#thread: fake vampire date

[arobinwithoutbatman]

@1mpulsee closed starter

Typically, Tim wasn't one for leather; that was Jason's thing. But here he was in the back corner of a bar where the music wasn't quite as deafening and there weren't many people back here, giving them at least a sense of privacy. Tim had been bringing Bart here over the last couple of months with steadily increasing frequency for a specific kind of date. Technically speaking, they were playing their game or rather, doing some much needed set up for the culmination of their game later at home.

Right now, and whenever they came to this bar and while he was wearing this specific jacket, Tim was playing a character. He'd gotten to pretend to get to know and woo Bart all over again, enjoying playful conversation and casual flirting as though they hadn't been together since they were teenagers. They'd made plenty of time for dates just as themselves too, of course, make sure their actual relationship got all the usual attention and it even got an exta boost as they had both fallen in love with each other all over again. That had been a fun talk mid dinner all snuggled on the sofa watching fail videos.

They'd already been here for several hours, enjoying some snacks and a couple of drinks, Tim keeping to soda as he was driving, and he currently had his forehead rested against Bart's after a particularly intense makeout session. One hand rested on the side of Bart's neck, thumb stroking over his pulse point.

"Can I take you back to my place, angel?" He asked, speaking into Bart's ear. He couldn't really whisper or murmur in here with the noise but hopefully, this gave the same feeling of intimacy and desire.

[starlostseungmin]

───────　𐙚˙⋆.˚ 　𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.　❞

revamping the old seungmin fic recs. since a lot of writers from my old post deactivated and i added new ones. be mindful of what you read and please reblog to share !! （ 𖹭 ） : personal favorites.　

˖˙ ᰋ ──　 18+ , fics below contains smut , mdni.

𖹭 run rabbit run. by @kwanisms 　ー 20.5k words, 18+nsfw ; seungmin is a vampire and has lived a very long life and seen many ages pass him by. he’s grown weary of immortality until he meets someone one random night who really puts things into perspective for him.

𖹭 is it over now? by @jeongin-lvr 　ー 2.2k words ; ex!seungmin, talk of past relationship, talks of arguing and slightly toxic relationship.

𖹭 midnight diner. by @hwan-g 　ー 8.2k words ; he’s seen a lot of shit in his line of work. but this—he couldn’t let this go. not when you were involved.

darling. by hwan-g　— 8k words, 18+nsfw ; it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks. as you enter his life, as you walk out of it. he just needs one chance with you.

𖹭 your biggest fan. by @jeonginsleftcheek 　ー 9.8k words.

𖹭 hands. by @bbyquokka　ー 0.7k words ; you're obsessed with seungmin’s hands and he knows it.

𖹭 what are you looking at? by @quokkawritesarchivee

𖹭 once is all it takes. by @skz317cb97　ー 5.2k words.

𖹭 marriage material. by @comet-falls 　ー 1.8k words.

thin walls. by comet-falls 　ー 4.4k words.

dirty. by comet-falls 　ー 2.9k words.

seungmin smut drabble. by comet-falls

𖹭 come over. by @multifandomfantasies 　

𖹭 seungmin drabble. by @luminois　ー reader's first time, suggestive.

ditto. by @hwajin 　ー 1.7k words.

kisses with seungmin. by @tasteracha

shy boyfriend seungmin. by @dwaekkicidal

𖹭 thread. by @seospicybin　ー 3.3k words ; the dinner with seungmin’s family going so well, until something bothered seungmin’s mind.

seungmin hard thoughts. by @ateracha

skz seungmin hard thoughts. by @astayinwonderland

bf!seungmin texts. [ fake texts ; suggestive ] by @imfoive

˖˙ ᰋ ──　 13-16+ , fics below contains pure fluff and angst.

𖹭 try and take me ft. han jisung by @latteseungs 　ー 5.6k words ; where han jisung is an annoying piece of shit for bothering you all the time when you’re trying to get a date with kim seungmin.

engagement ring. by @kim-seung-mo 　ー 1.4k words ; your childhood best friend and boyfriend since high school, kim seungmin, has finally decided to propose to you! but the proposal ring he bought…… seemed a bit too small?

𖹭 won't go home without you. by @gamerwoo 　ー 2.5k words ;  “it’s not over tonight, just give me one more chance to make it right. i may not make it through the night. i won’t go home without you.”

𖹭 take a shot. by @starseungs 　ー 19.4k words ; it really shouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you and your co-star didn’t get along. you knew kim seungmin. you knew how life functioned despite the cameras. and you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

𖹭 the subtle art of cliche confessions. by starseungs 　ー 2.5k words ; as aware as you were that life wasn’t like the fictional stories of romance that you enjoyed, a part of you still relished the thought of experiencing it for yourself.

𖹭 universe. by starseungs 　ー 2.5k words ; every day, he thanked the universe for placing you in his life. out of the millions of heavenly bodies in the vast sky, you outshone every single one in his eyes. he was waist deep in a slowly sinking phenomenon he could only describe as love.

of fishes and chocolate muffins. by starseungs　ー 1.2k words ; working the morning shift at a cafe on weekdays isn't really the best, entertainment wise. still, eavesdropping on your customers wasn't something you did on a daily basis. it just so happened that two of your regulars had something in store for you today.

college!crush seungmin. by starseungs

𖹭 [9:01PM] by starseungs

# 001. by starseungs

19:46. by @portalhan 　ー 0.8k words ; your boyfriend seungmin takes it upon himself to make sure you've eaten, in spite of your insane workload.

battleground. by @hwangism143 　ー 21k words ; you hated your co-president, kim seungmin. but, it's your last year of high school and prom planning is up to the two of you. you just expect getting work done and leaving school. what you don't expect however, is kim seungmin looking after you (considering you never do) and you coaxing him into being your prom date.

cresent. by @starlostastronaut　ー 0.9k words ; night walk with your boyfriend in london.

ex!seungmin. by @soobnny

dating him. by soobnny

𖹭 cops and robbers. by soobnny　ー 3.8k words ; fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm.

𖹭 [10:50p.m.] kiss at the other’s place + out of love. by @scxrlettwxtches

[11:34PM] — light breeze. by @myjisung

𖹭 proofreader (bf) seungmin. by @neo-shitty

𖹭 married couple vibes. by @arafilez

seungmin as a boyfriend. by @blue-jisungs

a chance. by @seungly

after a day out. by seungly

one with the unrequited love. by @zoe8stay

heart burn. by zoe8stay

voice messages from seungmin. by zoe8stay

beyond love. by @milkybonya

library loser. by milkybonya

the five times seungmin shows you he loves you quietly. by @sadienita

but i love you. by @ppiri-bahng

when he’s in a bad mood all he needs is you. by @rachalixie

sleepy seungmin. by rachalixie

sip of chamomile tea. by @chachachannah

enemies to lovers with seungmin. by @hyunverse

i love the rain. by @seungfl0wer

sip of chamomile tea. by @chachachannah

enemies to lovers with seungmin. by @hyunverse

i love the rain. by @seungfl0wer

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　 don’t forget to reblog and leave feedbacks for the writers !! will add more soon. enjoy reading folks !!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 7: Exposition Park]

A/N: Hi besties! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. Big reveals are on the horizon. The a n t i c i p a t i o n is killing me 🥰😉

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, fake dating but Jace doesn't know, drama, angst, a Targ family reunion, more metaphorical fish, Charli XCX.

Word count: 6.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You begin reading and it hits you, and you dissolve until all of your molecules are the black typeface of the audition script, just one scene that wipes you clean like steam from a window until there is no more California or Minnesota or Aegon or Becca or Mason or your family awaiting your inevitable return to them like a meteorite crashing down to earth.

Here is your new life: Gilded Age, Daddy gambled and died and now the money’s gone, Mama and your sisters need shelter from the storm amidst the Panic of 1893. Fortunately you have a suitor, a good man, a young handsome doctor with a small practice, and he would provide for you and your family, he would be an innocuous and obliging lifeboat. He asks you to marry him, and you almost say yes; but there is another fellow who comes courting, chance encounters at nightscape balls, evening walks under stars and streetlights. This lover of darkness, rippling in and out of your life only when the sun is on the opposite side of the planet, implores you to reject the doctor’s advances, and so you do…only to discover that this nocturnal bewitcher is not a man but a monster, a murderer, a vampire who can offer you nothing more than love that is bloodstained and fleeting and cursed.

Aegon has scrawled the date, time, and location of the audition on the inside of the manila folder. You Google the directions, use Maps to scope out the parking situation. You’ll take the 110 north, then the 91 east out of the city limits of Los Angeles, then the 710 to the 105 to Paramount Boulevard. The Rives Mansion, built in 1911, has been trapped in time as a century grew up around it like grasping threads of ivy; across the street is a Mexican restaurant and the Downey Brewing Company, a sports bar known for their mediocre wings and pizza, currently sitting at an illustrious 2.5/5 stars on Yelp. But the interior of the house will transport you back to the Gilded Age, and this must be why the casting director has chosen it.

You remember what Aegon said about getting you the audition: I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me. But where would they have heard about you? From the people at the Grey’s Anatomy shoot? From Dan or somebody else involved in the Maroon 5 music video?

You need a gown for the charity gala, so you tell your parents you want to buy a dress for Clara’s rehearsal dinner and they enthusiastically approve and give you the green light to charge whatever it costs to your credit card. In the fitting room at Elie Saab, you are torn between two options: sensuous bold red with cutouts and a plunging neckline (all the better for someone to sink their fangs into), timeless beaded gold that feels more like you. You send photos of yourself wearing both to Baela via WhatsApp. She is presently in Paris, nibbling on croissants and downing shots of espresso and filming the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie in which she has third billing.

She replies: Are you lowkey tryna fuck your agent again or nah?

You are scandalized. You type: Definitely not. His future wife will be there.

There is a pause as Baela considers this. By the time you are back in your street clothes—denim shorts, white Sketchers, and a Pacific Palisades t-shirt—she has reached a decision: Still get the red one. It’s brave. It’s memorable.

But you cannot bring yourself to buy it, even if that means the gold is comparatively modest and forgettable. You choose the gold gown and swipe your Chase Sapphire, but not before you make one last discovery: a black lace dress with a high frilly neckline that circles the throat like a noose, out of season and damaged with a rip in the back by the zipper, sold as-is and at a much reduced price. It reminds you of the style of dresses women wore in the Edwardian era, and it fits with the script, and the Rives Mansion, and the person who you will be at the audition on Saturday, July 19th.

You take your shopping bags and step out of the Elie Saab boutique of Beverly Hills into the sunlight, over one hundred degrees, over a century past the glittering deceit of the Gilded Age.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You lied to me.”

The actor’s name is Santiago, but he introduced himself as Santi. He’s been cast already. There’s a chemistry between you, not romantic but corporeal, following each other’s footsteps and inflections, the unspoken potential of improvisation. Across the otherwise empty room are four people seated at a table, two men and two women. Aegon lurks in the corner in his I-give-a-fuck suit, chomping on Juicy Fruit and holding an iced coffee that drips condensation. Morning light cascades in through the vast Palladian window and over the hardwood floor. “I omitted,” the vampire counters.

“You lied by silence. You lied like a coward,” you hiss at him, hair pulled back from your face, black lace at your throat, black shimmering on your eyelids, Renegade by Huda Beauty, Poison by Urban Decay.

He reaches for you. “I could not surrender you to any other man—”

“And now I’m all yours!” you scream, flinging his hands away. “My other prospects are squandered and my family will lose our home and our heirlooms, and I will lose the future that I dreamed of sharing with you, and if your love had been true for even for a moment you would have spared me this.”

“My love was sincere, and it endures.”

“It is selfish,” you seethe, lips quivering and tears slithering down your cheeks. The vampire stalks you, and you flee one blind step at a time until your back hits the wall. “It cannot give or preserve, only consume.”

He reaches out to touch you again, and this time you let him—you cannot resist him—and his fingertips ghost from your hairline to your jaw, tracing the borderlands of your face like the arc of a crescent moon. Then his hand settles lightly on your throat. And you are drawn to him, bound to him, invisible threads weaving his bones to your own, drowning in the opaque pools of his irises. “We can still be together.”

“Yes, in darkness. In destitution. In transient minutes between the murders that sustain you.”

“I never asked to be a monster. I was made this way by another.”

“And now you have proven yourself to be without humanity.”

He turns away and storms out of the room, and you are supposed to wait for him to return. But instead—because you feel that this must be what happens next—you bolt after him, and as you pass through the doorway you hear the puzzled clamoring of the casting director, producer, and two assistants: What is she doing? Where is she going? Then when Aegon follows you they hurry to do the same, their metal folding chairs squealing against the floor, their footsteps pounding like thunder or a racing pulse.

