#specifically. two weeks. i kept doing it wrong...

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

���…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[444lotus]

how i manifested (+revised) my dream body ౨ৎ

This is my first post on my new account, though I am NOT new to the law and NOT new to loablr either. This post is specifically about how I manifested my dream body instantly with no technique besides knowing :)

PART ONE - the old story

In the old story, I was so fixated on my body and my weight all of the time, I was tracking my calories and weighing myself and my food obsessively and constantly gaining and losing weight. Back then, my beliefs were that 1) Excess food causes weight gain, 2) If I don't track my food and weigh myself, I will become too fat/skinny, and 3) There is something wrong with my body, and I need to diet/exercise to fix it.

Noticing these beliefs were key to changing the way I viewed food and my body, and therefore changing how I knew food to effect me and how I knew my body to be.

When I was overweight, I knew my body was too big, I knew I was eating too much, I knew excess calories made me gain weight. When I was underweight, I knew I had no appetite, I knew I was too bony, I knew that exercise makes you gain muscle which is why I had none, etc. I had to identify the limiting beliefs that made me know my body was a certain way.

PART TWO - writing the new story

Once I identified the beliefs that were holding me back and kept me from my goals ("I know I eat too much, even if I affirm I'm skinny, I'm still going to gain weight."), I could then change them. I wrote down a list of these beliefs, like I did above, and came up with reversals. For example;

"I overeat, so I will gain weight" -> "Calories aren't even real, so I can eat whatever I want and stay the same weight."

"I eat junk food, so I'll never be skinny" -> "I love how fast my metabolism is, I can eat junk all day and still stay so skinny." or "Junk food is just like other foods. Raspberries can't make me fat so neither can hamburgers."

"I don't exercise enough to be toned" -> "It's crazy how I'm naturally so toned and fit without trying."

The key for me was changing key beliefs that kept me dieting and exercising to lose weight, to sever the tie between calories consumed and weight, and hours exercising and muscles. These are limiting beliefs. We literally create our reality. Not ice cream, not soda and chips, none of that can overcome YOU as a divine creator. It sounds silly when you spell it out like that, doesn't it?

PART THREE - how i did it

Okay, now we understand that the secret is to change the rules of our own reality to allow us to know a higher truth (my higher truth? I am a skinny legend). So how do we put this into practice?

All you have to do is know. You set these rules, so you know they are true, reality is bound to them. You must know you are successful, know that reality is in the 4d, and feel truly satisfied in that realm. You can do this using whatever method you need to, but personally, I just knew deep within me that I was my ideal weight, and that nothing could change that, that is simply the reality, that is simply the way things are. I thought about old pictures I took of myself, and remembered how skinny I looked in them, I thought about the last time I saw my friends and how much littler they said I'd gotten, I thought about the last time I stood on the scale and how it read the exact weight I knew myself to be. And I just knew, deep within me, that was simply how things were.

And the last step, for me, was to feel truly joyful at this realization. To feel satisfied it came into fruition. Without seeking confirmation, because I already KNEW.

And what do you know? Pictures of myself in my phone from weeks ago, they were my ideal body. The girl I saw in the mirror when I stood up from my meditation? She had my ideal body. My clothes? XS and S, all of them. I had revised my ideal body all the way back to the day I bought them. And confirmed this by checking pictures I took in the dressing room.

I'm telling you right now it is possible if you know in your heart you've always had your desire. It's always been fulfilled within you. You make the rules because you are a divine creator. Nothing outside of you can change what you know to be true.

That's all for now ౨ৎ

[foxy-eva]

Cuddle Buddies

Summary: Spencer misinterprets the meaning of the term friends with benefits – but having a friend who will cuddle with him is, in fact, highly beneficial

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: suggestiveness (referenced/implied sex), embarrassment, awkwardness

Word count: 1k

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge!

Masterlist

“Tell me, pretty boy. What’s going on with you and her?” Derek teased his coworker while motioning towards your desk.  

Acting like you didn't hear him, you kept your eyes focussed on the paperwork in front of you. But of course you were interested in Spencer’s answer too. For weeks you had been trying to figure out the nature of your relationship (or friendship?) with him. 

“We’re friends,” Spencer said and thought about his own response before adding, “With benefits.” 

Spencer, oblivious as ever, had heard that term before but didn't know its true meaning. The two of you were friends who occasionally cuddled with each other – something Spencer would consider as highly beneficial to the wellbeing for the both of you. 

His words caught the attention of everyone in the room. The snickering and whispering followed the second he finished his sentence. You could no longer pretend you weren't listening as you felt your cheeks heating up.  

“Excuse me?” You squeaked, clearly embarrassed by what he had just stated. 

It was not like you hadn’t thought about it before. In fact, most nights when you ended up cuddled up with Spencer under a blanket while continuing your Doctor Who rewatch, it had crossed your mind. But it had never happened and you weren’t sure why Spencer would lie about it. 

Spencer found your eyes, immediately noticing the horror written all over your face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“We’re not friends with benefits,” you mumbled, still in disbelief about what was happening. 

Derek couldn't hold back his chuckles anymore but JJ seemed to feel sorry for you and chimed in on the conversation. “Spence, I’m not sure you know the actual meaning of that term.”

She stepped closer to him before whispering what you assumed was the correct definition of friends with benefits. Once he realized his mistake, his facial features changed and could only be described as panicked. 

“That's not what I meant,” he stated what already was obvious. To deflect from the awkwardness, he started doing what he was most comfortable with - rambling. “I’m sorry, I just assumed that's what it meant. Our friendship does have benefits though, specifically the cuddling aspect. Did you know that nonsexual physical contact is very common among social animals? There are many health benefits to it, like lowering blood pressure, the release of oxytocin and –”

Your unit chief stepped into the room to interrupt Spencer and finally end your misery. “Guys, we have a new case.”

Spencer had to hold back a sigh of relief that this painfully awkward situation had come to an end. Both of you tried your best to not let it affect your workday, keeping up your professional demeanor in front of your coworkers. But neither of you could hold back the occasional glance at the other. 

It was hard to interpret Spencer’s expression when his eyes met yours. He had an apologetic look but there was also something else. Almost as if he had trouble holding back his thoughts from wandering to places that were completely inappropriate at work. 

You were very familiar with those struggles. 

It didn’t surprise you to hear him knocking on your hotel room door once your workday had come to an end. Spencer was predictable and you knew that he was about to apologize for embarrassing you earlier. 

When you opened the door, you immediately stepped aside to let him into your room. He had already shed his work attire and changed into sweatpants and an old Caltech t-shirt – a look not many people beside you got to see on him. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before Spencer finally found the courage to talk. 

“I’m sorry about what I said,” he mumbled. 

You showed him a soft smile and responded, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Are you mad at me?”

The question amused you. To you it was almost impossible to be mad at Spencer. You were aware that he never had any intention of hurting you. In fact, looking back you almost found his innocence and lack of discretion endearing. 

You shook your head. “Of course not.” 

Spencer sighed when you reached out your arms to hug him. He reciprocated the contact, immediately pulling you into his arms and holding you closely against his chest. There were many things left unsaid but talking about your feelings wasn’t really one of your strong suits. So you decided to suggest what the two of you seemed to be most comfortable with. 

You motioned over to your bed and said, “Do you maybe want to stay and watch a movie with me?” 

His smile was genuine when he responded, “Yes, I would love that.”

It was almost like the two of you followed muscle memory when you slipped under the duvet and turned on the TV. You found your place inside Spencer’s arms, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. His fingertips gently brushed over your arm, leaving goosebumps on their path. 

Despite the positive effects Spencer explained about cuddling earlier, it was impossible for you to fully relax that night. He noticed it, too. 

“You okay?” He breathed as he turned down the volume of the TV. 

Before you could think about it too long, you heard your mouth spill out the question that had been nagging you all day. “Do you sometimes think about those other, more exciting benefits?” 

Spencer audibly gulped before clearing his throat. Instead of answering your question, he retorted, “Do you?” 

You shifted your position until you sat beside him and said, “Would it be weird if I said yes?” 

It seemed like your confession took him by surprise. Spencer took a moment to think about his response. First his eyebrows furrowed, then his facial features softened again. “It’s not weird. I think about it, too, sometimes.” 

That was all the confirmation you needed to boost your confidence for once. With your hand gently placed on his jaw, you leaned closer to him until you could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth. Spencer didn’t hesitate to close the gap between the two of you, finding your lips in a tender kiss. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @emiliaserpe @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @loaksulluyswife @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @luredwithpretzels @castiels-majestic-wings @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @yeonalie @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @bunnylovesani @spenciesslut @billie-lover8 @indyvelazquez @evrmorets

[theliving-radio]

hey so how do you think Azul, Lilia, the tweels and Malleus would deal with getting very unique gifts that are symbolism from reader crush? (Like to the mer people in this list: reader gives them a cockle seashell which is basically a love confession and wishing for the person’s protection. Telling Lilia: they’re gonna hang up holly in their room, so he can visit whenever he feels like. Specific Bad fae aren’t welcome, but he is. Gets Malleus: a tiny gargoyle cuz it’s easy to carry around and it’s for protection from evil).

Ooooo! I love this idea! Just cute gifts that the reader gives them to show how much they like them! 100% agree with this. Totally on board with this!

Warnings: nothing so far! Gender neutral reader, not fully proof read,

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

Azul Ashengrotto

For the past week, Azul felt like he was at his limit. He honestly thought another Overblot was going to take hold of him with how many incidents that kept occurring throughout the week.

It first started with Floyd messing up the lounge with one of his tantrums. That's fine, it's not the first time.

The second was when he ordered new decorations for the Lounge, and when they were finally delivered, he received the wrong set he purchased. Somehow, the company mixed the order with someone else’s. Now he’s stuck with hot pink decorations and a banner that says “Sweet 16”.

Fine! Totally fine! He can wait for the next package! They’ll be here in two days! It’s fine!

And then there’s you-

You are your helpful hand, carefree, and a sense of peace. Even with your chaotic friends, Azul found you to be endearing.

But lately he hasn’t seen you. And when he began to question your friends, they would avoid the topic of you. As if they were nervous to say anything to him.

Were you avoiding him? Why would you be avoiding him?? Sure he’s forced your friends into shady helpful contracts where they had to work for the lounge and not get any pay for it. And yeah, you were pissed, but that was water under the bridge now!

Right?

He still tries to rope you into contracts to try and benefit you (mostly him), but in reality it’s just to get you to be around him. He’s grown fond of you…

Sevens! He might even like you!

But you don’t need to know about that-

He had this huge plan of trying to make you fall head over heels for him! He wanted you to swoon over how well he does business and how he would make such a good partner for you.

But how is he suppose to enact that plan when he doesn’t even know where you are?!

At this point he had enough and started making his way over to Ramshackle. He wasn’t able to make it far since he saw you sprinting down the pathway.

“Azul!” You smiled and waved at him as you slowed down your pace. You looked… extremely happy to see him? But weren’t you avoiding him?

“Why, Prefect… hello-,” Azul stops when you shove something colorful in his face.

It took a few seconds for him to register what was being shoved in his face, and when he finally saw what it was he was in awe.

A Conch Shell.

“Ah, Prefect… you do know what you’re giving me right?” Azul was hopeful, but only a little bit. You came from another world, you probably didn’t know what a rare clam represented when given to an octo-mer.

And it’s a Cockle Shell! A giant one at that! Where did you even find this?!

“It’s a Cockle Seashell!… that’s how you pronounce it right? Cockle?”

“Yes… but do you understand what you are handing me?” Azul carefully takes it from your hands and inspects it, feeling the weight of it.

When the Octo-mer looks back over to you, he notices how shy you began acting. You were swaying from side to side while rubbing your arms. “I did some research on courting gifts for merfolk, specially Octo-mer. It said that conch shells mean love and happiness… unless I read is wrong… Oh my gosh did I just give you an offensive gift?!”

You were about to take the gift away from Azul in a state of panic, but instead he pulled away from you and held it close to his chest.

“No! No, it doesn’t mean anything offensive… it does mean love and protection-, but are you aware what you’re doing? Prefect you just handed me a courting gift!” Azul doesn’t know why he was raising his voice, but he wanted to make his point across. He needed to make sure you knew what you were saying through your gift.

“I wouldn’ be giving it to you in the first place if I didn’t have feelings for you, Azul. Honestly, you’re a smart student. You can figure it out,” you lightly teased him with a smile on your face.

At that point, the Housewarden felt like he was going to explode into a blushing mess.

So the whole reason why you went missing was because you went to the Deep Sea to look for a conch shells just for him. And this whole time he thought you were trying to avoid him, but really…

You did this for him and Azul felt like now was also a good time to confess his feelings.

He clears his throat and strengthens his back, standing up straight and puts his charm on.

“I thank you very much Prefect, I shall happily accept this gift… and your feelings.

Azul felt his heart nearly skip a beat when he saw your face break into a wide smile.

“So-… does this mean you feel the same? Like truly?”

“That’s what it means when I accept, yes.”

The Octo-mer watches as you fist pump the hair in excitement. He couldn’t help but smile.

If Azul had to go through every stressful mishap that’s happened this week to get to this point, he would happily do it all over again.

Jade Leech

Jade found it amusing when students feared him. To watch them squirm under his gaze and to see what they would do. It was his own form of entertainment. He’s aware that some students aren’t aware of the things he could do and that allows them to let their guard down, and that’s when he fully strikes.

The group he always enjoys torturing is the freshmen, mainly those Heartslabyul freshmen and their furry little land friend, Grim. It was always a nice source of entertainment.

Like right now. The eel was happy to watch them squirm and spew out apologies when they bumped into him in the hallway, almost making him drop a very important mushroom species he wanted to cultivate. Jade only gives them a kind smile and told them to make sure they watch where they were going.

“We don’t want anyone getting hurt after all, right?”

Watching them quickly agree and run off to you just on the other side of the hall was the cherry on top.

Though the downside to it is that he couldn’t do the same thing to you. Usually, you would just stare up at him with an unimpressed expression and ask him if there was anything else he needed, then promptly ignore him when he tries to make his say in something.

You piqued his interest, and from there, he has always kept an eye on you.

Over time, from just observing you, he’s begun to like your headstrong nature. You didn’t back down when your friends were in danger, standing up for them. And then there’s your gentle side, something he didn’t know he would find alluring when it came to you.

He thought that, as a predator, it made you weak. But seeing it from you, he couldn't help but swoon just a little.

He forced took you on a hike with him so he could get some mushroom samples in the nearby forest by the school. Just before he stole you, you happened to bump into him as you were walking out of class, and so he thought it was a perfect opportunity to get you to pay him back for wrinkling his uniform.

It wasn’t a tough hike, something you can manage, but when he didn’t hear anything from you for a while, he noticed you were gone. Jade had to look for you, and eventually he did. He watched as you were admiring a certain fungus he wanted to collect.

Jade will deny it, but from just watching you admire something he enjoys made his heart skip a beat.

Though lately he couldn’t seem to find you. Even your friends weren’t helping him to pin point your location.

Were you avoiding him? He hopes not, he would have to hunt you down if that was the case.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case as he found you after week of silence. You were sitting at one of the booths in the lounge, holding what looked to be… oh? Is that a terrarium?

“Prefect, it’s been awhile.”

You look up to see Jade and flash him a bright smile. The mer-eel falters a bit, thinking that you would have tried to find a way to escape him with an excuse, but instead you looked happy to see him. Based on your reaction, Jade concluded that you weren’t truly avoiding him. Perhaps you were busy? Yes, that has to be the reason. He really hopes that’s the reason.

“Yeah sorry about that… was actually making this for you!” You turned the terrarium around so Jade to get a better view inside.

He carefully lifts up the terrarium and begins to inspect it. This had to have been your first time creating something like this. As beautiful as it was, Jade spotted a few areas where you made small mistakes.

The mer-eel could not help but smile, a true smile, as he inspected every little detail you placed into your creation. But then he paused when he saw something he wasn’t expecting to see…

A pink colored pearl, hidden right between some moss and a rock you placed in together.

“Prefect… is that what I think it is?”

“Ha ha, so you see it right?” You laugh nervously and fiddle with your fingers.

Jade turns to face you, eyes wide as he takes in your appearance. You were obviously avoiding looking at him, your cheeks dusted with a small blush which only grew darker when you felt him staring at you.

Oh how adorable you were.

Jade gives you a toothy smile as he sets the terrarium down in order to sit across from you. “If I’m correct… this is a courting gift to me?” He knew it was, but he wanted to hear it from you.

Who knew to make you squirm was to just question you about your feelings for him. How delightful to know.

“Yes… I wanted to confess to you, but then I was reading about merfolk courtship, and from there I started to look into Moray Eel Merfolk courting and- well… I know you really enjoy making terrariums and I thought making you one with an pearl inside would be… a good gift?” You sounded unsure of yourself, but when you finally looked at Jade, he had the most softest expression you’ve ever seen him show.

“It’s a good gift. A wonderful gift, and I will surely treasure it,” Jade reaches his hand out from across the table and takes ahold of your own, pulling it forward to place a kiss on it.

Now he needed to visit his own home to prepare a courting gift for you.

Floyd Leech

Screw practice! Screw Schoolwork! Screw the lounge!

It’s been a week and a half, and for some reason Floyd has been getting irritated more than usual. It started out as just being annoyed, then it turned to straight agitation where everyone and everything was a trigger for the mer-eel.

Floyd has even broken multiple things in the lounge, causing Azul a great headache and a large dent into the lounges expenses.

He didn’t even know why he broke all the stuff in the first place! But he wasn’t going to stop either!

Right as soon as classes ended, Floyd made his way to his room and threw his school bag across the room nearly missing Jade as he was carefully placing moss into a glass bowl with some tweezer. Jade didn’t flinch or comment on Floyd’s antics, he was used to it after all. But for some reason this destructive behavior was going on longer than some would allow.

So Jade finally stepped up and said something that caused Floyd to think:

“Is it because of the Prefect?”

At the time, Floyd was ripping apart his side of the room. Pillows were thrown, homework he didn’t even touch was shredded, and when Jade mentioned you he suddenly paused from getting ready to shatter a glass jar that Jade was going to use for one of his terrariums.

Floyd was deep in thought. When was the last time he saw his Shrimpy?

He let out a loud gasp, eyes wide with realization.

A week and a half ago! His shrimpy has been missing for a week and a half!

Jade took the unoccupied terrarium from Floyd and hummed with a smile, knowing well that he hit the nail on the head.

It’s true that nobody has seen you for more than a week, and Floyd started to get annoyed around that time frame. It couldn’t have been a coincidence for that to have happen! The fact that Jade was the one to point it out bothered him just a bit. Why did it take this long to notice your absence? Where were you anyway?

You better not be hiding from him! He’s gonna squeeze you if you are!

With the thought of you in mind, Floyd was now on a hunt.

He was on his way over to Ramshackle, but he didn’t make it out of the mirror chamber. Instead he ran into you.

A small “oof” left your lips as you stare up at the tall mer-eel who stared down at you with wide eyes. Oh! Floyd! I was just going to go find you-,” you were cutoff when Floyd picks you up and squeezes you, literally crushing you in his tight grip.

“Nee~ Shrimpy went missing for such a loooooong time! Were they hiding from me?” The look that Floyd gave you would have been scary and intimidating for anyone else, but you knew you weren’t going to be harmed for what you were about to give Floyd.

“Of course not! I went to go somewhere so I can make you something!”

Floyd loosened his grip just a bit from hearing that you got something for him. The mer-eel places you down carefully, contradicting from the rough squeeze session he just gave you. He started to get a bit giddy, like a child, as he watched you dig through your pocket before pulling out a a single dangling earring made with sea glass, but that wasn’t what caught his attention, no.

It was the single shark tooth that dangled at the bottom of the piece of jewelry.

You handed him the earring in the palm of your hand, but Floyd didn’t automatically grab it, he was just staring at it with a blank expression. He didn’t make any movement towards it and you were starting to suspect you did something fully wrong… or that he was rejecting the courting gift you made for him.

So you began to ramble.

“Um… I was talking to Jade and told him that I like you… he said that I should court you with a shark tooth. It was troubling… but that’s ok! I asked around where I could get one and-,” Floyd didn’t want to hear the rest from you, instead he pulled you back into his arms and hugs you tightly.

