his throat as his fingers hook into your panties and begins sliding them down, inch by inch.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says softly. “I can feel it. You’re soaked.”

You whimper, arching slightly as he tosses the lace aside. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make you wait. He leans down, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs wider, and when his mouth finally touches you, you gasp—loud, sharp, uncontrollable. His tongue strokes through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure, tasting you like he has all night. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and your back bows off the bed.

“Fuck—Nanami,” you breathe, fingers flying into his hair.

He groans against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. He eats you like he means it, like it’s his mission. His tongue moves with skill, pressure alternating between soft flicks and firm, devastating licks. One of his hands slides under your ass, lifting your hips, tilting you up so he can go deeper. The other moves between your legs, and when two fingers slide inside you, you cry out.

Your walls clench around him, tight and wet, your body already shaking. He curls his fingers just right and your thighs twitch in response, your breath catching. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. He watches you from below, eyes dark and steady, like he’s memorizing every twitch, every moan, every desperate roll of your hips. You’re spiraling. Unraveling.

It hits fast. Hard. Your orgasm crashes over you before you can warn him, a wave of heat and light that rips through your body and leaves you sobbing his name. Your hips buck, your legs tremble, your fingers claw at the sheets—but he holds you down, mouth still on you, tongue relentless.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is wet, his lips slick with you. He looks pleased. Controlled. Like he could keep going. Like he wants to.

“That’s one,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers from your cunt and bringing them to his mouth. He sucks them clean slowly, and you moan again, helpless, already throbbing with the need for more.

He leans over you and kisses you—slow, deep, messy—and you taste yourself on his lips. He rolls his hips against yours, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Your hands slide down, tugging at the waistband of his briefs, and he lets you peel them down.

He’s thick. Long. Veins running along the shaft, the head flushed and already leaking.

“You want this?” he asks, voice low, rough.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. Stretching you wide, filling you so deep you can feel it in your stomach. Your jaw drops, a choked moan escaping as your nails sink into his back.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Too much?” he breathes, pausing halfway.

“No—don’t stop. Please. Keep going.”

He groans, sliding in the rest of the way, bottoming out. He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs. “So perfect around me.”

Then he moves.

Slow at first. Deep. His hips roll into yours, grinding with each thrust. It’s overwhelming, every drag of his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. You cling to him, moaning into his shoulder, and he presses kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers. “Taking me so well. My good girl.”

The praise makes your walls flutter. Your body is already on edge again, hips rolling up to meet his, chasing more.

And then you remember—

“I thought you were gonna fuck me stupid,” you pant.

He stills.

His head lifts. His eyes meet yours.

“I was trying to be gentle,” he says, his voice suddenly darker. “But if you’re going to act like a cock-drunk little slut—”

He pulls out and flips you over in one smooth motion, dragging your hips up, pushing your chest into the mattress. He thrusts back into you hard, deep, and you scream into the sheets.

“—then I’ll fuck you like one”

He doesn’t hold back now. His pace is punishing, hips slamming into yours with the kind of strength that makes the bed creak beneath you. Each thrust drives his cock deeper, harder, making you cry out with every stroke. Your hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, as your body rocks forward from the force of him. He grabs your hips tighter, pulling you back onto him, forcing every inch of him inside like he’s claiming you, ruining you. Your thoughts are gone, scattered, every one of them drowned beneath the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy things he’s growling into your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he pants, his voice a low growl. “To be fucked like a desperate little whore? You like it like this—don’t you?”

You try to answer, but all that leaves your mouth is a broken moan, high-pitched and needy. Your legs are shaking, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you feel every twitch of his cock. You’re drooling onto the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, from how deep he’s inside you.

He reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling your head back until your spine arches, your back flush to his chest. His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubs slow, tight circles, the pressure just right. Your body locks up.

“Oh my god—Nanami—fuck—”

“I want you to cum again,” he hisses into your ear. “Cum for me while I’m buried in this tight little pussy. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You do.

It hits harder than the first time, your body convulsing around him, thighs trembling, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat as your orgasm tears through you. You clench around him so hard it makes him grunt, his rhythm faltering for the first time. He curses under his breath, fucking you through it, prolonging your high until you’re left a shaking, overstimulated mess.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls.

You collapse forward, cheek pressed to the sheets, too wrecked to hold yourself up anymore. But he doesn’t stop. He slows down, but he keeps moving, long deep strokes that fill you again and again. One hand stays on your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down. You’re gasping, moaning brokenly, your cunt so sensitive you’re already on the edge again.

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna give me one more.”

His cock drags along your walls, thick and pulsing, hitting every spot that makes your vision blur. Your body is on fire. Nerves raw. Everything tightens again, too soon, too fast.

“Cum,” he demands, and the command alone pushes you over the edge.

You scream his name as your third orgasm slams into you, thighs quaking, fingers clawing at the mattress as you fall apart. Your pussy clenches so hard around him that his rhythm shatters. He groans, deep and guttural, thrusts stuttering as he slams into you one final time and spills inside you with a growl.

You can feel it—his cum flooding your pussy, hot and thick, filling you up as his body presses down on yours. His breath is hot against your back. His weight grounding.

He stays like that for a moment, both of you panting, your bodies tangled in heat and sweat. Then he pulls out slowly, gently, and you whimper at the loss. You feel the slick of his release drip down your thigh.

You’re boneless. Floating. Barely able to lift your head.

He pulls you into his arms, rolls you over, kisses your forehead. His hands are soft again, soothing, trailing along your back in lazy circles.

“You did so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good.”

He holds you until your breathing slows. Until the ache in your muscles fades into something warm and satisfied. Until the world stops spinning quite so fast.

Then he rises. Dresses slowly. Smooths his hair back into place. He leans down to press one last kiss to your lips.

“The room is yours until tomorrow night,” he whispers. “Order whatever you want. Rest. Recover.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Where are you going?”

He smiles. “I need to get ready for work on Monday.”

And then he’s gone.

The silence after he leaves is loud. You lie there for a while, naked in the sheets that smell like him, your body sore and aching in the best possible way. Everything feels distant. Fuzzy. Like your skin is still buzzing with the echo of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at you like he owned every inch of you. You eventually drag yourself out of bed, your legs unsteady, and pad to the bathroom. The tub is huge, the kind of thing you’d only ever seen in movies, and you don’t think twice before running the water, pouring in a generous stream of lavender bubble bath from the bottle on the counter. You sink into the warmth with a soft moan, letting the water ease the tightness in your thighs, the soreness in your hips. Every shift of your body reminds you of what just happened—of how thoroughly he fucked you, how deeply he filled you, how completely he took you apart.

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool, then dry off and wrap yourself in one of the fluffy white robes hanging by the door. You pour yourself a glass of champagne from the bottle chilling by the window and collapse onto the bed again, legs curled under you, robe slipping off one shoulder. You stare at the city lights outside the window, the skyline glowing and endless. You feel expensive. Adored. Used and treasured at the same time. The kind of full you didn’t know you were craving.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You grab it lazily, still smiling.

Nanami has sent you $10,000.

You stare.

You’re up in a flash, jumping on the bed like a maniac, the robe falling off as you laugh and squeal and spin yourself dizzy. You don’t even care. You roll across the mattress, kick your legs in the air, and scream into a pillow. Then you check again—just to be sure. It’s still there. Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

You sink back against the pillows, grinning like a fool, and take a long, slow sip of champagne.

This is the best night of your life.

The weekend melts away in a blur of room service and luxury. You spend hours soaking in the tub, order dessert with every meal, and sleep tangled in hotel sheets that smell like him. You keep your phone close, reading and rereading every message he sends. He doesn’t disappear. He checks in constantly. Tells you how proud he is. How badly he wants you again. How he’s counting the hours until next time.

By Monday morning, you’re still sore. Still giddy. You barely hear your alarm over the buzz of your phone. You get ready for class with your phone in your hand the entire time, texting back between sips of coffee.

I need you again this weekend. Same hotel. I want you on your knees when I walk in.

I can still feel you. Still smell you. I’m not done with you.

You’re practically floating when you meet up with Nobara and Maki in the courtyard.

“You’re glowing,” Maki says. “Who are you texting?”

Nobara leans in to peek. You pull your phone away with a smirk.

“No one.”

“She’s lying,” Maki says. “It’s totally a sugar daddy. Look at her.” She jokes.

You laugh. Shrug. Say nothing.

Because they’re right. And you’re not giving up your secret that easy. The three of you head to class, sliding into your usual seats as you pull out your laptop. You open a blank doc, fingers still dancing over your phone under the table.

I want your pussy on my mouth the second I see you again.

You bite your lip, cheeks hot, and set your phone face-down as the door opens.

Footsteps. A soft clearing of a throat.

You look up and freeze.

Nanami Kento walks to the front of the classroom, calm and collected, setting his briefcase on the podium like he’s done it a hundred times. He’s in a fitted suit, glasses perched on his nose, hair neat and perfect.

He adjusts his tie. Opens his laptop. Looks up.

His eyes meet yours.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. Just offers the faintest flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says smoothly. “Welcome to Ethics in Literature.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

[staytinyzen]

Structural Testing

San x afab f!reader, plus-size/chubby!reader

friends to lovers, smut

MDNI, nsfw content ahead : oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, slight size kink ig?, riding, petname: baby

wc: ~3,2k

San shows up at your door just after 10pm, wearing that cocky half-smile that always means trouble.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside like he owns the place. 

“Hi ?”

You arch a brow, tugging your oversized tee lower over your thighs. Even though he’s barged into your place like this more times than you can count, it still throws you off, especially on a Friday night, when he’s usually out with his group of friends. Which, of course, explains your glaring lack of pants and bra.

You close the door behind him with a thud. “Why aren’t you out? Don’t you usually spend Friday nights pretending you hate karaoke while singing your heart out to girl group songs?”

He shrugs, heading toward your couch like it’s his own too. “Took the night off. Needed a change of scenery.”

You squint at him, following him. “So you picked my place? Lucky me.”

He grins. “Don’t act like you’re not excited to see me.”

You scoff, “That depends. Are you here because you blew something up again?”

“Not this time, but can you help me with something?”

"This better not be about another one of your insane ramen recipes that had us on the toilet for hours. Or one of your genius ideas trying to make a sofa out of pool noodles."

He shrugs. “I mean… it’s an engineering project. If we can call it that.”

You snort, already suspicious. But you’re bored, and his stupid ideas are at least entertaining and clearly, you have nothing better to do.

"What's the plan this time, Bob the Builder? What do you need?”

“I need you to help me test the structure of my project.”

You frown. “How?”

“You just have to sit on it.”

You blink. “What, like, just sit? That’s it?”

“Yeah, I have to make sure it can handle a specific weight class.” He says it casually.

You cross your arms slowly. “Weight class.”

He clears his throat. “You know. Pressure. Load-bearing support.”

Your expression tightens, your voice a little flat. “So you want me to sit on your little model because I’m heavy?”

“No! I mean yes—I mean no, not like that! You’re just—you're curvy. Perfectly curvy. I need to see how it holds up under... real-world conditions.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are this close to getting kicked in the balls. Plus can’t you just ask one of your jacked friends? They’re probably as heavy as me.”

He laughs, too quick, too guilty. “No, I don’t want them. I want you to do it.”

He looks you up and down, just briefly, but not subtly. That gaze skims over your bare thighs and lingers a second too long. You feel it like static on your skin.

You roll your eyes and stare at him, “And if I don’t want to?”

Then you start walking to your room, thinking maybe putting on some more clothes wouldn’t be the worst idea. You don’t say anything, but you know he’s watching, you can feel it.

Behind you, you hear the couch creak as he gets up. “Wait! Where are you going?”

You don’t answer. Just keep walking. You step into your room, head straight for the closet.

Then you feel his hand, warm and familiar, settling on your hip. He leans in close, voice low and cocky at your ear.

“Come on, baby. Help me out. Just sit on it. For science.”

Against your better judgment, and maybe because the way he says “baby” makes your thighs clench, you turn around huffing and staring at him. “So where is your little project?”

“Right in front of you, actually,” he grins.

You glare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His grin shifts, slow, wicked. He steps closer, closing the space between you, and leans down. His voice drops, low and husky, the kind that slides right down your spine.

“The project…” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “…is my face.”

You freeze.

His hands brush over your hips with slow, deliberate pressure. “I need to know if I can take the weight. If I can breathe under it. If I can make you come apart while sitting on my tongue.”

Heat slams through you so fast it makes your head spin.

“San,” you hiss, but it comes out more breathless than scolding.

He tilts his head, lips ghosting your ear. “So? Are you gonna help me with my project… or leave it untested?”

"You're not serious." You whisper trying to look him in the eyes.

"I'm very serious," he says, voice deep and calm. "This is for research."

"Research," you echo flatly.

He nods. "Thorough, physical, real-time data collection. Hands-on testing. Mouth-on, if we're being technical." He doesn't laugh. He just looks at you with that same calm, unwavering expression that somehow makes your knees feel unsteady.

"I’m dead serious," he repeats, voice low and steady. "'Been thinking about it for a while."

You snort, half deflection, half disbelief. "Right. Okay. And out of all the girls you could think about, you landed on me?"

He frowns slightly, head tilting like he can't understand why you're questioning it. "Yeah. You."

"San." You shift your weight, eyes narrowing. "I'm not exactly your type."

His gaze sharpens, "What the hell does that mean?"

You shrug, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "You know what it means.”

He exhales sharply like you've said something ridiculous. "You really don't get it, do you?" You look up, startled by the edge in his voice.

"I want you," he says, each word deliberate, like he needs you to understand. "Not because I don’t have anyone else. Not because it’s convenient. Not because I'm bored. Because you're–" He falters for a second, "Because you're sexy. Because the way you move drives me crazy. Because I've imagined this more times than I'll admit."

Your lips part, breath caught in your throat. He leans in, his breath hot against your neck. "I know what I'm asking. I know exactly what I want. The question is..." His voice dips, husky. "Are you gonna let me show you how much?"

Your face is burning. "You actually want me to...?"

"I do," he says, eyes dark and steady. "I've been thinking about it. Dreaming about it, actually. You, on my face. All that gorgeous weight pressing down. You grinding on my tongue like you own me."

Your knees go weak, and you hate that he sees it. He smirks, but it's not the usual smugness. There's heat in it. Hunger. "Don't look at me like I'm crazy, baby. I want you. All of you. Every inch. Every curve."

Your heart thumps against your ribs. You cross your arms, uncertain. "You're just saying that because l'm-"

"Hot as fuck?" he interrupts.

“I want you. I want your thighs to suffocate me. Hips that could crush my jaw. I want to feel the weight of you losing control on top of me."

You swallow hard. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"I want to be smothered in your heat. I want to taste how worked up I make you. And I want you to use me for it."

He drops to his knees, eyes never leaving yours, and reaches for you, warm hands gliding up the backs of your thighs. "Let me show you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But if you want to..." he breathes in. 

"I’ll worship you."

Your pulse pounds. Every nerve ending is screaming yes, even if your brain hasn't caught up yet.

You exhale shakily. "You better not be messing with me."

He kisses the inside of your thigh, and whispers, "Mess with you? Baby, I want to wreck you."

His fingers gently tugging at the elastic of your panties, his eyes bore into yours, "Can I?" He whispers.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat as you anticipate his next move.

“Use your words baby.” He smirks, his fingers stilling their ministrations as he waits for you to speak.

"Please," you manage to choke out between breaths, your body already trembling under his touch.

He grins, his eyes locked on yours as he whispers, "Please what, baby?". His finger tracing circles on your thigh as he waits patiently for you to speak.

"Use your words baby," he repeats, his voice low and sensual. "Tell me what you want."

You take a deep breath, “You” you manage to say your voice trembling, “I want you”.

He finally pulls your panties down gently and moves up your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as he makes his way up your thighs. He takes his time, savoring every inch of you as he moves higher and higher. His hands tracing gentle patterns on your hips, he whispers, "You're so beautiful," his voice low and rough. He looks up at you, his eyes roaming over your body appreciatively before his lips find your hip. He kisses first then bites gently, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin. He smirks as he feels you shiver, his fingers still tracing patterns on your hips.

"So responsive," he murmurs. "I love how you react to my touch."

Then he gets up and lies on your bed, "Come on. Sit. I told you I need to test the load-bearing capabilities of my face."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm desperate," he counters.

You start walking slowly towards him and he pulls you to bed so you straddle him carefully, knees on either side of his head, hovering just above his mouth. San looks up at you like you're a fucking goddess. "Come on," he murmurs, voice gravel thick. "Sit. Let me feel you."

You hesitate a beat longer, then lower yourself onto him. His hands grip your ass, pulling you down against his mouth,

“I'll crush you" you say, worried.

"Promise?" he grins. His breath fans against your core and your hips jerk at the sensation. The second your heat meets his mouth, everything else disappears. Every worry, every second guessing. His tongue parts you, slow and sure, and he groans. You gasp, instinctively grabbing a fistful of his hair as his tongue drags up your slit and circles your clit, deliberate and focused. You rock your hips, and he moans underneath you, gripping your thighs and pulling you down harder, his tongue reaching deeper.