You chase the vampire onto the landing and down the staircase. “I rejected the doctor for you, I endangered my reputation and disregarded my family’s counsel for you, and what have you given me in return? Lies and horror and bloodstains on my conscience that I’ll never wash out. How can you claim to care for someone you’ve destroyed? What do you have to offer anybody except suffering and death—?!”

Three steps from the bottom, he whirls and pins you to the wall, his hands careful (as they are required to be) but his eyes hard, glass or stone or pavement, intractable, inhuman. “Stop fighting the horror. Join me in it. It calls to you, and you yearn for it, and to only me can you confess this.”

“You ruined my life,” you choke out, a loathsome lethal desire, a death rattle.

He touches his forehead to yours, his heat radiating through your skull. “I cannot be without you.”

“Let it end now,” you whisper, you plead. “Let the next artery you drain wash away the taste of me.”

And you both lean in, your lips a second from meeting, and farther up the staircase your audience of five watch in rivetted silence, as far from you as the stars from Earth, Betelgeuse or Rigel or Proxima Centauri. And then you are you again, and Santi is Santi, and you laugh together and each take a step back, the tension of your muscles unraveling and your memories already beginning to degrade.

The casting director, producer, and assistants all shake your hand and thank you again for taking the time to audition. You thank them for their consideration. They seem pleased, but when you turn to Aegon, he doesn’t give you his usual signal that you’ve done a good job. He doesn’t slip his aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket, put them on, and smile: You are so bright, sunshine. He just steals glimpses of you as he’s deep in conversation with the casting director, discussing the timeline for callbacks and when a final decision is expected to be made.

“See you tonight,” you tell Aegon when it’s over and you are both walking out to where your cars are parked on the curb, your Honda, his Chrysler. His white convertible has a sizeable dent in the front passenger’s side and the headlight busted out. “What happened there?”

“Someone cut me off,” he says, and passes you the iced coffee he hasn’t taken a sip of, a venti-sized vanilla latte.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you are dressed, you send a photo of yourself in the gold gown to your parents and Clara. Rehearsal dinner outfit! you type.

Mom replies: Very flattering, honey! and then sends back a picture of her snuggling one of the Akitas on the couch. Dad responds with a thumbs-up emoji. Clara leaves you on read.

Jace is wearing a floral tuxedo and has already pre-gamed. He’s buzzed when you climb together into the Uber he called; parking will be murder, and you’ll probably have a few drinks yourself at the gala. He pays with the account linked to Baela’s credit card. The charity gala is being held at the California Science Center in Exposition Park, which is on your side of the city: southeast of Tarzana and Beverly Hills, southwest of Downtown, Chinatown, and Aegon’s office in Elysian Park, just a twenty-minute drive dead north on the 110. When you arrive, men in black suits and women in shimmering floor-length gowns are posing for professional photographers on the front steps, and black limousines and SUVs are honking at each other as they battle for inches of space in the drop-off lane.

On your way to the glass doors at the building entrance, you and Jace pass beneath a vast hanging structure of spiraling red beams like arteries. When you look up, you see a myriad of gold dots like the infinitesimal glimmers of stars.

“This is the Aerial!” a museum employee is proudly telling a group of ogling guests. “It has precisely 1,578 spheres, each plated with gold leaf. And the sculpture right here underneath is the DNA Bench, engraved with images of all sorts of organisms…a bat, an octopus, a snake, a tree…”

Inside, the ground floor of the California Science Center is illuminated with soft pink light, and everywhere there are glamorous people chatting and nursing drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres on tiny plates, and you don’t recognize anyone, and you are very grateful that Jace is here. You cling to his arm so you don’t lose him in the crowd. There is an open bar beside a set of escalators heading skyward, and a DJ with his table set up against one wall. From the ceiling hang fighter jets and disco balls. Confetti litters the floor. As you open your gold clutch to get your phone and text Aegon that you’re here, the DJ puts on Pink Pony Club.

“Ah, I love this song!” you shout to Jace over the noise of the room, and then you sing together:

“I know you wanted me to stay,

But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in L.A.,

And I heard that there’s a special place,

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day…”

“Hey,” Aegon says from behind you, and you lose your footing when you spin towards him—you are much better in wedges than heels—and Jace grabs your hands to steady you, and he’s laughing too loudly in that I’m-kind-of-drunk sort of way, and Aegon is glaring at him. He’s wearing a powder blue suit, and it actually fits him, and strands of his sandy blonde hair are escaping from his sheen of gel to fall down over his forehead, and for a few seconds you’re a little stunned by how beautiful he is, here in the dim distorted light and looking like he wants to hit someone. That’s never been why you felt drawn to Aegon, what he looks like. But here he is, engaged to another woman and a decade older than you and kind of horrible, surely, and you are in disbelief that you can’t reach out and touch him.

“Hi, hello, sorry,” you say, prying your hands out of Jace’s grasp. “I thought I’d just be able to walk in and find you, but it’s really crowded! But I’m here. I’m fine. I’m ready to work.”

Aegon’s turbulent blue gaze sweeps over you. “You look like an Oscar.”

You are puzzled. “The fish?”

He smiles. “No. The award.”

“I’m going to get a drink!” Jace tells you, and saunters off towards the bar.

Aegon watches him leave, then says: “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”

“Well, you have one. And I was worried I’d be lonely.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, irritated. Then he holds up two glasses. “I have a lemon drop and a Long Island iced tea. Which do you want?”

“The lemon drop.”

“Great.” He hands it to you, takes a gulp of the Long Island iced tea, and leads you off to be introduced to the elites of the city, here to raise money for Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

There is a series of people whose names you can’t remember but you beam radiantly for: producers, directors, actors, cinematographers, screenwriters, assistants, models, journalists. Aegon lies to them about your experience and says you’re better than you are. He says you’ll have your own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame someday. You take delicate sips of your lemon drop, determined not to get tipsy, but Aegon drains his Long Island iced tea and swings by the bar for another one. Now Jace is talking to the DJ like he’s trying to convince him of something.

Aegon hurries past where Becca is mingling with a flock of women, tall and small-boned like flamingoes; Becca casts you a glower that is sharp and swift and belittling. She is wearing a white ballgown, very bridal, with powder blue palm leaves overlaying the skirt to match Aegon’s suit. No one can forget they’re about to get married, and you assume this is intentional.

“Becca, you have such gorgeous hair,” one of her friends, noticeably drunk, fawns as she pets Becca’s long sleek tresses, artfully styled into miraculously frizzless waves.

“Aww, thanks!” Becca says. “According to family legend, we’re part Native American. The Karankawa tribe.”

Another friend, not so easily impressed, rolls her eyes. “Becca, everybody claims their family is part Native American.”

“No, seriously! My mom’s maiden name was Broadwater, that has to be Native American!”

“Becca, it’s literally English.”

“Do a test,” Becca’s drunk friend says, poking at her bare shoulder. “One of those DNA thingies you send through the mail.”

Becca seems inspired, her eyes bright, her thoughts racing. “Maybe I should! Like 23AndMe?”

“There’s a new one,” the not-drunk friend says, slurping what appears to be a mojito. “It’s called Legacea, I think. It’s supposed to be super fast and super thorough.”

The drunk friend is stymied. “Legawhata?”

“Legacea,” the not-drunk friend repeats. “I know, it’s pretentious, it’s legacy and panacea smashed together. But Becca should totally do it and if she is so much as one percent Native American, I will personally redress historic wrongs by gifting her my Brentwood apartment…”

Now Jace is moshing with a group of newfound friends. He has at last convinced the DJ to put on a Charli XCX song. The bass reverberates through the rose-colored twilight of the room; some sophisticated guests appear baffled, others alarmed.

“When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics,

When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics…”

A woman, mid-fifties and auburn-haired, appears out of the multitude with large, nervous eyes. “We should have gotten an orchestra,” she tells Aegon fretfully, twisting the rings on her fingers. She is wearing a gold wedding band, although if she is who you assume her to be—the resemblance is striking—she hasn’t had a husband in over fifteen years. “Shouldn’t we have gotten an orchestra?”

A man who looks very much like a younger version of Aegon, late-twenties instead of mid-thirties, laughs as he materializes beside her. “Mom, no one wants to listen to an orchestra.”

“No one under eighty years old,” Aegon says.

“Aemond thought we should get an orchestra,” she replies.

Aegon says sarcastically: “And of course, Aemond is an expert on all things cool and timely.” Then he introduces you to them both: his mother Alicent, his brother Daeron, an up-and-coming actor who has been in a successful Netflix series and has innumerable Tumblr blogs devoted to him. He’s been called the blonde Timothee Chalamet.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” Alicent tells you, although she seems perpetually a little distracted, a little sad. She tugs at a thin gold chain she wears around her neck with a cross suspended from it. “And we’ll be seeing you again at the wedding, won’t we? I know Aegon has invited all his clients.”

You hesitate. You doubt Becca wants you there. You have no interest whatsoever in watching Aegon marry her. “Um…well…actually, I might have a prior commitment that weekend, so—”

“She’ll be there,” Aegon says.

“Wonderful.” Alicent smiles at you. You smile back, a reflex. Then yet another Targaryen arrives, a woman with dreamy blue eyes and a butter yellow gown covered in ruffles. They are so massive she seems to be drowning in them. “Helaena, have you met Aegon’s newest client?”

“I don’t believe I have.” Helaena, a fashion designer whose work is a staple on red carpets and runways, exchanges pleasantries with you. Her eyes never quite meet yours; instead they bounce around weightlessly to your gown, your gold heels, your hair, your hand clasping your lemon drop, and then to where Aegon is standing next to you probably too closely for someone who is supposed to be your agent and nothing more.

“I absolutely love your dress!” you tell Helaena. “It’s so fun. And yellow is my favorite color.”

“Thank you,” Helaena says, soft and placid. You can barely hear her over the horrible Charli XCX music. “I love your eyeshadow. Is that Alchemist?”

You are startled; you touch your fingertips to your orbital socket before you can stop yourself, hopefully not smudging the glittering gold powder. “It is, yeah. By Natasha Denona.”

“Is Aemond nearby?” Aegon asks his family, and you are aware that he seems to want to get away from them, like he’s rushing towards the end of the conversation.

Alicent peers around. “Um, I don’t think so…maybe he’s up on the second floor?”

“Okay. I’ll bump into him eventually.” But as Aegon turns away, his mother places a palm on his arm, and he stops even if he hasn’t been seized or commanded, yielding to her forcelessness. When Alicent speaks, her voice is gentle and her dark eyes wounded, like there’s a knife in her somewhere that no one has ever pulled out.

“Aegon, I’m very happy to see you here tonight.”

“No problem,” he says briskly, and ushers you away to the bar where he orders another Long Island iced tea.

“Why would I go to your wedding?” you ask as you wait with him. You still have half of your lemon drop left, but Aegon’s cheeks are flushed and he’s beginning to sway, and when he gazes at you from under the sandy strands of hair that have fallen over his eyes, the blue of his irises is murky and slow and far-away, miles away, years away.

“Because you promised you’d do whatever I say, and I want you there.”

“Maybe I don’t want to fly to Turks and Caicos to watch you marry someone else.”

“There will be industry people in attendance. You can network. Consider it good for your career.”

“But—”

“Steve! Hey!” Aegon calls out, then waves some people over to the bar. These are his other clients, the last of a dying breed: a young Scottish guy, a middle-aged man who spent his twenties and thirties in the Navy, a disorientingly beautiful woman who came to the United States as a refugee from Somalia when she was eight years old. They are all kind and welcoming and real, amazingly real, and they adore Aegon, they speak about him with a gratitude that is bone-deep and eternal, and you marvel at this quiet magic he has to him, this way of finding people who’ve fallen through cracks like continental divides and dragging them back up into the daylight.

“Aegon?” the woman, Fatima, says a bit regretfully. “I’m so sorry to steal you away, but I remember you mentioned a certain director last week, the one who worked on Only Murders in the Building. Do you know if he’s here tonight?”

“Oh yeah, totally!” Aegon says, picking up his fresh Long Island iced tea off the bar. “Come on, I’ll help you find him and get the ball rolling.” Then he looks at you, conflicted, as if he isn’t quite comfortable leaving you alone.

You are nonchalant, like you don’t care what he does. “I’m fine. I’ll be with Jace.”

Aegon glances at your aforementioned date, who is presently shoveling his mouth full of crab-stuffed mushrooms and shrimp cocktail by the DJ. “Fantastic,” he mutters, and vanishes into the crowd with Fatima.