Not enough to crush you though, he didn’t wanna hurt his shrimpy!

“You could have just tell me! I know humans don’t court like mer-eels do, but still! Shrimpy was gone for so long!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Floyd… I can take this back-,”

“NO! This is mine now!” Floyd puts you down once again and takes off his single earring, replacing it with the one you carefully crafted just for him.

From then on, Floyd wore it with pride, showing off the earring to anyone that was in a 12 foot radius and boasting about how HIS Shrimpy made it just for him!

But now, anytime when Floyd hasn’t seen you for over a day, he goes on a hunt to find you. His little Shrimpy shouldn’t be hiding from him.

Lilia Vanrouge

The retired general enjoys cooking. He loves cooking! But he can’t understand why nobody wanted to try out his cooking! He made such a colorful dish!

Look! It even shifts from green to purple!

Lilia found it very strange that he couldn’t find his three favorite adopted children to try out his new creation. (If only he looked up, he would find Malleus, Sebek, and Silver all huddled in a corner on the ceiling.) They were growing boys! They needed to eat!

But when he thought about eating, a certain person, or Prefect, appeared in his mind. The Ramshackle Prefect is such a sweet human, sharing recipes with Lilia and the like… and they even try his cooking!

So all together Lilia forgot about the poor three souls that were hiding from him and went straight over to Ramshackle.

The old fae hummed a tune long forgotten as he floated over to your housing, happily carrying the Tupperware he wishes to share with you.

He appeared at your front door and knocked on it, before ringing the doorbell.

Were you cooking something too? Something smelled incredibly good!

Lilia inhaled through his nose, realizing that the scent was coming from outside… and above him? He looks up to see some thyme wrapped in string dangling from the door frame.

Oh you clever beastie! Fae enjoyed the smell of thyme, it’s a favorite of theirs. You must have done your research! But as Lilia looks closer to it, he notices another plant mixed with the thyme.

Foxglove.

Just as he was about to float up to get a better look, the front door opens to reveal you in your lounge wear. You were surprised to see Lilia at your front door, and embarrassed that he noticed the thyme and foxglove.

A week ago, you did some research on certain courting gifts to give to fae and wanted to gift one to the retired general. But you went against the idea, thinking it was too much, too big of a leap. So you began to research on the things fae like, even going as far as to ask Malleus.

Malleus found amusement in the fact that you had a crush on the old coot, he had to tease you about it before giving you advice on what to do. Silver found out about it too and so the two tag teamed on teasing you and judging your taste on falling for Lilia.

At least they weren’t singing the “kissing in a tree” song.

But you guess the small ordainment worked, because you weren’t expecting to see a blush upon Lilia face when he saw you. But he tried to play it cool around you, acting like it didn’t affect him.

But you knew better.

“So you just want any fae to visit you?” Lilia questions with a playful smirk on his face.

“Only the ones I want are allowed to come inside. Hence names I listed on the doorframe.”

Lilia snaps his head in the direction to where you were pointing. And indeed there were names carved into the frame. Malleus, Sebek, and his name were there.

You opened the door wider for him and smile. “Well? Is the fae going to enter?”

Lilia couldn’t help the wide smile appear on his face as he floats through the front door, crossing the threshold.

And he hopes that maybe along the way he can cross over from friend to something more.

Malleus Draconia

His Child of Man has been showing up later and later with each passing day for their nightly stroll. At first it didn’t bother Malleus, thinking that you were finishing school work and lost track of time. But when it kept happening he began to think that maybe you were either forgetting about him, or that you were trying to blow him off but started to feel guilty and went to hang out with him either way.

Whichever way it was, he didn’t like being away from his Child of Man for long. Your nightly strolls are the only time he’s able to see you and be with you after all. Very rarely does he see you in any of his classes, and both of you don’t see each other in the hallways either as your classes are far away from each other.

Lilia would encourage to sit with you during lunch, but he always had a feeling he would be intruding with you hanging out with your first year friends. (He also doesn’t want to distract Sebek away from his friends, the boy finally has friends!)

So the nightly strolls were just for you and him, where both of you could talk to each other for hours. It was a ritual in a way to spend time alone together, something he always looked forward to.

So now, you coming late each time, and him seeing you less and less bothers him a bit.

That’s a lie… it bothers him A LOT.

He wants his child of man! He misses his dear friend!

Malleus recalls telling Lilia about how he felt over seeing you less and less and the old fae had the gall to tease him. TEASE HIM!

It wasn’t until Lilia said something that made Malleus think much deeper on his and your relationship: “You miss them dearly, more than usual… have you perhaps grown deeper feelings for them?”

The realization hit him like green lighting striking him.

So now he waits outside by one of the pathways you both stroll through. He was going to confess to you his new found feelings for you, and this time he was willing to wait patiently since it would give him time to fully think about what to say. But he didn’t need to wait as long this time.

Malleus perked up as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. As he turned his head in the direction of the sound he felt his breath hitch at the sight.

You were currently in your pajamas with a wide smile on your face. What Malleus noticed was the thing you were holding in both arms-

Was that a Gargoyle?

You stop short in front of Malleus, panting and trying to catch your breath as you gift the small gargoyle sculpture in your arms. “Hi Horton!” Malleus stared down at you in bewilderment. He couldn’t help but reach to tuck some hair behind your ear, but pauses when he sees what he did and pulls back.

"I apologize," Malleus begins to say as he pulls away. You couldn't help but giggle, which caused the dragon fae to blush.

"It's ok, I... don't mind really."

Malleus smiles down at you, causing you to blush furiously before shoving the gargoyle at him. "Th-this is for you!"

Malleus looks at the gift in shock. Was it really for him? He carefully took it from you and lifted the gargole sculpture to a better angle to look at.

It was... wonky. It wasn't grotesque looking, instead, it looked silly. Comically even. But he can see the dedication and determination crafted into the piece of clay. It kinda reminded him of you in a way. A silly human, who just so happened to capture his heart.

"I um... I wanted to give this to you... as a courting gift?" You sounded unsure of yourself, but you pressed on. "I was talking to Lilia about fae courting rituals and, well... I wanted to gift you a rock, one that you might like!"

At that, Malleus turns to look at you, his own face heating up.

"I thought, 'He likes gargoyles, so let's make him a gargoyle out of a small stone!' That... was not an easy task," you say as you pull out a small object from your pocket and present it to the fae.

Malleus was stunned. In your hand lay a small, misshapen stone. Or that's what he would have thought, but no, it was a small stone that looked like it was drilled and carved into.

You made this, you made him a courting gift. You tried crafting a mini gargoyle with your bare hands to court him.

Malleus didn't say anything... and his silence was starting to worry you a bit. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

"Is the reason why you've been late to our walks because you were crafting these?"

A blush starts to adorn your face as you shyly nod to him. Unsure what else to say. Thankfully, you didn't have to say anything as Malleus happily takes the smaller gift from you and brings it to his lips, gently kissing it.

"I accept your courting gift, child of man."

Malleus used his magic to transport the gifts to his room, where they would be properly appreciated at a later date. For now, Malleus wishes to appreciate the beauty that is his child of man.

His love.

——————————————

Hello! Hai! :D

I also did some research on some of the items in hopes to be more accurate. I actually learned that holly wards off all faeries, like iron, so I think Lilia wouldn’t be able visit if holly was around. Hope that’s ok!

Seashells I had such a hard time looking into because I wanted it to be different for all our fish boys! Floyd is an exception because I feel like he wouldn’t like a boring shells. How did reader get a shark tooth? We shall never know. :3

[sairaverse]

Where I was, what happened, and why I'm back so soon. My most personal manifestation and mistakes that should never be made again. (a success story) My biggest ever insecurity was my hair. I had midlength, frizzy, weird curls that would never define no matter what. It looked like a matted rat almost I hated it. Even after learning the law and manifesting other stuff, my body, face, anything. I just COULDN'T get my hair to change. I was always so aware of it I could always feel it. I could always see it in my silhouette. So the 3D was smacking me in the face again and again. I had been trying to change my hair to better defined curls for a year. Yes, a year. Even me who has helped so many of you with my blog. It took me a year to manifest. What I did and the mistakes I made; I did robotic affirmations just like I manifested everything else. But it still, didn't work. No matter what I did. I was in a spiral, I tested my abilities and I manifested so many other things but I just couldn't change my hair no matter what I did. Until literally 20 hours ago I posted,

Telling you guys that I would be taking a short break from posting and I would come back after manifesting something. I had expected it to take around a week or two for me to lock in, but no. It took only 22 hours. What did I do? I locked in. I read success stories that MY OWN followers sent me. I had kept repeating to myself "ignore and affirm, ignore and affirm," And then I finally identified what was wrong. You know the saying that's like "when you can write down a problem, you already solved it halfway" well that's kind of what it was like for me.

I did psych-k and I asked myself "there are 2 reasons why I don't have my desired hair" I did the pull test and it was correct. I had 2 things I needed to fix. Then it just came to me, I said "one reason is because I just acknowledged I don't have it" did the pull test, it was correct. then, next I said "the next reason is because I would search for an answer" did the pull test, and It was correct. So my mistake, was questioning. Even if it was only in my actions and not my words. And my next mistake was kind of knowing that I didn't have it. I locked in after that. I chose a very simple affirmation "I have jet black long curls" It wasn't that specific but my desire was long wavy/ish defined jet black hair that went down to my butt. And before you say "but pink didn't you already say you manifested long hair?" I did. And I lied. That was an affirmation. I was pretending to "act as if" when I wrote that. That was my wrong-doing, but please be assured I haven't lied about anything else. Anyways- So I affirmed all day and I kept doing the pull test "I have jet black curls, I have jet black long curls" and every-time I pulled my interlocked fingers it assured me "yes, you have it" So then I went to sleep the next day. I didn't wake up with it this morning until I had an epiphany. The law. Is instant. No matter what you see. Your subconscious assumes after ONE affirmation. I told myself "I have assumed my desire" over and over this morning. Until around an hour ago I passed the mirror without looking at it. But in my peripheral vision I saw a long black **thing** flowing around while I was walking. I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Lo and behold I had my desired hair. I was just staring and staring at it. I finally ran my fingers through my long curls, in shock and awe. And the best part is? I REVISED it. My mom asked me why I kept looking at my hair like that, and she was like "It looks extra nice today" not even questioning why or how it grew like 20 inches in a day. My advice and a specific list of what I did.

Do not question where it is. Do not affirm "I have it" and then ask a blogger "where is it?" Do not acknowledge you don't have it. Don't affirm "I have it" and then be like "yeah I don't actually have xyz" How I fixed it and my new perception of the law:

thing 1. Your subconscious can get confused, it can assume but not understand why you just said you don't have it. That's not a punishment, you're just not letting the law work. How to fix this: Affirm and don't contradict. Don't contradict in your actions. Don't ask a blogger where it is, or vent to an open ai (what I did lmao) If you ever feel a thought about it not being in your favor, just tell yourself "it has confirmed already" and try ignoring it for the rest of the day.

Thing 2. The seed gets planted immediately. "I have thing" Your subconicous immediately accepts it and makes space for you to have thing. Then what? Affirm or go about your day. Accept that thing is already yours now. Even if you don't feel like it, just tell yourself "it has confirmed" or "it will confirm"

Thing 3. You do not need to affirm so many times. I know my thing is robotic affirmations and saturation but honestly...Its already done. The reason why I think robotic affirming is so affective is because after you affirm once BOOM your subconicous is like "YES WE HAVE THING! NOW LET ME JUST MAKE SPACE FOR IT" but if you keep affirming again, and again, and again and leave no choice for doubts to arise, your subconicous will literally purge your desires. Its almost like you've overstimulated it.

Don't make my mistakes. Now, How do we manifest literally anything we want? Its not "affirm and persist in affirmation until you see it" for me anymore. Its "affirm a little, remind, and stop asking" What do I mean by that? Affirm once or twice honestly. And then remind yourself "it has confirmed already" And then don't ask where it is anymore. you affirm its not here or if you ask anyone, just don't validate the old story. Don't make my mistakes. This was my biggest manifestation ever. Bigger than my parents becoming millionaires or me being popular among my friends. If you have a manifestation so important to you or you're trying to get rid of an insecurity, just try very hard to trust yourself and trust the law. Because your subconicous has already assumed just let it do its thing in the meantime. Thank you for reading if you've got this far, ciao my loves ✨

[urfavblond1e]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 ♡︎

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ৹ you and megumi have been dating for nine months. you're happy. he's happy. you're perfect for each other. the only issue? he craves affection and he's not sure how to ask for it.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ৹ megumi x fem!reader, shy megumi, fluff, very very slight angst, cuddling, yuji and nobara mention (they share one braincell).

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ৹ 1.4k

𝐚/𝐧 ৹ sorry I haven't written in a while, i'm currently on vacation and haven't been writing. this was in my drafts so I figured I'd post it. I'll be back soon with some more. I hope you enjoy! hearts divider by @/s-h-o-w-y

You and Megumi had been dating for quite a while now. Just two weeks ago, you had your nine-month anniversary together and you were the happiest you had ever been.

The relationship was very low-key. PDA was almost non-existent—the most he’d ever do in public was hold your hand and even then, he kept his hands to himself most days.

Affection was present in your relationship but you mostly had to ask for it. He’d give it to you without a second thought but he rarely initiated any form of affection besides a few hugs or kisses here and there.

To be honest—it bothered you at first as you believed it was something about you that made him not want to be affectionate but then you realized it was just hard for him to show physical affection because he never really knew how. He was an amazing boyfriend—he just had some struggles.

You were fine with this now and it didn’t bother you, knowing that he still loved you very much.

But what you didn’t know was how badly this affected Megumi. His fear of initiating physical affection was eating him alive from the inside out.

Megumi had a lot of emotions—believe it or not—but he didn’t know how to handle all of it so he just shoved it all down where nobody could find it. He never learned how to deal with any of it so it seemed like the only quick solution.

His mother passed away at a young age and affection or even emotion (besides anger, disappointment, or his father being unamused) was not common from his father and stepmother. Growing up he got the occasional pat on the head or a hug from Gojo and his older sister Tsumiki tried her best to show her love for him when she could—but that had ended all too soon.

He would never admit it but he absolutely craved affection—specifically from you. The poor boy was so touch-starved. His heart soared whenever you asked for a hug or to lay down together. And it tore away at his heart how badly he wanted to ask you for love but for some reason, he was scared to do so.

But one thing about Megumi was that he was persistent and he was going to get through this and overcome his anxiety one way or another. After all, you were already his girlfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

Right now, you were on a walk with him, Nobara, and Yuji. Shoko had insisted on the four of you going out and getting some sun and none of you were about to argue with the intimidating school doctor so you all quickly got out there.

You walked alongside Megumi while Nobara and Yuji goofed off a couple of feet ahead of the two of you, not paying attention to either of you at all. Megumi quietly walked with a stoic expression, keeping his hands in his pockets. He had barely said anything but that’s because his mind was racing.

You didn’t mind it at all as long as you were with him. Megumi’s gaze kept flickering down to your hand, which was at your side as you walked. He wanted to just reach down and grab your hand tightly but something stopped him. Why? He had no idea.

You were his girlfriend, he had held your hand before and nothing happened. So why would it be any different now? Anxiety over simple things never made anyone think sensible thoughts. But it was enough to make him nervous to simply reach out and grab your hand.

And the worst part? You had no idea. You simply kept walking with a big smile on your face as the two of you walked together.

Before he could stop himself, he just took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your hand rather abruptly, not saying a single thing as if trying to ignore what just happened.

You were a little stunned—just because it was so sudden. And he had just grabbed your hand rather than lacing his fingers together with yours or something like that so you looked at him with a little bit of confusion. “Megumi?” You asked.

Noticing your eyes on him, he just avoided eye contact, feeling his cheeks heat up for some reason. All he was doing was holding your hand! Well, more like gripping it at this point.

“You don’t have to grip my hand like that, I’m not going anywhere.” You chuckled, trying to make him loosen up a bit so you could intertwine your fingers with his. Really, you were just glad that he was holding your hand and had done it himself.

Megumi didn’t reply but his grip loosened up so you could intertwine your fingers with his, properly holding hands now. You gave his hand a little squeeze and a reassuring smile. To be honest, it was really cute to see him like this but you weren’t going to say anything about it and just decided to leave it as it was.

Holding hands—it was such a simple thing but Megumi’s heart felt like it was racing. He was proud of himself for initiating things but boy was his heart pounding.

But feeling his skin against yours was so nice; feeling the warmth of your hand against his, it was so comforting. Goodness, he loved you so much. He just didn’t know how to say it sometimes.

The two of you held hands until you got back to the school. Nobara and Yuji rushed inside, not wanting to be out in the heat anymore while you and Megumi took your time getting inside. Sometimes you believed Nobara and Yuji shared one brain cell between each other—and they probably did, to be honest.

Megumi’s hand fell from yours when you got inside, which was okay, you were going to sit down to cool off anyway.

You made your way inside and to one of the rooms, walking over to one of the couches. Thankfully you had nothing else going on for the rest of the day so you could just practically pass out on the couch for a little while.

Before you sat down, you looked at Megumi, who was just standing there looking at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” You asked, slightly confused. He had been acting odd all day and it confused you. What was going on?

Again, no reply. Instead, you felt his hands suddenly grab your waist and pull you close to him, his arms enveloping you in a big hug. You stood there stunned for a moment before wrapping your arms around him tightly. It was clear that he really needed this hug.

“Megumi—,” You spoke but he cut you off.

“Don’t say anything.” He said softly, “Just don’t say anything.” He breathed out, not wanting to be asked any questions right now. All he wanted to do was hold you.

With you still in his arms, he moved and sat down on the couch, putting you on his lap and burying his face into the crook of your neck. It was so comforting, so nice. He just wanted to stay like this forever, in the safety and comfort of your arms.

You were still stunned that he was doing this but you didn’t question a thing, continuing to keep your arms locked tightly around him. Eventually, your hand made its way up to his scalp, gently raking your nails through his hair. You could feel him practically melt into your touch and you let out a little chuckle.

“Cute,” You mumbled, your voice could barely be heard.

Megumi let out a little huff and just kept his arms around you, his cheeks warm from embarrassment.

You weren’t sure how long you two were like that and eventually, you had somehow shifted to where the both of you were laying down, still holding each other in your arms. Megumi had practically fallen asleep, comfortably cuddled up right in your arms.

And he would’ve fallen asleep—had Yuji not walked into the room and seen the two of you lying together on the couch. Poor, innocent Yuji who could physically never bring himself to be quiet. “Ooh, Fushiguro! Getting comfortable with [name] there huh?” He said lightheartedly, thinking nothing of it. He really was just teasing.

Within an instant, Megumi was sitting up with an unamused expression, reaching to grab the nearest thing he could, his face pink and flushed “Shut up!”

Yuji was out of that room within seconds, just barely dodging the magazine Megumi had thrown at him.

[no-144444]

trades and tension- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve more to come...

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Oscar was weirdly wired during the entire Christmas break. You assumed it had something to do with the fact he was constantly around his family, therefore he had no other choice other than being on the defensive all the time. After a few weeks going around Australia with him and his family (the girls trip in Sydney was especially fun), you were back to the UK for training. So, he mellowed out quickly and became the relaxed Oscar you knew better, rather than the Oscar that shouted at his little sisters over a JustDance Game he was definitely not going to win, as they laughed at him.

More specifically, you were off to Wales. Swansea. The University of Swansea. Aka, preparation day. The day you dreaded most. 

Maisie was very kind about everything though, she kept telling you that you could do it all, that you could push yourself farther, that you could do more. 

Oscar, on the other hand (you’d brought him because he begged), was horrified at the gruesome tests you were undertaking. He watched on in terror as you ran flat out for 3 minutes straight. He could barely watch as you did your neck exercises. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“You alright?” he questioned, rubbing your back as the McLaren social media rep shoved a camera in your face. They wanted you to do your version of Landologs, trying to gain you more popularity (not that you needed it). You nodded your head, but the urge to either scream, vomit, run away, or cry was slightly overwhelming. 

“I’m alright,” you gritted out, continuing your cycling, sweat dripping off your skin. “Feel a bit sick.” 

Maisie’s demeanor changed. “We can pull the plug right now,” she offered. 

