#⠇ writings ⠇ ━━━ far too many notes for my taste

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 7

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

Aftermath - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Aftermath - Chapter 5 Aftermath - Chapter 6 Master List

warnings & a note: this is mostly smut but like, emotional smut? idk but while this was a struggle to write, i think it's one of my favorite bits. so enjoy!! as @lestapiastrisgirl said, this feels like a sigh of relief, like a FINALLY moment. but don't worry, we still have a bit to go so this is a sigh, but not the end!!! pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4.7k

When Max kisses you for the first time if felt like something in your soul slotted into place. Like you’d been holding your breath for your entire life and the moment his lips found yours you were finally able to breathe for the first time. He’s slow and unhurried with it at first, like he wants to savor that first taste of you for the rest of his life. Your hands clutch desperately at the fabric of Max’s shirt, a shudder zipping through your body at the way he works his mouth over yours like he’d been waiting years for this moment. You’re fairly certain he had been.

Every nerve ending in your body sparks to life when he drags his heavy calloused hands up your bare arms. Nothing has ever felt quite this good and he’s only just begun touching you. You lean into Max’s touch, needing the heat from his body as much as you need air in your lungs. Meanwhile, Max is trying to commit every curve and dip of your body to memory so he never forgets this moment. How he ever thought he’d be able to get over his obsession with you is utterly insane. The sound you make, a mix of a whimper and a sigh, when he licks into your mouth has Max’s hands gripping at your waist even tighter. 

Your hands find their way up into his hair, your fingers carding through the blond strands in a way that nearly sends Max to his knees. The strangled groan that rumbles through his chest when you tug at his hair sends a shimmer of satisfaction up your spine. He can’t get enough of the way you taste, the way you feel, the way your perfume overwhelms his senses. He’s fairly sure that he’ll never recover from this moment and he’s absolutely certain he’ll never forget the way you melt into him when he pulls you closer. His tongue works into your mouth, pressing against yours, licking against you in a way that has your breath catching in the back of your throat. You’re having trouble breathing against him you’re so overwhelmed with how he tastes and feels, warm and solid in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

It could be five minuets or five hours, you get so lost in the way he’s kissing you but eventually Max pulls back, blue eyes hazy with need. You should be embarrassed at the pathetic whimper that slips from your lips when he removes his mouth from yours, but the look that Max gives you tells you he feels the same. Your chest feels heavy with the weight of what just happened. Like the years you’ve known Max have all been leading up to the tension that crackles between you and the way it burns brighter when he touches you.  

Max lifts his hand to cup your cheek in his palm and you lean into the touch, sinking into the feeling of his warmth. You both can sense the weight of the moment, like there’s no going back to the way you two were before that kiss. Lines have been crossed and everything finally feels like it’s clicked into place. Like the thing that you two have been dancing around for however many years has finally been unleashed and you’re finally found the person to whom your soul belongs to. 

He drops his hands down your body before they finally grip your ass as he yanks you towards him. It’s  like you weigh nothing when he picks you up, strong arms cradling you against him. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, giggling as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. It feels so wildly satisfying to be with someone who clearly not only wants your physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.

Max takes a few steps towards the corner of your studio where the couch that converts into a day bed sits. When Max spots it though, he freezes. You crane your neck around, wondering what’s made him go still. “Max?” 

“Have you been sleeping here?” 

Panic surges in his chest as he observes the little nest you’ve built yourself. It usually is folded up, disguised as a full sized couch but lately, you’ve been using it as your bed. Piled on one end are several pillows while a pile of blankets are spread out across the cushions. It gets cold in your studio at night due to the large windows that take up one wall and the lack of efficient heating in the building. 

Max slowly sets you down, needing a moment to get the pain in his chest under control. Your eyes dart away from his, cheeks burning in embarrassment. You had totally forgotten you hadn’t tidied up the bed from last night. You hadn’t needed to as no one really came in here lately and it had morphed into your second home. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, taking a step away from Max.

“Because of me?” 

You shrug, knowing that he’s going to take on the guilt when he hears you confirm his suspicions. “It just seemed like you didn’t want to see me. I didn’t want to make it awkward if we ran into each other in the building.” You pause, noticing the guilt etched into Max’s features. “It was easier to just stay here.” 

Max takes a step towards you, crowding you against the edge of the couch. You can see how labored his breath is and you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him. When you do though, Max flinches away from your touch, brows furrowing as his eyes drop to the floor. “Fucking hell.” He swears under his breath. “I was just like him, wasn’t I?”

He doesn’t have to say Lando’s name, you both know who he’s talking about. Guilt sits heavy in his chest as he looks down at you, your eyes wide and innocent starting up at him. You reach for his waist, desperately needing to touch him. “Max…” You sigh, knowing that nothing you say is going to ease the anger you can see he’s going to beat himself up with. 

“No, don’t try to tell me that what I did was okay.” He shakes his head but doesn’t pull away when you reach up to cradle his face in the palm of your hand. “You’re right, I took a page right out of his book. I gave you the silent treatment and ignored you for weeks because I couldn’t handle being honest with myself or with you.” 

“But baby,” You coo before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You know how hard Max is on himself on and off the track and can sense that he’s about to go down a road that’s going to end up being destructive. “Baby, listen to me.” 

Max drags his gaze up to yours and the pain in his eyes has the breath catching. “You’re not him. He used the silence as punishment, as a way to get me to fall in line with what he wanted. He was abusive with it, and that’s not what you were doing.” 

“It doesn’t matter though.” He argues. In a move that shakes you to your core, Max sinks to his knees in front of you. His hands drag down your body until they come to rest heavily on your hips. He looks up at you, brows knit together like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to be in your presence. “I hurt you and I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself for that.” 

“Well,” You run your fingers through his hair, tugging a bit to get his attention back up to you. “How about we start with the fact that I forgive you, oui?” 

“That’s not enough.” Max’s voice scrapes a rough path against your skin like sandpaper. “I need to show you how sorry I am. I need you to know that I’m never going to do this again.” From where he sits kneeling, Max gently pushes you towards the couch. The backs of your knees hit the edge and you’re forced to sit. Your knees part to allow him closer and he wraps his arms around your waist. Your hands sit at his shoulders, gripping desperately at his shirt.

“You’re safe with me, liefje. I need you to know that. Need to show you how much you mean to me.” 

“Then show me, Max.” You whisper. 

Max’s pupils blow wide as he stands, encouraged by the heavy rasp in your voice. The way he towers over you, staring down with eyes so dark you swear they’ve gone black has your stomach twisting in anticipation. 

“Lay back.” He orders and you obey instantly, scrambling back to where your pillows are stacked. “Let me show you how fucking sorry I am. How much I need you, how much I adore you.” 

“Max.” You breathe, breath coming in short bursts as he reaches underneath the hem of your shirt. 

The rough scratch of his calloused hands send shivers skittering over your skin, goosebumps erupting whoever he touches you. Your shirt is the first thing to be discarded on the floor, tossed into a corner as you fight the urge to squirm under Max’s heated gaze. It’s almost too much, the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s been waiting for this very moment for his entire life and his wildest dream is about to come true. 

Max swings his knee over you so he’s straddling your hips. He leans down, pressing heated open mouthed kisses to the slim column of your neck before dragging his tongue so tortuously slow towards your collar bone. You gasp when he nips little bites into the delicate skin at the hollow of your neck, his tongue immediately licking in soothing strokes across the heated skin. Your hands skate over the fabric of his shirt, clutching at anything you can use to ground yourself in the moment. You fear if you don’t, you’ll float right off the bed. 

Max continues his perusal of your body, an erotic discovery of the sounds you make when he kisses new pieces of skin that have been long neglected. 

“Look at you.” He murmurs right before his mouth closes over a lace covered nipple. The whine that leaves your lips is breathy and should be embarrassing but you’re long past caring. All you care about is never having to go without Max’s mouth on you ever again. “So pretty for me. Always so pretty for me.” 

You whimper as he sucks the lace deeper in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the already pebbled skin. His hands slip under your back, lifting you up just enough to get access to the clasp of your bra, and before you’re able to blink you’re bare beneath him, bra discarded somewhere on the floor along with your t-shirt. 

His gaze meet yours and the raw desire you saw in his blue eyes just moments before is replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He traces the curve of your breast with a trembling finger. “God, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I…I never want to hurt you ever again.” He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the fierce hunger of his earlier kisses. “Can I do this? Please?” He asks, his eyes searching yours for permission. 

The question hangs in the air, the vulnerability in his voice striking a chord deep in your chest. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek, the rough stubble a familiar comfort to you now. 

“Max.” You breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper. His name feels like a prayer, a plea for the connection you both crave. His eyes close briefly as your fingers graze his skin. He nuzzles his face against your hand, his breath warm against your palm. 

“Tell me.” He murmurs, his voice raw with need. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how I can fix this.” 

It almost sounds like he’s begging and that sets the fire stoking even hotter deep in your belly. The words are so simple but they carry the weight of everything that has happened between you over the last few months. All the hurt, the anger, the longing…it all boils down to this moment. You swallow hard, your throat tight with unshed tears. Looking into his eyes you see the man that you grew up with, the man that you thought was just a friend for so long, the man that would never love you because of who you were and who you were with. But he’s more than that now. You see the man that you love, the man that is asking for your forgiveness, for permission, offering you a chance to rebuild what he broke with him. 

“I…” You start, your voice trembling. You take a deep breath, trying to find the words to express the complex web of emotions and feelings swirling within you. “I want this…I want you, Max. More than anything but I need you to promise me you’re going to be gentle with me. I need you to be careful.” 

A flicker of understanding crosses his face. He nods slowly, like he knows you’re not only talking about tonight, here in this room where everything feels so heavy and at tipping point, but beyond this. You’re asking him to be more of what you need and more of what you’ve never gotten from anyone else. 

“I know.” He whispers. He leans down again, this time his kiss is feather-light and tender, full of promises he fully intends to keep for the rest of his life. “I promise I’ll be everything you need me to be. Do you trust me?” 

You meet his gaze when he pulls back once again, your heart aching with a mixture of fear and hope. You knew there were no guarantees, that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But this was Max you were talking about. You know more than anything that he’ll keep his word and will protect you with everything he has. In this moment, looking into the vulnerable depths of his icy blue eyes that you’ve found yourself lost in so many times over the years, you believe him. You believe in the possibility of healing, of rebuilding, of finding your way back to who you were before Lando had tried to destroy you. 

You nod slowly, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek. “Yes.” You whisper.

With a nod, Max reaches behind him, pulling his shirt off in one quick movement. You’ve seen him without a shirt before but this is completely different. The dim light of the room catches the subtle play of muscle across his chest and shoulders, a familiar landscape that suddenly feels both familiar and utterly new to you. You sit up on your elbows, breath catching in your throat, not just from the physical beauty of him but from something else. 

