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[dreamyinception-world]

ℂ𝕠𝕕𝕖 ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝔸𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖: ℙ𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕀

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕖: 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟, 𝕊𝕔𝕚-𝕗𝕚 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖, 𝔽𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗, 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥, 𝔽𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕪, 𝕊𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕝

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕎𝕤: Depression, Homelessness of a Character, Poverty, Swearing, Injury, Near Death Experience, Death Wish, Mental Health Recovery, Blood, Hospital Visit, Malnourishment, Anxiety, Mentions of Childhood Abandonment and Death of a Family Member.

𝕨𝕔: 13.5𝕜 

𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: This one has been a long time coming, but I’m so happy to finally share my new series with you all! It’s very different from anything else I have written and I’ve dedicated a lot of time to it! If there are any tags that are missing that you would like for me to add, please let me know! Hope you all enjoy it!

Taglist down below! If you would like to be added, please message me! Please note that no minors will be allowed to be tagged in my work. Most of my work is 18+. If I find that you have asked and you are underage, you will be blocked without warning. 

©dreamyinception-world/deepnesta 2022 || please do not repost or use any of my work without my permission. Thank you ♡

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Hello, I wonder where you are and what you’re doing as you read this letter

Right now I’m 15 and there are things worrying me that I can’t talk to anyone about

I thought that if I wrote a letter to my future selfI could tell you all the things that I’ve kept bottled up inside me

Right now I feel like I can’t win, like I want to cry, like I’ll just disappearWho am I supposed to trust to get me through this?I’ve only got one heart and it’s been broken apart so many timesI’m living in the painful presentI’m living in it now

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Freezing. It’s always freezing the longer a person stays out. 

But for some reason it felt exceptionally cold this time of year. Call it coincidence or bad timing— it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Because for him it meant…

“F-Fuck.” His icy lips chattered against the break of his jacket. He curled into himself in an attempt to savor any ounce of heat that he could get from his own body. 

He had found a remote corner, in a back alley that no one would go down, that had a small heating system next to it. It belonged to the business next door, Nashimura’s, who kicked their heating up for the brunt of the winter. The warmth from the hot steam that would emanate out and swirl around his body would help to keep him warm as he slept or ate whatever scraps of food he was able to salvage.

Yet today, on one of the harshest days all season, they had closed early and turned the heater off. As the flame slowly went out of it, he began to feel the direness of the situation that he was in. 

The chills surged up from his feet and fingertips, reaching the center of his body like pin needles. Every gust, even the smallest one, sent shocks of shivers down his spine, violent tremors filling his body, with blue toned lips to match. He tried to keep his iced fingers tucked under his armpits, praying to every god— none of which he believed in— that he would not lose them. 

He couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t afford anything.

And if he didn’t find another spot, anywhere that was warm, he would die. Surely he would. And the worst part, no one would find him.

His bones snapped and cracked into motion to push his body up from the ground. He didn’t dare to take his hands out from their warming spot, instead hurrying out of the alleyway.

Somewhere nice. Yes. Somewhere like his image of home.

The streets were decorated with strung lights, each bulb a different shade of the rainbow, one prettier than the rest. People giggled and gossiped on the streets, young girls standing close enough to their friends so they could hear each other's words, and drunken men watching them go by with small smiles changing their faces. 

It was joyful and happy, with champagne and cigarettes, loud music and shy glances. 

Mother would have loved to see all this. And if it were snowing, even better. 

Not a single person noticed him as he brushed past them. Except maybe the occasional one, who had more money in his pockets than to know what to do with, that spared him the unnerved look— as if he were a dog whose shit he had just stepped in. Disgusting.

“I didn’t know a person could smell like that..” The man mumbled under the cold wisp of his breath, his girlfriend shushing him with a small hit to the chest and a short giggle, ushering them along.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a stench this putrid of sewage. To scavenge for any bit of clothing you can put together to barely cover exposed body parts— even if it meant having to steal something soiled or dirty. He had to stay alive. 

When you’re at that point, you don’t care about how it gets on you. It needs to stay on and protect everything. And it was doing just that.

A rough knock brought a woman, hair up in different pins and rollers to the door. She gazed dejectedly over his shivering form, rolling her eyes lightly.

“There’s no room for ya. We’re all booked out, sweetie.” Her gum snapped back and forth.

“P-Please..I just n-need to w-warm my hands for a l-little bit. I-I don’t need a b-bed.” His eyes fell shut, another shock racking down his body.

“There’s a pot out back that Ibura put a fire in for the boys. Go back there.”

“N-No, I’m n-not good with them. L-Last time they t-took my shoes while I was s-sleeping and it took a whole f-f-fucking month for me to get another pair.” He voluntarily cut himself off, feeling a swirl of emotions surge. The woman let out a short sigh, pulling her faux coat closed around her midsection before stepping outside, shutting the warm air off.

“Look. I can give Matsumi a call and see if she has room, but it’s the holidays, honey. Most places are gonna be full no matter where ya go. People are all trying to be inside. And we just don’t have any more space.” She folded her arms across her chest, tucking them under the fur. He turned his gaze away as tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes.

“My mother did everything for you to keep this place open. She gave you every single dime.” The woman let out a harsh sigh from his words, shifting from one foot to the other. He moved a bit closer to her, hurt beyond belief. “If it wasn’t for everything she gave to you, you wouldn’t have this building or a job left.”

“Excuse me?” Her neck rolled, eyes narrowed at him. Her intimidation was more than his could ever be, backing him down one step as she leered over him with a scowl. 

“I’ll have you fucking know that I put in the damn work to make this place grow from where it used to be. That’s right, me. Not your lousy fucking mother. Me.” She stabbed his chest with the point of her nail with every punctuation of her words.

“She gave me every single dime? Is that what she told ya? Well, let me give you a news flash. Your mother didn’t have any damn money, at least not what she was fucking alluding to. She gave me whatever she could fucking spare off your no-good father, who could barely give her enough to feed you and herself, you ungrateful fucking brat.” She shoved him off the last two stairs flat on his ass, spitting as she spoke through flares of anger. 

“And I don’t owe her a damn thing nor do I owe you. I kept you off the streets for three whole months when we were way overbooked to have another person in here, just like she would have asked me to. And what did you do? You ran around doing god knows what, instead of getting the damn job like I asked ya to.” Roughly opening the door back, she lightly shook off her coat, fixing him with a hard stare, her words cutting through the already iced air roughly. “You’re cut off. And don’t ya dare come back here with nonsense. Understand?”

His body jolted from the rough slam of the door, all the air that he had been holding in slowly filtering out along with a short, choked sob. Tears trickled down his face as he looked towards the sky that was free of stars. 

No…there’s no way that can’t…

He shifted from foot to foot as he walked further down the sidewalk, lights and decorations long gone. It was empty and quiet, besides the small sounds of people talking amongst themselves outside or a TV radiating out a slightly cracked window. The longer he walked, the heavier his tears fell. 

What had his life become? How much did he hurt in his past life to have been born into one so degrading, so low in nature that he was meant to stray along like this? He had found his parents to be liars, a memory he wished to not have for the entirety of his life. That would mean that everything he had believed— their care for him, how much they were willing to give for others in an act of selflessness— was a false narrative, made to make him not know the reality of the life was born into.

One that really had no hope. Not even a small chance.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he missed the lifted edge of the sideway from the ground, stubbing the tip of his shoe against it and going flying forward. He braced his hands in front of him and yelled out in pain when it smashed against the brick wall of the side of a building. 

“G-God…S-Shit..” He cursed and shook, bringing his hands up into view once he collected himself from being on his stomach. Through bleary eyes, he saw blue and purple beginning to bloom and decorate his wrist to the base of his palm. Any sudden movement brought an immense amount of pain to it. The other hand was scratched up and bloody, with bits of debris and possibly ash covering some of the worst parts.

At least he still had one good hand. That was better than nothing, right?

One good hand. He felt his entire body go numb as he sat there staring into his hands. 

What would one hand be good for? With the cuts in it and all the crap inside of it, it would be like having one good foot to walk on with nothing to aid but bracing against a wall.

He didn’t bother to stop the tears that freely fell down his face as he found comfort in the fetal position on the ground.

In that moment, more than any other time in his life, he wished that this would be the end for him. Maybe his life could turn into one of those stories that his grandmother used to tell him— the reincarnated heroes who had been blessed to live another life that was more beautiful as a forgiveness from the world for their suffering.

As his body succumbed to the cold, his eyes flickered up to the sky where snow started to fall in small clumps onto the ground. 

He could have sworn, in the last moments of his consciousness, he saw a small ring in the sky, where the snow did not dare to pass, keeping his face relatively clean. The stars gleamed brighter than he had ever watched.

A stream of light— the brightest tail sparkling behind it.

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A short jingle, somewhere in the distance— it's a beautiful chime similar to the ones that would emanate from a children’s toy box— trickled its way into his ears. 

It was almost too faint to hear.

There was a soft gush of the wind, cold and fluid with its push through the strips of grass and leaves, curled over his body, through his hair to kiss lightly on his fingertips.

His fingers began to twitch under the bed of foliage.

Then the second chime came, only slightly longer than the last  but was certainly jarring.

He jolted upward, his fingers clutched to his chest, gasping for air.

What happened? Where was he?

Peering around the area, he noticed a familiar tree hanging down not more than a few feet from him. 

Each branch was decorated with small adornments of fruits, ones that looked like stars and mini tear drops, sparkling under the hazy light of the sun. In the middle of the bunch, he noticed a small Persimmon dangling, splotches of different shades of orange and red covering it.

It looked similar to the one that he had seen in his grandmother’s backyard, years ago when he was living in the Nara prefecture. 

The one that grew on her strange tree in the strange part of year, as all the surrounding neighbors would tell her. The longer it stayed on the tree, the bigger it grew inside and the more vibrant it became. 

It suddenly was the staple of her legacy . The Nara Persimmon Woman.

“I was hoping you would remember it.” 

The voice swirled through the wind, carrying leaves above his head. Before they reached too high, a blur of white cut through the curling breeze, spinning the foliage in every which direction whilst almost knocking Nakamoto off his feet.

His head looked toward the direction of where the figure went, only noticing the trees groaning and shifting from the sudden burst.

“R-Remember what?” He spoke hesitantly through a tense jaw, noticing the heavy silence that fell through the forest. A shiver ripped up to his shoulders as a loud crack was heard between the two trees from earlier that the beast launched through.

A burst of wind exploded high up into the sky, followed by a loud melodic roar and the rush of heavy wings pushing everything within its force away. He steadied himself against the base of a rock to keep from being blown away, using one hand to shade his eyes to look towards the sky.

Floating above the break in the trees, an ivory dragon laid its eyes on him. Emerald and hazelnut scales glimmered in the light in contrast to his mix matched eyes, though no evil laid within them. 

He was merely peering at him, perplexed and curious about his appearance in this world.

The boy cautiously stood from his feet, keeping his eyes locked onto the majestic beast. “Was it you who said that to me?”

“Of course not. That was me.”

The voice came directly behind him, nearly making him jump out of his skin had he not remembered the rock that was behind him. A woman with a seafoam blue kimono and lavender hair pieces adorning her hair stood in front of him, a gentle smile gracing her face.

“I take it that Riku is quite curious and fond of you.”

“The—You mean the dragon?”

“Yes. Although he’s not normally nice to those he isn’t familiar with.” Riku lowered himself to the ground, curling up like a big puppy at the base of the woman’s feet. She leaned herself against his shimmering body as a comfortable space to strum her fingers against her biwa. 

Music filled the space, each note making the flora blossom and shift their bodies to its melodic sound. He felt himself relax down onto the plush ground in front of her, listening intently up until the last note. The woman ran her fingers against Riku's mane.

“I sense pain inside of you. Why are you hurting so much?”

“Because I’ve been hurt a lot.” was the way he simply put it.

The overarching amount of pain that he has been through stretched back too far for him to remember, not that he would even want to. Asking something of that caliber was almost too much to say all at once.

He thought too deep and heavily towards specific moments subconsciously, not noticing the way that the sky grew darker and the beauty of the open forest had fallen sullen with him as teardrops began to fall from his eyes.

“What makes you cry and feel so terribly?” Her voice remained soft with hands clasped around one of his. The brunette lowered his head in shame.

“All of my life, I wanted to live a life in paradise like this. My whole family wanted peace. But instead we suffered at the hands of other people— hurting ourselves in the process to stay afloat.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes, a choked sob leaving him as she moved his hair out of his face.

“I don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I want to live.”

“Even those that live feel pain. A life is not a life without pain and beauty. We must live through pain to find our way to the peaceful side.” She wiped the rest of his tears away, holding his face in her hands.

It hurt more that she was right then to feel the way that he felt right now.

Had the world cursed him to live such a life because he was just the person that seemed befitting of it? Was his past life so malevolent that he was being punished to suffer through years of pain for his crimes?

For whatever way the world saw fit of his existence on Earth, he wanted no part of it anymore.

“I want to stay here.” He pleaded, gripping her wrists.

“This place was made in memory of my life from when I was younger— a time where I felt happiness and nothing else. I want to have mercy, patience, love and joy again. I won’t get it back out there.”

The woman let go of his face, shifting to face him directly with his trembling fingers in between hers. With a painful tinge in her heart, she shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s not time yet for you to go. You cannot stay here. You must go back.”

Before he could reel himself away and let his feelings swallow him, she squeezed his hands. 

“Your life is too precious, against what you may believe it to be. You have so much in your life ahead of you, beauty that is to come. I’m not meant to share this with you unless blessings are bestowed to me, but as one that doesn’t have much to give, I felt that this could be the exception.” The angelic woman brought them both to their feet, the colors of the world beginning to brighten and blur once more.

“Give it time. When the moment is right, you will know.” Opening his palm, she tucked a small pouch inside, closing his fingers around it with an endearing smile.

“Trust me.” As if on command, Riku rose and bowed his body for her to board, a small rumble leaving his throat. She ran her fingers through the charmed spots on his back, eyes falling back on the boy as he walked a bit closer. 

He felt, as his eyes lingered longer on her appearance and the ascents of her attire, there was something that was familiar to him. He felt like he had known her, or rather, she had been connected with him somehow throughout his life. He couldn’t explain it– something that his brain had seemingly blocked or kept from him. 

“Wait. How do I know you?” He inquired.

All that he received was a brighter smile, nodding in the direction behind him.

“Go back now.”

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“—I think he’s waking up now!”

Beeping monitors, feet quickly moving against something that sounded like tile— it probably was tile— and voices, both coming from women, entered his ears in a rush. 

“Let me see his vitals.”

“They’re still a bit lower than they need to be. Please go and deliver this to Mr. Choi.” 

At that moment, his eyes finally opened, although they were a bit blurry. They took a moment to focus and his brain to catch up to where the hell he was. 

Warm. I’m warm.

He shifted what he could of his head, noticing a doctor, looking peculiarly at his data chart with furrowed brows. The way her face scrunched up couldn’t help but bring a small chuckle and smile to his dazed face. 

His aunt used to make that face any time she had to read instructions, his mom hitting her and telling her to get her eyes checked because she can’t read anything with her piss poor sight. 

“I can fucking see! It’s just hard to read all of this, it’s complicated!”

Their bickering, always playful, made him laugh all the time.

“Ah! You’re finally awake.” The doctor’s voice brought his attention back, adjusting the glasses on the brim of her nose. She lowered some of the blankets that had been put around his neck down to his collarbone.

“I’m going to ask you some basic questions just to make sure your memory is still intact. Is that alright?”

He gave her a small nod. 

“Just answer as honestly as possible!” 

Her voice was more vibrant and bubbly than what he had expected of a doctor. 

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“Hospital.” He croaked out. She scribbled something onto the clipboard, rolling a chair over to sit directly next to his bed. 

“Good. And do you know what day it is?” She shut one eye while checking his with a light, a small hum leaving her lips.

“December 24th. Christmas Eve.” 

“And your name, date of birth?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. October 26th. Born in 95.”

“That’s great, thank you!” 

She stood up just as a nurse peaked their head through the door. Their voices sounded a bit echoed in his ears as he stared at the ceiling, trying not to succumb to sleep again.

Everything felt so cozy and warm. He could finally feel his feet after what felt like years. 

His body felt nice. Everything felt nice, like how he would have imagined.

His eyes had only been closed for a few minutes before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Opening them, the doctor and the nurse were smiling gently.

“I know you must be so exhausted, but I think a meal is in order now, no?” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁

What does it feel like to be starving for a long time? Not having what would be classified as a “decent meal”— or certainly one that was well balanced. Something they may not share with you after not having adequate meals for a significant amount of time is that your body will find what is being placed inside of it as foreign.

In other words, your body forgets how to act as a body. Digestion, extracting nutrients to fuel your body, all of the necessities to replenishing your body with all the essentials that it needs.

You have to train yourself again to regain what you have lost.

“What is this?” His brows furrowed at the platter in front of him.

Although his state had been distorted since he came here, he was almost entirely sure that this was not one of those moments.

“I know it’s not the most appealing or appetizing meal.” the nurse relayed sympathetically. “But it’s all that your body will be able to stomach, I’m afraid.”

A bowl of something that looked similar to oatmeal, but lacked any sort of color whatsoever was placed on a small tray table in front of him. He might have thought of it to be some kind of porridge— but even that would look more enticing than this.

“Try your best to eat as much as you can of it so that you will feel better and have more energy.” She moved around to change his IV bags that started to get a bit low. He took a small spoonful into his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed small bits at a time.

“How did I get here?” He questioned in between a few gnarly bites, drawing his eyes closed from the texture.

“Ah! I suppose we didn’t get around to telling you that!” She rubbed her neck sheepishly. Yuta raised an eyebrow as he chewed.

“It seems that a good samaritan found you on the side of the road. He was so concerned about your condition that he brought you straight here, on his back no less!”

A man saved me? Yuta’s eyebrows pulled together.

“It’s a good thing that he brought you here when he did. A second too late and you could have— well, let’s not be too grim!” 

As if everything about this hasn’t been. Yuta heaved out a huge sigh, eyes downcasted on his food.

He couldn’t help but think about the horror that the poor man must have felt seeing him in whatever condition he was in. 

Forget about the condition he was in..how on Earth was he going to pay for all of the treatment he received.

It wasn’t until now that he noticed the cast around his wrist alongside the luxuriousness of the hospital room that he was in. Everything looked so modern and completely out of a range of any price he could afford.

I can’t imagine what the bills were like for just one night here..

At that moment, the doctor returned through the partially opened door. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Nakamoto. But there is someone who wants to see you.”

A confused look crossed his face as a man walked through the door alongside the doctor. He certainly was not a part of his family or even close to a person he would have known through passing or past jobs.

No, this man was a lot cleaner cut than anyone he had ever met.

His clothes managed to look expensive despite the simplicity of them. It was difficult to tell if he was trying to be modest in this or did it from sheer attention seeking prerogatives.

Either way, he was certainly handsome to say the least.

“Mr. Nakamoto, this is Mr. Choi. He is the one who brought you into us after finding you in the alleyway.”

Out of everything that he could have prayed for, he would have wished that the person finding him nearly at the pearly gates would be someone of a lower class— like a dad taking his kids home from a holiday get together or maybe a restaurant owner who was heading home in the brunt of the cold and snow.

But, nope. With his piss perfect fucking luck, it was a rich man who had to bring him to the hospital— shit smell and all— whose water he probably wouldn’t be able to afford.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁

Behind a closed door and hidden from the watchful eyes of hospital staff, Yuta expected Mr. Choi to exhibit the same demeanor as those of people he has worked under. Though, it was hard to say if his outward impression was all a facade or not.

He didn’t push Yuta to say anything, he kept his distance from him as he did in the beginning, and merely amused himself with the assortment of paintings around the room and out of the window at people walking down the street.

“You should have left me out there.” The boy didn’t care to correct his bluntness, trying to eat more of the food that the nurse gave him. Mr. Choi watched a particular couple that was walking with their arms linked together. Although they were attached to each other closely, they both didn’t have an ounce of happiness on their faces.

“I don’t believe in leaving people in dire situations out to fend for themselves. Especially if they are incapable of doing so.” He only looked a bit of his shoulder towards Yuta, noticing the way that the boy’s shoulders slumped, putting his spoon down.

“Well, I hate to be rude, but you’ve put me in a worse situation than before.” Yuta turned to him with sunken eyes.

“As you probably could already tell from the way that you found me, I don’t exactly have the money to be able to afford to pay for any sort of hospital bill. I don’t have insurance, savings or anything that could cover for even a fraction of this.”

“That’s no matter. The fee has already been waved.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know that you wouldn’t be able to afford it.” Mr. Choi drew his attention back towards him, perching his hands comfortably on the windowsill, head cocked to the side.

“What mattered most was getting you the treatment that you needed, not the cost of it. When the situation was that dire, monetaries shouldn’t matter.”

What a life that would be to not have to think about the money…

If he said something like that, he must have a lot of it.

“What do you want from me?” The rich man’s head fell to the other side at the question, raising an eyebrow.

“What do I want from you? Nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” Yuta exasperated, letting his spoon fall into the soup.

“You’re telling me that you did this whole heroic act of saving me from freezing my ass off outside, brought me here to this glorious hospital, paid for my entire hospital bill and you don’t want anything from me?”

He had been down this road before, learning all too quickly that kind hand outs were never truly kind gestures. Behind every nice thing that someone has ever done for him, they always wanted something in return.

Every single fucked up thing he ever did, karma always made its way back to him.

That’s the reason why he was here in the first place. And the last thing he needed was to be taken advantage of again. 

“Well,” Mr. Choi continued, “I would like to see that you aren’t on the streets again with nowhere to go. So, allow me to house you for the time being— a bed to sleep in, bathroom, refrigerator— all the amenities you would need to be comfortable. And if you’re uncomfortable with this sort of thing, there’s a coffee shop just down the road. Had a sign in the window looking for people to hire. You can take a job there and put that money towards the place.”

“Like hell that would be enough to accommodate a place like that.”

“It’s a start.” The man took a few steps closer to him, eyes trained on him carefully to monitor his movements of discomfort or fear. He was met with none, only the look of anger and annoyance from two tired-stricken eyes. 

“Look, I don’t know if you’re one of those guys that gets off to helping the poor people on the street— but I don’t need any of that. What I do with my life is not your problem and does not need any of your concern. Thank you for the help, but I don’t need it anymore.”

Neither offense nor anger crossed the man’s face, perplexed and intrigued seemed more befitting for the situation. 

It was almost as if Yuta had reacted in the way that Mr. Choi would have expected, falling into the palm of his hands so beautifully that it made him feel satisfaction in the way everything was playing out.

“Very well, then. I hope that your recovery will be quick and that you see yourself to not be on the streets again.” Mr. Choi curtly bowed, stalking over to the door with a level of eloquence not before fixing Yuta with one last look. 

“I truly hope it will go into your favor.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖✧˖°₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁

Not a month or two since he had been discharged from the hospital, did things somewhat change for him. 

He had been lucky enough to have been put back out on the streets at a time in which businesses were hiring, searching for people who needed something to fill their pockets over the holidays.

One in particular, encased in the delicately framed letters that one would see in a fairy tale book, read Silent Tea— a mirror to being somewhat close to the quiet and quaint feeling of a library combined with that of a cafe.

Yuta had found the atmosphere to be reminiscent of something from his past that he couldn’t pinpoint. Whatever it was drew him into the stores and next behind the counter to take orders and make drinks.

“Make sure you don’t forget to check your time, Nakamoto.” a flat tone rang from his left coming from his coworker Mina, swiping down every counter of ground beans and water to avoid being bitched at by their manager for the mess. 

She had been there for slightly a bit longer than he had, being somewhat of an assistant manager, who took over every ounce of duty that had to do with keeping the newbies from screwing up. 

The Nara boy had been pretty good with her, minus his time management and letting himself rest to eat lunch and relax.

“I’ll go after the line is cleared up.” He spoke, thanking the customer in front of him as he handed her change, one that she dropped into the tip jar on the counter, decorated with stickers and labels.

Everyone who came into the place seemed to be genuine and kind, something that he wasn’t entirely used to, but never not once let his guard down for. 

With customers satisfied, drinks in hand to leave out and start their days or sit down and enjoy inside, Yuta went to unravel his apron from around himself. A chime coming from the front door stopped his hands and, well his whole movement as a matter of fact.

A pair of feline eyes met him alongside that all too handsome face.

To say that he had almost forgotten the man existed was an understatement, if the heat creeping up his face and the swiftness of pulling off his apron had anything to do with it.

“Can I take your order?” Mina hesitantly inquired, noticing a weirdness between the man and her newbie. The question gave Yuta enough chance to hang his apron on his assigned hook and grab his small bag. 

How did he even know that he was working here? Was he really stalking him that hard? Or maybe he had some sort of private investigator that was on his every move, so he wouldn’t have to make it look like that was following him.

Why me? Why fucking me? Is all that Yuta’s mind could even question as he tried to B-line his way to the door and out of sight from his alleged stalker. And it surely would have been swift and easy for him, had it not been for a smooth hand ceremoniously grabbing his wrist on the way out the door.

“I was hoping you would have at least said hello before leaving out on your break.” The sweetest of his tone rang through Yuta’s ears, following a sigh that the boy had been holding in. He finally turned and met his eyes, the same curiosity and gentleness bleeding into his demeanor.

“Care to sit and talk with me for a moment?”

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

That’s how he ended up here, sitting in the corner of his workplace, alone with his savior once more. He fiddled with the hem of his jagged edged shirt, seeing Mina watching him from his peripherals— looking damn near ready to pounce and call the police if Yuta gave her the signal.

Mr. Choi brought the cup of brewed coffee to his lips, not caring to blow away the steam as he took a light sip, humming in satisfaction at the taste. 

“I’m glad to see you’re doing better. You look healthier since the last time I saw you.” The mug made a small clang as he brought it down onto the table, crossing one leg over the other. 

“I guess you could say I feel at ease knowing that you are doing better than before.”

Was this confession supposed to make him feel thankful that somebody cared about him? 

In an attempt to clear out his racing thoughts, Yuta attempted to pick up his coffee to drink only to spill half of it over, across the round table and dripping onto the floor. He sputtered, reaching for the napkins when a pair of hands reached their first, ignoring the eyes of other patrons as he cleaned up the mess. 

God, if only the floor could swallow him whole or at least let him disappear so he wouldn’t have to feel so fucking embarrassed right now. 

“Is everything alright over here?” Mina kept her voice leveled with a mop in hand, keeping her eyes locked on Yuta as the boy hid half of his face inside of his shirt. 

“Yes, everything is fine.” The man looked up at her and flashed her a kind smile.

She wasn’t particularly concerned about hearing it from him though, waiting patiently with the wooden handle held tightly in her grasp. 

Yuta quietly collected himself and spoke softly, “It’s okay. I just spilled my coffee because it was a little hot.”

Not true, but would at least give Mina the memo to walk away now. 

Thankfully, she took the hint, mopping up the rest of the spill before being brought back to the counter upon hearing the squeaky panicked voice of another newbie, Hinata, fumbling with the coffee maker. 

With the area around them silent again, Yuta finally let himself be pressed back against the curved loveseat, letting out a long drawn out exhale from between his lips.

“Why are you here?” Was the only thing he could muster out, feeling tired more than anything from this entire situation.

“I really don’t trust, nor like, people— let alone strangers who follow me around.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. This is my first time seeing you in months.” Whether or not he was trying to keep a playful tone, Yuta wasn’t having any of it, as made apparent by the slightly ticked off look on his face, shaking his head to busy himself with stirring the liquid of what was left in his drink with a spoon.

“Are you coming to collect the money I owe you for the hospital bill?” 

“Heavens no. I told you that I wasn’t going to have you pay that back.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

No words came from the other side of the table for a moment, drawing Yuta’s attention up to find Mr. Choi looking out towards the window. 

He had spotted a child across the street, bouncing excitedly over the sidewalk lines with a small doll in her hand. Her parents trailed behind her with small chatter coming from the two, laughing lightly at their daughter as she nearly stumbled over her own two feet. Her father scooped her, spinning her around, up and onto his shoulders, a small silly pep to his step as they disappeared on the other side of the corner, the wife shaking her head and quickening her steps to catch up with them.

“I wonder what it is like for people to just be born into great lives, not having to worry about the bad or the dangerous things that have been planted into our world.” His voice was hushed, almost above a whisper, bringing his attention back to Yuta. “Don’t you?”

He wonders what it’s like? Doesn’t he already have that life? 

The boy raised an eyebrow at him, bringing the mug up to his lips. “I don’t really have time to think about things like that.”

“But if you did,” Mr. Choi continued, pushing his clasped hands further inward on the table, “would you take it? Take the chance, I mean.”

“I’m pretty sure anyone would.” 

“Not just anyone. I mean just you.”

A wash of confusion went across Yuta’s face. “Huh?”

“What would you do to have a new life, a new start— where you don’t have to care about anything else in the world?”

A new start.. 

As much as he liked working here at the coffee shop, it wasn’t home for him. He still had to use every last dime to pay for the run down place he had managed to get, thanks to his manager , and still barely had enough money to be able to buy the things he desperately needed— new shoes, clothes that weren’t so destroyed.

At least he didn’t smell like shit and piss, right?

But it wasn’t enough for him. 

Circling back to that night, whatever it was that he could remember from the visions he saw, came back to him in a sudden rush.

The heavenly atmosphere of the small forest in the woods. The fruit trees. The dragon and the mysterious woman.

He wasn’t one to believe in other worldly beings— none of them had ever brought him the luck that he desired so why would he ever do so— and yet there was something about her that stayed with him.

She felt like someone that was familiar to him, that he had known for a long time. Her presence didn’t make him feel fearful. He trusted her.

Was this what she was speaking about— the way that life was destined to fall for him? The one that he should see through if he had any intention of his life turning out better?

There’s no way that she could be wrong. 

This was his chance. 

Without thinking, Yuta reached forward to clasped Mr. Choi’s hands between his, much to the man’s surprise, with desperation. “I’ve wanted that for my entire life. Do you know someone who can help me?”

Mr. Choi held his hands gently, brushing the pad of his fingers over Yuta’s. “My family and I can help you.”

It was then that a document was moved into Yuta’s line of sight, followed by a pen and a small stamp. 

It looked official, not like some of the fake ones that he had been handed before in the past. This was the real deal.

“What is this?” Yuta retracted his hands, holding up the packet.

“This is your new start.” 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The world is an undoubtedly cruel place, where only those who have been blessed with the perfect life or born into riches can live peacefully and happily. Whereas those, who sacrifice so much in order to achieve their happiness, are left to struggle for years on end with no sense of relief.

What is seen as a beautiful utopia for someone is hell on Earth for others.

The world is fleeting, poisonous and dying. 

This type of life doesn’t deserve to be reborn.

We deserve to have a life clean of suffering, pain and sadness.

Everyone dreams of this world— recounted as heaven— where they can feel the peace of mind they have merely dreamt of.

What if that world was real? What if you could be a part of it?

We have seen you. We have heard you. We want you.

Be loved, embraced and cherished in the New World— one that, long after civilization as we know it has faded away, will be here to guide us, with patience, into the next phase of life.

Allow your talent and gifts to be used to make a better future for everyone. A chance at another life— only granted to the under appreciated who have been left in the dark.

You can help to build a better world— with everything you have ever dreamed of— and finally live.

Will you join us?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

“I know this may seem weird, especially with everything else that has been occurring, but I wanted to give you this opportunity.” Mr. Choi lowered the paper from in front of the Japanese man’s face, seeing tears fill his eyes.

“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, against my better judgment. I didn’t want you to feel scared of me or pressured to live some sort of life because of my words.” His fingers brushed over the boy’s wrist, guilt littered on his face. Yuta put the document down, creating distance between them once more.

“Be honest with me now, then.”

For the first time, since the two of them had met, anxiousness came over the man— cupping his elbows for some level of comfort to himself. He kept his eyes trained on the table, teething at the inner layer of his lips.

“I’ve seen you for a while now, at least for half a year. When you will still be working on the other side of town at the laundromat. I watched you, day in and day out, working there and being out on the streets, trying to survive and—even when things were hell for you, losing your job and having to start over from square one— you still pushed on. You never gave in to the pain you were feeling, until that night when I found you in that alleyway.”

“I— admired that about you.” There was a bit of caution to his words, eyes finally meeting Yuta’s again.

“Despite everything, you still wanted to win. That’s why I want to make sure that you keep winning, keep succeeding with everything you dream of doing. That’s why..I wanted you to join us.”

…

Someone wanted him to win and live a life that he deserved.

Only one other person in his life wanted something like that for him. Praised and gave him everything he needed to be strong in a time where betrayal was almost expected.

“You have to be strong, my baby.” His grandmother smoothed the hair on the back of his head with trembling fingers, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. His smaller self hiccuped, tears bellowing down his face.

“You have always been, and I don’t want you to lose sight of that. There will be people that will try to break you down so they can laugh at you. But you don’t let them understand? Obahan will always be here to protect you and keep you safe. Do you believe me?” She cupped his face, brushing away teardrops from his cheeks with a pained smile. 

He always trusted her over everything. She had never lied to him, not once over anything. 

“I believe you.” He choked out, sobbing harder when she pulled him into her embrace, keeping him close and tight in her arms. 

════════════════════════════════════════════

“Please, just consider it.” 

The words echoed in his head from the moment he clocked out and finished his shift. He couldn’t peel it from his mind, no matter how hard he wanted to stop thinking about it.

Anybody who would hear about the opportunity to live a life full of peace and harmony would jump at the first chance to sign their life away. 

Especially if their lives were filled with hell, pain and loss.

A chance to have a clean slate and truly live for the first time, just in arms reach for them to take, beckoning them to come and bless the world with their knowledge, dedication and passion— coming out on the other side with overwhelming fulfillment. 

Praise for the work that you have given to the greater cause.

The first spark of falling in love.

Intimacy, family, another circle of people to love and cherish.

Dying knowing that you have lived life to the fullest potential. You survived and you won. 

He should have been the one to do that, no questions asked.

Yet, the paper sat on the small breakfast table in his quaint apartment, without a single marking made on it.

Leaving everything behind to go and live in an unknown world, with people whose language he doesn’t speak, who don’t know him and his past. Not having the cushion and safety of his home country to run back to if he became fearful and wanted to leave.

No, he would have to be secluded. He would have to give up.

But would it really be any different than the situation he was in right now? He’s been alone— on his own and having to fight for everything that he wants, he needs nobody else to hand it to him. If he wanted it, he had to assume the right to have it. 

This is no different. He’s fighting and, for the first time, someone saw him and wanted him to keep going.

Is it real? Is it true? Is he really a fighter?

The thought alone made his body wrack with fear.

Would it truly be the paradise that it says? What if he goes there and it’s all a lie? He wouldn’t be able to get himself out easily— they would know his name and everything. They would hunt him down and bring him back.

He would be even more trapped than he was before.

Don’t put yourself in that headspace. You know what happens when you go there.

Just have to keep calm. 

It’ll be okay. It’ll be-

“Yuta-chan!” The boy jolted in his seat on the couch, clutching a hand over his heart from the hands that were clapped in front of his face. As the thoughts slowly dispersed from his mind, his eyes floated around the room, cheeks burning.

Sana’s house. She invited him over to celebrate the one year anniversary of Silent Tea. 

Which also means he had another set of eyes that were in the room and currently glued onto his anxious form.

“I called your name so many times and you just sat there staring. Are you okay?” Sana’s brows furrowed, bringing herself down to eye level. Yuta shied from the action almost immediately as he saw Mina cock a brow at him.

“Y-Yeah of course! Sorry, I’m just a little out of it I guess. Long day at work.” He casually brushed it off, tucking his hands firmly under his legs to avoid exposing his sweaty palms. Sana’s bottom lip poked out, resting her folded hands on her co worker's knees.

“Are you sure?” Yuta’s face fell from the worry in her voice, sending her a tired smile.

“I’m sure.” But he could tell from his peripherals that Mina was not convinced, shifting her feet with her arms folded. It took only a moment for her to walk over and place a gentle hand on Sana’s shoulder.

“Nana, why don’t you go and help Hinata and Shotaro in the kitchen?” At that moment, the sound of pans clashing and liquid spilling echoed in from down the hall, immediately followed by the sounds of two bickering voices. 

“I..I think they might be making a mess.” Mina hesitated with her eyes glued to the door opening. Sana hastily rose to her feet with puffed cheeks, a rough exhale leaving her nose.

“I told you two not to destroy my kitchen!” Sana called out annoyedly down the hall, her little stomps following her until the room fell silently again, only occasionally hearing some muffled squawking or protests.

Yuta didn’t dare to look up and meet Mina’s eyes, knowing that she was for sure glaring daggers into him— similarly to how she would at work if he wasn’t following her directions or pushed himself too hard. 

“Look, really I’m fine-“ He silenced himself upon her hand raising in front of him. Knowing that nobody else but him would be able to see her right now, she softened her expression, moving to sit next to him with arms folded across her chest.

“I know this is about that man that came in yesterday.” Her eyes were fixated on the clock across the room, watching the handle move back and forth to avoid making Yuta uncomfortable. He adjusted himself on the cushion, stealing a short glance at her.

Had it really been that obvious or was she that good at guessing?

“I’m not going to push you to tell me anything. I just hope..” Mina paused, relaxing her body with closed eyes. “I hope that you aren’t in any danger, and if you are, then you would tell us.”

Yuta’s shoulders slumped, face fallen. It wasn’t their fault, really. They had been good to him, more than he could say for most people that had the “privilege”— we say that part lightly— to be in his presence. They had done more than just the bare minimum for him.

Yet, he felt like there was something, anything that made it not right for him to put too much trust and faith in them.

Who can say that they wouldn’t truly be like the others.

“Yeah, of course I would.” 

It felt a little too automatic in Mina’s mind. What you say to give the person in question the exact thing that they want to hear. Yet, she felt another call from the world to withhold any anger and frustration, trying to keep herself level headed, eyes still shut.

Maybe another route was in order.

“When I was younger,” Mina started, the beginning of the recount surging a median of stress up to the base of her shoulders. “My mother left me and my brother outside of my grandmother’s house— told us that she was going to run some errands and didn’t wanna leave us alone at home.”  

She let her eyes fall on the clock again, seeing Yuta shifting his body inward closer to her. 

“What turned into a simple couple of errands turned into her never coming back for us— continuously promising that she would but lying every single time. It wasn’t until years later that she apologized and started trying to make it up to us, in any little way that she could.”

Mina turned her head and met Yuta’s saddened eyes.

“I didn’t wanna believe anything that she said. But, I learned something the day that she came back into our lives for real.” Clasping his hands between hers, she spoke in a hushed tone.

“You can forgive the person but not the thing that they did, or do whatever it takes for you to come to terms with what happened. But, every day we meet new people. Some will be bad, some will be the best person you’ve met. Some will masquerade as kind when they are evil or vice versa.” A heavy exhale left her mouth as she squeezed his hands, lowering her head to hide her face. It almost pained her to listen to her own words, almost as if she was speaking them to herself rather than to Yuta.

“What I’m trying to say is— I get it. Feeling scared is valid. I just don’t want..you to feel like you have to keep everything to yourself.”

A part of him wanted to say that of course he knew that and he wasn’t dumb enough to not acknowledge that sort of thing.

Given the circumstances and what Mina just shared with him though, it probably wouldn’t be the smartest nor most truthful response for him to give.

Yuta’s fingers curled tighter around her own, sending back a more comforting squeeze to ease some of the tension out of his coworker and the conversation.

“I just didn’t want to involve you in my mess..” He admitted, leaning himself back on the edge of the couch. 

“I know you all have so many things going on in your lives and the last thing, above all else, that I would want to do is put you all in a stressful or uncomfortable situation.”

“Just because we have things going on in our lives doesn’t mean we can’t lean on each other when things get a little tough. We’re like a family— at least I hope you see us that way.” Her lips curled up into a light smile from his nod, brushing her thumb against his hand.

It took Yuta a minute to collect his barings and explain everything that was going on with him- starting from the moment he was desperately trying to find shelter and fainted on the street to the offer to now.

When he was done, Mina moved her hands away from him to rest her elbows on her knees. Her hands fell together, drumming against each other in a rhythmical pattern, deep in thought.

“What do you think..about everything?” Yuta inquired hesitantly.

“It..It sounds crazy, Yuta.” Her voice was cautious, seeing the way Yuta nodded slowly in agreement. Some part of him felt comfort in knowing that she was somewhat agreeing with what he was feeling. 

“But I think you should do it.” 

“Huh?” His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. 

“I mean–you really didn’t plan on staying here the rest of your life working with us, did you?” Mina thwacked his head, a small chuckle leaving her lips as Yuta recoiled. He rubbed his forehead with a small pout on his face which quickly melted into one of worry and concern. Mina immediately pushed him away, moving to stand up from the couch.

“You’re not gonna stay with us and you’d be an idiot to not take up that chance.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “You have a better shot than the rest of us.”

Without letting him spare another word to her, she disappeared down the hallway, a loud cackle echoing down after hearing some commotion and yelled comments from Shotaro.

Now left alone again with his thoughts, Yuta gazed over his phone resting face up on the coffee table in front of him. 

It could be beautiful, wonderful— everything that he could ever imagine it to be as a new home for him. 

The aspect of trust. 

Not everyone is out to get you. Someone could be trying to help you. You have let go a little to make it out. 

A new found, albeit small, percentage of excitement and eagerness lurched inside of him— for something truly amazing and scary that he would soon find out.

════════════════════════════════════════════

~One week later~

“I’m not gonna lie. I was genuinely surprised to have gotten a call from you.”

Birds chirped happily to each other over their heads, twirling against the baited breeze of the winter air. Yuta curled himself further into his jacket— a force of habit—- to keep the heat from escaping. 

“I originally had no intention to.” He admitted, keeping his eyes directed to the pond. 

“What changed your mind?” 

Yuta brought his cup of coffee to his lips, allowing the warm liquid to comfort him and reduce some of the shakiness in his hands.

“I’ve never had anyone besides my grandmother care so much about me— let alone have faith in me to revolutionize the world.” His finger danced around the styrofoam lid of the cup. “So you can imagine it sounded a bit bizarre to me.”

“But..?”

The two of them locked eyes when Yuta’s head turned, a gentle smile blossoming on the Japanese boy’s face— one that Mr. Choi hadn’t had the opportunity to see since he first met him.

“Wake from death and return to life.” Yuta leaned in a bit whilst speaking his native tongue, chuckling at the sight of confusion. He clicked his tongue with a playful shake of his head.

“It means to take a situation that is bad and make it into something that is good. I’ve followed that notion since the moment I was on my own and, despite every obstacle that came my way, I never gave up on it.”

Mr. Choi looked down at his lap, fighting back the smile that was threatening to come to his face. Yuta caught the slip from the corner of his eye, letting his eyes fall closed.

“I’m not saying that I trust you, let alone believe in any of the faith you have in me. But, I would be going against everything that I’ve been doing for myself for my whole life if I didn’t try.” His voice carried through the wind softly, being hushed by another sip of his coffee. Mr. Choi straightened himself on the bench, following suit with a sip of his tea.

A small beat of silence went between them before Yuta slid over the same document he had given him, now neatly sealed inside the safety of a conference folder, without a word. Mr. Choi checked through each page to have signatures on every spot that is needed.

“Just remember one thing.” The change in Yuta’s tone brought a chill down the man’s spine, alongside the unnerving way he smiled whilst creating this atmosphere around them.

“Evil cause, evil effect.”

The normally composed man’s eyes widened as the space between himself and Yuta closed to a near inch, the same expression lingering on the Nara man’s face with more threatening eyes.

“If you screw me over, lie, or hurt me in any way, it will only come back to you worse than what you did to me.”

A small tremble settled in the rich man’s eyes, a lump forcing its way down his throat as he felt the urge to nod at the statement. Yuta smiled with a level of satisfaction, his face returning to its normal and kind manner. With a small sigh, he stood up and brushed off his clothes, turning his attention over his shoulder at the stunned man. 

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you again then, Mr. Choi.” 