"Fuck, San," you breathe, voice trembling.

He pulls back for a split second just enough to say, "That's it, baby. Use me. Ride it."

You move against his mouth, chasing the pleasure, grinding slow and deep, bracing yourself on your bed’s headboard as his tongue drags slow, wet circles over your clit, then dips down, teasing your entrance before coming back up to suck hard. Your thighs tremble, but his grip holds you steady, firm, worshipful. You continue rolling your hips, chasing the pressure, the friction, and San’s tongue flicking harder, faster, until your moans turn desperate, broken.

"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—"

He growls against your clit and you shatter, thighs trembling, cry catching in your throat as you come on his face. You don't even realize you're still grinding against him until he starts licking you through it, chasing every aftershock like he can't stop.

Finally, you collapse forward, chest heaving.

The afterglow is still clinging to your skin like sweat when you manage to crawl off of San entirely and flop beside him, both a mess and breathing hard. He looks wrecked. Wet mouth, flushed skin, eyes glassy and dazed.

"Holy shit," you breathe.

San just grins, voice ragged. "Still think I was joking?"

You’re still trying to catch your breath when— "Ready for the next testing phase?" he murmurs.

You blink, still a little wrecked. "Excuse me?" He props himself up on an elbow, that familiar troublemaker glint back in his eyes. "Next project has to do with... vertical load capacity."

You snort. "You're making this up."

"I'm adapting," he says, crawling on top of you with that stupidly hot, slow-motion roll of his hips. "We've established my face is fully weight-bearing. Now I need to check if my back and thighs can handle... a sustained, rhythmic load."

Your legs instinctively tighten around his waist. "You mean you want me to ride you."

"I want you to use me," he says, breath ghosting across your lips. "To see how long I can last. How deep you can take it. How hard you can work me."

He presses his hips forward just enough to make you feel that he's very ready for that kind of testing. Your brain short-circuits as you hold back a moan. "You're insane."

He kisses your neck. "I'm inspired."

He gets off of you and stands next to your bed and starts taking off his tank top, sweatpants, and boxer, and—fuck, he's hard and already leaking for you. "Geez," you mutter, not even hiding the way your thighs clench. "You were this worked up the whole time?"

He grins through gritted teeth. "Baby, you sat on my face. Of course, I was."

Then he sits against your headboard and pats his thighs “Come on baby and take that shirt off”.

You do as he says and crawl to him to straddle him, his hands splay wide on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin. "You comfortable?"

"Not yet," you whisper, and shift your hips, accidentally brushing over his dick, he shudders and groans.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, baby more than okay, go on” he whispers.

You line him up, still slick from his mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. You pause...

He looks up at you with dark, reverent eyes. "Go on."

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, feeling every stretch, every throb, every beautiful ache as he fills you. His head drops back, a guttural moan escaping his throat.

"Fucking hell," he groans. "You feel like a dream."

You start to move slowly at first, just rocking your hips, letting yourself adjust but San's grip tightens like he's trying not to thrust up into you like an animal. He looks up, flushed, sweat beading at his hairline. "You're so tight. So warm. I—shit, I'm trying to last, but you're squeezing me like—" You roll your hips hard and he gasps.

"Fuck! Okay okay. New test parameters: don't make me come in sixty seconds."

You smirk. "That doesn’t sound very engineering of you."

He laughs through a groan. "You're evil, goddess-level evil. And hot as fuck"

You start riding him slow but deep, each thrust pressing him all the way inside you. The angle, the tension, and the way he keeps praising you through clenched teeth all build too fast.

"You're doing so good," he pants, hands sliding up to your waist, your ribs, your breasts. "God, I love your body. I love how you feel. I love the way you ride."

You brace yourself against his shoulders and pick up the pace, bouncing on him now. His head tilts back, eyes rolling as he groans your name.

"Look at you," he moans. "Taking everything. Using me. Fuck—ruining me."

He's close. You're close. He wraps his arms around you and thrusts up into you once, hard, hitting that perfect spot, and you cry out, unraveling around him. You clench so hard he swears, biting into your shoulder as he spills into you with a groan. You collapse against him, panting, his arms holding you tight like you might disappear. After a long pause, “Projects structurally compromised by very sexy goddess," he murmurs against your neck and starts petting your hair.

You snort. “You and your crazy projects…”

“They’re driving you crazy huh?”

…

You're still curled on top of him minutes later, skin sticking slightly where sweat meets skin, but neither of you moves. San's heartbeat is still fast beneath your ear, his hands lazily stroking your back 

"So," you mumble, eyes half-lidded, "what's your next fake engineering project?"

He hums. "Hm... Might do a deep dive into internal structural flexing. See how your body adjusts to different speeds, angles, and pressures." You groan into his chest. "That's not engineering. That's porn."

He grins. "Always was, call me a creative consultant for adult infrastructure."

You swat him lightly, but he catches your hand and kisses your knuckles.

Then, softer "No, seriously... I want to test every part of you. Every reaction. Every sound. Every place that makes you melt."

You look up and find him watching you.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmurs, voice a low rumble. "I love your body. Your curves. I love how you feel. And most importantly I love you.”

You bite your lip. Then open your mouth—

"I'm not just attracted to you, I crave you," he says, voice low but sure. "The softness of your thighs, the way your hips move when you're on top of me, it drives me insane. But it's more than that. It's the way you laugh when you're tired. The way you always know when something's off, even when I try to hide it. When you're with me, I feel seen, like I’m not just a man but your man. Being with you, it’s not just hot. It’s home.”

You blink fast, heart catching in your throat, not used to this kind of worship. "You're gonna make me cry," you whisper, voice shaky. Then, after a beat. "And not even in the hot way."

"I only want to make you cry in the hot way," he teases gently, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "That would be one of my projects too if you’d like."

You shake your head and hide your burning face in his neck. He chuckles, arms wrapping around you tighter.

"You okay?"

You nod. "Better than okay. I love you too”

He kisses you softly and gets up holding his hand out to you. “Let’s get us cleaned up now baby”

…

In the shower, while his fingers work gently through your hair, massaging in the shampoo, he leans down and murmurs, "What I said earlier about making you cry in a hot way... been thinking about that. Thoughts?"

You smirk, eyes still closed. "Oh, I mean... we can definitely try."

"Good," he says, his voice dropping. "Because I've been holding back."

Your eyes snap open, head tilting up toward him.

"You were holding back?"

"Oh yeah," he says, pure sin on his face. "You were still coherent. That's unacceptable."

You stare at him and he shrugs. "Next round, I want you drooling. Barely able to talk. Sobbing a little, maybe."

"San."

"I want to fuck you against a wall. On the kitchen counter. In the shower. Hell, on top of the washing machine during spin cycle, call it vibration analysis."

You laugh half turned on, half exasperated, and nudge him playfully under the stream of water.

"You're insane."

He grins and presses a kiss to your temple. "Only for you."

You finish rinsing off, the heat of the shower is nothing compared to the warmth between you. And later, clean and tangled in soft sheets, you fall asleep in his arms, still smiling, safe, fulfilled, and finally his.

a/n : that's so dumb but this is what inspired this fic plus this comment 🥴

+ the video says architecture project but I got so confused I was like isn’t it engineering so I went with it the whole fic but if that’s wrong I’ll change it I I’m just so confused and dumb

[nerdarminsimp]

Nerd!Armin x PervFem!Reader

☆ Match my freak ☆

TAKES PLACE DURING END SENIOR OF YEAR, ALL ARE 18+

Stalking, masturbation, clothes stealing, oral (M receiving), slight anal fingering (M receiving), unprotected sex, and creampies ahead! Read at your own risk!

Nerd!Armin who noticed during the last 2 months of senior year a new, very attractive girl, had joined his tormentors friend group. Everytime he saw you walking down the hall with Historia, Reiner, and Ymir, He felt a little disappointed that such a pretty girl would hang out with such assholes.

Nerd!Armin who quickly figured out you only hang out with Historias clique because you are cousins with Ymir. He later overheard Historia telling you she only makes fun of him because he seemed like the typical discord using and hentai watching loser.

Nerd!Armin who is constantly bullied by the popular kids because he likes manga, video games, and sexual anime figures. Every time he gets dog piled on by them, you're always there with an almost sadistic grin. It bothered him more than the bullying itself, but at the same time he found it slightly hot.

Nerd!Armin who started noticing his pens going missing from his backpack, as well as keychains, books, and other miscellaneous objects. One day after gym he opened his locker to find that his normal clothes had been taken, leaving him having to wear his sweaty gym attire the rest of the day.

Nerd!Armin who kept accidentally locking eyes with you from across the cafeteria where he sat with Eren and Mikasa. He couldn't stop himself from getting flustered as you looked at him through your lashes with what he could only interpret as a lustful gaze. He had to embarrassingly use his books to cover up the tent in his pants.

Nerd!Armin who got a video from an unknown number while watching Seven Deadly Sins and eating microwave noodles. When he opened it he let out a gasp. it was a video of just the thighs and cunt of a girl and she was aggressively rubbing her clit with two of her fingers. He didn’t really stop and think how strange the situation was before he quickly unzipped his pants and wrapped his hand around his cock. As he jerked himself off he couldn't help but imagine you.

Nerd!Armin who was too focused on the idea of you bouncing up and down on his dick and moaning your name, he didn't even realize that his missing shirt and pants were on the nightstand behind the mystery woman till after he shot a load on himself.

Nerd!Armin who told Eren immediately the next day about what had happened the night before, minus the part where he was jerking off to fantasies about you. "I swear it was my clothes Eren! I don't sound crazy, right?" He ended up convincing himself it was just some freak coincidence and it was a wrong number situation.

Nerd!Armin who continued receiving videos from the unknown woman, but her face was never shown. Eventually he just saved the phone number as a contact, and like the freak he was he saved it under your name.

Nerd!Armin who continuously fantasized about you well he watched in the mystery porn videos he was sent. He couldn't help but whimper your name along with curses as he sat with his legs spread, his phone in his left hand, and thrusting into the new pocket pussy held by his right. "Fuck... [Y/N]... g-gonna... ngh!" He had saved up and bought it specifically to imagine you while either scrolling through your Instagram or watching the videos. He couldn't deny his growing crush on you.

Nerd!Armin who finally built up the courage to ask to get to know you better and hang out over the summer before you went to college. He was practically ecstatic when he found out that both of you were going to the same community college not too far away.

Nerd!Armin who after graduation invited you over to his house, he even cleaned up the monster cans and ramen bowls. While the two of you hung out and played whichever game you could figure out the fastest, he noticed the ocean blue color you had your nails done. Instead of the usual lust that washed over him when thinking about you, it felt more like butterflies in his stomach.

Nerd!Armin who took a shower once you left for the night and once he was getting dressed for bed he noticed a pair of his boxers were missing from his dresser. His face scrunched with confusion as he saw one of those ocean blue nails on the carpet by the drawer. "Must have fallen off." He put the nail on his nightstand and crawled into bed for the night.

Nerd!Armin who got a text from the contact that he named after you the next morning. As his still sleep filled eyes slowly opened to check his photo notifications he found himself paralyzed momentarily when he realized it was a picture of him sleeping.

Nerd!Armin who debated blocking the person now that the situation was getting more creepy, but at the same time he didn't want the free porn to stop and even though it was illogical he found the fact he had a stalker almost... sexy?

Nerd!Armin who decided because the weather was getting warmer and he was starting a whole new chapter of his life now that he graduated, he was going to cut his hair. As he got in his car after leaving the barber he got another message. It was a photo of him merely moments before when he walked out into the parking lot. It was captioned 'I liked your hair better longer.'

Nerd!Armin who immediately looked out his windows to try it and figure out who took the picture, and that's when he noticed your car in the direction it had to have been taken from. Accidentally the two of you locked eyes through the windshields of your cars for a moment and you immediately drove away.

Nerd!Armin who once again brushed the whole situation off as a coincidence. Or at least he tried. As you and him got closer and he spent more time at your house he noticed some things. Almost every time he went over he somehow would manage to walk in on you either changing or touching yourself. You would then fiercely deny that you were in fact doing that and get angry at him before making him leave your room.

Nerd!Armin who noticed when he finally got your number so you guys wouldn't have to keep messaging each other on insta, the number was a contact in his phone. It was already under your name too.

Nerd!Armin who may or may not have been snooping through your stuff when he found a box under your bed. It contained almost every single missing item he had. Including the stuff from when he was still in school. His boxers, his keychains, his mangas, they were all there. He also found a couple of toys mixed into the collection of items. He couldn't help but feel ashamed when his cock went hard because of it.

Nerd!Armin who well staying the night at your house woke up to the feeling of hands on his thighs. When he opened his eyes he let out a small gasp at the sight of you climbing into his lap. “H-Hey… what are you doing?” Only for you to back off and stare at him. "Sorry... just wanted to see if you were awake."

Nerd!Armin who couldn't sleep the rest of that night. He wanted to say he was disturbed with your behavior, but found himself silently wishing you would come back.

Nerd!Armin who was becoming less oblivious to the signs of you being his stalker. Even though most people would have been creeped out, some dark part of him found it endearing that such a gorgeous woman was so obsessed with him.

Nerd!Armin who came over again a week later, but had to let himself in after you wouldn't answer the door. When he entered he could hear you moaning and the soft buzz of vibrations coming from the living room. "God... You're mine... Fuck! Armin!"

Nerd!Armin who turned the corner and could feel his cock twitch when he realized it was his name on your tongue while you were rubbing your vibrator along your clit, not to mention he was quite literally watching you do that.

Nerd!Armin who blushed when you noticed him. "[Y/N]! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to walk in... I just... uh.. I think I should probably go now!" He didn't even realize how obvious his erection was from your angle.

Nerd!Armin who couldn't quite remember how he ended up on the couch with you between his knees but he wasn't complaining about it. He breathed shakily as you made quick work of his belt before you undid the fly of his pants.

Nerd!Armin who whined as you yanked both his jeans and boxers off with one tug. His dick immediately sprung up, gladly free from its cloth constraints. Your eyes lock onto his tip. It was a flushed pink and you could only describe it as pretty. You wasted no time before it was in your mouth.

Nerd!Armin who had to do everything in his power to not finish right there. Your mouth felt so good but it felt even better as you went all the way down on him. A choked moan was ripped from his throat when he felt the tip of your nose against his pubic bone.

Nerd!Armin who could only watch and tremble as you practically face-fucked yourself on his cock. Every time you took all of him in your mouth he could hear a small gagging sound, making the whole situation feel even more erotic.

Nerd!Armin who could feel your saliva dripping down to his balls. Your index finger gently swiped some off and found its way to his rim as you teased him. He let out a loud gasp and his hips twitched as your finger prodded at his entrance.

Nerd!Armin who moaned uncontrollably as you continued sucking his cock and fingering his ass at an excessive pace. Suddenly your finger curled inside him, hitting his prostate. Without warning he spilled ropes of his cum into your mouth.

Nerd!Armin who could only watch with wide eyes as you stared him down and swallowed his seed.

Nerd!Armin who held your hips with his hands as you sank down on his dick while you were feverishly kissing and sucking hickeys into his neck. He had to close his eyes when he bottomed out ground himself.

Nerd!Armin who could barely keep up with you bouncing on his pretty cock. He had no clue you had so much energy or stamina. He tried to continue holding on to you but you are simply going too fast, loudly babbling his name and other obscenities. "Armin! Armin! Fuck your so big... All mine!"

Nerd!Armin who became a whining mess as he got close. Somewhere along the line his hands had reached under your shirt and were playing with your nipples. He could only stare at your boobs bouncing in the fabric of your shirt while he groped them.

Nerd!Armin who started crying due to the overwhelming sensation of you atop of him. Your tight pussy felt so warm around his aching dick. "Oh fuck... I'm so close... Please don't stop!"

Nerd!Armin who watched as you threw your head back and your walls spasmed around him as your orgasm washed over you. That sensation was enough to pull him over the edge and he tried lifting you off him so he wouldn't come inside you.

Nerd!Armin who could only whimper loudly as your thighs clench down around his hips making it so he couldn't pull you off. Without being able to pull out, he ended up filling you up with his cum.

Nerd!Armin who after coming down from his high could only stare as a mix of both his and your juices formed a ring around his cock where the two of you met.

Nerd!Armin who had to hold back a smile when you asked him a question. "Wanna go for round two?"

|| Word count: 2,239 || || Writen by a freak, for freaks ||

[nashusglasses]

re: a funny sex story because I’m the number one advocate of Caleb being phenomenal at aftercare

divider by cafekitsune

cw: mentions of cervixfucking

This is it. This is how you meet your creator. Curled up into your knees, cringing when you feel cold lube accidentally rubbed into the bedsheets. All because of Caleb and his stupid hips going Mach 10 when he’s in a mood.

“Come on.” He’s already standing, discarding your clothes into the laundry bin. He’s probably already thinking of starting a new load. “Get up and pee.”