As his shirt falls to the floor, your eyes are drawn to a black smudge of ink on his side, right in the middle of his rib cage.

A dove. 

A thin black outline, its wings slightly outstretched as if poised for flight. 

The sight of it steals the breath from your lungs. You stare at it, transfixed, your mind reeling. The vulnerability you saw in his eyes moments before deepens as he notices your eyes fixed on his ribcage, becoming something more profound. This wasn’t just a fleeting desire of his, a momentary lapse of control. This was…commitment. A brand. 

“Max.” You breathe, heart pounding in your ears as he sits frozen on top of you, watching your reaction silently. You reach out, your fingers tracing the outline of the dove. Max shudders under your touch, his hips rolling into yours ever so slightly. “When…when did you…” 

Max watches you, expression unreadable. He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze locked on yours. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and husky. “Vegas last year.”

After he secured the championship, ending Lando’s title hopes.

His mind flickers back to that night. He had been drunk before he even left the track but not drunk enough to say no when someone on the team suggested tattoos to celebrate. No one on Red Bull had made the connection that night and at first, he had been able to reason with himself that it was just a generic dove, that it didn’t have any extra meaning. But watching you walk off with Lando that night, watching you console your boyfriend instead of celebrating with him had been a punch to the gut. 

“I guess drunk me knew I wanted you longer than sober me was willing to admit.” He chuckles lightly, but there’s a heaviness to his words that has your chest squeezing. 

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with regret and the weight of the past. You look at him, your heart aching with mixture of tenderness and a new sense of fear. This gesture, this permanent mark, it changes everything. It raises the stakes, making the possibility of future pain even more terrifying, but also making the potential for happiness that much more profound. 

You close your eyes briefly, trying to process the wave of emotions crashing over you. When you open them again, Max is watching you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrors your own. He reaches down, his hand covering yours where it rests on his ribcage. His touch is warm, reassuring. And in that moment, you know that whatever the future holds, you’re not alone in this. 

Max leans down and kisses you again, this time with more urgency. His tongue traces the shape of your lips before slipping in side as he deepens the kiss, a silent conversation of longing and need. His hands move over your body, discovering curves and sensitive places that are now reserved for only his touch. He unclasps your jeans, the zipper whispering open, and you lift your hips against him, your own hands fumbling with the button of his pants. 

The air crackles with anticipation as he pulls back, eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?” He asks, tone rough with need. 

He’s achingly hard and desperate to be inside you but he’d stop if you said the word, no questions asked. And you know that. 

You nod, your heart racing in your chest. “More than anything.” You murmur.  

He kisses you again, a deep, possessive kiss that leans you breathless and your hips rolling up into his, searching for more friction than ever. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slides your jeans down your legs, revealing the soft skin of your thighs. He pauses, his gaze lingering on your body, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. 

A blush creeps up your neck but the heat of his gaze quickly chases it away. You reach up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, then move lower, to the pulse beating at the base of his throat. His skin is warm beneath your touch, his breath coming in short ragged gasps. 

With a shared breath you both move, the remaining barriers of clothing falling away, discarded somewhere on the floor. The contact of his bare skin against yours ignites a fire within you that’s been smoldering for years now, a burning need that’s been simmering for so long. 

Max pulls you closer, his body molding against yours. His touch is careful, as is he’s afraid he might break you. He kisses you agin, a slow and sensual press of his mouth to the crook of your neck. His hands roam over your body, caressing your curves, teasing at your skin. 

You moan softly, your own hands finding their way to his body, exploring the hard muscles of his back, the smooth skin of his chest. You trace the outline of the dove tattoo, a silent reminder of his commitment and vulnerability. 

Max shifts slightly, his weight pressing down on you and what a welcome pressure it is. His fingers dip below your waist, swiping at the wetness pooling between your legs. The growl that rumbles in his chest has your hips tipping up towards his cock that sits heavy and hard between your bodies. “So wet for me, my sweet girl.” He murmurs in your ear. “Are you ready for me?” 

All you can do is nod, eyes pinching shut as the heat between you two grows needy and frantic. 

“Open those pretty eyes for me, I want to see how you look when I fill you up for the first time.” 

You whimper at the filthy words, heated pleasure pulsing between your legs as Max pumps his dick a few times in his hand. The spark that started all those months ago when he walked you home from the art show has  grown into an out of control forest fire, blazing it’s way through both of your souls to where it’s brought you here in this moment. 

When Max presses into you for the first time, your entire world narrows to that delectable stretch of him filling you. He moves slowly at first, leaning into you inch by maddening inch. You’re not sure if he’s doing it to drive you crazy or to make sure you’re not too overwhelmed with the size of him. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before and the way he stretches you has you crying out.

For a moment, Max freezes which has you shaking your head and scratching at his back. “No, oh my God, no. Please, don’t stop Max. Keep going.” You beg, lifting your hips up towards his in a desperate attempt to be so stuffed full of him. It’s the only thing on your mind, the way your world has completely narrowed down to the spot where you and Max are connected on the most physical level two people can be. 

The sensation, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure is almost too much to take. You arch against him, your breath catching in your throat. His name escapes your lips, a whispered prayer for friction that you so deseparely crave from Max and Max alone. 

And then, he’s bottomed out and you’re full of him. Every bit of your existence stutters down to his touch, the way he feels, the way his skin tastes as you latch your mouth onto his shoulder, muffling your cries of pleasure as he begins to move. 

Max answers with a groan of his own, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. The years of longing, months of dancing around each other, the mutual pining that you’ve both been too scared to act on since your youth…all of it melts away in the heat of the moment. It’s replaced by pure, unadulterated connection that you didn’t even know was possible to experience with another person.

Max feels the release building at the base of his spine but he’s determined to bring you along with him. “I want you to come with me, baby. Can you do that for me?” He murmurs, tongue licking at the shell of your ear. His hips stutter erratically as he struggles to hold onto some sense of control. 

Your eyes flutter closed as your entire sense of being sparks to life. This feeling of connection, of pure pleasure, of being so full of another person, of Max is so foreign you almost don’t know what to do. The pressure builds deep in your tummy and you know you’re not far behind Max in chasing down your orgasm. In a desperate attempt to glean more pleasure out of the moment, you reach between your two sweaty bodies, fingers swirling around your own clit as Max continues his slow, deep grind into your needy pussy. 

“That’s it, shatje. Take what you need. Come with me, sweet girl.” 

The words are exactly what you need and the first waves of your orgasm crash over you, threatening to drown you in the waves of pleasure. Seeing you come undone beneath him is all Max needs to follow you over the cliff. The low groan that rumbles from deep in his chest has you clamping down around him, his name tumbling from your lips over and over. 

It takes several minutes for you both to come down form the high that washes over you and several more minutes for Max to find the strength to pull out of your soft, warm center. He doesn’t want to, fairly certain that he could spend the rest of his life buried deep in you. The whine that scratches at the back of your throat tells Max that you feel the same. 

Outside, the sun has long set and the night has settled over the city. The lights of the harbor drift in through the bay windows that hover above you, casting a soft glow of moonlight over your naked bodies. Goosebumps pebble your cold skin, missing the warmth of Max being buried deep inside you already. Max pulls you into his chest, your back fitting perfectly against his front as he pulls a blanket over your exhausted bodies. 

For the first time in what feels like weeks, a deep sense of calm settles over you. Max’s steady breathing behind you lulls you into the sort of peaceful sleep you’ve been chasing for years. 

Max isn’t sure how long he falls asleep but it’s still dark when he wakes up. The first thing he notices is how cold it is. He’s still under the heavy blankets he tugged over your sleeping frame as you cuddled into his frame after the most amazing sex he’s ever had but there’s one thing missing: you. 

His eyes blink open, confusion pulling at the spider webs of sleep still clouding his brain. “Liefje?” He croaks, sitting up. The room is chilly and dark, the quiet of the night still settled over the studio. 

A soft glow burns across the room where a lamp sits switched on. Next to it, Max spots your frame, sitting on a stool in front of a canvas. You’re wearing his shirt form earlier, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hem barely covering the tips of your thighs. Your hair is piled on top of your head in a haphazard knot, golden light from the lamp beside you reflecting off the shiny surface. You may be working on a painting, but Max is pretty sure you’re the prettiest masterpiece in the room. 

You turn to him then, soft smile playing on your lips. “Hi.” You whisper before turning back to the painting in front of you. 

Max gets up, tugging on his boxers, before padding across the hardwood floors to join you in front of the painting. His painting. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, lips finding the warm crook of your neck as he whispers into your skin. 

“I wanted to get this finished.” You murmur, leaning back into his solid frame. “I’m debuting several new pieces at Nessa’s gallery in a few weeks.” 

Max grips your waist as your words sink in. “Including this one?” 

“Is that okay with you?” You twist around so you’re facing Max fully now and he crouches down so you’re eye to eye. 

“Of course it is but it’s going to cause a stir, don’t you think?” 

The passion you’d poured into the painting of Max is undeniable. Anyone looking at it can tell your raw feelings for the man in front of you. 

“I think we’re about to give people a lot to talk about, so why not just get it started ourselves?” You shrug, a glint of mischief winking in the corner of your eye. 

Max chuckles before pulling you in for a kiss. “God, I love you.” 

You smile against his lips, “Love you too.” 

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[valorums-archived]

SHI’AL FROZE MID-STEP moments before both she and her companion were to enter her apartment, for a most DREADFUL thought had just crossed her mind. Cal was to be her JEDI PROTECTOR at the charity banquet later that same evening, but she wasn’t certain how much the Jedi Council had told him about the banquet itself.

⠀⠀ There will be ballroom dancing.

Not everyone can dance in a ballroom style.

⠀⠀“…hold on.” Shi’al began, her head snapping over towards Cal. “Do you know how to dance? As in … ballroom dancing?”

⊱⠀ … ⠀ @tapalslegacy requested a starter via askbox.

5. for  a  soft  starter.

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talks of sickness and the grossness of it

Summary: You've convinced yourself that you're not actually that ill, mostly because setting cover for your lessons is more trouble than its worth. Quinn is having none of it.

Notes: I have a chest infection and convinced myself that I was making it up and it wasn't that bad, apparently it is. So I figured Quinn is the voice of reason that I need in my life.

Thank you for the 400 followers as well! Very much appreciated :D

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Quinn's watching you like a hawk from the doorway to the living area, you're bundled up on the couch with at least 3 blankets (far too many for how warm the apartment is), tissues piled high in a bin next to you as you wheeze into another. You've opted for your most comfortable clothes in an effort to make yourself feel better as you cough and cough and cough some more. Your cough is harsh and can only be described as hacking, for someone who has never smoked a day in her life you sound like you've smoked 20 packs a day for 50 years. Your chest crackling and rattling, wheezing in a way that sounds unnatural and decidedly unhealthy.