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Day 1 of my new life

I couldn’t begin to think of anything else that could be more perfect than a new pair of shoes and pants. They weren’t as fancy as I would have imagined them to be, though the price tag was higher than anything I would have been able to imagine. I wonder why people bring it upon themselves to buy a nice pair of jeans for a price that would equate to almost twenty full course meals on a table. Just to be simplistic– like every other person. 

I guess Mr. Choi wanted me to feel comfortable, at least that’s what he said to me when he handed them over yesterday. 

“A new chapter should begin with a slightly different look. Don’t you think so?” 

I couldn’t lie and say that I didn’t like the things that he bought for me. I guess I would be crazy to complain over fresh, clean clothing that fit my body nicer than anything I could have thrifted from the store. 

My hair was cleaned up and cut for the first time in about seven years, freshly shaven and a clean face. And now a pair of jeans and a black blazer, one that I said would be too big for it falling past my waist line. But he said that it was perfect for me. 

It suited me. 

Was there even such a thing as being “suited” for something? 

Everything felt so unreal and foreign. I almost didn’t feel or look like myself. 

It was almost like for a second I felt a level of normalcy, but it scared me.

I realized when we got into his car for the last time, that it wasn’t nearly as hard to say goodbye to Japan. 

It had been my home and my hell at the same time. I felt as deeply connected as any person could to my home as I felt completely distant from life here. It was my comfort solely through language and seeing other people struggle with me. 

Maybe I really was some sort of masochist who liked the idea of being left with nothing and satisfied with others being in that same position. It meant that nobody was better than anyone, we were all in the same shit-fest together. 

But, now I’m here and they’re out there. 

My connection feels broken, in a way that it was supposed to for a long time. 

Now having to venture out on my own and put everything into a world I don’t know anything about yet– it feels safer than being outside in my comfort space that has let me down. 

I feel lost, but it doesn’t scare me as much anymore. 

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The car pulled up to some sort of cabin cruiser, a boat that he had never heard of before, at the base of a dock, bobbing calmly to the flow of the ocean. Right at the edge of where the boat and the dock met, a woman stood with arms pulled neatly behind her back. She made no move as the two men exited the car, eyes trained onto Yuta. 

Something about her gaze made him relax his shoulders, holding his bag more comfortably under his arm. 

“Happy that you made it back safely.” She spoke smoothly, her voice as languid as her demeanor. Mr. Choi came up and embraced her, a small exchange of words moving between the two of them in a language that Yuta wasn’t aware of. 

The intimacy of their touches brought a small level of discomfort to him that he couldn’t describe, forcing a smile when they parted and cupped each other’s faces. She pressed the tiniest of pecks to his cheek, as to not let her rouge color rub off onto his face. Mr. Choi’s smile was the widest it had ever been, ushering her over to where Yuta was still standing. 

“This is Nakamoto Yuta, the boy I’ve been telling you about. Yuta, this is Ms. Lee Siyeon.” 

A color shifted in her eyes as she met him, lips curving up sweetly as she came closer to him– similarly watching for any sort of discomfort in her approach. She was pleasantly surprised when she met none, reaching to take his hand between her jewel-covered fingers. Yuta’s eyebrow twitched as he met her eyes, goosebumps rising up on his skin as he felt something– another presence– not around his body, but inside of him. Like another person was living amongst him in his own brain.

It wasn’t malevolent in any way, instead peering around at the space that was being made for them and inevitably comforting him, as if sensing the pain that he was feeling for so long and soothing him with a warm hand and a gentle, safe hug. 

Each collection of memories diving and swam through the blackened space, with some overstaying their welcome as much as others. It was like they were taunting him, whilst at the same time telling him, “This is who you are. This is the life that you have chosen. There is nothing you can do to change or get rid of it.”

The loan sharks that stole away his childhood. 

His mother’s abandonment of his younger self. 

His father’s absence at every birthday party.

His grandmother’s passing. 

Losing his home and safe space.

Being tricked and thrown out on the street with barely any clothes to his name. 

Untouched pain and sorrows, plus more, surrounded him with thorn pricked arms and fingers, trying to swallow his voice and what was left of him that was desperate to crawl out. A wide, horrific grin-faced monster– who he didn’t know was hiding behind him the whole time, with its being wrapped around him like a blanket to never let any happiness in and no sadness, hurt and anger out. 

I will take care of you. You don’t have to worry anymore. Put everything that you are feeling inside of me. I will make sure you don’t have to feel it anymore.

The words echoed through the open space of his mind, hearing the bellowing screech of the monster behind him. From what? He wasn’t entirely sure, for the kind spirit didn’t allow him to look or see what it was. As the darkness faded from around him–chains lifted off of his fragile and frail body– he felt a hand guide him to the ground, wrapping him in something warm and holding him close to its body.

There was nothing that he could form to say thank you, but the spirit merely kissed at the top of his head and rocked him back and forth in a gentle hum. 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ��� ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

On the outside, tears began to drip down his face from the sentiment, the woman’s eyes forming crescents as small droplets fell from hers as well. She gravitated him into her embrace, cupping the back of his head for him to comfortably bury his head into her neck, heaving out more tears as she held him. 

It felt similar to what he imagined a hug would feel like from a mother, trying to comfort her son during a difficult time. It felt warm and soothing in a way that Yuta couldn’t place. But, whatever it was that made her embrace feel so safe, expelled more and more pain and anguish from out of his body. 

“My poor child. You have been through so much.” Her voice was laced with pain and worry, though he didn’t understand what she was saying to him. At the moment though, nothing else mattered to him. 

Stay in her arms, it's safe here. She’s safe.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time exactly had passed, or even how he had ended up inside of the boat with his head on her lap, only noticing the orange glow that had covered over the inside of the boat and Mr. Choi’s eyes that had fallen on him. 

“Ah, you’re awake now.” 

Yuta straightened himself almost immediately, a flush of pink flooding his cheeks. “How long have I been asleep for?” 

Siyeon cupped his cheek in her hand, bringing his attention to hers. “What matters most is that you got the rest that you deserved. How are you feeling now?” 

He racked his head to find anything that was reminiscent of what he had experienced earlier, but found that nothing was left in its wake. His mind had felt almost completely clear, though there were some things that lingered in his mind about what happened, but he tried not to think about it for the time being. 

“I feel..relaxed. I don’t– how did you do that?” He questioned, unable to find the words he was looking for. Siyeon merely smiled in response, tucking small pieces of his hair back behind his ears before creating distance between them. 

“We’ll discuss that more later. For now, let’s get you into your room and settle in.” 

The boat docked at a small circular port, framed with dandelions, clovers and sage, dancing against the gusts of wind erupting from the sides of the vehicle. Mr. Choi took Yuta’s bags as Siyeon helped to guide him up the stairs and onto the platform. He looked around in amazement at the land before him with an endless sea of grassland. There seemed to be a nonexistence of any sort of insect or animal that could cause any sort of immediate danger to anyone. 

Among the field, there were small groups of people, decked in lavender and baby blue sundresses and hats decorated with the same flowers as those from the dock. They stopped their work to wave towards him, smiles shining bright over what was left of the late evening sun. 

They approached another white, clear staircase, venturing up them slowly– Mr. Choi and Siyeon respectively holding onto Yuta as support, lest his legs become weak out of how high up they were traveling. 

Everything in this world had seemed so dream-like, yet familiar to him in some way.

The elevator welcomed him with a warm glow and a plush seat for him to sit in while they began their descent. Siyeon kept a watchful eye on him as the ground became nothing more than a blur of green before turning completely white. From there, he saw nothing else but puffy white clouds. 

Coming to a slow and complete stop, the elevator doors pulled apart to a spotless tiled floor and a long open corridor. Other people were waiting for them outside, with their positions similar to the way that Siyeon’s was earlier. 

“Here, take this.” Mr. Choi placed a small piece of something that looked similar to gum in Yuta’s hand. “It’ll help with the pressure. But, chew it slowly so your eardrums don’t burst from the sudden flood of noise.” He exited the elevator first, handing off the bags to someone with a small smile on his face. A gentle hand connected with his back and ushered him out of the elevator and onto the floors.

Everyone seemed as friendly as the ones that he had seen downstairs, except more clean cut and professional. All of their expressions and words filled his heart with a level of joy he wasn’t sure what to do with. 

Should he be happy or scared by all the kindness being directed at him?

Welcome home, Yuta.

It came out not how Yuta had expected it to be. It felt like a reunion of long lost friends, who had been away from each other for so long. 

They knew nothing about him, at least not more than maybe what Mr. Choi had relayed to him, but they treated him like he was family. He was no more than another person within the group that they had shared common passings with. 

He felt like he knew them.

He was one of them, and he always had been in their eyes. 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

Day 7  of my new life

Mizu ni nagasu. 

The water flows. 

You must learn to live and move on from the bad things that have destroyed you, for they don’t make up every ounce of your being unless you let them. 

Ms. Lee has taught me so much about myself since I’ve been here– though it was hard for me to listen to any of it. 

I had been conditioned to believe, for so long, that I don’t deserve anything that I’ve gotten. I wasn’t as strong as I believed myself to be and that, because my life was so different from everyone else’s, that I wasn’t meant to live prosperously. 

My parents had done everything wrong with their lives and that meant that I had to be punished for being the closest thing to revenge as the world could seek now that they’re gone. 

But, that’s only if I believe for that to happen. If I give my power and energy to some flesh-eating monster to destroy me from the inside out, then it will happen that way. 

If I let it be, then it will follow exactly that. 

The truth is, I was never that person. I was born for so many different things in life that I never thought was possible. 

I know so much more now than I have my whole life. Regardless of how everything else turns out, I will be the truest version of myself that I can ever be. I will purge myself of the things that make me feel so much sorrow and let myself feel happy again on my own terms. 

I won’t let myself succumb to it again. 

I am me. I will be me. 

Unapologetically me. 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

Deep breath in and out. 

Yuta stared at his own reflection. It was still taking him some time to adjust to the person that looked back at him– glancing over every feature of his face and body for any lingering reminiscents of his past that would bring him back down to “reality”. 

She cautioned you not to do that. Be happy with where you are. Focus on the now. 

He adjusted his hair for what felt like the 19th time since he had gotten dressed. The suit had been specifically tailored to fit his frame in the most flattering manner than he could have expected. They had put a little bit of flush and makeup to his cheeks to make his appearance more radiant for the photos.

He resisted the urge to wipe the corner of his hands onto the expensive dress pants, afraid that he would cause it to wrinkle. 

Is this the type of thing that he has to worry about now?

Eyes still locked onto himself in the mirror, he relaxed his face muscles, moving them accordingly to what he believed would be the “most photogenic”, though he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He was sure that it would come to him naturally, as it did for other people around his age, yet every face that he made didn’t seem right. 

Smiling too much makes him look like those horror movie posters that were hung outside of movie theaters. 

Not smiling enough made him look like he was going to burn the whole world to the ground. 

Was he supposed to look this threatening or scary? 

No, there’s no way that could be right. 

He was startled from his thoughts by a sharp knock on the door to his dressing room. 

“Yuta, are you almost ready? I’d like to see you in the outfit before you take your photo.” 

He snagged as many tissues as he could to wipe off the sweat that had collected in the palms of his hands and forehead, tossing them into the nearest bin before pulling the door open. 

Mr. Choi stood there, dressed a bit more business casual than he was, with slightly widened, amazed eyes. 

You look..so handsome, more than I could ever think you could look. 

Those words never passed Mr. Choi’s lips, though he somehow must have communicated them through his eyes, making Yuta push him back lightly with his hand out of embarrassment. 

“Stop staring at me so hard. Does it look okay or not?” 

The man knew that Yuta didn’t mean for the words to come out as harsh as they did, smiling at his flustered appearance. 

He took his time moving around his body and checking over every inch of his outfit to make sure nothing was out of place or fitting strangely before he made his way back to Yuta’s front side. His hands came up, only coming in contact to fix his tie when he had received a silent nod of approval. He smoothed the fabric down, lifting his eyes to look at the still slightly flushed man through his lashes. 

“You look perfect.” 

There was something about the way that his words flowed that made Yuta turn slightly away from him, clearing his throat to bypass the oncoming embarrassment that was threatening to creep up his bones again. Or maybe it was the gentle, yet charming look in his eyes with an equally sweet smile that made him feel like he would melt into the floor if he looked at them a bit longer. 

Regardless of the way that he was feeling, the man never pushed or teased him about it. Taking two steps down the staircase leading to the room, he held out a waiting hand, noting the damn near precious look that the boy gave to him. 

“Do you really think I’ll look okay–I mean I’ve never taken a picture like this before. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing-” 

He let out a small yelp from being ceremoniously pulled closer to the man, eyes widened at the amount of space that was left between them. The second time they had been this close, that Mr. Choi had broken that space between them that he had created since the beginning. 

Instead speaking over his fears, the man led Yuta into the studio down the hall, where others had been waiting for him to arrive. He kept close to him, checking to make sure that he was comfortable with everything that was being said or changed in his appearance in front of the camera. Only once they were settled on the way that he was positioned did he finally move back behind the photographer.

“Just relax and be natural!” The photographer’s voice echoed in the small empty space of the white room. 

Feeling sweat collecting in his palms, Yuta clenched them in his pocket, hoping to god that none of it would begin to drip down his face as a bunch of eyes watched him pose on the standing block, shifting and adjusting his body by the photographer’s orders. 

Among all of the attention, his eyes connected with Mr. Choi, who merely looked back and smiled at him– the same genuine and undeniably sweet smile that he knew. 

He always seemingly knew everything that there was to make him feel some level of comfort– during times when he wished the world would disappear and take him with it. Or even in his moments of complete elation that were hard to navigate himself down from–the entire world was just too overwhelming to handle. 

He was there, even if Yuta didn’t know it. 

He believed in Yuta– with no real rhyme or reason– but trusting his gut told him that the homeless Nara boy, coming from nothing, would be the key to their success and the blossoming of a beautiful future.

Because of his belief and everything that he risked, Yuta stood in front of all those people, eyes locked onto him with upturned lips, presenting the most gorgeous smile that he could have ever thought he could muster. 

Ganbatte ne, Yuta-chan. 

Ganbatte ne!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

Oh, don’t give up, don’t cry. When you feel like you’ll disappearListen to your own voice and keep moving forwardNo matter how old you are, you can’t get through life without some sadnessLet everyone see you smile and go on livingGo on living

Hello to the person reading this letterI wish you all the happiness in the world

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: @atiny-piratequeen

[cutehoons02]

Blood Sacrificies

Desire:Unleash Sunghoon pt Jay pt

*pairing: Hacker nerd vampire Jake x influencer Girl

*trope: he fell first (obsession) she fell harder

*synopsis: Jake has only one wish in life: to drink forever the blood he’s obsessed with—the only blood he can actually feed on. But something happens that drives him crazy: you, the only girl who doesn’t seem to notice him, are the one donating his favorite blood. You donate it because you have a rare condition—your body produces too much blood, and if you don’t donate regularly, you suffer from severe dizziness, vomiting, and could even die. But this is a secret, because you're one of the most popular girls in Korea and a social media influencer with millions of followers. When Jake finds out you're the girl behind the uncomfortable blood bags he's been drinking from, he blackmails you and forces you to let him be the only one who can “help” you—biting you once a week. But what would happen if one of you fell in love? You’re a human with dreams, and he’s a 130-year-old vampire who, on paper, is your age—but behind that, he hides a dark identity.

*tags: Jake at first wants only for blood, corruption, blackmail, fluffy, love to tease, fashion/influencer girl slightly spoiled and thinking about herself, Jake emanates dark vibes but also from golden retrievers, blood, types of blood, bites, bite description, a lot of kisses, fake innocent girl, needy Jake, masturbation (male) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) shower sex, pet names (baby,princess) (nerd,jakey) +18, statement

17k (🦷)

The world between humans and vampires had long been established.

There were no more wars; only tense silences. The fragile balance of a hybrid civilization was tested every single day. Vampires had to feed without killing, they had to register, obey strict laws enforced by the Blood Bank regulations and the edicts of the Vampire State, and coexist with humans with the dizzying variety of blood types and the intoxicating scents that constantly surrounded them. Those who broke the rules were labeled "rebel vampires" aggressive, manipulative, and uncontrollable. To keep them in check, universities and governments had created parallel networks, teams of expert hackers- vampires, humans, even warlocks- tasked with exposing the lawbreakers.

Jake was one of the best. A full-blooded nerd, with a degree in mathematics, a PhD in quantum physics, and above all a brilliantly cursed mind when it came to systems.

Jake wasn’t like other vampires.

While 90% of them were content with any blood, Jake fed exclusively on AB Rh-negative.

The rarest, the purest, the most... yours, and he was utterly obsessed with it addicted, even. Every week, a single bag would arrive at the Blood Bank. His type and when he drank it…he felt something no vampire was ever supposed to feel: an erotic, almost spiritual pleasure.

For most vampires, Blood Bank bags were indistinguishable-practical, clinical but for Jake, Saturdays were sacred. He lived for the moment he could either walk into the Bank or receive the package at home: Those sealed blood bags, filled with your blood. Of course, he didn’t know it was yours not until that cursed day when everything changed—for you, and him.

The Blood Bank was teeming with vampires, each with their code granting access to special rooms where they could drink from blood bags or, for those who preferred it, pick up sealed packs to take home. He was sitting in the designated room, where his blood type was marked on the wall, waiting to drink. But the moment the first drops touched his tongue and slid down his throat, he knew something was wrong: the scent from the bag had changed.

Jake noticed it instantly, as the ruby liquid grazed his palate. It wasn’t the same. It no longer had that warm, deep note... the one that used to scream inside him every time his tongue touched the vial’s spout.

He drank. One sip, two... then stopped. His fangs had emerged, of course, they had, it was still blood but they hadn’t tapered the way they usually did, and his breathing grew shallow. His heart (if he could still call it that) was beating too slowly. And he didn’t feel that jolt of electricity, that erotic surge, that always came when he drank blood. Especially yourblood.

He placed the container on the lab table, staring at the red liquid trembling under the cold neon light.

“What the hell…” he muttered, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt tighter over his arms, too long, too thin.

The lab door opened with a hiss of sterile air.

-Oh, Jake. Still here? It’s late. Why haven’t you finished all your bags- The Blood Bank supervisor: a vampire who looked about seventy, but was probably over five hundred gave him a warm, familiar grimace. He had known Jake since the first time he’d shown up, one of the rare vampires who could only feed on one very specific type of blood.

-I’ve never seen you leave a single drop behind. What’s going on, kid-Jake shot to his feet, red eyes gleaming.

“It’s not… it’s not the same as always. This isn’t the blood I drank last week,” he said, irritation sharp in his voice from the lingering taste.

-What do you mean?- the supervisor asked, puzzled. “The AB Rh negative blood bag I get every week. This one’s different. The chemical profile is off. The iron levels are higher. The glucose composition is different. And the smell... The smell is completely wrong.”

-Jake…- “I want to know why. I want to know why you changed my donor.”The supervisor sighed. He opened an old tablet, tapped the screen a few times, and scrolled through the data. Then he stopped.

-Anonymous donor. Code ‘MF020-Z’. The last donation: was two weeks ago. The donor signed off. Chose to stop contributing. No explanation given.-

Jake went pale. His hands turned colder, as if someone was ripping away the only thing that still kept him warm kept him alive, these past five years. He’d gone through several donors, but you were his favorite. He didn’t even know who you were, but your blood was pure addiction, poison, and longing all at once.

“They… don’t want to donate anymore?” he murmured, lips tight in a pout. -It happens. Sometimes donors change their minds. Too tired, too drained… or they just stop. They can’t donate forever. What’ll you do when the person with this code dies? Jake, you need to understand humans have the right to choose. And don’t worry, there will always be someone out there with the blood type you need.-

“It can’t happen to me.”

-Jake...-

“I need that blood. I’ve been fine for five years, even with slightly lower glucose or iron levels. But my body will feel the difference.” His tone was too human, too childish and the supervisor realized just how fragile he was under all that brilliance. Jake said nothing more. He walked out.

He returned to his bunker in the university basement, where the hum of servers drowned out his thoughts. He still had a couple of your bags left in his apartment, and now more than ever, he was determined to find out who you were.

Twenty-four hours later.

The code was burned into his mind: MF020-Z

He wasn’t supposed to access the donor database. It was locked down multiple layers of protection and if anyone found out he’d violated privacy protocols, he’d be slapped with a lawsuit and a massive fine. But to discover who had kept him alive for the past five years, Jake would do anything and Jake was a hacker a desperate one; and when you put those two things together, even the gods start to tremble.

So he slid on his nerdy glasses, and his noise-canceling headphones, and started typing. Encrypting. Bouncing through firewalls. Masking his IP.

“Who are you, MF020-Z?” he whispered, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he entered the code into the Blood Bank’s account database. Then, he saw it. The file opened after nearly two hours of relentless hacking, and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes.

Your photo. But most of all your name, bolded above the blood type he’d been drinking for years. That blood had come from your body. And you were the only girl who had ever truly driven him mad from the first moment he saw you in the computer science classroom.

Name: [YOUR NAME]

Age: 22

Major: Communication and Marketing

Status: Influencer – verified profile

Last Donation: Two weeks ago

Reason for Stopping: Confidential

Jake’s breath caught. He shoved his chair back and slammed his head into the backrest, he knew you, of course, he did. Everyone at the university knew you. You were one of the most popular girls on campus, one of the hottest influencers in the state. You’d taken a basic coding class with him. Sat in the front row with your oversized Apple headphones, and designer sunglasses: Prada, Miu Miu, Céline. Hats of all kinds. Bags that cost more than his entire apartment.

A clean girl dream, styled like someone who had it all and you’d smiled at him once in a while. Maybe just to be polite. Because to you, he was the loser in the back row. The one in faded hoodies, stammered when he spoke to you, the one who watched you from afar when you ordered matcha vanilla lattes at the campus café, the one who’d had a crush on you since day one.

“It was her. It’s always been her. The blood… it was hers.” Jake buried his face in his hands. His lips trembled. He felt like crying (but his body hadn’t allowed itself that release in a long, long time.)

So instead, he collapsed onto the bed, a giant mattress with black covers that smelled of something dark and citrusy, set atop stacked server crates. He still held your half-empty blood bag in his hand, drinking from it like it was his only reason to exist and maybe it was.

After a few minutes of silent sobbing and cursing the world, Heeseung walked in his work partner, roommate, and one of his closest friends.

'Bro, where the hell have you been? You disappeared for two days.' Jake didn’t answer, his lips were stained red, he buried his longish hair into the pillow and groaned softly.

'Did you binge again?' Heeseung asked, walking closer like an older brother checking on his little one. Sometimes Jake overindulged in the rare blood he was allowed to drink and it left him a mess but Heeseung could see Jake looked physically fine.

It was the expression that was off.

“It’s not my blood,” Jake muttered, clutching the bag to his chest like a child hugging a stuffed toy. 'What? What do you mean, Jake?' Heeseung said, serious now. “My blood. The one I always drink. The one that keeps me calm, that makes me feel… alive. It’s gone the donor stopped and I’m obsessed.” 'Jake… I’m sorry. But you know donors can stop after a few years. It’s their right.'

“It’s her. The girl. It’s always been her. She’s my worst nightmare,” Jake whispered, curling up against Heeseung. 'What girl?' Jake turned to him, eyes shining.

“Her. [Your Name]. The popular one. The one everyone wants. I was drinking her blood and didn’t even know it. Every time I looked at her, I felt something and couldn’t explain it. Sure, she’s gorgeous and completely my type—but now I get it.

It’s because she was inside me. Her blood every week feeding me and now…”

'Oh… shit.' Jake nestled into Heeseung’s arms, still hugging the bag like a lifeline.

“Why did she stop, Heeseung? Why doesn’t she want to donate anymore? I didn’t do anything to her. She doesn’t even know me. I respect her, I do, but I need her. I need her blood. I need to feed… and I need to possess her.”

Heeseung crouched beside him, lost for words, Jake’s eyes welled up with blood-tinged tears.

“I want to talk to her. I want to give her everything. I just want her to let me stay close. I just… I just need to feel her inside me again. Just one more time.” and in that moment, Heeseung realized the youngest vampire in the room had crossed a line. he wasn’t just dependent anymore.

He was obsessed nd it was about to get worse.

Being the most popular girl on campus came with perks. Free notes even for exams you haven’t picked yet, frat party invites even if you’d only shown up once, for the photos and then… the brands. A storm of packages, every week: lipsticks, heels, smartwatches—even a vampire perfume that “lasts longer than the smell of human blood.”

TikTok, Instagram, a devoted community hanging on your every word but popularity had its price. Your real life—the one where you secretly donated blood every week for nearly five years, didn’t exist online. You had a rare mutation: adaptive hematic overproduction. Your body made too much blood, sometimes it gave you headaches, other times nausea, or full-on blackouts. But the Blood Bank… paid a fortune.

Your blood was AB Rh-negative, the rarest, purest kind. In a world where vampires had to feed without killing, your blood was liquid gold. You earned €2000 a week, just for donating, it wasn’t something you could just… give up but two days ago, the nurse wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“We’re sorry. Your rate’s being cut by 60%. They found another compatible donor. She has 0.3% more iron. The new protocol requires offer equality.”

You crossed your arms, pulling your Acne Studios trench tighter.

“My blood isn’t just chemistry. It’s desirable. It’s unique. And I’m not about to be paid like some random chick with a needle in her arm.”

“We don’t make the rules,” muttered the vampire secretary, scrolling your profile.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I’m not donating anymore.”and that was that or so you thought.

That afternoon, you were lounging in the library café. Legs crossed, eyes bouncing between your phone and laptop. Your matcha was lukewarm-vanilla matcha, your go-to “I didn’t sleep but I look flawless” drink.

Seated at your usual glass table, you scrolled mindlessly anew comment on your satin lingerie post, alike from someone with 32k followers, a DM from a Japanese skincare brand.

Same old routine—until your eyes widened, your bank balance had dropped and not for a Chanel bag or a Tokyo flight, you hadn’t donated in a week. And now, no money. Your pout was instant, childish even but with a razor edge, your followers loved.

“I need a new plan… or maybe I make them beg to take me back.”

And then you felt it that stare, sticky, too silent yet screaming. Your eyes lifted across the lounge: Jake Sim.

Black hoodie. Messy hair. Eyes down on his laptop, nerd glasses on, except when he looked at you and he kept looking at you. Like he knew something, it annoyed you. But it also… made your skin tingle.

Jake was weird, he knew everything about Wi-Fi networks but blushed if you bit your hair tie a loser, sure but also someone who knew way too much, specially for someone over 100 years old with those adorable little fangs that peeked out when he smiled. Jake had discovered your dirty little secret.

He felt your heartbeat, tracked the way your blood surged. He had hacked the entire donor database to find you and now, he couldn’t stop looking.

He watched you like a collector who’d found his missing masterpiece, locked behind bulletproof glass. He could still taste your blood in his throat (your blood) and it made him ache.

His fangs itched for your pale, perfect skin, he looked away and tapped on his keyboard… but when your drink neared its end?

His game began.

The chair across from you slid out. Slowly, you rolled your eyes before even looking up.

“Jake Sim,” you muttered. The vampire-nerd sitting across from you or, as you privately called him: “My personal stalker dressed like a broke Calvin Klein model.”

He’d followed you on every account, liked every post: notifications on you were sure of it, he’d like your story before Instagram even finished uploading it and he didn’t even hide it.

Not even a little, Jake tilted his glasses down and gave you a lopsided grin: Classic sexy-outcast-with-too-many-secrets expression.

His fangs peeked out slightly, he propped his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, looking calm but bold, too bold...

You folded your arms over your chest almost instinctively. As if shielding your heart. Or your blood.

“Jake, do you need something? Or are you just here to compliment my new modeling campaign?” He stretched like a smug kitten, that’s when you saw it: Beneath the oversized hoodie, a hint of pale skin and below that a perfect V-line. Sharp. Carved. Leading right down to the waistband of black Calvin Klein boxers.

Jesus Christ, you thought.

His brown eyes were lit with something wicked, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Good question,” he said, raking a hand through his hair like he was in a shampoo ad. Jake was a dangerous cocktail: Smoldering eyes, puppyish grin, big veiny hands, if he weren’t a vampire (and so weird), you might’ve flirted with him one night… after an Aperol Spritz.

“You done scanning me? Or are you checking for a serial number under my belt?” You sighed, crossing your legs a little slower this time, knee exposed, tilted your head and went in for the kill.

“Jake, just because you’ve got a V-line and the hands of a guy who knows his way around a screwdriver, doesn’t mean you’re interesting. You’re still the same stalker-nerd with dark circles from too many incognito tabs.”

His laugh was soft, sweet and dangerous. It had that tone the kind that made you feel like he was about to tell you something forbidden. Or worse: Something true.

“Not nice to tease a guy, you know?” “Oh, right. Forgot. You’re a vampire.” “Especially one who knows things... no one else does.”

You froze, just a second then sat up straighter. Controlled. Icy.

“Explain.” Jake licked his lip just slightly. You saw his fang catch the skin. He seemed to like it, then… he pulled out a neatly folded note. Laminated, placed it on the table slowly, deliberately. His gaze never left yours, nothing goofy about it now. Just pure, calculated confidence.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning boredom. “Jake, I don’t have time for your games.” “Oh no?” he whispered. “Then why are you sweating through that perfect skin of yours?” His laugh was low. Slippery and then he added, voice laced with mischief: “Come on, princess. Fake it better. You’re an influencer, right?”

It was like he’d slapped you with a velvet glove his words burned so soft, so sharp. Your gaze finally drifted down…to the paper and something in your chest shifted.

Your heart gave a jolt. You recognized that plastification, that print that had haunted you for five years now. With trembling fingers, you opened it. Your eyes betrayed you before your words could.

MF020-Z

Your code.

Your throat dried up, and your hands began to shake, but you forced yourself to wear the mask of innocence. “I don’t know what this is…” you murmured, your voice falsely neutral.

Jake looked at you calmly, but his eyes were hungry and glassy; he could hear your accelerated heartbeat, the imperceptible tremble in your wrists, and the way you were denying the obvious.

“Think carefully. You’re not stupid.” His voice was soft, but it cut like ice. He lifted his gaze from the paper and locked eyes with you.“MF020-Z” he repeated. Loudly. In the middle of the room. “How do you know that code?” you asked in a low voice. “Because… I do recognize it, okay?”

You followed the words with a grimace, trying to blur it out a bit, keep him hanging. Jake straightened, narrowing his eyes. “Why don’t you donate blood anymore?” You bit your lip and sighed. Then, finally, you snapped. “They found someone else. Almost like me. Just 0.3% more iron. And they don’t pay me like before.” You said it fast, in one breath, as if it might hurt less that way. Jake looked at you, unmoving, then rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, revealing strong forearms, with thin veins running like blue circuits under his pale skin.

“I used to drink your blood.” He said it quietly. Almost… with melancholy. You nodded, barely. Then, in a whisper, said: “I don’t donate anymore.”

“Why?” he asked, slightly gruff. “Because they don’t pay me like they used to.” You lowered your gaze, slowly admitting your secret. “I have a condition actually, a fucking blood disorder. I produce way more blood than normal. They did tests every month and paid me a lot. I needed that money…” Jake didn’t respond right away. “How much?” The question was sharp. Direct. Professional, almost.“Two, three thousand euros per donation.”

He cursed under his breath, turning to the side. “Shit. I can’t believe the Blood Bank gives that kind of money to humans. Honestly, if I were human, I’d do it too…”. “I know,” you replied, shoulders sagging. “But I needed it. Clothes, travel, stuff. But also to keep my body in balance… if I don’t remove blood regularly, I get sick. I can have dizziness, headaches or worse. And each year it gets worse if I don’t donate at all.”

Jake stared at you. Something in him cracked. It wasn’t just desire anymore—it was some brutal, primal form of protection. “So if they stop paying you, you risk getting sick. Dying, even.” You nodded, slowly. “And no one knows?” “No one. Just my parents. And now you. So I want to know, Jake, what are you going to do with that information?”

Jake studied you. The corners of his lips twisted into a crooked smile a broken laugh, sweet but sinister, like something ancient and dark, was rising in his cold veins. It was the sound of a vampire holding himself back. A laugh, just barely scratched, caught in his throat too low to be human, like his larynx was made of smoke and iron.

“I could pay you myself.” He said it in that low, calm, almost seductive tone, but cold like a blade dipped in ice. His eyes studied you with unsettling, precise attention. You immediately looked away from the code, curling your lips in irritation.

“No.” “You haven’t even heard my offer, princess.” “I don’t care. I’m not selling myself to a vampire especially not to you, Jake.” His smile sharpened. He leaned forward slightly, the veins in his hands taut against the surface of the table. “You’re already selling yourself. You just prefer to do it quietly.” An elegant stab that’s what he’d just delivered. You squinted your eyes, baring your teeth slightly.

“Are you trying to insult me, or just turn me on?” “Maybe both,” he said, looking at you like you were a five-star meal.“I’m trying to save you.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I need money, Jake. Nothing else.” He stood, folding his arms across his chest.

“You need protection too. The rebels… they can smell you. You have no idea what they’d do for a bag of your blood or you, whole. They’d tear you apart, break you into pieces just to get a taste, and then leave you to die drained.” A chill ran down your spine. But you didn’t let it show.

“And you? You don’t risk anything, do you?” “I could die without that blood. So yes, I risk it too.” “So we’re fifty-fifty,” you said with a slightly bratty tone. “Damn… you’re too clever to be an influencer.” You smirked slightly. “I study communication. I know how to sell myself and how to read the market. And you, Jake, are a buyer way too impatient.” He clenched his jaw. That nerdy smile shattered, replaced by something more primal—a desire that wasn’t just for your blood… but for all of you.

“I’m offering a deal.” You stood still, one eyebrow raised. “I protect you. Every day, I bite you. I take your blood when the pressure gets too high, I save you from your condition. And I protect you from the rebels, my bite leaves a mark. It 'claims' you. No one will touch you.” His tone dropped, hoarse. “And I’ll pay you. I’ve got a great job, you know that. I’ve got money, I’m not desperate but I want your blood. Every drop. Especially to keep living… like I always have.”

You stared at him for a long second. Then you stood up, your hair whipping over your shoulder with a sharp movement. “I don’t want money from any vampire. I’m not desperate, Jake. I just want my freedom and for the Blood Bank to treat me as I deserve.”You turned on your heels to leave but he was faster. He caught your wrist, gently, but firmly so firmly you couldn’t ignore it and then… he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly.

Jake had to restrain himself from biting you right there in front of everyone because if he did, they’d label him a rebel. His nostrils flared, then slowly closed as he drank in your scent. His nose brushed against your skin.

“You know… I could break you right here, right now.” His whisper was glacial, vampiric, and full of restrained hunger because even though he was feeding off that disgusting bank blood, he only truly wanted yours. Then… a fang grazed your vein. It didn’t pierce-just touched your skin, like a threat. Like a promise that someday, you’d give in.

“Jake…” Your voice broke. “Don’t.” “You’re letting yourself die,” he whispered. You yanked your wrist back and stepped away, heart racing. You didn’t even look at him but you knew he was still watching you.

You hated going to parties: the sweat, the sticky cups, the cheap alcohol, the music way too loud, and people grinding against each other like dancing necessarily meant dry-humping in clothes. You were on a different level. You would’ve much preferred a refined drink on an elegant rooftop near the Seoul Tower, surrounded by soft lights and thin glasses, sophisticated music, and not sticky bodies or boys looking for the next girl to slide their dick into before vanishing like ghosts. You were on another level, and the only reason you were there was because your best friend was part of the campus student council and had organized the party for a “good cause.” So there you were, dressed in dark jeans, an aesthetic tee from an emerging Korean brand with a matte silver logo embroidered across the chest. On your feet: platform boots. And over your shoulders: your usual black leather jacket, patched with cities you’d traveled to around the world. Whispers followed you everywhere. Some said you’d modeled for a vampire-themed perfume campaign. Others said you were dating a human CEO or that you’d been seen with a mysterious vampire in the library but you ignored them. Sure, there were cute guys around. But it had been almost two weeks since your last blood donation, and your body was starting to scream. The pressure in your temples pounded like a war drum, and you would’ve paid gold just to feel normal again. You’d taken a pill two hours before, but with the music blasting in the living room, each beat felt like a slap inside your skull. You moved toward your best friend, who was laughing with a guy who had feline eyes probably half vampire and you whispered in her ear: “I'm stepping out for some air. I just need to breathe.” She immediately turned, concerned. 'Hey, are you okay? You look pale.' “I’m fine. I’m not dying tonight, don’t worry.” You winked at her more so at the guy she was talking to, who was seriously cute and slipped outside. The yard was crowded. People drinking in the pool, others playing beer pong with glowing cups, someone making out hard under the terrace, and more bodies grinding to the beat.

You rolled your eyes you didn’t want any of that. You found a bench behind the house, partially in the shadows, and sat down with a sigh. You leaned your head back, gazing at the stars and the full moon, and thought about how beautiful it was to be alone, how maybe you should spend more time by yourself but the silence, the almost peace, didn’t last long.

Three guys approached. One with bleached blond hair, one with a regrettable mullet, and one with his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel.

-Hey there, gorgeous. All alone out here?- said the blond with a sly grin.

'You need company?' asked the one with the tragic mullet.

--You’re way too hot to be hiding,-- added the shirtless one, showing off a chest way too jacked for your taste.

“I need a miracle, not three clowns begging for attention,” you said, eyeing them as you pulled out your phone, opening the chat with your best friend so they'd see you were “busy.”

They hesitated. One coughed, and the other tried to laugh it off.

-Damn, you’re sharp. You need to relax, babe,- said the blond. “I need you to disappear. Like, right now. I want to be alone.”

They glanced at each other. One raised his hands. 'Wow, okay. Hot but bitchy. Classic. Like most girls who don’t know how to have fun!'

You rolled your eyes and let them go as they walked off grumbling, you allowed yourself a tiny smirk but the headache was still there. Pounding. You groaned softly from the pain and that’s when you smelled it.

Mint. Something citrusy. But also… something warmer. Like wet wood and fresh blood. It passed behind your neck then a cold breath.A deep, damp inhale… at your throat.

“You’re an easy target, you know that?” The voice. Jake. “You sit with your back to the house… to the pool… It’s like you’re asking to be found.” You opened your eyes slowly and tilted your chin up. He was there.,standing behind you, one hand resting on the bench, his gaze calm and sharp. His brown eyes gleamed like a liquid under the moonlight and his smile… the same as always. Half nerd, half predator in disguise.

“Jake. What a surprise. Or maybe not,” you said, touching your forehead. “I saw you the moment you stepped into the party.” He slid down to sit next to you, that spiced scent with a citrus note wrapping around you. Ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie unzipped halfway down his chest revealing pale, smooth skin. His hair was slightly longer than the last time you saw him, he looked like a disaster dressed up as a dream… or maybe your worst nightmare.

“You look terrible,” he said, smiling too softly for a vampire like him. “Thanks. You’re the first to say it so sweetly,” you replied, closing your eyes. “Blood pressure headache?” You didn’t answer. He already knew. He watched as you brought a hand to your forehead. “Let me guess: you took an aspirin. Like that could help.” “You’re not my doctor, Jake,” you said, clenching your jaw. “No. I’m worse.”

He leaned in slightly, his knee brushing yours. “You want to wait until you faint? Until your blood explodes? Until some stray picks up your scent before I do and bites without knowing what you're going through?”

When you opened your eyes and looked at him, you whispered, “I’m telling you no.” His face was a breath away from yours, his fingers grazing your side. You looked at him with hate… but also something deeper. Something more… damned. He tilted his head, studying you, hearing your blood race faster. He whispered like a child starved for candy,

“I just want to save you.” You looked up and murmured, “Or consume me?” He chuckled, raising his hands. “Maybe both.” He lowered himself slowly, inhaling the scent of your neck. He could feel the blood rushing faster in your veins. He could sense your fear of what might happen. He could feel you were about to give in.His lips touched your skin, he didn’t bite, he just… stayed there, on the edge. He could’ve sunk his fangs into that inviting skin like a moth to flame, but he didn’t. He respected you. He exhaled softly as he took in your scent for the first time fruity, like figs and something vanilla and then looked up at you again, whispering almost to himself:

“You’re a damn poison.” But you heard it and that’s when you leaned in and kissed him. Jake froze-no, went still, like time cracked. He wasn’t sure if it was a cruel trick played by his blood-starved mind. But then, his lips moved against yours an ancient, desperate instinct. Devoted. He tasted your lips: strawberry lip balm and something that tasted like summer and damnation. You caught the hint of citrus on him, mixed with a faint metallic note.

Blood. You were 99% sure it was your blood he slid a hand around your back, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair you tugged lightly and thought about how soft it felt.

“Mmh..” he moaned into your lips, frustrated like a wounded pup.“You’re… too… dangerous.” But he didn’t stop kissing you, his tongue slid across your mouth, and you pulled harder on his dark strands. He devoured you like he’d waited far too long to realize you were the answer to all his vampire problems. His breath was warm but controlled, and his fangs brushed past your teeth, searching for space. The kiss grew deeper. Rougher. His.

“Take some…” you whispered against his mouth, “...of my blood.” You expected a bite on the neck or wrist something poetic, like in Twilight or The Vampire Diaries but Jake didn’t follow clichés.

He was a Gen Z vampire. One single, precise pressure almost imperceptible a fang pierced your lip. You felt the skin split just a thin layer and gasped softly. A human sound. Unintentional. One drop. Then two. The sweet iron taste mixed between your mouth and he didn’t stop kissing you, his tongue sucked gently, rotated with yours, kissing and drinking at the same time.

You felt violated and awakened as if your body no longer belonged to you as if you were finally alive.

“You’re insane…” you whispered with a broken smile, your voice barely a thread as you gently pushed him back. You saw his lips stained with your blood, his tongue licking them slowly, like trying to remember the taste he’d longed for all these years. “I know,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “But now that I’ve had you again… now that I remember what your blood tastes like—on my tongue, in my teeth, inside me, I’m not letting you go…” He kept licking your lower lip, soothing the wound with his warm, soft tongue, as if promising to heal you after breaking you. Then he pulled back a little and you saw his eyes.

They weren’t brown anymore they were tinted red, he ran his thumb beneath your lip and, with a wicked smile that promised nothing good, whispered:

“From now on… this blood is mine. You are mine.” A shiver ran down your spine. Part of you wanted to run. The other… wanted to bite him back. Even if you weren’t a vampire, you wanted to know, feel, what they felt when feeding. He looked at you again, lips still stained with your taste, and whispered in a voice both arrogant and adoring:

“You’ve gotten yourself into one beautiful mess, baby.”

Your latest videos had blown up—views were skyrocketing, and so were the comments but something about it kept you up at night. Among the emojis, the praise, and the compliments… some words felt too precise. Too… vampiric. Some users used slang only rebellious vampires would know, others talked about your blood like they'd sensed something but you had never shown a single drop.

You didn’t cut yourself, didn’t mention it and yet, they knew. Some influencers, just to win vampire approval, let themselves be bitten live for clout and cash others sold their blood and maybe you were thinking you did it too.

But you did it for a reason: your illness. Not for likes or followers, Jake had known for weeks maybe that’s why he had said: “Move in with me. You’d be safer.” He had tried to sound casual, but the hunger in his voice gave him away. He’d already decided, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, sure. And how am I supposed to pay for two rents?” “You don’t,” he said, cocky, leaning back against the hood of his car. “You’ll stay for free… and pay with your blood.” That know-it-all tone made you roll your eyes. Especially that smirk, that smirk he used to corrupt people and that way he looked at you like you were his.

His property. Without even asking. You swallowed hard. It was just about the blood you told yourself. Just like all the others, you were the girl everyone wanted for all the wrong reasons. No one had ever bothered to understand you.

No one except Mia—your best friend. She was the only one who knew your mood swings, your fainting from blood overload, your silent nights spent wondering if it was even worth existing in a world where you were a source, not a person. When you crossed the threshold into Jake’s apartment, you expected something dark, gothic, maybe full of coffins and creepy stuff.