“Hhhhrrrggggg.” You peek one tired eye open. Caleb’s hard back shines with sweat. You feel a brief flare of arousal, then immediately groan an ugly sound when the Pangs start up again.

“I’ll make you really good noodles,” he says.

Oh. That’s enticing. “But it hurts.”

“But you need to pee.”

“Do you or your penis have any remorse? At all? For what you just did to me?”

The bastard just laughs. (You sneer: both at the blatant disregard of your well-being and the fact that you still tingle with adoration hearing him so happy.)

He leans down over your death bed to give you a kiss. “My penis and I are sorry.”

“For?” You huff. You really do need to pee. But when he indulges you like this, you can wait.

“For going a little too hard.”

“A little?!”

Not even five minutes ago he had your knees to your ears, cooing in a low voice, forcing you to look at the bulge of your lower stomach where he was fucking deep.

You shiver thinking about it. “More than a little,” you grumble.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Caleb gently guides you up until you’re leaning into his chest. “You’re gonna go clean up. And when you’re done I’ll have cheesy noodles ready on the table and all the laundry in the washer.”

You pout. “Then… can we cuddle on the couch and watch the new episode of the drama I’m watching?”

“We’ll do anything you want.” And then it comes again: the quiet ache from your insides. You groan. Caleb rubs an apologetic hand on your pelvis. “I’ll get the heating pad too,” he adds sheepishly.

You complain the rest of the night, and he dotes on you with no complaint of his own.

[writingoddess1125]

Annoying Shit They Do

COD Men X GN Reader

Price, Simon, Johnny, Kyle, König, Horangi + Bonus

NOT PROOF READ

This is all tongue and cheek. Enjoy!

Simon

Simon was a very.. Well thought out man.

He was always prepared-

Painfully prepared.. for every situation and some situations that weren't even possible.

You knew Simon loved knowing what he was going into at all times. However it can be a bit much at the best of times.

Ever had 2 different types of navigation tools including a compass while going to the post office?

You have-

Ever had hiking gear loaded into your car cause you where going to a local park to jog?

You sure as fuck have!

Thanks to Mr. Always Prepared Skull Man!

You swore this man was prepared for a Mutant zombie apocalypse with the amount of supplies and preparations he had constantly.

Sure while it wasn't something you thought about often and it was clearly in a loving way, He wanted to make sure you were always safe and you appreciated it deeply-

However when you go into your kitchen and see MRE's and emergency dried food to last 30 years next to your chips-

It can get a bit much..

It was always a bit power struggle with the broody man. You'd have a better time fist fighting a brick wall or bringing a rock to a orgasm then winning over the Lieutenant when it came to stuff like this.

Which lead you to staring at the hard black suitcase that was being loaded into the back of the SUV along with your guys few shared soft luggage bags.

You rub your temple, perfectly in between the two emotions of either crying or laughing at your partner.

"Simon-.. I love you. So so much. However I don't think, We need a literal military grade survival kit.. on a couples get away to a private resort"

He looked to you calmly-

"Never know.."

You look up to the sky, Begging whoever is up there that he leaves the kit in the car the whole vacation- and that he doesn't bring a tactical knife into the resort..

Price

John, the love of your life. The apple of your eye..

A good man and a Captain of a special Ops team...

Also..

The bastard that leaves one God damn bit left of whatever he touches and tells no one!

From toothpaste where there is only a bead sized amount left.

To even leaving four chips in the family size bag you'd gotten.

Leaves a single bite of ice cream in the pint and puts it back like it's still full.

Ever opened a box of what used to be Chinese takeout and seen literally 6 noodles, 12 grains of rice and a single piece of meat with a perfect green onion on top?

You sure as fuck had.

You knew it started out as something he genuinely did naturally. However once he figured out it annoyed you- It was on.. he now did it cause he knew it annoyed you.

The fucker-

Just how now you stared at the empty jug of what used to be white grape juice. Now with maybe a shot glass worth in the bottom.

You supress the demonic feeling of wanting to Hex your spouse.

Walking upstairs to his office area where you knew he was both smoking a cigar and drinking from his private stash while watching football (soccer).

Opening the door slowly you make direct eye contact with him. Price slowly raising an eyebrow at the serious look on your face.

"Yes Dear?"

You hold up the empty jug of juice and shake it a little showing the literal trinkle of juice left in it.

"Couldn't just kill it off could you?-"

John gives a smile at you as he takes a sip of his scotch.

"Well, Wanted to save ya some-"

John laughed loudly when you threw the empty juice jug at his head after that.

Kyle

Kyle likes to mess with stuff...

Always moving stuff around, always touching stuff, messing or bending things.

If it's in reach his hands seem to find it-

He's like those children you used to see that had to have their hands on the cart at all times or in their parents pockets cause they would always touch stuff.

Kyle was one of those people in adult form- You'd even heard his mother yell at him saying 'Idle hands are the devils workshop' when he visits and continues the practice.

While in most cases you didn't mind, it was a bit irritating when things got moved from where you'd left them or things just appearing out of thin air.

Your tube of chapstick? Suddenly in the Livingroom.

Phone charger? Now sitting on a random shelf.

You knew it wasn't on purpose but damn, Hell he didn't even seem to realize it himself.

He'd be sitting there, shaking his knee as he rolled something between his hands casually. The two of you talking about something random in the livingroom.

You can't help but narrow your eyes a bit as you see something silver in his palm which he was rolling like playdough.

"Sweetie, What are you messing with?"

He also looks confused for a second, not even realizing he had been messing with something. He looks over whatever had been in his hands.

"Uhh Looks like a oat bar-"

You scrunch up your face a bit.

"We don't even have any granola bars in the house? Where did you get that?"

He shrugs having no idea himself.

Johnny

He buys bulk in everything...

Once he realized that it was a thing he could just do-

He did it with everything..

Bulk Paper towels, Bulk Soy Sauce, 45lb tub of Nut Butter? He got all of it, Leading you to staring up at what was equivalent to a Military food storage in your downstairs pantry.

Leaving you currently staring up at the 25lb cloth bag of table salt on the top of the easy 10ft tall pantry shelf wondering if this was worth the possible 80% death rate trying to fill up the salt shaker.

As you stare up at it, the man of the hour pokes his head in. Seeing you staring at the bag of salt.

"Love?-"

"Johnny My Dear- We have essentially a bunker of Bulk everything. I don't think we need anything else.. I cant even get the salt without risking a skull fracture"

Johnny chuckles at this. Setting down a box to grab the hefty stool kept in the pantry and pulling down the bag, Setting it next to you on the floor.

"Well just saves us the hassle"

He chimed with a chuckle. However you silently disagreed.. Before looking to the large box hed set down.

"What is that?.."

Johnny gives a shy chuckle as you move over opening it quickly you see a massive mountain of 250 individual bags of Welch's Fruit Snacks.

"Johnny.. Why is there enough fruit snacks to kill a small child?"

Hong-Jin (Horangi)

So you're darling husband, He has a wonderful terrible habit of just disappearing..

Walking through a store?

Going to a Restaurant?

Hell going down the hallway of your house!?

The Poof-

He's just gone.

Which always leaves you stranded looking around like a crazy person.. Currently in a giant ass world grocery store he had been the one to drag you to- Aka you knew nothing!

"God Damnit-"

You mumble looking around the aisles trying to see if you could spot him. The place was like a maze, each aisle was a different part of the world it seemed and had at least 60 people crammed in each section.

It was hell! Why did he leave you here!? Now rushing around to just find a spot that wasn't being occupied or in anyone's way.

Aisles 43!? You thought you where at 12!? Where is the Exit!?

Standing there confused by what seemed to be some sort of brooms, you feel a small tap and see Hong-Jin standing there calmly.

"Found you. Got what I needed, We can go now"

He holds up a single small package of a seasoning mix he liked.

...

There was a small tick in the back of your brain that said to shove that packet up his ass.

König-

One word-

ONE GOD DAMN WORD

Lüften...

While sure, it's good to air out the room..

However not when there is 4ft of snow outside and the heater is off because of König wanting to 'Save Gas'.

Bullshit to save gas, He just likes the cold. Correction.. He Loves the cold.

More then most around you or anyone probably in this country. He will happily have the window open and let the house freeze like the arctic saying its refreshing new air.

Ever seen those weirdos that walk in a blizzard in shorts, sandals and a shirt?-

That's him.. damn near skips when a snow storm hits.

However he drags that brand of cold enthusiasm into the house. Leading you huddled under 4 blankets as you have to turn the heater onto Max.

"I swear- If you open that God damn window.."

You mumble to you're spouse as you look up from the blankets of your guys shared bed hiding from the cold that was already in the room as the heater works hard to make the room livable.

Seeing König standing by the large window ready to open it- His hands on the little handle as he stared wide eyed at you.

"But-"

"There is a snow storm going on. The house does not by any means- 'need to be aired out'"

"It feels nice Liebling and it's goo-"

"Felix- I will turn the heat on during peak summer and leave you here... to melt"

And Bonus!

Nikto

This man will eat anywhere at anytime..

You leave him alone for .24 milliseconds?

He's munching on something in record time.

Sure he seemed to burn it off but it was the amount he could eat, what he ate and then if it was close to dinner. He would eat again-

You where honestly starting to worry about his health.. He was concerned about the scars on his face but not the amount of sodium he just drank from the pickle jar.

It made it so when you left to grab one of his prescriptions from the pharmacy which you swore was 15 minutes tops you walk in and see Nikto there with a mountain of food on your coffee table watching TV.

A opened pickled onion jar which was now empty- juice gone too, Some sort of packaged meat that seemed was mostly gone and what seemed to be a rolled newspaper filled with the shells of sunflower seeds and seemingly walnut shells (You hadn't even bought either of them-) And now he was cutting up an apple with a knife and using it to eat the slices.

"H-How, Its been 15 minutes... We don't even have walnuts in the house?"

Nikto looked to you eating another slice of apple and shrugged.

"We got hungry-"

He said plainly before looking back at the TV you standing there both worried and frustrated.

"How we just had dinner? There are leftovers!"

"Not anymore. I ate it-"

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Little City Gods

Bobby wasn’t sure why the special dumpster diver targeted his restaurant. Maybe it was because they were finally packed on weekends. Maybe because he forgot to close the lid properly one night. Maybe because life is a bitch and then you die.

After a week of this, the owner, Barb, had them clamp spikes around the lip of the metal like a medieval torture device. Those were snapped off. The next day the manager put a padlock on the lid. That was gnawed through and left on the ground covered in spit that glowed softly golden. The day staff poured cooking oil around the base of the dumpster like a looney tunes cartoon where they hoped it would slip and fall. Bobby had to assume that was lapped up, because the next day only shimmering three-toed paw prints were left and the lake of oil was gone.

And was it too much to ask for a break? Two months sober and Bobby wasn’t paid enough to defend an oil spill with his life, much less a dumpster. The only thing stopping him from walking the other direction was his mom’s voice. You get a prize for just a day? She laughed when she saw his first AA chip, her breath smelling of her favorite Patrón. Is it supposed to be some kind of good luck charm? Bobby, you’re a pickle now, you’re never going to be a cucumber again, baby.

“It’s not rats,” the exterminator said and Bobby would have gladly thrown his hands in the air and be done with it. The older man frowned. “You’re gonna need a shrine.”

“You sure?” Barb, the owner, put her hands on her hips, meaning she meant business.

“Look at the prints,” the exterminator’s eyes were already on the door, “glowing like a disco party.”

Bobby ran a hand through his hair. “This is the city.” And it was THE city too, concrete and bricks and bad air. “Middle of the city.”

The big man shrugged. “Call a priest about it.”

Both the owner and the manager of Barb’s Restaurant were the good sort, probably gave them all too many breaks and sent everyone home loaded with food. You'd want old Lou in your corner if nothing else. So, Bobby did look up building shrines in his free time. Afterall, having an alleyway destroyed every morning–eggshells, plastics, noodles, spread out like a bomb exploded, it wouldn’t do.

Plus, as the main busboy slash kitchen help slash charity case, Bobby knew the dumpster was kind of his responsibility. He was lousy with a kitchen knife and even worse with waiter small talk.

The shrine looked like a doghouse when he was done. A cardboard square with a fake candle inside and fake roses pinned to the top.

“There.” He dusted off his hands and called to the darkening sky. “I worship you or whatever.” That day he went home early, turned the TV up high, and texted everyone back in his messages.

Bobby got a call in the morning, and he wasn’t even due in for another few hours. He picked up the phone and a part of him missed being hungover. Hungover-Bobby would never have answered a morning phone call and would have felt fine about that.

“Lou?” Bobby answered his manager sleepily.

Lou grunted. “You do this?”

“Oh.” Bobby’s heart sank. “Is the dumpster still standing?”

The manager snorted. “Not sure we’re targeting the right god.”

Bobby let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “Think there’s a god of trash cans? But like, a vengeful one.”

“Inventing new damn gods to give me a migraine.”

“Our lady of rancid lettuce. Hater of cardboard and eater of fucking take out boxes.”

Lou chuckled and Bobby could imagine him doing his slow head-shake. “You piss off any deities lately?”

Maybe the fake roses weren’t a good idea. “Not that I know of.”

“Well. You might’ve just started.”

The shrine hadn’t lasted the night. Apparently, plastic roses were the opposite of a good offering. Bobby dressed like he was headed to a funeral and found his latest project was a puddle on the ground. The thing had licked up the oil like it was a buffet but apparently plastic roses were a step too far. They twisted in a bubbling black puddle, shifting and oozing in place. Bobby’s heart squeezed painfully and he leaned over the tiny tar pit.

The puddle bubbled and when he put his head over it, it hissed at him. He screamed loud enough his mother probably heard that too. Probably said he was a baby, and never gonna be a man again.

They really did need a priest after that. The damned plastic roses were melted into a gross tar thing that hissed at you. They needed back-up.

“Isn’t the point of the city to get out of dealing with stuff like this?” Bobby asked, hands crossed over his chest. The priest was young, fair, and had dark circles under his eyes. They probably sent their rookiest guy, barely holy, to handle restaurants with dumpster-divers of an unusual sort.

The young man leaned over the sparkling paw prints and oozy little tar part on the ground. He grimaced.

“Who said they don’t come to cities?” His accent was surprisingly thick. Bobby backed off when he smelled the strong liquor on his breath. Typical. Priests.

“Just what I heard,” he said, not meeting the priest's dark gaze.

“The whole world’s sacred. Up to the corners,” he said, surprisingly reverent, and cracked his back like an old man when he stood. “I’ll get the traps.”

The priest set-up No Kill Snares. Real candles burning on long milky wicks and smelling of lavender. String soaked in holy water crisscrossed overhead. A ring of pearls with an inscription in the middle, written on real parchment and good ink. He placed a talisman on the lip of the dumpster, warding. Barb must have paid a real penny to buy a ward.

Bobby was the most skeptical of the little tricks. If spikes weren’t going to deter it, then the talisman of a back-alley priest was just going to get in the way. 

Late Saturday rush, sweating through his t-shirt, running around like a chicken with his head cut off, and Bobby went to dump a nice big bag of trash. He sees it then. He sees with his own two eyes.

Glowing like a small sun, eyes burning gold, and body bursting with waves of dusty light. Unmistakable. A small god. It was in a bad way too, light shifting like a kaleidoscope, and falling off of it in heaps. It seemed to lose more rays of sun than shine them, and its mouth dripped with glittery black oil.

The little god jerked its head back from the trash and snarled at him. Bobby put his hands together in prayer.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” The little god bared its dripping teeth and let out a sound like rusty bells. Bobby dropped the trash and got down on his knees. “Easy now.” His eyes softened, clumps of light falling off the miscreant. It was shivering. He put a hand out like you did at a church offering.

The creature sneezed, whole body seizing up, and whatever god it was, it was a dying one.

“Do you know where you are?”

The little god chimed and backed away. Bobby shook his head. Was there a tree that used to grow here? A well of clear water? Did gods remember what they lost? 

Their trash was saved for the night and Bobby tried not to let on that he was a goddamn hero. Lou gave him the next day off though. Bobby, however, came in. He liked work. Needed it. Less time for drinking or thinking about drinking. The old Bobby would have never needed work. The old Bobby wasn’t full of craving on craving, not just the hot burn of drink or the oblivion. The despair. The panic. The knife’s edge. How good it felt to ruin yourself.

This Bobby came into work. He sat on the ledge by the dumpster, and tossed breadcrumbs to the ground. What did a little god need from a back-alley restaurant? He watched the clouds pass overhead and the little god did not show up. 

The next night he played a game with the customers when they walked in. “Write down the best thing you ever gave up.” He passed out strips of paper and checked them at the end of the night. A good number of people wrote someone’s name: George, Juan, Sylvie. A wistful heart was drawn on a few of them, and Bobby included those. More than a few were jokes: “Gave up your mom.” “Gave up being bad at sex.” “Gave up handwritten notes up until today. Thanks for nothing.”

The wait staff helped pick out twenty perfectly good wishes at the end of the night. Plenty of strangers were game for an odd group activity, it seemed. They were lucky like that.