He hates it, hates that every single night for the past few weeks you've been awake in the night, coughing so hard you make yourself throw up violently, head hanging over the toilet bowel, his hands coming to hold your hair out of the way. He hates that you've taken to sleeping on the couch in an effort not to disturb him, worried about his sleep schedule even though he can hear you through the walls and would feel better if you were beside him in the night. He hates that you've been going into school, teaching while struggling to breathe simply because you feel guilty about taking a day off, about the extra work for others and because somehow you've convinced yourself that 'its not that bad'. He hates that he can't snap his fingers and make you better. He hates seeing you sick, worse still seeing you sick and not properly looking after yourself. Worse still feeling powerless to help.

His eyes narrow this time as you cough so hard you bend in two, whimpering as your body tries to expel phlegm from your chest and fails. Only succeeding in causing your chest to hurt even more and for you to taste blood in the back of your throat. You're practically shivering from discomfort and he decides he can't take it anymore. He's fed up of being the nice boyfriend that lets you hurt yourself further because you're feeling guilty and deluded. Because you're being a bit of a brat, a stubborn arse. A stubborn arse he loves, but a stubborn arse anyway.

"That's it. I'm taking you to the doctors." He's already reaching for your coat by the door, and bending down to pick up your shoes. Even as your head turns to him slowly, eyes half-open and fatigued, mouth opening in protest.

"I'm fin-" You're cut off by your own cough, wheezy and rattling, the sort that is definitely not 'fine', "I'm fine, it's just a cough. It's nothing, it'll go soon..." You've been saying this for 2 weeks and it's less reassuring and believable at the near 3 week mark.

"You've been up every night for 2 weeks. I'm taking you to the doctors." It's a Saturday morning and he knows the walk in clinic is open, he also knows he won't get you to agree to go on a school day. This is his best chance and Quinn's decided, as he looks at the pallor of your skin and the limpness of your body, that you're going even if he has to carry you out to his car. Even if he has to drag you kicking and scream like a naughty toddler. Even if he has pictures all over the internet and headlines exclaiming 'Canuck's Captain, Bully of a Boyfriend?'. If it means you'll get better he'll take all the press, all the stares, all the heat.

"I'm not even that sic-" Once again, your cough interrupts you and this time, Quinn cuts in before you can continue. He's crouching in front of you, your shoes placed beside your feet in their snoopy socks.

"Baby, you might have gas lit yourself into believing that, but I know better. I'm taking you to the doctors, we're going to get you some meds. That's final." Quinn treats you like a princess, always has, and sure he usually takes a more dominate and traditional role in the relationship. But, it's rare for him to lay down the law, for him to outright remove your choice. Mostly, because you usually make the wise one anyway...today, you seem determined to put your health at risk and if that means he has to force you to do something you'd rather not? Well, the captain in him will come out to play and nice boyfriend Quinn will go take the bench. Nice isn't going to keep you healthy. Letting you get your way isn't going to make you better.

"Quinn..." Even the way you say his name is wheezy and it hurts, it hurts your chest to breathe, to speak. A sort of dull ache, a discomfort that deep down you know isn't normal...even as you try to push through.

"Shoes on. Now." His voice is sharp, not unkind, but firm. It's an order, not a request. A voice he rarely uses with you. Quinn only uses it under 2 scenarios: 1) You're putting yourself at risk and he's sorting it out or 2) it's an agreed role choice for your bedroom. He'd rather not have to use it for the first reason, but you're not really leaving him any choice.

"Bu-"

"Shoes, baby." He softens the tone, pulling back a little on the captain voice even as he grabs your right foot and forces you to put your first shoe on. You seem to give in, letting him help you into your shoes, tying them so they're supportive and comfortable.

He stands, reaching for your hands to pull you to your feet, holding onto your arms as you sway, lightheaded and dizzy at the upward movement. It takes longer than he would like for you to recover and it settles Quinn's mind even firmer on the course of action he's taking, helping you into your coat before leading you out of the apartment.

It's slow going, you're dizzy and short of breath and each step seems to take you even longer than normal. But, he's just happy to get you to his car, knowing that the next step is the triage walk-in centre 15 minute away.

You practically slump in the passenger seat, curling towards the door, blinking as the streets pass by. You have to admit, even if not audibly, that Quinn's right. This isn't just a cough, you feel like death warmed over and you know there's something not quite right. Even if you're loath to admit it. Even your students had picked up on how ill you were this week, being extra nice for once and not forcing you to yell at them like they knew you physically couldn't raise your voice even if you wanted to (which you didn't). Even the two boys you'd asked to stay behind to talk to about their behaviour had been patient when you'd had a coughing fit, unable to address their poor behaviour for a good minute.

When you finally arrive at the medical centre, he's very tempted to carry you inside, but you just about accept his arm as he helps you to the door and to the front desk. He takes over, describing your symptoms to the receptionist as you wheeze beside him, pressing your face into his arm as you seek some sort of comfort and you don't stop when you sit in the tiny uncomfortable seats waiting for your turn to see a nurse. Seeking his body for comfort, Quinn runs his fingers through the ends of your hair, occasionally rubbing the nape of your neck. He hates the way you whine into him, like everything is wrong with the world. He hates that he can't immediately fix how you're feeling.

It takes longer than Quinn would like for your name to be called, in the time it takes you're so tired from the outing that you're almost falling asleep on him. Your breathing is shallow and laboured as you wheeze in and out. All he can do is offer comfort and support, even as he forces you to stand once again and make the walk to the nurse's examination room.

You struggle through describing your symptoms, Quinn jumping in when he feels you're underplaying them or have missed something out. The nurse takes your blood oxygen levels, tutting as she does, and gets up to listen to your chest.

"I know what I'm going to hear already, but let's have a listen." The stethoscope is cold as she lifts the back of your shirt and slips it against your skin. You try to breathe in and out as normal as she moves from each section of your back, the top down to the bottom, left to right.

"Just as I thought, very crackly in the bottom left of your lungs...you've got a pretty nasty chest infection, lovely." She gestures for you to take a seat and you ignore the look Quinn gives you from the corner of your eye, the sort that screams 'I told you so.'

"Right, I'm going to prescribe you a course steroids and a course of antibiotics. You need to take 8 of the steroids in the morning for 4 days, just take the first dose the moment you get home today. The antibiotics you need to take for 5 days, 2 today and then 1 a day for the remaining 4, okay?"

You nod at her instructions, not feeling much like talking. You know Quinn is mentally cataloguing each instruction so that he can make sure you take your medication right and fully. A relief because you're so tired you're not sure you'd remember right now.

She prints out your prescription and hands it to you, which you promptly hand to Quinn, who holds it tight like he's scared it'll blow away in the windless room.

You both thank her as you leave and Quinn insists on going straight to the pharmacy next door and putting your prescription in. It takes longer than he wants, 20 minutes before you have your meds in hand and he's ushering you back to the car and strapping you in because you look too tired to do it yourself. You hold the little paper bag of medicine on your lap and watch him as he drives, your blinks are slow and tired and he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly worried. Quinn's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

The moment you're in the apartment, he's helping you from your coat and shoes, ushering you to the coach and helping you sink down into it, your head drooping as your arms dangle between your knees.

"I'm going to get your meds ready, okay? Just sit right here, baby." His hands run over your hair, across your shoulders, comforting strokes as he watches you struggle. He's relieved you have medicine now, even if he's angry that it took so long to convince you to get checked out. The anger isn't directed at you, but at himself and at the schooling system, the guilt its put into your head. The feeling that you can't be sick, can't take a day off. Anger that he'd allowed you to put this off for so long when he should have pushed more.

"Okay...Thanks, Quinny..." Your voice is fragile, delicate and his chest aches at the way you look up at him with tired, red eyes. Tired, hardly sleeping, fatigued from an infection attacking your body and still so thankful for him.

"No trouble at all, baby." Quinn leans down pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering slightly as you sway into him, eyes closed and nearly fall forward when he pulls away. But, Quinn's hands are there to right you, gently leaning you back against the couch pillows.

In the kitchen area he pours you as big glass of water and counts out 2 antibiotics, dark green capsules, and 8 tiny uncoated steroid tablets.

When he reaches you he hands you the glass, watching as you take a big gulp, holding it in your mouth as you gesture for the first pill. One at a time he hands them to you, watching as you swallow each with a healthy mouthful of water to make them go down easier. You shiver at little after each, like your body doesn't want you to take them, but they go down easy enough.

"Baby, I think you should go lay down in bed..."

"Mmm..." You're starting to feel sick, nausea hitting as your body processes the unfamiliar but strong medication. Your head is pounding, you feel like you're going to be sick and it's with nothing short of gentleness that Quinn scoops you up into his arms, your head nuzzling into his neck.

"C'mere..." You're not a light person, adult humans generally aren't, but Quinn has spent years as a pro-athlete training his body and in more recent years making sure he can bench as much weight as possible so carrying you isn't ever an issue. For reasons like this. The need to support you when you're sick or hurt. The idea that you might need him like this and he be unable to provide was simply unacceptable.

He moves carefully, steady so as not to rock you too much or too harshly as he walks you the short distance to your shared bedroom. He's gentle as he deposits you on the bed, helping you pull the blankets up around you as he sits beside you, fingers tracing a path over your forehead and down your cheek.

"How you feeling, baby?"

"Dizzy...nauseous...feel horrible, Quinny..." You almost sound like you might cry a little, a shakiness to your voice that pulls at his heart strings.

"I'll go make you some ginger tea for the nausea..." Quinn goes to get up but you're gripping his hand as hard as you can, eyes blinking up at him blearily, a pout directed his way that you know he can't really say no to. "No. Stay, cuddles please."

"Okay, baby, cuddles."

Quinn wastes very little time getting into bed besides you, letting you curl into him, your leg slung over his hip and your face pressed into his sternum like you could bury yourself in his chest and hide away from how you feel. All he can do he does, wrapping you up tight in his arms, hand rubbing soothing circles across your back.

Your breathing is shallow and shaky, swallowing as the nausea hits in waves. You can feel Quinn pressing kisses to your hair, your temple and it makes you feel better even if it doesn't take the sick feeling from your stomach.

"Thank you for looking after me..." You mumble it against his jaw, pressing a light kiss there, energy to do anything more none existent. Quinn responds with a kiss of his own to your hair, fingers reaching up to run through the ends as you nuzzle closer to him, chest to chest.

"I'm always going to look after you, baby. That's my job..."

"No...you're job is...your job is to play hockey." You sound a little confused and dazed, not really a surprise with the brain fog you've had this entire sickness. You seem to struggle to realise that he's not being literal, but it's cute. It's cute now he knows you're being medicated and not letting yourself get progressively worse and more and more likely to end up with pneumonia.