You shook your head. “I’m fine,” you assured her, then turned to Oscar. “You don’t have to be in here, y’know? It’s pretty hot.” 

“Doesn’t bother me,” he shrugged, though you could see the sweat stains on his pits. You rolled your eyes. 

“You’re a moron,” you chuckled. “Just take the out.” 

“What if I don’t want out?” he teased. 

“Then you’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you,” Maisie said under her breath, but you both heard it. 

If you thought Oscar’s cheek couldn’t go any redder, you were proven wrong, and he did in fact, step out. You just chuckled.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

At the end of the day, you ran into the showers and finally let your exhausted body untense. This season would be hard. It would be hard on you mentally and physically. You were still with McLaren. You were still fighting with everything you had. 

Just now, there were even more expectations. Great.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar held out an arm to hug you as he held the rest of your things, waiting in the lobby for you to come out. “Y’alright?” he asked, squeezing you against him. You nodded and took your (his) hoodie out of his hands and pulled it over your head. 

“Tired,” you shrugged. “Ready to go to bed.”

“Can't believe you have to do that every year,” he shook his head. “That’s insane.” 

You shrugged again, taking your bag from his arm. “Is what it is.” 

He shook his head, smiling, as he took your hand. “Alright, home?” 

“Home,” you nodded. 

‘Home’ was in fact your hotel, but neither of you cared about the semantics of anything at that point. You had one focus, bed. Oscar had one focus, getting you to bed. 

He drove as you stared at the passing fields and houses out the window. He wouldn’t let go of your hand even if he had to. When he had you to himself, he stuck like glue. You didn’t seem to mind much. At every red light, you felt his eyes on you. At every stop sign, he squeezed your hand. You could feel the cold metal of the bracelet you gave him, the walkie talkie charm hanging off it. He wore it, proudly. Everyday.  Still, a question plagued your mind. Why would he purposefully make himself uncomfortable just to be in the same room as you?

“What?” you questioned. 

He shrugged. “What?” 

“Why did you stay in there with me today?” you questioned. “It was roasting.” 

He shrugged, his eyes on the road. “I just wanted to.”

“But why?” you pushed for an answer. 

“Didn’t want you to be alone, I guess,” he pressed a kiss to your hand. “I don’t like you being in your own head.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not very nice to yourself,” he answered tentatively. You swallowed, fixing your posture. “And I think you’re happier when you aren’t thinking awful things about yourself.”

You stopped for a moment, emotion and understanding building behind your eyes. You nodded and let out a small “Ok,” and he squeezed your hand. Never was he ever blaming you. Never was he ever making fun of you, or being mean. He cared. That's all. He just cared for you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The hotel lobby was dimly lit and the only soul around was the receptionist, who was too busy doing some admin stuff to even notice you and Oscar. You didn’t mind, you liked being invisible. Oscar was taking a call outside while you grabbed drinks from the vending machine. Sprite for him, water for you. When did you learn that was his favourite drink? You couldn’t remember. Maybe it was something he’d said in passing, or maybe you’d asked him. You couldn’t remember.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” his voice travelled inside, and you felt that sense of dread that had been slowly decreasing overt the break, come back tenfold. “You can’t just trade me!”

Trade. Oscar. 

Oscar. Trade. 

Fuck no. 

You turned the corner outside to see him pacing the street, his head in his hand as he listened to the other end of the phone call. You had a feeling you knew who was on the other side. Fucking Andrea and Zak meddling in your life. He shook his head. “What does that even mean? ‘I’m distracting her’? I’m making her take care of herself! For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even care about her a year ago! You only hired her in the first place to get the fucking medal for being the only team in modern F1 to have a female driver!” he argued, his hands moving wildly. “Yeah, your decisions are final. Good for you. Fuck off.”

And he hung up. 

“Don’t tell me-”

“You’re getting a new race engineer,” he scoffed. “I’m going to Aston Martin.” 

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[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 2

-…. ….- ..—- .—— / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. . -.. / -.. . .- -..

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: Very light sexual content, allergic reaction bad enough to need medical intervention, panic, dissociation

Johnny lay in the nest, warmed by Kyle who had shifted to fill the chill that John left when he had gone to answer the door. Simon lazily trails his nose over Johnny’s scent gland, drawing a light whimper from his throat.

Kyle leans in and presses their lips together, coaxing as his hand begins to trace muscles. Johnny settles a hand on Simon’s thigh, running his fingers through the hair he found there. They were off duty for another two weeks and taking full advantage of Simon’s oncoming rut. He would only be deeply affected for 48 hours but the men always pooled their leave times to give them an extra week off.

This being the third year of them taking a few weeks off for each of their ruts/heats the rest of the large team knew and adjusted for the absence of their leader and core team. Kate kept track of everyone on their specific jobs.

Simon started to harden up behind Johnny. Hands drifting over his body had Johnny closing his eyes and leaning into his lovers. The teeth at his nipple surprised him to the point of recoiling. Simon had the misfortune of resting at the edge of the bed. He hit the floor with a thump. Kyle and Johnny shared a look before they both started to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So funny,” Simon stood, rubbing his butt that had taken the brunt of the fall.

The men on the bed smirked as they now watched Simon stand a bit more at attention under their eyes. Before they can get Simon back into the nest John steps into the bedroom, shutting the door hard behind him.

They watch as John strips off his robe and strides into the shared closet. Kyle can only open his mouth before John is answering the yet-unspoken question.

“We need to get dressed. Kate brought us a wife.”

That had all of them moving. What the hell did he mean?

Scrambling into the closet each of them grabs the necessary clothes before shifting to standing around the nest so everyone has the elbow room they need to dress.

“John, what do you mean Kate brought us a wife?” Kyle asks after his head emerges from his turtleneck.

“Kate brought us a beta woman. She would like us to stop being so reckless on jobs. Thinks that having someone to come home to will keep us from killing ourselves on jobs.” John sits to put his socks on, threading a socked foot into his pants before standing and doing them up.

“So what’s the plan then Captain?” Simon questions as he feeds his belt through the loops of his pants. “Obviously we don’t need a beta.”

“A wife wouldn’t be terrible though,” Johnny pointed out as he tucked his thin layer into his pants and grabbed his own jumper. A bonnie to hold and smile at them when they stumble in through the door? That sounded amazing to him.

“The plan is Johnny and Kyle will be taking her to town for some clothes and a bed. Kate insists she gets a bed and a space to retreat to. Simon, I want you to see what you can sniff out from her clothes. Maybe check what Kate has been up to lately.” John pauses, shirt tucked into his armpits as he prepares to lift it over his head. “Something about her smells…wrong. You have a more sensitive nose than I do, I need your opinion on her. I’ll start working on cleaning out the room behind the kitchen.”

“What are Kyle and I watching for then John?” Johnny runs a hand over his hair, deciding that he wouldn’t need to do much about it since he would be putting on a beanie shortly.

“Anything we can glean from her. She didn’t say much after Kate left. Watched me until I came upstairs, lot of thoughts behind those eyes though. You’ll see what I mean.” John opened the door that led to the stairs.

They all trailed after him. John had been right. Something smelled off about you. Almost broken? It reminded Johnny of the time Simon said his sauce had “broke” and the fats and water and flavors no longer sat well together.

You are standing at the front window, staring out over the vast stretch of forest they owned all around the property. They had chosen this spot deliberately five years ago when they were buying land to build their home on. It backed up to a national forest and they would never have to worry about neighbors.

Johnny approaches you around the couch. You pull back slightly from the window and notice the fog your breath left on the glass. A finger is lifted, leaving a frowny face in its wake. When you turn to look at him Johnny sees what John meant about your eyes.

You don’t leak scents of displeasure or fear like anyone else would in this situation; no, the feelings bubble in your eyes instead. Your stress sat in your shoulders and the slight bend in your knees, not in your scent gland.

“‘ello, you can call me Johnny. We’re going to town to get you supplies for your room.” He smiles gently at you. You only narrow your eyes in response. “Where did Kate put your coat?”

You look from eye to eye three times before answering. “Kate didn’t get me a coat. Only had cash and she said I needed clothes more.”

Johnny liked Kate. He had never wanted to slap her more than in this moment though. Nodding once he lifted a hip to rest on the couch as he folded his arms. You wince as his anger is communicated through the air. Simon complained that his anger tasted of burning rubber.

“I have a coat you can borrow until we get you one in town. Would that be okay?” He probes gently.

The narrowing of your eyes is exactly what he expected. You were going to take a long time to trust them.

“How about we get the truck started and then you only need to wear it between the house and the car?” Johnny offered.

“Fine.” You cross your arms and cast your gaze back to the snow beyond the window.

Twisting Johnny catches Kyle’s eye as he lurks in the kitchen.

“Grab my coats would you?” He tilts his head to their new wife as if Kyle hadn’t heard the conversation echo due to the acoustics of the home.

Kyle grabs both coats from the closet near the front door and drops a kiss on Johnny’s lips before leaving to start the truck. John catches him with a kiss and a whisper. Johnny offers both coat options to you and watches with a smile as you grab the coat that smells less strongly of him.

By unspoken agreement Kyle and Johnny let you learn about them through the conversations they have during the drive. It takes nearly an hour despite the roads being clear and dry. The tourists creeping their way up the mountain roads always slowed things down. Kyle dropped you and Johnny off to head further into town to pick up a bed frame and a mattress.

Johnny watches you as you drift from store to store. They lived close to a ski resort and had several stores that sold everything from socks to pants and coats. You picked soft clothes, muted colors, and several of the same socks and underwear. He only saw your face light up once. You were softly stroking a garishly bright shawl as you held it up to the mirror. When you saw Johnny lift his brows at you in said mirror you put it back and moved on. He made note of its position in the store before following you.

When Kyle came back Johnny filled the back seat with the various bags.

“‘bout time for lunch, any preference?” Kyle asks you.

You shake your head looking much warmer in real winter boots and a long coat. Johnny had insisted at the last store visited that you needed a hat and a scarf as well. Hands shoved into your pockets you are covered as Simon is on jobs, nose tucked against the cold.

It is decided that a new Thai spot would be the answer. Johnny pulls the keys from Kyle’s hand and a kiss.

“I’ll be right there,” he murmured against his cheek before turning and disappearing around a corner.

When he slides into the booth next to you the food is hot and ready on the table.

“Didn’t know what you would like so I got a platter for the table,” Kyle hands you a bundle, a napkin wrapped around a fork, and a spoon.

Conversation flows, Kyle and Johnny are careful to leave space for you to add your thoughts on matters like what they should have for dinner or if they should roast marshmallows in the fire tonight. You pick at your food and watch them watch you. When Johnny and Kyle have eaten their fill and boxed up the remaining food they settle the bill and you follow them into the grocery store next door to the restaurant.

Kyle, ever practical, heads up the pharmacy first. You and Johnny follow.

He tosses a box of condoms to Johnny who catches it with ease, even with his off-hand.

“Do we need any of these?”

This is cause for you to break your silence.

“You won’t need those for me.” You are cut off with a cough, fist to your face.

“These aren’t for you, but why wouldn’t you need them?” Johnny glances over at you, brow cocked.

Your hand has moved, cupping your throat as you cough into your other elbow. A light sweat has started across your face and the coughs are getting harsher. When wheezing starts and your body begins to crunch in on itself Johnny takes off for a different section of the pharmacy.

Hollering at the pharmacist behind the counter he points your direction, “I need an epipen!”

The pharmacist tosses it to him over the counter and low shelves between them as she darts for the door. Johnny doesn’t wait, racing back to you. He couldn’t hear much over the racing of his heart. They hadn’t even had a wife for six hours and she was dying on them!

Kyle has you laid out on the floor as you gasp for air. Sliding in next to you as if he were stealing a base Johnny removes the EpiPen from its travel case, uncaps and presses his thumb down to the top, and slams home the needle into your outer thigh.

He starts counting to thirty, the pharmacist appearing at his side before he reaches ten. By fifteen you are gulping down air as tears steak into your hair.

“There is a clinic two buildings down from here.” She glances over you as she dials something on her phone. Fingers reach for your neck as she takes your pulse.

Kyle gently takes the hand batting at the pharmacist, placing a light kiss on the knuckles. You are sobbing now, heaving breaths and tears streaming down your temples.

“Hi, this is Dr. Kumar, the pharmacist down the street. I have a beta woman incoming with her partners for an allergic reaction. We have administered an EpiPen on site but since I am not an MD I am sending her to you to confirm she is okay.” Dr. Kumar pointed to Kyle with two fingers, then to you, and hooked at thumb toward the front door.

“We gotcha bonnie, we will keep you safe.” He murmured the mindless words of comfort at you, unable to keep from attempting to soothe you as your fear punched into his nose. Interesting, that.

Johnny pulled the pen from your leg, needle already retracted, and passed it off to Dr. Kumar as he helped sit you up. Breaths are coming easier already, your skin is clammy and your eyes wild. You hold onto Johnny’s hand like the last life raft from the Titanic. Kyle shifts his hands under your thighs, standing to the gasps of several old women. Johnny caught sight of them fanning themselves as they pushed through the crowd that had formed.

Dr. Kumar, still on the phone, directed people out of the way with a sharp word and saw them off at the door, face worried. Johnny nodded to her once as he kept pace with Kyle. Thank the gods that John ensured they all stayed in top form.

Your words are getting clearer the closer they get to the clinic.

“Please don’t let them touch me. Don’t leave me alone. Please. Please. Please.”

“We won’t leave you alone,” Kyle shifted one arm to hold you, rubbing your back with the other. “Just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am going to call John, can you handle this until I get off the phone?” Johnny winces at the tight grip you have on his hand. “Lass, Kyle will kill anyone who tries to hurt you.”

They pause outside the clinic where Johnny works his fingers free of yours. The look of panic on your face will haunt him until he dies.

Kyle chokes slightly as you clamp down on his neck with your arms. The clinic staff opened the door for him, ushering him straight to the back room. Johnny dials John’s number from memory rather than searching for it. Cars drift past him as he waits He picks up on the third ring.

“How is it going with our new wife, Johnny?” He grunts as if moving something heavy.

“Poorly. We nearly lost her in the pharmacy.”

“Well did you find her?” John huffs, slightly out of breath.

“Na John, she had an allergic reaction to something from lunch. Had to stab her in the leg with an EpiPen. Kyle is in the clinic with her right now.” Johnny crushed a small ball of ice and snow beneath his boot on the sidewalk.

“The fuck happened Johnny?” The sounds from the phone tell him that Simon is now listening too.

“Don’t know John, had lunch at the new Thai restaurant, went to the pharmacy and she started to cough and then couldn’t breathe. Kyle got her to lie down and I got meds from the pharmacist. Kyle is in the clinic with her now. I’ve never seen someone so panicked to go to the doc,” Johnny shoves his other hand in a pocket, focusing on crushing another ball of ice.

“Hold on, I am calling Kate,” John warns. The line goes silent.

Johnny looks into the clinic, seeing nothing beyond the simple decor and the receptionist behind the tall counter.

“Kate, our new wife had an allergic reaction at lunch. Is there anything else she should know about her?” John questions with barely contained rage.

A sigh is the only response at first.

“I don’t know John. I haven’t found all of her records yet.”

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t found her records yet Kate? Where did you find her?”

“John, all I have on her is from the two weeks before the FBI raided. There is a lot I can’t tell you but what I can say on this unsecured line is you should do some research on arachnids.”

She drops off the line with a click. Scowling at the distance Johnny bites back the urge to start yelling at Kate. More riddles and questions.

“Get her home, Simon and I will clear out the peanuts from the house,” John sighs into his ear.

“Why peanuts? It could have been anything in the meal.” Johnny watches as a group of skiers, colorful as tropical birds, walk across the street on the opposite side.

“Could have been, but a swipe of peanut butter on her hand when she gets back will confirm. It’s a really common allergy and we won’t have time to take her for an allergy test until after Simon’s rut.”

Johnny nods to himself and then verbalizes his agreement before ending the call. The receptionist leads him straight back when he steps through the door.

You sit on the bed, eyes wide and light gone from them, quietly singing Edelweiss. Kyle stands with arms folded and back stiff. His work face is on. Something had happened.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand as he settled into a chair conveniently next to the bed. You stay distant until halfway through the drive home.

A/N: I did not mean for it to go this way... I keep fighting with myself to let everyone live to the end of the story....

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[euon111a]

B L O O D L U S T

summary: sleep with one eye open, don’t walk alone late at night, don’t trust strange men who show up at your gramma’s door. and definitely don’t move to Mississippi.

warnings: sacrificial pact/curse bond oath, themes of violence, self bloodletting, death, vampirism, supernatural elements, voodoo/occult themes, biting, minor choking/breath play, spitting, blood play.

w/c: < 11k

notes: okay, so ik everybody says this, but yes this is my first time writing, so it’s probably not gonna be perfect. yes, I’m hopping on the sinners train, I’m just original like that. there’s absolutely no use of y/n, this is entirely second pov and specifically afab reader. this also isn’t proofread, and like kinda fast and long so my bad. also, this was supposed to be out like last week, but i got kinda scared of publishing, and kinda hate how this came out, sooo yeah. i don’t have high expectations for this, chances are there might be a part two, but hopefully those who read enjoyed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew real quick what your family was.

There wasn’t a talk, or a conversation ‘bout it, but the older you got, the more clear it became. You knew when you overheard your neighbor talking to his wife ‘bout how your family ‘walks with shadows’, and how the other females of your blood ain’t ever been right in the head. It was there in the way folks steered clear of your doorstep, looked at each other like there was a secret there that only they knew of. You weren’t embarrassed of your family, never had been even when you put two and two together, you knew what you was, and you took pride in it. Safety was a rare thing to come by, and in desperate times, some people just had to do desperate things to keep the ones they loved safe.

That’s just how life was.

Blood was thicker than water, put above all else, and that’s how it’s been for generations. Blood kept you safe, kept you alive, and you didn’t know it at first, but you understand it now. It makes sense. Plus, everybody knew what New Orleans was like, the connection certain people had, the stories, the rituals, the pure energy. Who’s to blame a young couple hundred of years ago to do what they could to keep their children, their grandchildren, and their great grandchildren safe from everything wrong in the world? They did what was needed, and there’s no shame in using your resources wisely.

But everybody’s human, and people make mistakes, so when your older brother came to terms with things and realized his part of the pact was coming up, he got scared, tried to back out. He ran off, tried to get some sort of help and then he just— disappeared. Ain’t nobody know if he died, if he just ran away and got somewhere where the shadows wouldn’t interfere, or if his part of the oath was completed, but nobody’s seen him again. Talk went around about his disappearance, people claiming to hear his voice at night, hearing his screams, the earth listening to them, and then just emptiness as the sun came up. But that was all just rumors. Things grew as quickly as it started, people bringing up the jars your daddy had lined up by the porch, the roots under the porch chairs, the herbs on the windowsill. Then it was bringing up how your family never went to church, always had everything set up for y’all’s benefit, how your momma had slipped up one night and mumbled the same prayer she’d set over you to your father in public. The rumors stopped after a week, just magically went swept under the rug like a dust bunny, but everybody remembered, kept their distance and called out Bible verses to you whenever you stepped into a shop.

Your parents had their stuff packed by the next week, they’d always been waiting for a fuckup, told you to keep on your toes, but after a heavy lightning storm had lit a neighbor’s house on fire, people started suspecting your family. Before you knew it, you was dragged up to Mississippi to your gramma’s for safety and a fresh start. Your parents hadn’t bothered telling you what state they was holed up in, told your gramma to keep it strictly secret and to get you prepared for your “time”. They told you as soon as you was old enough to fully understand, not that ripe age before you finally develop a conscience but the moment before. Told you what was comin’, what had already happened for your momma, for her momma, and for every person born from the same blood before them.

It had to happen, can’t go around tryna change fate no matter how scary it seemed for your feeble mind when they first told you. It’d hurt, it’d be a hard transition, but it ain’t about the pain. It’s about the renewal, the safety. It’s about making sure you stayed whole, had a place among the shadows. So you embraced for the inevitable, learned to live with it.

Now that was five years ago, you’re a grown woman now. Your gramma was smarter at keeping things secret, had a little bouquet of herbs nailed to the front door and a sloppy baron veve etched into the porch wood where the door mat lay. Plus, life was a lil more secretive in the countryside, nobody really went around lurking for things they shouldn’t. Things was simple for a while, you helped her where she needed it, tended to her little shop in town, and she’d mutter that same prayer your momma did before you went to bed every night.