You weave through guests as you make your way towards Jace, then someone runs up and throws their arms around you before you can process who it is. Fortunately, you are not one to turn down hugs. When he pulls back, he is grinning. It’s Brandon, doubtlessly cashing in on one of the few benefits of being Aegon’s receptionist. “Hey, girl! Oh my God, I didn’t realize you had a drink. I didn’t make you spill your lemon drop, did I?”

“Oh no, it’s fine! Hi, Brandon!”

“How’d the audition go this morning?”

“Good! We’ll see. It was intense, and I can never really remember what I did afterwards. But I think they liked me.”

He smiles warmly. “Great. I’m so glad it went well. Aegon was really obsessed with it. He must have spent two hours on the phone with those people.”

You are confounded; you have no idea what he means. “On the phone…?”

“Convincing them to give you an audition,” Brandon says, as if surely you already know this and he’s just jogging your memory. Before you can respond, he is rejoined by his date Dylan and dashes off to dance with him. Evidently, Brandon and his date appreciate Charlie XCX.

The indie movie people didn’t know about me, you think, your skull hazy with organ-pink light and gala guests brushing by you and the bass beat thudding from the speakers. They didn’t call Aegon. He called them. And then he lied to me about it.

You look around, wondering where Aegon is, needing to find him; and then you spot someone up on the second floor, not Aegon but another man you have to talk to, a phantom you only know from television and the internet and a rarely-utilized contact in Aegon’s iPhone. You take the escalator up to him, ascending slowly, and he doesn’t even notice you until you speak. He’s standing amidst suits and gowns but he’s in solitude somehow, thoughtful, somber, fidgeting with a gold rush rather than drinking it, gazing vacantly over the crowd down on the ground floor. He wears a navy blue pinstripe tuxedo and a scar down the left half of his face, some sort of childhood accident that cost him an eye. He wears a prosthesis in its place, and you wouldn’t know the difference if this wasn’t common knowledge in Hollywood.

“I think I have to thank you,” you say.

Aemond Targaryen turns to you, startled and then amused. “Thank me?”

“Aegon forged my resume and listed you as a reference. That’s how I got my first job out here, a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So…thank you for the fraud.”

He chuckles to himself and sips his gold rush, ice clinking in the glass. Artificial pink light shifts across his scarred face. A film he wrote the screenplay for won Best Picture at the Oscars last year. “I can’t condone the deception, but I’m comforted that it was for a good cause. I assume you’re the new client.”

“And the last.”

Aemond furrows his brow at you. “The last?”

“Before Aegon retires,” you say. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Probably end up living under a bridge somewhere.” Probably return to Minnesota to spend the rest of my life impersonating someone my parents want me to be.

But Aemond still isn’t following. “Aegon is retiring?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little tentatively now. “After the wedding. He didn’t tell you?”

Aemond’s eye—the right one, the real one—shifts down towards the ground floor like he’s looking for somebody and then back to you. “Did he say why?”

“He said he was sick of how shallow this place is.” How dangerous. How cursed.

Aemond’s voice is flat. “But it’s always been this way.”

“I mean…I guess? I don’t know. I love it here in Los Angeles!” But you don’t think you mean that as much as you did two months ago.

“Where is Aegon right now?”

“He’s downstairs with Fatima, one of his other clients.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says abruptly, and leaves you alone by the railing. You watch him descend on the escalator, too impatient to wait, walking instead of riding and taking two steps at the time.

Was I not supposed to say anything? Does Aegon’s family not know he’s leaving?

You finish your lemon drop and then frown with your free hand resting on the railing, looking down into the throng of people on the ground floor: freckled with the light scattered by the disco balls, slipping drunkenly on strips of confetti, tolerating yet another Charli XCX song, this one not so offensive and with a plucky tempo that’s easy to dance to:

“I think the apple’s rotten right to the core,

From all the things passed down from all the apples coming before,

I split the apple down symmetrical lines and what I find is kinda scary,

Makes me just wanna drive…”

You are suddenly aware that a woman is standing beside you. White ballgown, blue palm leaves, a long dark shock of hair. “You can’t act if your leg is broken,” Becca says.

You are so alarmed to see her that you physically recoil. “Sorry, what?”

She nods to the escalator. “Be careful. If you trip and fall on that—or on a staircase, or on a curb, or, you know, anywhere—you could break your leg and then you wouldn’t be able to take any acting jobs for months, and I suppose that would derail your plans quite a bit.”

You blink at her, half-terrified, half-disbelieving, gripping your empty lemon drop glass so tightly your hand aches. “Are you…threatening me…?”

Becca gasps, theatrical, mocking. “I would never do that. I’m just looking out for you.” Then she leans in close so no one else can listen. She smells like flowers, like summer, like all the golden days she and Aegon will share together. “You will not be at my wedding. You have somewhere else to be. You can’t make it, how sad. We’ll spare you a thought. You’ll send a gift. Maybe a waffle maker, Aegon loves waffles.”

“Okay,” you squeak. And she swishes away in her bridal gown without saying anything else, but even if she did you wouldn’t be able to hear her. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears; your face is scalding with blood, panicked and ashamed and confused.

Breaking legs? Impending wedding?? Waffles???

You give your empty glass to a museum employee and take the escalator back down to the ground floor—after ensuring that Becca isn’t standing nearby—and then hunt through the mob for Jace. But you can’t find him. The only people you bump into are tall booming men in suits or women with tight lineless faces and bony arms and full breasts that stay exactly where they’re supposed to be even without a bra, and you want to go home but you can’t leave without making sure Jace is alright, and he doesn’t answer the texts you frantically type to him. You try to hide in the bathroom but the first one you seek refuge in is lit with pink tubes of neon and full of women fixing their hair and makeup, and you can’t risk someone important seeing you freak out and making a bad impression. Instead, you follow a dark hallway that leads to some of the museum exhibits, and then a benign bluish glow appears and beckons you to a sanctuary: the kelp forest, a tunnel surrounded by a microcosm ocean.

You place your palms on the cool curved glass and breathe, slow and deep, your heartrate going quiet again. On the other side of the transparent divide, angelfish and blue tangs dart between thick ropes of kelp. Above you, a leopard shark sails by over the crest of the tunnel. From far away, you can hear echoes of Alicent addressing the crowd and thanking them for being in attendance tonight, and how much it would have meant to her late husband Viserys.

I don’t want to go to the wedding anyway, you tell yourself, but that’s not helping.

You check your phone again. Jace still hasn’t answered your texts.

And here’s the truth: I don’t want Aegon to marry anyone else. Not even if she was a saint, not even if she was perfect for him.

There are footsteps here in the ocean and the glass and the blue, and you turn to see Aegon stepping into the tunnel, looking around with great confusion as if he’s trying to figure out how you ended up here.

“Are you lost?” he says.

“Yes. But it’s intentional.”

He comes to stand beside you, watching the fish flit through the kelp forest, his hands in the pockets of his powder blue suit, the one Becca picked out for him. And because at last you are alone and the world is hushed, after a while Aegon says: “That was insane, what you did this morning. That was some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”

“So you think I’ll get the job.”

“I think you deserve it. But sometimes that doesn’t have a lot to do with who ends up being cast. We tried, that’s all we can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

You look over at him. “You lied to me.”

He seems afraid. “About what?”

“You got me the audition. And you had to convince them.”

Aegon smiles to himself. Is he relieved? “Yeah, alright. I did.”

“Why are you working so hard to help me?”

“Because you’re my girl. And I have to make sure you’re taken care of. And I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t leave me,” you say, pathetic like a child. Don’t marry her. Don’t move across the country with her. “You’re the only person who thinks I belong here.”

“Other people will believe in you soon. You’re too good for them not to.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

And Aegon gazes at you, rippling blue light on his face, and when he kisses you he tastes like the Long Island ice teas he’s been drinking since you got here: vodka, tequila, light rum, triple sec, gin, Coke, lemon, poison cut with sweetness, a cold swig that burns all the way down.

You stop him, one hand on his chest, too frail to mean it. “Your fiancée is out there doing a victory lap.”

“But you don’t care,” Aegon says. “And I’m right here with you.”

And now you surrender, you fall into him like a pool, like an ocean, and like a riptide he pulls you to the nearest bathroom—this one small and abandoned—and you drag each other to the frigid tile floor beneath cobalt neon light, and you unravel yourself from him just long enough to lunge for the door and throw the bolt so no one else can open it, and then Aegon is on top of you again, tearing off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the white shirt beneath, and you yank up the hem of your sparking beaded gown until it’s at your hips; but this isn’t enough for him.

“No,” Aegon murmurs against your throat like he has fangs, like he can’t stop until every blood drop of you has hemorrhaged out to satiate him. “I want to see you.”

And so you sit up so he can unzip the top of your dress and help you slip your arms out of the straps, and then you fall back again and let the cold blue chemical light flood over you as he nuzzles you, warm lips, teasing teeth, and it’s perfect, and now he’s rummaging around in his wallet until he finds a condom and you need him now, now, now, and he’s kissing you like he feels the same desperation in this dwindling eleventh hour. But when you reach down to touch him, he’s barely hard.

You are bewildered. This has never happened to you before. Undeterred, you straddle Aegon, kissing him deeply as your hips grind against his, and he seems like he wants to…he really does…but it’s not working. Now he’s completely soft.

Aegon sighs heavily. “Just stop,” he says, rubbing his face with his hands, and you crawl off of him and sit beside him on the floor, draped in uneasy blue, the room silent except for your own rapid breathing and distant rumblings from the gala.

You have no idea what to say. You don’t even look at him. You stare at the wall instead, feeling like you’ve made some horrific mistake, like you’ve shattered something that could have been beautiful.

After a moment, Aegon grabs your thighs roughly and tugs you closer to him. “Come here. I’ll get you off.”

“But I’m not going to be into it if I feel like you’re not into it.”

“I am into it,” Aegon insists, frustrated.

“What did you want me to do that I wasn’t doing?” What does Becca do for you?

“It’s not you. You’re not the problem.”

“But I want to know what I should have done differently—”

“It’s not about you,” Aegon snaps. “I’m just…I’m not in my twenties anymore, you know?”

You stare at him. “You’re thirty-five, Aegon. You’re not old.”

“Please, please, just shut up and let me take care of you, and we can move on.”

But you draw away when he tries to reach between your legs, and you lay an open palm against his flushed cheek, and you are suddenly struck by a lightning bolt of a theory. Why is he really leaving Los Angeles? What did Viserys Targaryen die of? “Aegon…is there something wrong with you?”

“I’ll take you home,” he says, and starts putting his clothes back on.

“Because if you weren’t okay, I would want to know, and I could help you—”

“I’ll take you home,” Aegon says again, so severely and with such finality you can’t argue, because you can’t speak at all. If you try to, you’ll burst into tears. You feel completely rejected by him. You feel like you ruined your very last chance to touch him, and soon he’ll be getting married on Turks and Caicos, and soon you’ll never see him again except in Becca’s blissful Instagram stories.

Aegon walks with you quickly through the museum, past the guests he ignores, and outside where a long line of black SUVs and limousines are waiting. He puts you in an Escalade and then jogs around to the other side, sitting so the skinny middle seat is between you. Then he tells you to give the driver your address. He must not remember it.

Once you have relayed your address, you say miserably to Aegon: “I can ride home by myself, thanks.”

He’s gazing blankly out the window and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll feel better if I make sure you get there safely.” It feels patronizing, humiliating, like a weak wordless goodbye. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll get a text that he’s officially offloaded you onto some other agent.

The Escalade driver begins to pull away from the curb, and you realize you’ve forgotten something…or, rather, someone. “Wait!” you shout, and the Escalade lurches to a halt.

“What’s your problem?” Aegon says irritably. His powder blue suit is wrinkled; his face is exhausted.

“I can’t leave without Jace.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Right on time, you look through the tinted window to see Jace wandering around the entranceway. He must have seen you hurry out of the museum. You open the Escalade door and call to him. Jace runs to the vehicle, scrambles over your lap, and flops into the middle seat between you and Aegon.

“You can’t get your own ride?” Aegon flares at him.

Jace is incredulous. He looks at you. “We’re going to the same place, right?”

“Right,” you agree casually, and Aegon shakes his head and resumes staring out the window, although there is nothing there but darkness and blooms of artificial light.

“That was so cool,” Jace says as he types energetically on his iPhone. He spends the entirety of the twenty-minute drive posting photos and videos of himself with minor celebrities on his Instagram stories: Frankie Muniz, Cole Sprouse, Meghan Trainor, Katy Perry. He asks you for suggestions as he chooses filters and adds music. Aegon doesn’t say a word; he aggressively chews several sticks of Juicy Fruit instead.