"Mm, that's my paying job, sure...but you're my real job. I just want to make sure you're okay, baby...especially when you're stubborn." Quinn's fingers rest on the nape of your neck, massaging the tense muscles there as you press further into his neck, little kisses being left like it's the only thing you have the energy for. It's sweet, even as you wheeze and rattle like an old change machine.

"I'm sick, don't be mean to me." Your voice is pouty and playful, and there's a slight relief in it for Quinn. That if you're being playful you're probably feeling a little better, a little more like yourself. He readjusts your leg around his hip, a hand resting there to keep you close.

"Never, baby. I love you too much to be mean to you."

"Liar." There's no animosity in it, just playful back chat that has him leaning back slightly to look at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, I see you're already feeling better? Absolute brat." Quinn grins at you for the first time in days, the relief that you're feeling even slightly better, the feeling of accomplishment at having convinced you to go to the doctor's, all combining to make him feel lighter than he has in a while.

"I'm sick, a sweet baby actually." Even you smile slightly as you look up at him, eyes slightly delirious and hazy like you're not all there right now which is probably about right. Your voice is croaky, but no less sweet to listen to.

"Mmm, sure y'are, baby. My sick, sweet girl who's also such a brat."

"Fuck off." You pretend to shove him away but he barely moves, your push weak and completely not serious. Even your voice has absolute no bite, just humour in it, the sort he's missed from you. You've been so down, so tired, so sullen that he's missed the banter, the back and forth, the playfulness that you two have.

"Alright-" Quinn pulls away, starting as if he's going to get up, but you're leg locks over his hip, arms practically crushing him to you as you stop him leaving your cuddle pile, the nest you've made, "No, stay! 'm sorry, Quinny...stay, feeling so much better with you here." You mean it. Maybe you still feel sick, nauseous and achy. Maybe your chest still hurts, your cough still rattling through you. But, being close to him helps, it makes you feel comforted in a way that you need right now and the idea of him going makes you want to cry. Even though rationally you know he's joking and not serious.

"Okay, sweet girl. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He settles back into space next to you, hand running from your knee to your hip in soothing strokes as his other hand rubs circles over your back.

"Love you so much." You mumble it against his neck, face pressed as tight as you can, inhaling his cologne, the smell of his skin, the distinctly Quinn scent that brings you a sense of safety and comfort.

"Love you too, sweet girl."

Maybe Quinn hates the way you refuse to get help when you're sick, maybe this whole episode had terrified him to his core, made him worried sick, but God, he loves you enough that he'd do this every single year of his life if he had to.

In sickness and in health, right?

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part four

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part four word count: 15.8k

part four warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, dark themes, descriptions of past abuse (non-explicit), even MORE tragic backstories, a little sexiness

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

note/disclaimer: EVERYONE DOUBTED ME. I DOUBTED MYSELF. BUT DESPITE IT ALLLLLLL HERE IS PART FOUR!!!!!!! Enjoy my friends, and then tell me about it! As always, happy reading ♡

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A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

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When you wake up, it’s with a pounding headache and a deep wave of something that almost tastes like regret. 

Through the jumble of your sleep-addled mind, it takes you a few moments to locate the source of that uneasy feeling. But as soon as you do, it washes over you in a sweeping tide of sensation. 

Images, sounds, tastes. Feelings. 

You’re lying in your bed. Alone. But your mind isn’t convinced of it. 

For long, heavy moments, if you screw your eyes shut tightly enough, you’re somewhere else entirely. 

Notches of your spine pressed against the expanse of a wall. Long fingers, ones  that don’t belong to you, toying with the hem of your shirt. Tracing the skin beneath your ribs. 

Sighs that you swallow. Lips pressed against your own. Teeth. 

Desperate, heady, sordid.

A brief stinging sensation. The faint, metallic taste of blood. 

The breathy pleas that follow. 

All at once, all over again, you’re lost in it. Drowning in it. Consumed by it. 

It’s a ghost of the real thing, a mere shadow in comparison. But you’re aching with it just the same. 

Through the muddle in your mind, you barely remember getting home. 

Footsteps and movement and other mundane details are lost to memories of a much headier nature. 

Lips against yours in the cover of darkness outside your apartment door. Fervent whispers of words that sound like “Bad idea” and “Not tonight.”

But still. He followed you in. Or at least you think he did. There’s far too much room for error in the recesses of your clouded memory.

It feels real, though. The recollection of gentle fingers in your hair. Soothing this time. With the intent to calm, subdue. Creating distance from desperation instead of adding to it. 

The slow press of lips that you wish you had more time to become familiar with. Against your temple this time, the bridge of your nose, the swell of your cheekbone. 

And a final, quiet command. 

“Sleep,” he’d insisted. 

And you hadn’t wanted to, not really. But no matter how many encounters you’ve had with immortality, you’re still woefully confined to the constraints of your humanity. And exhaustion still has clutches you can’t escape. 

Eyelids flickering, unconsciousness sang to you like a siren song until you were unable to resist its lull any longer. 

And there had been no promises between the two of you, but waking up alone was not what you expected. 

It’s undeniable though, even as you sit up, sheets tangling around your hips. You’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They’re wrinkled – a result of fervent ministrations and a long night of sleep disturbed only by strikingly vivid dreams. 

But even though small remnants of his presence remain, your room is empty, save for you. 

Rolling your neck in a slow circle, you wince at the stiffness, the tinge of pain you feel as it crosses above your left shoulder. 

The rest of your body carries a similar heaviness. As you ease your way out of bed, your limbs feel tight, stiff, overworked. 

Still, you force your feet to carry you to the space outside your bedroom. If you’re honest, part of you is hoping that you’ll find him waiting for you there. But as your eyes trace over the expanse of your apartment, your stomach sinks with disappointment. 

Empty. Just like your bedroom. 

It’s not enough to make you panic. Not yet. There are a thousand possible explanations for his absence. Before you start to decide which one is most likely, a knock echoes against your front door. 

And it’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which you cross your living room. 

But you can’t swallow the immediate sense of relief you feel. Coupled with a sudden swoop that reaches all the way to the pit of your stomach. 

Because he’s here. He’s here and it’s real and the surge of butterflies is enough to have you forgetting any potential complications. 

You know he can hear your footsteps, can certainly tell that your heart has just begun to beat unnaturally fast, but you don’t care. Can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this magnetic pull. It clutches at your heart with a soft touch and pulls at your mind like nostalgia. As if you’re a girl with a crush, writing the details of your affection in the secrecy of a diary and doodling hearts along the border. 

You pause, hand on the doorknob. With your other hand, you flatten the top of your hair, self-consciously tucking a strand behind your ear. 

It defies logic. After all, any remaining mussing is of his doing. But still, you can’t suppress the desire to have him see you at your best. 

After one last deep breath, you twist the knob. A smile is already tugging at your lips, widening along with the door. 

But when it opens fully, your lips fall flat. It’s not Heeseung that stands on the other side. 

From where he lingers in the doorframe, Jake scratches at the back of his neck rather awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Jake?” Disappointment colors your voice in obvious strokes. You might feel bad about it if you weren’t so confused. 

“Hey, ___,” he returns. His exhale almost sounds like an apology and it has your stomach swooping again. This time in trepidation. Anxiety. “Can I come in?”

“Is he okay?” It’s probably rude, the way you ignore his question entirely. But suddenly, it’s all you can think of. Why is Jake here? Avoiding your gaze and already sounding regretful. 

“Heeseung’s fine,” Jake assures. Your brow furrows. He’s fine, but he’s not here. You can’t decide if that inspires relief or something far more unpleasant. 

The silence extends for a moment. Jake doesn’t offer any additional explanation. Instead, he requests again, “I have something to ask you, but it would probably be better in private.”

“Right,” you nod, forcing the unease in your gut away. “Would you like to come in?”

Jake smiles, a tight thing, before stepping inside wordlessly. When you shut the door behind him, you keep your back turned for a moment. Inhaling deeply, you try to regain a bit of control over your mounting emotions before turning to face him. 

Jake has already made his way to your couch. Instantly, you're reminded of when another guest of yours did the same. It’s almost enough to send you spiraling again.

Jake, unaware of your inner thoughts, doesn’t let you linger in them for long. Instead he motions to the seat opposite of him. “Come sit.”

You frown, still fraught with nerves. Jake sounds far too serious for this conversation to be anything but unpleasant. Following his request, you slide down into the chair across from him. 

Once you’re seated, he doesn’t waste any time. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got an errand for us today.”

Raising your brow, you wordlessly urge him to elaborate. 

Jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, metal object. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, but once you do, your stomach only sinks further. 

It’s a key. The key. The same one you found last night. Along with someone whose absence is still very much unexplained. 

Jake looks at you, but your gaze is still trained on the object in his hand. “How do you feel about a return trip to New Haven?”

New Haven. You can hardly process his question, much less answer it. 

Because they were together. Heeseung gave the key to Jake. Intentionally passed it along to him. And despite all of the possible explanations, you can only fixate on one. 

He’s avoiding you.

You don't say anything, but Jake reads your expression all the same. Gently, he sets the key on the table between the two of you. Again, he sighs. It’s an apologetic sound, and you hate it.  

A beat passes. Two. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer. At least not with words. But the way your eyes widen is confirmation enough. 

“I—” You can’t decide if lying would serve you any good here. Ultimately, you decide to stick with the truth. You have too many unanswered questions to play any games. “How did you know?”

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “After five hundred years, you kind of just… know.” He pauses for a moment, weighing his words. And then he adds, “You don’t have to tell me, of course. But you can. If you want to.”

You can’t think of anything you’d rather do less. It’s illogical and frivolous and entirely human, but you’re embarrassed. The things that passed between the two of you hold weight in your mind. Significance. Importance. 

And now he’s deliberately avoiding you. You can’t help but feel slighted. Played. Used, even. Your voice is small when you ask, “Did he say anything?”

Jake shakes his head. “He’s been pretty silent. Even more so than usual.”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t. But answers are still lingering far beyond your reach. Jake might not be privy to the details of your affection, but he does know Heeseung like the back of his hand. 

With a deep exhale, you push your pride to the side. 

“We…” you trail off, searching for the right words. Something that won’t feel too invasive, too intimate to share. “We had a… moment. And I thought— well,” you frown, suddenly unaware of your own expectations, “I guess I didn't know what I thought. But I didn’t expect him to avoid me.”

“Ah,” Jake enunciates carefully. “That would explain why he’s been so moody today.” He nods to himself, pausing briefly before adding, “It’s not because of you.”

You just give him a look, obviously disbelieving. 

“I mean, it’s not because of you specifically,” Jake clarifies. “It’s…  a bit difficult to explain. Heeseung is…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “guarded, as I’m sure you can tell. He’s quiet, reserved. He keeps a lot of himself locked up in his own head, and he ruminates on everything. Predicts a million terrible outcomes of every situation and fixates on them until he’s convinced himself that everything will end in flames.” 