Instead… it looked like the lair of a brilliant nerd: a bookshelf packed with manga, old vintage consoles, controllers stacked like trophies a rug with the Bloodborne logo and a life-size cardboard cutout of a Death Note character. There were blue LED lights under the ceiling, a full wall of Funko Pops...some still wrapped, lego sets you'd never seen before, amassive PC the air screamed NERD.

Jake gave you a tour of the place like an overexcited puppy, showing you every corner like it was sacred.

“This is my fridge… there’s nothing in it. I mean, before you stopped donating blood, it was covered in your packs!”

“This is the bathroom—we’ll have to share it because the other one’s Heeseung’s.

But I’ll make as much space as you want. I bet you have a ton of creams, makeup, soaps, deodorants… probably in flavors I didn’t even know existed!”

“And this is my room. I know we’ll have to share the bed, but it’s one of the biggest king-size ones I could find—and don’t touch the katana. It’s seriously sharp.”

He surprised you. He was genuinely happy to have you there not just for the blood or maybe it was also for that…but there was something else in his eyes. A childlike excitement you’d never seen in him. In fact, in no one at least, not while they were around you.

When you stepped into his room, you noticed the huge, unmade bed that smelled faintly of lavender. The desk was overflowing, two massive monitors, cables everywhere, external hard drives, and black screens filled with running code.

The air smelled of metal, plastic… and blood and that’s when you saw it. A used blood bag tucked in the corner. Vacuum-sealed and unmistakable, the label was too familiar. Your code, clear as day the one they used every time you sat down and they prepped the tubes and needles.

You stiffened.

“Seriously?” you muttered, arms crossing over your chest. “You’re an addict? A junkie? Obsessed enough to keep my blood bags like souvenirs?” He turned, caught red-handed, and tried to snatch it before you could but you were faster. You held the bag between your fingers and pointed at the label. “This is my blood code. You drank it all, huh? Did you cry when they told you I wasn’t donating anymore?” Jake ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting away. He mumbled,

“Maybe a little… but only when I was drunk and in withdrawal, okay? I’m just a vampire who needs a specific blood type to survive…” He said it with such a pout that most girls would’ve melted into his arms but the problem was there was nothing left pulsing in his chest or maybe… there still was. You let out a laugh as you tapped the empty bag.

“You’re seriously such a loser. A tech nerd, addicted to the blood of a popular girl. Do you even hear how insane that sounds?” He stepped closer, his gaze darkening. “Insane? Maybe. But I’m not the only one who wants it. You know that, don’t you? How many comments were under your last videos?How many sniff their screens hoping to catch a whiff of your blood?”

Your stomach twisted because he was right. Jake took the bag from your hands, tossed it aside, and leaned in, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

“You attract vampires. But I… I can keep them away, i can keep you here safe and maybe… now and then… a little taste.”

His eyes flashed red for just a second just long enough to make your entire body hum. You wanted to push him away. But your body…had other plans.

Jake wouldn’t admit it, but he thought it every single time he opened the fridge.

Everything had changed since you moved in, goodbye expired ramen. He hadn’t eaten plain toast in weeks because every night, you made something for both of you. The kitchen had become your favorite kingdom. Goodbye stacked blood bags, lined up like beer cans and goodbye to the bluish-purple LED lights that once made his apartment look like a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk lair.

Now...his fridge held coconut milk, avocado, dragon fruit, and vibrantly colored vegetables. Even the pasta had turned into little heart shapes and the bathroom… Christ. It looked like the set of a girly K-drama: peel-off masks, glittery bottles, a weekly rotation of fragrances and that 14-step skincare routine that both fascinated and terrified him. You’d even taken over half his closet: pleated skirts, pastel tops, oversized hoodies with phrases like “Blood Sucker? Only if he’s hot.” Sometimes Jake reached in for a hoodie and ended up grabbing one with strawberries on it, your scent still clinging to the fabric.

His drawers? Invaded by neon tank tops and a rainbow of lingerie. Where once lay his boxers, now lived strings and lacy things barely worthy of the name underwear and even if his mind screamed don’t be a perv, he couldn’t lie he was happy. Fucking confused, but happy.

That night, he took you to the bunker. The place where he worked, tracked, hacked and monitored every rogue vampire who dared creep too close to Seoul’s red zone. He didn’t say it out loud but he wanted you to see his world. To understand it. To know he wasn’t just some guy who craved your blood. He wanted you to trust him. To see more of him. The bunker was hypnotic chaos: dim lights, metal walls, each station equipped with at least three monitors, mechanical keyboards, and facial recognition systems.

The screens showed maps painted in red zones (dangerous, rebel-infested), green zones (safe, protected 24/7), and orange zones (rare sightings, occasional rebel activity).

Running code. Thermal signals. Vampire IDs. Names. Faces. You were studying visual communication for crisis management in vampire-human diplomacy. Your pink laptop glowed. Your manicured nails clicked across the keyboard and Jake couldn’t stop watching you. He brushed your arm every time he passed on purpose and you knew it.

He loved physical contact. Weird for a vampire but Jake? He was more golden retriever than Dracula... except when his eyes turned red, or his fangs lengthened when he was turned on… or pissed off. He’d give you looks that said, You’re mine and every time you stretched, lifting your shirt just a little too high, he forgot to breathe.

He was breathing you, tracking the sweetness from your warmest points: your neck (god, that neck), your wrists (where he felt your pulse every damn day).

“Jake, you’re drooling on your keyboard,” you murmured, eyes still on your screen. He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Pff, I’m tracking rebel movements in Gangnam, dumbass.” “Oh, of course,” you smirked, biting your cheek. “Rebels… or are you just obsessed with looking at me like I’m the hottest thing on Earth?” Jake shot you a look—half embarrassed, half hungry. “Anyone else coming in here?” you asked, stretching a leg under the table to brush his knee. He cleared his throat. “Hee’s taking over in an hour.” You nodded, then looked straight into his eyes with a half-innocent, half-hellish smile. “You hungry?” Jake stiffened. His eyes betrayed the desire he was trying to suppress. His fangs sharpened barely. “I thought we were ordering food…” he muttered, trying to stay cool.“We are,” you said, standing. “But that’s not what I meant.” You slowly walked around his chair, then turned it toward you.

Jake stared, jaw tense, barely breathing he ran a hand through his long hair. “What are you doing?” he whispered, already losing composure. “Shhh… stop thinking,” you murmured. You straddled him slowly, confidently. His hands instinctively found your waist and you swore you could feel his heart beating. Which was insane vampires didn’t have a heartbeat. But with you? Jake always felt… human. Almost. Your hands rested lightly on his chest. He looked at your lips, your eyes, your throat that tasted like strawberries and life and sin.

“You’re a damn poison,” he whispered, voice wrecked. You smiled, ruffling his soft hair. Then leaned to his ear. “Then bite me.” His fangs lengthened but he didn’t go for your neck, not this time. His lips met yours, slowly, deeply, hungrily. The kiss tasted like sugar and starvation and when his fang grazed your lower lip, you gasped.

The copper tang of blood, his tongue. His kiss devouring yours. You bit his lip gently. He groaned into your mouth.

“Fucking mine,” he growled, and bit again tasting every drop, your blood warm against his lips. Your hands tangled in his hair, your heart pounding in your chest and for a moment you thought, maybe… maybe I like being tasted. As long as it makes me feel alive.

When you finally pulled away to breathe, his eyes were glowing red. His lips were stained and you asked, low: “Has anyone ever bitten you?” Jake raised an eyebrow. His hands still gripped your hips. His eyes scanned your face, your curves, everything.

“I’m a vampire, baby. I bite. I don’t get bitten.” You pouted, genuinely annoyed. “Not fair.” “Life isn’t.” He pulled you closer. “I want to try.” “Try what, exactly?” His voice was both turned on and intrigued. You leaned in, chest pressed against his, voice hushed like a confession.

“I want to know what it feels like…to leave my mark. Before you leave yours.” Jake blinked, stunned. “You’re insane.” “Maybe. But at least I don’t collect blood bags!”

You smiled before he could reply, you moved against his lap. Slow. Teasing. Deliberate. His groan was low. Rough. Almost a growl. “Shit… you’re a walking temptation.” “And you’re a blood-obsessed mystery.” You leaned in your nose brushing his neck.

He smelled like mint, citrus, and something clean but ancient. You kissed his skin open-mouthed, wet, slow. Jake leaned back in the chair, fingers digging into your hoodie.

“This isn’t the time… or the place… to get me hard, sweetheart.” You giggled, lips grazing his throat. “Relax. I’m just… studying my next victim.” Each kiss left a warm trail on his pale skin. Then, as your mouth latched on gently sucking you felt him groan.

Low. Hoarse. Ferocious. “God… if your fans saw you like this. Riding a vampire. All pink and cute…” You smiled against his skin and sucked harder. Jake tensed, his grip on you tightening. And you? You didn’t stop. You bit him—lightly. Left a mark.

When you looked up, Jake’s eyes were glassy, red-tinged, fangs barely showing beneath parted lips. You were breaking him and he was one second away from snapping.

“You’re… cruel,” he hissed. “No. Just curious.” And you licked the mark you’d made. “You’re teasing me… baby, and we don’t like being teased.” “I’m not teasing you, Jake. I’m just studying your body.” Jake groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “If you keep this up, I swear—if Hee walks in, I don’t care. I’ll bite you. Here. Now and I won’t hold back.”

“And what if I want that?” You said it innocently. Jake lifted his face, red-eyed, panting. Vampire vs man. And you? You sat above him. Queen of his weakness.

“Then say it,” he whispered, showing you his fangs. But instead you slid off him. Returned to your pink laptop. Typing like nothing had happened. You left him there: Hard. Hungry and ruined.

The Olive Young atrium was crowded, with warm lights, low music, the scent of Korean products, and smiles filtered through filters and live streams. You and three other influencers, including Aria, the vampire with the sculpted face and violet lips, were testing the month’s bestselling skincare and fans pressed forward with phones raised and hungry eyes, humans and vampires mixed as if the world wasn’t a dangerous place.

You were laughing, talking with two excited girls in line, and mentioning your favorite serum when Aria suddenly tensed. Not like she had seen something, but like she had smelled it.

“Everything okay?” you asked her under your breath. She shook her head and her pupils had just dilated, she gave a signal to one of the security guards but didn’t have time before a scream tore through the air from the lower floor, followed by two more, and the music stopped.

Aria grabbed your hand with a cold and strong grip.

-Follow me, now,- she ordered. Your body froze and your instinct didn’t tell you to follow her, even though she looked protective she was still a vampire, a powerful vampire who wanted to take you away, far away, and Jake told you that you could never trust vampires 100%, you could only trust him because he knew how to control himself with you and with your blood and so you turned sharply, you didn’t want to follow her and reached into your pocket and called Jake.

“Where are you?!” he answered instantly, his tone sharp.

“Second floor in the skincare section, something happened, there’s screaming and a vampire told me to follow her but I...” you didn’t finish the sentence because he said, “Shit, go down the stairs now and come down, don’t run, just go down the stairs without being afraid and without screaming, nothing will happen to you, baby.”

Your heart was pounding like a drum and you followed his instructions as soon as you saw him at the base of the stairs, dressed in black with cold and alert eyes, you thought nothing could hurt you, but on the second-to-last step, a cold and rough hand yanked you with inhuman strength and your breath caught, you were pushed against the wall and your body hit it with a dull thud. The metallic smell of blood hit you like a punch and in front of you there was a rebel vampire: not like Jake, not like Aria, not like Jake’s friends, he was deformed in the face, feral, and blood was dripping from his hands and mouth and his eyes weren’t seeing: they were craving.

<Your blood… is too precious to be among these… humans,> he growled while pulling you towards him. You didn’t know what to do and you put your arms around your face and screamed, “Jake, I’m here, please…” without knowing who you were saying it to. To him? To Jake? You felt his cold breath on your throat and the pain was coming, you knew you wouldn’t be able to live anymore but then. BOOM.

The skincare display table flew to the side and Jake grabbed it and threw it with all his strength against the rebel vampire the wood smashed into his head and his grip on you released, Jake was growling and his eyes were red, deep, terrifying, and his fangs were visible, his veins pronounced. “Run,” he ordered with a cavernous tone. You were petrified and shook your head but he repeated, “RUN NOW, Y/N!” You ran quickly out of the store and threw yourself into the first café on the ground floor, where other people had taken shelter and you collapsed behind a counter. The vampire police sirens echoed right after and ten minutes later, when you walked out of the atrium, Jake was standing. The rebel vampire was on the ground, his face bloody, his hands tied with silver chains and the guards were loading him into a special vehicle but before getting in, the vampire looked at you. A silent whisper from his torn lips: I’ll find you. Your blood calls me. Jake saw you and heard what the rebel vampire had whispered and ran toward you his hands immediately went to your cheeks and he brought his face close to yours, his eyes still fierce but full of something you had never seen: fear, fear of losing you….

“If he had bitten you, you would’ve never woken up as yourself again,” he said, holding you tightly and you whispered his name, “Jake…” He shook his head, his voice rough. “This isn’t a game anymore. You… you have to be mine, without my bite you’re not protected by anyone and the rebels could sense you even from far away.” he said with a firm look. “Are you saying it to save me or to possess me? I don’t understand anything anymore Jake, all of this is too much…” he took your face in his hands and said, “I can’t separate the two things anymore but tonight you’ll be mine, Y/N.” He kissed your forehead, the most chaste and most threatening kiss you had ever felt from him and you understood that there was nothing more to be done.

The soft glow of violet and blue LED lights hovered along the walls of the apartment—no longer just his. The scent of coconut and vanilla blended with the faint citrusy trace of blood, which Jake could sense even from across the room.

You were sitting on the bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies—pearl gray with a faded logo from some 80s band, legs bare and crossed, scrolling through the news on your laptop. Your face was lit by the screen, a cute pout forming as dark thoughts swirled in your mind, but you weren’t ready to break down yet. Not now.

Jake shut the bathroom door, his hair still damp and messy from the shower, and walked over in silence. With one steady hand, he slowly pushed your laptop lid closed.

“No more reading, troublemaker,” he whispered, voice calm but in that low register, he used when he was being serious. His eyes were dark and deep, and they landed on you like they wanted to read straight through your skin.

“I know it hurts you, but this isn’t how you protect yourself.” You looked at him, annoyed. “A fucking rebel vampire nearly drained me dry today. Excuse me for wanting to understand what the hell is going on. Or should I just wait for someone else to tear me apart like I’m their favorite fucking snack?”

Jake bit the inside of his cheek, and a rare, nervous twitch flickered across his face.

“You’re so damn stubborn I could hate you for it… if you weren’t so fucking mine.”

You turned away from him and curled up under the covers.

“Sure. ‘Yours.’ Just because my blood keeps you alive…”

You felt the mattress shift behind you and his hand settled on your side with a gentleness that threw you off Jake was so physical, always tugging or pulling just to feel your warmth.

“You’re not mine because of the blood.” Then a sigh, because everything had started with you giving it to him.

“Or at least… not only because of that. You’re the most alive thing I’ve ever held in my hands, and I… I’m a disaster with anything alive.”

You turned slowly, a tear staining your cheek—you hadn’t even felt it fall and Jake was right there, eyes red but glassy, his chest bare beneath the unzipped hoodie he wore. He still smelled like you; he’d probably used your shower products again. But nothing beat the scent of your skin, and he never denied it was the best thing in the world.

He looked at you like he was starving, but not just for blood.

“I want to bite you, yeah,” he said quietly, leaning in,

“but I also want to wake up to you cooking weird pink stuff in the kitchen. I want to keep finding your tank tops in my closet and your hair products in my sink. I want you to keep annoying me while I’m coding and to sit in my lap while I try to stop a vampire riot.”

You burst into a laugh—part bitter, part tender.

“That sounds like a love confession… in binary code.”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

He paused, then added more seriously,

“Will you let me try? To take you, to protect you… and to bite you—properly?”

You looked at him.

Your heart was pounding.

Was this the moment? After everything that had happened?

You looked hard at his face—your mind told you not to trust him, that he’d only break you, but your heart… your heart beat only for him.

So you nodded.

And Jake smiled—not his usual sharp, cocky vampire grin, but a small, nervous one, full of something fragile and real.

“Good girl.”

His lips met yours, first slow, as if he were afraid to break you, and your trembling hands caressed his bare shoulders, then slid into his soft, slightly damp hair, and he shivered faintly when your fingers played at the nape of his neck. His tongue sought yours, and you moaned into his mouth, a weak and sweet sound that seemed to ignite a fuse inside him. Jake chuckled against your lips. “You’re already this sensitive… just from kissing?” His hand, cold and precise, slid beneath the hoodie you wore, tracing the curve of your side. “Relax. I’d never hurt you, you know that, right?” “I know,” you whispered. “But it’s all… too new for me.” He kissed the corner of your mouth softly. “I’m not like the other vampires, and I don’t want to be like the other men.” Then the moment swelled with new electricity and he made you raise your arms and, with slowness almost reverence, he pulled the hoodie off you, and when he saw you naked under the room’s dim light, he held his breath and wondered how something so alive, so real, could stand beside someone like him. He had to treat you the way one treats rare blood, not just for its taste, but because you didn’t know it yet but you were his, and maybe, just maybe, he was yours too. “Christ…” he murmured, and his eyes shimmered red. “You’re… you’re perfect, and you don’t even see it, because sometimes you pretend to be full of confidence, but I see it when you pout about your body.” He began to cover you in kisses, slow and warm, on your neck, your shoulders, between your breasts, and his fangs brushed your skin but he held back as if he were building a ritual, not just a gesture. “Jake…” you moaned when his tongue played with your nipple and his teeth grazed it. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he murmured against your skin. “I swear I’d rather die, but I’ll never hurt you.” “Don’t stop,” you gasped at the sensation of his mouth on your body, and in that moment, he realized maybe you were his sin but also his salvation. Jake was starving for you and kept biting and sucking your hardened buds like they were nectar, alternating caresses and kneading your breasts as he laughed softly, that broken, pleased laugh that made your skin tingle.

“Not there…” you whispered with a shaky breath, a restrained moan between your lips as you gripped his hips to pull him closer, Jake looked up, eyes red and hazy with desire and hunger. “Oh no? Then… where do you want me to bite you first, sweetheart?”

You barely opened your eyes, still dazed, and bit your lip in slow, deliberate motion.

“On the neck…” you murmured. He let out a low, amused laugh, almost incredulous.

“Seriously? That basic? I knew you influencers were basic, but I didn’t think this much.”

He pinched your side, teasing, but you shot him a glare that could’ve set him on fire.

“And you? Where would you have done it?” Jake looked down, suddenly darker, and smiled with a hint of shadow.

“Better you don’t know, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, brows furrowed.

“No, Jake. I want to know. Tell me where you want to bite me maybe it’ll be for another time.” That’s when he slid a cold, icy finger down the inside of your bare thigh, and your skin lit up like fire.

“Here,” he said softly. “Here the blood pulses stronger, it’s sweeter… more intimate.”

You blushed and stiffened. “Not a chance!” Jake chuckled. “For now, sweetheart… but one day...it’ll happen.”

He didn’t let you answer. He moved over you again, like a blanket of shadow and desire, and began kissing along the left side of your neck, then lower, beneath your collarbone; every kiss was a damp, warm caress.

“You have skin that speaks, you know that?” he whispered.

“It says ‘take me,’ even when your mouth says ‘wait.’”

And then you felt a small scratch on your neck, and a shiver rushed through your body one of his fangs had lengthened, sharp as a scalpel, perfect.

“W-wait…” you stammered. “Jake… is this… is this happening?”

But he didn’t answer, afraid you’d change your mind, and instead gently cupped your skin and first soothed it with his tongue—and then sank both fangs into you, right beneath your neck.

The scream burst from your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it blurred into one. The scream burst from your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it blurred into one. Your eyes rolled back, your body arched, your hands tangled in his hair, you pulled hard as tears streamed down your cheeks and you thought:

“He’s drinking from me, he’s possessing me, and I… I want it. Even if it scares me, I want it.”

Jake groaned against your skin, blood slipping past his lips.

“Christ, it’s better than I remembered. It’s warm, alive, sweet, and spicy at once. It’s mine, mine, and mine.” Your blood entered his mouth and he savored every second of your nectar on his tongue, and when he swallowed, a low growl rose from deep inside him.

He thought he’d want to feed from you every day but when he finally pulled back, his lips were slick with red, and his eyes locked on you, more human than ever. He looked at you with a hunger that wasn’t just physical there was something more, something he barely dared to admit to himself.

At first, it had all been about your blood. But for the first time in his life, his heart his dead, still heart had started to beat again. Even if faintly, it beat. And only for you.

“I missed you, you know that?” he whispered. “And you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, haven’t you, my little influencer nightmare… Because now…”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“Now you’re my favorite meal. And I never planned on stopping.”

You had been living in Jake’s house for almost three months now, three months in which his world — nocturnal, ancient, layered, and cruel — had slowly merged with yours, full of clothes, makeup, and lights that shifted color depending on a TikTok video, trending audio, and tons of gifts sent by brands.

You still woke up to Instagram collaboration notifications, and half-written RSVP emails for events and shoots, but thetruth was… now you were sleeping in a house where the windows had leaded glass, the doors were sealed with runes, and there was a freezer full of blood with labels like O+ elite and rare A, no coagulation.

Since he had bitten you for the first time, something had changed. Not just inside you — the strange hunger you felt when you looked into his eyes, your skin sparking when he passed close to you, or the constant urge to be near him but others felt it too.

The other vampires now looked at you with suspicion, respect, or… hunger. Because now you were marked. And not just by anyone by Jake.

And Jake wasn’t “just another guy”: he was a young vampire, sure, only 130 years old, but respected, strategic, brilliant, and… dangerously charming. With you, and with every girl around him.

And you, the human influencer, had drawn the line. Because your heart beat louder every time he was near, and you didn’t want to suffer when he’d inevitably leave you like everyone else had... he could bite you, he could protect you, but you weren’t his. Your relationship had… shifted. Now, he didn’t touch you like he used to. He could sense how hard you were trying to act normal, but something was off. You didn’t tease him anymore and didn’t make those sarcastic comments about your blood. And your eyes cold, distant.

You let him bite you, yes. But without smiles. Without jokes. Without surrender. And Jake? Jake was turning into an emotional disaster… with fangs.

In the control room of the underground bunker, between electric cables, overheating servers, and monitors full of thermal maps, three vampires were witnessing the emotional collapse of their immortal friend. Jake sat with his back to them, eyes glued to a screen where he was tracking the movement of a rogue cell but anyone could see his mind was elsewhere.

Jay sighed and tossed a bag of synthetic blood onto the desk.

-Please drink something. Or I swear I’m gonna start thinking you’re dehydrating because of your crush.- Jake ignored him and rolled his eyes, and Heeseung raised an eyebrow and sat on the table right in front of him.

<Come on, bro. It’s obvious. You’ve got that abandoned golden retriever stare. Not very 130-year-old vampire of you.> Sunghoon burst out laughing, closing the laptop in front of him, probably filled with marketing graphs.

-No wait, he’s right. You know that look puppies get when their owner stops paying attention to them? Big glossy eyes, full of devotion? That’s exactly Jake.-

Jake rolled his eyes again. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Jay chuckled. -No, you’re the ridiculous one. You’ve made that girl your primary source… and your greatest weakness. Deadly combo.-

Heeseung pretended to jot something down in an invisible notebook.

'Symptoms of the Golden Retriever Vampire:

– Nocturnal irritability

– Sensitivity to physical distance from the chosen one

– Absence of playful banter from human partner = emotional breakdown

– Gentle biting paired with painfully restrained longing

– Passive-aggressive jealousy toward any male within 5 meters of her.'

Jake slammed his fists onto the table. “I’m not jealous, and she’s not my weakness. It’s just… I’m confused. And she is too.”

Sunghoon stared at him for a moment, his expression suddenly serious.

<You can’t hide behind that anymore, Jake. You drink her blood. You protect her. But she drives you insane and you miss her when she doesn’t talk to you. That’s not confusion. That’s… attachment. Maybe even love.>

Silence fell across the room. Jay’s little daughter, Jenù, looked at Jake, the youngest of the group and offered him her tiny hand, warm compared to Jake’s because she was a half-blood. She didn’t understand the adult talk, but she wanted to be part of it too. Jake kissed her small fingers gently and wrapped his hand around hers.

Then Jay, with a smirk: -So, my friend… how do you plan to survive your only source of nourishment, when someone else is the one making her laugh?- Jake said nothing, jaw tight. Heeseung leaned forward.

'Or worse… what if one day you fail to protect her, and they take her from you? A rogue. Or time. Or even her fear of what you are.'

Jake stood up slowly. “That’s not going to happen.”

Sunghoon looked at him with ancient eyes. <Then maybe it’s time to admit it. To her or yourself.>

Jake knew it. His friends genuinely adored him and wanted the best for him. Jay, Sunghoon, and Heeseung, three vampires with centuries on their backs and a deadly sense of humor had figured it out a long time ago: Jake wasn’t falling into sin… he was falling in love.

And what better way to uncover the mystery of your feelings… than a game?

That afternoon, Jay with his CEO instinct and Cold War strategist brain asked Lira, a vampire with a never-concealed obsession for Jake, to stop by the red room in the bunker and help out.

The room where Jake worked. The same room where he was going to invite you after class. When you crossed the threshold of the bunker, with your backpack slung on your shoulders and your high ponytail swaying, you greeted a few students, two masked vampires, and even a werewolf on security duty. Then came the red door and Heeseung was there to greet you, stirring instant ramen in front of the microwave.

“Oh? You here?” he said with innocent eyes. “Jake didn’t mention anything… what a surprise.” You stared at him for a second and thought Weird. He doesn’t even tell his friends I’m coming by anymore?

He gave a half-smile. “Maybe he wanted to surprise us. It’s been a while since Korea’s most popular influencer stopped by.”

You lowered your gaze. It was true. Things with Jake had been… weird, for quite a while.

“Wanna come in with me?” he offered.

You waited for the ramen to finish heating, then followed him inside.

As the door opened, a laugh his laugh hit you like a punch to the gut. Jake. That bright, joyful laugh you had heard a thousand times… but never aimed at anyone else. The scene looked like something out of a movie. A girl, her back to you: Lira. You knew it instantly. She was laughing with him, and to your horror, she had her hands on his hoodie like she wanted to touch his heart through the fabric.

Jake turned slightly and saw you like he had sensed your presence the moment you stepped in. And for a second, his smile softened and turned… nervous. Even if he was a vampire and couldn’t blush, you swore you saw something blush-like flicker across his face.

You bit your lip and walked in.

“Hi, everyone,” you said, setting your laptop down on the table with more force than necessary a loud, deliberate thud echoed through the room, laced with passive-aggression.

Jay’s little daughter, Jenù, waved at you with her tiny hand, trying to save face and your heart you gave her a strawberry candy, her favorite. She sat happily beside you while you fought to avoid looking in Jake and Lira’s direction.

And yet… every time you lifted your eyes, there they were. Laughing. Whispering things you were dying to know and way too close for your liking.

You shoved your earbuds in and hit play, but your heart was pounding too loud. And everyone knew it.

Sunghoon, amused, winked at Jake. Jake ignored him, but for a second… he looked regretful.

And you?

You thought, Maybe I should’ve gone for someone like Jay. Stable. Mature. Not this loser who doesn’t even know if he wants me or just my blood.

Ten minutes passed. Then you saw Lira touch his hair.

And with a syrupy voice, she said, “Your hair is so soft… I could touch your little strands for hours.”

You stood up abruptly. Heeseung chuckled and you turned to Jake.

“What kind of game is this?”

Jake looked at you for a second, then shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes. “Did you invite me here to study or to watch your groupie put her hands all over your hoodie the one I always wear at your place and let her touch your hair? As if that’s something you let everyone do?”

Lira turned around. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.” She meant the hoodie but you understood something else.

You smiled. “It’s not. Nothing about him is.” Jake turned to you, slightly shaken by your tone but, of course, he played the vampire.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, with that damn beautiful half-smile. You stared at him like you could rip his soul in half, while his idiot friends stifled laughs.

“No. I’m just wondering why you laugh so much with her. Normally, that’s something we do.

When you’re not too busy… biting me. Or ignoring me afterward.”

The silence in the room turned thick.

Jay pretended to check thermal maps, but he turned up the volume just to hear better.

Heeseung muttered a quiet 'uh-oh.'

Sunghoon was already seated with an apple in his hand, enjoying the show like a Netflix drama, with Jenù in his lap.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, visibly awkward, then took that classic golden retriever boy step toward you.

“You’re the one who’s been weird lately. You avoid me. You barely touch me when I bite you. You won’t even look at me.”

“Oh, so now you want cuddles while you suck the life out of me? Do you want me to pet your head while you mark me? Tell you you’re doing a good job?”

You stared at him, frozen. Jake bit his lip and in that second, you understood. He missed you but he didn’t know how to say it and he hated it.

Because he wasn’t just any vampire. He was Jake. The golden retriever is straight from hell and you… you were you.

All thorns and cotton candy, all Instagram and unresolved trauma. With a rare illness and a heart that beat only for him. So you stood, sliding your chair back, and took a step toward him. He looked at you like you were about to slap him.

And in a way… you did.

You leaned toward his ear and whispered: “Go ahead and play your little scenes with Lira. But remember this, vampire…if one day I decide you’re mine, no one will even dare look at you.

Because you’ll always need me…And I might not need you.”

You turned and walked away. Heart racing. And fully aware… that you had just declared war and told him the truth to his face.

When you stepped outside, it was raining, but you didn’t care. The drops stuck to your jeans and slid slowly down your neck, but you kept walking anyway. Your backpack slung over one shoulder, your hood up, eyes locked ahead.

Not toward the apartment you shared with Jake, but toward your real home. The one that smelled like beauty products, the one with too-pink cushions and the latest LED fairy lights.

“You’re pathetic,” you muttered under your breath, not even sure who you were talking to. Him? Yourself?

Maybe you’d been wrong to trust him. Maybe you were falling for him and the thought alone made you sick. You were the one who set the rules.

You were the one who said, “You’re not mine.” And now? One laugh… one stupid vampire grazing his hoodie and you felt shut out by your damn boundaries.

“Whatever. Tomorrow I’m going back to the blood bank,” you grumbled.

“Screw the contract. I’ll take half pay, at least I won’t get bled dry by a golden retriever on command.”

But then you felt it. His hand cold but somehow warm grabbed your wrist like it was the only way to stop you from slipping away.

“Hey,” Jake said, low but firm. “Wait.”

“Stop chasing me like a wet puppy,” you snapped.

“It’s not cute. Not romantic. Not even functional.” He pulled you back slightly and smiled that half-smile bastard expression that knew exactly what it did to you.

“I’d say it’s very functional. I mean, look where you’ve got me. In the rain, with jeans stuck to my thighs. Romantic? Feels like one of those early 2000s movies you always watch.” You glared at him even though he looked annoyingly gorgeous wet hair, and breath heavy from running.

“Go back to your anemic Lira. I’m sure she enjoys wet pants. Her fashion choices seem limited to latex and desperation.” Jake burst out laughing that warm, full, cursed laugh of his and ran a hand through his soaked hair.

“Anemic and no fashion sense... wow, you must  be mad if you’re dragging someone for their outfit, Y/n.”

You scoffed and started walking again.

“You know that’s the way to your old apartment?” he called behind you. “Our place is the other way.”

You spun around.

“There is nothing ours!” Your voice cracked more rage than sadness, more fear than truth and Jake stepped toward you, then another step, until he was inches away.

“So it didn’t bother you,” he said softly. “That someone else touched me. Made me laugh. Breathed the same air that’s usually yours.”

You looked at him, eyes glistening, and shook your head. “No.”

But your gaze dropped. “Say it to my face, baby.”

“No.” Still with your head down, he stepped closer. Just one palm away from your lips, he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers slowly, like he was reading you.

“Your heart’s beating like a war drum,” he whispered.

“And you know I can hear it from miles away. You’re jealous. You were jealous the second I smiled.” You didn’t answer a tear slipped down your cheek. Jake followed it with his eyes and left his hand there.

You bit your lip, trembling, unsure what to say or do. You looked into his eyes those dark, gleaming eyes that had seen a century and a half of history and right now… they were all for you. And without thinking, without saying anything, you kissed him.

You were tired of pretending. Tired of not saying how you felt. So you kissed him first just like that night at the party. Except this time… there was no fear. This time, there was something else between you and him. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you back like he’d been waiting weeks to do it properly. There was hunger in your kiss restrained desire but more than that. Jake had wanted you from the first moment he saw you. Not just your blood, but every rebellious inch of your personality. You, on the other hand, couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. You’d had a thousand people’s attention in your influencer life, but he was different. He was hungry. He was patient. He was darkness that knew you better than you wanted to admit.

As soon as you entered his apartment, Jake pushed you firmly but without brutality against the wall. His eyes, a deep red, glowed like embers behind his foggy glasses. His tongue made its way into your mouth with a fierce yet precise impulse, and you grabbed his hair, making him murmur softly, almost amused, "Always so impatient..." as he tightened his fingers around your waist.

You quickly undressed him, pulling off his rain-damp hoodie, and he did the same with yours, revealing the trembling skin beneath your shirt. He looked at you seriously and said only: "Shower. Now."

You nodded, more with your heart than your head, and let yourself be led to the bathroom. The hot water started to flow, but Jake didn’t seem interested in the temperature; his lips immediately sought the mark of the bite left on your neck, and while kissing you slowly, he whispered against your skin: "I like that you don’t hide it — many girls are ashamed. It’s mine, and you know it."

His hands settled on your breasts, and he asked in a husky voice: "Raise your arms."

You obeyed, and with a precise click, your bra slid off. His eyes clouded with desire and amazement. "Damn... they’re perfect." He grabbed your breasts with his large hands, adoring their softness and shape, teasing them because they were perfect for his big hands. Sometimes he squeezed them, then bent down to suck one nipple slowly. You moaned softly, surprised by how every touch of his was measured yet hungry.

"J-Jake..." you stammered, lost in that whirlpool of pleasure, "I'm trembling... I’m cold," you shivered through your teeth, and he paused for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression, then growled softly: "If I were human, you’d feel warmth — but I’m not. Is the vampire version of me enough? It’s the only real part I can give you."

You nodded and caressed his lips, telling him that for you, just him was enough. So he slowly slid your jeans down, as if every inch less of fabric belonged to him. You, with trembling hands, took off his sweatpants and were left only in your underwear for the first time. You saw him like this: in black boxers, lean and powerful, with that almost mythological beauty only a century-old vampire could have.

"Wow," you said, ironic but with a voice cracked by desire, "not bad for a nerd who spends his days hunting and encrypting rogue vampires."

He smiled boldly: "You better get used to it. You won’t get rid of me that easily."

Jake pulled you into the shower without hesitation. The hot water poured down, contrasting with the black glossy tiles, almost cold to the touch. But you didn’t give him time to take control. You pushed him firmly against the wall, your hands on his wet chest, and rose slightly on your toes — not because you were too short, but because you wanted to dominate him even for a moment, to see him lose control.

You started kissing his neck like that night in the bunker when everything really began, and he murmured softly, with a strangled tone of pleasure and frustration as he felt your warm breath on his pale skin: "You always know where to hit... damn you."

Then he reacted: he pushed you against the warm stream, his hands moving with soap over your body, slow and skillful — but you stopped him with a whisper, brushing his lips with your fingers: "Let me... I want you to feel good."

Your lips moved down his collarbones, then to his abdomen, where the water highlighted every muscle line as if carved from marble. Your warm fingers traced the contours of his abs, while you looked at him with a mischievous smile.

"What are you doing, Jake? Did you sculpt yourself on the computer? You’re literally always sitting there — how do you have such defined abs? Is it my blood making you so beautiful?"

He glanced sideways, holding back a smile, but his eyes grew redder and his fangs protruded slightly, a sign that his hunger — for you, for everything — was growing.

"Don’t provoke me, or there will be no control left." His voice was hoarse, darker, as if something was telling him to take you and make you his. You continued with soft but firm kisses along his belly until you reached his navel, where a thin strip of fine hair drew an elegant, bold line downward. You licked your lips, eyes fixed on his.

"Can I take them off?" you whispered, in a tone that left no room for refusal, and Jake nodded but blushed slightly. "Only if you promise not to look at me like that... or I won’t be responsible for myself."

You slowly slid off his boxers. The steam wrapped your bodies, and when you took them off completely, he revealed himself in all his vulnerable power. You looked at him, surprised and amused, as you saw his cock twitch slightly against his abs, hard with a slightly reddened tip and thick while losing a bit of pearly white slickness.

"Wow... I didn’t think I’d have this effect on you. It’s just me, you know." Jake rolled his eyes with an exasperated but tender smile. "You’re not just anyone, believe me." For a moment, it was like seeing him naked in the truest sense. His wet hair fell over his eyes, the steam caressed his face, and his expression, without barriers — it hit you more than anything else.

You bent down slowly, and that’s when you heard his voice, more fragile than usual, almost pleading: "Baby... don’t do it."

But you didn’t want to listen, maybe because you wanted to see him lose control, or maybe because in that moment you wanted to possess him as much as he wanted to possess you.

Your hands wrapped him slowly, and Jake held his breath as if something inside him was about to explode just from your touch. The warm water poured over his broad shoulders, his tense arms, but he seemed almost unaware of it — it was only the contrast between your warm skin and his that made him tremble.

"You can’t... touch me like that," he murmured, low, deep, broken.

You looked up at him with a barely-there smile on your wet lips.

"No? I thought you liked it." He took a half step back, his back against the dark, cold tiles again, his chest rising and falling visibly with difficulty.

"I like it too much... that’s the problem." Then he added, clenching his jaw: "I’m not made for slow, gentle things... I am hunger. And you’re my greatest temptation."

You leaned in a little more, letting your lips barely brush the hard tip of his desire. He moaned softly, a guttural sound, almost feral.

“Fuck...” he hissed as one hand slid into your wet hair. His length was hard and heavy, and it felt so perfect in your hands. You started moving with more determination, your hands gliding slowly, measuring every reaction coming from his mouth. He closed his eyes, his breath growing more and more uneven. When you bent down again, licking his skin carefully, as if memorizing every inch, you felt him tremble. A quick lick on the tip, and Jake placed a hand on your head, urging you to take him deeper, and you coughed lightly. “Breathe through your nose, baby, I know you can do it, yes, be a good girl for me.” Those words heated you even more.

Your fingers stroked him more boldly, and he moaned louder, lowering his gaze to you as you looked up with the eyes of a fake innocent girl while sucking and taking his cock properly into your mouth and pumping him with your hand at the same time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said in a hoarse voice, “or this will end too soon.”

You took him all at once in your mouth, letting instinct guide your actions even further. You puffed out your cheeks and wrapped your tongue around the veiny underside, your head beginning a slow bobbing motion to accommodate how big he was inside your mouth, and Jake threw his head back, fingers clutching the tiles—the only surface giving him any relief.

You hummed softly at the sight of him so vulnerable and lost only for you, for no one else.

“Shit, baby,” he whispered at the sight of you taking him so well in your mouth and your thighs rubbing together to ease some of your own excitement. Jake’s head was thrown back, his long neck exposed, as he bit his lower lip roughly, but his dark, possessive gaze was fully fixed on you as if you were the center of the entire world—and you had never felt so turned on in your entire life.

“Baby... baby, please...”

“Please what?” you asked, your voice velvety and teasing as you pulled him slightly from your mouth and pumped him with your hand.

He clenched his jaw, trying to stay clear-headed. “I beg you... don’t tempt me like this. Don’t make me lose control.”

But it was too late. Jake rested his forehead against the wall, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other trembling at his side. His hips moved slightly toward you, as if his body betrayed him.

“I’m... I’m about to...” he whispered, almost ashamed.

You continued, with more intensity, mercilessly. When you looked up into his eyes, you saw him bring his hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles to keep from screaming.

“Damn it...” he hissed, his eyes clouded with pure crimson light.

And then he lost all resistance. His body tensed, his breath broke into a sharp moan, and his pleasure exploded—deep, hot—as you welcomed him, your eyes locked on his. For a moment, time seemed to stop: no war, no blackmail, no secrets.

As he spilled into your mouth, you swallowed his warm seed, and the strands of cum coated your neck. He let himself fall back against the wall, exhausted, looking at you as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He whispered, in a faint voice, “You... you’re a damn miracle, and I don’t deserve you at all.”

Jake looked at you as if you were burning alive before him, as if your naked skin was a vision he could never bear for too long without giving in. His hands lifted you, grabbing your thighs and raising you with disarming ease. Your body pressed against the cold wall, in a shock that only intensified the already burning heat between your legs.

Your breaths intertwined with his, and you laughed softly, cheeky, while he stared at you with red, dilated eyes—not just from desire… but from hunger. The hunger he had for you, only for you, from the first moment he saw you in class with those pigtails, that sky-blue Miu Miu cardigan, and that white skirt with those long legs he had dreamed of wrapping around his hips—and maybe that perverted desire was coming true.

Your panties slid off, pulled down with a slow, precise, almost ceremonial gesture, and you stood naked before him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your chest rising quickly, lips parted.

Jake kissed your neck, at first softly, then with growing urgency. His tongue traced hot circles, his lips sucked gently, and every touch was a silent plea. The way he buried his face in your skin made you feel like he was worshipping and devouring you at the same time.

“I want you…” you whispered, breath broken. He stopped and looked into your eyes.

“Me too. But I want to make you feel good. Not just take you.”

His voice was a hoarse whisper, yet there was a tremor beneath it, as if he wanted to hold back, afraid to lose himself too quickly. But you, drunk on his presence, his scent, his body pressed against yours, didn’t want gentleness; you wanted urgency and the need to feel him inside you. Without waiting for a reply, your hand slipped between you, grasping his hot, pulsing shaft again. He was already hard, already throbbing, the skin tight and warm under your fingers.

“You’re already ready…” you hissed. “Already this hard for me.”

Jake let out a deep, guttural growl that vibrated against your chest, and his hips instinctively contracted beneath your touch, as if fighting himself not to explode too soon.

His lips returned to your neck, this time hungrier, and he began to bite you softly but firmly, his canines pressing on your skin without breaking it. He kissed where he’d bitten, licking the mark and sucking your skin as if it were his—because it was, though not fully yet, for you would become his when he slipped between your folds. His damp hair tickled your chest and jaw as he gripped your hips, then grabbed your ass with both hands impatient, possessive. You continued stroking him slowly, your movements a bit sadistic, almost trying to drive him crazy.

“So big…” you whispered, cheekily. “It seems impossible you need all this just to suck a little blood…”

He lifted his gaze, pupils dilated, with wild, shining, pleading eyes that wanted you for himself alone.

“It’s your fault…” he whispered. “It’s your scent, your blood, your skin, the way you areyou’re a curse…”

“Do you want me? Really want me? Not just for the blood.”

Jake stopped to look at you; his lips trembled, he couldn’t speak, but his body said everything. He trembled slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, and his breath grew more and more erratic.

You tightened your grip and teased him more because you wanted to hear him say that you weren’t just a sack of blood in human form to him—but more… “Say you want me. Say you need me—not my blood, but me.”

The moan that escaped him was almost a sob. “Yes… yes… please. I want you, I need to feel you. Inside, to fill you. Let me in… please… let me make you feel good and belong to you.”

You smiled wickedly and without warning, you jumped on him completely—your arms around his neck, your legs tight around his waist, like a koala hungry for skin and pleasure. Jake held you up with an ease that wasn’t human, and his pelvis pressed immediately against you. You felt his cock rubbing slowly against your already wet folds, soaked from minutes of suspended desire.

“So soaked…” he murmured through clenched teeth, lips on yours. “You’re ready for me. I can feel it.”

He rubbed against you, every movement slow, heavy, controlled only in appearance. His glans slid between your intimate lips, finding every fold, every edge that made you shiver.