But when you got your menarche, or what your gramma called, “the final binding”, that faux simple life had changed. She shared her deepest secrets and knowledge with you, bathed you in the river, blessed you with her own gris-gris bag, and cut off a small portion of your hair just to set on fire. That night as soon as the stars started littering the sky, she slit open your palm with the same shard of glass she used on your momma, and letting the blood pour down onto the ogou feray she dug in the dirt behind the house. It was as if things shifted right as the blood hit the dirt. The air settled, the flickering of the flames in the fireplace stilled, as if the entire earth around you took a moment to rest, to soak in the warmth of the blood. Your gramma warned you of dreams that night, to not be scared and to be open, to let it happen, to listen to what they were telling you. She told you over and over to not speak, to let the spirits and the shadows do all the talking, that’s all you needed.

There was this change, this tension deep in your gut as if a heavy weight settled in you, like a hug from someone who wasn’t there, but who squeezed on tight to make sure their presence was known. The first man in your dreams hadn’t said anything, not at first. He just watched you, studied you, gazing at you as you struggled to wrap your mind on just how real the dream felt. His eyes bored into your soul as if he was peeling back every aspect of who you were and soaking up the information he learned. He told you to keep an eye out for the night man, but hadn’t told you anything else even when you tried to ask, just cut you off to say that you’d know when you’d see him, that you’d tell yourself before your mind knew, and then you woke up.

Every night’s been the same since your cross into womanhood, your sleep was the only interesting part of your day. When your eyes were closed, you’d be reunited with family members you didn’t know of, talk to people from the past and those who just encountered the cold touch of death. You’d see life as it was beyond dreams, the physical pull of something holding you back from going too far. You dreamt of visions of warnings with symbols of men on fire and rivers of blood, the weight of more than one person lingering in your dreams but only one ever being seen. It hadn’t stopped, kept growing, kept getting more real, more fulfilling, drawing you closer and closer to that magnetized energy that chased after you, but kept hidden behind shadows until it was time.

The heat was particularly heavy today, thick as ever, clinging to you like a second layer. Stuck to you the same way a quilt wraps ‘round you in the middle of the night. Ain’t no wind in the air this time, just the same scorching heat, pressing down like the same warmth of a brand against cattle. The nights had gotten restless, air so damp it’d slip through the cracks of the windows and have you waking up drenched in sweat. Just an endless stream of heat that don’t quit, even when the moon’s settled high up in the dark sky.

Not a lick of shade out in the countryside, nowhere to rest against to hide from the sun, just the same old open land and the same old humidity pressing on your chest. No trees in wrap around and cling to, no wild grass to linger on, just pure sun to skin. 24/7. The fields stretched out in endless rows, plants swaying like dying ashes in the breeze, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. That tiring damp in the summer air that stuck to your every pore thickened the further you went into town. The air was heavier there, clinging to you like a different weight, sticky everywhere you went, like the streets themselves was grabbing hold to you. But ain’t no peace anywhere in the summer, just the constant blend of day to night, the burn of the sun and the heat against your back.

Dust had clung to your shoes, your clothes, your hair, your lungs with every turn of the car had another puff of gravel thickening up the air. Moments like these you were particularly missing home, the weather down in New Orleans never reached as dry as it was in Mississippi. Normally, Mother Nature was less cruel back there, there’d be a week of hotness, but then the weekend would be blessed enough to have a long cloud of rain at night. Today though, it was extra sticky, and Gramma had been mighty adamant on going to town, so you brought it upon yourself to keep her company, despite her complaints against it. The shop smelled of old wood and herbs, the kind of scent that clung to the shelves no matter how often they were dusted. You traced your fingers along the countertop, the grain rough against your skin, listening to the way that momentary silence settled around you. It wasn’t an eerie quiet—just the kind that came when the world outside had dimmed, when the street beyond the window had almost emptied, when the only things left awake was the crickets and the slow hum of the overhead lamp.

“You stay home tonight.” Gramma’s voice was steady and sharp, carrying that same tone that told you that there really wasn’t no room to try to argue against her. She had you perched by the counter like some restless child who didn’t know when to quit, like you wasn’t grown enough to be on your own without her breathing down your back. Your eyes flicked away from the window, quick and ready to ask question after question as to why, but she was already turning away. Already shifting toward the older woman at the shelves, the one running her fingers along misplaced coffee tins like she had nothing else on her mind but finding the right one.

You scoffed—not loud, not reckless enough to be heard neither, just enough to let it sit on your tongue for a second before you straightened up. You settled back in as soon as she returned to the counter. “Gramma, it’s the weekend.”

The words carried, just enough weight to sound like they actually mattered, but she barely blinked, didn’t even react. Didn’t flinch, or pause, or give even the smallest sign that she was reconsidering.

Instead, she dragged that coffee tin against the countertop, tapping her fingers against the lid like the conversation wasn’t worth stopping her movements. “And?” That’s it. It was flat, unbothered, almost bored, and if you wasn’t related to her, you’d genuinely take offense to her tone. Like the weekends had never meant anything to her. Like you wasn’t looking for any excuse to get out the house tonight.

“Weekend don’t mean not waiting.” Your brows furrowed slightly, trying to untangle her words so they made sense. You didn’t even really understand what she meant, and right now wasn’t really time to go ‘round tryna decipher her words. So, you just let her talk, let the weight of the words you didn’t really understand sink in. Eventually you’d actually make sense of her ramblings, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Alright, prophet, you got any clearer messages, or am I supposed to just go ‘long with you?” It meant to be a joke, just enough of a tone in your voice so she would’ve known you wasn’t taking her too seriously, but from the look on her face it rubbed her the wrong way. It flattened that sad attempt to humor her and shut you up real quick.

She shifted the tin aside, settled it among the others, before pointing a finger at you like you cursed her head off. “Ain’t my job to spell it out for you.” She didn’t raise her voice or scowl, just went back to cleaning up the counter with a dusty piece of cloth. And that was it. That was all she said. No explanation or soft edges to her words to make you think she was messing with you.

No room for another shit joke.

And no space for argument.

Just her certainty and knowledge that she wouldn’t share with you pressing down like the kind of knowledge that don’t come from guessing, just from years of watching the same thing unfold again and again.

The weekend clearly didn’t matter.

Not to her, so it wouldn’t to you.

And then it was quiet again. Not just cause she was mad or the fact that you was a little scared, but because there was that unease in your gut. The kind you get after waking up from a nightmare. The little jingles of the bells by the door, the slight sniffs customers made when scanning different candles and herbs was the only thing that distracted you. That and the muffled sounds of lively conversation outside. Your gramma must’ve snuck up behind you while you did your best to try to eavesdrop on the conversations that went by ‘cause next thing you know, she’s giving you a quick swat to the back of your head. You jolted in surprise, quickly turning around to face her instead of being nosy as you rubbed the back of your head, fixing her with an annoyed look.

“Junebug, go’n get some more tins— and none of those dented ones again.” You sucked in a slow sigh at your gramma’s order, sharply turning your head to watch her as she busied herself with helping a customer. You hopped off the stool, letting the wood creak under the shift of weight. Your eyes followed her as she slipped behind the counter, fingers tapping against the wall like she wasn’t waiting on you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Words carried out of habit more than anything else, rolling off your tongue without thought. And then you moved, purposefully slow. Like the steps to the back of the shop were new, unfamiliar, weren’t anything other than the same thing you’d done a hundred times before.

Like it wasn’t routine or repetition, just so you could experience something new.

Because Gramma asked.

Because the night hadn’t changed anything yet.

Because you did the same things you’d always done— even when she allegedly knew something was coming to break the cycle soon enough.

Stuck doing the same bullshit routine, everyday, every week.

You had all night to think now. Time to sit and stew in her words. Which wasn’t always a good thing, because the possibilities was practically eating you up. Thinking meant letting every idea come to fruition— the weight of expectation, the uncertainty, the fact there was no turning back. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Couldn’t afford screwing everything up. Your gramma had left after supper to close up the shop, said she’d come back before to play audience in case tonight was the night. But the echoes of her words still sat heavy in the your heart, pressing against your mind like a reminder.

You’d already cleaned the house two times over, not from the what-if’s or the possibilities, but just out of habit. It was always like this whenever she rambled unexpectedly. Bringing yourself to clean every nook and cranny of the house. To keep yourself from going crazy in anticipation. You hadn’t really meant to, but your body would move before your mind caught up—back and forth, tracing the same stretch of floor like movement might keep you steady. But your hands always needed something to do. Not because it’ll matter, but because control is control, and if you can make sure everything is in place, at least something will feel certain. Something other than wringing themselves over what might happen. Preparing for the unknown ain’t just about routine— it’s about settling the nerves, about making peace with the unknown, about bracing for something that doesn’t come with clear instructions because your gramma wanted to use it as a teaching moment.

Your breath came slow, fingers curling against the countertop, repeating Gramma’s words under your breath to remind yourself that this is just another step, just something possibly meaning to happen. And then you sat, forced yourself to just wait, like stillness and movement kept fighting for the reins of control. Forced yourself to take a breath and relieve the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you were panicking, ain’t like she admitted that tonight was the night, but something in your gut shifted. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the clock— but you noticed the stretches. You could practically feel everything, the way time dragged on, the wind outside, the cool of the night seeping through the window you was standing too close to, just so you could see before you were seen.

Gramma never said it’d come gently, never said it’d be announced— just that it was coming. That’s the way it was with her when she was your age, so you just needed to be ready. You couldn’t let yourself freeze, no matter how heavy the air gets, no matter how much your pulse shifted, you had to force yourself to move, to breathe, to listen. Had to check yourself, to make sure you were there, awake, whole.

After an hour, you made peace with not knowing who will come, how it will start, or what will happen next. You told yourself you were prepared, even if that doesn’t quite feel true. You weren’t scared, or unsteady, or doubtful, just ready for the test. The moment everything would change. You took another breath, long and deep, because what else was there to do?

Just sit.

Just wait.

Just make peace with the inevitable.

Nothing felt different.

Nothing looked different.

But that didn’t mean the weight of it wasn’t pressing down on you. So you waited more, and more. Sat with it for a while. Let it settle. But then two hours came, gramma wasn’t back, and the night man wasn’t here, so you took the liberty to finally make do to your room.

The sun’s set, darkness has come up, the sky black, empty and cloudless. No stars, no moon, just a long stretch of black on an endless canvas. The air’s thick, heavy, weighing down every movement of nature and every breath of the land. The trees connect through their limbs, tangling up into one big blob of wood and leaf. They speak to you, sway with every inhale the ground takes, deep and low. They sob, they weep, they ache, they groan. The wind stops, and for a moment, there’s stillness, no crying, no breathing, just emptiness.

The ground shifts, it moans, hollow and ragged as if life itself is pained just from its own existence. And then the earth inhales, and you’re back home. Everything’s the same, the dining table, the old painting on the wall, the faint crackling from the fireplace, but something’s not right. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you’re not there. Not really. You’re rooted to the floor beneath you, stuck in time, prisoner to the land as it shackles you through your bones.

And then, a light. Freedom.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it, in your core, running through your veins. It’s hot, warm, a brand burning you beneath your skin, keeping you there. The red glows, vibrant and thick, and then just there, in you. He whispers your name, right there, in your ear, in your head, in you. The heat grows, it’s intense and pulls you down, magnetizing you to his voice. You try to move, try to blink, try to breathe, but you can’t. You try to listen to him, but he’s not talking anymore, you know he’s there, can feel the weight of his gaze even as you can’t see him.

Then— just, nothing.

No darkness, no silence, no weeping.

Just, emptiness.

You wake up to the same emptiness, that gnawing hollowness, that gut feeling of something being terribly wrong when nothing’s gone wrong yet. The house itself was still, like even it knew something was just off. The air was too thick, too quiet, too unmoving. The shutters of the window slapped softly against the glass, a soft ray of moonlight pushing through the wood and onto the raggedy rug by the foot of the bed before bleeding slow into the dark corners. Everything’s the same, everything’s okay, but something wasn’t quite there.

Maybe it was the dream, the heaviness of its weight still settled deep against your ribs. Maybe it was the whispers still lingering in your mind, unintelligible, unknown, but latched onto your chest like a sickness with no name. That silence that stretched too long and too thin finally interrupted. The familiar sound of the front door opening in the distance, shutting with a screechy creak and it was only then when you heard the faint sound of gravel crunching beneath wheels, that you sat up.

The air in the room sat too still, thick with the kinda silence that came when something was taken away from a child and they’re getting ready to unleash all hell. You slowly rose up from the bed, the floorboards silent under your feet. The hallway was too dark and way too empty.

The chair by the hearth was empty, rocking ever so slightly, like it had only just been left by someone. The shadows along the corner of the room shifted, melting into each other before disappearing out the window and into the night again.

Then— three knocks.

Soft, slow, deliberate, like the owner of the hand knew patience, knew you’d answer. For a moment, you wasn’t sure if you imagined it— too caught up in your own mind and the tricks that was surely being played on you. But the air shifted. Like the entire world had stilled and listened, waiting for you to respond.

Then it came again. Three knocks, heavier this time, sharp enough to carve through the prolonged silence.

Through the thin curtain, you could just make out three figures, standing still on the doorstep, waiting— like they’d been expected all along. The moment stretched even further, threatening to snap out like a band. But then you heard it. Finally noticed it.

The silence.

Not just the absence of sound, but something heavier, stretching into your ribs until all you could hear was your own breath, your own pulse beating against your ears. But you were stuck, rooted by the fireplace, caught between the weight in your chest and the whisper in your mind telling you to stay put— to just forget, to sleep, to leave the door alone. But that lump in your throat disappeared, and without thinking, without meaning to, your body moved on its own. Standing by the door, slowly turning your head to the side, you pressed your ear against the cold wood. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, maybe the sound of the wind, the creak of the porch floor, the rustle of fabric against fabric, but there was nothing.

Just a stretch of air.

“Junebug,” the nickname snapped you out of whatever trance you were in, the sound cutting clean through the walls. Your fingers curled around the door knob, not turning, just there, like the weight of your own grip was the only thing keeping you from moving and taking a step back. The voice that called out wasn’t your gramma’s. It had a feeling to it— low, smooth, drawn out just enough to make room for silence, to let it settle in the empty spaces between the syllables. There was another pause. Not long, but long enough— the kind of pause meant to remind you that this wasn’t a dream or a trick of your own mind. “I know you’re awake.”

There wasn’t any rise in his tone, no accusation or teasing in his words. Just fact. Like he knew you were alone, like he knew it had already been decided that you’d be alone, right now, tonight.

You stepped away from the door, staring at it like it would’ve forced the damn thing to tell you what exactly was behind the door. Like if you looked long enough you’d see straight through the wood, past the silence and whatever waited on the other side. There was something different, the living room felt wrong, the walls were off, it was too— raw. Like they was listening to you, like the air itself was watching you, getting ready to judge you for every wrong move you made. You took a slow look around, scanning the room like it was your first time actually seeing it.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for this time. A sign that you weren’t going crazy, or that this was the thing your gramma tried to warn you about. Maybe you were looking for a clue, a strange flicker from one of the wax candles, the same whisper in your head, or some kind of confirmation that this was happening now. They should’ve spoken by now, the shadows should’ve told you what to do, what not to do, but they didn’t. Just kept still and quiet.

It was the test, had to be. You knew it, had to know it. Gramma wasn’t there, wasn’t able to help you no matter how much you needed it right now. She wouldn’t come back to help you, wouldn’t come back to guide you, to remind you what needed doing. And the longer you brewed in your own thoughts, the more you came to realization of what had to happen. You couldn’t be scared, couldn’t run off like your brother did, this was the inevitable.

And then, something inside you just clicked.

You hummed low and certain, not a strangled gasp or a means to fight the truth, but of understanding. Before you even meant to, before your mind even had the ability to second guess, your fingers tightened around the doorknob and twisted. The door creaked open, just enough for the night air to seep into the warmth of the house.

You didn’t know the people in front of you. If you were foolish, and didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought they was some lost folks, some wandering souls who knocked on the wrong door. But you were smart, and you did know better. Hell, you knew what they were before they even introduced themselves. Your gaze peeled off the three shadows in front of you to scan the porch, to the familiar stretch of land in front of you.

She really was gone, her car wasn’t in the driveway, that faint cinnamon smell that lingered on her wasn’t close enough to be smelled. This really was happening. The very thing she’d been getting you ready for this whole time. And that weight, the one that was sat in your bones for as long as you could remember, the one that pressed down to keep you tethered to reality, kept you waiting for what was to come— wasn’t there anymore.

The wind spoke it. The glow in their eyes confirmed it. The energy sealed it. Those whispers and dreams finally came to be.

He was actually here.

“Well now,” a pause, and then a long, slow exhale, like he was deciding whether to speak at all. He tilts his head, just a fraction, not from curiosity or amusement, but just to watch. His gaze slowly drags along you and the space you’ve wedged yourself into, forcing yourself to block that small gap between the door and the doorframe. “Ain’t exactly the way to treat company, now is it?” The tone in his voice was what set you unnerved, like he had all the patience in the world, like he knew you’d eventually open the door, but the look on his face told something different. You saw it, it was quick but deliberate enough for you to see the glow in his eyes, the weight to them. He didn’t say anything after, let the silence drag on as he watched you, not rushing or giving you a look that demanded you to answer.

“You gon’ kill me?” Quick to the point. The one to the left of him let out a little sigh, maybe it was amusement, maybe it carried something deeper that you just couldn’t catch. The kind of sigh someone releases from the same question being asked over and over again. The night man barely looked over to her, had barely attempted to reassure you, to actually acknowledge it. Just glanced back at you, a quick flicker before turning back to the open door. Then with a measured breath, a subtle shift forward before finally speaking, his voice low and deliberate.

“That what you think this is?” No frustration. No sharpness. Just a question without a question mark, something that didn’t need an answer but demanded one anyway. The silence pressed on again, like everything around you wanted you to answer first. You weren’t sure now, not with the way his lips twitched up, not a full smile, just the suggestion of one. You waited again. Waited for something else, a whisper to guide you, for the wind to say what needed saying.

But nothing came. Just more silence and waiting. And the man was watching, watching like he already knew what would happen, already saw how this would play out and how it’d end.

“Aren’t you?” He let your question settle— didn’t push you to say anything else, just let the air stretch as his eyes shifted towards the people on either side of him. Then, a slow shift. Not much, just the slightest lean back, just enough to make it feel like he was really listening to you, like he was actually considering the words before deciding whether they’d mean anything at all. And then, the same flicker of a smile, like he was testing how long you’d hold out before deeming the silence to be too heavy to carry.

His eyes followed your every move. Even when you glanced back into the safety of the house, even when your gaze flickered down to your feet as you thought to yourself. You didn’t need to look up to know, you could feel it. Like he hadn’t moved at all, but somehow, with that silence, he was closer to you.

“That really what you wanna ask me?” You finally looked up, eyebrows furrowing at his question. You gave him the slightest shake of your head, not of certainty that you could’ve asked something else, but because you forced yourself to accept that you asked the wrong question. That much was clear. He made it clear. You nibbled on your bottom lip, pressing your teeth against it, trying to hold onto something physical to keep your mind from running in circles. And suddenly, the only thing you could think about was what gramma would do. Digging through your every thought, every rule and every warning you’ve been taught for this very minute.

What should you be asking?

What were you supposed to know?

What could you do so he wouldn’t stare at you like that— like he was waiting to see how you’d hold up before you overthought his very presence?

Nothing came. No pull in your chest, no reminder or flicker of knowing. Just that same hollow stretch.

“Don’t reckon I ever learned the right thing to ask.” You admitted hesitantly, rubbing the side of your neck as you pressed your lips together. A rough, vibrating sound left the man, something that came deep from his throat and rumbled into the air. Half a laugh, but heavier than one, more felt than heard. Or maybe the kind of laugh that never really forms, just the edge of it, that slight drag at the end, turning into something that was just shy of a growl but had some sort of bite to it.

And then finally, the sound— the ragged drag of breath, the edge of something close. It lingered in the air, and then a whisper. Right against your ear.

“Antre.”