When the Escalade stops in front of your building, you and Jace depart beneath omnipresent light pollution that blots out the stars.

“Hey,” Aegon says just before you shut the car door, and you are powerless to walk away until you’ve heard what he has to tell you—an apology? an explanation?—and you stand frozen on the sidewalk under a streetlight as Jace goes inside. “You know, I, uh…I had a lot to drink, right?”

“You tried to think of an excuse the whole way here and that’s the best one you came up with?”

Before Aegon can reply, you slam the door and follow Jace into your apartment building.

[shuavez]

litany 𓄧 k.mg

ii. evidence of absence.

summary 𓄧 every oath has a cost. every touch has a consequence. sent deep undercover into one of the city’s most illicit vampire clubs, two detectives must navigate the delicate balance between duty and desire — and survive the consequences when pretending stops feeling like pretending.

and some hungers, once fed, are impossible to starve.

tags 𓄧 detective!au, vampire!mingyu x human!reader. slow-ish burn. fake dating. friends/coworkers to lovers. ft. various svt members/idols.

warnings 𓄧 semi-graphic descriptions of blood, death. wc. 5.5k.

previous chapter ↜ i. tie a cherry.

The morning sky hangs low, leaden and bruised, casting shadows that stretch like spilled ink down the alleyway. Rain clings to every surface, transforming the cracked pavement into mirrors, reflecting nothing but gray. The body lies at the epicenter of all that grayness, starkly illuminated under the harsh beams of forensic lamps.

You stand silently near the crime scene perimeter, boots slick with rainwater, breath misting gently into the frigid air. Even beneath the thick wool of your coat, the chill seeps into your bones, lingering alongside an uncomfortable, gnawing tension.

Across from you, Mingyu rises smoothly from his crouched position near the victim. He crosses the alley in a few purposeful strides, his expression unreadable, and silently offers Jeonghan a small, sleek, familiar card.

Jeonghan frowns, squinting at the black and crimson lettering. “Velvet Eden…?”

Mingyu nods slowly, voice low and careful, almost apologetic. “She’s a regular. I do recognize her. She was new around six months ago, when I first started infiltrating.”

You shift slightly, chest tightening as the words sink in. It’s strange how quickly dread coils around the edges of familiarity, like ivy reclaiming an abandoned building.

“And last night,” Mingyu continues, eyes flickering momentarily toward you, guarded yet quietly protective, “right after we got there—a group of vampires arrived. Suits, expensive, polished. Different energy than usual. Hungrier, colder. Dangerous. I didn’t recognize any faces, didn’t catch names…but the vibe was off.” His jaw flexes briefly, tension visibly threading through his shoulders.

You remember the moment vividly. Mingyu’s silent shift at the bar, his shoulder brushing against yours just enough to signal caution, subtly shielding you from prying eyes. A flash of silver cufflinks catching the club’s low lights, the cold glint of predatory eyes tracking your movements. You swallow hard, the faint taste of last night’s amaretto lingering on your tongue, mingling strangely with the acrid aftertaste of adrenaline and unease.

When you meet Mingyu’s gaze again, understanding passes silently between you—a low, instinctive hum of tension. You’re not sure what exactly you’re walking into, only that whatever it is, you’re already deeply tangled in its grasp.

You exhale a slow, measured breath, peeling your gloves off sharply, fingers stinging briefly from the cold. “We need footage. Not from inside the club—they won’t give us anything unless we subpoena, and even then, they’ll wipe it clean.”

Mingyu nods curtly, gaze following yours to the surrounding buildings. “Exterior cams?”

“Exactly,” you say, eyeing the narrow brick apartment building looming on one side and the shuttered print shop tucked against the other. Their security cameras look cheap and poorly maintained, but anything’s better than nothing. “Check flank angles. We might get lucky and catch whoever brought her here. Move quickly, before the footage loops.”

Without another word, Mingyu departs swiftly, long strides eating up the pavement as he disappears into the hazy morning fog. Jeonghan watches him go, eyebrows arching in silent amusement as the tall vampire melts easily into the shadows between buildings.

Then, with a grin that somehow manages to be both teasing and empathetic, Jeonghan turns toward you, eyes twinkling mischievously. “So,” he drawls, deliberately playful, though you can sense genuine curiosity beneath, “tell me about last night.”

You blink at him, breath misting in the cold air. “What’s there to tell?” You shrug, feigning disinterest. “We were just establishing my presence.”

Jeonghan snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I know that part, idiot. I want the real details. Like, why you and Mingyu are suddenly drowning in weird nervous energy. The guy’s practically glued to your hip.”

Your eyes drift briefly back toward the body, now carefully shrouded in plastic, forensic techs quietly murmuring as they move carefully around the scene. You sigh, relenting just a bit. “It was fine,” you say softly, voice barely audible above the distant murmur of radios and traffic. “We had drinks, established a cover…then went into a Red Room. There was a camera inside—very visible—so we had to sell it.”

Jeonghan leans in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Define?”

You glance sideways at him, heart speeding uncomfortably. “We made out. Briefly.”

Jeonghan’s mouth forms an exaggerated ‘O,’ eyes sparkling. He chuckles softly under his breath, clearly entertained but trying—and failing—to suppress his amusement. “And?” he presses again.

“And then he fed from me.” You swallow thickly, throat tight with the admission. “That was the whole point, after all.”

Jeonghan tilts his head, expression carefully neutral but eyes gleaming with intense curiosity. “Painful?”

You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek, uncertain how best to convey the truth. “At first, yes,” you admit quietly. “But then…it felt—” Your voice trails off, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a hot rush. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way that isn’t…uncouth.”

Jeonghan smirks faintly. “Get to the point.”

“It was like the best orgasm I’ve never had,” you finally mutter, voice dropping to a whisper, cheeks hot. “Like pure ecstasy. I can’t explain it better than that.”

He blinks once, twice—and then bursts into low, muffled laughter, shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, interesting,” he says finally, grinning broadly. “And how do you feel today?”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together, staring at the wet pavement as you gather your scattered thoughts. “Everything feels…sluggish,” you admit slowly, “like my nerves are dipped in tar. But last night—I felt something I didn’t expect. It was exciting. I realized we’ll have to do it again, maybe multiple times…and that thought didn’t scare me. It thrilled me.”

“So you’re horny for him?” Jeonghan deadpans.

Your head snaps up, eyes widening with immediate horror. “Jeonghan!”

He laughs openly, teeth bright against the gloom. “What? I mean, I’m straight, but I’m not blind. Mingyu’s literally drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, dark, mysterious, ancient vampire charm? He’s got enough skin in the game. Hell, even I’d probably get flustered.”

You roll your eyes, irritated yet undeniably flustered yourself. “We were undercover, Jeonghan.”

“Uh-huh,” he chuckles. “Sure you were.”

Your cheeks still burn as Mingyu returns swiftly, slipping easily beneath the police tape and handing you a short handwritten note. “They’ll send the footage to the precinct before lunch,” he says quietly. His gaze brushes gently across your face, checking silently for distress, for damage. You soften slightly under his careful attention, heart stumbling traitorously.

Jeonghan slaps Mingyu cheerfully on the shoulder as he passes, smirking broadly. “You’re driving her, bloodsucker. She’s too cold to handle it.”

Mingyu doesn’t protest, merely nodding softly, his expression faintly amused yet somehow quietly pleased. You don’t argue either. The thought of slipping into the warmth and quiet of his car is too inviting to resist.

The drive back is heavy with silence—not uncomfortable, exactly, but thick and charged, your skin prickling with a strange awareness of him. You watch raindrops streak down the window, keenly aware of the quiet sounds of his breathing, the subtle flex of his hands gripping the wheel.

Inside the precinct, the warmth does little to ease the lingering chill in your bones. You pass through the maze of half-cubicles and incident boards, past the coffee station that always smells like burnt rubber and despair, until you reach the far end of the corridor. Your shared office is quiet. Dim, except for the gray light pushing in through the blinds and the faint hum of your space heater struggling to do its job.

Technically, it’s your and Jeonghan’s office. But since Mingyu’s temporary transfer from Organized Crime, you’ve cleared space at the other half of your desk—two monitors now sit side by side, paperwork stacked in tidy columns between. His things are minimal: laptop, notepad, one perfectly aligned pen. Everything else, he borrows. Including your charger, your stapler, and occasionally, your patience.

He doesn’t say anything as he sits, only exhales through his nose, tired. You do the same. The click of your chair wheels is the only sound for a while.

You try to work—really, you do. Your eyes skim line after line of log reports, flicking past duplicate aliases and half-scrubbed membership rosters. Your highlighter drags across familiar names in a haze of yellow, but nothing sticks. The words blur into nothing. It’s like trying to read underwater. Every sound feels muffled, distant. The warm hum of the space heater barely cuts through the chill pressing against your spine.

And then—you feel it.

Stillness. Not tension, exactly. But deliberate, settled quiet.

You look up.

Mingyu’s watching you from across the desk—not with the sharp, clinical scrutiny of an investigator, but something slower, more careful. Like he’s waiting. Not to be heard. To be understood.

“Can we talk?” he asks, voice pitched low enough that the heater almost swallows it. But you catch it. You’re already listening.

You nod once, the motion small. “Of course.”

He leans forward slowly, bracing his elbows on his knees. His hands flex in his lap—just once, then still. The weight in his posture is subtle but unmistakable. Something about him feels older in this moment. Like he’s dragging something from deeper down.

“It’s about your blood type,” he says, and the words fall into the space between you like a stone into deep water.

You blink, posture straightening, a flicker of something cold brushing the back of your neck. “Okay…”

Mingyu’s eyes flick to yours, steady. Apologetic. “It’s RH-null.”

The words don’t hit at first. You just stare at him, waiting for more.

“…Okay,” you echo slowly, cautious. “And?”

A breath leaves him—sharp, but quiet. Not frustration. Not impatience. Just the weight of explaining something he wishes he didn’t have to.

“It’s rare,” he says. “Exceptionally. One in six million. Most vampires will go their entire existence without even smelling it, let alone tasting it.” He pauses, throat working once. “It’s not just rare. It’s potent. Dangerous. Loaded.”

You blink again. The implications begin to ripple outward—slow at first, then faster.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he adds quietly, gaze flicking down to the edge of the desk. “Fear, in a place like that is about as good as an open wound. I knew what your blood could do, and I knew what that room would feel like with you in it. I needed you calm. I wanted to be honest, but…”

“But you weren’t,” you finish for him—not sharp, not angry. Just quiet. Steady.

His jaw tenses faintly, the muscles flexing once beneath the clean line of his cheek. “I should have been.”

You lean back slightly in your chair, exhaling through your nose. It’s not that you’re upset—though the pulse behind your ribs has started to speed up. It’s more the ground shifting beneath your feet. Something you thought you understood—something you thought you had a grip on—suddenly redefined.

“You have to tell me these things,” you say, and though your voice is still even, it carries the weight of something non-negotiable. “Even if it’s scary. Even if you think I’ll panic. We don’t have room for secrets between us—not in there. It's too dangerous.”

His gaze snaps back to yours. There’s no defensiveness in it—only remorse. A soft, wounded kind of acknowledgment.

“I know,” he says. “And you’re right.”

The silence that follows is thick, coiled with the kind of tension that doesn’t come from anger—but from understanding. From the long, uneasy reconciliation between what’s been kept quiet and what needs to be spoken.

“So,” you say slowly, fingers curling against the hem of your sweater, “if I’m… if I’m this potent—this tempting—what does that mean for feeding? Is there a risk?”

The question hangs between you, and for the first time, Mingyu’s composure fractures—barely. A flicker. The barest bristle of offense. You hadn’t meant it that way, but the reaction is there before you can walk it back.

His voice, when it comes, is calm—but edged with something tight. “Not with me.”

You hold his gaze, steady. “I wasn’t implying—”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. The tension bleeds off him like mist in the sun. “I know you weren’t. I just… I need you to understand that even at its worst, even if every instinct I have is screaming for more—I won’t lose control. Not with you. Never with you.”

You study him.

The way his shoulders have gone still again, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth. He looks… pained. Not because you doubted him, but because you even had to ask.

And you hadn’t meant it like that. Not really. You trust him. You do. But trust doesn’t erase instinct. Not yours. Not his.

“The first feed is always the hardest,” he says after a beat. “The bond hits raw. Unfiltered. It softens with time. You’ll adjust. So will I. It gets easier.”

You nod slowly. That makes sense. It tracks.