“Stop… or I’ll dig inside you right now.” he hissed, voice trembling as you continued teasing him.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” you bit his lip gently and saw his pupils dilate. “What if I want you to do it right now?”

Jake clenched his jaw, looking at you as if you were something that both destroyed and rebirthed him.

“Then get ready, because I won’t let you go until you’re screaming my name…” His breath mingled with yours, hot and ragged, his hands gripping your thighs with that ancient yet restrained hunger. The vampire who had studied you from afar for years now held you tight in his arms naked, wet, trembling but not from fear, from desire.

Your hips moved against his instinctively, as the heat of his cock rubbed slowly against your already swollen folds. Your skins slid over each other with a wet, growing sound.

You pulled his hair, tilting his face toward yours. Your lips no longer trembled from the game: they were both prayer and provocation.

“I can’t resist… I want you inside me. Now.”

Jake didn’t speak. But his gaze darkened and with a low, animalistic growl, he let the tip of his shaft slip just inside you, then pulled back. Again, once more maybe punishing you, or savoring every second of your waiting.

“Asshole…” you moaned. “You know you’re about to lose control too. I see it.”

He didn’t deny it... it was true. His red eyes shone with obsession, and he confessed it with a hoarse whisper: “I’ve been watching you for years, couldn’t tear myself away. You’re mine, always have been, always inside me.”

He wrapped you tightly, and your legs closed around his waist as he sank deeper inside you. Every centimeter was a burst of pleasure that made you shudder, and when he brushed the deepest part of your body, a scream escaped your lips. Long, sincere, broken only by the moan that exploded in his throat.

“You’re so tight…” he gasped against your neck.

“And you… so big…” you murmured through clenched teeth, struggling to wrap your arms around his neck.

He stayed there, inside you, motionless for a long second—a suspended moment where it felt like the whole world had stopped. Then your voice came, broken by need: “Please… make me yours, fuck me however you want but don’t stop.”

Jake smiled against your skin with that cruel sweetness only he could wield. Then he slowly pulled back, almost all the way out to drive you crazy, and thrust back in with a force that made you jump. Your body moved against the wall, a fluid, sensual bounce that ignited every nerve.

The rhythm grew fiercer but not rushed measured and carnal at the same time and his hands held you like he could either shatter or protect you, and you felt it, deep in your bones. The tears that ran down your cheeks were of pleasure, but also of opening up, of surrender.

“Your pussy…” he whispered, panting as he plunged deeper. “Takes it so well. You’re made for me.”

You felt his cock sliding perfectly inside your poor pussy, which greedily sucked him every time he slipped deeper. Small moans escaped your mouth, and you screamed his name—not “Jake,” but “Jakey,” as only you called him, as only you could make him lose all control.

And he lost control. He grabbed you with both hands, lifting you higher, tighter against him, while his cock moved inside you with new, desperate force. Pleasure grew darker, deeper, like a current pulling you both along.

“I won’t last…” he murmured, voice broken. “Not like this… you’re too perfect, baby.”

You looked at him, crying and smiling at the same time, “I beg you… make me come… I can’t take it… Jake… I need you…” He thrust deeper, with more force, with more darkness, then lowered a hand and his thumb found your clitoris; he brushed and stroked it in perfect, slow, cruel circles that drove you crazy and made you scream. “So sensitive…” he murmured. “I’m driving you insane, huh? Look how you tremble under my fingers… you’re my personal slut, and you love it.” You were embarrassed by how true it was. “Yes…” you sobbed. “I’m yours… fuck me… make me come, Jake… I beg you…” “I want to feel your pussy squeeze me until I break. Come for me, baby, now.” And you did, your body broke in an orgasm that overwhelmed you like a tide, while he kept thrusting mercilessly inside you. You felt invaded, consumed, worshiped and ruined all at once, your legs trembling, your voice a broken scream. Jake cursed, trembling against you. “So… so tight, again… God. You’re perfect when you’re so vulnerable and so full of me, I want to see you dripping with my seed.” “Yes… yes!” you screamed. “Come inside… fill me… make me yours… I’m on the pill.” You grabbed him by the hair, pulling him to you, and bit the skin under his jaw, marking him, and he growled with an animal sound and thrust even deeper, until the very end, then you felt it. That warm, liquid heat, deep inside, that muffled moan he whispered in your ear: “Damn, you’re too much for someone like me, you’re the ruin of my eternity.” His seed flooded you, warm, vibrating, and you moaned, wrecked, still shaken by the aftermath of the orgasm, while he stayed inside, sniffing your neck as if to calm himself. “Fucking perfect,” he whispered with an exhausted smile. “I’ll never let you go.” And you, still trembling, knew you didn’t want to even try. Jake was still inside you, still merged with your body, still fused with your pleasure, and every little movement of his made your skin pulse. Every breath was shared, you trembled, your legs still wrapped around his hips, and a little whimper escaped your lips. It was too much, and wonderful — it was too wonderful. “I don’t want to leave you…” he whispered in a hoarse voice, burying his face in your damp hair. “Never.” You gently pulled his hair, a soft, tired gesture. “Jake… you’re too much…” He laughed with that dirty and adoring tone that made you melt. “You took all my cock, like the little slut you are… and now you say it’s too much?”

He made you blush even though you didn’t want to, but then, slowly, with a caress more than a movement, he withdrew from you. A warm, whitish thread slid slowly out of you, pulling along viscous, dense strands; you felt empty instantly as it left, empty and tied to him like never before. Jake kissed your hair softly and held you gently, something you never thought a nerdy obsessed vampire would do, and carried you under the warm shower spray. The water started to slide over your sticky, sensitive skin, washing away the marks of pleasure… but not the effect. “You’ve got my bite marks everywhere,” he said softly, running a sponge between your breasts with a teasing slowness. “Well, don’t complain if I want to show them off to everyone,” you replied, pinching his side. He laughed and ended up nibbling your shoulder without breaking the skin. “My little influencer is also vain.” You washed like that: with tender touches, dirty jokes, and fingers that couldn’t stay still. He held you every couple of seconds as if he was afraid you might vanish, kissed your neck, sniffed your blood softly, played with your breasts under the water, and occasionally gave you a smack that made you moan and laugh together. Then, finally, you dried off, he put a big oversized shirt on you, smelling of him, and a pair of boxers that hung adorably loose on you. He stayed in low-slung sweatpants and was bare-chested, his hair still dripping and messy like a boy and dangerous like a legend. You slipped under the sheets, and he gently settled you in his arms. His face buried in your neck, and his fingers traced circles on your back.

The silence was sweet, intimate, and alive, while you stroked his soft hair and wondered why he hadn’t bitten you during the act of your carnal pleasure and asked him… “Jake… why didn’t you bite me while… we were making love?” You felt his body tense for a moment, and he muttered something barely audible. “Because if I bit you… I’d lose control and I love you too much to ruin a first time together that special.” He slowly lifted his face, and his eyes, which moments before were dark and hungry, were now strangely human, moist, shiny, and full of warmth. “It wasn’t just sex for me,” he whispered. “You’re not just a sack of blood, okay? I love your blood, yes, but damn, I also love your laugh. I love watching you put on makeup and get pissed about your events. I love when you insult me and then look for me with your eyes, you’re… everything, you’re too much, and I’m a fucking nerdy vampire with no life, no shame who wants you all for himself and yet…” He brushed his hair awkwardly, looking into your eyes. “I love you.” You stayed silent for a second, two, then chuckled softly, nervous, as if you wanted to break the tension. “Don’t laugh,” he mumbled, trying to get off you. “Come on, fuck-” But you grabbed him by the nape and kissed him hard, sure of all the feelings you’d had for him for a long time, and when you pulled away, you whispered: “Stupid. How could you not understand that… I love you too?” Jake looked at you as if you had just rewritten the laws of his immortality and gave a goofy smile, one of those beautiful, rare, pure ones almost like a human boy with his first crush, and praised you with whispered words, collapsed next to you, and stayed there, his head on your chest. Then you felt something, a little prickling a fang brushing your skin. “Shall we celebrate this confession, sweetheart?” he said, with a hoarse voice full of dark promises. “If you bite me while I’m sleeping, I’ll dig your heart out with a teaspoon,” you warned him. And he laughed but didn’t let you go.

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[wonderlandwalker]

Hell Hath no Fury like a Buckley

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x buckley!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there's exactly two thoughts left in Steve's brain: you, and the fact that he's about to majorly violate the bro code 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the usual I guess, hopeless pining, smut, mostly those, seems the only writing style I have is 'falls desperately deeply in love at first sight' and I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyse it so here's more of that

𝐚/𝐧: was gonna work on this more but I had to commemorate Pope Francis' morbidly entertaining demise somehow x

Steve Harrington was many things—

Former King of Hawkins High (retired, thank you very much). Babysitter extraordinaire (unofficial title, of course, but the kids would back him up). And, according to Robin Buckley—his best friend, partner-in-crime, and personal tormentor—a ‘walking disaster with good hair’.

But right now?

Right now, he was fucking mortified.

Okay.

Wait—

Let’s rewind.

Five minutes ago, life had been simple: Steve had been doing his best impression of a responsible lifeguard, which mostly meant leaning against the chair with his sunglasses perched low, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until his shift ended and he could stop caring about pH levels. The Hawkins community pool was the same as ever— the sharp tang of sunscreen and chlorine in the air, kids cannonballing into the deep end, and Debbie — the one lifeguard who actually gave a shit about the rules— blowing her whistle at some poor kid for running. Steve?

Steve was here for two reasons. One: free access to the pool after hours — unofficial, of course—courtesy of Keith’s lack of managerial oversight.  And two: A pay cheque that barely covers gas money but is still better than listening to his dad rant on to him about ‘loafing around all summer like a goddamn bum.’

And then— 

Then he saw you.

Which, okay, is not that unusual— people come to the pool all the time.  And it wasn’t that you stood out, not really. No, you were just— there. In a swimsuit like half the other girls, a loose cover-up tied around your hips, but fuck— As you stepped into the sunlight, it was like the universe had hit pause. You moved like a struck match in a room full of shadows—vivid, flickering, impossible to look away from. Everybody else blurred at the edges, cardboard cut-outs in your wake, but you? You burnt.

And Steve—God, Steve was already half in love with the way the light would destroy him. He knew the story. Knew how it ended. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to turn around. But you smiled at him, and suddenly he understood: some temptations aren’t meant to be resisted. They’re meant to unravel you, thread by thread, until you’re grateful for the ruin.

Oh, shit.

You were walking straight toward him.

Fuck.

Think, Harrington, think.

You looked familiar. Hawkins isn’t exactly a metropolis—if you’d gone to school here, he’d know you. Had you been at the summer fun fair? Sat behind him in chem sophomore year? Christ, this was bad. Steve—King Steve, who used to have the entire school catalogued in his peripheral vision—couldn’t even scrape together a fucking name. Maybe you were—

Your eyes met his—sharp enough to flay him open—and your smirk said you knew exactly how hard his brain was liquidating.

Double fuck.

You were smiling at him—Christ—that stagnant, astute curve of lips that already felt branded behind his eyelids, and he was staring. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Some distant, rational part of his intellect screamed at him: say something cool. Say something cool. 

Instead, all he could track was the way you tilted your head—that loose strand of hair escaping, catching sunlight like spun gold as it tumbled free. His fingers spasmed at his side with the sudden, visceral urge to reach out—to brush it back behind your ear with a touch too tender for whatever this was. The realisation made him feel violently stupid, like some second-rate rom-com hero about to monologue his feelings in the rain.

"Hey," you said, and your voice wrapped around him like smoke. Steve's pulse stuttered. "Have you seen Robin by any chance?"

The whiplash of it—the casual destruction of that moment—left his cerebrum sputtering like a dying engine.

Robin?

Why the hell were you asking about Robin?

Robin doesn’t have friends he didn’t know about. He is her best friend, which means he knows all her people—the band geeks, the weirdos from the record store, and even that one girl who could recite The Hobbit in Elvish. He’d met them all.

And yet, here you were, asking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you had the right to know her schedule. Like you—

His mouth moved faster than his brain. "She left to grab beers, like...five minutes ago."

"Figures," you hummed, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched—that tell-tale sign of years weathering Robin's particular brand of chaos. "She swore she'd meet me here, but I guess we're operating on Buckley Standard Time again."

Steve's thoughts screeched to a halt.

Buckley Standard Time.

That was—

No. That couldn't be right. Because that was his bit. Well, technically it was their bit — his and Robin’s— the joke he'd made after she'd shown up forty minutes late to their shift because she'd "gotten into a debate about whether hot dogs were sandwiches with some guy at the record store." 

He'd thought that was theirs. Just theirs.

But you knew it.

Which meant—

Oh shit.

Oh, no.

His stomach dropped like he’d just crested the first hill of a rollercoaster—that awful, weightless second before the plunge. Because there were only two kinds of people who knew Buckley Standard Time: him, and someone who’d known Robin longer than he had. And unless you were some kind of psychic super-stalker (which, given the way his heart was currently trying to break through his ribs, he might’ve honestly preferred), that left only one earth-shattering possibility.

His eyes flicked over your face again, searching for it—the resemblance. The same sharp wit tucked into the corner of your smile. The identical nose scrunch when you laughed. Christ, how had he missed it? He’d been too busy being dazzled, too busy cataloguing the way sunlight caught in your eyes, to notice the nuclear bomb of a truth staring him in the face.

“Y-you’re—” Steve cleared his throat, trying to wrestle his voice into something resembling casual indifference. It came out closer to a pubescent seagull. “You’re Robin’s…?”

“Twin.Yeah.” Your grin widened, head tilting in a way that should’ve had a government warning: Caution: May cause permanent heart palpitations.

Holy.

Shit.

He’d heard about you, of course—the mythical other half of Robin’s childhood stories, the shadow in the Polaroids stuffed in her wallet. He’d even known you were coming to town for the summer. But in his mind, he’d just pictured… Robin 2.0. Same chaos, different zip code. But meeting you in person was a different kind of disaster.

Not only were you Robin’s sister—fully, irrevocably off-limits by the Bro Code in every conceivable universe—but he’d just spent the past two minutes mentally drafting embarrassingly bad poetry about how your eyes reminded him of...something poetic (he hadn't gotten that far). 

And Robin?

Robin was going to murder him.

Slowly. Painfully. With that special look of disappointment she reserved exclusively for when he was being “particularly Harrington-ish”.

"Oh," he said, brilliantly. "Cool. That's—cool." The words hung in the air like particularly unimpressive confetti. You raised one eyebrow, clearly savouring the spectacle of smooth talking. Steve Harrington reduced to a floundering mess. "You okay there?"

"Yep. Great. Never better." His grip on the lifeguard chair tightened until the plastic creaked ominously. "Just, uh—didn't know Robin had a sister." Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid—

The moment the words left his mouth, your face twitched—part amusement, part genuine bewilderment. “Really?” For a second he wondered if he should just fucking bolt, but then your smile returned, and he forgot how his lungs worked. "I've been away at college," you explained, shifting your weight just enough to make the hem of your cover-up ride up, and Steve suddenly developed an intense fascination with the chlorine dispenser behind you, his ears burning crimson. "But I'm back for the summer, and Robin promised me pool privileges." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Apparently, you're the guy to sweet-talk for after-hours access."

Sweet-talk.

You wanted to sweet-talk him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His mouth opened, ready to blurt something catastrophically eager like, "You don't even need to sweet-talk me; I'd drain the pool and refill it with champagne if you asked," when—

"There you are!"

Robin materialised like some kind of vengeful angel, arms loaded with a six-pack and a half-eaten bag of chips. "I see you two already met." Her expression cycled from relief at spotting you to instant suspicion as her gaze darted between your amused smile and Steve's deer-in-headlights-meets-fish-out-of-water-meets-man-who-just-remembered-he-left-the-stove-on panic. "Why does Steve look like he's about to pass out?" She asked flatly, already exhausted. "Earth to Harrington. You good?" Robin waved a hand in front of his glazed-over eyes, then shot you a look. "This guy's supposed to save lives? Yeah, right."

Which brings us back to fucking mortified.

Robin doesn’t even wait for you to reach the car, having commandeered you on an urgent towel retrieval mission she absolutely (and suspiciously) couldn’t handle herself. One second Steve's watching you go, the next he's being manhandled behind the snack bar like a misbehaving golden retriever, Robin's fingers digging into his bicep like she’s trying to jump-start his malfunctioning brain through sheer force. "What the fuck is up with you?" She hisses, voice low enough that it bypasses his eardrums and vibrates directly in his panic centre. Her free hand gestures wildly toward the parking lot. "Why are you acting so weird?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat makes a noise like a dial-up modem trying to connect. "I wasn't—" Robin's eyes narrow into lethal slits. "You were." She releases his arm only to jab a finger against his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise. "The moment she walked in, you short-circuited so hard I could smell burning wiring. You called the pool ladder ‘ma’am’. Twice."

Steve’s pulse kicks into overdrive. “What? I was just—being nice.” He gestures vaguely at the pool, as if that explains anything. “I’m a nice guy, Robin. It’s a thing I do.” She scoffs, nostrils flaring. “Harrington, I’ve seen your ‘nice’. This wasn’t ‘nice’. This was—” She makes a frantic explosion motion with her hands, complete with a “pshooo!” sound effect. “—full-system meltdown ‘nice’. You were sweating.”

“It’s July,” he protests weakly.

“You never sweat.”

“I always sweat!”

“You once fought a demodog in a leather jacket and came out dewy at most.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s— that’s not—” But before he can dig his grave any deeper, you reappear, sauntering over with a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. “Everything alright over here?” Robin’s grip on his arm tightens like a warning. “Great!” she chirps, voice suddenly three octaves too high. “Steve was just telling me how thrilled he is to have another Buckley around.”

Steve’s smile is less charming Harrington grin and more man awaiting execution. “Thrilled”, he croaks. “Yep. So. So thrilled.” Your grin widens at his words—slow, studious, dangerous. "Yeah?" You step closer, and Steve's heart launches into an Olympic-grade gymnastics routine—triple backflip, perfect landing, gold medal in catastrophic panic. "Because I was just thinking..." Your finger taps a thoughtful rhythm against your chin. "...about all that quality time we'll be sharing. Robin says you throw legendary parties."

Steve’s brain flatlines. Parties. Together. You. Him. Oh God.

Across from him, Robin’s gaze darts between the two of you, her expression morphing from suspicion to outright dread.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs like it's trying to flee his throat. She knows. Christ, she definitely knows. He has just enough coherent thought left to realise:

He is so spectacularly, catastrophically, irrevocably fucked.

He spends the rest of the week trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here. The universe, it seems, has other plans.

Because you're everywhere—a constant, maddening presence burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a flashlight in the dark. He swears you're doing it on purpose, catching his eye just to watch him fumble, that sly smile playing at the corners of your lips every time his pulse stutters under your gaze. And God, does it stutter.

You’re at the impromptu movie night Nancy throws, wedged between Robin and Eddie on the couch, laughing as you recall some childhood disaster involving a stolen bike, a jar of peanut butter, and—if Robin’s dramatic interruptions are to be believed—a "very pissed-off raccoon with a personal vendetta."

"Way more traumatic than this," you declare, gesturing at the slasher flick on the screen where some poor extra is meeting their gory demise. Steve—who’s stranded in the armchair like some sombre, forgotten puppy—can’t manage to join in. Not when your laughter does things to his pulse that’s sure to send him into cardiac arrest any day now.

But then your knee brushes against Eddie’s as you lean forward to grab a handful of popcorn, and something hot and irrational coils in Steve’s gut. It’s stupid—Eddie’s just a friend, and it’s not like he has any claim over you—but the way your fingers linger near Eddie’s wrist for half a second too long makes Steve’s jaw clench.

Then there's the Hawkins High tailgate, where the lukewarm beer and golden-hour sunlight are the real stars of the show – not the Tigers' tragic losing streak. Steve leans against his BMW, nursing a drink and trying to convince himself that he’s here for school spirit— he’s lying. He’s so fucking obvious about it that Robin’s been giving him that look all afternoon—the one that says, ”I will skin you alive if you make this weird.”

And like his personal reckoning—you appear. One second, he’s staring blankly ahead, and the next, you’re sliding onto the hood of his car like you own it, all long legs and lazy smiles. The dying sun paints your skin in hues of amber and gold, catching on the delicate bend of your collarbone and the smooth plane of your thighs where your cut-off shorts ride up.

Christ.

He wants to map every inch of you with his mouth, starting at the delicate dip of your ankle—that vulnerable hollow where his lips could linger—then leisurely, torturously working his way up. Up the taut line of your calf, tracing the sensitive bend of your knee with his tongue. Higher still, along the trembling skin of your inner thigh, where his teeth might graze just to feel you shiver. An unhurried pilgrimage of worship, every gasp and hitch of your breath another sacred waypoint in his journey.

”Dude, you’re, like, actually drooling.” Dustin’s voice cuts through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Steve chokes on his drink, beer burning his sinuses as he wheezes, ”What? No, I’m not—!” But Dustin just raises his eyebrows, impervious. ”Uh-huh. Sure.” And then Robin’s there. ”So!” she chirps, stealing Steve’s beer right out of his hand. ”Who’s ready to watch our team get slaughtered?” You hum softly in your throat – a vibration Steve feels more than hears – as you tilt your head toward him. The calculated brush of your knee against his thigh burns through the denim between you, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath catches when you don't pull away, your leg warm and insistent against his.

He’s so screwed.

Even as the midday sun is brutal at the Hawkins pool, he barely feels it—not when you’re walking toward his lifeguard chair with that look in your eyes —the mischievous Buckley spark.

You hold up the sunscreen bottle , tilting your head with a smile of practiced innocence. "Can you help me?" Before he can answer, you're already turning—presenting your back to him where the strings of your bikini top form a delicate, infuriating knot. "I can't reach," you add, voice dripping with false helplessness.

Steve's soul nearly leaves him: "I— You—Robin can—" "Robin's allergic to coconut oil," you lie effortlessly, glancing over your shoulder. The sunlight catches the curve of your shoulder blade, the flutter of your lashes. His mouth goes desert-dry. "And you are the lifeguard." You let the implication hang between you like the summer heat. "Isn't it your job to protect me?"

Fuck.

His hands tremble as he squeezes sunscreen onto his palms, the lotion warm from the sun. When his fingers finally make contact with your skin, you hum—soft, satisfied—and he swears you lean into his touch, just slightly. The sound goes straight to his gut, hot and insistent. His thumbs press into the dip of your spine, dragging sluggish circles that have no business being that deliberate. “You missed a spot,” you murmur, shifting just enough that his fingers brush the edge of your bikini tie. Steve’s breath comes ragged. This is torture.

And now? Now the bass from Tina’s stereo thrums through the floor, rattling Steve’s bones like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer, the kind of chaos he usually lives for—except tonight, his entire world has narrowed down to you.

All evening, he’s been trapped in a loop of stolen glances and half-formed hopes, wondering if the way your eyes linger on him means something or if he’s just another fool drunk on wishful thinking. Is this real? Is this worth it? The questions gnaw at him, unanswered, even as he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a clink. And then, as if summoned by his desperation, you’re there. Emerging beside him like smoke, you lean into the wall, your shoulder pressing against his, and suddenly—the music, the crowd, the entire fucking room might as well not exist.

"Trying to hide from me, Harrington?" You taunt, tipping your drink to your lips. The bottle’s rim glistens under the dim light, and your mouth—pink, slow, meticulous—lingers there for a beat too long. It’s a calculated assault on what little composure he has left. His throat goes dry.

“Would it work if I were?” He shoots back, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice is rougher than he intended, betraying the way his pulse jumps under his skin. You laugh, low and keen, before stepping into his space. Your palm lands on his chest, searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Probably not.” You admit, fingers crooking slightly—testing, teasing—and he knows you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart beneath your touch.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in until your breath ghosts his jaw, “Robin talks about you all the time.” 

His breath hitches.

This is dangerous.

Your knee brushes his thigh, prudent and—holy shit—his thoughts dissolve into static. “But she never mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered.” The words curl into his ear, sweet and lethal. He should say something clever, something smooth, but all he can manage is a shaky exhale as your fingers trail up to his collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt. You’re close enough now that he can smell the jasmine of your perfume and the faint tang of gin on your tongue. Your hips tilting, just a fraction, and— “I wonder”, you whisper, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “what else I don’t know yet.”

Before he can respond—before he can even breathe—you’re leaning in, your nose almost brushing his. His hand lifts—to pull you closer? To push you away? —when—

"Oh my God."  

Robin’s voice shatters the moment as she stands there, arms crossed, looking done. “I leave you two alone for five minutes—”

Steve jerks back like he’s been burnt. "Robin! Hey! We were just—"

"—about to make my life a living hell?" 

Steve’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still debating whether to reach for you again, and his gaze flickers to your lips — just for a moment— before he forces a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The gesture does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his throat. “Come on,” he deflects, “We were just talking.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And 'talking' now involves you two looking like you’re about to re-enact Dirty Dancing in the middle of the living room?" Steve can feel your pulse kick where your thigh brushes against his, but you don’t back down. You’re clearly used to these sparring matches with Robin, a rhythm he doesn’t yet know the steps to, and he’s equal parts terrified and intrigued.

"Maybe you should’ve knocked," you shoot back, grinning wider when Robin’s jaw drops and Steve’s composure nosedives like a bird that just noticed the window isn’t open.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." Robin jabs a finger between the two of you like she’s warding off evil. "I refuse to be the third wheel in whatever… this is." She spins toward the kitchen with enough dramatic flair to create wind resistance. "I'm getting another drink," she announces over her shoulder. "Or seven. Alone. Like the abandoned best friend in every fucking rom-com."

Steve takes a half-step forward. "Rob—"

"Save it, Dingus." She pauses, levelling you both with a glare that’s equal parts warning and surrender. "Ground rules," she announces, holding up a finger. "You—" The finger jabs at Steve's chest. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll give you a live demonstration of why The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wasn’t rated PG. Spoiler: It’s the bone saws.” Her finger swings to you, and Steve can practically hear your heartbeat kick into overdrive against his side. "And you—if you give him another existential crisis, I'm telling Mom you're the one who broke Grandma's urn and that you're the reason we had to get the couch steam-cleaned in '82."

Then she’s gone, swallowed by the noise of the party.

The silence between you is thick, charged. Steve exhales, slow and shaky, before turning back to you. The air crackles—Robin’s interruption only fanned the flames, and now it licks at his skin, relentless. His voice comes out rough, just this side of breaking: "She’s never gonna let me live this down." You bite your lip, stepping closer. The scent of your perfume coils around him, dizzying. "Then we might as well give her something real to complain about," you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters when your fingers skate up his throat, nails scraping just barely over his stubble. A whimper claws its way out of him, raw and unbidden. "Christ. You’re killin’ me here." You grin, all teeth. "Good." Your thumb brushes the frantic pulse under his jaw. "We’ve got about twelve minutes until she storms back. Better make ‘em count."

This time, when you lean in, there’s no one to stop you, just the muffled clink of Robin angrily rearranging liquor bottles in the kitchen. Steve finally—fucking finally—learns what you taste like (gin and mint and something addicting), how your lips feel against his (softer than he imagined, but demanding, hungry), and how the dip of your waist fits under his palms like it was made for him. And Christ—the sound you make when he pulls you flush against him, a moan clawing its way up your throat, is enough to unravel him completely.

His brain, stuck on a loading screen for days, finally processes one coherent thought:

Fuck it.

Steve's hand fists in your hair, dragging you closer—Christ, not close enough—until your shared breath turns jagged. Just as he tilts his head to finally taste you properly, you pull back. His stomach plummets like a failed carnival ride. For one gut-twisting second, he's certain he's ruined it—misread the way your body arched against his, all heat and hunger, like you wanted to melt into his skin. Then your fingers lock around his wrist, nails biting just shy of pain, and the look you give him isn't hesitation—it's wildfire. "C'mere," you murmur, already walking down the hallway, tugging him along. Steve doesn't think; his body moves before his mind catches up, pulled by the magnetism of your touch.

The party dissolves into white noise—drowned out by the hammering rhythm of his pulse. Every passive draw of your thumb against his skin is a brand-new dare, burning straight through to his sternum. The hallway diminishes around you, lit only by a sputtering bulb that throws strobe-light shadows across your face. He doesn't miss the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you glance at the bathroom door—or how your grip tightens like you're fighting the urge to sprint the last few steps.

Then you're shoving him inside, all impatient hands and shared momentum. The door clicks shut behind you with finality, sealing you both in the dark. Somewhere outside, a cheer goes up—maybe for the keg stand, maybe for the universe laughing at how thoroughly Steve Harrington is about to lose his goddamn mind.

The space is cramped, the air thick with the odour of soap and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume. The sink digs into his lower back, cold enough to make him hiss—but then your hands are on him, warm and demanding, and he forgets everything else. Forgets the way your thighs had tensed when he licked the salt off his hand before taking a shot. Forgets the way you’d watched his throat bob as he laughed at one of Robin’s jokes. Forgets the way you’d nearly choked on your own tongue when he’d rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen, forearms flexing as he scooped ice into a cup. The party’s bass thrums through the walls, a distant echo beneath the serrated sound of his own breathing and the slick noise of your mouth on his skin. Christ, he hopes the music’s loud enough to drown out the way you whimper when he sucks at your pulse point.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you admit, voice low, and the crude honesty in it makes his throat go dry. Your fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. “All week”, you correct, and suddenly he’s replaying every glance, every brush of contact: the way you’d “tripped” into his side at the pool, how you’d lingered in his space after movie night, your knee pressed to his thigh for a full thirty minutes before Robin kicked you both off her couch. The memory of your breath on his neck when you’d leaned over his shoulder to steal a fry at the diner—had you always smelt this good?

Steve’s hands trail up your waist, thumbs carving possessive lines into that sliver of exposed skin where your shirt’s ridden up. “Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked—drunk on the way your breath hitches, on the way your ribs expand under his palms like you’re already starving for it. “Funny. I thought I was the one losing my damn mind.” You hum—a quiet, perceptive sound—before inching your lips along the column of his throat. He feels the vibration of it like a live wire down his spine, sparking at every vertebra. “Show me,” you murmur against his pulse, and the challenge in it sends his blood south so fast he gets lightheaded. It’s all the permission he needs.

One hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back as he crashes into you. This kiss isn’t like before—no teasing, no hesitation—just heat and teeth and the slick, filthy slide of your tongue against his. He swallows your whimper when his other hand slips under your shirt, palm skimming the bare dip of your waist. Christ. The whimper you let out when his fingers dig into your hip isn’t just sound. It’s a bloody revelation.

Steve knows he’s on borrowed time. Robin’s sharp and observant—she’ll come looking sooner rather than later, and when she does, she’ll take one look at his flushed face and your swollen lips and know. The thought should sober him up, but right now? He doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your nails bite into his shoulders, the way you gasp when he nips your lower lip, and the way your body fits against his like you were carved from the same damn stone. And when you roll your hips against his—slow, deliberate, maddening—his grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognisable when he growls against your mouth: "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time."

The words tear from Steve's throat, rough and wrecked—a confession to his sinful thoughts. The second they hit air, he freezes. Shit.

But you—Christ, you—just beam like you've won the lottery, dragging your teeth over his swollen bottom lip in a way that makes his knees threaten to buckle. "You pictured our first time?" Your voice drips with delight, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in his neck. Heat floods his cheeks, but you don't let him recover. You crash into him, kissing him so hard his back slams against the tiled wall. His hands move on pure instinct—lifting you onto the sink with a grunt, fingers skating up the soft underside of your thighs like he's memorising the map of you. When they dig in, kneading with a hunger that surprises even him, you moan directly into his mouth, and the sound goes straight to his dick.

You moan, and the sound tears something primal from his chest—a growl that rumbles against your lips, vibrating through you. "How about we save your ideal first time for later?" You murmur against him, biting his lip just hard enough to make him jerk against you. Your voice drops to a whisper, all heat and promise: "And focus on fucking my brains out in the next ten minutes?"

Steve's resolve doesn't just shatter—it disintegrates. Any pretence of patience evaporates as his hands find your waist, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that you'll savour tomorrow. His mouth crashes into yours again, but this time he's a man on a mission. He charts your skin like territory to be conquered—the sharp line of your jaw, the salt-slick column of your throat, the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his tongue. When he reaches the swell of your cleavage, you arch into him with a gasp that turns into a whine as his teeth scrape delicate skin. Your fingers are already working at his belt, tugging with impatient urgency.

"Steve—"

"Fuck," he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "You sound even better than I imagined." And Christ, he has imagined this—in the shower, trying to relieve the ache with his hand, in his bed with the sheets tangled around his thighs, in the fucking Family Video break room when you'd leaned too close to reach a tape. Every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of your nails digging into his hips as he shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself. Your hand wraps around him in one smooth motion, and for one blinding second, the world narrows to the slick heat of your fingers, the way your thumb swipes over the head just to watch his abs clench.

If this is heaven, he'll sign his own damn death warrant.

But then—then—you spin him around with surprising strength, dropping to your knees on the bath mat. The cool tile bites into his palms as he braces against the sink, but all he can focus on is the way your breath ghosts over him, the way your eyes lock onto his as your tongue—

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

His vision fractures at the edges, tunnelling until the universe condenses to three points: the wicked curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes against your skin, and the sinful press of your tongue where he needs it most. For one suspended, blasphemous moment, Steve's convinced Robin actually killed him—because there's no earthly way this is real: your mouth sinking onto him like you've been starving for it, hot and wet and perfect, swallowing him down to the hilt with a vibration that travels straight to his fucking spine. The sound you make—a muffled, content hum around him as he hits the back of your throat—sends a full-body shudder through him.

Holy mother of God.

He knows better than to look. He knows he shouldn’t—but he does anyway, helpless as a marionette with its strings cut—

Big mistake.

Because now he's watching, really watching, as your lips stretch obscenely around him, as your throat works to take him deeper. Your eyes lock onto his, crinkled at the corners with vicious amusement as you take him deeper, and shit, suddenly he’s sixteen again, stumbling across his first Playboy, heart racing and palms sweating. Except now it’s your mouth, your knowing gaze scalding him hotter than July asphalt as you savour every choked noise he can’t suppress. He should say something, should at least try to form words, but all his head does is thud back again. That look alone—like you’re cataloguing his every twitch and heave—threatens to spill him into your throat right fucking now. If he doesn’t—

A burst of laughter ricochets down the hall, sudden and too close. Your fingers tighten reflexively around the base of him, nails grazing the sensitive skin there, and Steve’s entire body tenses like a bowstring drawn too tight, but his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, dragging a ragged groan from him.

“Fuck—we have to be quiet,” he rasps, but you just smirk around him, all devilish intent, dragging your tongue along his underside in a measured, filthy stripe that makes his vision blur at the edges. His legs actually cave in; he has to brace a forearm against the wall to stay upright.

It’s agony.

It’s ecstasy.

Then your eyes flutter shut, and the soft, satisfied hum you let out vibrates through him straight to his spine. His fingers fist in your hair—gentle, got to be gentle—but his hips jerk of their own accord, chasing the sinful heat of your mouth like it’s his only chance at salvation. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he chokes, voice shredded. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.” And he means it. Because if this is what you do to him in some shitty bathroom, with Robin and half the party just beyond the door—Then what happens when he gets you alone? His mind whites out, fever-bright with the images: Pinning you against the first available surface—his bed, his car, the fucking kitchen counter—anything to finally take what you’ve been tormenting him with. Peeling you out of your clothes with agonising slowness, just to hear you whine and beg for his name. His mouth on every patch of skin he’s watched you expose all summer—the dip of your collarbone, the inside of your thighs, that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp when he accidentally brushes it. The way you’d clench around him when he finally sinks in, tight and desperate after an eternity of stolen glances. The filth he’d whisper in your ear: “Knew you’d take me so fucking good.”

“Christ,” he grits out, hips stuttering as you swallow him deeper. His knuckles tensing against the sink. “You’re so fucking—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him.

“Hey, dipshits!” Robin’s voice slices through the haze, sharp with accusation. "You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there."

Steve’s head thunks back against the wall. Goddamn it.

His entire body locks up, every muscle pulled taut between the mind-numbing pleasure of your mouth and the very real possibility of Robin kicking the door in. His fingers twist tighter in your hair—not to stop you, never to stop you, but because if he doesn’t anchor to something, he might genuinely combust. The bathroom light flickers overhead, casting shadows against your cheeks as you glance up at him, and—fuck—he’s never seen anything more obscene.

"Shit," he hisses, voice shredded. "Fuck, fuck—" The litany spills from him like a prayer, like a curse, like heresy. You pull off just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick and swollen, and the sight alone nearly undoes him. "We should stop," you murmur—liar, fucking liar—your breath scorching his skin. Your tongue grazes his tip as you speak, and Steve sees actual stars. He groans, low and wounded, but his thumb trails over your bottom lip anyway, smearing spit as he claims the wetness there. "Yeah. Yeah, we—" Another knock, louder this time, rattling the doorframe.

"I swear to God, Harrington," Robin’s voice cuts through the wood, "if you’re defiling my sister in there, I’m replacing your hairspray with Nair."

You pull back just enough to make him ache, and Steve’s breath hisses through his teeth—sharp, frustrated, barely holding back something far filthier. His hands twitch at your waist like he’s debating dragging you right back, but all he does is adjust himself with a rough groan, his jeans straining. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s wildfire in the dark, pupils swallowing every last bit of reason. "This isn’t over." The words scrape out of him like a match strike, sulfur-sharp and spark-ready.

A smirk curls your lips as you stand, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw. The shudder it pulls from him is downright criminal.

"Better not be," you murmur against his skin, your tongue swiping the sting from his skin, sweet as poisoned candy. "Or I’ll finish what you started on my own—and trust me, you’ll lie awake trying and failing to picture it half as vividly as it’ll sound."

Steve’s breath catches. "Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s half-hard, wholly ruined, and absolutely fucked when you step back, looking far too innocent for someone who just had their mouth on—

The door flies open under Robin’s impatient fist. Steve barely has time to yank it wider before she’s glaring up at him, arms crossed. But Steve only has one thought consuming him:

Later.

[pt. II]

[sodaneko]

・❥・yearning iwaizumi, gn!reader, established relationship, brief mention of non-sexual nudity, wc: 611

“hold still,” iwaizumi murmurs, his voice a low grumble. 

his brow is furrowed in concentration, his breath hot against the nape of your neck while he fumbles with the clasp of your necklace. he curses a little under his breath when he doesn’t quite get it right the first few tries. it’s not like he’s nervous, standing this close behind you–he’s had you in a thousand different ways before that–it’s just that your familiar scent is making him lose focus on the task at hand. the smell of your shampoo, a spritz of your favorite perfume (it’s his favorite, too) and something so uniquely you, it’s engraved into his memory. 

the mirror is still a little fogged up from his shower but you’re still watching him through it, an amused gleam in your gaze. he knows exactly what you’re thinking and he lets out a low huff, his lips curling into a small grin. 

“you simply love to see me suffer,” he scoffs but there’s no malice in his voice, only pure devotion. 

“only a little.”

iwaizumi leans forward, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck and your shoulder, not missing the way your breath hitches. water drips on your bare skin from his still damp hair but you don’t protest, only tilting your head to the side to grant him better access. the clasp of the necklace closes with a small click and iwaizumi’s arm wraps around you. his hand, big and a bit calloused, now rests against your throat, your pulse point a steady throbbing underneath his fingertips. thick fingers draw slow, gentle patterns against your skin. 

his other hand finds your hip, pulling you a little closer. your form melts so effortlessly against him, sweet like molasses, as if he carved out part of his being to make room for you, room for your heart beating his name in morse code.

his sharp canines drag over your skin, leaving a faint red trail behind, charming out one of these sweet sounds you make for no one but him. it’s a silent declaration of adoration, not possession–he doesn’t own you, but he can’t deny that a part of him wants to leave a mark on you, something for his and your eyes only. maybe a quiet plea to let him give in to this all-consuming feeling rattling in his chest. it runs deeper than love; it devours him, forcing him to his knees. 

if he had to, he’d spend his whole life spelling out his feelings for you. with his lips against the nape of your neck, and his fingers tracing down your spine, and his gaze so fiery it makes you feel like drowning. 

if he had to–but you already know, arching into his touch, and iwaizumi lets out a soft sigh, coaxing you to tilt your head back. his lips find your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses from there to the soft spot behind your ear while his fingertips brush against the necklace resting against your collarbone. he can feel you smile and lets out a quiet, hoarse laugh when your hand slides over his, tapping his ring finger in a silent but playful question.

“impatient, aren’t we?” he mutters as he leaves a few open-mouthed kisses against your neck, his hand now wrapping around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles in a soothing manner. there’s a small velvet box sitting in the drawer of his nightstand, but for now he’s not quite done with kissing you just yet, not until he pushes you up against the bathroom counter with your hands tangled in his hair, vows sweet like honey dripping from your lips.

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“My little love,Mama’s got a lot to learn.”

Batboys x single mum reader

My little love by Adele makes me cry every time now that i have kid.Because what if im doing this all wrong.Buttt enjoy!

Bruce Wayne

• At first, Bruce is hesitant — not about you, but about whether he could be a good father figure for your child.

• Once he commits, he commits. He’s suddenly funding your child’s education, upgrading their stroller to a literal tank and reading parenting books at 3AM.

• Surprisingly good at bedtime stories — his deep voice makes fairy tales sound like epic adventures.

• He sometimes slips and calls your kid “ours.” You pretend not to notice, but your heart definitely does.

⸻

Dick Grayson

• Dick loves kids — he’s the type to immediately crouch down to their level and ask their name.

• He’s the fun “stepdad” type — trampoline parks, baking cookies (he burns them), and choreographed dance parties.

• Teaches your kid acrobatics and ends up making them his little sidekick-in-training.

• Loves you fiercely and constantly reassures you that you’re not in this alone anymore.

⸻

Jason Todd

• Jason is surprisingly protective — he softens a lot around your child, even if he still gives off a rough exterior to the world.

• Reads your kid classic literature and gritty detective novels — he says they need “culture,” but he skips the violent parts.

• Carries juice boxes in his jacket like he’s carrying ammo. Snacks on one side, weapons on the other.

• He never talks about being a good role model, but shows up for every school event and parent-teacher conference without fail.

⸻

Tim Drake

• Tim overthinks everything — he googled “how to bond with children” the minute he found out you were a single mum.

• Gets overwhelmed at first but eventually becomes your kid’s favorite nerdy uncle-type. Teaches them coding, chess, and gives them supervised access to the Batcomputer.

• Sleep-deprived bonding moments — your child once woke up from a nightmare and found Tim already awake researching ways to help.

• You once caught them both asleep in front of a monitor, drooling onto a pile of LEGOs and snack wrappers.

Damian Wayne (Angsty Edition)

• When you first meet, Damian is distant. He’s polite — in that blunt, vaguely condescending way — but he keeps emotional distance from both you and your child.

• It’s not personal. He’s terrified of failing. Of becoming like his mother. Of inheriting the worst of both legacies and ruining a child that isn’t even his.

• He watches from the sidelines — his expression unreadable as your child laughs, clutches your hand, calls out to him with easy affection. Something tightens in his chest every time.

• One day, your child gets hurt. Not seriously — just a scraped knee, a tumble. But Damian’s reaction is instant and furious — with himself. He cradles them gently, whispering in Arabic, not realizing he’s shaking.

• He tries to push you away afterward. “They deserve someone better,” he says. “You both do.”

• But your child draws him a picture of “Dami, Mum, and me.” It’s crudely drawn — your child has given him a sword and a heart.

• He keeps the drawing folded in his wallet. No one knows it’s there.

• Damian doesn’t say “I love you” easily — but he shows it in quiet acts. Fixing your child’s broken toy with surgical precision. Standing watch outside their door during storms. Holding you in the quiet moments and asking, “Are you sure you want this? Me?”

• He eventually starts calling your child “my son” or “my daughter.” Quietly. Fiercely. As if daring the world to question it.