Bobby decided it was a tree, he felt a little bad, making assumptions like that. But no other alleyway in the neighborhood had to deal with exploded refuse every morning. He crafted the shape of the tree out of chicken wire and bits of twine. Fastening every single person’s half-decent answers to the ends of the branches like leaves.

He sat, long into midnight, writing his own answer on the wish paper. Gave up the drink. No. He had scratched that out. Gave up having fun. That one was also tossed out. Bobby thought, in the end, he wrote something serviceable. Gave up on giving up on myself.

A couple weeks later, Bobby ran into the young priest at an AA meeting. He found it kind of sweet, seeing the other young guy there, figuring it all out. He still had the deep shadows under his eyes and the look of a hunted man. That was probably why Bobby stopped him after the meeting.

“Did you ever figure out your pest situation?” The young priest asked, tired.

Bobby grinned. “Eventually, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Someone had to.”

“Did one of the traps work? Those usually do.” He snorted. “Even city gods get conceited and will run into a trap.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Let’s get coffee, huh?”

He told the young priest a story: the little city god was never going to be worshipped as a tree or a sun or wellspring again. Had become a Problem Eater. But if you fed it right, little bits of what it used to be, new kinds of offerings in the old style, you might get a perfectly serviceable back alley.

------------

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[dumpywrites]

Two Days - Jungkook

Summary: He just wants you to give him two days. He'll take you on a few dates and you'll decided if you actually like him? Or not?

Genre/tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, biker jungkook, jungkook is a goofball and a simp! :)

Pairing: Jungkook x she/her reader

a/n: this is my first ever bts/jk fic, I'm just trying this out since i have some days off from work, hope y'all like it <3

“Please?”

“No.” 

“You’re missing out.” 

“Jungkook, we’re literally in a Burger King.”

You heard the man playfully saying, “Yes, and?” in a singing tone. All you could do was rolling your eyes in reply. Jeon Jungkook, this guy who had been begging you for his so-called masterplan that he called, “trial date” for weeks, was now yet again begging you for a chance.

You could not exactly pinpoint when it actually began. He was shy the first time you met. You had known the rest of the boys ever since you met Yoongi at an art class. The cold looking guy who was surprisingly friendly and soft-hearted, later on introduced you to the rest of the guys. Jungkook was introduced almost a year later into befriending the group. He was a guy who went to the same gym as Namjoon. They became friends ever since he offered Namjoon a ride one time. 

Being the youngest amongst the guys and also the latest you got to meet, you would think that his shyness would linger at least a little bit longer. Then again, if you really think about it, he probably only stayed quiet and shy on the first meeting. 

The idea of both of you together was never mentioned until recently. Namjoon was the one who started calling out Jungkook’s odd behavior towards you, but the nail on the coffin was when you all got drunk at Jimin’s house that one time. 

It was Jimin’s birthday and truthfully, you knew the guy was loaded rich, but you did not know he was rich with capital R. The selection of bottles in his house was pretty much unlimited from the ones you like to the ones you couldn’t even name. It was five hours into all the celebration and you all were blurting nonsense. You were tipsy, but still aware cause for some reason you were winning all the games that night and got to drink less. But Jungkook on the other hand, who was usually winning everything, was getting pissy cause he kept coming second after you. 

“This is unbelievable.” Jungkook groaned, casually throwing the boardgame cards on the table. 

“You just have a soft spot for her.” Jin shrugged. 

“I do not! I just have a crush on her.” Jungkook retorted back, as if his sentence made any sense. 

You heard Hoseok voiced a small “oh” with his usual judgy expression, and the rest were silent for a second, including you. 

“I mean…” Jungkook tried to correct himself but stopped mid-way, trying to make up words in his already drunk mind. His eyes went back and forth to everyone before he scoffed. “You all act so surprised, as if you didn’t tease me everyday right after the first time I met Y/N.” 

When the room was still silent, Jungkook realized he fucked up, his blurry mind completely ignored the fact that you, the subject of this topic, was in fact also in the room. 

“Shit.” Was all he muttered before he excused himself to the bathroom, and did not come out for twenty minutes. 

When he was done, everyone had decided to wrap it up due to the awkwardness and the absence of Jungkook himself. He found Taehyung and Jin sleeping on both sides of Jimin’s big couch, and a small smile formed on his lips, shaking his head over the dumb expression they had in their sleep. His stomach soon flipped right after he saw you on the kitchen, making yourself a cup of instant noodle. 

“Oh, hey.” You greeted awkwardly. “I got hungry from all that drinking.” You shyly mentioned. 

Jungkook only nodded and took a seat on one of the dinning chairs. 

“You want some?” You offered, trying to break the ice. 

“Y/N stop.” His eyes widened once he realized how bad that sounded. “I mean… I didn’t mean it like that?” He chuckled dryly, it was more of a statement rather than a question. 

When you kept quiet but sat down next to him regardless, and ate your noodles, he decided you were at least comfortable enough to hear him talk. “This whole huge crush on you thingy… that’s not gonna ruin our friendship or anything, right? If you’re uncomfortable I’ll just stop showing up when you’re around for a—”

“What?! No! Jungkook, I’m not uncomfortable.” You sighed. “I’m just a bit surprised, I guess.”

“Why though?” He asked innocently, his big doe eyes looking straight at you, making you slightly nervous. 

“It’s just… you do realize you’re quite popular right?”

“What’s that gotta do with this situation?”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.” 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

That was the last civil conversation you had with him until he decided it was a good idea to cling to you almost every single day, pestering on the idea of this whole trial dating. Everyone other than Yoongi, who was neutral (read: don't really care enough to actually voice an opinion at the moment), was pretty much on board with his plan. You being single for a year now definitely did not help your case. They kept saying that you needed to lit up your dating engine again, so it wouldn’t be rusty. 

It was not that you did not find Jungkook attractive. Heck, he was one of the most attractive person you had ever laid your eyes on. It was just, weird? He felt like a brother, the same as the rest of the boys. If you didn’t treat any of them different, then you should not with Jungkook either, right?

“Have you maybe considered that maybe she’s tired of your bullshit?” Yoongi blurted with a blank expression, as he continue to munch on his burger. 

“It’s only been two weeks.” Jungkook protested. “Besides, you never know 'till you try, right?” He winked at you. 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m good, Kookie.” You pinched his cheeks, a little bit too hard. 

“H-hey!” He pouted, his cheeks forming even rounder. “Two days! Two days!” He suddenly shouted. 

“Oh boy…” Hoseok side-eyed the rest of you, clearly done with the younger one. 

“Give me two days, Y/N!” He said with his two fingers right in front of your face. “You don’t have plans this weekend, right?”

“Hey, maybe—“ Namjoon didn’t even get to finish his sentence before the lad interrupted. 

“I’ll take you on two dates and then you can decide afterwards.” He grinned, as if that was the most brilliant thing he had ever thought of. “If you still don’t like me after that then I will gracefully back off.” He threw his hands in the air. 

“You promise?” You suddenly spoke, after being silent for a while. 

“Wait, you’re actually considering—“ Jin stood up from his seat, almost knocking his table. 

Jungkook hurriedly covered Jin’s mouth, not letting yet another man finish his sentence again. “I promise!” He saluted, grinning so hard his cheeks almost hurt. 

“Are you really sure?” Yoongi whispered to you. 

You only shrugged. Truthfully, you were not sure either. But at this point, you just wanted Jungkook to get over his girl hyperfixation of the month. Which was, you. 

You just did not buy the story of him being head over heels on you since day one. As if he didn’t look like a Greek god himself? As if you did not know how women and even men would kill just to get a taste of him. You just wanted him to get it over with, so he can realize how weird the whole idea was and went back to being the goofball friend you once knew. 

—

Right, so.

Now here you were, basically having a mini dress-up montage moment, picking an outfit for your cinema date. Even after spending almost an hour getting ready you ended up with just wearing your usual crop top and baggy jeans, hoping it will be fine. Clearly you didn’t wanna seem like a try-hard. It was just Jungkook. He had seen you with pajamas and you didn’t hear him complain, so there shouldn’t be a problem. Why did you even go through the trouble to pick an outfit? You wondered yourself. 

Ten minutes later and Jungkook was already ringing your phone. 

“I’m at your lobby!” He exclaimed loudly over the phone. 

“You’re early.”

“Just can’t wait to see you.” You could not see his face, but you knew he was grinning like an idiot. “Hurry down! Oh, and bring your jacket.”

You didn’t expect him to came with a motorbike. A huge one not to mention. Something stirred in your stomach for a millisecond seeing him in a leather jacket. 

He took a spare helmet and innocently handed it to you. “Gotta make sure my girl is safe.” He sheepishly said. 

You tried your best to ignore the nickname, and spoke. “I didn’t know you ride a motorcycle.” You said, taking the helmet he gave in your hands. 

“I’m just too lazy to drive sometimes so I just lift on Hobi’s car.” He shrugged. “Why? Are you scared?” He teased. 

“Of course not.” You said and put on the helmet. You did not miss his small snickers when you struggle to hop on his Harley, having to grab him by his shoulders. 

“Okay, just wanna let you know, I drive like suuuuuper fast. So, you have to hug me to be safe!” He giggled. 

You rolled your eyes, even if he couldn’t see. “I’m just gonna head back upstairs...”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss.” He chuckled. “I’m a good driver, Namjoon approved! But you can grab onto my jacket if you want.” 

—

The movie was great. 

And that was a lie, cause truth to be told, you could barely focus on the plot. Every time you caught a glimpse of the boy next to you, his eyes were already looking at you. While it was true that you had not been dating for quite some time, you could feel your spidey-sense tingling, as if you were to turn your head towards him, something would happen. Thinking about it was not exactly the best thing for you.

“We’re getting ice cream.” Jungkook cheerfully said, as you both walked out the cinema. 

“That’s not a question?” You couldn’t help but to smile at the silliness. 

“Not a chance I’m letting you go home yet.” 

“Is this a date or a kidnapping?” 

“Could be both if you want.” He laughed. “So…” He cutely put his hands in his pockets as you walked. 

“So?”

“So… how’s life?” 

“You did not just ask me that.” You laughed.

“What? I’m just trying to make actual conversation!” He laughed as well, but later on his expression softened. “You seemed down these past couple of days though?” 

You tilted your head slightly. You didn’t think he would notice. 

“You… noticed?”

“Of course I did!” He grinned, patting his chest proudly. “You didn’t talk that much at our last movie night at Taehyung’s. You usually love to debate after watching a movie.” He chuckled. "The fact that you're not even starting a discussion right now, is lowkey concerning."

That was because of an entirely different thing, but you chose not to say. “I haven't even told Yoongi.” 

“Even if you tell him, he wouldn’t tell anyone either, so what’s your point?” 

“That’s fair.” You broke a small smile. 

“What happened?” He stopped mid-track, suddenly losing a bit of confidence in his speaking tone. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable enough to tell me…”

Your expression softened. “It’s a bit stupid…”

“It’s okay, I’ll listen!” He nodded towards you. “I’ll just quickly grab those ice cream and we’ll sit down somewhere?” 

Minutes later he came back with two ice creams and a big stupid grin plastered on his face as usual. “Here you go, let’s sit down on that bench.”

You nodded and thanked him before following him to the bench. 

“Come sit close to me!” He patted right next to him. When you only looked at him blankly. He added, “Please?”

You sat down close to him but left a bit of space enough so that your shoulders wouldn’t touch. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Uh… no.”

“Okay, good.” He smiled and took a big bite of his ice cream. “So, do you still wanna tell me? Or we could also just sit and talk shit about Jin while we eat ice cream if you don’t want!”

You smiled. Looking into his eyes, you could feel his sincerity. It could be just you, but you felt somewhat… safe. 

“I used to date this one guy… We dated for three months before I ended things with him.” 

You looked up to Jungkook, expecting to see a negative expression but he remained silent, only nodding to signal you to continue. 

“To be fair we haven’t been in touch for almost a year, but he suddenly called me. He was drunk and said a bunch of nonsense. I still replied at first, cause I was worried for his safety. But after I found out he was drunk at home, I bid my goodbye. Then he suddenly said…” You took a deep breath. “He said that I’m a 4.5 with a bitch attitude and being picky won’t help me.” You broke into a sad grin. “It’s stupid, I know—“

“Who is this fucker? Can I beat the shit outta him? How come I’ve never heard about this?!”

“Probably cause this is how you react.” You chuckled. “It had me quite bothered for quite sometime, maybe the fact that I also haven’t dated in a while adds to it, but I guess I feel somewhat better now.” 

“So that’s why you said you thought you weren’t my type?” 

“Huh?”

“That fucker needs to get his eyes and brain checked.” He shook his head. “You know, it’s fine to not want to settle for less.” He said as he looked at the sun setting in the sky. “He’s just butthurt you don’t want him back.” 

You stayed silent but nodded.

“His dick’s probably small anyway.” When you slapped his arm, he laughed. “What? Am I wrong? Why did you even break up with him?”

“He's sexist!”

“And his dick is small.” He followed. 

“Jungkook!” You began to laugh as well. 

“You know you’re easily a ten, but I’ll give a nine for now.” He said, pretending to be serious with rubbing his chin and squinting his eyes. 

“Why? What deduct the one point?”

“Cause you haven’t like me back yet.” 

“God, make that at least five points then, I hate you.” You rolled your eyes, but laughed. 

He smiled softly. “Feeling better?” 

“Well, I guess? But now my ice cream's all melty.” You pouted, trying to lick some that was melting down the cone. 

“That’s why you eat fast like me.” He proudly said. 

“And have stomach problem? No thanks.”

“Here let me just…” He licked a stripe from your cone and took a big bite. “There.”

You were taken aback. So stunned that you could only blink a few times at him. 

“What? Don’t tell me that turned you on?” He smirked. 

“You… Jungkook, that’s gross!” You whined, which only resulted in his laughter. 

—

The next day Jungkook wanted a full day date. Boy kept saying that he wanted fair chance since it was his last day. He already planned a list of things both of you would do and all, and the first being eating brunch with you. 

“Do you really have to come this early?” You complained as you opened your apartment door for the guy. 

When the said guy sheepishly didn’t move and enter, you raised one of your eyebrows. His hands were behind his back, clearly holding something, and you can see both of his arms flexed, seemingly grasping something tightly. You were searching for his boyish grin, but his expression seemed worried instead. 

“I got you flowers.” He said, sounding discouraged. 

“Oh?” You replied, but wondered why he just kept standing and not move. 

“I found out last minute that you don’t like flowers…” He frowned. “Yoongi told me in the group chat after I got too excited and sent them a pic of the flowers I got you.”

He looked like a lost puppy, and suddenly you had the urge to hug him to ease all his pain away. You stopped yourself before the impulse got the best of you and you grabbed him by the forearm, dragging him inside and closing the door. 

“You can’t stay in that position the whole day, you have to hand me the flowers.” You folded your arms, trying to hold in a chuckle. 

“But you don’t like them!”

“I haven’t even seen them.”

He finally moved his hands and revealed a small bouquet of fresh daisies. It was a simple bouquet, nothing too extravagant with a brown wrapping paper. It somehow reminded you of his smile and how radiant he looked when he did so. Yes, you did not like flowers, they were unpractical, it felt like an unnecessary addition, a waste of space. But somehow you like it. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy and it was very pleasant. It made you wanna accept it with open arms. Truthfully, the description did not really feel like it was describing flowers anymore, but you decided to not further ponder on it. 

“Thank you.” You took the flowers and sniffed it, before setting it down on your table. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know, I feel so dumb cause everyone knew already and—“

“Hey, we’ve only known each other for three months.” You assured. “Besides, it’s really not much of a big deal, I actually like them.” 

“You do???”

“Yeah, they look pretty. I don’t know how long I can keep them looking like that though.” 

“Oh my god…” He exhaled deeply. “I was so worried it would be a deal breaker or something. I was literally shaking!”

He laughed and showed his right hand in front of you, it was shaking slightly. You didn’t know why he laughed at it, you didn’t find it funny. 

“It happens sometimes when I’m nervous.” He chuckled. 

Instead of saying something, you took his hand into yours just by intuitive. It was impulsive, but you let go before he had the chance to intertwine his fingers with yours. He didn’t comment on your behavior, but a smile was still on his face as he waited for you to grab your things to go. 

The brunch was on this small cafe near your place. You insisted on paying this time, since he paid for yesterday. The brunch was spent with him trying to sneakily hold your hand, but failed every single time. 

Next activity on the list was buying clothes together. As cringey as that sounded, and you even almost opposed the idea, Jungkook said that he needed to buy new outfit and he wanted to hear your feedback. Plus, some of his clothes barely fit him anymore since he decided to become a gym rat. 

“You actually look great in those skirt.” 

“You’re joking.” You denied, but twirled around in front of the mirror anyway, while trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need the purchase. 

“I’ll buy them for you if you won’t.” 

“We didn’t have all those money-saving talk with Namjoon only for you to say that.” You folded your arms. 