But there’s a part of you—small, hidden—that doesn’t want it to get easier.

You don’t want to lose the sharpness of what happened between you. The way it had caught you off guard. The way your body had sung under his mouth, his hands. The way your name had trembled in his throat like it meant something more than duty.

You don’t say it.

But the way his eyes linger on yours says maybe—just maybe—he already knows.

A long silence settles between you, thick and unspoken but not uncomfortable. Just… real. And then—

A voice from the hallway cuts through it, louder than necessary.

“Knock, knock, kids. I come bearing gifts.”

Jeonghan.

He bumps the door open with his hip, two plastic bags swinging from one arm and a coffee tray precariously balanced in the other. The smell hits immediately—spicy, rich, bright with chili paste.

“You two looked like you were about to expire,” he announces, dropping the bags onto your desk with a dramatic flourish. “Eat. That’s an order.”

He sets the food down on your desk with a flourish. Steam curls from the bags, rich and spicy, the scent of tteokbokki hitting the air like a punch to the senses—red sauce, rice cakes, something slightly sweet, and something burning just enough to make your mouth water.

“You didn’t,” you say, half-smiling despite the tension still riding your spine.

Jeonghan just grins. “I did. And I got real coffee this time. None of that precinct-sludge.”

Mingyu murmurs a quiet thanks, already tearing into one of the containers with the kind of hunger that seems too well-practiced. You’re pretty sure food does nothing for him, as a vampire. Mere indulgence rather than sustenance, perhaps. It makes the corners of your mouth curl into a smile regardless.

You’re slower to start, but when the first bite hits your tongue, the heat is like a defibrillator. The spice shocks you back into your body—the sauce sticky and sweet, the rice cakes chewy and warm. It spreads through your chest like thawing out from the inside.

For a while, no one speaks. Just the occasional scrape of chopsticks against the plastic container, the low sound of Mingyu swallowing beside you, the hum of Jeonghan’s laptop fan kicking into life as he checks something on-screen. The heater whirs steadily in the background, and the room is suddenly smaller. Warmer. Realer.

It’s almost peaceful. The kind of quiet that settles like a blanket, made heavier by exhaustion and the faint spice of sauce still clinging to your tongue. The lull of food and fatigue creates the illusion of stillness, of calm—like maybe, for once, everything can just stop.

Then Jeonghan’s laptop pings.

The sound cuts through the room like a blade. Sharp. Surgical.

All three of you still at once. Chopsticks freeze mid-air. Breaths hold. Jeonghan exhales, a sigh that sounds too steady to be anything but forced, and he swivels his chair with practiced ease. He clicks once.

Footage Received: 5 attachments.

You don’t realize how tight your grip on the container has become until you feel your knuckles ache on putting it down. Without a word, you rise, drawn toward the screen like gravity itself has shifted. Mingyu is already moving in sync, silent, his body casting a long shadow across the desk as he leans in beside you.

The first video stutters into life.

The timestamp blinks in one corner—barely three hours after you and Mingyu had walked out of Velvet Eden under the syrupy haze of red light and too many half-formed thoughts.

The alley appears first. Dimly lit. Unremarkable. Then—movement.

Seo-yeon.

She stumbles into frame, clutching herself like she’s trying to hold in something vital. Her gait is uneven, shoulders hunched. Every part of her screams discomfort. Vulnerability. And then—behind her—a second figure.

A shadow that glides more than walks. Sleek. Fast. Purposeful.

You don’t breathe.

Seo-yeon turns. Tries to retreat. But it’s too late. Her mouth opens like she’s going to scream, but no sound escapes before her body crumples. The figure is already on her.

The attack isn’t clumsy. There’s no wild grappling, no chaotic blur of limbs. It’s measured. Precise. The shadow descends with a kind of reverence—like feeding is a prayer, not a crime. There’s no blood spray. No mess. Just the steady, sickening intimacy of lips at a throat and a body going slack beneath it.

Then—black screen.

You’re left staring at the monitor’s dark reflection. Your own face stares back at you in the gloss of the laptop. Your features look warped. Pale. Drawn. The hollow curve of your mouth stays open a beat too long.

You look like someone who’s just watched a girl die.

But it’s not horror that sits in your chest.

Not really.

It’s recognition.

You know what it’s like now—to be the one beneath the mouth, the hands. To feel that sharp, electrifying prick of fangs, and then the drop. The sudden, inexorable fall into something vast and hot and bottomless. It doesn’t feel like death. It feels like drowning in pleasure so deep it defies logic. You’d felt it yourself. Still feel it, sometimes, in phantom echoes that hum beneath your skin.

You remember Mingyu’s mouth. The way his breath had ghosted across your skin before he bit. The way his hands had held you—firm but careful, like you were something fragile and treasured. The way your body had gone soft under his touch, your thoughts obliterated by bliss.

The figure in the video wasn’t careful.

But they were experienced.

You wonder, in some deep, sick part of you, if Seo-yeon felt it too—just for a moment. If, before the end, it felt like something else. Like being chosen. Desired. Consumed.

Your stomach churns.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to drown the thought in breath, but the taste of last night still clings to the back of your throat. Amaretto. Velvet. His mouth.

And then, the shame hits. Heavy. Crawling.

You’re standing here, mourning a stranger through the lens of your own memory. Not because you knew her. But because your body remembers how good it felt—and part of you hates that. Hates that you know.

“It’s clean,” Mingyu says, voice low and even, like he’s speaking from behind glass. “Efficient. Whoever did it… knew exactly what they were doing.”

His voice is close. You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten.

You swallow, the dryness in your throat like sandpaper. “It wasn’t just a kill,” you murmur. “It was a ritual.”

The words hang there, suspended between you.

Jeonghan mutters something—maybe a curse, maybe a prayer—but it sounds far away. Distant. Muted beneath the buzz that’s started in your ears. You can’t pull your eyes from the screen even though it’s blank now. Black as the inside of a coffin. But your mind keeps playing the footage on loop.

Seo-yeon’s stumble. Her turn. The way she dropped.

You shake your head once, sharp, like it might clear the images lodged behind your eyes.

“She hesitated,” you whisper. “Right before. Like she sensed something. But she didn’t run.”

Mingyu is already moving, sliding back toward his desk with the focused calm of someone trying not to let adrenaline short-circuit his logic. “We need names,” he says, fingers flying across his keyboard. “Anyone who left after us. Anyone unaccounted for in the hours after. Timestamps, aliases, everything.”

The calm from earlier is gone. The warmth of food, the easy jokes, even the sting of the pepper sauce on your tongue—it’s all been stripped away. The air is colder now. Hungrier. You slide back into your chair without thinking, the muscles in your body moving like they’re working from memory rather than command. You start parsing data. IDs. Door logs. Code scans. Anything that might offer a trail.

It feels like falling face-first into a blizzard—white noise, frantic movement, eyes that can’t blink fast enough.

And then—

“Captain’s in today, right?” Jeonghan asks, his voice quieter now, like he’s asking for permission he already knows he’ll get.

Mingyu doesn’t look up. “Let’s go.”

The captain’s office is a glass box at the end of the bullpen, lit only by the thin gray wash of daylight and the soft glow of his desk lamp.

Choi Seungcheol is exactly the kind of man you’d want steering a ship like this — calm, grounded, deeply competent. You’ve seen him lose his temper exactly once, and it was the kind of quiet that makes people start looking for exits.

No shouting. No slamming fists or storming down hallways.

He’d stood in the middle of the bullpen with a file in his hand, one that detailed a botched cross-jurisdiction sting—agents left hanging, one dead, two hospitalized—and just… stopped moving. Not a word for almost thirty full seconds. Everyone around him froze like animals in a clearing, instinctively bracing for something worse than fury.

And then he’d walked, slowly, to the whiteboard. Picked up a marker. Erased the entire operation detail by detail with clinical precision. Rewrote the command chain. Scrapped half the team and reassigned the other. All without ever raising his voice. That was the day you realized Seungcheol didn’t get angry.

He got surgical.

You reach his door first, knocking twice on the door before easing it open. The blinds are half-drawn, pale daylight slanting through the narrow gaps and striping the floor in sharp lines. Inside, Seungcheol is already looking up from the open file on his desk, one hand loosely curled around a black ceramic mug, steam still rising from the top. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, exposing forearms marked by faded scarring, burnished skin, and the faint shimmer of a ward tattoo just beneath his wrist.

He doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s something gentler in the way his eyes settle on you—something solid, like stone worn smooth by water.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he says, voice low but warm. “Come in. Sit.”

You don’t wait to be told twice. Jeonghan sinks into the chair to your left with a theatrical groan that goes unacknowledged. Mingyu takes the far seat, posture neat and precise, arms folding loosely over his lap. You ease down between them, suddenly aware of the weight in your shoulders, the cold still clinging to your sleeves.

Seungcheol takes a sip from his mug, then sets it down with the same deliberate quiet he does everything. No wasted movement. No performance. Just a man who’s seen more than most and carries it like a steady hum beneath his skin.

“Alright,” he says. “Walk me through it.”

Jeonghan starts. He always does. Sharp, efficient, fluent in the rhythm of command. The second victim. Same profile. Same cause of death. Same link to the club. He lays it all out in quick, clean lines, like pinning evidence to a corkboard with invisible thread.

You follow, adding detail where needed—the exterior footage, the shadowed figure, the precision of the kill. You don’t dwell on the emotional weight of it, but Seungcheol sees it anyway. His eyes flick to yours when you mention the time stamp, the bloodlessness of the scene. He nods once. Just once. Like an anchor thrown into deep water.

Mingyu rounds it out. He names the names TARU flagged, lays out the narrowed timeline, the roster shifts inside the club. And then, calmly, clearly: your plan.

Another appearance. No contact. No feeding. Just visibility. Presence. You’re not spooking the hive—not yet. The idea is to be seen again, to be remembered. To deepen the illusion that whatever bond they saw that night wasn’t staged.

Seungcheol listens without interruption. Fingers steepled loosely, elbows resting against the worn leather arms of his chair. His gaze flicks occasionally to the file, but mostly, it holds on each of you in turn—assessing, not doubting. Measuring for strain.

When the room quiets again, when the last thread of your plan has been laid bare, he leans back in his chair and exhales slowly. His mouth tugs downward—thoughtful, not displeased. His voice, when it comes, is calm. Grounded.

“I don’t hate it,” he says.

You catch the faint twitch of Jeonghan’s mouth—approval, disguised as smugness.

“But,” Seungcheol continues, “if we’re sending you back in, you’re not going in blind. I want wires this time. Low-gain. No ambient bounce. One channel only.”

Mingyu nods once. “I’ll get Soojin to prep the kit. Subdermal adhesive, low profile.”

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “Keep it tight. No chatter unless it’s urgent.”

He pauses, eyes flicking briefly between the three of you. His focus lingers longest on you—not questioning, just observing. There’s a steadiness to him that doesn’t ask for explanation. It just holds space for it.

“You think they’ll recognize her again?” Seungcheol asks, voice quieter now, his focus fixed on you.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, your eyes flick to Mingyu. A silent handoff. There’s something careful in the gesture—not avoidance, but deference. You’ve already had this conversation once, in the hushed stillness of your shared office, with the heater buzzing and the weight of truth pressing in around your ribs. This time, it’s his to carry.

Mingyu straightens slightly in his seat. Not tense. Just composed. A breath drawn slow before he speaks.

“They’ll recognize her,” he says. “Not just her face.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows faintly.

Mingyu continues, more deliberate now. “Her blood. It’s rare. RH-null. Most vampires go their entire existence without even smelling it. It’s… potent. Like walking into a crackhouse with a loaded needle in your pocket.”

Across the desk, Seungcheol’s expression doesn’t change immediately. It holds—curious, parsing, neutral—but there’s a subtle shift in the set of his jaw. The kind of movement that only registers if you’ve spent enough time learning the small ways he telegraphs disquiet. His thumb taps once against the ceramic of his mug, then stills.

“RH-null,” he repeats, slowly, like the words are shaped strange in his mouth. “That’s… not on any of our briefings.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Mingyu replies. “There’s barely any data. Less than fifty documented humans worldwide. It’s not something you screen for. It’s just… there. And when it is—it changes everything.”

You watch Seungcheol closely as he processes it. His eyes settle back on you, and for the first time since you walked in, something flickers behind them. Not doubt. Not distrust. But concern—clean and quiet, the kind that’s heavier than it looks.

“She didn’t know,” Mingyu adds. “Not until 20 minutes ago.”

A beat. Then another.

“And you still want to send her back in?”