[zykamiliah]

people who think lbh ever had a crush on sj when he was literally 10 YEARS OLD (or younger!!!) do not understand him. i do not trust you with his character.

that child wanted someone TO TAKE CARE OF HIM!!!! that he was starstruck by shen jiu's immortal appearance, by that otherworldly immortal CHOOSING HIM!!!!! (this is the important bit!) doesn't mean he "had a crush". please. don't cheapen lbh's complexity like that. he thought he was getting a shifu, a shizun, a father figure. and that hope got completely obliterated the same day, and over and over with each pacing day, as the years went by.

"You were supposed to love me because you choose me" it's SOOOO daddy issues coded, c'mon.

do you know how many things SY!SQQ had to do to WIN Binghe over????? let me make you a list of the many times SY!SQQ was kind and the effect it had on Binghe:

--Giving Binghe medicine to treat his wounds (that didn't win Binghe's heart, it make him wary of this new development)

--Making Binghe ride with him on the carriage AND smiling at him (that didn't win Binghe's heart, but it made him go doki doki)

--When the OOC lock unfroze, promising that he would protect BInghe from the on (that didn't win Binghe's heart, but it did soften him and made him believe in SQQ, since the words were backed by his actions against the Skinner demon in order to save LBH and NYY)

--Giving Binghe a new cultivation manual ((that didn't win Binghe's heart, but "SHIZUN GAVE THIS TO ME!" For someone who doesn't have anything, being gifted something so precious was really meaningful)

--At the demon invasion, VERBALLY and OPENLY stating that he was 1000% sure Binghe would win. (that didn't win Binghe's heart-- no no, wait, this is it. This is truly the start of it all, because SQQ BELIEVED IN HIM. Listen. Listen. That level of blind faith was something that REWIRED Binghe's brain. He had NO ONE to believe in him until then!)

--When SQQ got poisoned by Without a Cure to protect Binghe, at the cost of his own life (BANG!!!!!! HERE WE GO!! The beginning of the congee making saga!! )

--Protecting Binghe FROM HIMSELF in the dream realm

--Treating him as the specialest boy in the world for almost 3 years

it's VERY IMPORTANT to understand that what won Binghe's love was Shen Qingqiu's UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: the willingness to put himself in harm's way to protect Binghe, give Binghe what he needs (a proper place to sleep, attention, encouragement, lessons, access to knowledge, etc), caring for Binghe in any way necessary, taking REVENGE on Binghe's name to punish his bullies; and the decisiveness with which he did all that, the fact that Shen Qingqiu never ever truly regrets sacrificing himself for and loving Binghe.

and with all that in one side, Binghe decided to RECIPROCATE. because that's just how he loves, and what he felt SQQ's love for him deserved in turn.

it was never "woah pretty immortal 😳"

now, after everything i've said, do you actually think that someone like Shen Jiu would EVER qualify for the esteemed position of "Binghe's loved one"?

pd: well, the sexual attraction does mean he actually went "pretty immortal 😳" at some point, but it's not like that would be enough for binghe lol the unconditional love made the attraction stronger. if the novel hadn't gone that route, sqq would have been just binghe's sexual awakening

[dailynnt]

──── A QUARREL, ALCOHOL AND YOU...

𓏭 Summary: You furious. The fight at the party still reverberates in your head, but instead of forgetting about him, you stands at his door at five in the morning, drunk, stubborn, and still hurt.

𓏭 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𓏭 Age restrictions: 18+

𓏭 Size: one shot

𓏭 Tags: from friends to lovers, sex, unprotected sex, sex while drunk, swearing, sexual tension, detailed description of intimate scenes

𓏭 From author: Don't blame me for writing about it again 🤭 I don't know what you should do with me, but I adore the theme of friends/lovers and just couldn't resist writing something about it again. I described Jungkook here as always cocky and persistent because ....ummm I love this kind of Jungkook 😌😃 I hope you like this story 👉🏻👈🏻 If you don't, just pass by 🙏🏻

Your mind is foggy. You don't know how you ended up here. When the taxi driver asked where to take you, you told him the address of his apartment. You get out of the car and smell the warm smell of a summer morning. You bang the car door and take a deep breath. "How annoying," you think. You hear the sound of the engine and the black Hyundai drives away.

You stagger to the entrance. Your steps were determined, if a little shaky, as you approached the familiar house. Your fingers nervously clutched the phone, but you weren't going to call him. He wasn't expecting you anyway.

It's almost five in the morning, and he's long since left the party you two were at. However, you didn't know when exactly he did it. You had a fight and you were one hundred percent sure it was all his fault. He could be surprised to see you. And he certainly won't expect see you right now to be drunk.

You've come to tell him what a rare asshole he is, even though he's your best friend.

The glass doors of the entrance slammed shut on some man who stepped outside, but you didn't even slow down, just pulled out your phone and quickly dialed the access code. A short beep, a click, and the door opened smoothly. The guard on the ground floor didn't pay you any attention. He had seen you here many times, leaving in the morning or staying late. You were best friends and you were a frequent guest in his apartment.

The elevator took you to the right floor. The metal booth reflected your reflection - slightly disheveled hair, a blush from drinking alcohol, a twinkle in your eye. You didn't even try to hide your emotions.

You reached apartment number 130 and knocked on the door, desperately and demandingly. You leaned on the wall near the front door with your hand to steady your relaxed body.

You don't know how long it took before his apartment door opened. You looked up. Your friend was standing on the threshold, shirtless in just shorts, looking at you in surprise. You slowly ran your eyes over his figure and smiled slightly. You paid attention to the tattoo that covered his right arm. He was hot as hell with that tattoo and perfect abs.

"Didn’t sleep, asshole?" - You asked cheekily. Jungkook tilted his head and hummed softly. He looked down at you, and his eyes showed a familiar irritation mixed with hidden amusement.

"You had a great time, I see." - His voice was low, hoarse from sleep. He crossed his arms over his chest, and you involuntarily ran your eyes down his torso again, a little longer than you should have.

"It's none of your business." - You pushed off the doorjamb and took a step forward, unsteadily. Jungkook effortlessly caught your elbow, stabilizing you.

"Yeah, not mine." - He raised one eyebrow. "It's just my drunken friend standing on my doorstep at five in the morning, calling me names for no reason." - He said, still holding you, his touch soft on your skin. You were wearing a light summer dress with straps, his favorite black color. You abruptly pulled your hand away and, taking a deep breath, straightened up again.

"Not without reason. I came to tell you that you're a real brat. I thought you were my friend, but you're an asshole..." - Your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol you'd drunk.

"Really?" - His lips stretched into a smile. "And you had to skip a few cocktails to come at such a time and say it?" - You rolled your eyes, but he stepped aside, letting you inside. "Come on in before the neighbors decide to call security." - He said. You walked proudly past him, bumping him with your shoulder. The apartment smelled like him - citrus, light notes of expensive perfume, and something cozy, homey.

Jungkook closed the door and turned to you, his gaze a little more serious.

"You didn't come to talk about the same thing again, did you?" - Jungkook asked, alluding to the fight that happened between the two of you at the party you went together. You were angry with your friend for dumping you for some girl, even though he supposedly came with you to that fucking party. You turned to him sharply.

"That's right, Jeon. We didn't finish talking because you ran off right away. I honestly didn't know you were such a sensitive soul." - You said sarcastically. "Anyway, you were acting like a complete idiot!"

He frowned and hummed in confusion.

"A sensitive soul? Are you talking about me right now? You were the one who started this fight." - Your friend reminded you, approaching you. You ignored his irritated tone.

"You came with me to that damn party. Do you think you had the right to sit with that slut?" - You ask, your tongue almost tangled. You're a little unsteady. His lips stretch into an amused smile.

"Wait..." - He took a step toward you. "Are you jealous?"

You clenched your fists, feeling the heat of his proximity.

"What jealousy Kook?" - You shouted, waving your hand in front of his face. "You dumped me, it's obvious I'm angry. You know I'm only went to this fucking party because you dragged me there."

Jungkook couldn't stop laughing. His laughter made you even angrier.

"Are you serious?!" - You took a step toward him, jabbing your finger at his bare chest. "This makes you laugh?!" - Jungkook caught your hand, and his fingers closed around your wrist in a hot fist. He was still smiling, but his eyes were getting darker by the second.

"You amuse me." - His voice dropped a tone lower. You jerked hand, but he didn't let go. On the contrary, he pulled you even closer, forcing your conversation to become too intimate.

"I dragged you there so you could have fun and take a break from your hard work... But if so, you should have told me right away that you wanted me for yourself." - You became almost sober in the moment. Jungkook was standing close and you didn't think that your conversation could come to this.

"What?!" - You stared at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

"Well, how could it not?" - Jungkook leaned in, his lips almost touching your cheekbone. "I'm not supposed to sit with other girls because my friend is jealous? Is that how you explain your claims and this ridiculous fight at the party?"

"I wasn't jealous, you left me alone, it made me angry..." - You're trying to justify yourself, or rather you're trying to prove him your right, but he seems to see the situation the way he wants to see it.

"Do you even believe what you're saying?" - He asks. His voice has gone even lower. He has you pinned between his body and the wall in the hallway leading to the living room of his apartment. There was something dangerous in his eyes. "Because right now you look like a girl who was definitely jealous."

You held your breath as his fingers slowly slid along your shoulder, lightly touching your bare skin.

"What are you doing? Jungkook, get away from me." - You wanted your voice to sound firm, but it trembled.

"I don't want to." - His lips slid down, his warm breath brushing against your neck. "For that matter, I'm curious about what happens next." - His touch was driving you crazy. A hot wave ran through your body, and your breath hitched.

"You're taking advantage of me being drunk!" - You tried to shame him. But he probably was drinking too, because he drank at that party. You didn't expect that when you went to your friend to settle things, he would start hitting on you.

"Isn't that what you came for?" - His breath left hot marks on your body. No, that's not why you came. Or...? You held your breath as you felt his arm slide around your waist, making your heart beat faster. Jungkook leaned even closer, so that your breath mingled with his. His lips slid lower, leaving a hot trail on your neck. He didn't kiss you or anything, you felt him slowly inhale your scent.

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to keep your distance, but he was unyielding. His fingers tightened around your waist, pressing your body closer.

"I came here to fight with you, not..." - You couldn't continue because you heard his voice next to your ear.

"Not what?" - He whispered next to your ear and then lightly bit your earlobe. You sucked in a shaky breath.

"Jungkook..." - You called out to him. Either to stop him or to ask him to continue.

"Shh..." - His hand gently brushed the curve of your back. "This is what you want. So don't pretend you don't like it."

You knew you had to break free, to tell him that this was wrong, that he was crossing the line. That you were friends and he shouldn't touch you like that. But your body didn't listen. His touch burned you, left you defenseless.

His lips finally found yours. You thought it was a dream. A dream you've had a thousand times. But his lips were real.

At first he kissed you teasingly, slowly, as if giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn't. So he broke in more greedily, deeper, forcing your fingers to clutch his skin. The piercing on his lip felt good as he deepened the kiss. His tongue entered your mouth because you easily let it happen. His naked torso pressed against you. His hand had already slipped under the hem of your light summer dress and squeezed your flesh on your buttocks.

"That's why you were angry..." - He murmured against your lips, barely pulling away. "Because you wanted me to be with you." His fingers slid over your shoulder, pushing the strap of your dress down. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll stop." - His voice was husky, full of dark desire. You opened your lips, trying to answer him, but instead of words, only a heavy exhalation came out. Jungkook smiled. "That's what I thought."

Jungkook leaned in again, his lips pressing against your neck, leaving wet marks. His breathing was heavy, almost lighting a fire in your body. He ran a long, wet streak across your skin as if savoring it.

"A little uncomfortable for what I want to do." - He muttered as he gently picked you up by your hips. You let out a small cry. You barely managed to grab onto his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms. His strength had always amazed you, but now it seemed even more palpable as his fingers held you steady, as if you weighed nothing.

"Kook!" - You gasped as he easily pushed off the wall and carried you deeper into the apartment.

"Don't be afraid, I won't drop you." - He assures you, but you are not afraid. You trust him, as you have hundreds of times before. You just didn't expect this.

He walked into the living room, confidently, never taking his dark gaze off you. His eyes were burning, but there was still that playful spark in them that you knew.

"You're so..." - You muttered, not taking your eyes off of him. You couldn't see where he was taking you.

"Like what?" - He asked, sitting down on the couch and putting you on his lap.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The distance between you was tiny. His hands held you tightly, one on your back and the other on your hip. You felt his every move, his every breath.

"Unbearable." - You said. He laughed softly and ran his fingers along your naked back, making you shudder.

"But you like it, don't you?" - His voice sounded deeper, with undisguised playfulness. You didn't answer, because the next moment his lips were on yours again, hot and demanding, making you forget everything.

Jungkook pressed your body closer to him, his fingers biting into your skin, leaving a hot trail. His lips moved boldly over yours, he took his time, savoring every touch, making your heart beat even faster.

"You taste so sweet..." - He murmured, moving to your jaw and then down to the sensitive spot on your neck.

You felt his palms slide slowly down your back, lifting the fabric of your dress. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively squeezed his shoulders, feeling the hot skin beneath your fingers.

"We can't do this..." - You said, breathing heavily. Your voice was trembling. You weren't supposed to do this because you were... friends?

"Shh..." - He hissed against your lips. He brushed the tip of his nose lightly across your cheekbone. "I want to savor this moment." - Jungkook has discovered that you're not wearing a bra and he smiles with satisfaction. He moves away and removes his hands from under your dress. His fingers catch the thin straps and pull them down. He pulls your dress down and it comes together on your stomach. Your breasts are exposed.

He wastes no time in taking one of your tits in his hands and squeezing it, and you instantly feel aroused. He bends down and you feel his wet tongue on your excited nipple. He tastes it, sucks it, plays with it. You moan softly. There is a pleasant pain in your lower abdomen that can only be stopped by creating some friction. Your thong is bunched up and the moisture between your legs seems to be leaking onto his black shorts.

When Jungkook slides his hand between your bodies and finds your clit, you tremble in his lap. He starts massaging it while sucking on your nipple.

Suddenly, he stops sucking your nipple, but he doesn't leave your needy clit. You can't stop shivering from the feel of his fingers. Jungkook stimulates your sensitive center until you come on his fingers. You squeeze his flesh on his strong shoulders, moaning against his face.

He withdraws his finger and leans back, pressing your hips with his hands even tighter against him, and then tilts his head relaxedly, watching you.

"I'm your friend... Why are you trembling in my arms?" - He asked. His words burned you and made you close your eyes.

"Because you're not acting like a friend." - You breathe out, swallowing the lump in your throat and still feeling the orgasm he caused with his fingers.

"Maybe you want to stop?" - Jungkook ask. His palms slowly slid down your thighs, and his fingers gently but firmly squeezed your skin. He looked up, looking you straight in the eyes, and his dark pupils reflected the same fire that was now burning in you. Obviously, you can't stop, not now. So you keep quiet, just enjoy what's happening.

He thrusts his hips and you hold your breath, only now realizing how hard he is. His bulge presses against your wet pussy. You inhale and start riding his hips yourself. The feeling of friction is good. Jungkook looks absolutely lustfully at his friend, who is shamelessly riding on his lap, trying to have a second orgasm.

You dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Does that feel good, sweetie?" - He asks, admiring your expression. Your eyes are closed. Your eyebrows are furrowed in bliss and your hair is standing on end. Your hair is disheveled and you're so fucking sexy.

"Yes..." - You say confidently, feeling like you're on the verge. You're about to come for the second time today. You jump on his lap, bringing yourself to orgasm. Your clit twitches and bliss covers you with a new wave of sweet bliss. You let out a louder moan and Jungkook's cock twitches at your sounds.

You stop and breathe heavily. You open your eyes and see Jungkook's gaze filled with unbridled desire. You suddenly panic, realizing that you just came just riding his hard bulge. But Jungkook seems to see this and instantly pulls you in for a kiss. His hand is on your neck, squeezing so that you don't have a chance to pull away. But you didn't even want to.

Jungkook puts you down on the couch and hovers over you. He kisses your neck. Your breathing is ragged and you feel like you're getting wet again, harder and more.

"I want to fuck you." - He says his desire into your lips. You open your eyes and see him so close. "You'll let me?" - He asks, and he sounds innocent. You want to swallow your saliva, but your throat is dry. You let him, because you want that he to do it.

"Yes." - You say shortly but confidently, squeezing his skin a little with excitement. Jungkook smiles with satisfaction.

"Yes? Do you thought well about it?" - Jungkook asks another question, which throws you into a stupor. His eyes are dark, and his smile becomes cocky. He deliberately doesn't look away, as if he's studying you, catching every little change in your expression. "If you say yes now... there will be no turning back."

Your heart beats faster. He says this in such a playful yet dangerous tone that you feel a mix of excitement and impatience.

"You think I don't realize that?" - Your voice sounds confident, but he seems to hear a slight tremor. Jungkook leans closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"I just want you to be sure..." - He runs his nose along your jaw and then, with a sly smile, bites the skin somewhere between your jaw and neck. "Because once I start..." - He pauses deliberately, his breath mingling with yours. "I won't be able to stop."

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling his voice burn your skin.

"And who says I want you to stop?" - You ask even more confidently. You wanted him to fuck you as soon as this game between you started. Jungkook laughs softly before his lips cover yours in a passionate, deep kiss. His tongue takes over yours and sets the pace for your kiss.

Jungkook suggests that you move to his bedroom for more comfort, and you don't mind. Not even a minute later, you're already kissing as you move to his bedroom. When you reach the bed, he gently puts you down and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs so that he can fit comfortably between them.

When he has enjoyed your plump lips enough, he starts to undress you. He doesn't like any of your clothes. So it takes less than twenty seconds for you to lie completely naked in front of your friend. Your breasts rise and fall quickly. Goosebumps cover your body and you know for sure that they are not from the summer chill of the morning that comes in through the open window in his bedroom. They are provoked by Jungkook's touch.

He runs his fingers over your body, drawing patterns that only he can understand. He lingers a few seconds longer at your nipples. He pinches one of them, making you hiss in pain.

"Fuck, I've imagined this picture so many times, but who knew you were so fucking hot in real life?" - Jungkook asks, and you don't know if this question is addressed to you. He glances at your wet pussy and the next moment his fingers are on it.

He gently runs his fingers over your clit and you tremble again. And then his fingers plunge into your passage. You want to squeeze your legs together to endure the sensation, but Jungkook's other hand is spreading your legs. You grab the sheets and dig your nails into the fabric.

"So wet, so tight... I need to fill you up soon, baby." - Jungkook says, and you let out a barely audible moan in agreement with his words. You can't wait.

When Jungkook decides you're stretched out enough, he gets off the bed and quickly pulls off his shorts, which he wasn't wearing underwear under. Only now, looking at his aroused cock, do you realize that it felt so good through the fabric of his shorts because he was wearing nothing else.

Jungkook hurries over to you. You can see his hard cock. It bounces as Jungkook moves toward you.

You wriggle with anticipation as he takes your legs and drapes them over his shoulders, settling in close to his entrance. He smears your wetness with his fingers, and then rolls his cock with his hand and places it against your entrance.

Jungkook presses against your passage and slowly plunges in. When the head of his cock reaches the place where the hymen used to be, you scream softly, squeezing his biceps harder. He stops to look at your face. Jungkook leans in and you feel his lips on yours.

He kisses you, a little hastily but gently. You feel him twitch, and after a moment, your friend continues to sink into you. He continues to kiss you, as if to distract you from penetration. His size hurts you, but when he reaches the end, he parted your lips and you both exhale blissfully.

"That feels good, doesn't it, baby?" - He asks against your lips.

"Hell…yeah." - You assure him. Jungkook gives a gentle thrust with his hips and you can't help but think about how wonderful he is filling you with his cock. You squeeze his biceps to ease the pain that's still a little present. But with each new thrust of Jungkook's hips, you realize that the pain is disappearing, giving way to only pleasant pleasure.

Jungkook fucks you slowly, deeply. You enjoy the friction he creates, your eyes are closed and moans escape your lips. You can hear your bodies hitting each other, and it feels so natural, like you're having sex all the time, not for the first time.

Jungkook stops and you open your eyes. He's smiling, and you don't know why he's doing it.

Jungkook leans in closer, sliding his nose along your cheek before pressing his lips to your ear.

"What?" - You ask, feeling him stiffen inside you, and his smile seemingly widen.

"Just... I feel like I'm setting a new record. I've never seen you like this..."

"Like what?" - You squeeze his skin a little harder, suspecting he's about to do something.

"Like this..." - He pauses, pretending to search for a word. "Pleased with my, um, talent."

You snort, trying to stifle a laugh, but he immediately gives you a short but deep thrust, making you forget what it was that made you laugh so hard.

"Jungkook!" - You hiss, and he cheekily kisses you on the lips.

"Tell me, what's my grade? Ten out of ten?" - He moves again, driving his cock deeper into you. You can't answer even if you wanted to. All you do is moan and dig your nails into his skin on your back. Jungkook presses his body against you, pulling your legs up under his press before doing so. He whispers right into your lips.

"You're holding me like you're afraid I'm going to run away." - He says in a low voice. You roll your eyes, finding the strength to speak, but stutter a little with pleasure.

"Maybe I am. What if you decide to go get a drink of water and don't come back?" - You say your opinion. Jungkook stops and you look at his eyes.

He laughs hoarsely, grabs you tightly by the hips, and without taking his hands off you, rolls you over so that you are now on top.

"I'm definitely not going anywhere. How can I leave this juicy, tight pussy without cumming around my cock?" - He asks. You try to put on an offended face, but all you can manage is a weary smile. He squeezes your hips to guide you where he wants you to go.

"I thought so." - You say. You can't help but laugh between contented sighs, because he's so cocky, so confident, that you just don't have the strength to resist. But you don't seem to want to. You slowly lean in closer, touching your lips to his ear, and whisper:

"So maybe you'll set another new record?" - You ask seductively and give a slow, deep thrust with your hips. Jungkook can barely contain his moan. Your fingers slowly scratch his chest.

"Yes, baby." - His voice is deep, hoarse, and full of desire. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy." - He promises. But you huff a mocking humor and deliberately rock your hips slowly, making him close his eyes and squeeze your waist tighter.

"You think you can promise that now?" - You ask. Jungkook opens his eyes, and you see something dangerous, something devilish in them. His hands go down to your hips, squeezing them so tightly that you can barely hold back a shudder.

"I can..." - He suddenly rises up on his elbows, then sits down, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your ear, whispering hotly. "I can do everything and even more... hold on tight, because I won't stop until you beg."

You don't even have time to respond, because he rolls you onto your back and abruptly changes the rhythm, forcing your lips to reach for his skin in an attempt to drown out the pleasure that is overwhelming you.

Jungkook fucks you mercilessly, making you moan loudly. He liked how you tried to dominate him, tempting him to prove that he could fuck you well. And he was proving it. His cock is deep inside you, and it's just perfect. The sinful sounds of your bodies hitting each other is a delight to his ears. Your moans are the perfect melody.

You squeeze his shoulders, trying to somehow stay afloat amid the waves of pleasure he's mercilessly rolling over you.

"Kook..." - Your voice trembles, and he smiles, knowing that you're almost on the edge.

"What, baby?" - His voice sounds too pleased. You don't answer, just scratch him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Tired?" - He asks.

"You're... too..." - You can't finish the sentence because he picks you up again in that passionate rhythm.

"Too what?" - Your friend asks mockingly. "Too good?" - You roll your eyes.

"Too cocky! As usual." - You barely say. He laughs, but doesn't stop. His hands slide hotly over your body, leaving marks that are only his. But you're both on the verge of coming. So Jungkook decides it's time to end it. He grabs your hands and holds them above your head. He intertwines your fingers and asks you to look into his eyes.

Jungkook leans even closer, so that his breath burns your skin and his eyes, full of passion, bore into yours. He squeezes your fingers tighter, pinning them to the pillow, and whispers with depth in his voice.

"Look at me. I want you to remember this moment. So that even when you become sober, you remember that I did it. That I gave you the greatest pleasure of your life by fucking you so well." - He says, and his words make you tremble even more, your eyes darken. You can't do anything but obey him, trust his every move, every hot touch. He doesn't look away, watching you dissolve in this whirlwind of sensations, your world shrinking to him alone.

And then there is an explosion.

A loud, all-encompassing explosion that makes you grab onto him even harder, as if he were your only support in this world. And he really doesn't let go. He just leans down to your ear when the last waves of pleasure subside and says with a smile pressed to your temples.

"You are mine now, baby. And you'll never be able to forget it." - He fucks you until he feels himself coming. He pulls out of you abruptly and his hot cum paints your stomach. You breathe heavily as you feel him spewing his cum. Finally, he stops and breathes heavily too.

You lie there trying to catch your breath as the realization of what just happened begins to wash over you. Jungkook gets off of you and goes to the bathroom, takes some napkins and brings them to you. He sits down next to you and wipes the rest of the cum off your stomach.

The air in the room is still hot from your shared madness, and Jungkook, who lies down and covers you with a sheet, looks at you with a subtle smile.

"You look like someone who's thinking: 'What the hell have I done?" - He says, leaning slightly on his elbow to see you better. You exhale sharply and cover your face with your hand.

"Shouldn't I be thinking that?" - You mutter through your fingers. Jungkook laughs and gently pulls your hand down, forcing you to look at him.

"Well, at least you had a good time." - He speaks for you, and you agree with him completely, even though you feel extremely ashamed.

"It’s doesn't help." - You roll your eyes, but the corners of your lips lift.

"Oh, so you wanted me to make it bad?" - He pretends to be offended, but there's laughter in his eyes. You sigh and mutter without looking at him.

"You're my best friend. We just... God." - You realize the gravity of the situation only now. Jungkook rolls over onto his back, putting one arm under his head.

"We just now fucked, yeah." - He picks up calmly. "And it was hot, you have to admit."

"Shut up!" - You raise yourself up on your elbows and then slap him on the shoulder.

"What? I'm just stating the facts." - He defends himself. You look at him, then groan and fall back on the pillow.

"Jungkook, this is wrong, right? We're friends..." - You say in desperation. He is silent for a few seconds, and then leans into you, hugging you. You stare at his handsome face.

"Honestly? I have no idea what this means for us…" - He admits. "But if you want to forget about it, I won't insist." - You look at him, and suddenly something in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

"What if I don't want to forget?" - You ask quietly.

"Then stay." - Jungkook says quietly and purses his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and realize you don't want to leave.

You look at him, licking your dry lips, and Jungkook doesn't seem to take his eyes off you for a second.

He's waiting for your answer, but he doesn't push. He just runs his fingertips lightly along your forearm, as if he's testing you, as if he's checking to see if you're real.

"If I stay..." - You start, but your voice is a little shaky, so you pause.

"Then it's the right thing to do." - He prompts, as if reading your mind.

"How can I look you in the eye after all? A soon I’ll be sober…" - You confess. Jungkook smiles and squeezes your hand lightly.

"As usual. Don't to be afraid. It's me. Why would you find it hard to look me in the eye?" - Jungkook asked you. You curl your lips, trying not to let it show that these words make your heart race.

"It's not fair..." - You mutter softly.

"What?" - He leans in even closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"That you act like you have everything under control." - You say, closing your eyes. You hear Jungkook smile, and when he doesn't answer, you look at him. And something dangerous appears in his eyes, something not friendly at all.

"What if I've always wanted this to happen?" - He confesses. You open your eyes wide, but he doesn't let you say a word, just bites into your lips, pulling you into a new whirlpool where there is no room for doubt.

His lips are hot, insistent, but not hasty. He took his time, as if he knew you had plenty of time. His tongue barely touches yours, teasing you, forcing you to respond to this kiss as if it were a game you had already lost in advance.

Jungkook smiles as you pull him closer, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"So you don't want to leave after all?" - He asks between kisses, his voice husky, pleased.

"Shut up..." - You whisper, pulling him even closer, like you can't enjoy him enough.

He laughs, but obediently fulfills your request, finding your lips again. His arms wrap confidently around your body, leaving touches that you will feel even after he lets go. If he lets go. Jungkook breaks the kiss, looking at your face.

"How did you end up here at five in the morning anyway?" - He asks. You blink, not immediately realizing what he means.

"We had a fight... at that party... because you left me to go dancing with some girl." - You say quietly.

"I didn't dance with her." - Jungkook denies.

"But I saw her pulling you to dance." - You say what you saw with your own eyes.

"Yes, I went, but I didn't want to dance. We met Taehyung on the dance floor and I handed her over to him." - Jungkook tells what really happened. "I went outside to smoke and saw Jimin there, we were smoking and talking. And then I went to find you and you threw a tantrum." - You look away, realizing how absolutely ridiculous you've been. It was the alcohol. You were sure.

"I was... a little drunk." - You justified your behavior by blaming it on the alcohol. Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"A little? You were pretty drunk even then." - He says. "I told you to eat something before drinking." - Jungkook complains. You bite your lip, and he laughs, running his fingers down your cheek.

"So I was right, then?" - He leans down to your ear, breathing warm air into it. "Besides, we've made up so well." - You rub your fingers over his shoulders, realizing that you can't deny that he was right.

"We didn't have to make up like that." - You still can't believe that this happened between you. Even though you can feel the phantom presence of Jungkook's cock.

"Come on. I'm glad you came, because now you're mine." - He says this and gently touches your lips, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. He pulls your lips apart and you exhale heavily, trying to gather your thoughts, but Jungkook won't let you. His touch is too light, his gaze too sure.

"I'm not yours." - You mumble stubbornly, though you don't even sound convincing in your own voice. Jungkook tilts his head to the side, his fingers sliding along your stomach, making you shudder.

"No?" - His voice is filled with mockery, mixed with that dangerous desire you've felt so well before. "You really want me to believe that?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, but still lift your chin stubbornly.

"We're friends." - You state, and it was once true. You were friends before tonight's hot sex.

"Friends don't do what we did." - He reminds you, leaning in so that his lips are dangerously close to yours again. "Friends don't come over at five in the morning to get mad over a stupid fight... and they definitely don't stay in bed afterwards."

You gasp for air as he brushes his nose across your cheek, teasing you.

"It was just...the alcohol." - You don't give up. Jungkook humors you.

"Then why are you still here?" - He asks you more rhetorically. He knows the answer and you know the answer. "I'll give you time to think, baby." - He whispers, letting you feel his smile on your skin. "But remember..." - He lingers at your ear, and his voice penetrates every cell in your body. "I'm not backing down. You're already mine. You just have to accept it."

[brokenengene]

not safe for work {track one}

pairing: producer! jay x pop star! fem reader

genre: american music industry au, romance, urban contemporary, coming of age/self-discovery

summary: Just one take. That's all your new producer asks of you. Each harmony that leaves your lips brings you closer to a line you shouldn't cross. Soon, he's not just hearing your voice on the demos; it's in his ear, moaning his name. And both of you know that actions always come with consequences.

This content is only for readers 18+

content warnings: cursing, mention of drugs (weed), making out/kissing, explicit sexual content, suggestive content, toxic work environment, exploitation in the music industry, mild objectification, manipulative behavior, mild angst, alcohol usage

chapter specific warnings: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, mirror play, voyeuristic undertones, praise kink, soft!dom jay, protected sex (yay!), strong language, emotional vulnerability, crying during sex, anxiety/self doubt/insecurity, aftercare (double yay!), brief mention of cheating

word count: 9.9k

soundtrack: muse-partynextdoor/ come thru- summer walker & usher/ talk 2 u- brent faiyaz

'demo_01 : not by your side'

Ever since you were a little girl, it was your dream to be on stage. Whether it was open mic karaoke or your middle school theater production, you always had to be dragged away from the microphone. Music was your everything.

It was more than just an escape for you. It healed. But now it feels like it could be the very thing that breaks you apart.

The city is vibrant and bustling like always. The vivid lights mix with the sound of cars rushing through the vast center of the city. That's what you loved so much about it, the city was awake at night and so were you. You thrived on that. From years of experience, you know the best ideas come to you at night.

You check your wristwatch for the time as you drive and weave your car through the narrow city streets. 11 pm it reads. 

You turn up the radio and crack the windows, the faint smell of weed hits your senses as you navigate through the chaos. The studio isn’t far from your condo, but you always take the long route to fit more songs into your commute.

You turn right off the main road and into the parking garage of the studio. You back your car into your designated parking spot and take the elevator up.

Your younger self wouldn't believe you were here. Keycard access, your name on the door with your own equipment inside.

With habit, you make your way through the building's security screening. The skyscraper is massive, with floors upon floors of rehearsal rooms, recording studios, and offices.

You take the elevator to the 10th floor labeled “Dreamscape Records” You step out of the elevator and stop by a large window, briefly peering at the lively city beneath you. 

You walk through the dimly lit and near-empty halls. Hardly anyone comes to the studio at this hour, but you prefer it that way. Less distraction, less noise.

You step in front of a door labeled with your name. You punch in the four-digit code on the door before pushing it open. Your backpack falls to the ground as you swiftly turn on the lamps scattered around your dedicated space, anything besides those overhead fluorescent lights that are sure to give you a headache.

With a sigh, you lie back in your chair. You take out your laptop and notebook and set them up on the table next to all your new equipment. You open the notebook, scribbling a few more tasks onto your never-ending to-do list. 

Since being under contract with Dreamscape Records, singing hasn’t been the same. It's all deadlines, shitty producers, overbearing managers. It's like you never have time to just be you anymore. Some days it feels like you're always performing, and creating for the charts, not for your own heart.

But this is what you wanted, what you dreamed of, and you are determined to make it work for your own sake.

Your phone buzzes as a notification illuminates the screen. You glance at it, opening the text.

Luke (manager) [11:30 pm] Are you going to be at the studio tonight? You[11:31 pm] Yes, I'm probably gonna be here a few more hours. You know my work always comes out better with no  distractions. Luke(manager)[11:32 pm] I know this is short notice, but that new producer  we talked about just landed, he’s blowing up my  phone, itching to get working already. I told him  he could stop by and meet you. His name is Jay Park,  you might not have heard of him before, but his work is incredible, y’all will hopefully make a good team. You[11:35 pm] Thanks for the heads up. I'll keep an eye out for  when he comes around. Luke(manager)[11:36 pm] No worries. Don’t stay up too late. We'll talk more tomorrow.

You let out a deep sigh as you lock your phone. The black screen reflects your stressed appearance right back at you.

Jay Park, you repeat to yourself. Doesn't ring a bell, but you can't tell if his dedication to get straight to work is admirable or if he's got a really big ego like the other men in this industry.

You open up your notebook. It's a mixed-up mess of journal entries, lyrics, and anything you need to get out of your head and onto paper. This very notebook is the reason you're even sitting in the Dreamscape Records building at this hour.

You were scouted singing at a shitty bar downtown a few months ago. The bar totally wasn’t your style, but you pushed through and made it work, and it seems to have paid off so far.

The sound of pen on paper fills the empty room as you write. Finding any space and filling it with your thoughts and feelings. It’s therapeutic, feeling like a physical release of all the pressure. 

Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear a knock at the door. It’s got to be that new producer that Luke told you about. You stand up from your work desk to unlock the door. 

A man who appears to be in his early twenties stands in the doorway. His hair was tousled, and his attire was comfortable. He looks like he just walked off a plane. You didn’t expect him to be so young. Young and attractive at that.

Your breath catches as you notice the way his messy, dark hair complements his golden skin. The way his tired eyes sparkle in the dim light. 

He smiles as he looks at you. His breath catches in his throat as he sees you in person for the first time. Breathless, he speaks up softly.

“I’m Jay Park..I talked to management, they should’ve told you I was stopping by.” He says a little too enthusiastically for someone who just stepped out of the airport. 

“Oh yeah! It’s nice to meet you, come on in.” You say as you step to the side to let him into your intimate space. He looks over the small square room. Decorated with lamps and other keepsakes. A small diffuser puts off a comforting scent, while the screens from music equipment produce an illuminating glow. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Jay compliments as he pulls the second office chair up to yours. He sets his bag down on the floor and swiftly pulls out his laptop.

“I–well, um thank you..” You reply casually as you lock the door behind him before taking your spot back at your desk. God, why is he making you so flustered? Your notebook is still open to a page of visible scribbled madness. 

“You're a night owl, too?” You ask as you twist your pen in your hands, trying not to feel nervous around your new coworker. You glance through your peripheral vision as he immediately gets to work on his laptop. 

“Yeah, I work better at night, less noise, less distractions.” He says as he flashes you a soft, charming smile. 

“I feel the same, I always get the best ideas at night. I’m lucky they let me stay here this late.” You say trying to casually continue the conversation.

“Sounds like we’re gonna make a good team.” He says truthfully. There's a slight pause, you catch him glancing into your eyes before he gently shakes his head.

“So what have you got so far for this album?” He asks, prying his eyes away from the laptop screen to give his full, undivided attention to you. 

You’re slightly nervous as you reply. Partly because it’s your first time meeting Jay, but also because the way he’s glancing at you sends a rush of heat down your spine. 

“Well, Luke and I have been discussing what the label wants, and they want a star, they want innocent pop hits and a marketable face, so I’ve been trying to slash something out,” You say as you look at the lyrics roughly jotted down on the paper. You furrow your brows, biting the back of your pen with your teeth. 

You push the page towards Jay, letting him scan over what you’ve written. His face contorts with focus. He scans over the lyrics, basic, uninspired, safe. “It’s not bad, but I’m just going to be honest, it’s a little bland...” he critiques softly. 

You flush, visibly nervous at the new man in front of you and the fact that he’s not exactly impressed with your work. Jay lets out a soft breath before he turns to look at you. 

His gaze lingers on your eyes, on your lips. He opens his mouth to speak. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who writes music that gets played in grocery stores.” He says softly under his breath, his gaze still locked on yours. 

Your eyes widen. What exactly does he mean? You watch as he slides closer. Bringing his laptop along as well so you can see. “Listen to this and see if this is more…you.”

Jay says as he bites his lip. He slides his headphones from around his neck and gently places them on your head. 

You’re a hot mess as his fingertips brush against your skin. Dammit, why is he making you react like a teenager? You take a deep breath to calm yourself as he hits the space bar on the computer. Jay sits back in his chair, arms resting behind his head as he watches your reaction with a smirk. 

The music fills your ears. The beat is new and different. Like a breath of fresh air after what you went through with your past producers.

 The music continues to flood your ears. You close your eyes, letting your mind drift. You subconsciously hum along to the beat. Your voice fills the otherwise quiet room as you savor the rhythm. It’s sultry, it’s intense, it’s sexy and mature, and you love it. You can't hold back a smile as you hum a melody to the sultry sound.

You take off the headphones as the song comes to an end. You glance at Jay, watching you with a smirk on his face. “What’d you think?” He asks calmly.

“God, I love it…you’re a talented producer. It was so raw, so different from what I usually write.” You say, biting your lip as you process the demo he just shared. 

“You have such a gorgeous voice. It was sexy, sultry—Those pop songs, they kill your potential,” Jay says as he continues to watch your expressions.

“Wow, thanks, I mean I know my voice, but I don’t really know how to use it.” You say breathlessly as you take the notebook, flipping through the pages again. 

“May I?” Jay whispers as he watches you flip through the journal. You’re heart stops, and you hesitate. The notebook was never really meant for any eyes besides your own. You’re not sure yet exactly how you feel about Jay, but he looks at you like he wants to understand you.

You cave in. “Just try not to judge too hard.” You say with a forced chuckle as you slide the notebook in front of him. You’re cheeks flushed hot as he skims through the worn pages. 

He flips through your notebook, dark eyes scanning over lyrics, half-written hooks, written crash-outs, and confessions. 

“I sink down on your heat, I don’t want to leave, Hands-on my knees, everything I need, Let me give you a ride before you’re gone for the night, Only to wake up in the morning, not by your side.”

“Wait, I like this…” Jay says breathlessly as he grabs his blue-inked pen, messily scribbling and writing down his thoughts over the top of your written black ink. 

“Oh! That..um, management would never let me produce anything like that, so I just scraped it.” You say bluntly as you watch him flesh out more of the song. 

“Have you ever tried to record it before? I just know you’re voice will sound heavenly over this...”

Jay says his voice completely breathless with awe as he scans the lyrics again. As you gaze at him it’s like you're visibly watching the gears turn inside his head. 

“No, I just... was having one of those nights and drafted that out—” You reply lightly in response, the lyrics on the page making your cheeks and ears burn with intensity. 

“What if we made a demo, like tonight...using this..” Jay whispers as his fingertips gently trace the spine of your notebook like it's some kind of special artifact.

“Jay I can’t—If I record songs like this they’ll be on my ass. I’ve got to keep it professional, got to keep it surface level,” you say, your voice shaky as you feel like your heart is starting to crush from the pressure. 

“You wrote this about someone, didn’t you?” Jay interrupts, your breath catching in your throat as he calls you out. 

“Doesn’t matter. Songs like this don’t sell, I’ve already been told—“

“What happened that night?” Jay asks firmly. His hand gently slid across the table, his fingers barely brushing against the skin of your own. His eyes glance you up and down as he waits for your response. 

There’s a moment of silence before you suck in a deep breath replying.

“It just wasn’t meant to be...we kept meeting up in secret. I knew the label would kill me if they found out, but that night I had a gut feeling that it was the last time we’d ever fuck and I was right. I woke up in the morning to a cold bed alone. After giving him everything.”

Jay can hardly breathe as you tell him exactly what inspired the lyrics. He shakes his head, chuckling softly with disbelief. 

“That’s what makes great music. Experiences, feelings, emotions not looped choruses, charts and streams.”

“This is the real, unfiltered version of you,” Jay says as he turns back to the laptop, pulling some more demo tracks and half-finished beats from his library. “Just imagine what that version of you could do,” Jay whispers almost to himself. 

Jay goes back and forth between the computer and your notebook. You watch almost in awe as he makes everything look so effortless.

“Screw safe...let’s lay this down right now, just for tonight. No pressure. You don’t have to show it to management or anything. I’m dying to hear what that voice can do when you’re not caged.”

Caged..he described it perfectly. That's exactly how this whole album production process has felt. You glance at the notebook and then at the microphone. Heart hammering in your chest with fear, but also with excitement. Excitement to try something new, to create something raw and real. 

“Let’s do it”

Your fingertips reach for the microphone. Jay signals a countdown from three. Shortly after, the music starts to fill your headphones. You glance at the notebook, one more time, before you start to sing. The lyrics spill from your tongue effortlessly. 

You don’t even have to look at the page. The memories flood back. The way he touched you, the way he felt inside you, the way your heart dropped when you woke up and he wasn’t there.

You close your eyes, voice shaking as you tumble through the notes, you softly wipe a few tears from your cheeks as the song comes to a close. You’re shaking, partly because you re-lived the memories through the lyrics and partly because, for the first time, you finally let go and let yourself feel. 

Jay looks at you in awe. Your glassy eyes meet his as you slide the headphones off your head and set them gently on the desk.

“That was incredible..you’re incredible..” Jay says his voice is soft and intimate. You feel a rush of heat in your chest from his words.  

“Thank you.” You whisper. Your voice shakes as a few more silent tears fall down your face.”

Jay notices. His expression is soft as he leans closer, gently wiping them with his thumbs. You can smell the faint remnants of his cologne, a soft amber blended with notes of vanilla.

The two of you don’t speak. It’s silent as he softly caresses your cheek with his hand. It’s comforting, you almost want to lean into his warmth, but you stop yourself. 

Jay pulls away after a moment, nervously clearing his throat. You swear that his cheeks were flushed as he looked back over at his laptop. 

You glance at the clock on the wall. 2 pm. You let out a deep sigh, glancing at Jay tweaking some parts of the demo on his computer. 

“It’s getting late I should probably head out.” You say softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“You’re probably right..” Jay says as he continues to adjust the layers of the song on his computer. The sound of his mouse clicking can be heard in the silence as he keeps replaying that one lyric he can’t get out of his head. 

“Let me give you a ride before you’re gone for tonight…” Jay glances at you as you pack up. His gaze lingers on your figure. He bites his lip, his voice dropping low. 