“Oh come on, you look great!” He pointed to you and his lips forming into a small pout. “Besides, we’re on a date today so I think that’s a pretty good excuse.” 

“I thought we are here to help you buy some clothes, not buy me skirt that I probably won’t wear that often.” 

“Let me spoil you for once… please?” He begged, eyes all sparkly. His lips shined along with his two lip piercings. 

“Alright, fine... I’ll get the skirt, but!” You eyed him. “Only if you buy that straight-cut jeans you just tried before.”

“Deal.”

“That’s it? You’re not gonna argue on how those aren’t on trend anymore?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“I was gonna buy them anyways. You were practically drooling when I showed you.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows playfully at you. “Kinda was just waiting for you to admit it…”

You only rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t open your lips to deny his words either. 

After you changed back into your clothes and Jungkook paid for the purchases, he went back to you with a sly grin on his face and you immediately suspected something. He came back with a pair of matching string bracelet. 

“You can just not wear them later if you don’t want to, but let me be delusional for today, okay?”

You both left the store after you let him put the bracelet on your wrist. 

Next in line was spending time on a local amusement park. It was nothing too extreme, just a small carnival that has a few rides and snack booths. The guy kept insisting that you both should take a picture when the sun set. 

“Cotton candy!” Jungkook sprinted to the booth like a hungry kid, his laughter could be heard even as him getting far from where you were standing. 

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you walked to his direction. 

“Pink, blue, or green?” 

“Blue, maybe?”

“Alright.” He grinned and paid the seller as they handed the blue cotton candy stick. “Why blue though?” 

“Dunno, just kinda matches your outfit.”

“Sweetheart, I’m wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt.” He giggled. 

Which should be a crime! Cause who even looks that good in a basic white t-shirt??? You thought to yourself. “Your jeans, I guess..?”

“If you say so.” He chuckled. “Wanna ride the ferris wheel?”

“Being in a such small space with you sounds dangerous.” 

“I’ll protect you, babe.” He winked. 

“The danger is you, babe.” You mocked. 

He smirked, clearly amused. “Well, at least I got you to call me babe, that’s a win for me.” 

“You’re anno— hmph!” He stuffed a ball of cotton candy in your mouth, laughing continuously at the sight. 

After wandering around for a while and finishing the cotton candy, Jungkook dragged you to the shooting game. You refused, saying how you never really win these kind of games, but knowing him, losing was never really his thing. You saw how big the main prize was and you know Jungkook, you knew his ego, you knew damn well that was what he was aiming. 

“If you’re aiming for that giant teddy bear, don’t. We can’t carry that thing around...”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He didn’t listen and instead paid for the game tickets. 

“We can’t carry that in your motorcycle, that’s like another passenger!”

“Just watch me.” He smirked, already aiming with the toy gun. 

You rolled your eyes, there’s really no telling him on this. “Fine, whatever.” 

After just two shots, you hear him jump in celebration, fist in the air and the staff rang the bell for him winning the price. You were ready to complain, but the staff handed you a small frog plushie instead. You looked at Jungkook and saw his boyish grin, his eyes almost turned into crescents. You looked back at the plushie in your hands and couldn’t lie to yourself, it was very adorable. 

“You didn’t aim for the grand prize?”

“You told me not to.” He shrugged. “Plus, you like frogs, right?”

“Well…” 

“I wished I took a picture of your expression when they handed you the plushie.” He laughed, a soft blush decorating his cheeks. 

You finally agreed to ride the ferris wheel with him. The park was going to close in an hour anyway, and you thought why not, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to go for one ride. 

You sat across him, hugging the frog plushie on your lap. It was silent for the first few minutes, but it was comfortable, not awkward. You were just looking at the view from above and silently admiring it. 

“Did you have fun?” He asked. Suddenly your attention went back to him and his smile. 

“Well, yeah… I did.” You nodded. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me, I had fun too.” He smiled. “Everything’s fun with you though so I may be biased…” 

You didn’t really know what to say to counter his words. You just smiled and went back to looking at the window. 

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

“Uh… sure. Just be careful, you might tilt the cart.” 

Jungkook carefully moved to sit next to you. He muttered a small “phew” as he sat down. “Wow, the view’s better here.” He said, looking straight at you. 

“What do you mean? How—” And then it clicked to you. “Oh my god… shut up!” You hit his arm, and he laughed. 

“Take my compliment for once!” 

“Never.” You stuck your tongue out. 

The ride soon came to an end. You remembered that you promised Jungkook to take a picture with the sunset, but out of nowhere it started to rain. Although it was just small drizzle, it’s hard to take picture and avoid getting soaked at the same time. You both ran to the nearest sheltered place, with Jungkook’s leather jacket covering both of you. 

You said your sorry about his now wet jacket, but the boy did not seem to be bothered, as you can see how bright and happy he was, just from running with you under the rain. You sighed, but an idea came to you as soon as you saw a photo booth machine, not far from where you were standing. 

“Do you… maybe wanna do that instead?”

“Photobooth?” He looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe your words. 

“Why? You don’t want to?”

“No! I want to!” He said, almost too quickly. “But it’s just weird that you suggest it. But it’s a good weird!” He chuckled. 

“I promised you a picture, so we’re getting a picture.” 

“Aww.” Jungkook pout his lips in a kissy way, teasing you. 

“Let’s go before I regret it.” You dragged him inside the booth. 

The first pose you playfully put peace signs behind Jungkook’s head, giving him bunny ears, while he only stuck out his tongue. The second one, Jungkook made a love sign with both of his hands, and you surprised him with a middle finger, which he yelled at you afterwards, but couldn’t really continue to complain as the countdown for the next photo were already starting. 

Since Jungkook spent at least three and a half seconds with his protest, you both were panicking for the last picture, running out of ideas. As the countdown stating two, he suddenly pulled you closer and leaned on your shoulder. The shutter flashed and the photo was taken. You were still in awe and couldn’t process what just happened. You only followed when you saw Jungkook making his way out from the booth to collect the picture. 

The guy giggled like a highschool boy, taking the printed photos, then giving one copy to you. You stared at the last picture, how genuine Jungkook’s smile when he leaned on your shoulder, while you had your eyes widened in surprise. You felt your face heating in embarrassment. 

“Ugh… can we just cut out the last picture?” 

“I was thinking the same thing, I’m putting it on my wallet!” He said, eyes still looking up and down on the set of photos. 

When you only looked at him in disbelief, he uttered a small “what?”, and laughed. 

Both of you ended up eating some cups of ramen in a nearby convenience store, as you wait for the rain to stop pouring. He took you home right after, insisting on waking you to your door. 

“Take care of little Kookie for me, yeah?” He said, pointing at your frog plushie, as you stopped at your unit’s front door. 

“Why is he named after you?” You chuckled. 

“I’m his father!” He pretended to be offended.

“Well, say bye to your papa now, little Kookie.” You waved the plushie’s small hand to him. 

Jungkook felt his heart somersault. He turned away for a second, covering his mouth. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh… thank you again, for today…”

“Yeah! Thank you too…” You chewed your inner lips, hugging your plushie close. 

“I uh…” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I just wanna let you know that what I said to you… about deciding whether you like me or not after the dates… I was just saying stuff. I don’t wanna pressure you into deciding your feelings for me or anything, I genuinely just wanna spend some time with you, and I’m thankful for your time.” 

You nodded, smiling at him. Your eyes locked with each other for a quick second. Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the lamp in front of your door that you recently just got replaced. Either way, you could see the stars in Jungkook’s eyes and his skin glowed, but so did his lips. They were practically sparkling and glossy, you wondered if he had put any lip balm over it. For a moment, your attention stopped at his lips, just wondering how it would feel against yours. Would it be soft? Would you feel the cold metal of his lip piercing against your skin? 

The man in front of you seemed to be lost in his thoughts as well. You swore you saw his eyes darted to your lips for a quick glance, before coming back to your eyes. Just when he leaned down a bit to your height level… 

You froze. What was that? You felt your stomach turned, you couldn’t exactly point out whether it was due to nervousness, or if you were simply just afraid. You took a step back and your back almost hit the front door.

“You should head back, it could rain again soon…” You said, looking away. 

“Oh.” There was disappointment in his voice. “Okay then… bye.” He waved to you awkwardly and walked away. 

As you see his figure walking away, you went inside your apartment and closed the door behind you. Sitting down on your sofa, you put your hand over your chest. Funny how your heart was still beating so fast. You were panicking, feeling everything all at once. Nervousness, excitement, curiosity, but mostly fright. The unknown territory was making you scared. The new feelings you were feeling, you didn’t even know if it would be okay to feel it. 

Still laying down on your sofa, you took your phone and dialed your best friend. 

“You called.” You heard Yoongi’s voice from the other line. 

“Why are you saying it like that.” 

“You only call when you’re stressing over something, otherwise, you only text.” 

You hate how smart and observant your friend was sometimes. “I think I feel something for Jungkook.” 

“Isn’t that… I don’t know, good?” 

“I don’t know… it just hit me like a truck, okay? One minute I wanna punch that stupid grin out of his face, the next thing I know, his lips looked so shiny and he got me wondering if his piercings would feel cold against my lips.” 

“Okay, wow.” Yoongi said in amusement. “Care to elaborate?”

“What if I’m just… super horny or something? I mean I haven’t been with anyone for like god knows how long now, and I could just be desperate and Jungkook is good looking, extremely good looking may I add, and—“

“Okay, okay… Y/N, pause for a second.” Yoongi sighed. “So you think you might be just horny and you feel bad for it?”

“Of course I feel bad! I don’t wanna use Jungkook like that! Just because he has this stupid crush on me, doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want with him. I’m not that kind of person!” You exclaimed, the volume of your voice getting slightly higher. 

“Tell me, how do you feel after the dates? Did you enjoy it?”

“Well yeah, I had a great time actually. I didn’t expect Jungkook to be that caring, and he’s actually very good at initiating conversation…” You wondered what else you could point out. 

“During that time, did Jungkook mention or do anything sexual?” 

“N-no! Of course not! Yoongi, do you take me as the fuck-on-the-first-date kind of person???” You said, slightly offended.

“So you like him.” He stated casually. 

“I’m sorry?”

“You caught feelings. Just admit that Jungkook has officially win you over.”

“I… what…” 

“I knew it. I shouldn’t have let you go on those dates, now both of you are gonna be so gross when we hang out...” You heard your friend groaned. 

“I like him?” You asked, more to yourself rather than to your best friend. 

“Maybe you should call Jungkook instead and tell him.”

You widened your eyes in horror. “No way, that guy only has a crush on me, it’s more of a hyperfixation, like I’m his girl of the month or something. I’m sure it’s not like how you think it is.”

“You should ask him yourself instead of making assumptions, just saying. And you know…” Yoongi paused for a second before continuing. “I think that kid is actually a good person, despite how dumb and annoying he looks.” When he got no respond from you, he spoke again. “Alright, I’ll leave you with your thoughts, just make sure you’ll talk with him about this, okay? Take care, Y/N.” 

Yoongi hang up the call while you were still sitting down, expression blank, staring at the wall in front of you. 

—

Jungkook didn’t text you at all after the date. Not like you text each other regularly, but you lowkey expected him to after. You wanted to call him, or at least text him. You wanted to say how you feel but you were again, scared. You began to think if you were reading it wrong. He was popular, you wondered if he just acted like that to everyone, if you were catching feelings, while he just wanted to hang out and have a bit of fun. After all, he never really explicitly said that he had feelings for you, all you knew that he admitted his giant crush for you while being under the influence of alcohol. 

You never hear from Jungkook again until the next week. Hoseok invited you all to game night over his place. You wanted so badly to bail and fake being sick, but Yoongi picked you up, basically forcing you to come and face your problem like an actual adult.

With all these new and mixed emotions that you were still getting used to, the thought of seeing Jungkook in person sounded so overwhelming. He would probably just act like how he usually would, because of course, why wouldn’t he. After all you were the one who suddenly took a weird turn.

“Finally!” Hoseok shouted, as he opened the door for both of you and Yoongi. 

“Come on, switch with Namjoon, he sucks!” Jin spoke while his eyes still not leaving the TV screen and his fingers loud against the controller. 

They were playing Tekken 8 on Hoseok’s Playstation. You saw how Namjoon was basically getting his ass kicked, playing as a Panda character, while Jin quickly leading himself towards victory using the character that coincidentally has the same name as him. 

Jin Kazama wins. 

The oldest one screamed happily, while Namjoon’s protests and excuses could be heard very loudly. Everyone laughed at the two, so it was easy to spot the one who didn’t laugh as much, whose expression didn’t hold that much excitement, sitting on the edge of the sofa just playing with his phone instead. 

“Y/N, come on!” Jin patted the on the carpet to the now empty seat next to him, since Namjoon already excused himself to get more popsicles from the fridge. 

You followed and sat down next to Jin on the carpet, which was directly in front of Jungkook, who was slouching on the couch. 

Sitting down quietly, you took the controller and beginning to scroll through the rooster of characters. You chose the character named Lili, while Jin stayed with his current main. 

When you beat Jin and the sound of your friends cheering loudly was heard, you began to feel a little bit relaxed, at the very least you could forget for a moment about your situation with Jungkook. That was until, you heard Yoongi spoke. 

“Jungkook, your turn.” 

You immediately turned your head towards your best friend, eyeing him straight. How could he betray you like this was beyond you. 

“Nah, you play I’m not really in the mood.” He rejected politely.

Your eyes went back to the screen because you refused to see Jungkook’s expression. You pretended to busy yourself pressing the dpad button up and down on the character choices. 

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard Jungkook refusing a match.” Taehyung said while munching on his potato chips. 

“Yeah, that’s so unlike you, man!” Hobi joined. “Come on, we all know you’re good, but Y/N doesn’t know that yet!” He added. 

A small groan came out from Jungkook’s mouth before he stood up, and once again everyone cheered. Jin stood to switch seats with him. The man locked his eyes with you once, before sitting down and picking up the controller in his hand. He didn’t take too long picking a character. His choice landed on a boxer character. 

The match went quietly with only the sound of the video game from the speaker. Your friends behind you somehow went silent as well, and the atmosphere in the room became very tense. 

“Is it just me or it kinda feels like they’re actually fighting with each other…” Jin whispered to Hoseok who was sitting next to him. Hoseok only signaled with his hand shaking next to his neck to cut it out, while the rest only widened their eyes and try their best not to make any comment. 

You pretended like you did not hear any of it and kept mashing the controller buttons. The milliseconds of your attention being taken away from the game gave your opponent a leaway to break your combo and finally beating down your character. 

Steve Fox wins. 

“All right, Yoongi you switch with me, I’m gonna go get some air.” You excused yourself and headed to the balcony, closing the door behind you. 

Technically it was not a lie. It just got a bit stuffy with eight people inside an apartment living room. Especially when the guy you suddenly had feelings for was in the equation as well. 

You searched your back pocket for your pod and cursed silently when it was nowhere inside your jeans pocket. 

“Looking for your vape?” Jungkook entered the balcony uninvited, wiggling your small disposable vape pod in front of you. But when you were about to take it from him, he withdrew his hand. “I thought you’ve stopped.”

“I did. I only do it when I’m nervous. That’s why it’s a disposable.” You said weakly. 

“I noticed.” He replied in a monotone, now pocketing the pod inside his pants, refusing to give it to you. 

“You smoke, don’t act all high.” You retorted. 

“Well, have you seen me smoke these past few weeks?” 

“No, actually… yeah, now that I think of it, you didn’t even smoke once when we went out—“ You stopped when the memories of your date went through your head. “Jungkook, about that…” You bit your lips, nervously facing him. 

He also turned his body to your direction, looking at you directly. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly said. 

“Huh? For what?” 

“I feel like I’ve pressured you into something you don’t actually want. I’ve been thinking and re-thinking about it the past few days and it drives me crazy. I may have feelings for you, but that doesn’t give me the right to drag you along to do stuff with me just because you enjoyed spending time with me as a friend.”

“Wait, Jungkook, I don’t feel that way!”

“I know! That’s why I apologize—“

“No! I mean, I didn’t feel like you dragged me along or anything. I genuinely enjoyed our date and…” You looked away, taking a deep breath before continuing. “If I’m not reading it wrong, you’re saying you truly have feelings for me?” 

“Isn’t that obvious already?” 

“Well, I thought I was just your girl obsession of the week or something… You have celebrity crushes left and right, okay?! Hell, you even had a crush on Namjoon at one point!!!” 

“The Namjoon crush was a joke. Man just got some nice thighs and I was just admiring it.” He defended. 

You took another deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry as well… the emotions were all just come clashing to me at once and I just told you to go home instead of dealing with it.” 

“But, you rejected my kiss...” He said with a weak voice, you almost didn’t catch it. 

“Cause I haven’t figured out what I want yet. I thought I was just so touch deprived that your lips looked inviting that day.” You admitted while cursing yourself secretly inside your mind. That was lowkey embarrassing. 

“Try being me, your lips look inviting every single day!” He exclaimed, his mood now seemed to be improving. 

“Be serious.” You hit his sides. He muttered an “ow” but you doubted it even hurt the slightest bit. 