Mingyu’s jaw flexes, but his voice stays steady. “I wouldn’t put her in danger. I wouldn’t let anyone else, either. But they’ve seen her now. Smelled her. If she disappears, they’ll start asking questions we can’t answer. It’s safer to move forward than to pull her out.”

He hesitates then, just slightly, and for the first time, there’s a note of something almost vulnerable in his voice—low and certain and close to a promise.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

Seungcheol doesn’t speak immediately. His fingers curl loosely around the handle of his mug again, but he doesn’t lift it. Just holds the weight of it in his palm like it anchors him.

You watch his gaze shift—once to Mingyu, once to you, then down to the edge of the case file still splayed open in front of him.

When he finally exhales, it’s slower this time. More thoughtful. But his voice holds.

“Then we stick to the plan,” he says. “You stay close. You don’t deviate. And if anything, anything feels off—”

“I pull her out,” Mingyu says.

“Good,” Seungcheol murmurs. But this time, there’s a crease at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t there before. The first faint outline of tension begins to settle. Not distrust. Just a quiet, unwanted understanding of how quickly the variables have changed.

The bullpen feels different tonight—less like a workspace, more like a staging area. Wires, tape, and surveillance equipment spread across the desk between you and Mingyu, while Jeonghan and Soojin busy themselves with last-minute checks.

Mingyu stands quietly under the fluorescent lights, expression patient, eyes focused ahead. Jeonghan circles him once, critically eyeing the loose silk shirt he’s wearing before sighing dramatically.

“Shirt off, Romeo,” Jeonghan says, flicking his fingers dismissively. “This’ll only take a minute.”

Mingyu shrugs easily out of his button-down without protest. The silk slides from his shoulders like water, catching momentarily at the sharp lines of his collarbones, down over the lean muscles of his chest and stomach. Your pulse stutters traitorously. Even under the stark overhead lighting, Mingyu looks carved from marble—broad shoulders, a defined chest, lean abs that flex faintly as Jeonghan presses cold adhesive tape against his ribs.

You blink and force your gaze toward Soojin instead, suddenly hyper aware of your sweater bunched around your ribs, her cool fingertips brushing gently over your skin as she secures the transmitter pack against your hip, hidden neatly beneath the waistband of your skirt.

Still, your attention drifts back to Mingyu. Just briefly. Just enough to catch him watching you, his gaze heavy but unreadable, something softer and warmer than professionalism lingering just behind the careful set of his mouth. You feel heat rise to your face, threatening your composure, and quickly glance away again.

Mingyu doesn’t say a word—he never does—but there’s a subtle, pleased shift in his posture. You have the uncomfortable realization he can probably sense exactly how much your heart rate just spiked.

“You okay?” Soojin murmurs, mouth curling knowingly at one corner. Her tone holds a touch of amusement, but you appreciate her discretion.

“Fine,” you whisper back, a little too quickly.

She only hums lightly, pressing the hem of your sweater neatly back into place before smoothing her hands over your miniskirt. “All set.”

Jeonghan clears his throat sharply, pulling you both back to attention. Mingyu tugs his shirt back on, buttoning it with methodical slowness, each movement somehow drawing your eyes back despite your best efforts. You clench your fists once, twice, focusing hard on Jeonghan as he holds up two slim earpieces and explains quickly:

“These are strictly one-way. Surveillance hears you, you don’t hear us. Less feedback—harder for the vamps to pick up.” He pauses meaningfully, looking between you and Mingyu. “Meaning you’re on your own in there. No audio cues from us, so pay attention to each other.”

Mingyu nods silently, securing the earpiece with practiced ease.

“Just one more thing,” Jeonghan continues, voice tighter now, losing its usual teasing edge. “Tonight you mingle, observe, eavesdrop. You don’t engage unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. If your gut says bail, then you bail—no heroics. And no splitting up without letting the other person know. If you feel like you’re in danger, your code word is ‘I’m feeling dizzy’, and if you need to abort, you’re ‘going for a cigarette’. Out clean, no breach. Understood?”

Your stomach knots briefly. Mingyu shifts just slightly closer to you, the warmth from his body pressing faintly into your space. His skin ran cooler than yours, but not cold. Not dead. Like marble left in the sun—still solid, still unyielding, but capable of warmth when you stayed close long enough.

Jeonghan hesitates, flicking his gaze quickly between you both, his eyes narrowing. “And absolutely no feeding tonight. I don’t care how much Velvet Eden pushes it, you decline. Clear?”

“Clear,” Mingyu echoes, low and steady.

Your mouth feels oddly dry, remembering the last time—the rush, the dizzy heat, the dangerous intimacy of it. You look up, catching Mingyu’s gaze again, and you see it reflected clearly there: he remembers, too.

“Clear,” you echo quietly.

Jeonghan hands Mingyu his jacket, and with a last careful look over the wires, gives a short nod. “Alright then, be careful. If anything feels off, signal to each other and get out. Good luck.”

Luck, you think ruefully, is probably the last thing you’ll need.

You fall into step with Mingyu as you leave the bullpen behind, the precinct feeling suddenly smaller behind you. His hand brushes lightly against your back, guiding you toward the elevators. It’s casual enough to seem natural—but it still makes your pulse jump, just slightly.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, once the elevator doors close behind you both.

You glance up at him, heart quickening again, and find his eyes steady on yours. Concerned, careful, warm—everything you shouldn’t be counting on right now.

“As I’ll ever be,” you answer truthfully, your voice tight with nerves.

Mingyu nods slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before he looks resolutely forward again, jaw set, expression sharpening into something determined.

“Then let’s get this over with,” he murmurs, quiet and grim, as the elevator carries you down into the night, toward Velvet Eden.

next chapter ↝ iii. dizzy.

click here for tag list submission / removal.

[bumblehoneybee]

How would Dogday deal with Child/Teen!Reader going through their emo phase?

Lol imagine the poor guy just wanting to check on his kid only to find them suddenly all evil and shit💀

Fallen Cherub

Dogday has handled things no person should ever have to handle before, things that would make even the most stone-hearted person wince. So, in a way, he feels that this is also something he can handle.

It's just he has no fucking clue how.

"Black!" You announce, arms thrown out in your dramatics. Your newly dyed hair is still wet from the wash, but its as dark as you wanted it to be. "All of it, black!"

"All of it?" Dogday repeats, unsure.

"Well, purple and red are nice too." You admit, holding up the dark purple curtains you recently bought. Your room had changed with this mood of yours, from the simple pastels Dogday had painted it when you were little, to dark gem colors and Victorian aesthetics. "They fit my vibe very well."

Dogday looks at the fake spider webs and the bats that cover your walls between posters of vampires and werewolves. What was it you called this? Goth? Emo? Dogday isn't up to date on the lingo and slang and communities, but. . . whatever it is, it's dark.

And it kind of makes him anxious.

"Shouldn't we get some lights?" He offers. You don't reply immediately, happily humming as you thread curtains through poles. "Maybe. . . like torches? To match the, er, vibe?"

Luckily, that has you dropping the curtains to slap your hands to your cheeks, eyes bright and smile wide. "Oh! Oh, I like that! I think I saw a DIY video on how to make fake torches too, oh! Let me grab my laptop!"

You rush out of the room, leaving Dogday to sigh in relief. Whatever makes you happy, Dogday will help you with, but thankfully he won't have to deal with any dark rooms with hidden spiders waiting to scare him.

And you won't have to see your big strong dad scream like a baby.

[ceram1cs]

WISH LIST POST . . . updated 2/16

if you see something you'd like to write please don't hesitate to reach out !

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳. ( mostly aus. )

Music au / band or whatever

Actor au / where the characters are actors and the series they hail from isn't real but a movie / tv show.

sports au. what sport do you think your muse would be in ? pretty much a modern au of sorts.

Fantasy / royal au . fairies ? pixies ? nymphs ? bards & rogues ? knights and dragons, etc.

Vampire / supernatural au . just a fun concept tbh.

let our muses have fun ! let them go out to play mini golf or go to the bar, go dancing or even karaoke, going to the zoo and museums. etc.

𝑪𝑯. 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑰𝑭𝑰𝑪

utahime.

Threads that are centered around her scar, how she got it, reactions to it, was your muse nearby ? : did they find her ? lore here , is flexible to plot .

Threads taking place after her dad dies. this happens a few weeks after her scar fully heals and she turns into a hermit, hiding away and grieving as well as being a mess of emotion, a shorter fuse and lashing out / getting upset more frequently and over small things, things that don't really matter

march 7th .

exploring amphoreus , trying to put the pieces back together for her to regain her memories .

literally just her making friends, she's so charasmatic and a ball of sunshine, keeps herself optimistic and just sooo joyful.

LET HER TAKE YOUR PICTURE.

( my brain is blanking on anything else right now im sorry )

𝑹𝑬𝑳. 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑰𝑭𝑰𝑪.

Apartments / neighbors : y'all ever see where two people are staying in apartments in two separate buildings but can see eachother from their windows ? like.. in friends ? or neighbors in the same apartment building who see eachother consistently and talk regularly, small talk and even flirty little comments ... def. a slow burn .

Roommates : the tension in living in the same house ... being able to see somebody at their lowest and their highest. small glances and loving eyes.

secret admirer / love letter ? : our muses are friends or something, one writes the other one a love letter , anonymously and the other muse tries to figure out who it is and talks to the one who wrote it , about it.

Florist / tattoo au : one of the oldest cliches .. but it's a good one .

Reincarnation au : i love you in every life and will find you in every life.

Enemies to lovers : self explanatory .

Religious figure / demon or devil : don't judge me on this one.

boss / secretary or something to the same effect : dont judge this one either.

Forbidden love : sneaking looks, kisses etc. lying about where they've been. . . dash some angst in there ...

miscommunication . . . im sorry it's just fun to sprinkle in there for some angst ..

You belong with me .. you know the taylor swift song ' you belong with me ' .. ? yeah, a plot that centers around a similar idea ( aka yearning after somebody who is in a relationship )

Jealousy .. a cliche maybe but !! jealousy that leads into an angry confession ? some of the best plots...

equally as fun , situationships . oh no, something happened between us that shouldn't have but oh i can't stay away .

Fake dating plots , self explanatory but maybe it’s for a mission of sorts or to deceive family members / friends — could also happen in an au. turns into real feelings ?

Angst that turns into something soft , just a general theme , i dont mind plotting out what happens but it's one of my favorite theme / genres

Denial . the cliche of two people dating / being in love without ever realizing until it’s pointed out !

Maybe … toxic ships ? exes and on and off relationships . . .

[scnders]

edit: closed for now so i don't get overwhelmed! hi everyone! i'm pretty new to posting ads for 1x1 rp-ing but i have a lot of muse for writing a variety of plots! a little bit of info about me is that i'm 25+, s/her pronouns, open to m/m, f/f and m/f. as for timezone and activity, i'm in the gmt + 8 timezone and i would say i'm pretty active unless i'm working (i have a corporate job) or hanging out with friends during weekends. there are also some days when my writing muse is low of course so please do understand. (when you have those days i'll definitely be understanding as well!) i'm looking to find 1x1 partners who are at least 23+ on discord. i'm an oc type of girl who plays both male and female ocs. definitely more experienced writing male ocs, but i like having a good mix. i would hope the same for my rp partners as well! i definitely can do semi-lit to novella depending on muse or brain juice. also! i would like to practice writing nsfw since i haven't done so in a while. below the cut you'll find more information about tropes, fcs i like to use and etc. like this post if you want me to approach you for your discord! or you can message me with yours!

just some general info:

be clear when communicating especially if you have no muse for a certain plot/thread! i would appreciate it rather than being ghosted.

please put in the same or enough effort when it comes to plotting/headcannons and etc. i promise to do the same or inform you if i don't have enough brain power to come up with things.

i love angst and fluff is definitely fine too as a bit of a palate cleanser.

my only trigger is descriptive self-harm but there are some taboo topics i am really not comfortable writing despite not being triggered.

some fcs i rp/would like to: song kang, park solomon, ateez san, txt's yeonjun, the boyz younghoon and hyunjae, svt's jeonghan and jun, bright vachirawit, bibi, youha, fromis_9 jiwon, noze, twice's sana, kiss of life's julie han, billie's haram, kitty chicha, kwon nara and honestly many more. also open to suggestions!

some tropes/genres/what have you ideas:

grumpy x sunshine, best friends to lovers (pining premium, both are idiots, drops the 'bro' and 'no homo'), fake dating (for dumb reasons like i need to make myself look desirable because people think i've been bitchless for years which yes i have been But), meet ugly, enemies to lovers, exes to friends to lovers, rivals (especially for like royalty aus), high fantasy, supernatural, revenge, royalty, reincarnation, 25 lives (the poem by tongari), blind date gone wrong, based on anime/movies/series, storybook characters with a twist and a plot like hotel del luna where they're wandering souls staying at a super fancy hotel, vampires, merfolk and etc... that's a lot i realized.

specific plot ideas:

business partners who are also fwbs. two people who match in every aspect from financial status, looks, in the bedroom etc.. have tried to make it work in the romance department but it just left them frustrated but they try again

final girl who's trying to recover from the horrors of what happened (we can base it off of a movie) who accidentally falls for a serial killer

i have more i Swear this post is just getting too long fr pls don't cancel me

[goodgrac3s]

welcome back to montclair university, blue ! according to your student file you're a TWENTY - TWO year old JUNIOR, studying DRAMA & EDUCATION, and funny enough you were voted best hair your senior year of high school back home in CALIFORNIA. i can totally see it with your outgoing, creative and non-confrontational personality ! but enough about that — i heard you were lizzie harrington's ONLINE FRIEND. makes sense when you take into consideration your status as a scholarship student. you'll always be known on campus as THE PREVARICATOR who enjoys doodling and has 387 of instagram followers… good luck this semester !