Just there, curling against your skin like breath in the cold winter air. Like the moment has already moved forward before your mind could realize that it was. It was the push you needed. It’s fate. The thing you needed to get the safety you needed.

The whispers were done now. There wasn’t nothing left to try to negotiate, nothing left to question. They spoke for you, and it was needed. Already set in stone. So, you stepped back, slow and steady, opening the door despite the fact that you ain’t even know his name, or who they was. The earth made it happen. The door swung open, not with force or pressure, but the way it had to, like it knew what to do. Then he moved, a small step forward until he was close enough for you to fully see him without the casts of the shadows around him. For a second, he was just watching, like he was judging you on how you were measuring the weight of what was about to happen, the sight of you stepping back, the weight of the land moving for you. His tongue peeked out from in between his lips, dragging slow across his bottom lip, like he was ‘bout ready to pounce on you the same way a lion does to a deer.

“Come on in, then.” Your words landed soft and steady, wasn’t just permission but a statement of what was already happening. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again, a lazy grin on his face that ain’t shown an ounce of comfort or kindness. With slow steps, crossing the threshold like he’d already been inside a thousand times before, he made his way into the house. His shoulder brushed yours, not forcefully or by accident, but a deliberate gesture just enough to be felt and to stick to you. And when he turned towards the living room, the space stretched out before him, his gaze dragged. Not admiring the warmth of the decor, not on the shadows lurking around or the flicker of the fireplace, but at you. Then he took a deep breath in, savoring the air like he was settling back in after a long trip, like he was coming home from work.

“Juju always did say you’d be a smart girl.” His words landed easy, absentminded, but they wasn’t. Not really. He didn’t bother looking at you when he said it. Didn’t even really bother waiting for a reaction, didn’t seem to need one. He just stepped aside, giving space for the others to follow. Like they all understood they belonged here, and you was just some slow girl who was catching up too late.

You opened your mouth, to ask how he knew your gramma by name, to try to catch that missing piece before it disappeared forever. But the moment already passed, had kept you just a step behind them. By the time you realized it, he was already at the couch. The fabric groaned under him as he settled in, not stiff or weak, but at ease, like the house had already decided to hold him. His legs stretched out against the floor, spread out in a way that’d only be comfortable for a man. His fingers dragged lightly along the grain of the wood, taking in every texture of the couch, purposefully letting the place sink into him the way he was sinking into it. He leaned his head back against the head of the couch, his gaze glued to you as if he was waiting for you to say something before propping his arm up against the back of the couch.

“How you know gramma?” You asked quickly, a little too quickly, and he noticed. His brow lifted, not like he was startled or offended by your question, just letting the question sit before deciding what to do with it. He moved slightly. Just enough for the couch to groan beneath him, for his shoulders to sink a little lower, for his hips to shift up deliberately, like he was settling into the comfort of the house before answering your damn question. The woman snickered, but his hand was already lifting up to wave the sound off before it could finish off into a laugh.

That couple was too settled, too at ease. When your eyes finally dragged back to him— you caught the way he was looking, not like he was just watching or peeking at a stranger. It was something deeper, something far too intimate for a random. It was like water moving into cloth, taking its time to sink in, to claim space, to belong where it wasn’t invited. It wasn’t hunger, though it was almost there. But then his gaze slid down just slightly so his eyes could linger on the exposure of your neck, before he gave out a small breath of air.

“Funny that you don’t already know,” he spoke gently, curling around the space between you two. The weight of it settled into the quiet between you. He let it sit there. Let the silence soak into him, like it belonged to him as much as anything else in the room. He ran his hand along his inner thigh before casting a quick glance towards the empty space beside him. Just long enough for the meaning to settle before his eyes found you again. “Ain’t your fault, I s’pose. Got all night to remind you, ain’t in no rush.”

You blinked in momentary surprise, your eyes following his as he looked down to the cushion beside him. You could hear his order even if he didn’t speak it. The whisper in your ear, telling you to sit down, was enough confirmation. The whisper wasn’t there, not in the way the voices usually were, or the way instructions were given, but in the back of your head like you would’ve been stupid to not want to listen. But it was there, spiraling in your head until it was all you could think about. The words were soft, pressing against your ribs like a breath that hadn’t even left your mouth but still forcing through every fiber of your being. You were moving again before you had the opportunity to object, the cushion sinking beneath you as you forced a gap between the two of you. Not enough to be safe, or to go unnoticed, or out of arm’s reach, just enough to remind yourself that you had the opportunity to move if you needed to.

“You scared, or is that pretty head of yours just figuring out how deep the remembering’s gotta go?”

“I ain’t afraid.” You snapped back, a little too sharp, a second too quick, and an awful lot defensively. He caught it. Didn’t bother calling you out, or pushing back, just casted a look towards the two people he came with. For a second you’d expected one of them to call you on your bluff, but the three of them shared a glance, like they was having a conversation with just their eyes. His tongue pressed slow against his teeth, just a moment of hesitation like he was holding himself back from words that weren’t necessary just yet. All he did was take a look down to the space between you two before trailing his eyes up along your body.

“Ain’t me keeping all that space there.” He noted with a low voice, letting his eyes dip along the curve of your waist before finally meeting your face. You held his gaze for a split second before looking away towards the comfort of the fireplace like it’d give you all the answers you sought.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a stranger.” He didn’t respond at that, tilting his head to the side like he was weighing the word. Stranger. He tapped his fingers on the back of the couch just where your shoulder rested against, and though it wasn’t a means to get your attention back on him. It worked.

“Stranger ain’t the right word, girl. Reckon you know that too.” You captured your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to keep the annoyance from surfacing at his lack of a real answer, but gave him an unsure shrug.

“I don’t know y’all, you won’t tell me what you are.” The words hung between you, capturing the heaviness of your words, the helplessness at the edge, the frustration there. He let the silence drag even longer at that. Not in avoidance or the lack of an answer, but just to study that look of annoyance on your face without the interruption of his own voice.

“Ain’t the name that matters,” he shifted forward, slow and certain, like he wasn’t considering the movement, just following a second instinct. His hand slowly moved along the curve of the couch, inching its way up to lightly brush along the fabric of your nightgown. You tensed under him, tight enough for the muscles in your shoulders to coil up just enough that you were certain he’d notice. “You can call me whatever you want— the night man, the stray, night walker. Most call me Remmick,” his hand didn’t stop, not right away, just kept following the curve of your neck before letting his hand settle there. The weight of his palm rested lazy against your skin, like it fit there, like it was a missing piece. “Ain’t too picky. S’pose I’d like to hear how it sounds from you first.”

Your gaze flickered down, catching the lack of warmth to his hand, that tight steady pressure against your neck. His thumb pressed against the side of your jaw, a slow, guiding gesture as he turned your head back to him. You peeked over, just a glance, to try to see through the shadows that hid the couple he came with. But it didn’t linger, not long enough before his thumb was tapping against your jaw to bring your eyes back to him instead. “Eyes on me.”

You were quick to look back at him, not just cause he gave your throat a gentle squeeze to snap your attention to him once more. That ain’t what pulled you back. Not really. Your body was already moving before you did. Like it was second nature. Like you was already following something that wasn’t spoken, something he didn’t have to voice twice for. That slight pressure, not like he was forcing you or demanding, just enough to remind you of where his hand was and where you were. He slowly leaned forward, just enough for the tip of his nose to nudge against the side of your cheek. “Remmick?” You mumbled slightly, tense, taken aback, confused. But the question just hung there in between the silence of the room and the creak of the couch as he moved closer. He didn’t answer right away, apparently didn’t need to, just kept his hand firm against your neck and his nose pressed against your cheek.

He inhaled slowly, deeply as if savoring every molecule of your scent and the way his name fell off your tongue. His lips brushed against the warmth of your skin in a languid path, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inched his way towards your ear. He paused, taking another long, deliberate inhale, flooding his senses with every inch of you. “Ain’t even started yet, and you already tense,” his words murmured against the delicate skin of her throat, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His head dipped lower, his lips dragging a path of heat downwards until he found the flutter of heartbeat at the base of your throat. He stilled, the heat of his breath heavy against the pulse he hovered over. “You feel that?”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nerves in your stomach and that red flashing light in your head that told you this was a bad idea. "Feel what?" It came out real pathetic, barely audible like he was choking the life out you. His tongue flicked out, a fleeting, teasing caress against that rapid pulse but he was quick to reach down and grab hold of your wrist to stop you from moving.

“I’ll show you.” His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to get your heart beating against your chest like an impatient bird locked up in its cage. You jerked under him, your feet kicking and sliding against the fabric of the couch as you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose. The first touch is barely there. Then— the weight of his hand. Not holding you still, just there, pressing up against the side of your face like he was tryna give you something to lean into.

This is wrong. You gotta move. Who cares ‘bout the test? Do something. Don’t just let him sniff up on you like a dog in rut. Do something idiot.

But you couldn’t, you weren’t sure why. Maybe you liked it, maybe you was afraid, but you let him. And then, that press.

The faintest drag of teeth against flesh, just enough to have you pulling back with a shiver, enough to feel the sharpness before they sink in. His lips grazed the spot, pressing a soft kiss there, tasting the skin, testing to see if you’d pull away or lean into it. But when you didn’t fight back, just gave out a strangled hum, his teeth pressed against the pulse. It ain’t a lunge or a tear. Not sloppy or all tongue. Just pressure. That brief shock of something sharp, turned into heat, thrumming against his teeth like your body already knows what’s happening. Just sharp, fleeting pressure, like the moment before a needle breaks the surface.

Then a slow bloom of heat, something real warm rushing through your nerves like a delayed reaction. And again, your body registers it faster than your mind, not in alarm or fear, just instinctive awareness that something’s pulling, something’s taking. The faint ache of punctured skin shifts curling deep into your gut, and there’s that tug, like a slow surrender. Your pulse stutters for half a second, like your body was fully adjusting to it, almost liking it. And then— a strange, lingering warmth. You could barely make out the little groan that slipped from his lips, like it took everything in him to not indulge in the moment.

A deep, humming sensation sits beneath the surface, not of pain, but a profound growth of pleasure that suffused through you. You hadn’t even noticed the way your head had gone slack, lolling back against his hand until the pad of his thumb running along the side of your jaw had brought you back to your senses. A weak, breathy grunt escaped your lips, pushing yourself up against his hand, and he let you, quietly easing your body back. Keeping the warmth of his mouth against you deliberate, and lazy. “Shh, I know,” He murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your skin. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, a slow touch as he cupped the side of your face to guide you to look away.

Not too deep. Not too much. Just enough for the taste of you to hit his tongue, enough for the air between you to shift, and stretch so damn thin you was sure you’d pass out. It was something far more complex, a maelstrom of sensation that curled like smoke through your veins before it transformed into a quieter, more deliberate pleasure. Something just enough to mean something without taking too much. And when he pulls back, the wound isn’t much. Your hand flies up to the side of your neck, instinctively searching for the two marks, just a lingering warmth, just enough that you’d feel it long after he’s moved back from your throat. Heat blooms first, a sudden rush, something bright against the dull ache where his teeth settled in.

“You bit me.” You slurred out, as if the realization had only just dawned on you now that’d he gone pulled away from you, your voice laced with something between shock and offense. You brought two trembling fingers to your face, staring down at the crimson slick of blood and saliva that clung to your skin like a dark, glistening dew. His eyes followed your movement, a constricted, hungry glint in the shine of his pupils as he took in the sight of it. Your eyes flicked around the room, only to be met with the absence of a crowd, the dark curl of shadows stretching out over the walls.

He grinned then, a slight, wicked curve of his lips that sent a bolt of energy straight to your soul. His tongue darted out, painted in the crimson smear of your blood painting his tongue a dark, enticing red as it swiped across his bottom lip in half means to clean up the mess he’d made. “Gon’ be good and let me do it again? Or stay all dramatic?” You blinked in confusion at his question, like it’d be a normal thing to go around getting your neck chomped by the night man, but you couldn’t find it in you to try to speak or object. He leaned in closer, breath hot and heavy against your skin as he dragged the slick flat of his tongue against the indented mark his teeth left on your throat. The sensation was a sharp bolt of pleasure, one that seemed to send a warmth in your belly. His hand slid higher, fingers curling around the slender column of your throat, squeezing with a deliberate force that made your vision blur.

“You gon’ kill me.” Your breath came out too ragged, messy and taut, dragging in shallow breaths, like your body was forcing you to stay still but your mind was fighting for you to run.

You could hear the tremble in your voice, tried to ignore the ragged breaths of your body to keep from panicking any more. You tried your best to keep a level head, to remind yourself that this was a test, and you had to do what you could to not get cold feet. You forced yourself still, to remind yourself that this was a test, panic wasn’t an option. Couldn’t afford cold feet.

“Ain’t taking more than you can give,” he corrected with a gravely voice, lips hovering a mere hairsbreadth from the dark, blooming mark he'd left upon your throat. You wanted to push him for an answer, to ask him to help you make sense of his words, but instead, you lavished in the feeling of his lips planting a soothing kiss to the tender flesh. “You gonna let me?”

And without knowing, you was already nodding at his question, sucking on your bottom lip to keep from getting a shaky mouth. “Is it gonna hurt?” You could feel the smirk growing on his lips at your question, humming low and firm against your skin as one hand slipped down along the curve of your hip.

“Wasn’t easy for your brother. Can be easier for you.” His hand slid from your jaw to your shoulder, fingers curling around the delicate bone, anchoring you to him. His eyes held yours, a molten gaze that seemed to see straight through to the terrified, like he was tryna make sure you fully understood his words, yet didn’t say anything else. You stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to connect the puzzle pieces he laid out for you.

He brought two fingers to your chin, tilting your head to the side so you can meet his scorching gaze once again. You felt the slow, deliberate slide of his fingers against the flesh of your bottom lip, parting it with a gentle insistence that brooked no resistance. “Open your mouth,” your eyes snapped to his face, scanning every inch to see if he was making a joke of you. He looked down at you, the glow of the fireplace casting a dark light in his eyes that shadowed his face so perfectly he looked unreal. “Ain’t gonna say it again.”

You hesitantly parted your lips, your eyes following every subtle shift of movement in his face as he watched you. He slowly nudged your lips further apart, his fingers pressing deeper to prop your mouth open just a little wider. Just enough that he could see the pink base of your tongue. His mouth opened, and before you could react, he was spitting the thick mixture of the coppery tang of your blood with the warm, iron laced flavor of his saliva directly onto your tongue. For a split second, a wave of emotions slapped you in the face, more offense to the man who just spit on your tongue, but the longer the taste lingered there, the more you actually liked it. It tingled across your taste buds, a dark, taboo essence that sent a strange sensation alive in your stomach.

Before you could even begin to process it, his fingers were pushing in deeper into your mouth, easing you to swallow that offering. As his digits pushed past your teeth, your tongue instinctively curled around them, the muscle fluttering and moving against his fingers with a mind of its own. He sucked in a slow breath at the sight, giving you a little nod of silent encouragement to keep going. He took cruel advantage of your mouth, using the slick, silken heat of your tongue to coat his fingers. “Oh, look at that.” He strained out with a slight groan, the hand placed on your hip slowly guiding you up against him so he was rested pressed in between your legs.

He eased you to swallow the combination of your shared essences sliding down your throat in a thick, viscous rope. The sensation was odd. The sheer depravity of it sending a bolt of hot, forbidden pleasure moving through your veins. It was as if, in that moment, you could feel his presence inside you, the claim upon your body and soul growing stronger, more absolute with each passing second. Your throat worked convulsively around the invading fingers, muscles clenching and rippling as they struggled to accommodate the sudden, unwanted intrusion.

As you finally managed to force down the last of the combination, your lungs burned with the need for air. As you gasped and choked, fighting to fill your lungs with much-needed oxygen. As you fought to regain your breath, lungs sore with the desperate need for oxygen, his fingers remained an unyielding presence in your mouth, a lewd plug preventing the heavy gasps from escaping. Each ragged, strangled inhale sent a fresh surge of humiliation coursing through you, the hidden knowledge that your body kept responding to him without hesitation. It was a twisted parody of intimacy, a perverse mockery of the way lovers might share breath and saliva in the heat of passion. And yet, despite the degradation, and deep humiliation of it all, you couldn't deny the way your body reacted, the way your skin burned up like it was on fire.

His lips crashed against yours in a messy kiss, his tongue slipping against yours, as if he meant to devour you inside out. He licked into your mouth, his tongue swirling and twining with your own in a way that physically stole your breath. It was quick, and sloppy, and not nearly as long as you secretly wanted it to be. He broke the kiss, forcing your head to turn towards the warmth of the fireplace before trailing quick kisses along your jaw. Moving further and further down back towards the mark he left a few moments before. His breath ghosts over the skin first, dragging out the anticipation. The way he kisses against your skin is controlled—slow, wet, not rushed, not impatient like the kiss was. You were so locked onto the feel of his mouth against your neck that you hadn’t even noticed the feeling of teeth there again.

The bite wasn’t like the one from before. It was sharp, deep, cutting through skin enough to the point it bordered on painful. The bite was this hot fire that seared through your flesh and bone, piercing the very essence of your being. You couldn’t even force out a scream or a gasp at the heat of teeth tearing through skin, muscle, and sinew to pierce the pulsing artery beneath.

All you could feel and see was the blood that gushed into the air, a scarlet fountain that splashed across his face to paint his skin a glistening red. All you could smell was the scent of your own blood, thick and cloying, the metallic tang of it burning through your nostrils and your tongue. The room spun, tilted wildly as the strength drained from your body, with each spurt of crimson.

As your body struggled against the change, your mind soared. Memories blurred and bled together, the line between past and present, reality and nightmare, dissolving into a hallucinatory haze. All you could think about was gramma. All your memories revolved to this very moment. All the life flashing back before your eyes, just for this.

For the feeling of the life leaving you.

All you could feel was the pain. So immense. So unbearable. So real. The last thing you felt was your heart stutter and pause in your chest, your lungs burning for air that could not fill them.

And then— just sleep.

[babyjinsu]

sungchan x fem!reader || 3.8k

౨ৎ nsfw! cheating, bestfriend's boyfriend sungchan, cowgirl, oral (m receiving), a lot of kissing, blowjob, fellation, nipple play (f and slight m receiving), lowkey sneaky fuck, betrayal, creampie, you both are assholes if you squint, non-proofread nor edited yet.

sungchan would be the biggest liar ever if he didn’t think you were the cutest, the prettiest one out of his girlfriend’s group of friends.

hell, he’s never even seen someone as close to his type as you. you’re practically his dream girl.

he tries to convince himself that it’s just a harmless, normal—natural thought that all guys have. 

but it never goes away.

not when you wear that specific shade of lipstick that makes his gaze on your lips linger a second too long. not when you lean out of habit towards him when someone cracks something funny. not when you sit beside his girlfriend, and he can’t help but to compare—almost everything. 

sungchan shouldn’t notice the way your voice and sighs makes his skin prickle. shouldn’t remember the smell of your shampoo after one hug.

in fact, he shouldn’t think about you at all.

but… sungchan is just a man. and isn’t it a man’s nature to wander? to want? to be attracted to pretty little things?

——

“oh—yn, nari’s not home yet…” 

sungchan’s voice was rough, still coated in sleep. He woke up early from the knocks on the front door. his hair’s messy, sticking up in different directions, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips as he just rolled out of bed—apparent by the pillow crease on his cheek. 

you blinked, caught in the doorway like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. “oh,” you said, lifting up the paper bag in your hand. “sorry—uh, nari just told me to come in. i didn’t know you’re in.”

he leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, arms crossed, one rubbing his eyes lazily, squinting down at you from where he’s standing. “no, no—it’s fine.” his lips curled into a small smile. “you should come in,” he said before you could think too hard. “nari should be home pretty soon. you can wait for her inside.”

you nodded and excused yourself inside, trying not to look at the way his gaze trailed after you. 

the door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. you kept your eyes forward as you slipped off your shoes, but you could feel it—sungchan’s stare on the back of your head, crawling down your spine. 

“i really didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, half-turning to glance at him over your shoulder. 