“So now you’ve figured out what you want?” His doe eyes looking at you directly. 

“I’m getting there… I guess.” You broke the eye contact, it was a bit too much for you and suddenly you felt a bit sweaty. “But I think I like you too.” 

“Say that again while looking at me.” 

“Hell no.” You suddenly covered your face with both of your hands. 

“Please?” He grabbed your wrists, softly trying to prey open your hands. “I just want to have the visual memory of it captured in my brain.”

When you finally loosened your grip, he took his chance and held both of your hands in his. He grabbed them for a few seconds, intertwining his fingers with yours, before letting them go. He traced his fingers along your right wrist where you wore the bracelet that he got you, the one he got matching with his, and then moved his hands up to cup your face. The entire time he did all that, you could actually feel the shakiness in his hands, and it melted your heart. 

“Can I?”

You nodded and he did not waste any second before dipping in and closing the gap between you. 

Oh boy you were right, his piercings did feel cold against your lips, but that was only for a quick second before everything felt warm and soft, and your mind became blurry. You were moving your lips against his carefully, afraid to accidentally hurt him by his piercing, but instead earned a small bite on your bottom lip from Jungkook. You gasped and pulled away, hitting his chest. Since when were you in his embrace? That you did not know. 

“We gotta head back now or they’ll get suspicious.”

He giggled and kissed your forehead. “They’re already suspicious, babe.” 

“Still, we gotta head back…”

“You guys done making out?! We’re hungry!!!” You heard Jimin shouted from inside the apartment. 

Jungkook and you looked at each other with widened eyes, before laughing in unison. He pecked you on the lips one more time before running back inside with you, holding hands. 

Thank you for reading! 🌸

[ablobwhowrites]

Due to a quote on the office worker y/n...I now can't help but imagining those old habits dying hard because y/n might believe that they have to pay bills in the cookie world, not realizing the cookies are COMPLETELY caring for em! Cue y/n trying to job search but cookies stop them because they didn't want y/n to ever overwork themselves again...so they try to get y/n into hobbies and/or just relax instead...cue y/n being surprised when no bills show up in their mailbox, only daily positive stuff in the mail and gifts the cookies know y/n would like...heck, maybe even drop off groceries to make sure y/n doesn't have the excuse of 'there's nothing at home to eat' to excuse them downing 3 cup noodles...aaaand petty sure if they see y/n getting themselves cup noodles...cue cookie instantly running up to grab the cup ans turn it into an actual meal via adding meat and other stuff lol!

That's a little off topic...main topic...imagine y/n attempting to skip meals and lie to say they aren't hungry...but the moment their stomach growls, all hell breaks loose! Health cookies trying to offer y/n food...

God forbid their stomach growls around hollyberry...she'd probably stuff em like a turkey, making sure y/n was full.

y/n literally had a crisis when they thought that they needed to pay cookie taxes now but yeah cause how bad the human world was that the cookies wondered how y/n was able to stay healthy for so long and not crack under the pressure. Y/n does deny themselves a lot of luxuries because they were to expensive for y/n and that they never had time to enjoy it and they still have that habit because they quietly see what they want but never actually get it because it's to expensive for them or if their friends wanted to take them on a trip, their boss's always said they needed to get paperwork done and then the deadline for the trip was there but their boss said they don't have leave yet. So y/n never was able to enjoy the nice things in life and this absolutely appalled the cookies who were wealthy and even regular cookies hearing how y/n worked 9 to 5 every day and even on weekends as they couldn't leave the job because how highly profile the company was so it would have ruined y/n if they left (they definitely aren't planning to drag y/n's boss to the cookie world to bascially give them the worse fate known to man or something)

Y/n is also in a mind set of having to work and earn money and they don't understand the meaning of rest as they never had a vacation or weekend off cause they literally worked minimum wage and when I say minimum, I mean minimum dude. So when getting so much stuff it basically overwhelmed y/n as they never had so much nice stuff and oh my God they get a well made house and not a apartment!? It's well furnished and has great heating and cooling!? Y/n thought it was a dream and may or may not had violently slapped themselves to see if it was a dream, it wasn't but it did scare the cookies that they did that. Red velvet cookie also gave them a cake hound as a nice gift and also a guard dog for y/n. Cheesecake cookie takes y/n to the most amazing places that some cookies couldn't afford cause she Is canonically loaded dude and poor y/n is so overwhelmed by how much stuff she gets them and y/n tries to convince Cheesecake not to spend so much on them and this goes for every cookie who is rich or gets them something expensive, poor y/n panics over the price.

the physical health cookies definitely try to keep y/n's dough loose and fit as Dr. Bones Cookie supports this as they will give y/n a doctors note for this. It's basically a schedule that blueberry pie cookie makes for y/n and does have a small notes of when y/n eats and what they need to eat and y/n finds that creepy a bit but they fear blueberry pie cookie cause they saw her angry once and they were forced a whole exercise day with all the athlete cookies and a Dr. Bones Cookie appointment in one day and it was torture for y/n as they worked in a office for so long and on top of the fact they were still new to their cookie body, it was absolutely torture and they never anger Blueberry pie cookie cause she controls y/n schedules cause the other cookies saw how efficient she is and y/n can't change that unless they ask but they don't wanna do another exercise day again. But string cheese cookie always tried to keep y/n's things clean and organized as she is a maid and all, plus fruit punch cookie owns a cafè (I looked at his game description stuff and it does say that.) so y/n is able to be at his cafè for as long as they'd like as he does like the company of y/n and they get to try new drinks that he has.

Y/n was thrown a whole feast by hollyberry and the king and queen of the hollyberry kingdom once cause y/n said they weren't hungry and then the biggest stomach growl was heard and sadly y/n couldn't escape in time cause they had left over on left overs they got to eat and I tell you y/n never had such a full meal in their lives but hey they got some berry juice to take home too. Y/n felt like they ate a whole buffet and y/n tries to not make that mistake anymore even around other cookies as they fear what that might result into.

Also once y/n once wandered about to close to beast yeast as they are a cookie in this world so it's not easy to remember where the fuck everything is and ended up being snatched up by Shadow milk cookie cause of his strings and basically this bastard tied y/n up like a spider so they couldn't run away and he just cuddled with them as he finally has them in his arms until they escaped which he was pissed about that and thinks it pure vanilla cookie who took them. Y/n just chewed on the strings until it broke and ran off. Mystic flour cookie does the same but it scares the shit out of y/n as mystic flour cookie could kill them but doesn't as she likes having y/n around, it's strange for her as she doesn't want to turn y/n into flour yet she knows these emotions can be fleeting. Burning spice cookie just holds onto y/n, like a death grip basically and y/n was a regular as human and this is basically a being with powers who needed to be locked away in a magic prison, the only way y/n escaped that was when Golden cheese cookie came to rescue them. Eternal sugar cookie hasn't gotten a hold of them luckily but soon she will but y/n is safe from her for now.

(But anyways that's it for my yapping session for today! But if you guys like it and want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[moonymeloncholymoney]

Rid of him🍁

summary: no matter how hard life gets, one thing was for sure. You were never getting rid of Joaquin Torres ;)

Warnings: none, bad grammar ig, cocky joaquin (he is still a softie tho), fluff, reader being emotional

Word count: 2.2k

Author's note: I am so sorry for the late update. I was suffering from the worst writer's block and I have strict parents so😭😭. Anyways tysm for barring with me. This one is for @teamredlvr ik reader isn't exactly grumpy but I tried my best. Hope you guys like it 💗💗

Being a teacher at abbot is hard, heck being a teacher in general can be a catastrophe if you become one without ever having the true calling and love for teaching. When you do what you love, all the difficult things that come with it become a tad bit easier to handle but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have your hard days too.

and just like that you found yourself climbing the stairs of your exhaustingly long apartment because the lift wasn’t working, which didn’t really help in your case as your day wasn’t going very well to begin with.

After dealing with indecisive children and uncooperative parents you finally decided to head home, You had an entire class’s test to grade, a banner to make for the upcoming fest happening in your school and a truck load of paperwork from the school district inquiring about the progress of your children. You could deal with all of this but you didn’t want to, not when there were tears running down your face, snot on the shoulder of your favorite cardigan and not when you were carrying a bag full of test papers which were causing a deep burning hole to form in the skin beneath your bra strap. Everything about today felt like an unspoken burden that you had to carry because you made the mistake of doing something you love.

You finally reach your apartment door. You feel your bag dropping directly from your shoulders all the way to your fingertips and then hear it falling to the ground. You close your eyes, resting your head on the cold wooden door of your home. The scent of old linen and new laundry hitting you with a sense of comfort and security, you felt like home already. You decided to take the house keys from the back pocket of your jeans, when you feel yourself fall in front and collide with a warm body. You look up to find Joaquin in front of you, confusion and warmth in his coffee brown eyes.

 You hadn’t seen your best friend in about 8 months or so after he came to visit for Christmas last year. He had been deployed at Tunisia and you were swamped with work, the only form of contact between the two of you being, the letters he sent, the cards you wrote and the endless calls you both slept off to.

So, to see him standing there with a spare key in his hand, your favorite movie on the tv and a pair of cup noodles set on the table, does things to you that you can’t even comprehend.

You jump into his arms causing him to stumble a few steps behind him.

“Hey hey hey, you okay? Y/n?” he doesn’t hug back right away, trying to get you to face him and tell him what’s wrong but you’re too busy trying to get the most of him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Shhh…just be here, be here with me.”

He hugs back this time.

He knew you needed that hug but he didn’t realize how much he needed it too until he hugged back. You both poured all the year’s exhaustion into that one hug, easing into each other like two intertwining souls. He sighed into the hug and pulled you closer, making sure he gets enough of you to last at least another 8 months of deployment. It wasn’t until your cat purred at your leg when you both let go of each other.

“I guess someone missed me?” He tried to be cocky but failed miserably due to the fresh tears that had appeared in his eyes.

 You let out a teary laugh before continuing to speak, “I thought you weren’t supposed to come back till after next week? how i- oh my god I had a whole thing planned for your welcome party!” You admitted as you flung your hands in your face.

“The mission got over earlier than we expected and then I remembered that I have my beautiful best friend to tend to, now are you gonna tell me why you are crying? And don’t say it’s because you’re happy to see me, I know something’s up” you know arguing with Joaquin was only going to end up in vain. So, you decided to pick your bag up from the floor as he led you through your door.

You knew lying to him wont work, it never had. He was the kind of person who would poke you to death until you revealed what was bothering you. He cared and he would make sure that you knew of it, even if that meant that he had to be a bit annoying at times.  Life was good when you both were constantly in each other’s life. You remembered when he took you to McDonalds after your first boyfriend dumped you on prom night.

“One iced mocha coffee for you and one large-large big mac for both you and me cause I don’t want to die eating all of this alone” you wiped your eyes on Joaquin’s blazer which now sat on your shoulders, as you felt him slide down beside you on the floor outside McDonalds.

“hey” He shifted his gaze to you.

“hey” you said looking down, not wanting him to see the mascara stains that ran down your face smearing your cheeks black.

“If there is anyone who should be crying right now, it’s that pathetic fuck of a guy who even thought about leaving a girl like you on prom night, not you”

“He has a name you know?”

“yeah well, I don’t care”

“ Also…Joaquin Torres, did I just hear you curse?”

“you won’t let me kick his face so I might as well curse” he said as he took a big bite of his big mac.

“look,I just wanted to say thank you and that I am sorry...for making you miss prom night” you admitted quietly ad you hugged your body tightly.

“wait why are you sorry?” Joaquin made a face so atrocious you thought he choked on his food. He turned completely to sit facing you.

“Well, I did ruin your prom night and I mean didn’t you finally ask that cute blonde out…wait what was her name again?”

“Jessca” he said going back to his original position, shoulder to shoulder to you.

“Jessica, yeah”

“no-no, jess-ca like she has no ‘i’ in her name” he laughed.

“Are you for real?”

“I am so for real, she almost had a seizure when I pronounced her name wrong but continued to call me jack the entire time. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I even wanted to go out with her.”

“Yeah well me too. I should’ve known he was a dick when he said ant-man wasn’t a legit super hero”

you hooked your arm under his elbow, kept your head on his shoulder and opened your mouth for him to give you a bite of the big mac.

“Oh yeah then this one’s definitely on you.” You smacked his arm as he kept his head on top of yours.

there was a moment of silence, comfortable silence. The one where you appreciated each other’s company through unsaid words and through a million little actions that made you question if you two were just good friends.

“Also you never have to thank me or apologize for that matter”

“what?”

“I said you never have to-.”

“No, I heard that but why?”

“because then you’ll end up saying thanks way more than you can ever imagine, cause you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon” he said he looked down upon you.

“You’re this big sap aren’t you?”

“Says the person who is going to start crying again” he says with a smile that says all you need to hear.

“Okay shoot.  What happened, who made you cry and do I need to kick someone because now I legally can” Joaquin said as he sat on the sofa in front of you. He handed you the takeout he got the both you.

“No you don’t have to kick anyone and I really wouldn’t want you to do that either”

“You’re no fun”

“and you’ve got sauce on your face”

“Y/N” he said while looking at you dead serious.

“Joaquin” you said as you wiped the sauce of his face and ate it of your finger.

“I am serious, tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and kept your food on the center-table beside you and sat with your knees to your chest.

“i…do you think I am a bad teacher?” your voice went quite, and Joaquin’s throat went dry. How could you be a bad teacher? You, who spent hours teaching him 12th grade mathematics one day before the exam so that he didn’t fail and that too without losing your patience. You, who made an entire batch of cookies for your student book club after they finished reading their first book as a reward. Teaching was not an easy profession and definitely not a financially wise one either but you knew how much a good teacher impacted the kids so you wanted to be the same for your students and try to be bring change in any which way you could.

“Y/N, angel why would you think that?” he shifted close in front of you.

“Because a student’s mom literally said it to my face today, told me that I’d be a better teacher if I focused on teaching them out of textbooks instead of silly little novels” you said as a few tears fell from your eyes.

“but reading books helps increase their vocabulary and not just that it also helps them focus better” Joaquin admitted it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Exactly! Well, I tried telling her that but she lashed out on me and walked out of my class, I felt so stupid…so unwanted. And its not like Barbabra didn’t make me feel better, it’s just… I try my level best to make sure all the kids are learning in a way that expands their horizon. I just don’t want them to by heart the textbook, I want them to understand why the textbooks say what they do. I just wish the parents also looked at it that way instead of trying to make their job easier and getting over with their child’s homework as soon as possible”

Barbara was the senior teacher in the school and even though she did assure you that you were one of the best teacher’s out there, you needed to rant out your feelings to make sure that all your feelings don’t spill like a bottle of wine manhandled.

You were full on crying now, shirt drenched with tear drops and mascara smeared across your face the same way it did all those years ago. Joaquin kept his take out beside him and pulled you towards him through your elbow forcing you to sit with your head on his shoulder and your arm hooked under his elbow.

“Well according to me, someone who can’t even sit with their child and help them do their homework doesn’t get to call you a bad teacher.”

“Joaquin i-.” he shushes you with a finger on your lips, “Let me finish.”

“and you’re not the parent’s teacher, you are your student’s. So don’t you dare let any parent tell you otherwise, when you know damn well how much your students adore you. You are a great teacher and the class’s grade says all it has to. Also, you made Shakespeare interesting for me, do you know astounding that is for someone who barely got through 10th grade English. So, yes I don’t think you’re a bad teacher, I think you’re the best and the most fun teacher these children will ever have.”

He wiped your mascara smudged cheek and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“ Yeah well I don’t know what I’d do without me either” he sighed as he picked up his takeout again.

You smacked his arm and opened your mouth to take a bite of the noodles he was having.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Whatever is yours is mine” you said ad you grabbed the takeout from his hands and left a opened mouthed and a little offended looking Joaquin to stare at you.

“Oh you’re so going down” he said as snatched the takeout from your hands and put it on the table and got on both his knees on the sofa.

“Joaquin what are you- No Oh my god” your laughter echoed through the room as you felt your back touch the soft material of the sofa and Joaquin's fingers dug into the sides of your waist as he continued to tickle you.

You were crying from how much you were laughing, he was laughing from how much you were. And in that moment all was forgotten because you knew that you were not getting rid of him anytime soon and that was all you needed to know.

Taglist: @brittnicki @buckyytorres @halliejaade @joaquinwhores @cruel-seduction @fireinmoonshot @badboysupremelvr @teamredlvr @nathanbatemanfucker @glader13

[destinysbounty]

I think I wouldn't mind Zane's NPC-ification quite as much as I do, if it didn't feel like they were also retconning the fact that he was ever a person to begin with.

Like, sure, I totally understand. Dragons Rising has a huge ensemble cast, and the RGB trio + new ninja are the clear focus. And I don't mind that! Everyone who does get proper narrative attention is written so wonderfully and I adore what we have. But...sometimes it feels like they're just kinda divvying up everything that makes Zane who he is and giving it to everyone else, and never even briefly acknowledging Zane's ties to those traits.