“So a raging pessimist, essentially.”

“Maybe,” Jake pauses. “But I think that you have to consider his perspective, too. That’s the thing about immortality. It’s… lonely. Often unbearably so. We all deal with that in our own ways. Sunghoon and his bed are one extreme end of that. Heeseung’s the other.”

You frown. He’s skirting around the edges. Hinting at something without fully saying it and you’re tired of guessing. 

Jake sighs. “I won’t pretend to know everything that’s happened between you, but Heeseung’s not just acting irrationally.”

Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I…” This time it’s Jake that hesitates. A struggle plays out across his features, as if he can’t decide whether this story is one he should share. Finally, he exhales. “It’s not really my story to tell. But Jungwon had a similar situation, I guess you could say. We had only been changed for around twenty years when he met this girl. It was purely by chance. And it was completely innocent at first. She was an apprentice at the tailor shop in the town we were living in. A human one.”

Your stomach is sinking with every word. The story has barely begun, but you call tell from the tension in Jake’s expression that it doesn’t have a happy ending. 

“He never intended for anything to happen, but he met her once and then he kept going back. It wasn’t intentional, but things spiraled from there. Until he was in far too deep.”

Jake is sparing plenty of details, but even the vague picture he paints is enough to have the unpleasant feeling solidifying in your gut. 

“And there was nothing dramatic, really. No big fight or fall out.” Jake sighs. “But she got older. And he didn’t. For the time they had, they made each other happy. In a lot of ways, they were perfect for each other. Except for in the one way that mattered.”

His immortality. Her humanity. Jake doesn’t say it, but the truth is there all the same. 

“Their love fell apart in a quiet way. Slowly, steadily. Five years had passed, and Jungwon looked the same. She started getting suspicious. He was running out of excuses and had to cut contact just to keep us all safe.”

A part of your heart breaks for him, for the love that he lost, for the circumstances that were always going to dangle just outside of his reach. 

“He couldn’t help it, though. He kept tabs on her. And she did what every human does. She nursed her broken heart, and then she moved on. She fell in love and found a family. Including a daughter.

“But for Jungwon… It broke him. For almost two hundred years, he felt like a shell of himself. And we all watched it happen, but I think it hit Heeseung the hardest. Out of all of us, he was always the romantic, although you’d never guess that now.” 

Jake smiles wryly and the dread in your stomach hardens into a rock. 

“He might not have to hide what he is from you, but that will only buy you so much time.” Jake meets your eye, imploring you to understand. “No matter what happens between the two of you, you’ll always have something he doesn’t: the ability to move on. To forget. To find someone that fits into your life in all the right ways. He’ll never have that, no matter what he wants. No matter what he feels.”

Jake’s gaze settles on the side of your neck. The bite has already begun to fade, scar tissue covering what was once an angry red wound. 

“And he’s already led to you getting injured once. I can’t imagine the kind of guilt he’s probably feeling over that.”

You’re quick to protest. “But that wasn’t his fault—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jake shakes his head. “That’s how he sees it.”

Lips tightening, you search for holes to poke in his logic. “Isn’t it better to take that risk? You can’t avoid a chance at happiness just because you’re worried it will lead to sorrow in the future.”

“That’s a nice perspective,” Jake agrees. “But it’s a human one. If you want to understand him, you have to consider what it’s like for him. His regrets and sorrows aren’t like yours. They don’t have an end date. They’ll live forever, just like him.”

“But so will the good memories—”

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “They won’t. Time will warp them, eat at them, until the good memories hurt just as bad as the awful ones. Maybe even worse.”

You flinch as if you’ve been scolded. Jake’s features soften. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I know he doesn’t either. He doesn’t expect your understanding or patience or forgiveness. He wouldn’t ask that of you, because he knows it’s not fair. Because he knows that it’s different for you.”

It’s selfless. It’s considerate.

You hate it regardless.  

Carefully, Jake adds a final suggestion, “For you and him, for the sake of your own peace, it might be best for you to do the same.”

His words settle heavily into the air. 

Do the same. It’s vague enough to be open to interpretation, but no matter how you warp it, there’s always one striking similarity. 

Jake is encouraging you to move on, to forget about last night and everything that led to it. To let memories fade and moments die before they can grow into anything stronger. 

And in the grand scheme of things, even in your limited mortal lifespan, it really hasn’t been that long. The first time you saw Heeseung was only a handful of months ago, and the taste of his name was bitter on your tongue for the majority of it. 

There have been so many versions of him. A rival classmate. A pesky annoyance. A savior. A guardian. A lover. 

A vampire. 

You don’t know him. Not really. You’ve seen parts of him, and the remaining pieces feel like something that would be all too easy to want. To love, even. 

And maybe Jake is right. He has the advantage of perspective. He’s seen history unfold and recognizes the patterns. He’s terrified that tragedy will repeat itself. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier – the thought of letting him go. 

Your feelings might be mortal. Your days may be limited, but that doesn’t make them any less significant. 

Amidst all the uncertainty, you know one thing for sure. It’s not a conversation with Jake that will give you any kind of closure, that will lead to any final decision. 

You need to talk to him. To Heeseung. Need to hear his thoughts and fears and desires in his own words. Need him to listen to yours. 

You’re not sure how to go about it. If he’s hellbent on avoiding you, there’s little you can do. 

But there must be something. Some way of getting to him. 

Before you have long to linger on it, another knock sounds against your door. It’s much sharper, more urgent than Jake’s was. 

Immediately, your eyes flicker to the vampire across from you, widening in surprise. 

Jake just sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I apologize in advance.”

Although slightly cryptic, it’s confirmation that whoever is on the other side poses no threat. Slowly, you stand, making your way back to your front door. 

Opening it, you find five overeager faces crowded in your doorframe. 

“Morning, ___,” Sunoo beams. “Hope you slept well.”

 “I don’t know,” Niki whispers, “Those look like some pretty serious dark circles.”

“Dude,” Sunghoon elbows him. “You can’t just say that.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s super rude.” Turning to you, he gives you a wide smile. “You look great, ___. Not tired at all.”

In the center of them all, Jungwon just sighs. “Sorry to intrude like this.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “Is there any chance you could invite us in?”

Two minutes later, the sight that greets you would be enough to make you laugh out loud if the surrounding circumstances weren’t so dire. 

Your couch is far too small for the five vampires crowded onto it, elbows flying into ribs every time someone adjusts too far in one direction. Next to the chaos, Jungwon leans against the arm of the couch, eyes trained on you. 

His gaze feels assessing, almost. As if he’s trying to decipher the events of the previous day. Under his scrutiny, you do your best not to flush. 

From his seat at the far end on the couch, Jake’s lips pull into a flat line as another scooch sends him squished up even further against the armrest. “What are you all doing here?”

Jay smiles, nodding at you. “We came to check on our favorite human, of course.” 

“We heard you even snuck into your evil professor’s secret lair.” Sunghoon adds, nodding appreciatively. “Badass.”

“Plus we had to get out of the house.” Niki grimaces. “Heeseung is still in one of his moods.”

Despite yourself, you can’t quite help the expression that crosses your features as soon as his name is mentioned. 

As if that weren’t mortifying enough on its own, of course all six of them pick up on it. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Sunghoon waves his hand dismissively, entirely unaware of why you’re so affected by the sound of his name. “Being in a mood is just a regular Tuesday for Heeseung.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jay shudders, clutching at his neck. “When I mentioned that Jake was planning to go with ___ to New Haven so she could go back into the secret evil jail, I thought he was actually gonna throttle me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so–”

“Anyway,” Jungwon interjects. He might not have been privy to your conversation with Jake, but he is a bit better at picking up on the subtleties. “We did want to form a plan for your return to New Haven. I apologize for the sudden intrusion, but since you and Jake were already here, we thought this might be the best place for all of us to talk.”

Jungwon’s words barely register. He’s there. Heeseung is at their shared home. Of course he is. It makes sense. It’s the most likely place for him to be. 

But he’s there. They’ve all seen him. Talked to him. And now they’ve come here without him. 

“Right,” you nod, forcing a tight smile. “Well, we have the key from the professor’s university office now. And we don’t know for sure, but it just might open the chest I found last time at New Haven. As soon as we know that the professor is away from the building, I think we need to return and try to open it as soon as possible.” 

The thought of going back into that place fills you with a distinct sort of dread, but you need answers. You all do. 

Jungwon nods thoughtfully. “We can do that. We’ll get eyes on him first and establish a warning system for you and Jake.” Reaching into his back, he pulls out a pair of walkie talkies. “Heeseung also mentioned that there’s no cell service down there. The two of you can use these so that you’re not going in blind.”

Reaching forward, you take them from his outstretched hand. “These will be perfect,” you agree. 

“And ___,” Jungwon adds, suddenly serious. “Thank you. Truly. We know that none of this has been easy.” Five heads nod in near perfect unison. “But what you’re doing will save lives. There was another attack last night–”

“What?” You can’t mask your shock.

“A few miles outside of the city,” Jungwon confirms, lips pulled in a tight line. “In an area we hadn’t been patrolling. There were two victims.” Jungwon pauses, his words weighing heavy in the air. “High school students.” 

High school students. In recent weeks, death has become a familiar theme. But youth has it feeling brand new. You suddenly feel like crying. 

High school students. Kids. Children with their whole lives ahead of them. Dreams and plans and goals for the future. All lost in one tragic, horrific moment. 

Your heart hurts for their families, their classmates, their teachers. So many lives affected, changed, darkened. 

Teenagers whose worries should have extended only to homework and exams and finding a date for the prom. Not becoming headline news in an ongoing series of tragedies. 

Wait –

Headlines. News. 

Frantically, your eyes flick towards the clock on your counter. Last night really did do a number on you. You slept well past mid morning. If your clock is accurate, it’s dangerous close to one in the afternoon. Ignoring the fact that you can’t remember the last time you slept so late, you return to the more urgent matter at hand. 

Panicked, you turn to Jungwon. “We might have another problem. I’m supposed to have my first article for Professor Kim written in the next two hours. I don’t know if I–”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s already done.”

“What?” A confused frown pulls at your lips. “What do you mean? I haven’t written anything yet.”

Reaching for the bag he set down by his feet, Jungwon pulls out a small stack of papers. “He gave these to me this morning before we left,” he explains before handing them to you. 

Wordlessly, you reach out, accepting them. 

Fingers shaking slightly, your eyes trace the first handful of lines. 

It’s jarring – there’s no other way to describe it. 

You have no idea how he’s done it, but reading Heeseung’s writing feels a bit like looking into a mirror. It’s unsettling, just how easily he seems to be able to emulate you in his writing. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you wrote this yourself. 

Everything is perfect, down to the last detail. Words you’ve been scolded by past professors for overusing are scattered throughout. Unique turns of phrases that are hallmarks of your style are intricately weaved between paragraphs.