“nah, it’s cool, yn.” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “nari didn’t inform me beforehand.” 

you took a seat on the couch, settling to get comfortable with one leg tucked beneath as you got comfortable. sungchan trailed behind you. “are you guys going somewhere later?” he asked, taking the tv remote off the coffee table and sitting next to you—at an appropriate distance, that is. 

you glanced over at him. “oh, no, no,” you shook your head. “i just wanna drop off the dress i borrowed from her last week.” for some reason, you reached into the bag and pulled it out, unfolding the dress carefully across the lap. sungchan noted that it smelled like you—he figured out you washed it beforehand. 

“cute, right?” you said, smoothing the fabric with your palm. 

sungchan looked over; he hadn’t expected you to show him. his eyes skimmed the dress, then flicked to your face. you weren’t looking at him. “yeah,” he murmured. “really cute.”

your gaze caught him for a moment too long, a flicker of something passing between the two of you. 

“nari has good clothes. i think we all like to borrow from her.” you gave sungchan a little smile, eyes dropping. 

sungchan replied with a small huff of laughter, leaning elbow on the armrest. “yeah, but…” he hesitated, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “not everyone pulls them off the same way.”

you raised an eyebrow at his remark. “what do you mean by that?”

sungchan avoided your gaze, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he leaned back into the couch, suddenly too relaxed to be casual. “nothing.” he said quickly, eyes fixed on the tv. 

but the pause that followed stretched too long.

“sungchan.”

your voice was quiet. just curious.

he glanced at you then, briefly. “what?”

“you meant something,” you said, shifting slightly closer—your knee nearly touched his thigh. “so say it.” 

you saw the way sungchan hesitated—his eyes flickered between you and the screen. “uh,” he muttered. sungchan exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to your hand on your thigh, and the dress on your lap.

“you look good in her clothes,” he said, finally. voice quiet and low. “but i like the way you look in yours more.” 

your breath caught—chest rose. “you shouldn’t say things like that…” you murmured. sungchan’s eyes lifted to yours, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“well, you asked…” 

sungchan clicked through a few channels before settling on something random—an old classic romance already halfway through. 

you tried to focus on the screen but failed to do so—you were too aware of how close sungchan was sitting next to you; his knees barely brushed yours.

“you like this movie?” you attempted, asking him suddenly. sungchan looked at you, his fingertips tapping absentmindedly his thigh. “not really.” he admitted. 

on-screen, the couple kissed—soft and slow and dramatic. but your attention was on him.

sungchan’s gaze dropped to your lips, just barely. your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue licking your lips without thinking.

it happened almost suddenly—your faces moved closer—as if drawn.

you were a breath away from him when it hit you.

you pulled back immediately, eyes wide and breath hitching . “oh—i’m sorry, i—i didn’t mean to—“ you stuttered, leaning against the armrest.

sungchan catched your wrist before you could shift further away from him, his slender fingers wrapped around your curved wrist. “yn—it’s okay,” he said quietly. “it’s okay… just… this once.”

his voice was soft, almost pleading as his thumb rubbed circles on your skin. his fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, gently tugging you toward him.

“just once,” he murmured again like he’s reassuring himself. 

you didn’t stop him.

and when his lips brushed yours, it was soft. tentative, at first—like he was fully expecting you to push him away. 

your eyes fluttered shut the moment sungchan deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly to really kiss you—his hand slid from your hand to your jaw, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as his mouth moved against yours. 

your breath hitched as he parted your lips, his tongue brushing carefully against yours. sungchan’s other hand drifted down, his fingertips grazing your thigh before settling there, grounding you. 

it was you who pulled back for air. but sungchan remained close, his lips still ghosting yours. both of you catching breath in the shallow space between. 

“we shouldn’t…” your voice was barely a whisper.

his hand was still on your face. “shouldn’t what?” sungchan leaned in again, attaching his lips once again against yours. this time was slower but somehow deeper than before, almost pushing you back against the armrest. 

you gasped a little into the kiss—wether from surprise or how good the kiss felt—but sungchan took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips.

you gripped his shirt instinctively, fingers curling tight as his hand on your cheek travelled down to your waist. sungchan held you like he wanted to feel what it's like to have your body arched into his. his mouth trailed lower—along your jaw, beneath your ear. 

“sungchan… nari—“ her name spilled from your lips.

sungchan merely hummed into your skin, lips brushing along your throat. “what about nari?” he murmured against your lips, catching it again. your hand tightened around his shirt—wanted to remind him that she’s his girlfriend, and she’s your friend. that this is wrong and insane.

but then sungchan’s tongue flicked just under your jaw again, and your head tipped back on instinct, lips parting around a quiet breath. your chest rose against him and he took it as a sign of continuation. 

“she’s not here,” he added, hand slipping further up your thigh and into your shirt, pushing the fabric along. “you are.” 

your heart hammered in your chest out of guilt—but it was drowned out by the way his voice dragged through your spine in that low and coaxing manner. sungchan pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded and lips flushed and slick from the kissing. 

“i’m not going to stop,” he said. you stared down at him, breathless and torn between every line you’d just crossed. “so don’t tell me to stop.” sungchan kissed you again—harder and messier this time. his warm hands rested on your waist, pulling you into his lap without asking.

and you? you simply went, too easily. legs sliding around his hips as you settled over him, the two of you barely breathing now, mouths locked in a kiss. 

you felt the way sungchan breathed through his nose, desperate to keep kissing you and swallowing the soft sound you made when his lips moved. your arms moved to wrap around his neck, fingers curled in his hair, tugged slightly, and he groaned.

“yn,” and then you felt his hands—ghost beneath the hem of your shirt. 

you didn’t answer him. not with words.

instead, your hands reached for the hem yourself.

and you pulled your shirt up and over, discarding it behind you on the carpet. sungchan’s breath hitched at the view before him—the girl of his dreams—sitting on his lap, shirtless with an innocent, simple, white bra on. your cleavage pushed up nicely and sungchan had to fight the urge to grab them in his hands. 

sungchan felt himself heating up and hardened—as embarrassing as it sounded. 

“i’m not going to tell you to stop,” you finally said something, cheeks reddened and flushed at how bold you were. “so just do whatever you wanna do. just once.” 

sungchan froze for a second, like he was making sure he’d heard you right despite just sharing an intimate moment of kissing a few moments earlier. his eyes searched your face. “just once?” he repeated, almost bitter with disbelief. 

you nodded.

you swore sungchan rolled his eyes for a split second—before his mouth was back on yours. his hands skimmed up your waists before sliding over your covered breasts, cupping it. his fingers gently kneaded into your skin through the fabric. 

not being able to contain it anymore, sungchan pulled your bra up over your chest, letting it rest there. he bent just enough to wrap his mouth around your nipple. your mouth immediately dropped in a whine, back arching slightly in pleasure. your fingers tugged around his hair, almost pushing him deeper against your tit. “oh—sungchan—” you moaned, tugging on your bottom lip.

sungchan merely hummed against your skin, rolling his tongue around it and sucking it in his mouth like a pacifier. his other hand massaged and fondled with your other tit—rolling your perky nipple between the pads of his fingers. “you’re so cute,” he mumbled, leaving a kiss behind before he moved to your other breast—making sure she didn’t feel left out.

your arms tightened around his neck as you shifted slightly in his lap, instinct guiding you before you even could grasp what you were doing. the motion was slow—but enough for you to feel how warm and hard sungchan was beneath you. 

his breath stuttered, fingers tightening around your tit. “fuck—hey,” he murmured, tongue lapping around your bud. you rocked into him, pressing your clothed pussy against his growing tent. you could feel the way his body tensed but you didn’t stop. 

sungchan’s hands guided your hips, making sure he could feel every drag of your pussy against his cock. “i want you, sungchan—mhh,” you moaned, burying your face into his locks. your bodies moved together in sync as sungchan too, pressed himself hard against you. 

he pulled his mouth away from your tits with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your perky nipple and his bottom lip. sungchan tilted his head back slightly, not being able to contain his urge any longer. 

he hooked his fingers around the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head on a swift motion—tossing it somewhere on the couch. he was all warm skin and lean muscle. your hands hovered for a second—then settled on his chest, fingers splaying over his heart.

it was racing.

just like yours.

sungchan leaned in again, his forehead pressing to yours. “i have no regrets.” he said, his voice low and soft like he was letting you in on a secret. you nodded, swallowing hard. nari was still somewhere tucked far in the back of your head—but it’s too late to stop now.

sungchan helped you just enough—your knees pressing into the cushions as you rose slightly from his lap. his hands worked quickly, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants and guiding the fabric down over your hips. 

and then his hands were on your thighs again, pulling you back on his lap, only with your panties on.

sungchan shifted slightly on the couch to pull his pants down—and you gasped at the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and twitching. he’s huge. a lot bigger than you’d ever expect sungchan to be—thick and long and slightly curved. he bit his bottom lip as he noticed you staring.

sungchan wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, using the head to move your panties just enough to line the head of his cock up with your entrance. but before he could sink your hips down, you wrapped your hands around his wrists. “wait—sungchan, i wanna…” you muttered, getting off his lap. 

you settled on your knees between his legs, using your hands on his knees to push his legs apart a little wider. you glanced up at sungchan through your lashes—watching the way his breath hitched, his eyes locked on you. 

the tip glistened with pre-cum as he gave his cock a few slow strokes before letting it go, allowing it to twitch in the air between you. slowly, you wrapped your hands around his shaft, giving it a few light squeezes before leaning forward, your tongue daring out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock. sungchan let out a ragged breath, his hands hovered at his sides, fists clenched in the cushions to stop himself from holding your head.

“fuck…” 

you wrapped your lips around the head of his hard cock, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock,. you’ve never given blowjobs to anyone—not your ex boyfriends nor your flings but the way sungchan looked—slightly flushed and swallowing the lump in his throat—only encouraged you to continue. 

your cheeks hollowed as you worked on sucking him, taking sungchan’s cock as deep in your mouth as you could. you can feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue. he watched you through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling hard.”yn, shit—” he muttered, half a warning, half a plea. 

sungchan eventually threaded his fingers through your hair, gripping it slightly as he started to thrust his hips shallowly into your mouth. “fuck, babe, take it all…” you shut your eyes tightly as he forced more of his thick cock past your lips. 

at one point, sungchan held your head still and used your mouth for leverage as he fucked your throat, his head thrown back against the couch, balls tightened at the feeling of your gags. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum, pretty,” he moaned, groaning. he fucked your mouth like a pussy. 

you nodded and tried to relax your throat, gripping and digging your nails into his skin. you slipped sungchan’s cock out of your mouth to wrap your hands around his shaft once again, moving them back and forth—jerking him off. you lolled and rolled your tongue around the bulbous head of his cock, swiping at the sensitive slit. “mmhm,” you hummed, bobbing your head back and forth, looking up to sungchan who had his lips parted slightly, breathing shallow in uneven rhythms. you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled tighter around your roots. 

your tongue laid flat against his shaft, dragging it from the base all the way to the head.

woah—nari never gave me a fellatio, sungchan thought. your mouth was warm and slippery and wet and his cock had never felt this good before. 

“fuck, baby, wait—i’m gonna—” sungchan stuttered as he felt himself getting close. he groaned—thick ropes of his cum spurted inside of your mouth, coating it white. sungchan threw his head back in ecstasy to catch his breath before looking down at you—lips smeared with spit and white beads of his cum. you didn’t wipe it off, instead, you darted your lips out to lick and clean the remaining liquid around your mouth before swallowing him cum.

“sorry,” you muttered, the words muffled behind the back of your hand as you tried to hide your mouth. your cheeks were hot and red, eyes flicking anywhere but his. “i’ve never done this before…” 

sungchan blinked, still catching his breath—his body lax but his eyes focused entirely on you. “...you’re kidding,” he said, voice hoarse around the edges. he sat up a little and reached out to pull your hand away from your face. “that was—shit, you’re amazing, yn,” he continued, guiding you back up on his lap once more. 

“i can’t take it anymore.” 

i’m really going to do it—sungchan’s really about to break his girlfriend’s trust. but it’s too late to stop, he had to let his guts and body take over. he promised himself he’s just going to put the tip in…

“don’t tell to stop, yeah?” he said, lining the head of his flushed and wet cock against your entrance, and slowly, sungchan sank your hips down to the base. you threw your head back and let out a moan as his cock stretched your walls. “ah—sungchan,” with a whimper, your hips came to rest against his’. you’re way tighter and wetter than nari is—sungchan had to hold himself back from cumming this quick. 

he lifted you off his lap before letting you slam back down on his thick cock. the head nestled against your cervix with each pounding thrust. “you’re so fucking tight, babe… how…” he moaned as his fingers dug into your hips, guiding your movements with deliberate rhythm. 

you felt it in the way sungchan held you as he coaxed you to move the way he wanted. every shift of your body drew another moan from him, raw and guttural, his grip tightening with each roll of your hips. 

“you’re so big, ‘chan,” you whimpered, leaning in, hands resting on his chest as you pressed your mouth to his’. sungchan kissed you back almost immediately, hands anchoring you to him as your lips moved together. 

you felt his cock twitching and you swore—he got bigger when you slipped your tongue past his lips. he must’ve liked kissing a lot—you thought. you brushed your thumbs over his nipples, and sungchan chuckled softly in your mouth. your light tugged and pinched his nipples between your fingertips, rolling it inbetween.

down there—his cock dragged against the sensitive tissue of your entrance. his thrusts weren’t messy, they were rough and solid with the curve and the head of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you. sungchan pushed your hips down, cock balls deep inside your tight pussy as he kept you there, burying his cock against your deeper spot. 

“mmh—!” you moaned and nibbled on his bottom lip, drawing slight blood that sungchan couldn’t care less for. he started pounding into you with no remorse, balls slapping your pussy and making wet noises across the living room. his cock only throbbed deep in your cunt as you cried into his mouth, pressing your nipples against his’. 

sungchan’s heart pounded in his chest when his girlfriend’s face came to mind. he almost questioned himself what he was doing—but the thought dissolved just as quickly as they came when you flicked your tongue across his teeth. 

who was he kidding—? he waited months for this. 

your legs were burning and your climax was so close you could taste it. you unlatched your lips from his and cried softly, the tip of your nose reddened. “chan, i—” 

“me too, love, fuck—” he let out a groan that softened into a breathy whimper. “kiss me, yn.” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips for the nth time. his thrusts were erratic—rough and deep and desperate and merciless. heat coiled in your stomach, deep and pulsing. 

“i can’t hold it back anymore.” you whimpered pathetically into the kiss, nails digging his flesh as you practically started bouncing on his hard cock to chase your own high. the contracting walls of your tight cunt sent sungchan over the edge as well. sungchan moved his hands to cup your asscheeks, fondling and spreading them apart. he used it to control your movements and bouncings on his cock. 

“cum—cum on my cock, babe.” he moaned and snapped his hips against you, hard and deep, in one final, powerful lurch—and that was when your muscles clenched and clamped tightly around his throbbing cock as he pumped and coaxed every last drop of his warm, thick semen straight inside of your pussy. sungchan whimpered against your lips as he unloaded everything inside, his seed leaked from your hole. 

“oh—mmh, fuck…” you whimpered as you let your body relaxed above him, pulling away from the kiss to bury your face into the crook of his neck. you could feel your sungchan’s cock pumping and throbbing as he spurted the last few drops of his cum inside. 

“i… i feel so bad for—hngh! too deep—nari…” you muttered against his skin, shaking your head slightly. the pleasure came in waves—your cunt twitching and thighs trembling as sungchan slowly and tiredly jerked his hips against you, pushing his cum deeper. the boyfriend clicked his tongue and gave your ass a slight squeeze. “you’re wonderful, yn… fuck,” he said in return, obviously pretending he didn’t hear what you just said.

what is there to regret?  

as sungchan came down, he let out a sigh and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. he placed his chin atop of your head, breath still uneven as he held you close—and still hadn’t pulled out—because he just didn’t want to let go just yet. 

the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of both your breathing, his fingers brushed lazy circles against your lower back. “did… you like it?” he asked quietly. you nodded against him, cheeks warm as you nuzzled into his warmth. “...mm yeah. did you?” 

god you're so cute.

sungchan exhaled through his nose, something between relief and regret flickering in his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling. relief that you enjoyed it as much as he did—but regret because he could see himself seek more from you. 

“i love it a lot,” he replied, kissing the crown of your head. “this really has to be just once?” 

his question hung in the air as you pulled back to look at him. “sungchan… you know nari is—” 

before you could finish, the sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet room. both of you froze.

the ring camera flickered to life, showing nari standing just outside the door. 

💭 WOW. SUNGCHAN IS SOO SWEET HEREEE... if this is wack im so sorry i havent written smut in a while so it was honestly kind of hard for me to visualise positions and capture the essence and emotions of xxx :c

this wont be my last time writing cheating smut because i looooove it so much and im trying to write mean reader but i dont think i can write mean female characters but i'll try :( thank u sm!! as usual reblogs, comments, n inboxes r soo appreaciated. lmk what u guys think <3

[gatorbites-imagines]

please pretty please good sir, please right an imagines of Kurt Wagner with a demon, like full on demon from like the Bible s/o, like straight up like a prince of hell kind of demon.

p.s. I love your fics sm 💐🌅

Kurt Wagner x Demon male reader

Headcanons

Did you guys know that in olden time, people thought owls and toads were linked to the devil? Was this an excuse to give the reader animal characteristics? Yes, yes it was. Fruits like strawberries and cherries were also used to symbolize different more bodily involved sins. I took a bit of inspo to how the demons look in Dictionnaire Infernal, since they’re cool and goofy.

I may still be tired and wrung out from all my classes, but the will to write lives on. How’s everyone’s week been?

No one had known you were a demon in the beginning. Everyone just kind of assumed you were another mutant. They already had one member of the x-men who had wings, so it wasn’t the wildest thought that you were like warren.

Your wings were a bit more like an eagle owl, and sure, sometimes your eyes would morph into something like a toad or even a goat, but they had seen much weirder.

You not stepping inside churches or other holy areas was mainly seen as a personal preference, since you were so casual about it. you technically could step inside the buildings, but it was too much work to be worth it for you.

Instead you’d hang out outside with the others who didn’t feel a need to step inside. And yeah, you may have carved a sigil or two into the building behind your back, so you could teleport there in the future to cause some trouble if you got bored.

Demons had no specific form, at least your father didn’t and so you didn’t. you simply morphed into the one that felt most comfortable, making most believe you had a shapeshifting mutation.

There were multiple kings of hell, but your father had always been the most powerful and most influential, so you were expected to follow in his footsteps, which was why you had kind of ran away to earth.

It was just so boring, sitting there and doing all that kingly work so your father could retire with the other ancient kings, since demons don’t die, they can simply only be ignored and rebutted.

You had never meant to help the x-men or join them, but they’d been there at the right place at the wrong time, and just happened to catch some human trying to assault you for being a “mutant”

It was only the x-men stepping in that kept you from trapping the guy in eternal damnation, but you decided why not just play along for now, see where it takes you. And before you knew it, you were an x-men, helping to “fight for the good of mutant kind” or whatever.

It wasn’t hard to make you seem like a mutant, for you to even show up when Charles was looking for mutants with his powers.

It was all good and dandy, until that furry blue bastard wormed his way into the six pitch black organs you called your hearts. Well, sometimes it was six, sometimes twenty, sometimes zero, it really depended on the day.

But it was six the day you realized Kurt had gotten into your good graces. More than that honestly, as he made you feel… flustered. How he succeeded in making a demon like yourself flustered was still a mystery to you.

You had been drawn to him in the beginning because of his whole “blue demon” thing, only for it to turn out that Kurt was religious, and would sometimes wear a cross. He even prayed at times, the action always making your skin itch.

Kurt was honestly the only one to start putting things together since he knew some about demonology, hell, your name was just a shortened version of your infernal title. Weaker demons showing up and groveling at your feet and referring to you as their prince probably didn’t help.

Luckily it had just been Kurt around at the time, but the blue imp clocked you quicker than you thought they would.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn’t hate you or fear you. To him, you were an x-men and helped save people, so you weren’t fully bad. He even went out of his way to pray somewhere else so your hands wouldn’t burn and for your wings to start burning at the edges.

Somewhere along the way, what you had morphed into more than just a friendship. You had an inkling that your father would have your hide when he realized you had bedded a mortal, and one so clearly meant for heaven when the day came.