*    basics.

full name chunri (春日) reid annalise andersen. nickname(s) blue. gender & pronouns demi woman, she/they. sexuality homoromantic, homosexual. age & date of birth twenty - two, born on the 20th of july of 2001. occupation student, part time at second chance threads. marital status single.

*    background.

ethnicity white / chinese. nationality american. hometown san francisco, california. residence a shared dorm on campus. languages spoken english ( valley girl accent ), mandarin, high school level of spanish. education history double majoring in drama & education. relatives maternal grandparents.

*    personality.

zodiac sign cancer sun. alignment tba. likes musicals, old romcoms, being chronically online, history, collecting trinkets. dislikes rude people, controlling people. positives tba. negatives elusive, liar, easily distracted. inspirations ariel (the little mermaid), lenore dove baird & lucy gray baird (the hunger games), willow (buffy the vampire slayer), lane (gilmore girls), wendy darling (peter pan).

*    physicality.

height five foot four. build slim. hair brown with auburn hints, curly and very long. eyes green. tattoos tba. wardrobe colorful, often mismatched outfits; vintage, 90s/00s inspired.

*    misc.

diagnoses adhd. main motivation making people's life better by spreading some sort of positive message. fears being stuck in a bored life, being caught by her secret. life goal be a successful broadway actor. best quality whimsical. worst quality delusional. hidden talents can tell between real or fake gold. role model eva noblezada.

*   history.

blue has no memory of their parents. high school sweethearts, there are photos of them from the year book, pilled up in boxes, showing the tale of a young promising couple so deeply in love, but they were dead before blue turned three. and so, her defining years were spent under her grandparents' roof. the huang owned an antiquary / pawn shop and blue spent all of their time away from school by the counters, touching antiquities and befriending clients. she would think of herself as the original owner of the trinkets, offering monologues of tales of the past and begging for people to stay for a little longer because she's so bored.

her grandparents weren't very fond of her dramatics. they encouraged her to pursue something worthwhile instead, and although their reasoning was enticing - - she would be able to leave their home and have a place of her own - - blue had no real talent nor interest for anything but storytelling and other "useless" aspirations. without a bright career, then, her grandparents demanded that she'd be the next in line to take the business. it made sense: they were getting older, their only child was dead and their only grandchild was aimless.

blue was desperate to escape. she began to see the store as her doom, going to her best friend's place down the road whenever she could - - her friend had two living, loving parents, who were always eager to have her in, who gave her american food and who encouraged her to form a path of her own. they were the ones she turned to when she came out of the closet, their place was the place she kept her clothes, her nail polishes, her cds; it was where her letters went to, including her acceptance to montclair.

there was too much to think but they couldn't bother to think of the negatives. they packed their bags, left a letter to their grandparents and made their way to conneticut by bus. they prefer not to talk about their past and focus on their future, even when it is fuzzy: they know they want to be on broadway, to sing stories out loud and to move people, but after a few years into montclair, she's worried her connections will only get her so far. channeling her grandparents' practicity, they've began to consider taking a job as a teacher - - she likes children, they like her back and if she can't take the stage, she would like to encourage children to live in a way she wasn't able to. of course, she won't admit that for now; for now, they are living the dream. and nothing will stop them, not their grandparents, not their secret, not a pesky job downtown, not even lizzie's death.

*   connections.

a roommate or two

regulars or co-workers at second chance threads

fans or rivals when it comes to theather

people who are suspicious of her evasiveness

crushes (one sided or not), hook ups, exes

[orumad]

hey i really wanna do more discord writing.

some stuff: slow burn, angst, building up ships, pinterest, playlists, crime, small town, blue blood, in a band, multi-muse, multi-ship, wlw, i write males, but also females, my males are mostly leaning het tho sry, but my girls are usually queer, some fluff, smut, but also fade to black, academia, canon, oc, summer setting, southern gothic, vampires, witches, supernatural, but also just normies?, big city, interconnected dynamics, unrequited crush, enemies to friends to lovers to enemies again, fake dating, besties, covens, slow responses, but also back and forths, text threads, etc etc

one or some or all of these — message me 💋

[pillow-anime-talk]

{♡} 4k followers special ; CLOSED!

Hello everyone! On the occasion of 4000 followers at my account, I decided to make a small special! This is a ‘Quote Prompts Special’ where the sentences will have an impact on the plots! Some of them will be SFW or suggestive and some will be NSFW! I hope you all will like my ideas just like before! I was doing something quite similar around the time I hit 1000 followers i.e. ‘Kissing Prompts’! For a next month (August) I will receive your requests and write them one by one :)

I. How to send a request?

Choose the number and one character you like (if the prompt looks like it has two or more characters then add more than one name). You can also give me your pronouns (if you don’t, I’ll write the story in neutral form!). Also! The examples below are just examples. You can write which ones you are interested in or leave me the right to choose. When it comes to NSFW prompts, you can tell me what you definitely don’t want to see!

for example: ‘10 + Poseidon from RoR + pregnant female reader’ or ‘ 33 with Sakura Haruno and reader with he/they prns’ or ‘Dio Brando and Joseph Joestar plus 53 but without cheating’

{!} Then send your request to my request/ask box.

II. Please be patient! I will write each request one by one.

{!!} Also, here are my Masterlist and MyAnimeList account to see what I would like to write! I am happy to write about characters who don’t have their lists yet, such as ‘Yakusoku no Neverland’, ‘Beastars’, ‘number24’, ‘Oshi no Ko’, ‘Kaguya-sama: Love is War’, ‘Blue Lock’, ‘Vanitas no Karte’ or anything else rated higher than 5 on my MAL.

sfw prompts;

for example – fluff, comedy, crack fic, school/college!au, kid!fic or family!fic and also pet!fic, isekai, turning into a child or animal, royalty, cute romance, friendship, idols or streamers or models!au (etc.), internet friends/lovers, flower/coffee shop!au, enemies/friends to lovers, love at the first sight, soulmates!au (colors, tattoos, red thread), song!fic, pranking someone, sharing a bed, staring at the stars, date!au, soft angst (like first quarrel, misunderstanding, wrong number), mention of crying, pregnancy/marriage, gender swap, [...]

1. “Let’s watch some movies from Studio Ghibli (or Disney, or Pixar)!”

2. “... Do you want to stay with me for the night?”

3. “Are we gonna fight? Like fist to fist or rather... lips to lips?”

4. “Shut up, I’m listening to Big Time Rush.”

5. “... but I love your sister/brother.”

6. “Haven’t we met before?”

7. “You’re so dumb!”

“No? You’re dumb.”

8. “Bring your ass over here. I wanna some cuddles (or kisses).”

9. “Why did you do that?”

10. “I’d kill for you.”

11. “I– I like both of you...”

12. “But we are not married.”

“Then marry me.”

13. “Look into my eyes and tell me that you’re not lying. Do it, I am waiting.”

14. “Need some help, shortie?”

15. “Wow, I didn’t know that you could play on the instrument.”

16. “I haven’t been feeling well for the past few days...”

17. “The princess/prince shouldn’t wait, you know?”

18. “I have some good news and some bad news too...”

19. “I’m pregnant.”

20. “Why are not you listening to me?

... I’m very lucky to have you, you know?”

suggestive prompts;

for example – romance, making out, soft smut (including first time, masturbation, oral sex, body worship, general vanilla, etc.), angst, single parent or orphan!au, supernatural things (like demons, vampires, werewolves, zombies, fairies, etc.), dysphoria & misgendering, -shaming in general, diseases (like ed, amnesia, hanahaki), lovers to friends/enemies, mention of blood/vomit/faint, miscarriage, fake relationship, tattoos and piercing, bruises and scars on body, domestic or relationship violence, alcohol consumption, sexual harassment, [...]

21. “You’re drunk.”

“... But you’re drunk too.”

22. “You’re so ugly.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

23. “This is my b-blood?”

23. “Goodbye.”

24. “I’m a monster! Can’t you see it?!”

25. “It’s just a prank! Stop, please!”

26. “It’s not that I hate you, but if you were on fire and I had a bottle of water, I would drink that stupid water.”

27. “You look beautiful. This color suits you so well.”

28. “Stop being a brat.”

29. “Please! Please, don’t leave me!”

30. “Stop talking such nonsense, it’s not true!”

31. “Don’t cry.”

32. “Its all my fault...”

33. “Let’s stay like this forever, please.”

34. “Don’t touch me!”

35. “Haha, look at them. What a freak!”

36. “Your partner won’t catch us... What are you afraid of?”

37. “I don’t think they love me anymore.”

38. “You love flowers, right?

Yes... I love flowers very much.”

39. “No! It hurts, stop, please!”

40. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

nsfw prompts;

for example – hard angst, death (including suicide, murder, accident), mental illness, hard smut (including normal sex, non-con/rape or dub-con, hurt-comfort; 69, size kink, voyeurism, breeding, food play, etc.), ons, bdsm, threesome or gang bang, sex pollen, public or semi-public sex, cheating, manipulation or grooming, age-gap, police!au and law court!au, general abuse, a/b/o, gore or horror, monsters, guns and illegal racing, drugs or alcohol abuse, other triggers, [...]

41. “Of course. I am yours. Only yours.”

42. “... You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

43. “It was an a-accident, I swear...”

44. “Do you have anything else to say, fuckdoll?”

45. “Should I fuck you? So beg for it.”

46. “I hate myself, you, this life and everything else!”

47. “Yes, I did it on purpose. Any problem?”

48. “They were such a good person. Too bad they died.”

49. “I told you this is how it ends.”

50. “S-Stop. Someone is looking at us.”

51. “Maybe in the next life we will be in love. Who knows?”

52. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.”

53. “Wanna join?”

54. “I’ll kill you next time.”

55. “You really think someone like me would love someone like you?”

56. “It was my sister/brother!”

57. “What the fuck are you two doing?!”

58. “Please, leave me alone. Stop... Stop...”

59. “I wonder why they did it.”

60. “See? Not everything is like in a fairy tale.”

navi | status | masterlist | rules | ko-fi

[longbobmckenzie]

Here are a few (haha) of my favourite oneshots in the fandom! This is by no means exhaustive, as there are tons I either haven't read or just honestly don't remember enough about. I definitely encourage everyone to dig through AO3 to find those hidden gems!

For chaptered fics, see my post here!