“Is that an offer?” 

You let out a nervous chuckle, face flushing with heat as you shove your notebook into your backpack. 

“I mean, technically it’s more of a metaphor, you know, for the feeling of—"

Jay lets out a playful laugh that makes your heart race. “Well, if you ever want to change the ending to that song, here’s my number. You know where to find me.”

Jay says as he slips a piece of paper into your hand with his personal phone number scribbled on it. He glances at you softly, letting his fingertips linger on yours before he slips out the door. 

“Drive home safe, I can’t wait to see what else we can come up with together,” Jay says, flashing you a charming smile before slipping out the door into the darkness. 

...

You jump awake to the sound of your less-than-pleasant alarm. Shit…you set the wrong time, again. You throw the covers off your body and rush to the bathroom to try and make yourself look as presentable as possible.

You run down the stairs in your condo parking lot, backing your car out of its designated spot without even looking. This time, you take the shortcut, the engine rumbling as you swiftly weave in and out of traffic. You know Luke is going to give you a scolding for being late, and you start praying he won't take away your nightly studio session privileges.

“Sorry, I'm late!” You exclaim as you barrel through the halls, adjusting your hair and clothes. Your backpack hangs open on your shoulders. As you open the door to your room, you're met with the silhouettes of two men deep in conversation already. 

“Nice of you to finally show,” Luke says as he turns around, his eyes raking up and down your less-than-professional appearance. Luke is far from impressed. 

“Sorry, I just set the wrong alarm. I don’t really—” You start before you're roughly cut off by Luke’s frustrated voice.

“This happens again and you lose after-hours privileges, got it? Luke says firmly leaving no room for rebuttal.

“Yes sir, I apologize.” You say as you make your way over to the desk, flashing Jay a nervous smile in the process. You start to unpack your notebook, your laptop, and an energy drink you pulled from the fridge.

“Now, since I have both of you here. I'm sure you know you are on a tight release schedule. With the summer season coming up, we need to get your voice out there if we want a number-one hit from you."

"The higher-ups have a pre-release single scheduled for you to drop two weeks from now. I don’t care that Jay just got here or that you don't have any demos finished yet, that single will be dropping in two weeks, no exceptions.” 

You watch shock flash across Jay's expression as Luke gives you the rundown of what's expected. Two weeks? That's not nearly long enough to craft something meaningful.

“And you...” Luke says as he whips his head around, eyes narrowing as he locks his eyes on yours. “You know what's expected, and remember your contract is on the line. Don’t make me regret choosing you.”

And with that Luke is out the door, slamming it and leaving the room silent.

“Two weeks?” Jay says running his hands through his messy dark hair as he paces back and forth. “That's not enough time to make something worthwhile.” He says putting his head in his hands with frustration.

“Well, it's not like we have a choice. This is just how management is here.” You say as you flip through your notebook again, the memories from last night already are starting to come back to you.

“The demo from last night..what if we just tweaked it a little and turned it in under an obscure name? They won't know what hit them.” Jay says as he steps closer to you, both of you visibly frustrated under the pressure.

Jay’s hand gently cups your face, his fingertips lingering on your skin as he steps closer. Your back hits the edge of the desk as he uses his free hand to cage you in. 

“It would ruin my image if I put out a sex song. People would be furious, just imagine the hate I would get online.” You say softly, your eyes half-lidded from the oversleeping as you glance at Jay’s expression.

“What if those people aren’t your true audience? If you want to make an impact, you've got to take risks. Sure, it might make the studio a quick buck right now, but if you want to make music that you're proud of, I'll be more than happy to stand up for you.” 

You pause, breath catching in your throat as Jay's warm hands gently trace mindless patterns into your cheek. You can't forget the feeling of recording the demo last night. How good it felt just to feel the lyrics and relive the inspiration even though it was painful. For the first time, your music didnt feel like a product.

“I’ll do it, Jay..” You whisper, the smirk on your lips not slipping past him. 

Jay lets out a breath he didnt know he was holding. His forehead falls to meet yours. “God..” he whispers, his breath so close to yours you could almost taste it. You catch another whiff of his cologne the traces of dark amber and vanilla make your head spin.

Hours go by as the two of you record more layers and tweak the sound of the track. It almost feels natural the way you two work together. You’re deep in thought when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You stop to check the message.

Luke(manager) [5:55 pm] Send me what you have completed from  the demo before 7 pm, no later. You [6:00 pm] No problem, I’ll send it over asap.

“Guess this is it.” You say to Jay as he saves the demo, titling it

"demo_01 : not by your side. "  

You’re fingertips are practically shaking as you load the file onto an email to send to Luke. You let out a shaky breath as you click send.

“Hey, remember, whatever happens, I’ll be here to back you up, okay?” Jay looks into your eyes, he gives your hand a soft, comforting squeeze before he turns to start packing up his things for the day.

“Thank you, Jay, really, for everything..” You reply softly as you stand up from your chair and turn to do the same. You pack your laptop back into your bag and throw away the empty can of your energy drink.

Jay steps out the door and you follow shortly, turning off the lights and locking the door before you ride the elevator back down to the parking garage.

You stay on high alert as you walk in the dark towards your designated parking spot. Your car is messily parked between the lines, reminding you of the rush you were in this morning.

You unlock the door, tossing your bag of supplies into the passenger seat before fidgeting with your keys. You put the key in the ignition and turn it. 

“What the fuck..” You mutter under your breath. You take the key out and try to turn it again, only to be met with more clicking sounds.

Fuck. The battery is dead, this can't be happening...

You groan as you hear the engine roar of a sports car echoing in the parking garage. You keep your head down as you listen to the car slow to a stop. The engine rumbles, and you hear the sound of a car door. 

Great just what you need, to be bothered while you’re stuck in the vehicle with a dead battery.

“Hey, everything ok? You didnt respond to my text..”

Jay.. You hear his voice over the deep rumble of the engine of his car. You step out of the car, meeting him in the darkness of the parking garage.

“I think my battery is dead, I must’ve left a light on or something while I was in a rush this morning.” You say with a weak chuckle as you try to rub some of the tension from the back of your neck.

“Would you like a ride home? I really don’t mind.” Jay offers. “But if you're not comfortable, I don’t mind calling you and Uber—”

“I don’t live far, there’s no need to call an Uber.” You say kindly as you accept his invitation. You grab your things and hop into the passenger side of his car.

You can feel the vibration of the car engine beneath your feet as Jay exits the parking garage and starts to skillfully glide down the narrow city streets. The ride is mostly silent until the car slows to stop. Jay reaches over the dashboard to gently turn the music up, easing some of the tension. You look out the window, admiring the lights of the city at night.

“You know that line in the demo about waking up to an empty bed? I’ve felt that too,” Jay says, his voice barely above a whisper breaking the silence.

You tear your gaze away from the window, your eyes scanning over how he looks flushed in the red light. His eyes are a little tired, and his dark hair falls into his eyes.

“There was a girl I was with, I thought things were going well, we went on a few dates, I picked her up, brought her flowers the whole shebang,” Jay says his voice catching in his throat with emotion as he continues. 

“And one night I took her out and things were going extremely well, she invited me in and well, we ended up fucking. I thought I was something special.” He says his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he continues the story.

“We woke up in the morning, tangled up in each other, God, you know how good that feels. But something was off, she checked her phone, and then told me I had to leave. I was so confused, but I figured maybe she needed space after everything."

Jau chuckles weakly as the memory replays in his mind.

"As I was leaving her place, another guy came down the hall and went straight for her apartment. Figured out she was cheating on him with me.” Jay says his voice is shaky as he pulls into the parking garage of your condo building.

 “Oh my God...I can't even imagine how that feels.” You say softly as he puts the car in park and the two of you sit together in comfortable silence. After a few tender moments, you speak up, your voice cutting through the quiet, “You don’t deserve that, Jay..”

“I know exactly how you felt when you wrote those lyrics. The betrayal, the hurt, the longing.” He says his voice cracking as he turns to look at you in the darkness of the car, his hand resting on the gearshift as he looks into your eyes, his eyes briefly glancing at your lips before looking away.

“The longing but still missing the connection, and still missing the sex..” You whisper your voice shaky with how vulnerable you feel being so open with him like this.

“Exactly,” Jay whispers, his voice barely audible over the music that continues to spill from the car speakers. The air is thick and charged as you two sit and listen to the music from his playlist.

Jay's hand reaches out slowly as he reads your expression and reaction. He gently grabs your hand, slowly and intimately lacing your fingers together.

“You are so special..” He whispers as he pulls your joined hands to his lips, softly placing his warm lips on the back of your hand. 

“I was serious about if you ever wanted to change the ending to that song—” He whispers as he lets your joined hands fall from his lips to rest between the two of you.

Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest at his words, at the way he is looking at you before you can even comprehend the words they desperately spill from your lips,

“You want to come up?” 

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze, Jay’s lips curl into a soft smile, his thumb brushing against the knuckles of your hands.

“Only if you're one hundred percent sure..” He whispers back.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if I wasn't...”

...

You fidget with your keys as you unlock the door to your condo. Your hand hasn't left Jay’s until now. You reluctantly let go of his hand to turn on the lights around your small condo. 

“Well, this is the place. Feel free to make yourself comfortable..” You say playfully with a laugh as Jay kicks off his shoes and makes his way towards the small couch in the middle of the space. There is a large TV to complement the couch and a window overlooking the city below. You sit beside Jay, flipping a playlist on to play over the speakers.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, the place is beautiful.” Jay compliments his voice, low and soft, as you come to rest comfortably next to Jay on the couch. His hand immediately tangles with yours again, and you can't help but smile.

 “Thank you... And also, thank you for the ride.” You whisper shyly as Jay glances over you with awe. You both sit in a comfortable silence, the only noise is the music softly playing from the speakers and the sound of the bustling city below.

He just looks at you, his mind screaming at him to pull away, but he can’t. He doesn’t. After a few quiet moments, Jay’s voice cuts through the silence, a soft, intimate whisper as he leans in closer.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, his free hand sliding to cup your face gently. His breath hitches as he feels the softness of your hair against his calloused fingertips. 

You can't even conjure up words in response. You nod, that's all Jay needs to see. He leans in, gently capturing his lips with his own, holding back a deep moan at the feeling of finally having your lips on his.

He gently guides you into his lap. His lips are still locked on yours as you straddle his hips. Your knees rest on either side of the couch as you capture and release each other's lips with precision. 

You slowly explore his mouth with your own, smirk against his lips as you taste how soft and delicate they are. Your hands find his chest, feeling the strong muscles under his shirt, a moan slipping from your lips as you smell the familiar scent of dark amber and vanilla on his skin. 

“You’re so perfect. Keep kissing me.” He moans against your lips. His voice drives you crazy, and you can’t hold back. Your hips start to grind into his heat, creating a slow, delicious friction. You whimper as his hands slide to your waist, gently helping you to rock into his hips with a painfully satisfying rhythm. His fingertips slide under your shirt, gently tracing small circles above the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“I think..I want to change the ending of that song..” You whisper as you reluctantly pull your swollen lips away from his. 

“Want to head to the bedroom?” You ask bluntly. Jay hesitates. There’s a flicker in his gaze like he didn’t quite believe what he just heard. 

“I want you. Will you come to bed with me?” You ask nervously, biting your bottom lip with anticipation as you wait for his response. 

He leans in, lips brushing against yours as he whispers. 

“God Yes.”

He smiles into another quick, gentle kiss before pulling away. He gently helps you off him, and the heat between your bodies is picking up fast.

His strong arms pick you up off the couch. He holds you up with one hand on your back and one beneath your knees. You wrap your arms around his neck for support as he guides you to the bedroom. 

He kicks the door open not even bothering to close it before he gently lies you onto the mattress. His breath is shaky with anticipation as his own body presses up against the soft curves of yours. 

You gasp at the contact as your body sinks into the mattress. The faint sound of music can still be heard through the cracked door to the living room.

Jay leans in, his hands gently caressing your hips as his mouth finds your jawline. He kisses down your neck, his own heart beating faster in his chest as the room feels like it’s only getting hotter. 

You moan breathlessly as he kisses your neck. His hands slid to the hem of your shirt, tugging it softly, asking for permission to take it off. You gasp softly before nodding with consent. Jay tears his lips away from your neck to help you slide the fabric up and over your head. 

Jay's breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you. Hair spread out on the pillows, hips swollen from his kisses, your breasts sitting perfectly in your bra. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“You are a fucking masterpiece..” Jay mumbles before his lips are back on your neck. Tracing down to your collarbone. He moans as he buries himself face-first in your chest. 

Your back arches off the mattress, and goosebumps flush your skin at the contact of his lips. Jay's hands slide to your back, removing the clasp of your bra. He looks into your eyes as he slides it off your shoulders, tossing it aside. 

“God...So pretty” Jay moans as his eyes glance over you’re bare tits. Hit cheeks are heating up as he steals glances at the shape and color. He leans down, kissing the valley between them.

His breath hitched with contact. You’re breath catches in your throat as he turns his head. Fingertips tangling in his dark hair as he kisses the fullness of your breast. He smirks against your skin with satisfaction, his hands gently holding your hips as he rolls himself into you. 

You can feel how hard he is already and it makes you gasp. Jay smirks against your tits, as he kisses the soft delicate skin, his lips starting to add a little suction, and it doesn’t take long before small dark marks are left on your skin. 

“Jay...” you moan as your back arches slightly off the bed. He takes your sensitive nipple in his mouth, his other hand massaging and holding your other breast in place. 

You can already feel the heat between your thighs. Your arousal stirring as he plays with your tits. He doesn’t even realize how much it’s turning you on. 

“You already sound better than anything I could ever produce,” Jay mumbles breathlessly. He pulls away from your nipple, leaving a string of saliva attached to your skin. He starts to kiss down your body. Down your chest, across your stomach, over your hips. 

He gently hooks his fingertips into your sweatpants, pulling the soft fabric down your legs. He tosses them off the bed and onto the floor carelessly. His attention is fully on the heat between your thighs.

His vision is hazy as he notices the wet spot on your panties, a low groan spacing from his throat at the sight. His dick was already fully hard at the sight.

He softly slides them down your thighs and tosses them to the floor. His hands run up your thighs as he gets a good look at what you have to offer. 

He slowly pushes your thighs apart, revealing your slick folds to him. He licks his lips subconsciously at the view. He slowly positions himself between your thighs. Keeping his dark eyes locked on yours.  keeping your thighs spread open with his broad shoulders. 

“I want to hear you make sounds that I can’t recreate with a keyboard,” Jay says as his lips kiss your inner thighs. Savoring the feeling of the softness on his lips, the scent of your arousal already made him dizzy.  

“God, look at how pretty this is..” Jay whispers as his fingertips lightly slide between your delicate, wet folds. He can hardly breathe as he watches, eyes committing every detail to memory. 

Jay finally leans in. Gently licking a stripe up your folds with a deep groan from his chest. His large hands keep your thighs spread apart for him. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d taste incredible..” Jay moans as he pulls away before he dives in for more. You’re fingertips lace into his dark hair as he keeps tasting you. His tongue slid to your entrance to taste some of the wetness gathered there.

He slides his tongue back up your pussy, swiftly finding your clit. His grip around your legs tightens as he gently flicks at it, already sensitive.  The sensations send sparks of pleasure through your body, and you can’t help but cry out. Your hips shaking as he holds them down.

“Fuck yes..let me hear you..” Jay mumbles into your heat. The vibrations drive you wild as he devours you slowly, drawing out your pleasure. 

You look down to watch him working magic between your thighs. Your hands pull and twist strands of his long dark hair as his lips suckle around your clit, drawing more breathless moans from your lips. 

It’s like Jay is in another world between your thighs, his eyes are closed as he gets lost in exploring every crevice and fold with his tongue. He’s focused on exploring your body like an instrument he’s learning to play for the first time. 

You’re wet, so wet. Your arousal drips down Jay's lips and chin shamelessly. He doesn’t even seem to notice the mess he’s got you making on the sheets below. 

Jay hums shamelessly into your pussy as he makes out with it like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s pulling any sound he can from you to harmonize with his own. 

You’re eyes roll back as you get lost in it all. The wet sounds of his tongue fucking in and out of your entrance only build the warmth in your core. 

Your grip on his hair is weak as your thighs start to shake around his head. He lets out a satisfied groan, pleasuring you with the same rhythm.

“Fuck I’m obsessed with how you taste..” He says voice muffled as he continues to eat you out. His hand slipped from your thigh to slide a finger inside of your wetness. 

He starts slow, gently pumping his middle finger in and out. His vision blurs as you clench around him.

“Shit..” He mumbles at the feeling of his finger inside you. His tongue finds your clit again as he easily slips his index finger into your heat. 

You start to fall apart from the stimulation. Your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath, your moans only grow louder, needier. Like your body is begging Jay to give you release without even having to say a word.

Letting up slightly, Jay pulls your hips further down the edge of the bed. Your legs rest on his shoulders as he kneels, tilting your body slightly to the right. His grip is firm as his mouth finds your pussy again. 

He groans with satisfaction like the seconds away from you’re taste was enough to have him starving again. 

You turn to the side as Jay changes angles. Your brows furrowed with confusion. “Jay, what are you—“ you start to ask before you see it. 

The mirror. Your goddamn mirror. 

The floor-length mirror is mounted across from the right side of your bed. Your breath catches at the sight. Jay smirks as he sees your reaction. Still lapping at your pussy with a steady rhythm. 

“Look at you... Look at how pretty you are,” Jay whispers into your soaking wet heat. You have a clear view of everything in the dim lighting of your room. The arch of your back, the curve of your breasts moving as you struggle to breathe. The way Jay kneels between you like he’s worshiping your everything. 

His fingers are back inside you without warning. You moan deep and loud at the impact, propping yourself up on your forearms to watch in the mirror. 

“Eyes on the mirror...Want you to see what I see when you fall apart,” Jay commands with a deep whisper. He grips your thighs with bruising intensity as he doubles his efforts. 

You can’t hold back the sounds that fall from your lips as he alternates between sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue. The rhythm pushes you to the edge, fast.  

You grip the sheets, and Jay chuckles. He doesn’t stop. You keep your eyes locked on the reflection of the two of you. You feel your core twisting with pleasure, and you gasp out, not holding back.

“Fuck..Jay I’m gonna come-“ you say as you keep your eyes locked on the mirror. Watching how your own body reacts to every flick and caress of his tongue. 

“Fucking soak me..” Jay growls into your heat. He keeps pushing you with touch and tongue until you're thrown over the edge. 

You cry his name as you come. Watching how your back arches off the mattress and your toes curl. You feel the waves of arousal spilling from you, and you can’t stop it. You watch your reflection shamelessly as your hot arousal coats his face and the sheets below. 

“That’s is..fuck..keep coming for me-“ Jay mumbles his voice getting drowned out by the wet sounds of his mouth trying to lap up your release. 

Jay watches the whole thing completely in awe. His heart rattles in his chest as he coaxes you tenderly through your orgasm. Sweat was running down his brow and mixing with the splashes of your release on his face. 

“Holy...fuck” Jay whispers as he gently laps at you one more time before pulling away. His lips are slick with your arousal as it runs down his chin and neck, dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

“You’re voice sounds even better when you come.” 

He pulls away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he helps pull you back fully into the bed. His hands are on either side of your face as he cages your naked body in. 

For a moment he just looks at you, his eyes scanning over your face reveling in the afterglow of your orgasm. He can’t help but smile down at you, chuckling softly with disbelief, hardly even being able to comprehend what just happened.

The image of you coming is already stuck on a loop inside his mind. “Your body is more addictive than any instrument I’ve ever played...” he whispers as his forehead comes to rest on yours. You can still smell yourself on his lips as he leans in. Breathless. 

He rolls his hips back into yours, and your eyes roll back from the pleasure. “Jay..” You whisper your voice cracking with how overwhelmed you feel from his tender touch.

“See what you do to me? God, I was so hard when I left the studio last night.” Jay says, his voice husky with want as he kisses you again. Letting you taste what's left of yourself on his lips.

Your hands find the edge of his shirt, and he hums into your mouth with satisfaction before tearing away from your lips to help you pull the shirt over his head.

Your heart skips a beat as you look over his chest. Your gaze catches on the sweat that clings to his honey-toned skin, and you gasp at the definition of his muscles in the dim bedroom light.

“I think we should probably do something about that. You’ve been waiting long enough..” You murmur playfully with a smirk as you reach the waistband of his sweats. Your fingertips brushed under the waistband of his underwear feeling the soft honey skin of his hipbones.

“You want to ruin me for real? Want to hear more of me?” You tease playfully as you slowly tug at the waistband of his underwear. Jay’s eyes are wide with shock as you tease him confidently. Chest aching as he realizes that you're confident like this because of him. He lets out a shaky chuckle, smirking in response.

“Fuck, let me grab a condom..” Jay says his voice husky with want. He sits back on his ankles, ready to go fetch his wallet. He's caught off guard by your hand gently catching his wrist stopping him before he can get up. He looks down at your hand at how gently you're holding him.

“No need, I—well, I have some in the nightstand...” You say, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you admit it. You release Jay’s wrist, and he immediately climbs back into your body, causing the mattress to dip more from the weight.

He leans in, interrupting you with a rough, needy kiss. His hand slides down your arm with a featherlight touch to take the condom from between your fingertips.

His lips devour yours before he pulls away completely breathless. His eyes locked on yours as he pulled down his sweatpants and tossed the rest onto the floor.

His cock springs free, leaking against the warm skin of his stomach. You watch with parted lips as he tears the packet open discarding it onto the floor before reaching between your bodies and rolling the condom over his aching length.

His hands shake as he positions himself at your entrance, one hand resting on your shoulder and the other guiding his dick. “Tell me if it's too much okay? I want this to feel good for you..” Jay whispers before he gently leans forward. Letting his tip catch on your already soaking-wet entrance before he slips a few inches in.

You throw your head back, lips gasping with a loss for words at the feeling. He is so warm, so big, so filling. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

Jay stills his movements, letting you relax your hips a little as you adjust to size. Jay slowly pulls out until just the tip remains, before pushing back into your tight walls even further. His head falls to your shoulder, his hands sliding down your body rhythmically to rest on the bare skin of your hips.

“Fuck..” He curses under his breath as your body envelops him in your heat, stretching and gripping him in all the right ways. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, sweat running down his chest and back as he thrusts into you slowly and deeply.

He gently brushes some of your hair from your face, softly tucking it behind your ear. “I’m not going to last long, fuck it feels like you were crafted for me, in every way.” He whispers, his voice rough and deep as he gently places a kiss on the side of your face.

Jay catches a glimpse of you in the mirror, like before when he was on his knees. He gently thrusts into you, pulling out tantalizingly slow before pushing past every barrier to bury himself to the hilt. The words are taken out of his throat as he watches himself fuck you in the reflection.

He watches how your tits bounce with every stroke of his cock inside you, your skin shimmering with a thin layer of sweat, and the way your delicate hands rest on his large shoulders. The way his large cock disappears inside of you he can't help but whimper at the sight.

“Look at you. Look at us…fucking incredible..” He whispers as you turn your head to look in the mirror. Eyes widen as you watch the erotic sight. You watch as he fucks you slowly like he wants to draw out every whimper and moan and add it to his own personal soundboard.

You feel full, so full, but your body is aching for more. You don't even realize your hand is reaching between your bodies until Jay catches your wrist.

“Hey..” Jay whispers, his hips jerking as he tries to keep himself from coming too soon. “Just let me take care of you…lie back for me.” 

You comply, lying back against the sheets, damp from your sweat and arousal. Jay’s hand reaches between your bodies, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. You watch in the mirror, vision going blurry as you feel him twitching inside of you, like he is holding back his collapse.

You let go. Every sound falling from your lips is raw, unfiltered, and purely you. Your body only grows wetter as Jay tactically rubs your swollen clit. You cry out, gasping curses and his name as you completely lose yourself in everything.

Jay watches in awe, the sight making his spine feel tight, his body aching for release, but he holds out for you. Each tantalizingly tight thrust takes the very breath from his lungs. His hand on your hip, gripping your damp skin even tighter as he fights to hold on.

“Oh my God, you're making me fall apart..” Jay whispers under his breath as he watches you squirm and writhe underneath him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Taking me so fucking well,” Jay whimpers as he feels himself right on the edge of release. You're so close, we can feel it in the way you clench around his invading length.

You try to gasp his name, but your voice is caught in your chest. You pull him closer, fingertips digging into his biceps as he thrusts deeper. You sob, unable to hold anything else back. You can't even warn him with words. You just hold him closer, burning your face in his neck as you come.

It feels like everything is releasing from your body. All the stress, the pressure, the grief from everything all falls away. You sob into his shoulder as you clench around him, coating him with your wetness. You dont even notice it soaking the sheets beneath you as you let go of everything in that moment.

Jay curses under his breath, your release throws him over the edge. He buries himself into you, shamelessly spilling all his release into the condom. He groans deeply as he holds your body close, slowing his thrusts to milk out every ounce of pleasure he can until the two of you are completely and utterly spent.

The two of you just lie there in silence, and the faint sound of music playing from the living room can be heard from the hall. Your mind is a hazy mess, you can't believe you really just had sex with Jay, and you actually enjoyed it.

You wince as you rethink all the sounds you shamelessly made in the heat of the moment. And the two of you are very aware of the wet mess between your bodies as evidence.

Jay just holds you, his fingertips tracing small shapes into your warm slick skin as you both come down form the high. Reality starting to settle back in.

“How are you feeling?’’ Jay whispers, breaking the silence. He gently brushes some hair from your face as he smiles at you softly, committing to memory how you look in your post orgasm afterglow.

“A little shocked, a little overwhelmed, but mostly satisfied. Don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before Mr. Jay Park..” You say with a soft chuckle as you let your hand ruffle his slightly sweaty dark hair.

“Good. I’m honored to have that title bestowed upon me.” Jay says with a soft chuckle. He gives you a quick kiss to the cheek before she slides out of you. Discretely discarding all the evidence. 

You groan at the cold empty feeling, tossing in the wet sheets as Jay stands up from the bed. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t move..” Jay says softly.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You mumble your voice muffled by the pillows as you hear the door shut behind Jay.

After a few moments he returns, kicking the door open with his foot. He steps into the room a clean towel over his shoulder and two cups of water in hand. 

 “Here I got you some water,” Jay says as he sits upright on the edge of the bed, offering the lukewarm water to you. 

You sit up letting the messy sheets pool at your waist as you accept. Taking a few sips of water from the cup.

“You keep doing shit like this and im going to think you want to stay the night.” You say casually, almost too casually. You watch as his brows furrow over your cup.

“Trust me, after what we just did, I'm not going anywhere,” Jay says as he puts the empty water cup on the nightstand and reaches for the clean towel.

He gently moves the sheets away as he starts to clean up the mess between your thighs. You're stunned at the intimate nature of the moment. No man has ever done this for you; the feeling is foreign, but somehow so right.

“Do you want to shower? I can help you clean up and change the sheets too.” Jay offers as he continues to wipe your inner thighs clean.

“A warm shower would be nice, and I'd appreciate the help changing the sheets.” You say with a nervous chuckle of disbelief as you accept his offer.

“This is really special to me, Jay..” You confess, your voice slightly raspy.

“This is really special for me, too. Can’t believe we finally rewrote the ending to that song.” Jay says with a soft chuckle at how corny he sounds, completely wrapped up in the moment with you.

“I really hope Luke likes it, Im just praying I didn’t fuck up big time with that demo.” You say your voice slightly frantic. Jays heart sinks into his chest as he sees your shoulders tighten with tension.

“Shhh, no more work talk ok? We can figure out the rest tomorrow, right now we need to get you cleaned up.” He says softly biting his lip before he scoops you up from the bed, carrying you into the bathroom in his arms.

“Let me give you a ride before you’re gone for the night, Only to wake up in the morning, not by your side.”

Jay Park proves himself a man of his word and full of fulfilled promises. Because of him, the script is rewritten, and for the first time, you don't wake up to an empty bed after giving your everything.

…

You both jerk awake to the sudden noise of your alarm cutting through the quiet morning air. You groan, stretching your arms with a yawn as you feel Jay’s soft skin still intimately pressed up against yours. 

“Morning,” Jay whispers, his voice hoarse from sleep and from everything the two of you did last night.

“Morning..” you reply with another yawn. The soft rays of the morning light creep through the blinds, and you turn to look at Jay, still lying naked in the sheets. He smiles up at you softly, his eyes glancing over all of your features in the morning sunlight. 

You take in the foreign feeling of it all. The comforting smell of dark amber and faint vanilla mixed with the lingering smell of sex.

“You like coffee?” You ask with a playful tone as you let your fingertips playfully twist strands of his long, dark hair.

“I'm gonna need it after the night we just had, you completely wrecked me,” Jay admits shamelessly. 

You rub your tired eyes as you sit up in bed. Slipping into an oversized shirt and making your way to the kitchen. With your vision still groggy from sleep, like start to make your morning coffee like it's muscle memory.

It's not long before Jay comes up behind you, his large hands wrapping around your waist, his lips finding the side of your neck.

“I could get used to this..” He mumbles between soft, lazy kisses.

“Likewise,” You reply softly as you lean into him. You finish the coffee, pouring two mismatched mugs full and adding a few pumps of sugar and cream just how you like it.

You lean against the kitchen counter, reminiscing on the intensity of last night as you take small sips of your beverage. The soreness between your thighs is a physical reminder of everything that unfolded.

Jay does the same as he leans against the counter across from you, his eyes scanning your figure over the rim of his mug.

“I’m going to have to run to my place before heading over to the studio. Can’t be showing up to my third day on the job with my coworkers cum on my shirt.” He says bluntly.

You laugh, nearly spitting out your coffee at his remark. Jay chuckles at your response. “Jay you really are something else.” You say with another low chuckle.

“Just telling the truth..” Jay says matter-of-factly.

You smile back at him, your heart fluttering as you start thinking about when you can have him again.

Luke(manager) [9:45 am] Studio now. We need to talk. 

The text message comes through as you’re sitting in the backseat of an Uber. You peer out the window to see gridlocked morning traffic that doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. You feel a spike of adrenaline as you watch the clock tick. You try to glance out the window to see what the holdup is, the ETA on the driver's GPS only getting later and later. 

“You can just let me out here, I can walk the rest.” You say to the driver. He nods, unlocking the door for you to grab your things and tumble out of the backseat onto the sidewalk. You speed walk a few more blocks until you reach the Dreamscape Records building.

You slide your keycard as you get out of the elevator, following your tracks back to the studio like your usual routine. You punch the PIN into the door and open it. Your heart drops into your stomach.

You walk into a very visibly frustrated Luke. You scan the room, catching a very red-faced Jay sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap. Luke looks at you, eyes narrowed, before singling out onJay.

“What the actual fuck was that demo?” 

note: Chapter One is finished! I hope it was enjoyable thus far. I don't have anyone to proofread for me currently, so I'll probably go back in a few days to catch any mistakes I missed. Chapter Two will be out soon! If you like the story so far, just leave a comment or an ask, and I'll add you to the taglist(18+ only!) My requests are always open, and I don't bite :) Take care until next time!

xoxo kate <3

{Track Two} Read Here!

taglist: @nithxhoon @sumzysworld @jiyeons-closet @heekirei

[sillylilsquid]

after daisy

pairing - felix x reader summary - after losing his service dog, Felix finds comfort in the ER tech who stayed. grief turns to healing, and healing turns to something more; with a new dog, shared nights, and the quiet love growing. warnings - animal death, description cpr/life saving measures, grief, depression 6k words

It was a slow lull between cases–the kind of pause that never lasts in veterinary medicine. Especially the ER.

You had finished tending to inpatients, and now you were restocking gauze and flushing lines when the front door slammed open with a bang that echoed through the fluorescent lit ER. “Help–please–someone help me!”

You turned on instinct. He was already running toward the counter, cradling a limp, bloody golden retriever in his arms. She was hardly moving. Her hind leg dangled at a sickening angle. Her coat was matted with road grit and blood. Her tags clinked weakly with each panicked step.

The man was crying–sobbing, actually–face blotchy and twisted in a raw kind of grief that made your stomach knot. “She–she got out–she ran, and then–a car–” His voice cracked and broke apart.

You didn’t ask for details. You rushed up to him, reaching for the dog. “We’ve got her,” you said, urgent but calm. “What’s your name? What’s her name?”

“Felix. This is Daisy.”

“Okay, I got her, let me take her.” You turned to him, eyes locking. “I need to take her now.”

He hesitated, shaking. His arms clutched tighter around the dog like he wasn’t sure he could let go. “I c-can’t–she’s my–she’s my–” His whole body folded inward, like the weight of her was all that was keeping him from collapsing too. “She’s my service dog.”

Your breath hitched. “I promise we’ll do everything we can,” you said softly now. But I need to take her back. Now.” You saw the moment he surrendered, the pain slicing through him as he handed her over. You rushed toward the back, yelling for help. “Hit by car, unconscious, bradycardic–”

The rest blurred into chaos. You laid Daisy on the exam table in the trauma bay, the team already swarming. You started checking vitals as you barked orders without hesitation. “Get me IV access–jugular if you have to. Start her on oxygen. Warm saline, full flow. Let’s move!”

Blood matted thick along her flank and mouth. Her breathing became agonal–barely there. You felt for a pulse at her femoral artery. Nothing. “She’s coding.”

You were already switching gears. Another tech slid in beside you and began chest compressions while you clipped in an IV catheter with a practiced flick. You flushed the line fast, securing it with tape as you called out for the doctor.

Dr. Park entered just as you began intubation. “Epi, 1ml IV push it now!” You wiped blood from her airway with gauze, sliding the endotracheal tube into her throat, then hooked it up to the ambu bag. “Tube’s in. 7.5, cuff’s inflated. Starting ventilation.”

The screen beeped. You switched out compression with a colleague, watching the monitor–still flat. Ultrasound was already on her chest. No motion. No flicker. Her heart was silent. “Come on, Daisy,” you whispered, almost without realizing. “Stay with me…”

Another round of epi was pushed. Another round of compressions. Sweat ran down your back beneath your scrubs. The whole room pulsed with urgency. Fear and desperation.

The monitors were a chaotic rhythm of being and alarms. Everyone was moving fast–hands passing syringes, lines being flushed, someone calling out vitals. You were pressing hard on Daisy’s chest, her ribs fragile under your hands, while another tech breathed for her through the endotracheal tube. Her gums still pale. 

Still flatline. “No cardiac activity,” someone whispered. Dr. Park hesitated, glanced up at the clock. “I’m calling it,” he said softly.

Your hands dropped. The fell still–all that noise and effort sucked away in a single breath. You stared down at Daisy. Her chest no longer rose. Her fur was still warm under your gloves, but fading. You took a step back, nausea twisting in your guy. You tried. You tried everything. And it hadn’t been enough.

You scrubbed your hands under burning hot water for the third time. They were shaking. Dr. Park had already written up the report. “I’ll go talk to her owner,” he said and you nodded, deciding to stay behind. But you watched as he stepped out into the cold fluorescent hallway.

You began to clean Daisy up. Removing the endotracheal tube and her IVs. You used a warm rag to clean most of the blood off of her–at least what would come off easily. You brushed out her fur the best you could.

After digging through the cupboard you found the warmest, fuzziest blanket and wrapped Daisy in it. Trying to make her look as presentable as possible for Felix.

Meanwhile, Felix hadn’t moved from reception. He was in the far corner of the waiting area, hunched in a chair meant for paperwork and quick check-ins, not grief. He was still soaked through–his sweatshirt darkened with drying blood, jeans stained with road dust. One of his hands gripped Daisy’s leash like it was a lifeline; the other was shaking violently, holding a crushed paper towel someone must’ve handed him earlier.

His leg bounced, his lips moved soundlessly, like he was whispering to her. Maybe praying. Dr. Park cleared his throat, beginning to speak quietly. “Felix?”

He stood too fast, stumbling forward. His face was a mess–red and drawn and desperate. “Is she–can I–” The words caught and tangled in his throat. 

“Let’s talk in private.” Dr. Park guided him toward an exam room, a larger one they used for sensitive cases. The blinds were drawn. The walls were quiet.

Felix sat stiffly in the lone chair beside the counter while Dr. Park remained standing, giving him space. The leash was still wrapped around Felix’s fist. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat–something he learned in his years in the field. “We tried everything we could. We intubated her, gave her fluids, medications, compressions. There was no cardiac activity on ultrasound. We ran multiple rounds of code, but…” A pause. “We couldn’t get her back. She’s passed away. I’m sorry.”

Felix didn’t react at first. He just sat there, staring at the floor. Then– “No.” Soft, almost inaudible. He shook his head, eyes burning as they welled up. “No, she’s strong. She always bounces back.” His voice broke hard, cracking open like something raw beneath it had finally surfaced. “I don’t understand–I–no–”

Dr. Park apologized again, giving Felix a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ll have them bring her to you, if you’d like.” And that’s when he broke. Felix’s cries became sobs, his sobs turned into screams.

His face was buried into his hands, screaming inaudible words as he cried. His shoulders shook, his blonde hair fell in his face. Dr. Park turned to leave, heading straight back into the treatment area.

Meanwhile, you’d just finished getting charges put in the computer under Daisy’s profile. When you saw Dr. Park he flashed you a sad smile. “Can you take Daisy to him, please? Exam room 3.” You nodded. As you began to wrap Daisy up in a way that would look more peaceful, rather than traumatic, you heard Felix’s screams. His sobs. Daisy’s name falling from his lips over and over again.

“Jeez,” one of the other techs muttered. “It’s sad, but that’s a little dramatic.” 

The words caused a fire to burn in your chest. You turned towards her and shook your head. “That was his service dog. Show some fucking compassion.” You muttered, grabbing Daisy in your arms and storming out of the trauma bay.

You headed towards the room Felix was in, the door was cracked and you saw his bent over frame. You knocked gently with your foot as you pushed the door open. “I have your girl for you,” you spoke softly. Felix’s head immediately snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, face was blotchy, dried blood smeared across his face.

You gently laid Daisy on the ground making sure her blanket was wrapped neatly around her, leaving her head out. “I cleaned her up as much as I could,” you explained, brushing your fingers through the fur behind her ears. “Take all the time you need.”

Felix practically fell out of his chair, kneeling next to Daisy. His hands trembled as he reached out towards her. When his fingers touched her fur, he broke harder than before. His body hunched over, engulfing Daisy in a hug as he practically laid next to her on the floor. His face buried against the top of her head.

As he cried, repeating her name and how sorry he was, you quietly moved out of the room. Wanting to give him privacy, but you left the door cracked just slightly. Just in case he needed anything. And as you continued with the rest of your shift, you found yourself peeking out into the hallway towards his room.

The rest of your shift passed in quiet echoes–charting, cleaning, checking on overnight inpatients. You kept glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes went by. Then an hour. Two. By the time three hours had passed, the sun started to rise. You heard a few whispers, “Is he really still in there?” “At least he stopped crying.” And you had to bite your tongue.

You’d just clocked out for the day. You changed out of your scrubs, hoodie tugged over your head, badge stowed in your locker. But before you left, your feet pulled you back toward exam room 3. The door was still cracked. You knocked gently on the frame, barely louder than a breath. “Hey…” you said. “Can I sit with you?”

Felix didn’t look up right away. He was lying on the floor, curled around Daisy’s blanket wrapped form like a child would hold a stuffed animal. His face was blotchy, eyes swollen, lips dry from hours of silent crying. But he nodded.

So you stepped inside, quiet and small, and took the chair beside him. No words, just your presence. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to.

After a few minutes, you scooted off the chair, sitting near them but not too close. And you reached out–slowly, carefully–fingers brushing through Daisy’s fur one last time. “She would’ve liked you. She liked everyone.”

You blinked hard, trying to swallow back tears. “I think I would’ve liked her too.” And the two of you just…sat. The kind of silence that doesn’t need filing. The kind that honors what was lost. The kind that stays.

The sky outside was blushing grey with morning when Felix finally stirred. He sat up slowly, arms reluctant to let go of Daisy’s small form, his forehead still pressed gently to hers. When he did lift his head, his eyes were glassy again–emptied out, yet somehow still overwhelmed. “I should go…” His voice sounded hoarse and wrecked. “Or I’ll stay here forever.” You wouldn’t have blamed him.

You smiled softly, the kind of smile that knows the pain he’s talking about. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Felix sat for another beat, stroking Daisy’s fur beneath the blanket, before whispering, “Thank you, Daisy. For everything.”

You swallowed down the ache in your throat. He looked up at you, hollowed out but grounded, like grief had finally started to settle into his bones. “Do you know what you want to do for aftercare?” you asked gently. “We can send her for private cremation if you want her ashes returned, or–”

Felix cut in, quietly, eyes dropping to her collar in his hands that he had unclipped from her. “I can’t afford that.” He hesitated then added, “The front desk already asked. Said I could make payments on what I owe for today.”

That landed harder than you expected. He didn’t look embarrassed. Just defeated. You only nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “I understand.”

Felix bent over Daisy one last time, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his lips trembling against her fur. “Goodnight, baby.”

He didn’t cry then. Not out loud. But his whole body trembled as he tucked the blanket around her once more. You waited until he stepped out of the room before reaching for her. Even though you were off the clock, you carried her back to treatment yourself–wrapped gently, respectfully–no different than you would if her person had still been watching.

The back was quiet again. Everyone moved slower in the early morning hours, that liminal space before the rush of breakfast cases and rechecks. You paused by the freezer door, then turned, and walked toward the doctor’s office instead. Dr. Park looked up from his computer when you knocked.

“Hey,” you said, clutching Daisy to you tightly. “I’m paying his bill. All of it. Cremation too. Private. I’ll cover it.”

He blinked. “You sure? I know it’s sad, but we can’t help everyone–”

You nodded once. “She was his whole world. That should matter more than a fucking invoice.” 

He didn’t argue. Just typed up a few notes and handed you the paperwork to sign. You swiped your card without a second thought.

The sun was fully up by the time you stepped outside. The parking lot was mostly empty. The only cars were the tech’s and doctor’s–but one car hadn’t moved.

You recognized it immediately. Felix was still in the driver’s seat. Just…sitting there. Not on his phone. Not crying. Just staring through the windshield at the front doors of the hospital like something might walk back out.

You stopped by the curb. Watched him for a second, heart folding in your chest. Then, gently, you raised your hand in a quiet wave. He looked up. And when he saw you, something flickered in his expression–confused , exhausted, but grateful.

He raised his hand too. Not a wave. More of a reach.

That next evening at the clinic had settled into its usual rhythm–barking from the ICU, a limping kitten in Room 2, and a stack of unfinished SOAP notes growing at the treatment desk. You were finishing up a TPR when the front desk phone rang.

“Hey, uh…there’s a guy up front. Says his name’s Felix? Wants to talk to someone from ER.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You finished the vital signs with a rushed scribble and stepped into the lobby. He was standing by the counter, holding a small envelope. He looked better–less wrecked–but still like he hadn't quite landed back in his body yet. His hair was down, brushed messily out of his face as if he’d ran his fingers through it a thousand times.

When he spotted you, he straightened. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I…I just wanted to say thank you. For yesterday. For everything.”

He handed you the envelope. Inside was a thank you card–simple, soft grey with white script. Tucked inside was a photo: Felix and Daisy on a hiking trail, her tongue out, his smile wide and natural. There was a $50 gift card to a nearby cafe stapled inside with a note that read for the team–thank you for taking care of my girl.

You blinked fast. “You didn’t have to–”

“I did,” he cut in, voice rough. “I had to. You were…kind.” He turned to the front desk then, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “I also need to make a payment toward my bill,” he said. “They told me I could split it over a few weeks–”

The receptionist blinked at the screen. “Um. It’s actually…already paid in full.”

Felix’s brows furrowed. “That’s not right. I didn’t–”

“I know,” she replied, glancing behind him towards you.

You step forward silently. He turned when he felt you hovering. There was something guarded in his expression–grateful but confused, like he was trying to understand something he didn’t quite have the language for yet.