But eternity was so long, so who could blame you for wanting to spend it with someone as kind as Kurt. Even if you knew somewhere deep inside, that you would mourn Kurt for most of that eternity when the time came.

Kurt talked you into telling the x-men your true origin. They were hurt in the beginning, and you politely stepped out of the team since you technically weren’t a mutant, and you wanted to respect that.

That didn’t stop you from hanging out at the mansion, or on Krakoa when that came around. How you got on the island? You would never tell, mainly because it drove Scott crazy that he could never figure it out.

After coming out of the hellfire closet, you felt less need to control your form to the same degree. To most you were still just a mutant, since the body you wore the most had been a mutant, so… it counted in a loophole kinda way.

Everyone got good at clocking who you were, even on days when you altered your shape completely. Kurt was obviously the best. Even on days where you had a lion head and the tail of a snake, or when you had three heads and a burning crown.

It was a little awkward when Kurt became a priest and built his own religion like thing, mainly because you just couldn’t get yourself to touch him when he wore the uniform.

It was the aura for the most part. None of the others got it, or saw it like you did, but they weren’t demons, so it made sense. But Kurt always carried an aura, and it was manageable enough on regular days. But after sermons it just got strong enough to make your tongue buzz and your feathers puff up.

Kurt got good at wiping himself off in a metaphorical way, so you guys could kiss and cuddle even on days he did sermons. And you as a demon were way too strong to truly to hurt by it, it just got a bit annoying sometimes.

All in all, you two were happy. Even if you had to chase away demons that wanted to take over earth every now and then. Your father had never given you your own domain, so you just kinda slapped your name on earth and told every other demon to square up for it.

Some did come out of the woodwork to fight, mainly just because they could. No one really wanted earth. Too much trouble, too much holy interference, and all those magicians? No way. It was just older demons wanting a good fight for the most part.

Kurt also came to really like your less human look. Maybe he was projecting, but there was something nice about having a partner that didn’t look too “human”, if he could say that without being offensive.

There were days where you looked like the average human man. But other days you were more beast than man, or even the days where you didn’t even want a blood-filled body, so you were made out of sand or water, or anything along those lines.

He did have a preference for forms where you had a tail, because it was comforting to coil your tails together. Or if the form you took had claws, since it felt so good to have your hands rubbing up and down his back and scratch through his fuzz.

There were times when Kurt forgot to take off his cross, or hide it under his shirt, so you did get small burns, even if they went away in a few seconds. You didn’t care much, but seeing Kurt apologize was always very cute.

Having a powerful demon like you on the side of the x-men also helped out a lot during fights. You stayed out of it for the most part, to “keep balance of the mortal plane” or whatever your father said.

There were times when Kurt was in mortal danger where you stepped in though, but you always contained the worst of your powers.

And staying back also meant you could focus your powers on healing those that needed it. Kurt got the most of it, of course, as you would cuddle and kiss him, your kisses transferring the healing energy instead.

It was nice. And yes, you knew one day you’d be alone again, stuck on earth after claiming it as your territory. But the present was so good, so warm and loving, that the cold empty future didn’t matter.

[saeist]

it was just a mission. something about gathering intel at some event. it's simple, you've done this multiple times but the main problem? your boyfriend is pretty hands on with these kinds of missions

it wasn't out of the ordinary that you would be sent out on missions with nagumo. you two are members of the order and maybe to the higher ups, it was way more convenient this way (not that you minded)

now here you are, in a bar at some skyline rooftop in tokyo, gathering much information you can about an upcoming grand ball happening in a few weeks

your boyfriend, who happens to be your work partner is seated beside you, casually having a great time at the bar

in work settings, you and nagumo maintained a professional relationship. not only that it helps with your work ethics, it also prevents potential problems that may come in your way with your relationship (in regards to the work place. you wouldn't want to bring problems into your own home, now would you?)

but sometimes nagumo may take things too far just like right now.

nagumo had managed to find an important figure for the event and as expected, he charms his way to get information out of her. you watch them like a hawk as nagumo basically impresses this woman so much that she's already spilling company secrets to him

in retrospect, nagumo could've gotten this information in millions of different ways and scenarios. he has done shit like this too many times to count but since you were his partner for this specific mission, where's the fun in doing things he'd usually do without you?

he takes a look around the bar. just for a second to check if you were already looking at him– you are

nagumo holds in his smirk as he turns his attention back to the poor woman who was now babbling on about her life and company secrets

"that's cool" nagumo nods along to whatever the woman was yapping about, "so you're like super involved with the process of the production? that's interesting" nagumo hums, his voice dropping an octave lower in order to sound seductive just to see your reaction

now, you aren't exactly the jealous type. you were an assassin, you were bound to get into situations like this. it's all part of the job but something about nagumo flirting his way through this mission was rubbing you the wrong way

was it the drinks? it couldn't be. you are basically trained to withstand alcohol consumptions no matter how much you drink

the woman was now wrapped around nagumo's finger with the way she was giggling like crazy. twirling her hair and all as she leans onto nagumo's chest

nagumo got her right where he wanted

nagumo pauses his little chitchat with the woman to steal a glance towards your direction. you aren't exactly looking right at them but your bloodlust and hostility was going off the roof that nagumo couldn't help but look over

when you feel his gaze, you only look at him with a neutral expression though nagumo sees right through it. your eyes don't lie. you wanted to kill both the woman and him at the same time. he can literally see how you wanted them dead on the spot

the woman, still oblivious to your presence nor what you meant to nagumo, decides to take it up a notch and place her hand on nagumo's exposed chest

nagumo's eyes widened as he tries to pry her hands off of him. oh fuck, he thinks to himself. totally not expecting the woman to be handsy

the woman caresses his chest as she stares at him like he was eye candy (he is). she couldn't help but gasp at the sight of his exposed tattoos. fuck. maybe i should've just kept it at bay from the start, nagumo thinks to himself. he then stiffens when he feels the woman brush her fingers against his tattoos. his hand flies towards her wrist to brush her off as politely as he can.

nagumo tries to keep his expression as casual and neutral as he can but how could he when he can feel your intense stare at the side of his face.

he's so fucking dead

you click your tongue loudly in annoyance. the glass in your hand cracked under your grip. you were too busy ignoring the simmering feeling to notice til you felt some liquid seep through your fingers. nagumo nervously looks over at your direction again, trying to telepathically tell you to calm down

"so nagumo, any plans for tonight?" the woman purrs, leaning back on him

okay. that was your last straw.

you slam the glass down on the countertop, breaking it into tiny pieces. you push yourself off the bar as you make your way to the car. the mission might as well be over with since nagumo basically gathered all the information you two needed

nagumo winces as the glass shattered. even scaring the poor woman who's all over him. she grumbles about how you were too drunk to notice that you were getting physical

"i'll be going to the bathroom for a bit, excuse me" nagumo chirps, effortlessly pushing the woman off of him as he catches up to you

he's definitely done it this time around

nagumo makes a face as he rushes towards the parking lot where you were likely most waiting in. he considers the mission done when he got every possible detail needed for the upcoming plans

now onto his next mission: how to calm your not so jealous, jealous girlfriend down

when he makes it to the parking lot where your car was parked at. he was pleasantly surprised that you were waiting for him. for a second there he thought he would have to take an uber back home

you were busy distracting yourself on your phone when you hear a knock at the window. without even looking up, you unlocked the car and waited for nagumo to get inside

"hi" he greets, sitting on the passenger seat, "have i ever told you that you look beautiful tonight?" nagumo smiles, leaning over to your side to peck your cheek

you don't spare him a glance. hell, you didn't even acknowledge him. instead, you start the car and get the fuck out of the parking lot

"whoa! someone's in a hurry" nagumo jokes, gripping on the grab handle tightly as you floor it through the streets of tokyo. you ignore him and grip the steering wheel tighter. so tight that your knuckles turned white

you can't tell if nagumo still couldn't get the hint with the way he was just sitting in the passenger seat like the passenger prince he is. your eyes flicker towards his direction for a second and there you see his infamous smile on his face

for some reason that just upset you further

so you took a sharp turn that the tires were screeching. nagumo yelps in surprise

"babe, i'm gonna throw up at this rate with the way you're driving!" nagumo whines, reclining the seat back so he could rest a little. he was already getting a little car sick

"then get out and walk home" you snap, slamming on the breaks. nagumo was thankful that he had his seatbelt on or else he would've already flew out of the windshield

"oh so you are mad.." nagumo murmurs, "like mad mad"

you never wanted to strangle your own boyfriend til now. you can't even tell if he's being serious or being a little shit (it's most likely the latter) but the icky green feeling in your stomach was basically controlling you and your emotions right now

your silence was the answer nagumo needed. he lets out a chuckle. you are so easy to read

"is my baby jealous?" he teases, nudging you a bit. you shake off his touch, not wanting him to touch you in any way shape of form despite being in the same car as him, "you totally are" he coos, laughing at your reaction

you grit your teeth in annoyance, "i don't know, am i?"

nagumo hums, entertained by this whole conversation. he has never seen you act like this so this was a first. who knew you'd be cute like this

"it was just for the mission, baby. don't be upset" he says, reaching out to pinch your cheeks

"it wasn't just the mission, nagumo. you let her flirt with you" you seethe, frustration and irritation bubbling inside you

nagumo leans back on his seat, tapping his finger on his chin as if he was deep in thought. "well, i had to get the information one way or another so why not make her believe that she was some hot shit?"

"so you think hitting on people even when you have an actual partner, that was beside you the whole time mind you! would be the perfect way to fish out information? wow" you retaliate, shoulders dropping as you stare at the empty road in front of you

nagumo winces at your words

"okay maybe the flirting bit was a little too much–"

"what the fuck? so does that mean you do this every single time when you need intel behind my back? all this fucking time?" you cut him off, turning to nagumo with hurt evident on your features

nagumo's eyes widens at your accusation. he would never!

"what? baby no! i would never do that to you!" nagumo argues, sitting up properly. the look on your face is something he never wants to see ever again. seeing the hurt on your face hurt him more than a blade piercing through his skin

"i mean that maybe this time it was too far! i would never do that to you. it just so happens that the woman was flirting with me even if i was just being nice! i'm sorry baby. for the woman and for the way i acted tonight. i'm sorry" nagumo apologizes sincerely

you don't say anything. you continue to focus on the road so you could get home in one piece. nagumo waits and watches for your reaction but when he notices that you aren't saying anything he sighs

nagumo carefully reaches out for your hand that was on the gear shift. he slowly intertwines them together and places your hand on his lap

"baby, i'm really sorry that i made you feel this way. it wasn't my intention" nagumo rubs his thumb across your hand, "i just thought it may be a little funny to see how you'd react if i let other people flirt with me–"

luckily you were already on your street by the time nagumo was rambling because hearing his words just now made you slam on the breaks

"jesus babe. if you want to kill me then just stab me in the heart instead of trying to make me fly off the car" nagumo groans as he lurches forward but the seatbelt that he was wearing prevented him from flying out

"you deserve it" you glare at him, shaking off his hand as you exit the car. nagumo follows like a lost puppy

by the time you finally get inside your shared apartment, you were still irritated with nagumo, who has not left your side since. he's been following you around the house. from the living room to the bathroom and now at the kitchen where you were making yourself some tea to wind down before going to bed

nagumo wraps his arms around your frame and rests his head on your shoulder as you boil water on a kettle

"... are you still mad at me?" he mumbles in your ear, watching you add your usual spoons of sugar on your cup

you huff, "is it not obvious?"

"sorry"

nagumo pouts and decides pushes his luck. he presses a soft kiss on your cheek, in attempt to make you swoon. usually on normal days, this would've worked

"that's not gonna work this time around" you grumbled, turning off the kettle as it goes off. you pour yourself some hot water as nagumo continues to hold you close to him

"what is?" nagumo decides to play coy. again, you were just so easy to read. this time instead of kissing your cheek, his lips ghost against your jawline. nagumo feels you stiffen at the gesture. he smirks, hands sliding down your abdomen before they rest on your hips

"still mad?" he purrs in your ear. you shiver when you feel him finally press his lips against your jawline and trail kisses along side of it. he then flips you around, your back is now pressed against the cold tiles of your kitchen island. you stare at nagumo with wide eyes. you were supposed to be mad at him!

nagumo leans in, slowly closing the distance between you. his eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes like he was waiting for you to say something but instead he notices the way your breath hitches and your fingers twitching against the countertop like you were holding yourself back

"if you're still mad then let me make it up to you, baby" nagumo chuckles, hands rubbing random shapes on your exposed skin. you narrow your eyes at him, silently challenging him to bring it on. you aren't going to give in that easily

although all those thoughts go out the window the moment you feel his lips against yours. as cheesy as it is and no matter how long you've been dating nagumo, every time you two kiss its like time slows down and sparks fly

your hands immediately find their way around his neck, closing the distance. nagumo hums against the kiss, looks like he finally won you over

things take a turn after that and let's just say your tea is now long forgotten and maybe he may or may have not made it up to you

[darkwitchoferie]

Train Ride - Chapter 2, Jeongin

A/N: Apologies, this is later than originally intended. During my proofreading, I realized I kept flipping tenses, which – annoying. But that meant I had to do a little more heavy editing than I intended. Do you ever just look at a word while proofreading and think ‘that’s not a real word’, but it totally is and is in fact the correct word you meant to use? Yeah, happened a few times. Please lmk if you want to be added to the taglist.

To my new followers – hello, welcome. My fic ideas are few and, sometimes, far between. But I hope you continue to enjoy this one. Oh, that said, don’t think I won’t finish this one. This one is already more than half finished and the half that isn’t written is outlined.

Cw/tw for this chapter: vaginal fingering, nipple play unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), “accidental” exhibitionism, threesome

wc: 2.7k

Master list

Over the next week, the pair of you discussed your boundaries. Mostly they vary based on what the other individual guys might like or want, but there were hard lines for both of you. Mostly for you, and mostly centered on things you just didn’t like to do sexually. Though you did include things like allowing them all to have you with no additional protection since you had an IUD. As long as they were comfortable with it, you already knew they were all clean. The one hard rule was that if, at any time, you or Chan realized this type of sexually-opened, hopefully fully polyamorous, relationship was no longer working for you as a couple or as individuals, you’d say something. You two would keep talking about it, and include the others when and if they decided to fully be in a relationship with either of you, to keep making sure it was still a healthy relationship for all involved.

Then the conversation turned to how to invite the other seven members. You suggested posting a pic or short video of yourself masturbating into the group chat and inviting anyone who wanted to to come over and play.

Chan groaned, then laughed. “I think you’d give more than one of them a heart attack if you tried that. But definitely hold onto that idea for later.”

You then agree that they should be approached one-on-one, with each method to be different, depending on who you’re approaching. You suggested Jeongin first, seeing as he’s Chan’s roommate. You figure, and Chan agrees, that’ll make him the easiest target.

You specifically chose a day he has a schedule without the others, a photo shoot that was just him. Chan invited you over after he’d already left, letting you know that, as long as nothing went wrong, I.N would be back to their apartment by 3:30. You tried to keep yourselves distracted, not wanting to get started too soon. After all, it wouldn’t look like you’d accidentally forgotten what time he’d be back if he walked in after you were finished. Still, the anticipation and desire was making you both squirmy.

Finally, Chan’s reminder alarm goes off. You couldn’t help it, the second he looked at you after silencing it, you started giggling.

“Baby?”

“Sorry. Just, ya know, us – scheduling sex.” You laughed harder and he joined in this time. Your giggles continued, even as he gripped your hips and pulled you against him, dipping his head down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck. Chan makes quick work of your clothes, leaving you completely naked in no time.

“Already so wet, baby girl,” he muttered against the skin over your sternum as he runs a finger up and down your slit.

“Like you haven’t been hard for the last hour,” you countered. He only hummed, not denying it. That caused another gush of arousal from you – knowing he wanted this as much as you.

He laid you back on the couch, steadily kissing, licking, and sucking his way down your body until he got where he wanted to be. The flat of his tongue pressing against your clit had you arching your hips toward him and reaching down to grip his hair.

Despite inviting Jeongin to join you being the whole point, neither of you noticed right away when he walked in. It was when you heard his bag drop to the floor that you looked up and caught sight of him, flushed and staring at you. You were facing the front door and Chan had his back to it so, if not for your boyfriend blocking his view, he’d have a perfect view of your wet cunt.

“Innie,” you whimpered, reaching out toward him and digging a heel into Chan’s side. Chan pulled away, the bottom of his face coated in your arousal.

“Shit, sorry, Iyen-ah. Didn’t realize you’d be back already.” When he didn’t respond, but his eyes drifted down and locked on your pussy, the pair of you grinned at each other. “Iyen-ah?” Chan worked to hide his amusement as he waved a hand in front of the other’s man’s face.

That seemed enough to jolt him back to what was going on. He dropped his face, cheeks flushing deeper with the embarrassment of being caught. “Shit. Sorry, hyung. Sorry, noona. I’ll just, uh…. Go, yeah, I….”

“Innie, do you want a taste?”

His head snapped up and gaze locked on Chan’s face so fast, it almost gave you whiplash just from seeing it. “What?”

“I know how good she looks, spread out like this. And I can see you like what you see,” Chan nodded at the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Do you. Want. A taste?” He repeated his question, just a little slower.

“I… uh…. I mean –”

“Innie, please,” you pleaded, holding out your hand to him again. Slowly, nervously, Jeongin made his way over to you, eyes fixed on your face with a look that said he was waiting for someone to say you were just teasing him or you’d changed your mind. When he got close, you popped up just enough to grab his shirt and pull him in toward you. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself by bracing one hand on the back of the couch and the other landed just barely under you. “Do you wanna kiss me?” You asked softly, lips already close to his where he hovered over you.

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding. You grinned and pulled him fully into you. The small moan that escaped him as your lips connected had you clenching around nothing in anticipation. Chan, from his new vantage point sitting on the floor beside the couch, had a perfect view of it and reached out to squeeze your calf.

You weren’t sure if he realized then that you weren’t joking with him, or if he’d just decided to take advantage for as long as he could, but Jeongin quickly took control of the kiss. He tugged his hand out from under you, cupping your cheek and tilting your head for a better angle to deepen the kiss. One knee came down between your spread thighs to better hold himself up. His hand came off the back of the couch, fingertips grazing down your side, from shoulder to hip.

“Tease,” you muttered, pulling away just enough to speak, but your lips still touched his as you spoke. This time, as that same hand travelled down your side, his thumb brushed over your nipple causing you to gasp against his lips. This seemed to be all the encouragement he needed as his touches became a lot firmer and more deliberate after that. He shifted so that the hand that had been cupping your cheek was now holding your hip, thumb gently rubbing against the skin there. Starting at your jaw line, he began pressing open mouthed kisses across your jaw, under your ear, down your neck, and over your collar bone. You tangled the fingers of one hand in his hair, not letting him move too far away from your skin.

The hand on your hip slid over and two of his fingers gently pressed into you at the same time he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples. You moaned, arching into him and feeling him smirk against your nipple at your reaction. You whimpered, moaned, and writhed on the couch under Jeongin as he played your body as if he’d been taking lessons for years. He alternated sucking and licking your nipple, while his free hand pinched and rolled the other, then he switched sides. Meanwhile his fingers in your cunt were moving at the perfect speed to get you to and keep you on the edge of an orgasm without tipping over. Occasionally, his thumb would press on and gently rub circles against your clit. Again, just enough to not let you cum. It was maddening, but you loved it.

On the floor, Chan unzipped his pants with one hand to relieve the pressure while his other hand smoothed up and down the back of your calf, grounding himself and making sure you knew he was still there. He pressed a kiss to the top of your knee, causing you to jolt a little at the unexpected feeling.

“Forget I was here, baby girl?” Chan chuckled. You felt Jeongin twitch at Chan’s voice. “Clearly not the only one who forgot. Oh no, Iyen-ah,” Chan said as he started to back away. “Don’t stop now. She hasn’t cum yet, and you haven’t even had a real taste of her.”

Jeongin groaned, dropping his forehead to your chest. But his fingers didn’t stop. Instead, after a moment, his mouth started traveling down again, pressing open mouthed kisses to your tummy, licking or nibbling on the soft, smooth skin. He looked up at you, lips hovering over your cunt.