Remember when Zane used to have prophetic dreams foretelling future events? Me neither. Hey Lloyd, how are your visions coming along?

Or, y'know how one of Zane's most integral plot lines, character details, and motifs is his struggles with memory and identity? Remember that time he got amnesia and was then both manipulated and magically corrupted into being a villain? Nah that never happened, anyway check out what Jay is up to now

Or, does anyone recall how Zane is a canonically really good cook with pies so delicious they made Jay cry on screen? No that's Arin's thing, actually

Heck, we even have our quota of ~Silly Robot Beep Boop Bop~ jokes fulfilled by Lobbo!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on any of the other characters for having these traits. Nor am I arguing that Zane should have a singular monopoly on these types of storylines. But when they take traits that have for so long been primarily associated with Zane, like cooking and visions and amnesia, and share them with someone else without even briefly acknowledging Zane's prior involvement...idk. It just feels like they're trying to repackage all the things that make Zane interesting while still writing him out of the narrative. It feels like they're going "whaat? Zane, have personality outside of being a generic robot character?? That never happened!" Like they're just trying to have their nindroid and kill him too.

And I mean, to some extent I can understand their hesitation. It's the same reason the Mr. E/Echo reveal got scrapped in s8 - theres just way too much going on right now, and the narrative load required to explain somwthing this complicated during a reboot/sequel would just bog down an already very complicated story. Zane has a very convoluted backstory that, for new fans dropping in to the sequel series for the first time, may be difficult to explain. How do you recap Zane's history with amnesia in a neat an tidy way for the next gen story, when there's already so much going on?

Like i said, i get that. But they could at least make, like, brief blink-and-youll-miss-it allusions, yknow? Like how they played the Ice Emperor theme during Zane's existential crisis during drs1, or when Zane told Zanth not to follow dancing birds in drs3. Tasteful, subtle, doesn't require much insider knowledge and newer fans could easily interpret it as a noodle incident comment without losing out on their comprehension.

Maybe after Jay gets eliminated from the Tournament, Zane offers to go after him saying, "I've lost myself once or twice before. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's me." And if you want to preserve the plot unobstructed, maybe you can have it so that either Zane fails to get through to Jay or Jay is gone without a trace before he can get to him. Maybe there's a brief scene of Zane making a pie to try and cheer Sora up, but she can't eat it because it reminds her too much of Arin. Or maybe Lloyd has a panic attack over his visions and Zane is the one to offer him the advice about not fighting the vision and letting it come naturally.

Don't you see how easy that is? You would change literally nothing about the story at large, and you're not detracting from the main plotlines or character arcs that are quite validly dominating this series. But you're also throwing a bone to the people who actually like Zane. Like???? I'm not even asking for much here, man :/

Idk. Maybe I'm just bitter and need to touch grass, who's to say

[rawjutsu]

HI :3 p2 of the ":3 with benefits" series

pairing: college aged loser yuuta x college aged lesser loser freader

summary: you run. he texts. you cave. ramen and doujinshi follow.

cw: eh none i think

you didn’t walk out of yuuta’s dorm—you fled. with your bra twisted, one shoe in your hand, and the ghost of his moan still ringing in your ears.

“your tits are so soft—i could die right here—i’d be so happy—”

you practically launched yourself into the hallway before he could finish the sentence. he was still panting, sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead like some sort of deranged hentai protagonist. you handed him your number just to get him to shut up.

“yeah haha sure text me”

you slam the dorm door behind you and don’t stop walking until you’re back at your own building. you delete the hinge app before you’ve even made it out of the parking lot, praying to whatever god watches over chronically online women that he never texts you.

and for a few days… he doesn’t.

you're just starting to breathe again when your phone buzzes.

yuuta 🤷‍♂️ hi :3

you stare at the message for a full minute.

you consider blocking him. you consider changing your number. but for some unholy reason—maybe you bumped your head running from his dorm—you reply.

hi

you stare at the bubble for a beat longer than you should, already regretting everything. but then he sends:

yuuta 🤷‍♂️ wanna get ramen with me? there’s this manga cafe that just opened n it has private booths and curry udon n a bunch of old school stuff :3

...private booths. doujinshi. ramen.

you sigh.

sure why the hell not

. . .

the manga café is cozy, cluttered, and smells like miso broth and freshly printed paper. yuuta’s already waiting at the front, still with that same sheepish smile, dressed in an oversized hoodie with faded black jeans and beat-up converse. the circles under his eyes are still aggressively present, but somehow it works.

“i got us the booth with the tv and the kotatsu table,” he says like he’s trying to impress you. “also, i preordered the spicy pork ramen. i didn’t know your spice tolerance so i got mild but you can swap if you want!!”

the booth is stacked with manga—classics, shoujo, even a few questionable titles you’d never admit to reading. you snort when you see a copy of that one infamous maid-themed bl doujin you’d bought on accident.

you stare at yuuta across the kotatsu table, chopsticks hovering in midair.

he's busy poking at his soft-boiled egg like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. occasionally he lets out a soft “mmm” at the flavor like he's a food critic and not the same man who had hentai girl posters on his ceiling.

the ramen's good. the ambiance? cozy. the playlist overhead is playing old-school anime ops. you should be having fun.

but you’re spiraling.

is this a date? can you even call it a date if you already got folded like a lawn chair by the dude three nights ago? shouldn’t this have happened before the sex? like, chronologically?

you sip your broth like it’ll clear your head, but instead it just burns your tongue.

yuuta looks up and smiles like you didn’t literally run out of his dorm like a bat out of hell the last time you saw him.

“i’m glad you came by, i was kinda nervous you’d block me lol”

did he just say lol out loud?

“i almost did.”

“fair.”

he’s honest, at least.

you glance around the café again, the soft hum of anime bgm blending with the slurp of noodles. there’s a couple in the next booth holding hands over a volume of my love story!! and someone solo-reading berserk with the focus of a monk.

you look back at yuuta.

“so... what is this exactly?”

he tilts his head.

“ramen.”

“no, like… us. this.”

yuuta blinks. his mouth opens, closes, then opens again like he’s buffering. you watch in real-time as his brain loads a response.

“i mean… i guess it’s a date? like, if you want it to be? or it can be just ramen? or like… a doujinshi meetup? with food?”

he says it so casually, like you’re not questioning your whole life and the concept of post-hookup social rituals.

you squint.

“do you normally date girls after railing them with hentai posters above your bed?”

he looks horrified.

“OH MY GOD I MEANT TO TAKE THOSE DOWN—I WASN’T EXPECTING COMPANY THAT DAY—”

you laugh. loudly. you’re not even mad you're just so bewildered. 

yuuta groans and hides behind his bowl, his ears visibly red.

“it’s okay if you don’t want this to be a thing,” he mutters. “i just like hanging out with you. like. you’re funny. and cool. and you knew the artist of that succubus doujin without even checking the spine and that was really hot actually.”

you pause.

that’s… kind of the nicest thing anyone’s said to you on a date. if this is a date. you’re still not sure.

but he’s looking at you now—not in the same way he did that night, all dazed and pussy-drunk—but like he’s actually seeing you.

“thanks,” you say. “that’s... weirdly sweet.”

he grins, cheeks still pink.

and suddenly you're just sitting on the floor next to a large bookcase, knees brushing, trading doujinshi recs with the guy who railed you within an inch of your life then asked if he could "hold your boobs for comfort."

it’s weird.

but it’s not... bad?

you leave the café with a full stomach, a new copy of succubus maid academy vol. 4, and a lingering feeling in your chest you can't quite name. yuuta waves at you as you walk off, still hugging his half-read bl anthology to his chest.

“text me when you get back safe okay!!”

you don’t promise you will.

but you do.

taglist: @isagistar sttaejoon-blog

[theethighpriestess]

Chapter 1 - The First Bite

A/N: First off, I wanna thank @nahimjustfeelingit-writes for coming up with this dope ass idea & @anaiyaflys143 for suggesting I write it. I hope I do you both justice. I think I want this to have multiple parts, but I need life to cooperate. Hope y'all enjoy!

*All character images created by me ☺️*

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Eden Taylor (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, Adult Language, Supernatural Elements, Typical Vampire Shit, Vampire Kink, Explicit Sex (Not yet, but it's coming)

Summary: Eden’s broke. Her rent’s late, her car sounds like it’s choking, and her dreams of making it as a singer in New Orleans are getting harder to hold onto. So when she sees a sketchy little ad offering big cash to be a “discreet donor,” she answers it. She tells herself it’s just money. Just blood. Just once. But the contract’s signed, the room is breathing, and Eden? She might’ve just stepped into something deeper than debt.

Word Count: 5.5K

New Orleans, 2005

Eden stared blankly at the digits on the weathered ATM.

$14.26.

All the money she had left from her work-study check that wouldn’t replenish for another week. Between rent, paying for studio time, and outfits for her upcoming shows, Eden had left herself broke and destitute yet again.

“Who told you to take the term ‘starving artist’ so literally?” she muttered to herself, tucking the receipt into the pocket of her tattered jean jacket.

She hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. Just a gas station honey bun, half a bottle of warm Sprite, and whatever sleep could trick her body into thinking it was full. Her rust-colored Honda ran on a quarter tank and prayer, the engine coughing every time she turned the key. The inside smelled like jasmine body spray, fried hair, and quiet panic.

Fishing her Motorola Razr from the depths of her tote, she scrolled to the contact labeled “Pops.” She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering, before finally pressing CALL.

Three rings. A click.

“Yo,” came the gravelly voice on the other end. Always detached. Always mid-something more important.

“Hey,” Eden said, trying not to sound too pitiful. “You got like…twenty dollars I could borrow?”

A long pause. She could practically hear him blinking.

“Sorry, kiddo, I’m all tapped out.”

She knew it was a lie. He always said that. She could hear a game show buzzing faintly in the background, followed by the sound of beer cracking open. But she didn’t press it.

“It’s cool, Pops.” She cleared her throat, pushing down the lump forming there. “I’ll make something shake. I saw an ad for a babysitting gig in the Garden District, so I’ll try that.”

“Good,” he said, voice already drifting. “See? You ain’t gotta always be runnin’ after those stage lights. Just find somethin’ steady.”

She didn’t respond. Just hung up and slid the phone back into her purse like it was a loaded gun.

Back at her tiny studio apartment in Mid-City, Eden sat cross-legged on her futon, her open planner in her lap. A flyer for an open mic night at Tipitina’s was pinned above her bed with a pink glitter pushpin. She had two weeks to come up with a new track and scrape together the $80 she owed her producer for the beat she was using.

She opened her laptop, praying it would connect to the neighbor’s spotty Wi-Fi. While it loaded, she scribbled in the margins of her notebook:

“I ain’t tryna sing for scraps, I want velvet on my mic stand Moët in my vocal booth, not noodles from the nightstand…”

Cute. Maybe.

She clicked over to Craigslist. Typing “cash gigs” in the search bar had become second nature.

Dog walking. House cleaning. Foot modeling?

But then, something new. Something far from anything she’d seen listed before.

“DONOR OPPORTUNITY – NIGHT WORK. DISCREET. HIGH COMPENSATION. 21+ ONLY. Must be comfortable with blood. Text 504-9VAMPYR.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. 

“Blood?”

She clicked anyway.

The ad was vague but intriguing. It promised “stress-free, safe work” for “exclusive clientele.” It also mentioned “consent-based feeding arrangements,” which sounded... weirdly medical. Or criminal.

She almost exited the tab—but her mouse hovered over the last line:

“Neck: $300/hr. Wrist: $400/hr. Inner thigh: $550/hr. Discretion required.”

She burst out laughing, sharp and alone in her little apartment. “Yeah, okay. That’s definitely a scam. Probably run by some dude named Clarence with a fake fang kink.”

But something about it stuck. Along with her passion for music, she also had a passion for all things occult: vampires, black magic, and everything in between. She was the bayou bruja stereotype personified, save the fact that she didn’t actually know any spells.

Eden wasn’t sure what it was about this ad that had her so curious. Maybe it was the dollar signs flashing in her mind. Perhaps it was the way her stomach twisted with nerves and low-grade hunger. Or maybe it was the fact that being bitten on the thigh for rent money somehow felt less soul-crushing than waitressing at a chain diner where the manager hit on her.

She grabbed her phone and typed quickly.

Eden T. | Type O- | Available Nights

Then she added, like a joke she hoped the universe would get:

“I sing too, in case that’s relevant.”

She snickered to herself until the number responded, almost immediately.

504-9VAMPYR:

“Voice matters more than you know. You’re expected tonight. Come dressed in black. No perfume. Bring ID.”

Attached was a pin drop to an address in the Warehouse District. The kind of place that always looked abandoned from the outside but was crawling with secrets beneath the surface.

Eden stared at the screen. Then at her closet.

She had a mesh crop top, a fake leather skirt, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Close enough to black. She pulled them out with a sigh and laid them across her unmade bed. Her hands lingered on the hem of the skirt, suddenly wondering if she should shave. Then she laughed out loud, dry and humorless.

“Girl, if he’s a vampire, you think he cares about some stubble?” she mused, glancing down at her untamed bikini line.

She peeled off her hoodie and leggings and tugged on the outfit with practiced ease. The crop top rode up a little too high, showing off the silver belly ring she got impulsively after a poetry night and three Hennessy shots. She tightened the straps on her Docs and pulled her curls into a high puff, fluffing it just enough to look intentional.

Eyeliner came next. Heavy, winged, and slightly uneven, like it had been applied in a moving car or in the middle of a breakdown. She smudged a bit of charcoal shadow beneath her lower lashes for good measure, giving her eyes that soft, smoky bruised look, like she hadn’t slept in days but might still stab you if you stared too long.

A dusting of translucent powder dimmed the natural shine of her skin, but she let her freckles peek through. She dabbed a hint of burgundy gloss on her lips and pressed highlighter onto the high points of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Just enough to glow under bad lighting.

She looked like something out of a Southern ghost story. Part beauty queen, part grieving widow. Like the kind of girl you'd see barefoot on a sagging porch in the heat of July, black veil over her eyes, sipping sweet tea that might just kill you.

She stepped back from the mirror and tilted her chin to the left.

She didn’t look like someone about to audition for a vampire sugar daddy.

She looked like someone who had nothing left to lose.

But that was the thing about having nothing. It made you bold. Eden didn’t feel fear. Not yet. What she felt was unavailable. Numb, on the edge of something primal. Like her instincts were holding their breath, waiting to see if she was about to step into a miracle… or a casket.

She grabbed the rose water mist from her nightstand, hesitated, then spritzed a light veil of it over her curls instead of her neck. Just a whisper of hydration and a ghost of a scent that faded almost instantly. The text had said no perfume, and she wasn’t trying to test boundaries with creatures who drank life juice for breakfast.

She grabbed her keys, slipped her phone into her bra, and stared down at her chipped black nail polish before muttering, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Then she locked the door behind her.

The drive to the Warehouse District felt longer than it was. The rust-colored Honda coughed once at a red light and stuttered like it was nervous, too. Eden slapped the dash like she was coaxing a stubborn mule.

“Not tonight, baby, c’mon…”

She turned up the radio, some old Destiny’s Child track with a beat strong enough to drown her thoughts. She sang along half-heartedly, mouthing the lyrics more than meaning them, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she was trying to tap the fear out of her bloodstream.

Her mind didn’t cooperate.

What if it’s a cult? What if they drain you and leave you in a ditch behind a daiquiri shop? What if it’s real?

She wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

She pulled up to the address just after midnight. The building loomed like it had been waiting for her. It was tall, industrial, and built from bones and bad decisions. The kind of place that still smelled faintly of sweat, rust, and prohibition. Like someone had converted a cotton mill into a nightclub and then forgotten to put up a sign.

All the windows were blacked out. No buzz of neon. No music. No movement. Just that single red light above the steel door, blinking slow and steady like a pulse. Or a warning.

Eden sat there for a second longer than she meant to, the engine idling as her hand hovered near the key. Her stomach flipped, hard and sudden. It was that same twist she felt before going on stage, before she opened her mouth and let the world judge her voice, her dream, her want.

That anticipatory ache. That leap of faith you had to take before a mic, a man, or a monster.

Then she got out.

The air hit her like a wet rag, thick with humidity, heavy with something else. Something older than the pavement beneath her boots. The breeze curled around her ankles and crept up her spine, stirring the hem of her skirt and making the back of her neck prickle.

There was a scent in the air, faint but unmistakable. Jasmine. Smoke. No, ash. Burnt incense. Like the end of a ritual.

She stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath her boots, the only sound in the stillness. No music. No voices. Just her breath and that red light, blinking above her like a slow countdown.

When she reached the door, it opened before she could knock.

Not with a creak. Not with a dramatic hiss. Just a smooth, effortless glide, like whoever or whatever was on the other side had been expecting her the whole time.

Eden paused in the threshold, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning bell. She glanced once over her shoulder, back at her Honda parked under the flickering streetlamp, its paint dull and flaking like old blood.