Henrik/MC

Christmas Timing by @mrsbsmooth - cute Christmas post-villa romance Just one more bad decision by @kittidot - post-villa second chance with a major role played by one of my own OCs Not Like I'm In Love With You by @queen-of-boops - cute friends-to-lovers Reaching The Peak by @thesepromises - Henrik and MC go climbing, then do some other activities Robin Hood Stole My Heart by @chroniccomicobsession - he stole mine too The Man From the Jungle by @mrsbsmooth - Disney-inspired

Bobby

Bittersweet by @blueberrycupcak3s - great if you love an unhappy/bittersweet ending (or Jake. or both) Dummies in Love series by losingface - series of villa and post-villa fics first and second chances by @lucolestead - S5 MC goes on Seb and Nicky's podcast and mentions someone she's got a crush on On Repeat by nutshikas - rent-free fic for me with Bobby in a villa time loop

(I feel like there should be more here tbh - there are so many great Bobby oneshots out there that I had to either keep this list short or make it way too long)

Henrik/Lucas

keep me warm by Orphan Account - post-villa Lucas struggling with his feelings for Henrik Lights, Cameras, Action… by @queen-of-boops - porn AU Sooner Than You'd Think by OverdressedandUnderwhelmed - snapshots of Henrik/Lucas in what very well could be canon The Alps by @mrsbsmooth - Lucas road-tripping through the Alps and meeting up with Henrik (inspired by story from the wedding episodes)

Bobby/Lucas

everything that glitters is moissanite by @mountainmanxoxo - Bobby fake dates someone to make Lucas jealous Rude Awakenings by @mountainmanxoxo - the OG Bobcas fic, I think? Wishful Drinking by @lucas-koh - enemies-to-lovers

Rarepairs, Threesomes & Moresomes

Filthy by @mrsbsmooth (Hamish/Andy/Marshall/MC) - foursome Men of Particular Interests by @mrsbsmooth (Noah/Lucas/Bobby) - threesome The (Ia)ins & Outs of Falling 4 You by @thoracic-orchid (Bruno/Narrator) - coworkers The Boys go on a trip by @mrsbsmooth (Lucas, Noah, Henrik, Tai, Bobby, Rocco, Gary iirc) - so much going on in this one, haha the gang bullies Henrik into a threesome by @mountainmanxoxo (Lucas/Henrik/MC) - as the title says This Momentary Blue by @sparxaf (Kassam/Felix) - the rarest of rarepairs, enemies-to-lovers, absolute must read We come in peace by @thoracic-orchid (Gary/Bobby) - aliens, bang-or-die, post-villa

Everyone Else

A Lifetime of Promises by @fuseboxmusebox (Seb) - cute friends-to-lovers Bitch by @thoracic-orchid (Jo) - what really happened on Jo/Rahim's date Golden Thread by @starsarestars (Arjun) - modern day Romeo and Juliet without the tragic ending Lucas Koh: An Erotic Life by @becangle, Jglbly934TXS (Lucas) - egotistical Lucas spoof Mean Boys by @thesepromises (Noah) - Mean Girls crossover Mer de Désir by @lucas-koh (Levi) - Levi as a French aristocrat So Good Staying Here by @sparxaf (Seb) - SEEEBBB Swimming Pool Deep by @thesepromises (Levi) - pre-villa Levi, please read The second life of Allegra Rossi by @bypine (Allegra) - vampires! Undead of Night by @queen-of-boops (Noah) - Noah as a necromancer

[the-book-queen]

Hide your wallets, it's that time again! Your daily thread of romance deals is ready, FREE to $1.99!

FREE ✦ Her Texas Ex by Katherine Garbera

Second chance. After leaving town for a modeling career, she's back to care for her parents. He's a former pro-football player who returns home to raise his late sister's toddler.

Contemporary Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/3zk3yHH

$0.99 ✦ The Rake and the Rose by Eva Devon

She's a pamphlet writer determined to expose the playboys who suffer no consequences for their actions. She'll need the help of a rake, he wants her to be his fake mistress.

KU Title

Historical Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/3XLfCMj

$0.99 ✦ Fang by Demelza Carlton

He's a vampire dentist who goes as a friend's wingman to the Intergalactic Dating Agency's speed dating event, only to find his fated mate there. She's human -- and has a fear of dentists.

Sci-Fi Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/3RJF68U

$1.99 ✦ Bishop by Sawyer Bennett

1st POV. A hockey star is traded to a new team and on his first night in town, has a hot night with a stranger. Who turns out to be his coach's daughter. Oops.

Contemporary Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/4cjBini

$1.99 ✦ Two Rogues Make a Right by Cat Sebastian

Childhood friends to lovers. Will kidnaps his old friend and takes him to a cottage to recover (consumption). Only one bed, hurt/comfort, low angst and very character driven.

Historical Romance (MM) | https://amzn.to/4chpwtr

Putting these lists together takes time. If you appreciate this content, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi. http://ko-fi.com/danielletbq

[darkshrimpemotions]

I want to hear about I Love You Colin Robinson for the WIP meme! :D

Oh ho ho ho, I would LOVE to tell you all about it!

This one started as a text thread with @pixiedustandbluebutterflies. Basically, we were talking about "what if Guillermo finally just accepted that vampires don't generally turn their familiars, and decided he'd simply become something else in order to get what he wants?"

And given his most immediate model for what type of person vampires typically turn is Nadja and Laszlo, what if he decides to put all that energy he's been wasting being a great familiar into making Nandor fall in love with him instead?

And what if that involved making Nandor seethingly jealous, because after all this time Guillermo does know Nandor pretty damn well, and knows that he always, always wants what he can't have. So now all he has to do is figure out who he can date to maximize Nandor's jealousy.

It needs to be someone in the know about vampires and who lives nearby, so that Nandor can see them together as often as possible.

Someone Nandor at least has some level of grudging respect for would be a bonus, so he can't dismiss the relationship--and Guillermo--as too pathetic to bother with. A vampire would be best,

Preferably it needs to be someone Guillermo can tell the truth to, because he doesn't actually want to string someone else along, he's not that cruel. Someone who'd not only go along with something so dubious, but also someone who'd have their own stake in keeping the secret and making sure it works.

The answer is obvious! He needs to date Colin Robinson!

Thus, this unhinged fake dating AU was born! Shortly after Gail's departure, Guillermo comes to Colin Robinson with a proposition: All the fucked-up energy he could want to eat, in exchange for playing the role of the doting boyfriend just long enough to pique Nandor's jealousy. Colin agrees, and shenanigans ensue.

Thank you for this ask! This actually inspired me to open the doc and start writing! I only had an outline before, and now I have a couple of pages of Chapter 1!

[roeresource]

hello friends and family ! after a personal incident that left me randomly disappearing ( which , i hate doing. i am usually so very vocal and communication in incidents like that but this time i physically and mentally could not ! ) i am open to looking for new roleplay partners . i spent today going through discord threads i owed over the last six months and combed through my messages , but i understand the hesitance to continue writing w me ! i will be putting out ads today but here is a compiled list of fandoms and ship ideas i am currently interested in .

degrassi ( all generations. ) , one tree hill , the oc , skins uk , bridgerton , outlander , game of thrones + house of the dragon , greys anatomy , stranger things , lost , the last of us , ( fear ) the walking dead , the society , daisy jones and the six , pretty little liars , the summer i turned pretty , manifest , charmed , 90210 beverly hills , smallville , roseville , dawsons creek , saved by the bell , party of five , buffy the vampire slayer , good girls , breaking bad , shameless , that 70's / 90's show, scream ( tv and movies. ) i prefer oc x canon and oc x oc , but with the right ship i'm open to canon x canon.

high school sweethearts , love triangles , polyamorous , enemies to lovers , fake dating , friends with benefits , slow burn , arranged marriage , angry / sunshine , i hate everybody but you , only one bed , childhood friends to strangers to lovers , secret relationship , opposites attract , best friends girlfriend / boyfriend , exes to lovers , sad ending , one night stand , unrequited love . you can find specific plot ideas under my plot tag here.

i write on discord primarily, however i will be making a tumblr comeback so if you prefer to write there with gifs and such , i have no issue using my writing blog ! i prefer semi lit - lit and world building.

[grapefruitey]

G - she/her - 27 - somewhat active & semi-selective indie rp blog

beta editor only and 21+ for muns and muses. obsessed with writing horror from supernatural to apocalypse to the horrifying ordeal of being known. replies are mostly queue'd and responded to as fast as I have muse for (🐢 not fast 🐢)

✨ queue is set to 1 a day ✨ fysa.  rules. muses. (not up to date/accurate - kinda doing whatever I want) test muses. (muses I'm making up on the spot per thread) open starter. wanted opposite. wanted plot. 

Thread Ideas

fake dating, friends/enemies to lovers, horror (aliens, apocalypse, came back wrong, doomsdays, haunted houses, stephen king worlds, trapped, zombies, etc.), mumu universes (bands, firehouse, hospital, restaurant, school, small town, etc.), and supernatural (creature features, his dark materials, percy jackson/demigods, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, etc.)

est. August 2023

[swimthroughthefires]

Yuletide 2024 Dear Author

Dear Author,

(Treats are enabled and very, very welcome.)

My requests:

Twisters, Kate/Tyler

I loved the "and the adventure continues" end of Twisters. I want more of Kate and Tyler flirting, chasing tornados, being in love.

One of the things that I really liked was how unequivocally Kate was the main character of Twisters, and I'd love to keep that energy in my gift fic.

Finally, I DESPERATELY wanted Tyler to kiss the scar on Kate's thigh. Would love to see that detail in a fic.

DNW: noncon, pregnancy, kidfic

Werewolf by Night, Jack/Elsa

Werewolf x Werewolf hunter hits EVERY GODDAMN TIME.

I absolutely love the aesthetic of this film, the mix of humor and horror, the classic monster movie filming, and the classic monster trope of being out of control... but not hurting one, specific person.

I'd love to see what Elsa and Jack's relationship is like post movie. I also think Elsa is in a pretty dangerous spot - she has very powerful magical item that a lot of people want... and she's not using it/behaving in the way that her family normally does.

Finally, I cannot stress how optional this is... but if you wanted to write fic with knotting, there is a DREADFUL lack of knotting in werewolf by night fics...

DNW: noncon, pregnancy, kidfic

Blade Movies, Abby/King

I absolutely love Abby and King’s dynamic. I would be interested in pre-series stuff where he’s clearly her lieutenant and they are hunting vampires

I want to flag that my request for Abby/King is a bit of an outlier. My default DNWs involve pregnancy, kidfic, and rape. With Blade Trinity in particular, I don’t want any noncon between Abby and King BUT I really enjoy stories about survivors of sexual violence having great relationships and great sex, and that’s an aspect of King and Abby’s relationship in my headcanon. (“Healing sex” is one of the tropes on my favorite trope list). And I feel like it’s obvious they are going to be canonically co-parenting Zoe together and (imho) doing a good job of it.

Below are some of my favorite tropes, to provide additional inspiration if you like:

Enemies To Lovers

Fake Dating/Fake Marriage Accidentally Turns Into Feelings

Showering/Bathing Together, Shower/Bath Sex

Sex Pollen

Size Kink

Cunninglingus. Specifically: 

He’s Begging To Taste Her 

He’s Begging To Lick Her Fingers After She Touched Herself 

He Licks Her Pussy Clean After He Came Inside Her.

Service Top

Scar Worship

Praise Kink

Sex Against A Wall, 

Sex Over A Desk/Table

Biting, Nibbling, Love-Bites/Marks

King And Lionheart Dynamics

Hurt/Comfort

Healing Sex

Competence Kink

Car Sex

Trapped In An Elevator/Snowed In/Mineshaft

Undercover As Couple

Sexy Sparring

Intercrural Sex

Clothes Sharing

Helping Someone Dress Or Undress

Found Families

Bed Sharing

Fuck To Get Over My (Our?) Feelings

PWP

And They Were Roommates!

Hurt/Comfort

Amnesia Fic

Naked Cuddling For Warmth

Drunk Kissing They Both Enjoyed But Neither Admits Because They Don't Think The Other Feels The Same Way"

The “This Is Your House I’m Not Making You Sleep On The Couch” “Yeah But You’re The Guest You Take The Bed” Conversation Between Ur Otp Right Before They Share The Bed Reblog If U Agree

Friends To Lovers

Enemies To Friends To Lovers

Soulmate Identifying Marks (Tattoo, Red Thread Of Fate, Etc)

Seemingly Unrequited Pining

‘Falling For A Coworker/Teammate Is A Bad Idea’ Except This Is Fiction So It Works Out

Accidentally Fell In Love With The Mission Target

Snowed-In Cabin/Isolated Together For Extended Period Of Time

Date To A Wedding

Witch/Werewolf Au

Secret Romance/Sneaking Around

When A Character Gets Wounded And They Go To Their Love Interest For Help And While They’re Getting Their Injuries Cleaned And Patched Up They Flinch From The Sting Of The Antiseptic And Their Love Interest Says “Hold Still” In An Exasperated But Touchingly Concerned Tone Of Voice And Then They Accidentally Make Eye Contact Or Brush Hands And Just Freeze In That Position Until The Tension In The Room Is Nearly Unberable Before Both Looking Away And Pretending The Unspoken Thing That Just Passed Between Them Never Happened

I Just Saw A Thing On Fb Like ‘does Somebody Wanna Be Fake Engaged To Me For Like 2 Hours To Try Free Wedding Cake Samples’ And Im Just…………………imagine Ur Otp 

Favorite Mini Trope Is “Oh No Danger Is Coming We Must Press Ourselves Against Each Other In This Confined Space” Followed By “The Danger Has Passed Yet We’re Still Like This (Awkward Silence)”