And it only solidifies your determination.  

You have to see him. You have to.    

Writing has always felt like an extension of your soul, a physical manifestation of your very being. And anyone that can capture you this intimately, this intricately, is not someone you can just forget. 

Jungwon, unaware of your inner turmoil, must mistake your silence for scrutiny. “Is it okay?” He asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “We still have some time, so if there’s anything you need to change–” 

“No, it’s…” you trail off, unsure how to describe the writing in front of you. “It’s exactly what I would have written. 

“Oh,” Jungwon nods. “Okay. Well… Good, then. I have the digital copy too. I’ll send it to you and you can pass it along to the professor.”

You nod, a bit numbly, still shaken by what you’ve just read, still brimming with the urge to confront Heeseung about it.  

Logically, you know that your visit to New Haven can’t be delayed for something as selfish as this. People, lives, an entire city, are hinging on answers you might find hidden there, after all. But as soon as you’ve finished, you know what you’ll do next. 

You decide, in your living room, surrounded by a group of six immortal beings, that it doesn’t matter if Heeseung has senses and skills for evasion that far outmatch yours. You will find a way to see him, to talk to him. You have to. 

But then your gaze shifts, lands back on Jungwon. There’s a slight frown that pulls at his lips as he talks to the others, assigning patrol duties and discussing potential complications for your upcoming mission. 

The longer your gaze lingers, the more you see it. The unmistakable weariness. Telltale signs of exhaustion. Jungwon might have lost the physical need for sleep, but the exhaustion that clings to him comes from a different source. And it runs deep. 

All at once, you can’t help but wonder what Jungwon was like, all those centuries ago. Before he met her. The human girl Jake told you about less than an hour ago. You wonder if he still thinks of her now. You know he must. 

You wonder if it hurts just as bad, if the sting is just as sharp every time. And that sends your thoughts spinning to a different, far more dangerous place. 

In five hundred years, when the only memories of you that remain are left in these seven boys, you want them to remember you with fondness. The kind that aches with affection instead of regret. 

If Heeseung wants to prevent an inevitable heartbreak, then you suppose you can’t blame him for it. But to you, his avoidance is cowardice. Distance won’t undo what’s already passed between you. 

If he wants space, then so be it. You have a key in your hands and pressing matters to attend to. Heeseung will only stay hidden so long, and it’s best to do what you can in the meantime. 

You owe it to them, to him, to everyone whose lives have been touched by recent tragedies, to do everything in your power to change the trajectory of current events. 

So, with a new determination, you push Heeseung a little more firmly into the back corner of your mind, tucking all of the loose edges and pressing thoughts into a neat, tidy box to be revisited later. 

Pulling out your phone, you open the digital version of the article Heeseung has written under your name. You give it one more once over, and it’s just as uncannily you as before. 

Tucking away every feeling that inspires for later, you turn back to Jake.

“So,” you venture, eyeing him as he turns the key over between his fingers. “Are you ready to do this?”

…..

New Haven feels only slightly less ominous in full daylight. Although the remnants of winter still cling to the air like a bad omen you can’t quite shake, sunlight streams through the clouds with the steadiness of a sure thing. 

At your side, Jake appears equally uncertain. 

“Your professor has interesting taste.” It’s a joke, something meant to lighten the mood, but you hear the wariness all the same. 

“Wait until you see the inside.”

Jake picks the lock with nearly as much ease as Heeseung had the night prior, and then the two of you are inside. 

Despite his initial uncertainties, Jake handles the looming hallways and odd shadows of the publishing house rather well. Knowing that the other boys have eyes on your professor and are protecting you from afar helps to abate some of the anxiety, even if you still have to force away a handful of unpleasant memories that threaten to rise. 

When the two of you reach Professor Kim’s office, you don’t bother to hesitate. By now, you know what you’ll find on the other side of the door. 

Jake, however, does give a double take at the massive painting you and Heeseung put back into place just one short night ago. 

Gauging his reaction in your periphery, you decide to play dumb. 

“Is something wrong?”

Jake just takes another long look at the painting of the open field, filled with flowers. He tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you think he rather resembles a curious puppy. 

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “Sorry, I just…” He takes one final look at the painting. “That painting just looked weirdly familiar for a minute.”

“Celedis, right?” You turn to face the vampire. “I thought the same thing, but Heeseung said it’s slightly different. Something about the flowers.”

At that, Jake doesn’t bother to mask his shock. “He told you about Celedis?”

“Showed me, actually. You know,” you reach your arm out towards him. “With the whole physical contact astral projection thing.”

You’re about to ask Jake to help you move the painting, but he’s still stuck in the details you’ve just revealed. 

Jaw nearly slack, he asks, “He showed you Celedis?”

“Yeah,” you frown. You didn’t realize this was new information. “I thought you knew. Back at your house, after I was attacked. He told me – er, showed me – about you guys.”

Remembering the water tower, you add, “And he’s used it, his ability, I mean, to show me other things about his past.” A memory surfaces, one of a young boy sneaking pastries from a medieval kitchen. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. “About Celedis.”

“Fuck, Heeseung.” Jake swears under his breath, but you hear it all the same. 

“Was he not supposed to?” Despite your current feelings of frustration towards Heeseung, your intentions aren’t to get him in trouble or create any sort of rift between him and the others. Suddenly, you’re scrambling to backtrack. “It was really only a couple of things to help me understand, I promise. He would never compromise your safety or–”

“It’s not that.” Jake shakes his head, interrupting. “Heeseung just… his ability isn’t one he uses often.”

At that, your brow furrows. That strikes you as odd. All things considered, it seems like a rather useful gift that should have found several practical applications over the past five hundred odd years. “Why not?” you ask. 

“It’s not…” Jake trails off, hesitating. Trying to decide how much he should share. “It’s not exactly something he takes pleasure in doing.”

Your brow creases further. That only leaves you with more questions than answers. You can’t remember him being particularly bothered either of the times he exercised his ability with you. “What do you mean?”

Again, Jake hesitates. His teeth worry at his bottom lip like that will prevent words from spilling out. “It’s not really my story to tell.”

“What story?” The corners of your lips pull downwards. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment, Jake just takes a long look at you. And then he sighs. “Heeseung explained Celedis to you?”

You nod.

“Including our origin story?” Jake pauses. “Our families?”

Again, you nod. “You were all nobles.”

Jake hums in agreement. “Yeah, we were. After peace was forged, the kingdom had to reorganize itself a bit. Our families were allies now, partners instead of enemies. Eventually, it was decided that each of our families would spearhead one sector of rulership, if you will.” Pausing for a moment, Jake gauges your reaction from his periphery. He asks, “Did he tell you about this?”

Deciding honesty will serve you best here, you shake your head. 

Much to your gratefulness, Jake just sighs again. “My family primarily dealt with the management of food resources. My father tracked annual crop production, rainfall, resources allocation, things like that.”

“Okay…” you nod, trailing off. The picture he paints is a logical one, but you don’t see a connection to Heeseung’s strange supernatural ability yet. 

Jake continues, “Heeseung’s father, on the other hand, always had a knack for strategy. It was decided that his family would be the de facto head of defense and protection of the kingdom. We were allies, but there was still worry that enemies from outside Celedis’ borders might arise. Although, his father’s methods were always a bit more… aggressive than you’d expect in peacetime.”

Frowning, it's hard to imagine. You suppose that hter may be sides to Heeseung you haven’t yet seen, but it’s difficult to think of him as anything but patient. Gentle. Hearing that his father was the complete opposite doesn’t sit well with you. Quietly, you wait for Jake to continue. 

“Even though we kept aging until we were twenty-one, our abilities manifested when we were just kids. And Heeseung, at ten years old, did what any child would do when he suddenly realized he could project his consciousness through touch.” Jake sighs again. “He told his mother.”

The memory comes rushing back unbidden. Heeseung isn’t here to project any visions, but all of a sudden, you feel like you’re back in that field anyway. Watching silently, helpless, as a tiny version of Heeseung accidentally makes his friend ill after his ability manifests for the first time. All over again, your heart hurts for him. Too small to understand what was happening, too frightened to do anything but seek consultation from his mother. 

“His father, of course,” Jake says, “eventually found out, too. And like any great strategist, he saw this newfound ability first and foremost as a tool. Heeseung wasn’t just a heir anymore. He was a weapon. And he was brought along to things no ten-year-old should have to see. War meetings, strategy sessions. Prisoner interrogations.” Jake’s eyes drop to the floor. “Torture, mutilation, executions. He was made to watch all of it.”

The small gasp you let out is involuntary. 

Jake’s eyes find you again. “And then, afterwards, he was forced to relive it, over and over and over. His hand on top of his father’s, so that the kingdom’s leader of defense could analyze every detail. Construct the perfect strategies, devise the best methods for extracting information, for making others bend to his iron will.”

Your stomach rolls with a fresh wave of nausea. 

Jake finishes with, “I’ve known Heeseung for five hundred years, and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever utilized his ability with me. Every single one of them has been out of sheer necessity.”

And explaining Celedis to you, sharing pieces of his long lost childhood, are decidedly not. The gravity of it all sinks in with full force, and you suddenly feel as if your knees might buckle under the weight of it all. 

You have to see him. You ache with it now, the overwhelming urge to just say fuck it and run until your feet have carried you all the way to their shared home. Until your fist connects with the outside of his bedroom door and the only barriers that exist between the two of you are easily breakable. 

But Jake has a key in his pocket, and you have the fate of a city resting in the liminal space between you. Selfish desires, no matter how strong, will have to wait. 

“I…” you hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. For trusting me.” 

Jake nods. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is. Even Jungwon, although he might never admit it out loud. It’s been a while since we’ve spent so much time around a human. They’re all really fond of you, you know.” Jake grins, something just a bit devious entering his eyes. “It drives Heeseung insane.”

“Well,” you return, “For what it’s worth, I’m quite fond of you all, too. Definitely my seven favorite vampires.”

“Aw,” Jake brings a hand to his heart. “You’re too kind. I’m honored, truly.”

Turning back towards the painting, it’s a sobering reminder of why you’re here, what you still need to do. Looking towards Jake at your side, you request, “Help me move this?”

Nodding, a refound sense of determination enters his gaze. “Let’s do it.” 

Painting aside and key in your hand, you find yourself once again face to face with the small opening that separates Professor Kim’s office from that horrifying dungeon of a room that sits just below it. 

Jake hands you a walkie talkie, and you eye it warily for a moment. “We’re sure these things work?’

“Positive,” Jake nods. “We tested them this morning. Oh, and I brought you this, too.” Reaching out, he hands you a headlamp. “He mentioned that it’s pretty dark down there.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Clipping the walkie talkie onto your belt loop, you take the light from Jake, securing the headband around your temple. Even though the gravity of the situation isn’t lost on you, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. Giving your front pocket a final tap, you confirm that the key is tucked away safely. “Well,” you turn back to Jake, “see you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” he nods. “And if anything, and I do mean anything, feels off, use that to talk to me, okay?” He just his chin at the walkie talkie at your waist. 