She could leave. She could run.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, tucked her gloss-smudged lips into a tight line, and stepped into the dark.

A man stood just inside. Pale. No older than thirty, if you could even put an age on someone like that. His black dress shirt was perfectly pressed, tucked into tailored pants that caught the low light like water. Silver chains shimmered across his collarbone, subtle and cold. White gloves on both hands, like he was either about to serve a five-course meal or prep a body for burial.

His eyes swept over her. Not sexual, not even curious. More like he was measuring her for something. A scan. Efficient, impersonal. She might as well have been a barcode.

“You’re Eden,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I am,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

“Follow me.”

So she did.

The hallway was long and narrow, padded in deep red velvet that brushed against her shoulders every few steps. The walls breathed warmth, but the air stayed cool, scented faintly with clove, old paper, and something floral that had long since dried out. Dim amber sconces flickered along the path, casting warped shadows that stretched and curled with her movements. It didn’t feel like walking into a building. It felt like being swallowed.

Each step took her further from reality. Her dad’s voice in the car, still ringing with disappointment. The zeroes in her bank account. The half-finished demo she couldn’t afford to master. All of it fell away, like static detaching from a radio dial. She wasn’t sure if she was floating or sinking.

The man said nothing, just led her deeper.

Eventually, they reached a door. It looked ancient, carved with symbols she didn’t recognize. Something that felt older than language, older than the city itself. They pulsed faintly under the glow of the hallway lights, as if alive beneath the grain of the wood.

The man knocked once. A dull, heavy sound.

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door open. He didn’t go in. Just stepped aside and motioned for her to enter.

Eden hesitated. Only for a second. Long enough to feel her heart rise in her throat, thick and loud. Then she stepped over the threshold.

And the world changed.

The air inside was cooler, denser, but it didn’t chill her. It settled around her skin like silk. Everything glowed in shades of wine and shadow. Low lights glinting off crystal, velvet drapes billowing near tall windows sealed shut. Music played somewhere far away, too soft to follow but rich enough to taste.

It wasn’t a room. It was a scene. A set. A spell.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn toward the figure seated at the far end.

And that was when she saw him.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn to the figure at the far end of the room.

He sat like he owned more than just the building. Like he owned the hour, the tension, even the breath in her lungs. Leaning back in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely on the armrest, he looked every bit the gentleman devil.

He wore a deep burgundy suit that soaked up the light like velvet. It was tailored so sharply it could’ve drawn blood. Gold embroidery traced the lapels in delicate patterns, only catching the light when he moved. Serpents, maybe, or ivy, curling like secrets. A thick gold Cuban link chain sat heavy against his chest, and a matching pinky ring caught the lamplight when he lifted his hand to his jaw.

His skin was smooth, the kind of smooth that didn’t come from skincare, but from time. A warm brown, almost bronze, like whiskey left out in the sun. He looked like he could be in his late twenties, but Eden could feel the weight behind the stillness. The kind of quiet you feel in old houses or graveyards.

Then there were his eyes.

They held a faint glow, not glaring or artificial, but soft and strange, like candlelight burning behind thick purple glass. The color wasn’t the unsettling part; it was the depth. If she stared too long, she’d probably see everything he’d done and everything he wanted from her now.

And when he smiled—

It wasn’t wide. Just a small curl of his mouth, more on the left side, like he was letting her in on a secret she didn’t deserve to hear yet. That’s when she saw it. A gold open-faced grill on one of his fangs, subtle and gleaming. Not flashy or loud, just intentional. The kind of accessory that told you he’d been rich for longer than you’d been alive and had nothing left to prove.

Eden’s breath caught before she could stop it. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or fascination. Probably both.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t need to.

His voice rolled out, low and velvet-smooth, the kind that made people lean in without realizing.

“Eden,” he said, her name sitting on his tongue like something rare and expensive.

She nodded once. “That’s me.”

His gaze flicked downward, taking in her boots, her skirt, the smudge of eyeliner she hadn’t meant to look perfect. He wasn’t judging her. He was gathering details, building a file in his mind.

“Pretty name,” he said. “Pretty girl.”

Her jaw tightened at the compliment. She’d heard it too many times before from broke boys and drunk strangers. But from him, it didn’t feel cheap. It felt like a warning.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

Stack tilted his head just enough to shift the mood. Not much. Just enough to make her uneasy.

“I’m Elias Moore,” he said. “But folks around here call me Stack.”

“Stack,” she repeated.

He gave her that same half-smile.

“I like a girl who listens.”

Then he rose from his chair.

Not quickly. Not slow either. Just smoothly, like he didn’t have to try. He was taller than she expected, and his frame filled the room like music you couldn’t turn down. He moved with purpose, not just confidence, but certainty, like the floor had always been waiting for his footsteps.

When he stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel the stillness coming off him, she realized he didn’t wear cologne. The flyer had warned against perfume, and he clearly followed the same rule. But still, there was a scent. Faint and warm, like sandalwood, old leather, maybe even dried jasmine crushed into parchment.

He raised a gloved hand.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. “But if you take one more step, you’re choosing not to.”

She looked at his hand. Elegant. Dead. Gold ring catching the light.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She didn’t take his hand.

But she didn’t move away either.

His hand hovered in the space between them for another second before he let it fall.

Stack nodded toward a low velvet chair across from his own. “Sit if you want. Or stand. Some people feel safer that way.”

Eden moved without thinking, sliding into the seat like her knees might give out otherwise. Her palms were sweating, but she kept them in her lap. He didn’t look like the type who’d offer napkins.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of decisions. Stack poured two fingers of something amber into a crystal glass from a decanter by his elbow, then slid it across the table toward her. He didn’t pour himself one.

Eden stared at it. “Is it safe?”

Stack grinned, just a flash of gold and teeth. “Safer than most things you’ve done to chase a dream, I’d bet.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared down at the drink and finally lifted it, more out of pride than thirst. It burned, but not bad. Smooth like molasses with a bite at the end, like it knew you had secrets and didn’t mind.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s talk about the job.”

Eden sat straighter. “Alright.”

“You know the basics,” Stack said. “You let someone feed. You get paid. How far you want to go is up to you.”

He tapped a long finger against the table, slow, like a metronome counting down something important.

“Neck’s three hundred an hour. Wrist’s fourhundred, thigh’s five-fifty. Shoulder anywhere else, we can negotiate. You can sign on as a regular, or keep it casual. We also offer exclusive arrangements. More private. More lucrative. More dangerous.”

Eden pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, pretending she wasn’t halfway to hyperventilating. Her mouth felt like cotton and her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. But her voice held steady.

“What’s the risk?”

Stack shrugged. “Some vampires don’t know when to stop. Some donors fall in love. Some folks just aren’t built for it. We vet both sides, but accidents happen. That’s why we sign oaths. Confidentiality. Consent. Boundaries.”

She stared at him for a moment. “And you? What do you do here? Besides sit in velvet and look... like that.”

He smiled again, but slower this time, like he appreciated the jab. “I run this place. I built it. I make sure the hungry don’t get sloppy, and the desperate don’t disappear. That’s my job.”

“And if I disappear anyway?”

Stack’s smile faded, not into anger, but into something quieter. He looked at her in that same scanning way from before. Like he was looking past the makeup, past the attitude, down into the parts of her she didn’t let people touch.

“You got people who’d come looking for you?”

Eden thought of her dad. His voice on the phone, always clipped when she brought up music or asked for help. She thought of her name on the caller ID and the way he probably paused before letting it go to voicemail.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

Stack didn’t look surprised. “Then you’re the kind of girl this place was made for.”

The room settled into stillness again, thick as gumbo. The only sound was the soft buzz of something electrical and the faint thump of music far beneath them. Eden’s thoughts were running in circles, dragging every old warning and new curiosity with them.

She thought about her bank account. About the way her car shuddered when she turned the key. About the silk dress she wanted to wear for her next show that still sat in the consignment window with a tag she couldn’t afford.

She thought about her voice. That gift she was chasing like it owed her something. Every sacrifice. Every studio hour. Every burnt-out candle and scribbled lyric.

And then she thought about this room. This man. This offer that felt like it came from a door she didn’t know she’d already opened.

“What happens if I say yes?” she asked.

Stack’s eyes didn’t blink. “Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re fed, rested, paid. Protected. You give me your time and a little of your blood. I give you everything else.”

“And if I want more?” she asked, softer now. “Not just money. I want freedom. A little power of my own.”

For the first time, something shifted in his face. Not surprise, but interest. Real interest.

“You’d be surprised what blood can buy,” he said. “Especially when it’s yours.”

Eden exhaled slow. She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wanted to. That scared her more than anything.

She looked down at her chipped nail polish, at the ring she kept on her pinky for good luck, then back up at him.

“I’ll try it,” she said. “Once.”

Stack nodded like he already knew. He stood again and reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment. The kind that smelled like it belonged in a museum. He laid it on the table with a small, weighted pen.

“Name, date, initials here and here. Once you sign, the room changes.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Stack’s purple eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”

She stared at the parchment. Her heart thumped a little faster now, but she didn’t hesitate.

She signed.

And the room breathed.

Not literally, but that’s how it felt. The wallpaper shifted, shadows deepened. Something behind her spine tingled, as if the walls were watching now.

Stack watched her, too. “You hungry?”

Eden blinked. “A little.”

He extended a hand. This time, she took it.

His hand was cool. Not cold like death, just cooler than it should’ve been. Like he hadn’t been touched by sun or sweat in years. Eden followed him through a second doorway that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She could’ve sworn that wall was solid when she walked in. Now it opened like a secret.

The new room was quieter. Darker, too, but not in a threatening way. It felt... sacred. The lighting came from candles tucked into glass sconces, their flames barely flickering. The walls were painted a deep garnet that made the space feel like it had been dipped in wine. Heavy curtains hung in the corners like they were hiding more than windows.

At the center of the room sat a low velvet couch and a wide leather chair shaped like a throne, but not gaudy. Worn in. Like someone had loved it for a long time. The air smelled faintly of clove and something richer, something warm. It wrapped around her like a robe.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Stack said, his voice lower now, closer to a whisper.

Eden moved to the couch. Her legs didn’t feel like her own anymore. The velvet was soft under her fingers, like the kind of fabric rich people bought without checking the price tag. She leaned back and took a breath.

Stack remained standing. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd her. Just watched.

“I’m going to ask again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, slower this time. Less show. More meaning.

“Good. Then we’ll make it clean.”

He walked over to a cabinet near the back of the room and pulled out a shallow silver bowl, etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. Then he lit a bundle of dried herbs and let the smoke curl into the corners. It didn’t choke the air, just warmed it, changed it. Eden felt something loosen in her chest. The fear didn’t vanish, but it dulled.

“This is how we start,” he said. “No one touches without consent. You say stop, I stop. You say no, we’re done. Say the word mercy if anything feels wrong.”

She nodded. “Mercy.”

“Good girl.”

The words should’ve felt patronizing. But they didn’t. They felt like a key turning in a door.

He set the bowl on a low table beside the couch, then took off his gloves. His hands were ringed in gold and the veins under his skin looked faintly violet, like there was something strange running through him.

“Where?”

Eden’s throat went dry.

She remembered the ad. Neck. Thigh. Wrist. Options like a damn menu. It sounded transactional until it was real. Until you had to say it out loud to someone who would actually do it.

She tilted her head, just slightly, exposing her throat.

“Neck,” she said. “Just there.”

Stack moved slowly, no rush in him. He came to sit beside her, close but careful, like she was a page in a holy book he wasn’t sure he had permission to read. He didn’t touch her at first. Just looked.

His eyes had that same violet glow, soft and low like candlelight. There was no hunger in them, not the way she’d imagined. No animal in the shadows. Just need, steady and patient.

He brushed her curls back with a single finger. His touch was deliberate. Reverent.

“You’ll feel pressure,” he said. “Then warmth.”

She nodded, even though her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear her own breath.

He leaned in.

His mouth was cool against her skin, not open at first. Just resting there. Then she felt it. A brief, sharp ache, like a pinprick from a needle that knew where to go. Not pain exactly. More like being opened.

Then came the warmth. A slow pull that tugged at her chest and her belly and somewhere deeper. It was dizzying. She gripped the couch cushion beside her and let her eyes fall shut.

She thought it would feel like something being taken from her. But it didn’t. It felt like something shared. Something circular. Like her blood was telling a story and he was just listening, slow and careful, taking only what he needed.

When he pulled back, he let out a slow breath against her skin.

“That’s enough.”

Eden blinked her eyes open. Her limbs felt light, her mind foggy but soft, like she’d just come out of a warm bath.

He pressed a cool cloth to her neck, then leaned back to give her space.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She had to think about it. Then she smiled.

“Like I just got kissed by something dangerous.”

Stack chuckled, low and pleased. “That’s because you did.”

He stood and reached for a small black envelope on the side table. Inside was a stack of crisp bills. Cash. The real kind. Eden took it with fingers that still tingled.

“This is yours,” he said. “For tonight.”

She didn’t count it. She didn’t need to.

Stack looked down at her, head slightly tilted. “You ever want more, you know where to find me.”

Eden stood, a little shakier than she expected. She gathered her purse, her keys, her thoughts. Her neck still throbbed gently, but not in a bad way.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And Eden?”

She turned.

His eyes were glowing again, soft but unreadable.

“You were made for this.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked out into the night, heart pounding, mouth dry, and mind racing. The street outside was the same as when she’d arrived. But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The rust-colored Honda didn’t shudder this time. It purred like it was just as stunned as she was.

Eden drove with the windows down, letting the thick New Orleans night wrap around her like a wet velvet shawl. The air was rich with honeysuckle, oil, and the ghost of a second line that had long since moved on. Her neck still buzzed, not with pain, but with presence. A lingering echo of fangs and breath and a moment that felt like it cracked something open inside her.

She rolled past the neon flicker of corner stores and daiquiri shops, the cracked sidewalks of uptown giving way to potholes and porch lights. Her thoughts moved as slowly as her car did. Heavy, syrupy things that stuck to the edges of her brain and refused to form full sentences.

She’d sold her blood. Just handed it over like a receipt. Signed her name on a scroll older than any contract she’d ever seen. Sat inches from a man with glowing eyes and a golden fang and said yes.

And yet… she didn’t feel wrong.

Her heartbeat was steady now, settled. Her limbs were loose and lazy, like her body knew something she didn’t. Like it had crossed a threshold and didn’t see a reason to go back.

At a red light, she glanced at the cash in her passenger seat. Real money. More than she’d made in a month of folding sweaters at the campus bookstore. Her fingers twitched with the urge to count it, to be sure, but something in her resisted. That wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was how she felt. And for once, it wasn’t desperate.

It was dangerous.

She parked outside her apartment just after two a.m., the same flickering streetlamp buzzing above her like always. Normally, she would’ve slumped inside, peeled off her shoes, microwaved something sad, and stared at her ceiling until sleep came to find her. But tonight she sat still in the car, engine off, listening to the sound of cicadas and the low rumble of the city that never really slept.

She touched her neck. There was no bandage. Just skin. Tender, yes, but smooth.

Like he’d never been there.

But he had. And her body remembered.

When she finally made it inside, Eden didn’t bother undressing. She collapsed onto her bed face-up, curls fanned across the pillow, clothes still sticking to her from the sweat of the night. She meant to scroll her phone, maybe check her email. Instead, sleep came hard and fast.

And with it, the dream.

She was back in the velvet room, but everything was softer. Louder. Redder. The walls pulsed like they had a heartbeat. Candles melted into puddles on the floor, filling the air with the smell of blood-orange and clove.

Stack stood across from her, suit jacket off now. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt rolled to the elbows. The gold on his wrist glinted in the candlelight, and his grill caught her eye when he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not cold.

This smile was hot and low and deliberate.

He crossed the room without a word, steps soundless, until his hands were on her waist. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was magnetic. Her body leaned in before her mind caught up.

“Still not scared?” he murmured.

His voice brushed her skin like silk and sin.

“No,” she said, or maybe just thought it. In dreams, it didn’t matter.

He pressed his forehead to hers, just long enough for her to feel the thrum of something ancient behind his skin. Then his lips traced the spot on her neck he’d bitten. Not kissing. Not quite.

Tasting.

She gasped.

And woke up breathless.

Her bedroom was dark and quiet. The fan whirred above her, and outside someone’s dog barked once, then stopped. Her skin was slick with sweat, but she didn’t feel hot.

She felt hollow. Wired. A little drunk on something that hadn’t happened.

She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, and reached for her phone.

The screen lit her face in blue, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were too sharp. Her lips too calm. She looked like someone with secrets. The kind of girl you warned people about.

Eden opened her messages and scrolled to the last number in her phone.

504-9VAMPYR.

She stared at it for a long minute, thumb hovering. Then she typed three words.

When’s the next?

She hit send. No emoji. No punctuation. Just intent.

The message delivered with a quiet chime.

And Eden leaned back in her bed, the dream still clinging to her skin like smoke.

She didn’t know what came next.

But she knew she wanted more.

Her phone buzzed again.

Tomorrow. Midnight. Same place. Wear red.

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