You didn’t explain. Didn’t confess. You just met his eyes and said, gently, “Daisy will be back in a few days.”

His mouth parted, then closed again. He swallowed. “Really?” His voice was tight, careful.

You nodded. “I’ll call when she’s ready to come home.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes wet again, but steadier this time. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Really. For all of it.”

It’s been a few weeks. Daisy’s ashes are long gone. You wrapped them in tissue paper and tucked the box into a plain brown bag. You remember his fingers trembling when he took it from you–how he didn’t speak, didn’t look you in the eye. Just nodded once. Like if he opened his mouth, he might break apart in front of everyone.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until today.

“That guy with the Australian accent was looking for you yesterday,” one of the night nurses says casually, popping gum between her teeth as you sign out. “Didn’t catch his name. Said he came by about his dog? He didn’t seem right.”

You pause, pen hovering midair. “Did he say anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just…asked if you were working. Didn’t come in. Stayed by the doors, looking kind of lost. Then left.”

You don’t ask why she didn’t come get you. You just nod and finish your charting.

The next day your shift drags. Nothing goes terribly wrong, but the hours feel heavier than usual–like you’re waiting for something. Every time the front door dings open, you glance toward it. And every time, it’s not him.

Until it is.

You’ve just clocked out. Your hoodie’s half zipped, stethoscope tucked in your bag. You round the corner to head out back and–there he is. Sitting on the curb outside the staff entrance. Hoodie up. Elbows on his knees. Daisy’s leash looped twice around his wrist, like it always was–except there’s no dog at the other end now. Just empty slack.

He looks up at the sound of the door. And when he sees you, he tries to smile. It doesn’t work. “Hey,” he mumbles. His voice is raw, like he hasn’t used it much lately. “Didn’t think I’d catch you.”

You sit next to him. Not too close. Not yet. He fidgets with the leash. You ask how he’s been doing. He doesn’t lie, not really.

“Not great,” he admits. “Some nights I still reach for her food bowl. Realize halfway through that I’m filling it for a ghost.”

He laughs a little, but it’s brittle. His eyes are rimmed red. There’s a dull tremor in his hand when he presses his fingers to his temple. “It’s quiet, you know? Real quiet. I thought I’d like that. But…it’s different without her. It’s not silence, it’s…”

“Absence,” you finish.

He nods. The silence between you this time is gentler.

“She used to wake me up when I had bad dreams,” he murmurs. “Now I just wake up and stay up. Because there’s no one to stop it.”

You glance at him. “Do you have anyone else?”

He shakes his head. “It was just her. Just Daisy.” A pause. “And you, that day.”

He doesn’t cry. But it’s a near thing. You want to ask a million things. You want to tell him it’s okay. But you don’t know if it is. So you say the only thing that feels real.

“You don’t have to go home yet.”

And you stand. You wait. And after a long, fragile pause–he rises too.

“I mean–sorry, that probably sounded weird. I just…” You let out a breath. “You can come to my place, if you want. Just for a bit. Stay as long as you need. I figured you might not wanna be alone.”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s quiet on the drive over. You fiddle with the heat, give him the aux cord even though you know he won’t take it. His hands stay in his lap, the leash still curled tight in his grip like muscle memory.

At your place, he toes off his shoes and stands awkwardly by the door. You flick the lights on and toss your keys into the bowl. “Make yourself comfortable,” you announce. “Couch, bed, floor–whatever works. I’m gonna change into something less covered in fur and anxiety.”

That earns a soft snort from him. A tiny upward curl at the edge of his mouth.

You return in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He hasn’t moved far–just wandered into your room and perched on the edge of your bed, eyes on the ground like he’s not sure if he should even sit.

“I haven’t eaten since, like, yesterday,” he mutters.

You sit down next to him and pull your phone out. “Pizza?” you ask.

He nods. “Pineapple?” you test.

A breathy laugh escapes him. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” you say, tapping your order in. “I was gonna judge you.”

It takes about 40 minutes for the food to arrive, and in that time, something shifts. He tugs off his hoodie and sits cross legged on your comforter. You toss him a pillow and he hugs it close. “Is this weird?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you reply honestly. “But not in a bad way.”

You eat pizza sitting on your bed with your knees brushing, boxes spread out between you. He talks with his mouth full, and you don’t call him out on it. You’re just glad he’s eating.

After dinner, it’s quiet again–but not heavy. You stretch out and lean against the headboard. He follows, sinking down beside you. And that’s when he finally lets go.

“She used to curl up under the blanket and stick her nose out like a little burrito,” he murmurs, staring at his hands.

You let him talk. About Daisy. About her first day with him. Her surgeries. Her anxiety. Her stupid favorite toy that squeaked like a dying bird. The way she’d sit outside the bathroom door if he forgot to leave it open.

“She didn’t like most people, but she probably liked you.” He says.

Your chest goes tight. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softer, “She trusted you. That means something…I haven’t really talked about her. Not like this.”

You nod. “You can keep going. Say whatever you need. You don’t have to stop.”

He does. He talks until his voice goes hoarse. Until he can’t keep his eyes open. You don’t rush him. You just listen. At some point, his head tilts and lands on your shoulder. You go still. “Just a second,” he mumbles. “I’ll move.”

You shake your head. “You’re good.”

And he stays. Breathing slowly, warm beside you. And for the first time since you met him, there’s no difference. No wall. No leash between grief and comfort. Just two people on a bed, sharing quiet and space. The beginning of something fragile, and maybe healing.

It doesn't happen all at once. First, it’s just that one night. Then another. A few days later, he shows up outside the clinic near the end of your shift. No texts. Just leans on your car, hands in his jacket pockets, waiting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Figured I’d see if you wanted takeout,” he says.

You do.

And after that, it becomes a pattern.

Your place, his place. Takeout boxes in the trash, half finished movies in the queue. He starts leaving things behind: a hoodie on your chair, socks tucked in your laundry, a toothbrush next to yours without either of you mentioning it.

Some nights, you fall asleep talking. Other nights, you don't talk at all. But it’s never awkward. Not with him.

You start watching for his face after shifts. He waits for you outside the ER, hood up, sleeves pulled over his hands. He holds your lunch sometimes. Brings coffee. The other nurses start to notice.

“Is that your boyfriend?” one of them teases.

“No,” you say too quickly. “We’re just–friends.”

But even as you say it, it feels too simple.

One late evening, you’re curled up on the couch at his place. A documentary plays in the background, muted. He’s been quiet for a while, scrolling through something on his phone. You think he’s not really present until he says: “There’s a dog at the shelter.”

You turn toward him, brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nods, still looking at his screen. “They posted her picture this morning. She’s older. Little shy. Black lab mix. Looks like she’s had a rough time.”

You pause, watching the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. “You thinking about adopting her?”

A long silence. He locks his phone and tosses it beside him. Shrugs one shoulder. “I dunno. I don't know if I can do that again. Losing her. I don't know if it’s too soon, or if it’ll always be too soon.”

Your heart aches. You shift closer, gentle. “It’s not weird that you’re thinking about it.”

He looks at you. “I just thought…maybe we could go see her? You know. No pressure. Just meet her.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since Daisy died. And when you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. His fingers brush yours on the blanket between you. Neither of you say it out loud, but there’s something shared in that silence. Something healing. Something ready. 

The shelter smells like bleach and wet fur. It’s loud in the way all shelters are loud–echoing barks, whining, the sharp clang of metal bowls hitting concrete.

Felix tenses beside you as you check in at the front desk. He doesn’t say much, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, but his eyes never stop moving. Not fear exactly–just bracing. Expecting impact.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just…haven’t been here since…” He trails off and you just nod in understanding.

You reach out without thinking, touching his wrist. His gaze drops where your fingers brush his skin, then back up to your face. He doesn’t pull away.

The volunteer, a young guy in a ‘FOSTER HEROES’ t-shirt, comes to meet you with a clipboard. “You’re here to meet Emmy?”

Felix nods once.

“She’s a little shy,” the guy says as he leads you down the hallway. “Came from a neglect case. She’s sweet though. Warms up once she trusts you.”

You stop in front of a kennel near the end of the row. The dog inside is curled up at the back–small for a lab mix, black with graying fur around the muzzle, one ear that won’t quite stand up.

Emmy doesn’t rush the door. She doesn’t bark. She just lifts her head, slow and careful, her eyes big and cautious. “Hi, sweet girl,” you whisper.

You crouch down. Let her sniff you through the bars. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t move closer either. Felix stays back at first, hands still in his hoodie, watching.

“Do you want to go in?” the volunteer offers.

Felix hesitates. “You can both go,” he says. “No pressure.”

Slowly, Felix follows you inside. Emmy keeps her distance, tense and watchful, but when you sit cross-legged on the floor and open your palm, she takes a few slow steps forward. Her nails click against the concrete.

You don’t rush her. Felix sits beside you, knees drawn up. Quiet. He doesn’t reach for her–just watches the way her body moves, cautious and ready to bolt.

But then Emmy sniffs your hand. Then Felix’s shoe. Then, slowly, she presses her nose against his knee. He freezes. You don’t say anything. 

She sniffs again, then settles her chin on his thigh like she’s already made a decision. Felix’s breath shudders. He brings one hand up, trembling just slightly, and lets it hover before gently touching her fur. 

“She’s so soft,” he says, barely audible.

You smile. “She likes you.”

“You think?”

“Look at her.”

Emmy shifts, half in his lap now, tail flicking just once. The volunteer grins from the door. “Take all the time you need.”

You stay like that for a while. Letting the silence settle. Letting Felix fall in love again–slower this time, more careful.

And when the volunteer finally returns and asks, “So, wanna put in an application?” Felix looks to you first.

Not because he needs permission–but because this time, he doesn't want to do it alone. You smile and nod. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft but certain. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The rain starts as a gentle tapping on the windows, but by the time the takeout boxes are empty and the lights are low, it’s a full on storm. Thunder rolls heavy through the sky, shaking the apartment like a warning.

Felix doesn’t say much. He hasn’t said much since the shelter. Just looked at Emmy like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

Now, the three of you are curled up in the dim warmth of his bedroom–Emmy at the foot of the bed, you and Felix lying side by side under his gray comforter. The TV is on low, playing some random show that neither of you is really watching.

He flinches a little when lightning flashes. His breathing’s gotten tight. You shift closer, careful. “You okay?”

Felix nods–or maybe just tips his head a little–but his hand is fisting the blanket by his chest, jaw clenched.

“Storms?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Been better since Daisy. But…tonight’s loud.”

You don’t push. You just stay next to him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, grounding. You feel him trembling a little under your touch. A deep rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

Felix’s body tenses again–barely perceptible, but you feel it. And then, like she’s been watching the whole time, Emmy rises from her spot at the foot of the bed.

She moves slowly, ears half cocked, and steps over the sheets to where Felix is lying frozen. One paw, then the next, up until she’s settling herself directly on top of his chest–not heavy, just enough to anchor him. Her chin rests just under his collarbone.

Felix holds his breath. And then–you hear it–a quiet, cracked whisper, “Daisy did this.”

Your heart lurches. He doesn't cry. Doesn’t move. Just lies there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his hand coming up like muscle memory to curl around Emmy’s side.

“First storm after I adopted her. I couldn’t breathe. And she–she just climbed on me. Like she knew.” His voice breaks around the edges. “She always knew.”

You press closer, curling your arm over his and resting your head against his shoulder. “Maybe Emmy knows too.”

He exhales, long and shaky, like something loosens inside him. “She’s not Daisy,” he says softly. “I know that.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” you whisper. “She’s Emmy. And you have each other now.”

There’s silence. Then Felix nods. Emmy shifts slightly, letting out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. Thunder cracks again. This time, Felix doesn’t flinch.

Mornings settle into a rhythm.

Felix wakes before the alarm, most days. You brew the coffee while he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Emmy circles your ankles, tail wagging like she’s clocked in for duty.

She follows Felix from room to room–never needy, just near. Always watching. She nudges his leg when he’s pacing too much. Sits against his knees when he gets that faraway look, the one you’ve learned means he’s spiraling. She even curls up beside the bathroom door when he showers. Just like Daisy used to.

The first time you notice it, you glance down at her quiet shape, then up at Felix through the half steamed glass. “She waits,” you murmur. “Like she knows you need someone on the other side.”

Felix blinks at you, water running down his face. “Daisy did that,” he says, his voice sounding surprised.

You smile. “Maybe Daisy’s telling her how to help you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. But that night you find him sitting on the couch while Emmy lay across his lap, and he’s just…still. Not scrolling, not fidgeting. Just breathing. You let yourself believe he’s healing.

It’s a Thursday when it happens.

Rain again, but softer this time. You’re both in sweats, Emmy’s squirrel toy already soaking wet from too many rounds of fetch in the hallway. Felix is on the floor, back against the couch, and Emmy trots over to drop the soggy toy in his lap. “Okay, okay, one more time, Daisy.”

It slips out like breath. He freezes. You’re on the couch, just close enough to see the shift in his eyes–the way the air pulls tight around him. “Felix.”

His jaw clenches. He looks down at Emmy like he just betrayed her. But Emmy doesn’t react. She just nudges his hand, then places the squirrel gently in his lap again.

Felix blinds rapidly, sniffling once. He picks up the toy, not even wiping his eyes. “You wanna play, huh?”

Emmy wags her tail and sits, ears up. He throws the squirrel. She sprints. You slide down next to him, touching his arm lightly.

“She knows who you meant.”

He laughs through a shaky breath. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

You don’t say more. You just sit there, letting Emmy trot back and forth between you, panting and proud. And when Felix rests his head on your shoulder, you lean into him–quiet, steady. Letting the weight of grief settle alongside something softer. Something new.

The squirrel toy lies abandoned now, forgotten in the corner. Felix’s legs are stretched out in front of him, your thigh pressed against his where you’ve both stayed slouched on the floor. Emmy has flopped belly-up between you, snoring faintly, her head resting across his ankle lke she belongs there.

Neither of you has said much in a while. The only sounds are the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain. You glance sideways at him, taking in the soft slump of his shoulders, the wet curls stuck to his temple. He’s tired. Not just end-of-the-day tired. The kind that lives in the bones.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

His eyes stay fixed on Emmy for a second too long. Then he swallows “I keep thinking about how bad I was doing,” he says, voice so quiet you almost miss it. “Back when Daisy died.”

You stay quiet. Let him lead. 

“I wasn’t eating. Barely sleeping. I’d come home and the place felt like a grave like if I breathed too loud I’d break it.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Then I met you.”

You blink. “Felix…”

“I’m serious,” he says, looking at you now. Really looking. “You didn’t just hand me her ashes and disappear. You stayed. You kept showing up. You let me talk about her. You let me not talk about her.”

You feel your throat tighten.

“And now Emmy–she’s not Daisy. I know that. But she…fits. Like she just knew where she was supposed to be. With me. With us.”

He glances down at Emmy, who kicks her leg in her sleep like she’s chasing something.

“Some nights, when I wake up and I feel like I’m drowning again–I’ll turn over and you’re just…there. And she’s there.”

He looks back at you, blinking slowly.

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Your heart aches. You don’t speak, just slide your fingers between his, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to,” you whisper.

He leans into you, forehead resting against yours, lashes damp. “Promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Felix.”

Emmy stirs, shifting so her paw flops over both your legs like a sleep seal of approval. And for the first time in a long time, you see something new in Felix’s eyes. Not just grief. But hope.

Felix stays pressed against you for a long moment, his breath slow and steady. The storm outside has softened to a light drizzle, but inside the room, something warmer is starting to flicker between you.

You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. His eyes find yours, searching, hesitant–like he’s asking permission without words.

You smile softly. “You know,” you murmur, “you don’t have to be scared here.”

His lips twitch in a small, tired smile. “I’m not scared,” he says quietly. “Maybe…just tired.”

You nod, understanding. And then, carefully, as if testing the waters, your fingers brush a stray curl from his forehead. Felix closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it like it’s the safest place in the world.

You hesitate, then tuck your hand behind his neck, pulling him gently closer. His eyes flutter open, and you see that vulnerable mix of hope and uncertainty again.

“Can I…?” you ask softly.

He nods, and your lips find his. The kiss is slow, soft–like the quiet promise of something new, something healing.

Felix’s hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing gentle circles. Emmy stirs again at your feet but doesn’t move, like she knows this moment is yours.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, rubbing your nose against his. “Me neither.”

“Thank you,” Felix says, voice thick with emotion.

You squeeze his hand. “No, thank you. For letting me in.”

Outside, the last of the thunder rumbles softly–but inside, it’s calm. Warm. Full of new beginnings.

a/n - sorry for the heartbreak, but ugh this idea has been in my head for a while. I work in vet med and see so many grieve. xoxo hope u enjoyed

[glowettee]

✧・゜: how i organize my google drive for maximum efficiency :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✨

i use google drive to organize mostly everything, and the truth is, my google drive used to be an absolute disaster zone, we're talking hundreds of "untitled document" files and random screenshots saved who knows when. but after one particularly stressful finals week where i lost a paper for three hours, i completely overhauled my system. here's exactly how i organize everything now!

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the folder structure that changed everything ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

first things first, i use a simple top-level organization system:

📁 𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴: all school-related files

📁 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭: journals, goal tracking, finances, etc.

📁 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦: blog drafts, design projects, photos

📁 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪��𝘦: completed classes and old projects

📁 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘴: templates, reference materials, guides

the key is keeping your top level super simple, i used to have 20+ folders here and it was overwhelming! now i can find anything within seconds because i know exactly which category it falls under.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ my academic folder system ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

this is the most detailed section of my drive! inside my academics folder:

📁 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

📁 class 1

📁 class 2

📁 class 3

📁 class 4

📄 semester schedule

📄 assignment tracker

inside each class folder:

📁 notes

📁 assignments

📁 readings

📁 projects

📄 syllabus

i color-code each class folder to match my physical notebooks and planner tabs, this visual consistency helps my brain switch between subjects more easily!

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ file naming conventions that save me ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

the absolute game-changer was developing a consistent naming system:

for class notes: DATE_CLASS_TOPIC example: 06.10_psych101_memory_systems

for assignments: CLASS_ASSIGNMENT_STATUS example: econ202_midterm_essay_final

for group projects: CLASS_PROJECT_MYPART_VERSION example: marketing300_campaign_research_v2

this might seem excessive, but it means i never have to open files to figure out what they are! plus, sorting by name automatically puts everything in chronological order.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ my favorite google drive hacks ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

these little tricks make everything run even smoother:

𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: i star current project files so they always appear at the top of my drive

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨: right-click folders to give them colors that match your physical organization system

𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺: i keep a "templates" folder with pre-formatted docs for essays, lab reports, notes, etc.

𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴: i set important folders to be available offline (has saved me during wifi emergencies!)

𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴: using "type:pdf" or "after:2023-09-01" in the search bar to filter results

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ maintenance routines ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

even the best system falls apart without regular maintenance! here's my schedule:

𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘱 (15 min): every friday afternoon, i sort any stray files into their proper folders and rename anything with default names

𝘮𝘪𝘥-𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘵 (30 min): halfway through each semester, i check that everything is where it should be and create any new folders needed

𝘦𝘯𝘥-𝘰𝘧-𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 (1 hour): i move completed classes to my archive folder and set up the next semester's structure

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ sharing & collaboration settings ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

as someone who works on lots of group projects, getting these settings right is crucial:

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴: i create specific shared folders for each group project rather than sharing individual files

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴: i'm careful about giving "edit" vs "comment" access depending on the project

𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: i always disable "anyone with the link can edit" to avoid accidental changes

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ my best google drive tips ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

create a "quick access" document with links to your most-used files

use google drive's "workspaces" feature to group project files temporarily

download the desktop app to easily drag and drop files

set up automatic google photos backup for screenshots and images

use keyboard shortcuts (shift + n for new folder is my favorite!)

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ final thoughts ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

remember that the perfect organization system is one that works for your brain! mine has evolved over years of trial and error, and i still tweak it each semester. the key is consistency, whatever system you choose, stick with it long enough to make it habit.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Bright Lights (Chapter 3)

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, post-divorce healing, Pitt Fest is a warning of its own, medical inaccuracies.

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count:  5,410 words

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello , @sus-styles , @moonshooter , @hagarsays @that-sarcastic-writer , @ddrawers96 , @pear-1206 , @nerdgirljen , @penbridgertonn & @emma8895eb

Part 3 of 4

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6:30pm

As time ticks on, second by second, minute by minute. Frankie can’t help but worry. The uncomfortable plastic of the cheap hospital cafeteria chair digging into her thighs served as a reminder. A reminder of what she had experienced. Pitt Fest had been an incalculable disaster. The whistle of flying bullets had been hard to shut out, as she continued to relive each decision and choice she made. With each passing moment, more found their way here. Family members, friends and the like always with the same burning questions; Are their loved one’s safe? Are they counted amongst the wounded or had they been the unlucky ones?

Frankie couldn’t leave, not yet. She couldn’t return to House 42 empty-handed and without the small sliver of information on the whereabouts of her missing friend and colleague. Guilt gnawed away at her. No-one gets left behind but in less than a second, someone did. The click of heels against the linoleum tiles caught her attention, dragging her out of her depressive thoughts; Frankie lifted her gaze to see two figures approaching where they all waited.

The sight of two staff members had been enough to silence the chatter; all eyes had fallen upon these two women ready to listen as a younger woman approached them. Frankie wasn’t close enough to hear her words but still watched on, noting the pile of papers in their hands. The interaction was brief, but the young woman’s body language spoke volumes, worry and panic overpowering all other emotions, as she was the same boat as all the rest that gathered all around. 

Her eyes tracked them as they crossed into the centre of the cafeteria, where they could be heard easily by everyone.

“Hello? Can I have your attention, please? My name is Kiara Alfaro. I’m an emergency-department social worker.” Frankie was almost certain that she had seen her before; she had never found an opportunity to meet the resident day shift social worker. She only really knew her night shift colleague; he was a right scream but had spoken highly of Kiara praising her calm nature and how she could get almost anyone to open up to her. 

“This is Lupe Perez, one of our ward clerks.” As she continued to speak, Kiara introduced her colleague, the ward clerks were all hardworking, taking the brunt of the frustration of the waiting patients. Each word was loudly and clearly projected to ensure that they were understood by all who listened on.

“I know you all want information about your friends and family. In order to help you, we have a QR Code you can scan for our patient-identification website.” This was the beginning of the next stage with handling the mass casualty. 

“Cell phones are down, but you can log onto the hospital guest WI-FI. That information is on these papers we’ll distribute around the room.” It was understandable that phone lines would be jammed up, with the sheer number of people trying to reach out to their loved ones. Frankie’s phone had already logged into the Wi-Fi network as soon as she had entered the hospital grounds. This was a good sign; it would give people something to focus on.

“Once you log on, send us the name and birth date of whomever you’re concerned about.” She quickly tried to recall the necessary information; did she know her friend’s exact date of birth? The day and month were easy, but the year that might take a moment. As she thought back to her friend’s last birthday, how old had she been? With access to the Internet, she could shoot a message to Captain Valentino, who had direct access to the personnel files, but that would be a last resort.

“If you could tell us what they were wearing, upload photos, pictures of tattoos, piercings, anything to help identify would be useful.” Frankie had been the unofficial photographer of the tent; she had been the one to step up and take more than a few photographs and selfies through the day. Mostly for Instagram and her own personal collection, but a few for the Department to show their involvement as part of the PR and the monthly newsletter; not that many people actually opened that email when it dropped into their inbox. The next one might be an exception.

Frankie had been the one to take her to her first tattoo appointment, so she had photos of it. It had been a special moment since she knew the meaning behind the chosen design. Jake had been the one to help her shape into reality. He had drawn it for her, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to be there as he had class on the date that had been chosen. Frankie couldn’t help but wonder at the sweet relationship that her friend had with the young man. She had wished that she had something when she had grown up.

“If we get a match, we’ll let you know. We’re setting up phone chargers, water, snacks. And if anyone needs to change clothes, we’ve got paper scrubs coming.” Her hands had been covered in blood, that had long since dried, but it didn’t seem overly important to find a bathroom and wash it away as she made her way to the Cafeteria.

“Give us some time. We’re doing everything we can to help get you the information you need.”  Frankie took a second before moving, as a crowd formed around the two tables where the papers had been placed. As she took a seat once more, with the newly acquired document, she began to follow the instructions. Her fingers danced across her phone keyboard as a WhatsApp message popped up on her screen. Another swiftly followed; House 42 was reaching out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------7pm

“Fuck” The very word was stuck on repeat; Dana could not let Robby see this. Not now, when his attention needed to remain focused. The house of cards could not fall apart at this most crucial of junctions. As more patients flooded into the department, as much as worry was seeping through the cracks in her armour, Dana could not let Robby see the bloodied garment.

The split second decision had to be made, as she placed the jacket and thoughts of its owner aside. Using the moment of a patient being transferred up to surgery as a barrier to try to hide how shameful she felt. She watched where it landed, in the corner of an empty bay. Not that it won’t be unoccupied for long. Her tricky mind conjured countless scenarios, imagining the almost listless ways a mass casualty event could injure someone. Hope was a thin thread that she placed her bets on; Dana knew her. They punched, kicked and spit at her on the job, but still she had kept coming back for more.

She couldn’t say the same anymore; it was getting harder to reflect on the good times, without the awful moments overpowering the rest. Today was the latest in a long line of violence that had pushed over the edge into thoughts of if she was going to come back. If this was all really worth it. There wasn’t even enough time to take a breath between incoming patients. Once the panic subsided, Dana could ponder what came next only after they had attended to all critically unwell patients.

With the stream of gurneys and wheelchairs, the patients had blurred without the coloured wristbands to identify them. Dana wandered would she had missed Robby’s ex-wife in the crush? She had been a close friend in another life. She couldn’t recall the last time that she had met up for coffee and a catch up. Aside from a few brief moments at Central, before another call come in over the airwaves, summoning back to work.

Dana tried to think back to the last time that they had been in the same room. Silence had reigned for months. Robby might not have shouted from the rooftops, but Dana had seen the more subtle signs. Firstly, it had been the ring protector falling by the wayside, then his wedding band vanished from his golden chain, but finally it had been the growing closeness between himself and Heather. It might have a brief few months, but a bond had formed. It had its share of ups and downs, but the damage wasn’t as visible.

The tether had fizzled away; it had been what they both had needed in the moment. Passing affection and physical attraction hadn’t been enough to develop into a more permanent and lasting connection. Princess and Perlah had noted the changes. Quick gossip followed, its impact lessened only by awareness that one relationship ended to begin another.

Black lines that hadn’t been there before floated up to the surface of Dana’s thoughts. A tattoo? She had never questioned the fresh addition, wondering which design had you chosen? Robby had a few, but you had been a blank canvas. 

With her thoughts misaligned, Dana needed to stay calm in the storm’s eye. This was what the department required her to be, even in the hours past the end of her shift. The one who led them through the push, over the edge, straight into no-man’s-land. As the mask slipped back into place, she couldn’t help but frown at the sight of the few heavily armed SWAT teams roaming around the halls. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago?

This abrupt development put her further on guard. This was far from good news.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The department was rushed off its feet as soon as one patient would be taken up to surgery or the ICU floor, two additional patients had taken their place. It was never ending; Frank Langdon and Cassie McKay were working in a familiar rhythm formed in the past two years that they had worked solidly side by side. In that time, they had gotten used to the speed that each other worked at, but they had also gotten to know one another on a more professional basis, but tidbits of their personal lives would slip through the gaps now and then. McKay’s centred more around her son Harrison, whereas Langdon tended to ebb and flow with the emotional state of his marriage.

Frank was more aware of the fallout of Robby’s marriage, but Cassie had only met the ex-wife in passing. The connection to Dr Robinavitch fell at the wayside; to McKay, she was just another paramedic who preferred to work nights. On the rare occasion that Cassie was rotated in to cover a night shift, this had been where they crossed paths for the first time. She had seemed nice enough, quiet, but there had been an underlying playfulness that came to the surface whenever Dr Abbot was around. 

There was a story, a history between the pair of them, not that anyone dared to comment on the exact nature of their connection when she had brought it up. It wasn’t worth antagonising Abbot, so Cassie let it go. Never given it much thought, as it had been nearly eight months since her last night shift, Frank hadn’t been as lucky. His last night was less than a week prior; it had been far from an easy shift to boot.

Cassie watched as the next patient was wheeled in, an unconscious female, dressed in what looked like the standard issue trousers worn by paramedics, topped with a once white shirt coated in dirt and blood. Paramedics had been at the Festival in an official capacity, yet her patient seemed familiar, but many crew passed through those doors on a nearly hourly basis. 

“Shit, you know who that is, right?” The sound of Langdon’s voice floated in as he made his way over whilst McKay was midway through her assessment. Cassie shook her head as she continued on, focused on carrying out the basic steps of a complete neurological exam considering her presentation. “Should I?”

“That’s Robby’s ex-wife” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7:30pm

Frustration was bubbling up within Trinity swiftly returned to the yellow zone. With no attending trailing behind, they were on their own. This was not the outcome that she had been hoping for when she had gone searching for an attending.

“I tried. No attendings available,” she announced as she approached Dr Mel King, who remained at the patient’s bedside, still working on the unconscious man. Trinity moved through, trying to find her next interesting case, whilst keeping an eye out for any available attending. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, as she surveyed each patient that she passed by; nothing immediately stood out. One gurney caught her eye; as she made her approach, Trinity slipped on a fresh pair of sterile gloves ready to make her assessment.

“All right” As Trinity slipped effortlessly into doctor mode, as her gaze dropped to the open wounds upon the young man’s legs that Nurse Donnie was cleaning with large pieces of gauze. 

“Okay, those look pretty superficial.” Santos commented as she took in what she could see; the wounds on his leg might be large but were shallow. 

“Might’ve been fragments from a ricochet off the ground.” Donnie replied, as he had been the one tending to the wounds; she listened to his assessment as her mind turned over the information as she worked out the possible next steps.

“Lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be okay, bro.” As she carefully lifted up the heavily stained remains of what once had been a trouser leg to inspect the wound for herself. The ease of his interaction spoke of a familiarity with her patient that she had not noticed until this point. Did Donnie know this young man? Trinity was left wondering the possibilities as her mind raced.

“It’s not bad. Just put me back in the wheelchair.” The young man answered; this was not even an option as Santos knew what the outcome might be if they allowed their patient to get out of the bed before his legs were bandaged up. She could not risk his wounds opening further and him bleeding out.

“No, no, stay in bed with your leg up.” She said, before continuing on speaking as she cautioned him bluntly. “We don’t want you oozing to death.” As she left the bedside to see what the other doctors had landed as Javedi helped move another gurney through the department into the yellow zone.

“Samira, what you got?” Trinity loudly asked; waiting patiently for Dr Mohan to answer.

“Opiate OD needs observation after Narcan.” For Santos, that was far too pedestrian, too ordinary and, to put it plainly, boring. Not for her. This was what came with festivals; drugs and overdoses were a dime a dozen but there were more interesting patients than this. There was nothing to learn, no interesting procedures to practise or carry out solo. “Ugh, boring. No, thank you.” Trinity swiftly replied before moving on as she turned her back and walked back toward Mel.

“Mel, how’s Ganja Grayson?” She called out, inquiring about the status of the patient with a newly christened nickname. The man was a true hippie as she walked the few meters back over to the bay. 

“Um, we can put him in pink whilst he waits for ICU.” She listened to the words of her senior doctor, as the man’s condition had continued to worsen since falling unconscious; without the typical methods of investigations available, there was little they could actually do in the here and now. He needed a CT scan, but it would be hours before he could be sent up for one.

“Okay. One second.” Santos curiously watched on as Whitaker moved closer to the patient with a probe that had been plugged into his phone. Yet Samira beat her to the punch, speaking first. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking the retina.” Trinity patiently watched the back-and-forth exchange, as it seemed that Huckleberry was chasing a cause. He was thinking creatively to find a solution to help Mr Grayson.

“For detachment?” Samira continued on, adding a potential diagnosis to the pile, but Whitaker responded with his own reasoning. As he used the phone screen to measure the distance from one end of the optic nerve to the other. With the swipe of a finger on a touchscreen. “For Intracranial pressure by measuring the optic nerve sheath, which is—holy shit—10 millimeters”  He quickly pulled away with the news of this recent development.

What Huckleberry had uncovered was wild. As Victoria Javedi spoke up, running through the encyclopaedic amount of medical knowledge that was rushing through her mind, much like they all did with each fresh case.

 “What’s normal? 5?” She asked, knowing the answer from the countless neurology seminar and skills labs that they had all attended whilst studying. As they memorised a plethora of textbooks with case studies and long lists of symptoms and treatments outlined in great detail.

“Yeah, 5” Whitaker replied, as the answer unfolded, as Mel was the one to offer up what was the most likely conclusion. “It’s an Intracranial bleed. ”One had they all had swiftly come to with the discovery of the expansion of his optic nerve, it was practically doubled in size! This was becoming a wildly more interesting case than the OD.

“The pressure’s been building up.” Trinity had turned her to listen as Mel continued on with her explanation of Mr Grayson’s condition. “There’s no blown pupil.”

“Yeah, not yet. Trinity replied, knowing that as soon as the pressure reached a critical level, then his pupil would likely blow. But if he keeps bleeding in his skull, he’s going to die.” This was not the moment to sugar coat what was going to occur if they just stood around and did nothing. This man was inching closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Yeah, he needs a one-inch, uh, burr hole in his—with a cranial drill.” Mel spoke through what was needed, stuttering over words as she started to move away from the patient. “I’m just gonna see if neurosurgery’s here.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Neuro.” Trinity watched as Dr Samira Mohan stepped up to the plate, taking over the case. Santos might have a rough around the edge approach to medicine, her bedside manner might need tweaking, but she did not wish to risk her internship on her very first day. For intern to attempt burr holes without the supervision of an attending that was a Grey’s Anatomy level of madness that would quickly hand a one-way ticket to the psych ward. No, thank you. However, she was more than happy to assist if Mohan was taking the lead.

Mohan had rushed off to collect the supplies that she needed, returning the bay once she had what was required to start the procedure. “I got Betadine and a 10cc syringe.” Announcing each step as she continued on. Whitaker had been the one to speak up, asking a basic but necessary question. His tone wavering as he worked through his jumbled up thoughts. “Should we intubate, hyperventilate?”

“Mannitol decreases ICP.” Victoria answered; Trinity was still mentally referring to her as Crash. The nickname was not going anywhere fast. Once she had handed one, she rarely would change it unless continually pushed too. She would count on one hand the number of times that she had altered one of her famous nicknames. Javedi’s reply was factually accurate, as Trinity recalled the effects of Mannitol on the intercranial pressure and the outcome of this situation if the drug was delivered.

However, before anyone could blink; Samira had picked up an IO drill and made her first burr hole, drilling into the side of Mr Grayson’s head to relieve the pressure.

“Holy shit! What the hell?” All at once, the three of them responded in tandem in equal parts shock and horror at what they had just witnessed. An unconventional use of an IO drill to carry out a neurological procedure to administer burr holes and reduce the built up intercranial pressure. This day couldn’t get any wilder. Samira had proven to be more resourceful and more impressive than Trinity’s earlier impression; she wasn’t as stiff as she had initially appeared to be.

“Relieving Intracranial pressure so he doesn’t die.” Samira replied as used the first 10cc syringe, drawing back as Whitaker cut in with his next question. “With an IO drill?” Samira shrugged back, this was the best option that was to hand. Trinity chose this moment to speak up; now that she wouldn’t the first one to attempt such a out of left field procedure, there was no way that she wouldn’t let the opportunity slid by. “That’s sick. I get the next one.”

“Long as it’s not on me.” Trinity wanted to burst out laughing at the patient in the next bay’s words, as normally there wouldn’t be the chance for this kind of interaction. His words might still be more slurred as he slowly recovered from the effects of the overdose, but the meaning was crystal clear.

“What the fuck?” Dr Emery Walsh exclaimed as she leaned over to see Dr Mohan seated at the patient’s side, already performing the procedure. Mohan had caught her gaze briefly before returning to continuing to drain blood. “Draining the ICH with an EZ-IO.” The atmosphere grew tense in the presence of Dr Walsh, the no nonsense trauma surgeon.

“40 cc’s out so far.” Confused by the sight of the unsupervised unconventional procedure being carried out, night shift charge nurse Bridget approached Mohan for an explanation. “Like she said, what the fuck?”

“There was a case report in the 2022 Journal of Emergency Medicine.” Trinity focused on her task of preparing for the intubation, still heard most of Mohan’s explanation. “Patient survive?” The back and forth was not important as she continued on as Samira confidentially spoke through her reasoning for her actions. “Went home neurologically intact.”

Whitaker squeezed his way, with the screen showing the most recent data from the scan. “The optic sheath is back to normal.” 

This was all good news as Victoria noticed that Mr Grayson had began to move. “Starting purposely movements.” Santos slid up with the intubation tube, prepared, ready to step in.

“Ready to intubate.” She announced as Mel then added in her orders as they proceeded forward. “Propofol, Rock, and Mannitol.” There was a rush that came when completing a successful procedure for the first time; she might’ve had a minor role, but still it was still such a head rush.

“I’ll let neurosurgery know. We’ll get him up ASAP.” Emery Walsh was clearly unimpressed with their reckless abandon with the rules, with the standard of care, but she would inform neurosurgery of this latest development as this patient moved further up the list. As she began to walk away, Walsh reach her walkie talkie ready to reach out to Neurosurgery primary lead.

“Incredible save.” Those words, as soon as they were spoken, caused her to turn her head and mutter in response.. “If he lives.” Trinity had made quick of work of inserting the intubation tube and working it past the vocal cords in the moments that followed as they got Mr Grayson ready to head up for surgery.

“I’m in.” She declared, as Whitaker bagged the end and check to see if everything was in the right place. “Uh, end-tidal looks good.” Everything was coming up as a success, as a win. The nursing staff stepped in, ready to get the last jobs ticked off; this was where they stepped off the case.

“Okay, OR team can take it from here.” Bridget said as she effortlessly moved around the head of the bed, mentally running through the checklist that was required before any patient headed up to the OR.

“We need to check on the others.” Mel added as she moved away; Trinity added her two cents in the mix, never missing a beat, as she used a nickname before heading back towards her patient with the leg wound. Knowing the effect that it had on Victoria, knowing that it rubbed her up the wrong way. “I should get back to Pink. Stay Strong Crash.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Trinity turned her head, noting Mel across the way, standing in front of where some supplies sat on top of a movable station. As she checked with Mel on her thoughts as her patient’s bandage was now sodden, heavy as he had bled through the layers that Donnie had wrapped tightly round. “He bled through his Kerlix.”

It was almost as if she could see the cog turning as Mel shuttered over the words as she considered, then rejected, the possibilities until she landed the right option. “Um…elastic—elastic pressure dressing-yep.” 

“Okay, got it.” She nodded and got to work retrieving her correct type of bandage from the tray with the bandages that sat neatly on top of the station. Plucking exactly what was required to re-bandage the small holes on his lower leg.

“All right. Got a better bandage, and we’re gonna elevate your leg.” Trinity announced as she made her way back over to where her patient was still laying. She places the supplies on the bed, picking up the scissors and begins cutting off the blood soaked old one.

“Do you know what’s happening with my girlfriend? Her name is Leah. She was shot in the chest.” She can understand the worry in his voice, as it trembles when he mentions her name. However, all incoming patients had been assigned a number. Names were not a necessity during a mass casualty event and his girlfriend would have been rushed off to the Red zone if she sustained a gunshot wound to the chest. 

“I’m sorry. We have a ton of patients, and they are only marked by numbers.” Santos tried her best to be as sympathetic as possible as she continued on with her explanation. Her eyes darting between his and the wound as she worked on.

“Robby and Dana were working on her—they were doing CPR.” Now this piece of information that he had freely offered caught her attention. Much like the bloody paramedic jacket had, her mind still would wander back to the name stitched into the fabric. She wanted to chase that hypothetic thread till it was completely unravelled.

“How do you know Robby and Dana?” Santos was curious to find out as she asked, to know more about the people that she would be working alongside for the duration of this rotation.

“Robby and my mom were together for a couple of years, and I would—I would come, and I’d hang out here.” This was the definition of a juicy gossip; Dr Robinavitch seemed like a closed book. With no way to breakthrough that thick protective shell, that doubled as his professional mask. There was more to the man than just the doctor. She noticed his face twist as pain washed over him, as she disinfected and cleaned the wound site.

“Well, I’m sure if they’re helping her, then she’s in great hands.” Her words only meant to reassure his deepening worry. Even with the knowledge gained from this single shift, their combined strength was evident, a force to be reckoned with. “Can you check for me, please?” It was hard not to feel sorry for him; considering all that he had in this one day. “Sure, Of course. Just after I finish this.” She nodded as she agreed to help him out with one small task.

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

8pm

The florescent lights, albeit harsh under normal conditions, were a drop in the ocean on his list of concerns. Dr Jack Abbot, sharp-eyed, thrived in these conditions. A mass casualty was similar enough to working under the threat of a war zone.

This was where he did his best work, where his skills were truly put to the test. He could not ignore the call to action that came over the airwaves, as he listened to his police scanner that sat at his side as he had wound down for the day. All in the knowledge of what this day meant to Robby, an anniversary that no-one who worked through the heights of the pandemic would ever simply put aside. It was locked away, compartmentalised with all the other bad days. Each under lock and key, he was chipping away one at a time with his therapist.

Holding true to his promise to her, his wife and the memory of their life together. The ring on his finger was well-loved, but time had worn away the last restoration. A trip to the jeweller would be scheduled tomorrow, in between shifts. Each wave of new patients, of scared victims, drew him further into his element. With a cool and level head, Jack worked seamlessly with the tight team within the Red zone. Each was a cog in a machine fighting to save each patient from the jaws of death. Mourning each loss in the few seconds between that patient and the next being wheeled in.

Each would be remembered long after this voluntary shift had concluded. His gaze was trained upon his next patient; despite that, it would wander over to Robby now and then. His demeanour had shifted, there was anger that usually lingered far beneath the surface bubbling up. He was burst soon rather than later, but Jake and his fatally injured girlfriend had become the linchpin.

As soon as he had noticed that gurney being pushed through the doors, Jack had clocked the heartbreak upon the kid’s face, knowing that it would be mirrored on Robby’s. He had fought tooth and nail to keep her alive; it was a fruitless, uphill battle. One that he could never get in front of, as the wound to heart was just too severe. He had seen many in the heart of battle, presenting much the same way Jack knew what the outcome would be.

With all the time in the world, there still would be slim chances of coming back from a shot to the heart. Each new unit of blood was a cause of concern; two had been the agreed upon limit, but Robby had quickly reached for another and then the next. That limit had been reached and doubled. He could glean the depths of desperation as clear as day as Robby clutched at every available straw. Holding on the vaguest string of hope, fighting for Leah, for Jake.

There was no happy ending, not this go around. No last-minute miracle solution would be found, this was bare bones reality, not some half-baked medical dramas that his wife had loved, the ones which he sat through season after season for each smile, the laughter and tears that she had circled through. Whilst he pointed out the medical mistakes and inaccuracies. She had once joked that she could turn into a drinking game and be easily under the table by the halfway mark of a single episode. God, he missed her.

His mind would wander in the moments between the screams, but never for long enough for Jack to vanish into the what-ifs. He needed to be in the here and now as the darkness crept closer. It was where he felt most comfortable, out of the light of day. Away from his most painful memories, as they always returned.

The same could be said about Robby; had his own heartbreak manifested as he tirelessly worked on Leah? Had he envisioned his ex-wife beneath his blooded gloved finger tips as he fought to get the girl’s heart to beat once again. Had her image flickered, replacing the young woman for less than a second before switching back. He might hesitate for a split second if she had been wheeled into his care, but thankfully she hadn’t.

Heading up to Neuro ICU

The familiar vocal tones of Dr Frank Langdon could be heard as he moved his latest patient up to the Neuro section of the ICU floor up on the level six. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught a sight of the gurney as he made his way back into the heart of the red zone; No, it couldn’t be her lying there. Jack was in no position to chase after Langdon as he disappeared into the elevator shaft.