“Please, Innie.” Gently, you tugged at the hair you still had your fingers tangled in. He dropped a chaste kiss against your clit then wrapped his lips around it, flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves, pulling matching moans from the pair of you. Chan’s grip on your calf tightened as he watched his friend finger you and suck on your clit. There was something about hearing the oh-so-familiar sounds you made when he wasn’t the one causing them that was driving him crazy in the best way.

You felt Jeongin’s tongue slip down to join his fingers, pushing into your cunt and thrusting a few times, before flicking up again to press against your clit. Your legs, that had been just spread on either side of him, came up to rest over his shoulders and hold his body against you as you grew closer to your orgasm. Finally, with a crook of his fingers and a particularly harsh suck of your clit, the coil in your belly snapped.

You arched up with a moan closer to a scream as you finally came. Jeongin kept working his fingers in you, letting you ride out your high on his digits. His fingers slowed to a stop as you came down from your high.

“Innie?” You asked, still trying to catch you breath.

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, noona.”

“We didn’t forget when you were coming back home.”

“What?” He looked from you face to Chan’s, sitting up and pulling his fingers out of you as he did, causing you to whimper at the loss.

“When I said we didn’t realize you’d be back already, I lied,” Chan elaborated. “We planned for you to be home.”

“I don…. I don’t understand.”

You sat up beside him, tossing one of your legs over his, but let Chan explain. “Baby girl here has a fantasy.” He explained the whole situation.

“Hang on, is this why you were distracted last week?” Chan nodded.

“Listen,” you started off, starting to feel a little guilty about lying, or at the least misleading, your friend. “If you don’t want –”

“Oh no, I want. You’re not backing out, are you Y/nnie?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Not a chance,” you grinned, tugging up his shirt then pulling him to you by the back of his neck after he’d pulled the shirt all they way off. He kept moving forward until you were lying back on the couch again and he could slot his body back between your legs. You let your hands wander his torso, tracing the ridges of muscle as he reclaimed your lips in a hungry kiss.

His lips trailed down your neck again, this time biting and sucking a mark into the skin of your neck and another just below your collar bone. You scratched your nails over his abs, delighted when they twitched under your fingers. Then you reached down, gripping the waist band of his jeans with one hand and popping the button on them with the other. You felt him smirk against your skin, even as he helped you get him out of his pants and briefs.

You reached down, wrapping your hand his cock and stroking a couple times before shifting so you could press his tip to your entrance.

“Impatient, are you?” he teased.

“She usually is,” Chan agreed. “Even though she’s already cum twice.”

“Twice?”

“Mm. Once just before you walked in.”

“Enough talk, fuck me now,” you demanded, rolling your hips up. Jeongin laughed but didn’t deny you. Instead, he gripped under your knee, bending your leg up and slightly out to open you up to him better. As he slid into your warmth, his free hand groped for yours in an effort to keep himself grounded. When he bottomed out inside you, he held still, both of you breathing heavy.

You vaguely recognized the look on his face as similar to the look Chan got when he was doing his best to hold back and not come too soon. Instead of saying anything, you brought your hand that was holding his up to your mouth and wrapped first your tongue then your mouth around one of his fingers. With a groan, he flexed his hand, allowing you to trap two of his fingers between your lips. As he finally started rolling his hips, he copied the movement with his fingers in your mouth. You moaned around his fingers, sucking them as he went.

There was something soft in his eyes, just for a moment, as he looked down at you sucking on his fingers. Then it was gone and he’s pulling his hand out of yours and away from your face as he sat up on his knees. Using both hands on your hips to hold you in place, he pulled nearly all the way out then thrust back in, setting a fast, but not too rough, pace and pulling little ahs and moans from you every time he thrusts back in.

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Chan, standing up and having rid himself of his pants and boxers. Reaching out to your boyfriend, you shift a bit so your head is hanging just slightly off the side of the couch. At Chan’s raised eyebrow, you just open your mouth while holding eye contact.

You lose yourself in the absolute pleasure of being fucked in your mouth and pussy at the same time. There’s something indescribably wonderful for you about the familiar sensation of Chan in your mouth and the new sensation of Jeongin in your cunt that makes it so, even if you tried, you’re not sure you could keep track of anything. You’re pretty sure it’s Chan whose mouth is wrapped around your nipple now, but you couldn’t say for sure, lost in the haze of your building orgasm. Someone’s fingers find your clit and apply just the perfect pressure to have you arching off the couch, scream muffled by Chan’s cock. Seconds later, you feel warmth flood your cunt as Jeongin comes, followed by a grunted warning from Chan before he’s coming down your throat.

Chan collapses to the floor, head on the couch beside you. Jeongin tries to stay sitting up for a second, but gives that up and lays down with his head on your chest, his own chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You reach out to both of them, toying with their hair as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

“Okay baby girl?” Chan asks.

“So okay,” you reply in a raspy voice.

“Shower or tea first?” It was one thing he always insisted on when he used your throat like that – soothing tea after.

“Sleep.”

“Nu-uh, that’s not one of the choices.”

“Ugh,” you groaned.

“Why don’t you take her up to the shower and I’ll bring tea?” Jeongin suggested.

You both agree, but it still takes a few minutes before anyone moves. A while later, you’re curled up with your head on Chan’s chest and Jeongin’s arm around your waist as you drift off to sleep.

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Taglist: @skzficpriv @strayk1ds143 @vegetablesarefuntables

[ilyrafe]

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: ex!rafe cameron x ex!f!reader

warnings: angst, pregnancy scare

word count: 1.6k

“i need to talk to you, it’s urgent. can i come over?”

the text catches rafe by surprise as he hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks. since the breakup, to be specific.

despite not being your boyfriend anymore, rafe still cares for you a great deal, and you rarely text him stuff like this, so it must be serious.

“of course.”

he puts his phone down and begins to wonder what must have happened for you to break your own idea of going no contact.

this has been killing him, not being able to talk to you. he misses you more than he anticipated and it sucks. it’s horrible not having you around, and the saddest bit is that he has no one else to blame but himself.

him and his ways.

half an hour later, he hears a knock on the door and before he can stand up from the chair, you come in. you seem anxious. terrified, even.

“hey.”

“hey, what’s so urgent?”

“i’m late.” you say, but rafe frowns, not quite understanding what you mean. “i’m late, rafe.”

“late?”

“my period, rafe. i’m late.”

oh.

oh, no.

“h-how late are you? i thought you took the pill!”

“i did, but i am a week late. so, i wanna know what we’re gonna do about it.”

rafe needs to breathe, it seems that all the air has left the room. he takes a step back and rubs his face with both hands, trying to be rational.

you’re probably pregnant with his child. this is not how he imagined this was going to happen. it turns out, rafe is quite traditional.

“what do you want to do?”

you seem a bit surprised with his question.

“i… i don’t know, rafe. we’re too young.”

“i’m good with whatever you decide. if you want to keep it, i won’t, uh, i won’t be absent. i’ll provide for you both, i’ll do everything i have to. and if you don’t want to keep it, i’ll pay for it.”

this isn’t going how you were expecting, if you’re being honest. you expected a fight, you expected rafe to claim it wasn’t his child, but… he’s being mature about it, which is new.

truthfully, you don’t know what you want. sure, you’d like children, but not now. not when you’re nineteen and don’t have a clue about what you’re doing in life. not when you don’t have a partner, a job, a house. not when the father of your child is rafe cameron, a drug addict with anger issues.

“i’d like to buy some tests first before i decide what i want to do.”

he nods and takes his car keys, leading you out of the office and taking you to his car.

it doesn’t take long for him to drive you to the nearest drugstore. when he parks the car, you don’t move an inch.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

“i can’t believe this is happening to me.” you say, not being able to hold the tears any longer. this is a nightmare. “what am i gonna tell my parents?”

“you’ll tell them the truth. you’re pregnant and you won’t be doing this alone, i’m here.”

you look at rafe quite skeptically and try your best to believe him, but he’s broken your trust so many times before, it’s difficult to see any honesty in his words.

“not telling them anything and getting an abortion is also an option, you know? we don’t have to tell anybody. whatever it is that you decide, i’m cool with it.”

for your own sake, you choose to believe him and wipe away your tears before you exit his car and go to the drugstore.

you try not to look so suspicious, but you’re looking around, to make sure no one you know is there, and thankfully you’re safe. you buy three different tests and quickly come back to rafe’s car.

the drive back home is excruciating. you can already picture your future as a single mother. you fear what your parents will say if you are indeed pregnant, which you probably are. you’re never late. when you were two days late, you thought it was odd, but then the days kept passing by and nothing happened.

then you did the math.

rafe, on the other hand, is actually happy that you might be pregnant with his child. he always knew he wanted to be a father. this is probably not the best time because you’re not a couple, you’re not really adults, and you don’t really have a stable life, but hey, this is what happens when you have unprotected sex. sure, you took the pill, but no contraceptive is one hundred percent effective.

this kid may be rafe’s only chance to have you somehow linked to him forever and that isn’t a bad thing necessarily… right?

once you’re back to tanney hill, you and rafe nearly run to his bedroom and he makes sure to lock the door so no one can catch them. you open them all and read all the instructions to do it right. you enter his bathroom and once you’re done, rafe has expectant eyes.

“so?”

“we have to wait five minutes.”

“oh, let me set a timer.”

he pulls up his phone and sets a five minute timer while you sit on his bed and sigh as you look up, trying to remain calm, but you can’t.

“i think we should talk about our… possibilities.”

“what possibilities?”

“if you are pregnant and want to keep it, you won’t be doing this alone, okay? i promise. i know this isn’t ideal, but… we’ll get through it. money isn’t a problem.”

“rafe, this isn’t the point. i don’t want to have a baby at nineteen with someone who isn’t my husband. like, i respect the ones who do it, but i don’t want this to be my life.”

rafe chuckles. you’re such a goodie-goodie, he wonders how the hell he managed to get you to date him.

“c’mon, you’ll be a great mom.” he says, truthfully. “you’re great with kids and you’re so caring, so understanding.”

you look at him and chuckle.

“that’s not only what it takes to be a mother.”

“but that’s also important.”

you lie down on his bed and take a deep breath. if rafe wasn’t so unstable, you’d consider having his baby, but… he’s not. he’s being good now, but you can’t predict how he’s going to be tomorrow morning and you can’t raise a child in this environment. you know better than that.

“if you’re keeping the baby, i’m getting clean.” he says. “i’ll quit everything.”

“rafe…”

“i’m serious. i don’t want my kid to be afraid of me, to be in danger because of me.”

the last part breaks your heart a little, as it was one of the reasons why you decided to break things off with him.

“that’s… that’s good to know.”

“i know we don’t need to be married to have a kid, but it’d be nice to, i don’t know, try again.”

“you want to get back together because i’m pregnant?” you snort.

“i want to get back together because i miss you and i love you, and since you might be pregnant, i think it’d be better for us to try again, so our baby can have a full family. you know, mom and dad in the same space.”

our baby. hearing rafe say such things make you even more confused and aggravated, only because you know, deep down, rafe isn’t the right guy for you, as much as you love each other. you know you’re too good for him because even barry told you so.

“he’s a lost cause, y/n. don’t be wastin’ your time with him, he’ll get you in trouble and you don’t deserve that.”

“stop saying things like that, rafe. please, this isn’t the time.” you plead, trying not to cry.

god knows how difficult it was to end things with him, because you love him oh so much. as cliché as it sounds, he’s really not like the other guys. he’s sweet, caring, funny and smart, but he also keeps setting himself up for failure and you’ve realized you can’t fix him and that realization alone broke you in tiny little pieces.

it’s like they say, loving someone is also learning to let them go and this is what you’ve been trying to do. it kills you that you told him to never talk to you again, because you miss his voice. you miss his jokes. you miss hearing his voice saying your name or whatever silly nickname he comes up with.

his phone rings, startling you both. once again, you don’t move, so rafe takes you by the hand and enter his bathroom with you. on the counter, you take the tests and see the results.

negative

negative

negative

the relief you feel is indescribable. you can finally breathe.

“what does it say?” he asks, a bit anxious.

“they’re all negative.” you respond, showing him the tests.

“oh,”

“oh, my god.” you sigh, smiling for the first time in a week. you turn to rafe and give him a hug. “thank you, rafe.”

rafe hugs you back, basking in the feeling of having you back in his arms again. for a few seconds, he allows himself to forget you both are broken up and just had a pregnancy scare. for a few seconds, you’re his again and nothing else matters.

“you okay?”

“now i am.” you chuckle, wiping away new tears.

“d’you want me to drive you home?”

“no, no, it’s okay. i’ve bothered you too much today.” you say, jokingly.

whenever you said that, he always said you never bother me, but he figures now it would be inappropriate.

“call me if you need anything, okay?”

“okay. thank you.”

you give him one last smile before you get your things and leave tanney hill, feeling light as a feather, not at all suspecting that rafe feels like absolute shit.

when you pictured your life as a single mother, rafe saw himself with a family. his own family. the people he would do anything and everything for, the people he would love endlessly.

the only hope he had of having you back in his life, the only thing that would make him turn his life around, the only person who would make him want to be a better person.

it never existed.

tell me what you think! i love feedback <3

[imagoofygoober]

rivals to lovers with dave lizewski maybe..?? like shes super duper smart and they get paired together on a project and they start bickering because dave is kind of being a dumbass but it ends rlly sweetly!!!

OMG if I wasn't bit busy today,I would've answered you so much sooner!!! I LOVE this!!

Dave Lizewski x nerd!reader

Prompt: rivals to lovers

Warnings: cursing,reader is described to have female parts but no pronouns are actually used,Dave being a bit of a perv,mentions of drug(marijuana) use

Summary: You and Dave always hated each other,or maybe that's just what you both told yourselves.

You and Dave have hated each other since the sixth grade,both for the same reason.You both believe you're smarter than the other.

You were both pretty smart in the same fields,and always end up fighting over who has the right answer.

You also hated his big goofy grin and his stupid glasses,you hated how they made you feel,how no matter where you went he'd probably be there too,and you definitely hated his curly hair.You hated how much you wanted to run your fingers through the unruly locks.

Dave hated all the same things about you,your smile,your eyes,your hair,how he'd see you everywhere.Though,since you both started going through puberty and you started to 'fill out',he kept catching himself staring at you (more specifically your tits and ass) and he absolutely hated it.

So when you were paired for a project together in Science,both of your jaws dropped slightly as you look at each other.

You scoff as you look away,crossing your arms as you slump in your seat.

'This is fantastic.' Dave thought as he looks back up at the teacher,his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.

_

"You two are pairing up in science?" Todd asks as the three boys into Atomic Comics.

"Yeah,I thought you two like- despised each other." Marty says with a huff of amusement as they sit at their usual booth.

"We do! That bitch Mrs. Parsons paired us up!" Dave says,his voice cracking slightly,sounding a bit like a child who didn't get his way.

You hear the familiar voices from across the comic book section and look up,a bit of a scowl forming on your face as you see Dave.You huff softly and hurridly grab the few comic you had already picked out before heading over to the cashier,paying for them quickly before leaving.

Dave had heard the door but didn't see who it was that left,so he just shrugs slightly and goes back to talking to Todd and Marty.

-

A few days later,you find yourself sitting in Daves room with him at his desk,your eyes scanning the room for a moment,taking in all of the nerdy memorabilia everywhere.

You couldn't help the small flutter in your chest at a few of the things you saw from some of your favorite movies/shows/games/comics.'What the fuck?!' you thought as you felt your cheeks heat up slight when you look at him,utterly confused as to why you were suddenly feeling this way until the blush and flutter vanishes,noticing that he got something wrong.

You point at it,shaking your head slightly. "That's wrong. A hypothesis isn't an explanation for events or facts,that's a theory.A hypothesis is an explanation based on limited facts and the base for certain investigations." You say,looking at the paper.

Dave scoffs softly as he looks at you. "No,you're wrong. You've got it flipped."

You look at him,your brow furrowed. "No,you're wrong."

After about 10 minutes of back and forth 'no you are',Dave huffs and jerks open his laptop and clicks on the search bar,his fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.

"See? I told you." you say after reading the definition google pulled up for hypothesis and theory.Dave huffs again before looking down at the paper,erasing what he had put down.

"Whatever.." he mutters softly to himself,suddenly feeling a bit flustered,his bottom lip sticking out slightly in a faint pout.

You sigh and lean back in your seat as you start looking around,the same feeling from earlier bubbling in your chest again.

_

Over the course of the next week,your hatred for each other slowly dissipates and turns into something else and everything you hated about each other slowly became something that you both secretly loved.Though,the only people that didn't seem to notice was the two of you.Even your best friend noticed,and she isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed,probably because of all the pot she smokes.

She noticed how you all of a sudden wanted to spend time with Dave after years of being openly annoyed and irritated by him,even if it was supposedly just for the project.

"Do you like- have a crush on Dave now or something?" Sarah asks,her eyes red and her voice a little dawn out as she lays on your living room sofa,the room faintly smelling of weed and smoke.

"What!? No,of course not! I just- Don't hate him as much anymore." You say,sounding like your trying to convince yourself more than you are her,your cheeks burning bright red.

Sarah looks at you with a cocked brow,clearly not believing you. "Right.." She says before relaxing into the sofa again.

Maybe you did have a small crush on Dave...

Maybe that's how you found yourself here.In Daves room,not knowing how to act around him now that you're aware of your 'little' crush on him,your cheeks dusted pink.

Dave felt the same way,awkwardly shifting in his seat as you both write things down for your project,stealing little glances at each other.

Though,Dave lets his gaze linger for a bit,letting his eyes roam over your side profile and outfit.His eyes pause though,his cheeks burning a bit more when he notices the amount of cleavage your shirt showing,a familiar stir starting in his jeans.

He snaps his gaze away from you and looks down at the paper as he subtly adjusts himself in his jeans and shifts in his seat,his brain trying to conjure anything up to make him feel less turned on.

'god,get it together man..' he thought as he leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair.He looks at you again,noticing you zoning out,lost in thought.

He reaches forward and gently shakes your shoulder,making you turn your head to look at him. "Sorry.." you say as you lean back as well.

"It's alright.We should probably take a brake anyway." Dave says as he starts to put away their stuff for their project away.

You look at him confused.'He's never wanted to take a brake,why does he want to now?' you thought but you don't say anything,instead you just start putting your own stuff in your bag.

-

It's now been 20 minutes and neither of you have said a word,Daves room filled with an awkward silence,the air so thick with tension you could cut through it with a knife.Dave is holding a comic book,pretending to read it.You on the other hand are just sitting there,staring at Daves hands.

"I can't take this anymore." He says suddenly as he tosses the comic onto his desk and turns to you.

"Take wha-" you start but your words are cut off when Dave grabs you by your cheeks and smashes his lips into yours.

You stay frozen for a moment,eyes wide and cheeks red,before slowly easing into the kiss,gently placing your hands on his shoulders.You feel his glasses gently digging into your cheek and bump against your nose,but you really didn't mind.All you were thinking of was how soft his lips are and how he tasted a bit like the grape soda he had drank earlier.

Dave could taste the hint of strawberry on your lips from your soda he bought you earlier and it took everything in him to keep himself from just shoving his tongue down your throat.Instead,he keeps the kiss going a few seconds longer before slowly pulling away.Your lips chase his slightly before you pull away as well,opening your eyes to look at him.

His glasses were slightly askew and his cheeks were dusted pink,making your lips turn up a bit as you reach up and adjust his glasses,which had visibly caught him by surprise.He had expected you to hit him or at least yell at him,but instead you were fixing his glasses and smiling at him,which in turn made his cheeks burn brighter and that grin that you've grown to love curve his lips.

"I wanna take you out on a date tomorrow..Is that okay?" he asks,smiling more as he watches you nod before kissing you again.

-

[cutehoons02]

PREVIEW: Blood Sacrifices

words of the one-shot: around 17/18k taglist is open!! publication: 5 June or 6 June This one-shot is the first of 4 stories: Desire:Unleash

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The Blood Bank was packed with with vampires, each with their own 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 clearly 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, 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 ‘VT019-Z’. Last donation: 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: VT019-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, his noise-cancelling headphones, and started typing. Encrypting. Bouncing through firewalls. Masking his IP. “Who are you, VT019-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 yourbody. 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 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, 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, who 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 and it was about to get worse.

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