“I will,” you promise. 

And then, with just one final glance over your shoulder, you’re suspended into darkness just as surely as the previous night. For a moment, you consider igniting your headlamp. But you decide against it rather quickly. It’s probably best that you don’t see just how far beneath you the ground is. 

This time, thankfully, your decent feels much shorter. With some of the uncertainty stripped away, your feet are touching solid ground before you know it. 

Once you’re firmly planted, you reach for the light on your forehead. 

It ignites, shooting a strong beam of light straight out in front of you. 

Again, you fight the shiver that traces the length of your spine. It is quite cold down here, with a certain dampness that permeates into your bones, but that’s not why you shudder. 

WIth light revealing their secrets, the cells that line the passage are even more ominous. Dark, rusted iron lies in wait on either side of you. 

Handcuffs, chains, spare pieces of metal you’re sure you don’t want to know the purpose for, line your path as you force your feet forward. Even if you wanted to take a closer look, that’s not why you’re here today. Mission in mind, you continue down the long, dark path towards the opening where you know you’ll find the chest.  

Finally, after a few long minutes, you’re face-to-face with the locked chest again. The desk is still there, too, undisturbed. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach into your pocket, retrieving the key from Professor Kim’s university office. Forcing away any other lingering memories of the previous night that threaten to rise, you bring the key to the lock. 

Your hands are shaking. The cold, the fear, the anticipation. They all settle heavy in your bones and leave you with tremors you can’t quite stop. 

“C’mon,” you whisper out loud to the darkness, with no one but you and the faint sound of dripping water to hear. “Come on.”

Finally, the key aligns just right. 

Despite the tremble in your fingers, despite the improbability that this key even matches this lock, it slides in with ease. 

And when you turn it to the right, you hear a telltale click. 

In your shaking grip, the lock falls open. Sliding the key back into your pocket, you pull the lock out of the loop of the front of the chest. Setting it down at your feet, you take one deep inhale. 

And then, with hands that still tremble, you push the heavy lid of the chest open. 

You’re not sure what you expect. Something horrific, maybe. Some damning evidence of evildoing. Something soaked in blood, something so explicitly terrible that there’s no guesswork to be done. 

But the chest contains only two things. 

The first is a massive stash of what you assume must be distilled moonflower. Organized neatly into rows upon rows of tiny small vials that look terribly similar to the contraption he used to shoot you in the neck the first time you came to the publishing house.

This, in and of itself, feels like a revelation. According to Heeseung, moonflower is rare. And knowledge on proper distillation processes is even more obsolete. To have this much of it distilled and on hand… it must mean something. 

The chest is nearly overflowing with the small vials, save for a small space, just in the middle, where a book sits nestled amongst the moonflower. 

A book that looks nearly identical to one you’ve seen before. To one that still sits forgotten in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to your bed. 

Hands still unsteady, you reach for it. 

At first glance, it’s an exact copy of the strange book you found in the university library all those weeks ago. But as you lean closer, you notice one key difference. The title. 

The one you found tucked away on a library shelf was called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. 

But it must be part of a set, an anthology of sorts. 

Because the book between your shaking fingers stares back at you with the title Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction. 

Book in your hands, you realize you have a dilemma. The volume is far too thick to take pictures of every page, but removing it from the chest to bring with you feels risky. 

At least this time, you think as you reach for the walkie talkie at your waist, you don’t have to make all of your decisions alone. 

Pressing the button on the side, you speak into the receiver. “Hey Jake, you there?”

A handful of seconds pass before his response filters through. It’s crackly but perfectly audible. “I’m here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I found something. A book. It’s pretty hefty. I won’t be able to take pictures of all of the pages. Do you think I should bring it with me or just take a few photos and leave it here?”

“It was in the chest?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think it might be too risky to bring with me.”

“I agree,” Jake confirms. “Just take a few pictures, and then get out of there.”

“Will do,” you agree. “See you soon.” You secure the walkie talkie back on your belt loop. 

Setting the book down on the cold ground, you sink to your knees in front of it. Reaching for your phone, the first picture youtube is of the front cover.  

Deciding that they’ll want evidence of the moonflower as well, you reach up to angle your camera towards the open chest. 

And then you return to the book. Opening it to the first page, the similarities are uncanny to the one you found in the library before. The font, the slight discoloration, the ink smudges lost to time. It’s too overwhelming to just be a series of unlikely coincidences. It must be connected to the other Sacred Monsters. 

Taking quick photos as you flip through the pages, you force yourself not to linger, no matter how much curiosity eats away at you. You’ll have time to review the pages later, you tell yourself. Right now, the best course of action is to get in and out as quickly as you can. 

Still, a handful of phrases and words jump out at you as you photograph the pages. 

Moonflower distillation…

Degeneration…

Test subjects…

Nightshade…

And finally, just as you’re drawing to the end of the book, a phrase catches your eye. 

The Kingdom of Celedis. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, body going cold.

He knows. You’re not sure how much. You're not sure exactly what. You have no idea why. But your professor has a book locked away in a secret underground prison beneath his publishing house. A book that mentions a kingdom lost to time, forgotten by everyone, preserved only in the minds of seven immortal beings. 

Professor Kim knows. And somehow, that’s more terrifying than anything else contained in this dark, decrepit place. 

Taking a photo of the final page in the book, you let it fall shut once again. Placing it back in the chest just as meticulously as you found it, you close the lid again and slide the padlock through the hold. 

The key goes in just as easily this time, locks as easily as it opened. Despite the obvious age of everything else in this place, the lock has no signs of rust, no hint of disuse. 

It’s been opened regularly, you assume. And likely by your professor. 

As that realization begins to settle, the walkie talkie on your hip gives another disconcerting crackle. Immediately, your heart leaps into your throat, mind spinning with the worst possibilities. 

You’re at the very end of the passage. It will take you at least ten minutes to be back in the office and another three to be out of the publishing house. More than that if you account for the potential of your professor’s heightened senses. 

After a moment of extended silence, Jake’s voice filters through. 

“Everything still okay down there?”

Your mind swims with relief, but your pulse doesn’t slow. 

Bringing the device to your mouth, you press the button on the side. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished. I’ll be back up soon.”

Another beat of silence passes. And then, “Glad to hear it. I’ll be here.”

But you can’t help but confirm, “They still have eyes on Professor Kim?”

Jake answers quickly, “Yeah. Sunghoon and Niki have eyes on him. He hasn’t left his house.”

Tucking the key back into your pocket, you begin the journey back, your quick footsteps echoing against wet stone. “Good. See you soon.”

Down the narrow passageway, your phone feels leaden in your pocket, weighed down with evidence you’re not sure how to parse. You want to be out of here as quickly as you can, back in your apartment where you can compare the two books. Where you can show them to the others. 

Thankfully, again, the way out feels shorter. Despite the ache in your muscles as you pull your body up the ladder, time passes quickly as you ascend back to the publishing house. 

True to his word, Jake waits for you just outside of the narrow entrance. He reaches out a hand to help pull you back into the small room. 

Giving you a quick once over, he frowns. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You practically have. Celedis. But this isn’t the place. 

You shake your head and tell him as much. “Not here.”

Despite the brevity of your words, Jake understands. Instead of pressing you further, he helps you slide the mural back into position, once again covering the opening to the room below. 

Giving the painting a final look, you’re sure of it now. It is Celedis. It has to be. Even if some of the details are slightly wrong. 

But your head is spinning and your thoughts are jumbled and you can’t be the only one with the weight of so many revelations weighing on your mind. 

As the two of you make your way back down the hallway towards the front door of New Haven, Jake tells you, “We’ll reconvene at our place. We can go over everything there.”

You shake your head. “Tell everyone to meet at my apartment instead.” 

“What?” A flicker of confusion creases his brow as his head tilts to the side. “Why?”

“It’ll make sense soon, I promise,” you tell him. “There’s something there I need to show you. All of you.”

Jake glances at you, but he doesn’t question you further. His earlier words echo in your mind. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is.”

At your side, he pulls out his phone as you pull the door to New Haven shut behind you. “Jungwon,” you hear him say. “Change of plans. We’ll meet at her apartment instead.” 

Again, the questions must be short lived, and Jake is ending the conversation just as quickly as it started. 

…..

When you arrive back at your apartment, Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo, and Niki are waiting for you in the parking lot. 

Stepping out of the driver’s seat, Jake nods at Jungwon. Then, after glancing around, he asks, “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Keeping an eye on the professor,” Jungwon answers. “We thought it would be best to have at least one of us tailing him still.”

Jake nods. 

Jungwon turns to you. “I take it you found something. And there’s something here at your apartment you want us to see?”

You nod. “Yeah. A… well, a book. Two books, actually,” you amend. “Let’s go up,” you nod at the staircase, “and I can show you.”

Jungwon hesitates for a moment. A meaningful glance that you can’t quite decipher passes between the five of them. 

“Okay,” he finally acquiesces. “Lead the way.”

Phone heavy in your pocket, you climb the two flights of stairs with the five of them trailing behind you. The distance they put between you is slightly odd, but you don’t have much space left in your mind to think much of it. 

That is, until you reach your doorstep. And find it already occupied. 

“Heeseung,” you breathe. A force of habit more than anything. 

He’s already looking at you. Heard your conversation in the parking lot and your footsteps on the stairs and your heartbeat in your chest. He knew the exact moment you would round the corner and the number of breaths it would take you to reach him. 

His dark eyes reflect afternoon sunlight in a way that looks all too much like stars, and you have no idea what to do with any of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if his words are anything more than a bandaid on a bullet wound, as if the five boys behind you can’t hear the words that pass between you. 

And you’ve been stewing in it since this morning, thinking of all the ways you could beg him, plead with him, convince him to let whatever lies between the two of you to blossom, to grow wings. 

But now, with his eyes on you and the fate of a city in the pocket of your jeans, words fail you. 

Finally, your lips part. “I have something to show you.” And now you’re the one putting up walls, building barriers. For now, he’s not a boy that kissed you until your head was spinning and you couldn’t make right from left. He’s a vampire, and the two of you have a job to do. 

Your hurt, your desires, your wounded pride still sit heavy in your gut. 

But you owe it to him – this boy that was born a prince and sharpened into a weapon and cursed with a blessing he never asked for – to bring an end to this particular bout of suffering. 

To let the tragic kingdom of his youth rest once and for all, even if you have to reopen wounds in the process. 

Across from you, Heeseung only nods. 

Stepping to the side, he lets you be the one to open the door. He doesn’t need to linger outside; he’s already been invited in, more than once. But he does anyway. He waits for your words, for your approval, and then he follows you inside. Behind him, the other five exchange long, sideways glances. 