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

If anyone wishes to tagged in any of the Pitt x Reader content, please reply or message me    

[damnfeelings09]

A.N: special thanks to the lovely @xobunni0 I love how you write my boy and futuristic lovers is a masterpiece. This one is inspired in the song E.T as well as on your work, thank you darling! I suggest you all go to her blog if you haven't already.

Also, you will find OC name here (like in other pov's of mine) but this is still an xreader ff, it's just that I dont quite like putting y/n or _____ :( sorry *Also (this is the last one I promise) english is not my first lenguage so there could be some grammar errors and so, sorry in advance!

E.T - Shadow's version

“You're so hypnotizing Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?”

190605. You entered the code, and the door made a metallic sound before opening, revealing a second door that required voice access.

“Special Agent Dr. Moon,” you said confidently. The door opened for you. You walked into the GUN facility; floor -16 was cold and dark, the lights flickering on as you made your way to room 296. You scanned your ID and waited a few seconds before turning the handle. There, in front of you, was the hedgehog you loved so much. The ultimate lifeform was lying on the cot, tossing a ball and hitting the ceiling over and over again. His ears twitched, catching the unmistakable sound of your heels.

“Back so soon?” he said, sitting up. “Careful, doc, they’ll think you’ve lost your mind.”

“And do we care?” you smiled, standing just a few inches away from the large polycarbonate cristal like wall that separated you. You quickly raised your hand and rested it against the wall. Shadow didn’t waste any time, using his speed to reach your side in one second, placing his hand against yours.

“Your touch, magnetizing Feels like I am floating Leaves my body glowing”

You didn’t really know when or how it had happened. You had been working in GUN's medical wing for five years, initially as a field medic, until, after two years, you were promoted to Head of Medical Staff. Later, you decided to focus on Mobian medicine—not because you had much to work with, but when the opportunity arose to learn more about this fascinating species, you couldn’t refuse. At first, it was just a few check-ups for Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, a few tests for speed and strength, samples of their fur and blood, studying their anatomy and physiology. While it wasn’t all that different from humans, it wasn’t exactly the same either. They healed faster, could endure higher levels of pain and temperatures—something that would kill an average human would only cause temporary damage to a Mobian. Furthermore, human diseases didn’t affect them, but that didn’t mean their diseases couldn’t cause a worldwide pandemic.

Eight months ago, Commander Hillsprung had tasked you with analyzing a different specimen. Something that wasn’t entirely Mobian, but also wasn’t human. In fact, no one was sure what it was—the Project Shadow, as everyone called it. At first, the project was falling apart. Despite Shadow volunteering, he didn’t agree with the tests they were putting him through. Five different people had tried to study him—scientists, physicists, even veterinarians—but he wouldn’t let anyone get close enough. He’d remove the equipment, refuse to give samples. They didn’t know what else to do. Just when it seemed like the research would fail, that’s when you appeared.

“They say, be afraid You're not like the others”

Shadow looked at you attentively. You hadn't approached him like the others, nor did you look at him the same way they did. Although he could sense the uncertainty, there was something else… curiosity, perhaps admiration? He wasn't sure, but he knew you were different. The fascination you felt for him was written all over your face, like a big, glowing sign. This allowed Shadow to lower his guard, just a little.

You spoke to him and recognized him for what he was—an equal. Over time, Shadow grew accustomed to your presence. You would arrive early, much earlier than the other agents, and have a brief conversation where you'd tell him about the findings you'd made about him. Shadow always listened with interest to everything you said, enjoying the fruit you had kindly brought him. He could hear the enthusiasm and excitement in your voice, loved the smile that appeared when you made a new discovery, and noticed how you furrowed your brow when the tests didn’t turn out as expected.

"It will work," Shadow would tell you as he followed you across the room from his side of the glass.

"And what if it doesn’t? I’ve failed the last three attempts. The component isn’t stable enough; I can’t reach your DNA. My samples are running out."

"There’s more where that came from," he remarked, shrugging in a nonchalant tone.

"I don’t want to puncture you with the needle again. Your skin heals in less than a minute, the wound has to be large enough to get a good sample, plus... I don’t like hurting you," you said, meeting his gaze.

"You’re the only one here who cares about me. I only trust you to do this. Besides, this will help me know where I come from, what I am, who I am."

When you heard him say that, something inside you broke. Shadow was alone, lost, and trusted you to help him learn everything he could about himself. Instinctively, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers through the small window where they passed his food.

"I promise I will."

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

After that, Shadow had become dependent on you, and you on him. At first, you controlled it well, one or two stolen glances, shared smiles, the brush of your hands when you examined him, staying late to see him again, pretending you had forgotten an instrument in his room just to open the door and sit by his side, shoulder to shoulder, all to be close to him. That worked, until a speed test at the HRW training center (used to me High Range Weapons center) of GUN. A stupid agent launched rockets toward Shadow, boasting that if he truly was the ultimate lifeform, it wouldn’t be anything for him. Six heat-seeking rockets pursued Shadow across the platform as you shouted at the agent while trying to stop the missiles with the computer. "Let it go," said Commander Hillsprung. "But... but sir, Shad... Project Shadow is not ready yet, the tests are still incomplete in the lab, it’s too risky considering the new rings are inhibiting his powers even more." "If I didn’t know you, Agent, I’d think you were concerned about the... alien." You paled at his accusations. No one, especially Commander Hillsprung, could know that you were fraternizing with Shadow. "They wouldn’t understand," you thought. "N-no, sir, not at all. I just think about what’s best for the research," you said, controlling your breathing as calmly as possible. "Then let the test proceed. It’s time for the ultimate weapon to show us what it’s made of."

You couldn’t do anything but watch as Shadow jumped and ran, dodging the missiles. Yes, he was the most powerful being on the planet, heck… he was the most powerful being in the galaxy as far as you knew, but knowing that he couldn’t use all of his powers to save himself made your insides twist with dread. Shadow dodged four of the missiles with the grace and ease of a gazelle. He was fast, strong, precise. Every hit he delivered destroyed the missile without leaving a scratch. When only two missiles remained to be destroyed, Shadow stopped, standing still in the middle of the platform. A small smirk appeared on his face as he thought, "Is this all they’ve got? Pathetic." Both missiles were heading toward him, but just before they hit, Shadow leapt so high, leaving the missiles below him as they exploded into each other. You celebrated Shadow’s victory, while the high-ranking officials watched in stunned silence at what had happened. The agent who had launched the missiles had his jaw clenched so tightly that you’d swear his teeth were going to break. He was upset, no, he was furious. He was tired of that lab rat taking all the attention.

“You're so supersonic Wanna feel your powers Stun me with your laser “

You quickly made your way to the training center entrance, running towards Shadow while cheering him on for the excellent job he had done, your heart racing with excitement, overjoyed with happiness, as you extended your arms toward him. He met halfway, smiling, happy with what you had both achieved together.

“Your kiss is cosmic Every move is magic”

You enjoyed the moment so much, the warmth of your arms, that you didn’t notice when a seventh missile was launched directly at you. With no time to get both of you out of there, and without his Chaos Control to teleport, he decided to save you. It didn’t matter what would happen to him, Shadow only knew you had to be safe. He threw you a few meters away from him, your body hitting the hard ground and your head slamming against the wall. Your vision was blurry, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to recognize anything around you. Someone grabbed your arm, shaking it, and in the distance, you heard your name, but couldn’t understand anything else. More agents ran to the left of the training room, and a stretcher passed in front of you. The next thing happened like a flash. The stretcher carried something black on it, cables and tubes surrounding a thin, small body, agents in lab coats running behind the stretcher. That’s when you reacted to what had happened. Shadow had been hit by the missile’s explosion directly in an attempt to save your life. As best as you could, you got up and ran after the stretcher, stumbling along the way. Your colleagues tried to stop you, but there was no force in the world that could separate you from Shadow.

“This is transcendental On another level Boy, you're my lucky star”

Regaining your vision, you approached the medical room where they had Shadow. His jet-black fur, once as bright as the night sky, was now covered in dirt and bloodstains. He wore a mask covering his mouth and nose, his breathing was labored, and his heartbeat irregular. “An arrhythmia” you thought. The panic and fear of losing him overtook you, but this was not the time to run off and cry; Shadow needed you. "10mg of adenosine," you requested from the nurse beside you as you searched for the IV in his arm. "Dr. Moon, you should..." she tried to persuade you. "10mg of adenosine, NOW, or we're going to lose him." After administering the medication, you noticed his heart rate normalized to 250 bpm, something normal considering his condition and the fact that we were talking about a supersonic hedgehog. "I want everyone out of the room." "But, boss..." "Didn't you hear what I said? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The entire medical team exited the room. You quickly approached Shadow, took the device you always carried with you, and lowered the power of the inhibitor rings. Shadow needed to recover fast, damn it, you needed him to recover fast, and he wouldn't be able to achieve that if he was at 10% of his power.

“I wanna walk on your wavelength

And be there when you vibrate For you, I'll risk it all, all”

"You'll be fine," you said as you wiped his muzzle, removing the dirt and blood that you found along the way. Your hand rested on Shadow's cheek, it was warm, which was a good sign, right? You positioned yourself on his right side on the stretcher, counting each breath, each heartbeat. Shadow made a sound, a tiny whimper that you wouldn't have been able to hear if you weren't just inches away from his face. You quickly removed the mask from his snout, and he slowly opened his eyes, focusing his sight as if searching for something, until he saw you by his side. "Mo-mo...on?" he said, followed by a small whimper. "I'm here," you said, leaning in and bringing your forehead to his. Shadow sighed, gently stroking your cheek, relieved to see that you were alright. "You saved me," you whispered for both of you, your warm breath meeting Shadow's mouth.

“Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me Infect me with your lovin' Fill me with your poison Take me, ta-ta-take me Wanna be your victim Ready for abduction”

You both opened your eyes at the same time, the fire making itself present in the crimson orbs of Shadow, without thinking, without planning, you succumbed to what your heart longed for and kissed him. A deep, needed, desired kiss. Your tongues dancing together a dangerous waltz, small bites on your lower lip, courtesy of his sharp canines created the perfect mix between pain and satisfaction. Your hands stroking his quills, careful not to prick you, although at this point it was the least of your worries. The monitor that Shadow was connecting to shooting at 1000 lpm while taking you by the waist sitting you in his lap. Fuck, how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. It had been a while since the looks and smiles were no longer enough for him. Shadow had dreamed of this moment more than he would admit, spending his moments fantasizing about what it would be like to taste those pink lips, what flavor they had, if they were as smooth as he imagined.

They were not, it was even better than what he imagined.

You separated ‘cause the lack of air, with your breathing agitated, choppy, just before you pulled away, Shadow took you by surprise, giving a caress, licking your cheek, causing you to blush instantly, not because you disliked, but because he had seemed so... tender.

 Shadow’s heart rate normalized again, settling on the stretcher as a reddish blush painted his muzzle. The dim light, the rise and fall of your chest, the strands of hair falling over your face, your lips red from the make out session that had just occurred.

“A goddess” thought the hedgehog. You reached out for his hand, fingers entwined, no one said a thing, it wasn’t necessary. What you felt for each other was more than enough.

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

[scribblesofagoonerr]

emotional support goat | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: monkey gets her inheritence money, and buys an emotional support goat.

double the trouble masterlist

“Red flower, blue thorns… Red flower, blue thorns…” You muttered to yourself, repeating the famous one-liner from Shrek, clearly in your own world. You bounced around the gym in the training grounds, deliberately avoiding the light workout you’d been assigned, despite Leah’s instructions, “This would be so much easier if I wasn’t colourblind!” You added, half-heartedly trying to focus on the task at hand, but it was clear you weren’t interested.

Leah sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched you saunter around the gym, “Monkey, stop muckin’ around and do what you’ve been asked.”

You grinned cheekily, eyes lighting up with a new idea, “Hey, ‘ere, Mum! What d’you think about me getting a pet goat?” You asked casually, like it was the most normal thing to say in the middle of a light workout.

“In your dreams, my girl,” Leah replied, her tone firm but affectionate.

“Awh, shucks,” You pouted, slumping your shoulders, “Come on, I’d love one! I think it would be super fun, though!”

“Monkey, stop wasting time and get on with it,” Leah’s voice grew more exasperated as she watched you continue to distract yourself with every possible excuse not to follow through, “Monkey!”

“Huh–What? I am!” You responded, feigning innocence but clearly not putting in any real effort.

Leah shook her head, “You really look like you are—Monkey!” She scolded, catching you attempting to muck around with Kyra.

“What? I’m just chattin’ to my bestie about my possible goat!” You told her excitedly, as if it were the most important thing in the world, as you ignored Leah and plopped yourself down beside Kyra, “Ky! What d’you think about me getting a pet goat? It’d be cool, yeah?”

“You’re gettin’ a pet goat?” Kyra’s eyes lit up with excitement, her smile widening, “That’s so cool! It would be so Monkey-coded of you to do something like that!”

“That’s what I thought!” You beamed, pleased with yourself, “And I even thought about names for it!”

Leah raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed, “You needn’t think you’re getting a pet goat, Logan!” She barked, her tone now sharp.

Beth, overhearing the conversation, let out a low whistle, “Ooft, first name—Leah’s being serious on this one, trouble.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, “Me? I’m completely innocent!” You pretended to act innocent, moving over to the bench and picking up the nearest thing that just so happened to be a medicine ball as you attempted to mischievously aim it at the wall, “I’m so bored in ‘ere!”

“Don’t you even dare think about throwing that at anyone,” Leah warned, catching you about to throw it, giving you that all too familiar look, “Put. It. Down.”

Katie snorted in amusement, “I feel like I’m having déjà vu right now.”

“Ere’, Le? Have you ordered anything at all?” Caitlin wandered into the gym, looking curious, “You’ve got a delivery man waiting for you out in reception, said he’s got something for you.”

Leah furrowed her brows, “What? I… I don’t think I’ve ordered anything—”

“She’s ‘ere! She’s ‘ere!” You bolted up from the bench, wanting to race towards the reception area, “Vivi’s finally ‘ere!”

“Did she just… Did she just say Vivi?” Beth asked, bewildered.

“Yeah, I think… I think she did?” Lia murmured, just as confused as the blonde.

Katie snorted in amusement, “Oh, what is the little lady up to now?”

“Vivi?” Leah repeated, and then she heard it—the unmistakable bleating of your new best mate.

You’d only gone and brought a goat.

“Logan Reece Williamson-Nobbs!” Leah bellowed across the entire gym, “Tell me that you haven’t brought a bloody goat!?”

You have done a lot of dumb things over the years. But this? This really was up there.

You’d inherited money from your Grandma Jean, you finally had access to your funds that had been tied up–Leah and Jordan added to it, along with both of the families. It was meant for your future. Something stable. Sensible. Safe.

But you definitely didn’t see it that way.

And instead? You went and brought a goat, and you had decided to name it after the real goat herself.

“My goat!” You beamed a huge smile, bouncing on your toes as you were ever so eager as you gasped in awe at the sight of your new four-legged friend, “Oh my God, you’re so cute! Hi! You’re so adorable!”

“What the fuck is that?” Leah stopped mid-track, eyes wide, “Logan Reece! Are you actually joking with me, right now?!”

“Mum! Meet Dory Vivianne Shrek Margherita Haribo Williamson-Nobbs. Named after the real goat, one of my favourite films, and my favourite food!” You crouched down to give the goat a loving pet, “I bought a pet goat!”

Leah stood there in disbelief, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Logan?!”

“Okay, first name. Not so bad,” You mumbled, not at all that phased.

“Logan Reece, you used your inheritance money–the inheritance money that you had from your Grandma Jean–for that?!” Leah’s voice cracked mid-shriek as she pointed accusingly at the bleating creature now happily trotting around reception, “I can not believe how irresponsible you have been! What… What on earth possessed you to think this was a good idea, huh?”

“Right, second name, I’m in trouble,” You admitted aloud.

By now, the whole squad had now gathered in reception, trying not to laugh—and failing.

“Aw,” Kyra gushed, crouching to the goats’ level, “Monkey, I can’t believe you brought a goat!”

Leah, standing there, arms crossed over her chest and gritting her teeth, “Yeah, neither can I believe it.”

“They’re kinda cute,” Steph offered.

“So, who’s this little fella then?” Katie questioned, amusedly.

Caitlin blinked, “Umm, babe, I think it might be a female.”

“Steph’s right, she is pretty cute,” Alessia chipped in.

“Adorable,” Emily added.

“Have you thought of a name, little one?” Lia wondered, smiling faintly.

“She needn’t think of a name, we’re not keeping that thing!” Leah was adamant, scowling at the four-legged animal like it personally offended her, “What on earth went through your head thinking buying a goat would be a good idea, Logan!?”

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your shorts, “Well… I saw it, I wanted it… And I brought it.”

“Right, well in that case I hope you can get a full refund on her,” Leah mumbled, exhaling a sigh.

“What’s all the fuss?” Kim joined the rest of the squad, her eyes widening, “Monkey, why on earth do you have a goat on a leash?”

“I brought her, Auntie Kimmy!” You grinned from ear to ear, “What d’you think? Ain’t she a cutie?”

“Cute is not the word I would use,” Kim muttered in disbelief, not believing that there was a goat in the reception—but this was just typical of you.

“I think she’s proper cute,” You ruffled your new goat’s floppy ears, “A right proper cutie!”

“I have to agree there, Monkey. What’s her name?” Beth questioned, curiously.

You continued to beam a wide smile, “You’re gonna love it, Beffy! It’s Dory Vivianne Shrek Margherita Hariibo Williamson-Nobbs,” The name just rolled off your tongue, like it fitted, “Or Vivi for short. Like the true goat herself.”

“Vivi?” Beth’s face broke out into a massive grin, “I love her, Monkey!”

“She’s not staying, Monkey,” Leah growled.

“What? Why not?” You gasped, offended at the comment, “C’mon, Mum! You know Buddy will love her too—We already lost one Vivi—You can’t get rid of this one too! You know, she could be the next Arsenal mascot!”

“No, Monkey,” Leah stood firm on her decision, “You’re not keeping her—I’m not having my house turned into a bloody farm!”

“You’d need a chicken coop, and some cows before you could class it as a farm,” Manu chimed in, and your eyes lit up at the prospect of owning your own small fluffy cow.

“Good job that Monkey’s petrified of chickens then, eh?” Steph joked.

“Don’t give her ideas,” Kim murmured, shaking her head in disagreement, “I thought you were being sensible with money now, Monkey?”

“I am being sensible... kinda?" You protested, pouting, “I brought a goat for, I... I thought it would be fun! Not a bad buy on Gumtree, y'know?"

Leah scoffed, shaking her head, “That money was from your Grandma–an investment in your future—something to help you prepare for driving, and everythin' else! Not to blow it on an irresponsible purchase !"

You gasped in horror, clutching your hand over your heart, “It’s not irresponsible, and Buddy will love this as well! You know she’s been sad with Elle leavin’, well now this will definitely cheer her up!”

“Then buy her an icecream, or toy, or better yet take her to the park and push her on the swings,” Leah ran her hand through her hair, “You don’t go and buy her a fucking goat, Logan!”

You flinched at the sudden harshness of your name thrown directly at you, but that didn’t bother you in the slightest, “Language, Mum. Bet you owe so much to the swear jar now!”

“I couldn’t give two tosses about the swear jar,” Leah growled, shaking her head in disagreement, “We’re not keeping that goat. End of.”

“But Muuuuuum,” You groaned, throwing your head back in disappointment, “That’s not fair!”

Leah, however, wasn’t budging at all, “I don’t care if it’s fair or not. You’re not keeping a goat as a pet, Monkey.”

“Oh, Viv is going to absolutely love this,” Beth exclaimed, scrambling for her phone in her shorts pocket, “Here, Monkey, stand next to your new goat and smile!”

“We’re not keeping it,” Leah muttered, having an existential crisis in that moment, “Monkey, I want you to get in touch with whoever you brought it from to and tell them to come and get it back. A puppy is one thing, but a goat? It’s not happening, Logan.”

You knew Leah was being serious when she used your full name, “But Mum… The thing is,” You began to explain, hesitant for her reaction, “I can’t get a refund on Vivi.”

Leah blinked in disbelief, “What do you mean you can’t get a refund?”

“I… I can’t get a refund on Vivi,” You told her the truth, giving her a sheepish smile, “So… she’s ours for good, pretty much. But don’t worry, wait until Buddy meets her when we pick her up from pre-school, she’s gonna love ‘er so much! Besides, you can’t get rid of her, cos’ she’s my emotional support goat, and well I’ll be lost without her!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Leah scoffed, shaking her head, “We’re not keeping the goat, Monkey! I’m being serious, if you can’t get a refund, then we’re giving her to an animal sanctuary, or something. My house is not being turned into a bloody farmyard!

It didn’t take long before Leah was on the phone to Jordan as you heard the tail-end of the conversation, “Jord? Your daughter bought a goat. Fix it.”

But at least Jordan was easier to convince than Leah, and you know that Vivi the goat would be a permanent fixture in your life now.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[mywritersmind]

SILVERWARE - LN4 spy au

summary : She gets flirted with all the time, called hot by attractive men, offered drinks by ugly ones. She’s seen it all. Tonight however, is a first for her. Called beautiful by a stunning man himself, and shooting the same one twenty minutes later.

listen up : spy!landonorris. suggestive comments. blood. guns. talk of sewing skin. knives. fighting!! hope you enjoy! this is very different from what i normally write but i loveeeed it! also spy carlos cameo.

words : 4615

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s been watching her. She knows it. It’s only a relief to one of them when he finally walks up to her and gives her the peace of mind that he wasn’t about to kill her.

She wants to say something first, but then she remembers her role. A role that isn’t too hard to play when a handsome curly haired man is trying to flirt with her.

“I’m sorry to bother you… I don’t know if you noticed me staring… building up the courage to talk to someone so gorgeous is harder than you’d think.” she switches her drink into her other hand and smiles innocently, liking the sound of his accent against the chatter filled room.

“With a face like that, you don’t need to apologize.” She sips out of the martini glass, her lipstick transferring on, “And thank you.”

“I’m Bob.” She doesn’t laugh, but is tempted. Instead she eyes his hand that’s being offered to her and shakes it. His eyes are a mix of blueish green, something only she could pick up in this environment.

He watches her face as she tries not to laugh, something he’s seen far too often when introducing himself with that name. Her hands are soft, his a bit ragged, but they both notice the shocking difference in size as they pull away. “Nic.”

“You here all alone, Nic?” His eyes still glance to the crowd, making sure to not miss the one thing he’s here for.

He knows he would get scolded for getting distracted, but he could easily argue that she was simply too beautiful to overlook. She wouldn’t get scolded, she’s a great multitasker and her team knows it.

“I’m here with my friend.” She lies, “She went off with someone a while ago. You?”

“Alone.” He nods, “Much happier now though, this is horribly boring.”

She nods at this, “Less boring when you’re a few drinks in.” She isn’t a few drinks in, in fact, she’s regretfully been sipping on the same martini for two hours.

He smiles at this, something devastating because she knows she won’t see his stunning smile again after this sad little conversation. He’s stunning and his smile is something she would love to explore.

She eyes his suit, perfectly fitted to him with a couple buttons undone. He likes her dress. It hugs her body with a perfect elegance, an almost hidden slit is what draws him in the most, that and her straps practically falling off her shoulders.

He doesn’t know that the slit is for easy access, and not the sexual kind. The metal kind that is strapped to her thigh and loaded.

She looks around the room, eyeing the man she’s been watching. What she doesn’t expect, is him to look at her. She turns quickly back to Bob, stepping closer and resting a well manicured hand on his chest, touching the collar of his shirt. “Breaking dress code… how bad boy of you.”

He smirks at her touch as she tilts her head, “What if I said a kid nicked it off me?”

Her fingers slip below the fabric, “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Smart girl.” He says. It makes her want to roll her eyes but she’s quickly distracted by the hand that rests on her waist. “I like your dress.”

“You like my dress or how my boobs look in my dress?” her manner drops for a second, something she can’t help. To her luck, he laughs.

“Both?” He watches her eyes, knowing she can’t decide between being charmed or confused. He really has got to work on that-

“I’ve got to go.” She says suddenly, backing away. His eyes dart to the figure moving across the room.

“Me too! Lovely meeting-” But she’s already gone, taking off in the other direction, her drink discarded on the bar counter. He shakes his head, walking away and trying to focus on the job at hand, not the beautiful woman who just left him in her dust.

⋆༺

The gun is in her hand now, pointed at an old man who’s struggling to open a door. He clumsily fiddles with the key, apologizing over and over again to the three men that stand behind him. They don’t seem to care, standing pin straight in their suits.

The one in the middle is who she turns her gun at, Mickey Chavez. Her old partner and new target. The two behind him are the large, silent, you look at Mickey wrong and you die, type.

The hallway is long and shaded at both ends, she stands in the corner, looking around it with her gun poking out just enough. She won’t shoot, not yet.

The man finally gets the door open and she knows what she has to do. Except, someone seems to do it for her. Right as her trigger is pulled, two shots are fired but not from her gun. The two men fall to the floor in agony.

Her shot flew right over their heads and landed in the wall. She never misses. What the hell is happening?

The two men weren’t shot to kill, they hop around and groan because they were shot in their… feet?

She turns the corner, her gun out and her eyes narrowed, ready to meet whoever just ruined her perfect shot.

She expects someone she knows, at this point, she knows every woman and man on the circuit. She does recognize his face, but she’s never held a gun to him before, she only held her hand out.

“What the fuck!?” They say at the exact same time. He’s standing in the exact same position as her but at the opposite end of the hallway. They shoot at the same time, Y/n ducking even though the shot was nowhere close to her head. Lando turns, trying to get out of the way but the bullet grazes the back of his arm.

“Bob!?”

He groans, “Why is it always the pretty ones!?”

And then the hallways fills with gunshots.

In a temporary lapse of insanity, they apparently both forgot the two wounded men had guns.

She ducks instinctively, rolling to the side and shooting right back. Mickey doesn’t carry a gun, she knows this. It’s the exact reason why the old man and Mickey dive into the room and shut the door.

One man is running at her, a flash of blue behind him tells her that ‘Bob’ (Something she definitely knows is fake now) is charging at the other man.

The one that comes at her is honestly short, which makes her smile. It isn’t a long time until he’s on the floor in front of her. Thank you seven years of training and a lipstick taser.

He’s knocked out, slumped at her feet. She steps politely over him and struts down the hallway in her red bottomed heels. The other bodyguard is still fighting with the handsome not so stranger, something she rolls her eyes at as she shoves the door open.

“Y/n!” Mickey screams, scrambling up from the door and clearly not expecting her.

“Mouse!” She scoffs, using his old codename and pointing her gun at him. “Get on the wall or I shoot!”

“What are you doing here?” He stands, pulling his knife out. Ah yes, Mickey was always one for theatrics.

“Take a guess.” She steps closer, glancing at the whimpering old man, “Shut up, you’re not gonna die. You will be going to jail for having a hand in a murder and tampering with evidence!” She yells probably louder than needed, but so worked up about this case. “Oh and jewel theft.”

She glances at the giant glass box with a crown in it. The historic fashion girly in her wants to totally geek out over seeing the jewels but when the light hits them, she looks back at Mickey. “I always hated you.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s cause i’m gay, isn’t it.”

She shoots the wall behind him, “You’re not funny either. You sold me out! You were a shitty spy and now you’re a lousy thief.”

“I had to!” He whines as ‘Bob’ runs in behind her, out of breath and heading straight for the old man.

“Cut the shit and get on the ground!” I yell, “Where’s the crown.”

‘Bob’ is already getting to work on the glass, having tied up the old man already. He raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as he cuts the glass with a tool from his suit pocket.

“It’s right there!” He points to the glass, frowning.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” she hears the dropping of glass as she keep my eyes on Mickey, and then, because apparently no one trusts her, Bob drops to the floor.

What she doesn’t expect is someone to charge through the door and spray her in her shocked face, falling right next to Bob as the world fades away.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He wakes up hungover with a girl next to him, or at least, that’s what he thinks at first. It wouldn’t be the first time, but they’re both fully dressed and when she wakes up, she screams.

Now that would be a first for him.

She goes to sit up but is yanked back down by something. He looks up and gets a horrible feeling because it’s the same thing on his wrist. Rope. He comes to the horrible realization that the pounding in his head is not from too much alcohol and the sharp pain on his back is not just because he slept funny.

Rope is tight on both of his wrists, except there’s someone else’s skin against one.

One wrist is tied to the headboard, the other is tied… to her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She says, staring at their bound wrists.

Wiggling around a bit, she groans even more, “They took my gun.”

He leans over, not feeling the familiar weight in his pocket, “Same.”

He frowns, not really knowing what to do and going through options in his head. They took his watch, glass cutter, knife- What the fuck is she doing.

Her leg is stretched out in front of her, through the slit in her dress and bending her knee to get her foot close to the banister. He gets distracted for a moment, watching her long tanned leg slip away from the fabric.

“What are you-” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence because she slips the heel of her shoe between the rope and it falls right off. “Christ, you’re flexible.”

She gives him a look, sitting up and untying their wrists, “You’ve got a blade in your heel?” She doesn’t say anything, just slips the rope off and stretches her arms, looking around.

“Who are you?” She turns to him, “Actually. And why are you in my way?” He tries to get himself untied, fiddling with the rope and staying unsuccessful.

“I’m Lando.” He sits up, reaching across him and wondering who tied this horrible knot, “And i’m not in your way- you’re in mine.”

“You’re a spy?” She says, quite rudely in Lando’s opinion.

“I don’t look it?”

She doesn’t respond, standing up and walking around the room that seems to be a basic hotel suite. “Why would they throw us in here…?”

“What’s your name?” Lando asks as she checks the room for weapons and people, peaking into the bathroom, then under the bed… giving Lando a great view of her ass-

She sits up suddenly, sending a sharp look his way. “I told you- It’s Nic.”

“Okay love, you’re awfully pretty but please don’t lie to me. I’m a spy too.” The fact that they met, both armed and on a mission, and She didn’t realize what he was concerned her.

Maybe he’s a better spy than she thought. But then again he didn’t know what she was either. She stands, moving her hair over her shoulder,

“Y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/n. For real this time.” He smiles, “Now… could you help me out here?” He’s still tied up, something that makes Y/n a bit too happy about.

“You’re supposed to be a spy. You’re not good with your hands?” A cool smirk slides over his face.

“If you untie me i’ll let you find out.”

She rolls her eyes at his line and walks over to the window. It’s fully clear, the night sky looking back at them with winks of city lights.

“Y/n.” He says her name softly, something that makes her pause, “I’m on your side- I mean… I want to get out of here as much as you do. And I don’t mind a little competition along the way.”

“Competition you can eliminate easily to win.”

“I pinky promise I won’t hurt you.” He holds up his free hand, sticking his picky finger out with a hopeful smile, “My wrist really hurts.”

She sighs, walking over to him and sitting on the side of the bed, trying to untie him with her hands first. He watches her intently as she makes the attempt. “Hard, isn’t it?”

“Shut up before I make you.” She whips off her heel and cuts him out.

“So I'm the one who should be worried then…” He rubs his wrist, now red and burned, “Doubt i’d mind having you shut me up.”

Her heel is at his throat in seconds, “Say it again, Curly.”

His smirk stays in place on his face, his hands up in surrender, “Jeez love… I’m sorry.”

“Help me with the door.” She slides her shoe back on, something Lando doesn’t understand considering her feet must hurt by now, and walks over to the door.

The second she touches the door handle, she flinches back, “Shit.”

He reaches into his pockets, just to be disappointed. “They took my shock blocker.”

She looks at him, slightly amused as her hand still tingles, “You have a shock blocker?”

“I get electrocuted a lot…”

“Is that how your hair ended up like this?” She steps closer, running a hand through his hair as if they’re back at the bar.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t back away, “Windows are locked?”

She drops her hand. “We’re on the Fiftieth floor. They don’t open at all.”

“Shame.”

“What would you do?” She crosses her arms, “Jump?”

“Better than getting shot again. Thank god they took your gun away-” He turns his arm, showing where he was sliced by the bullet through his suit and skin on the back of his bicep.

“Holy shit!” He’s bleeding still, soaking his shirt with deep crimson as she stares wide eyed at it. “Lando!” She hits, actually hits his arm! “Why didn’t you say anything!?”

She physically drags him by the collar of his shirt, proving to be far stronger than she looks before shoving him back onto the bed that they now realize has blood on it.

“It’s fine- i’m fine…” Until he sees the blood on her hands, making him a little woozy. “Okay maybe not…”

She marches over to the closet, throwing it open and pushing past the fluffy robes and safe, going straight for the tiny emergency kit.

Apparently their kidnappers did not have much time to think because most everything is still in this room. To her luck, there’s a small sewing kit. When he sees her pull out a needle and thread, he tries to get away, “No!”

“Yes.” She slams his shoulders back down, making him groan in pain.

“You are not sewing me up-”

“Yes the fuck I am!” She pulls his jacket off of him, unbuttoning his shirt next. He frowns, watching her hands move and pull the fabric off his skin. She tries not to have her gaze linger on his body, something even a highly trained spy struggles with. “Go ahead, make the dirty joke.”

He smiles despite the pain, “I wasn’t going to. But if you have one i’m all for it-”

Y/n huffs and climbs onto the bed behind him, hiking up her skirt so he can sit between her legs. “It’s going to hurt so just breath, yeah?”

She gets straight to it, wiping the dried blood with a washcloth and piercing his skin with no warning. “Fuck!” He bites his lip, hard. “Ah!”

She scoots her leg closer to him, “Grab my knee.” He does with no hesitation, the pain too great.

He leans his head back, “I hate you. Why did you have to shoot me!? Oh fuck-” She doesn’t cringe at the sight, having to do this to herself too many times. Her hands are shaking though. They always shake when she sees blood.

“Tell me about your mission. Tell me about why you shot those two idiots in the foot- I mean why the foot!?”

“Ugh!” He groans, “Um- I don’t shoot to kill. I can’t- Ow! My mission- to get Mickey. Just Mickey, I don’t know why.” She watches his jaw tense, making her oddly even more attracted to him.

“Interesting… He used to be my partner.” Everything in her screams to not tell him more, but the groan he lets out makes her continue, “Shitty partner. Only uses knives, likes the gore of it I guess. Creepy right? Anyway, He sold me out. Got me kidnapped too so I guess this is the second time.” She sighs, pushing the needle through skin as if it’s nothing.

“That- sucks!” He squeezes her knee tightly, hurting a bit but not complaining since it can’t be worse than what he’s going through.

“I always work alone but my team said I needed to be less of a loner or something- look where that got me.”

Lando chokes out a laugh, “Same- I mean, I only trust myself. Why complicate it?”

His curls brush her shoulder as he leans back into her, “Shit, Are you done yet!?”

“Actually…” She ties it off, “Yes!” She rubs his arm soothingly, something Lando could fall asleep too, “You did good.”

The words and touch combine make him shudder, standing up and rolling his shoulder, “Sorry about the blood…” He looks down at her hands, Her eyes leaving his only to glance at his body.

“I’m sorry about shooting you… And what’d I tell you?” She slides off the bed, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Well if I don’t then you definitely shouldn’t either. You didn’t know who I was.” He shrugs, “You wouldn’t shoot at me now, right?”

Y/n nods slowly, not making him feel any more confident, “Whatever you wanna tell yourself, Curly.” walking past him, she goes straight to the bathroom to wash the blood off her hands.

There’s a bang at the window, making them both jump. Y/n hurries out of the bathroom, Lando pausing as he pulls his shirt back on.

The whole thing happens in seconds, there’s glass everywhere and a breaking noise coming along with it. It’s not very loud, but a glass wall shattering isn’t quiet either.

The man that swings in has a harness on his waist, staring at the two people who hold up a lamp and a hanger to defend themselves. Y/n has no clue who this is, and is even more confused when he laughs.

He pulls his goggle like glasses off, “Wow you look stupid.” She’s about to be offended but then she realizes that his words are directed fully at Lando. He’s got thick dark hair and a spanish accent to match, wearing dirty jeans and a navy button down, he hugs Lando.

“What are you doing here!?” Lando says as if they’re old friends catching up at a highschool reunion! Y/n just drops the lamp and brings her hand to her hair.

“Saving your ass!” The mystery man claps Lando on his back and finally looks at Y/n who has been watching their bromance intently. “Of course you’d get stuck with a pretty one.”

“She shot me!” He says, turning to show his cut just as she groans and stomps over to the two men.

He’s still looking at the cut as if it’s the greatest thing on TV. “Hello!? You said you’re saving our asses?”

“Oh so you’re including yourself?” The man says, “I guess that’s fine.”

“Dude!” Lando says, “I just said she shot me!”

“Yeah mate… I'm taking her with if she got you.” He turns to her again, “Slippery fuck is impossible to shoot in drills, i’m impressed.”

“Back to the issue at hand!” Lando interrupts them, looking disgusted at his friend speaking to her, “You saving us or what?”

Turns out, he is! Lando steps into a harness as the man turns to her, “I’m Carlos, by the way. I don’t usually save Lando’s ass for fun but there was a call and I was the only one in office.”

Y/n smiles at this, liking the man more and more by the second, “I’m Y/n. How’d you get here…?”

“Chopper.” Carlos explains, “Not very inconspicuous so you better hurry!” Lando is all clicked in and ready to go, “Look, Y/n, I only planned on one damsel in distress today so you’re gonna have to piggyback off of Lan.”

Y/n’s heart drops, “Sorry?” but Carlos is already pulling himself back up the building.

“Don’t worry!” Lando smiles, “You trust me, right?”

“No!” Her eyes widen as his hands wrap around her waist, “Lando, No!”

“You’ll be fine, love, we only have one story to go-” he steps closer to the broken glass, the sound making Y/n nauseous as the open air hits her.

“No!” She stops in her tracks, “Lando- You don’t get it. I actually can’t.” Shes a world famous spy, she’s been shot, kidnapped, cut, and used, but her worst fear is still heights. “I’d rather try my luck with the door again.”

Lando stops, understanding her fear now and putting his hands on the sides of her arms, “Y/n. You just put a needle through my skin. I trust you enough to do that. I pinky promised you I wouldn’t hurt you. So please, trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes are so sincere and oddly comforting in the moment.

He’s holding onto her dress only, her hands wrapped around the harness and rope that holds him up. Her eyes squeeze shut as they start dangling. Lando keeps his promise. He doesn’t let go.

It isn’t long until they reach the top, but for Y/n, it feels like years. She didn’t dare open her eyes, still keeping them shut as her heels met the gravel of the roof.

She intends to keep them shut, until she hears a thud. Carlos is on the roof, groaning at the impact as Mickey stands over him with a knife. “No!” Lando jumps into action, tackling Mickey and definitely getting cut in the process.

He’s holding the crown, she realizes. The real one. It gets flung out of his hand and as he scrambles to grab it, Lando kicks him in the stomach.

Y/n forgets every doubt she’s had about the two men, hurrying over to help Carlos, “He just knocked the wind out of me- Just, try to get Lan into the helicopter.” He stands and Y/n runs at Mickey.

This asshole. He sells her information. He gets her kidnapped. He tortures her. He kidnaps her again. And now he wants to hurt her hot new spy man!? No fucking chance.

She sees the knife get slashed across Lando’s chest, his shirt still unbuttoned and barely holding on as they roll around. Carlos is in the helicopter by now, starting it up and yelling over the noise.

Carlos throws a knife at her, apparently having enough faith in the woman who does catch it. “Mouse!” She screams as Lando pushes him off, the two now standing, “You always begged me to spar with silverware only, now’s your chance.”

Mickey grins, malicious and full of a sick want to see her bleed. The crown is on his shoulder, not going anywhere unless someone chops his arm off. If it’s going to be anyone, it will be her.

He runs at her, almost making her want to roll her eyes. Amateur. She stabs the knife right into his shoulder, but he uses these things more than she does, reciprocating the slice across her stomach.

Still, her corset keeps her safe. “Fuck you I liked this dress!” She goes for his chest, then neck, missing both as he sidesteps her.

“Y/n!” Her name is yelled over the whipping of wind, distracting her for a second too long and letting Mickey cut her ankle.

She kicks him in the face, making him fall over and blood start pooling out of his nose, “Cunt!” He yells as her heel grinds into his arm.

He grabs her ankle and twists it, forcing her to the ground and trying to climb over her. He makes an attempt to straight stab her neck but she swerves out of the way.

The movement and grunts next to her makes her realize that it was Lando’s voice who distracted her, the bodyguard from earlier pointing a gun at Lando and Carlos. “Shit, Mickey! You’re ruining my impression with my new friends!”

A knife comes at her again, her shoe intercepting it and making the silver clatter to the ground feet away. She gets him then, Stabbing his collar deep. She looks away, the sound making her sicker than usual. She doesn’t want to kill him, oh no, she wants him alive for what she’s going to do to him.

She doesn’t hesitate, standing up and throwing her knife straight at the bodyguard. Carlos is still in the helicopter, Lando standing below and watching her with wide eyes.

The knife hits the man right in the side of his neck, slicing through far too easy and making him shoot his gun. Except with the knife in his neck, he cries out and misses either of the men, shooting upward.

Lando runs to her without hesitation, “Are you okay!?” Is not what she expects him to say.

“I- yes!? Help me!” Mickey is half passed out, the pain too much. She grabs his feet, Lando grabs his arms.

Carlos helps throw him in, tying his wrists just in case, even though he’s fully out now. By the time they’re in the air, Lando and Y/n aren’t even strapped in.

They’re both breathing heavily, Y/n leaning back into Lando as they turn. His hand goes around her waist again, feeling the cut on her dress and panicking for a moment before he realizes it’s only the fabric. He holds onto the seat, as she leans her head back into him this time.

“I guess that’s why people have partners, huh?” Lando says, holding her tighter in his arms as they turn.

She nods weakly, “We both got what we wanted.” She holds up the glittering crown, proud of herself this time. Even if it took some blood.

“You basically brought my mission to me.” He says, “I owe you.”

She laughs dryly, “Buy me dinner and a a fucking trophy.”

Even though she laughed when she said it, he takes it to heart. “You know… having a partner might not be too bad.”

She looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “I am not the person for that job.”

He smirks, a sense of warm relief finding its way back into her chest when she sees it, “Thing is love… I think you might be.”

[wanderingmoonmen]

Maybe hearing about the new trailer of the silent hill 2 remake will put my mind in gear to keep writing (a recent comment motivated me to write most of a next chapter at least), but hate this remake more than any other. I've avoided hearing or seeing anything about it because it makes me so upset and angry. I hate the trend of remaking these games. It's so shallow and a passionless money making scheme bc companies are too scared to do anything original so they go and fuck up a perfectly good game instead. From the little I've seen I'm amazed they've somehow made it look worse than the original. Sure the in game model James looks pretty busted in the original but all the prerendered cutscenes are great and then they put out this crisp ugly shit instead?? Being able to see characters' pores and having "good graphics" means fuck all if you miss the point of the story. You know why the originals were good? Because people had an idea and a passion and they had to put together something that didn't need good graphics to sell.

If anyone comes here from a03 I just want to emphasize that everything has been written and inspired from the original games. I despise the remakes and how they've butchered the original material. Everytime I see something else from the remakes I hate it more. There was nothing wrong with the original. Just fucking remaster it ffs.

Half Doomed and Semi Sweet Collection - Leon S. Kennedy/James Sunderland

When Leon and James stumbled into each other in a backwater town of Spain, they didn’t realize how close they would become over a couple harrowing days together. After narrowly escaping with their lives, they discover how they can rebuild and grow together and find themselves finding peace and comfort neither of them thought they would ever have. There’s still more adventures for them both to experience and plenty of friends to make along the way, but in they end they’ll, hopefully, get their happily ever after.

Half Doomed and Semi Sweet Collection contains Promise, Pianissimo Epilogue, and @fly-rye‘s one shots in one easy location.

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