Just like this morning, the sight of the six of them crammed on your small couch is almost enough to inspire a smile. Under any other circumstances, you’d be laughing out loud. Now, however, you just give a long exhale. 

“They key worked,” you begin. “It opened the chest.”

Five hundred years, and they all have yet to perfect their patience. 

“And?” Jay is practically tripping over himself to get the question out. 

“It was full of distilled moonflower,” you tell them. Vials like the one the professor used to inject me in the neck. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” Sunoo gasps.

“How?” Niki frowns. 

“Moonflower is rare,” Jake shakes his head. “There’s no way he could have that much of it.”

“Well, he must know some secret place where it grows or something,” you suggest. “Because he does.”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not only a matter of knowing where it grows. Moonflower is a magical substance, and magic is finite. It simply doesn’t grow in abundance. In order for someone to have a stash that large…”

“He’s been collecting it,” Heeseung finishes. “For a long, long time.”

“He’s been a vampire for twenty years,” you remind them. “Maybe he’s been collecting it just as long.”

Again, Jungwon shakes his head. “Hundreds of vials isn’t something that can be achieved in twenty years. Hundreds of vials is hundreds of years.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” You frown, wheels in your brain beginning to spin. 

“There are two possibilities,” Jake says. “Either your professor is lying about how old he is…”

“Or he’s not the only one that’s been collecting and distilling moonflower,” Jay finishes. 

Sunoo shakes his head. “We haven’t seen any evidence of him working with others.”

“Either way,” Niki frowns, “Something's not quite right.”

“The moonflower.” Jungwon looks at you again. “Was it the only thing in the chest?”

You shake your head. “No. There was also a book.”

“Right.” Jake nods. “The one you took pictures of.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I left it in the chest, obviously, but I took photos of the pages. I didn’t have a chance to look too closely while I was there, but I think it talks about…” you trail off for a moment, eyes flickering to Heeseung, despite yourself. “I think it talks about Celedis.”

“Celedis?” Jake balks. 

“That’s impossible.” Jay shakes his head. 

But Jungwon just looks at you. “Earlier in the parking lot, you said you had two books to show us.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I do. I was in the university library a few weeks ago, and I found this book. It was about vampires, but it was… I don’t know. It was strange. It wasn’t vitriolic or propaganda. It was almost like a diary. The reason I wanted you all to come here is because I checked it out. I have it here, in my bedroom. But the weirdest part is the title.”

“The title?” Sunoo prompts. 

“It’s called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. And the book I found in the chest today, it looked really similar. And it was called Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction.”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

“That,” Niki finally says, “Doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

Standing, you nod. “I don’t think so either.” Walking to your bedroom, you open the bottom drawer of your dresser. With the events of the past weeks, part of you expects the book to have vanished mysteriously. To have been nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination. 

Despite your musings, Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality lies undisturbed just as you left it. With careful hands, you pull it out of your dresser and bring it back to the living room, setting it on the coffee table in front of the boys. 

“This is the book from the library?” Jungwon asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “And I don’t have a printer or anything, but I’ll send you the photos I took of the book from the chest today.”

Scrolling through the files you send him, Jungwon pauses on the cover, glancing between it and the book on the coffee table. “I see what you mean. These must be related.”

Reaching for the book, Jay flips open the front cover, frowning. “There’s no author or publication date.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s all so odd. It wasn’t even in the library system,” you add, remembering that night at the library. “The librarian had to manually check it out to me.”

“Jesus,” Sunoo grimaces, glancing at some of the pages over Jay’s shoulder. “This is super depressing.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “I see what you mean. This is definitely about vampires, but it’s nothing like other human-written vampire literature. 

Next to them, Jungwon scrolls through the images you’ve sent him, enlarging photos to read pieces of text. With each and every passing image, his frown grows deeper and deeper. 

“We have a problem,” Jungwon finally says. Looking back at the photo, he amends, “Several, actually.” 

You assume he must have drawn the same conclusion as you. “He must know about Celedis, right? The professor, I mean.”

“Yes,” Jungwon confirms. “I’m sure he does.”

“But how?” Jay presses.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon’s mouth pulls into a grim line. “But that’s not all.”

“This page,” He holds up his phone. “It’s a guide. Explaining in excruciating detail how to harvest, store, and distill moonflower. It also discusses its side effects. On humans and vampires.”

Scrolling to the next photo, he adds, “It looks like they studied these side effects. Through experimentation. Most of these pages are entries. Data. Experiments.” Looking at all of you, he lets the weight of that sink in for a moment. “Whoever wrote this book tested moonflower and its effects. On humans and vampires.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “The professor tested moonflower on vampires?”

“Not the professor, necessarily,” Jungwon shakes his head. “But yes, whoever wrote this book must have.”

“The cells,” you breathe, a sickening realization beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. “The cells beneath New Haven. It wasn’t just a jail.”

“It was a lab,” Heeseung finishes, locking eyes with you. 

Jungwon holds up another photo. “I think you’re right. Look at this.” You all squint as he enlarges the photo. There’s a date at the top – September 13, 1942. And next to it, a number V029.

Beneath it are a series of notes too small to make out from where you sit. Jungwon reads them, “Dosage: 8 milliliters. Injection site: Lower throat, right side. Time of effect: 2 minutes, 19 seconds. 

“V029 continues to exhibit strange behaviors under the influence of Moonflower. Although dosages have varied, the results remain consistent. Today, she spoke again about “Celedis.” When prompted with the addition of pain, she requested drawing paper. Upon refusal, she would not speak. A second dosage was administered (6ml) and further infliction of pain was utilized. V029 did not respond audibly to any given prompt or stimuli.”

“Celedis,” Jake echoes. “One of his… test subjects,” he spits with vitriol, “was the one to mention Celedis.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Jay points out. “It doesn’t matter if his test subjects were vampires. We’re the only ones that know about Celedis. Every other vampire in existence is a descendant of the eighth son. None of them should have any idea that Celedis ever existed.” 

“And we don’t know that these were the Professor’s test subjects,” Niki points out, echoing Jungwon’s earlier words. The page is dated for 1942. If he is telling the truth about when he was turned, he wasn’t even alive yet.”

“There must be some way to corroborate that,” you frown. “He said that he was turned the same night his entire family was massacred. Obviously, it wouldn’t have been reported as a vampire attack, but there should be something about it. Some kind of public record of their deaths, at least.”

Heeseung nods, pulling out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find anything.”

“Um,” Sunoo interjects, holding up the original Sacred Monsters book, the one you brought home from the library. “We might have another problem.”

Six pairs of eyes turn to look at him. 

“Most of these entries just seem like personal writing, like you said,” Sunoo nods at you. “But this section towards the end, here…” He trails off for a moment. “It’s called Blood Moon Ritual.”

“What?” Six voices echo in unison. 

“ There’s only one entry,” Sunoo continues, frowning. “And it doesn't really make sense. It’s a poem, like the others,” Sunoo explains. “Here, I’ll read it.

“The Origins of Immortality

That which was lost can be gained. 

The requirements are the same. 

That which was gained can be lost.

The sacrifice goes unchanged. 

Every life can end.

Every life can endure.

Fate is always determined

By what the wish is for.”

For a moment, your living room is silent. 

Jay breaks it by asking, “What the fresh hell does that mean?”

“Literature majors,” Niki glances between you and Heeseung. “Either of you want to pipe in on this one?”

“I mean,” you start, “without context, it kind of just sounds like a bunch of nonsense.” 

Before you can turn the words around in your mind again, Heeseung speaks up from where he sits. “I think I found something,” he says, holding up his phone. 

“Really?” You ask, just at the same time as Jay presses, “What?”

“There is a record from,” he double checks the date, “almost exactly twenty years ago. It’s anonymous, but it gives ages. A nine-year-old child and her forty-three year-old mother. The official cause of death is listed as an animal mauling.”

“That matches, then. That’s exactly what the professor told me.”

“There’s more, though,” Heeseung frowns. 

“More?” Your brow creases. 

“Another death.” Heeseung matches your gaze. “The child’s great grandfather, age ninety-one. And the location of death… Didn’t Professor Kim tell you that he was visiting family outside of the city?”

You nod. “He said it happened in a remote cabin. A group of nomadic vampires attacked them there.” 

Heeseung shakes his head. “The location listed here is the city. This city.”

Your frown deepens. Heeseung sticks the final nail in the coffin. “Their bodies were discovered near a row of abandoned buildings where there have been past instances of mountain lion activity. It’s on the far side of the city. Just a few blocks away from New Haven.”

You echo his words. “His family died near New Haven?” It’s odd, the way the truth seems to mingle with lies. The way your professor seems to have chosen strange pieces of the story to be dishonest about. “Why would he tell the truth about his family dying from a vampire attack twenty years ago but lie about where it happened? And not mention a grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung says. The reality of just how much you have yet to uncover begins to settle uncomfortably in the air. Every discovery seems like it only leads to ten more mysteries to solve, another dozen dead ends. 

“I’m still stuck on Celedis,” Jay says. “We need some way to figure out who this person was and how they knew Celedis. We need–”

“We need the whole book,” you finish. 

It’s not a question or a matter of opinion. It’s the obvious conclusion to be drawn. 

Jungwon nods. “Sunghoon should still have eyes on the Professor. I’ll confirm that he’s still home, and then we can–”

“Are you insane?” Heeseung isn’t looking at his phone anymore. His search for more information on the tragic deaths of Professor Kim’s family are forgotten for the moment. “She was just there twice, and you want her to go back again? Now?”

“Heeseung…” Jake warns, taking care to guard his tone. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” Jungwon tries to placate him, “But that book has answers that we need. Right now, all we can do is speculate. If your professor has a massive stash of distilled moonflower and knows about Celedis, who knows what else he might have access to? What else he might know? People are still dying, and he’s connected to it all somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“I know that,” Heeseung bites, visibly frustrated. “But why does she have to be the one to–”

“And how exactly are you planning to get one of us down there?” Jungwon sighs, running an open palm over his features. “I don’t want to argue with you, but unless you have a plan for getting Professor Kim to invite you into his secret vampire torture chamber, ___ is the only one of us that can get this book.”

“It’s okay,” you finally interject. Something about the two of them arguing over your fate while you sit and watch doesn’t quite sit right with you. More than that, something about him always speaking over you, acting as if it’s all in your best interest, while also not bothering to give you the time of day, is all too reminiscent of the other decisions he’s made on his own. 

Still, you choose to be gentle. “I debated with Jake, actually, about whether I should bring the whole book or not. We thought this would be safer for now, but I knew it was a possibility that I would have to go back for it. I was prepared for this.”

Heeseung looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue, but something in your expression has his words dying on his lips. 

“I’ll get ready,” you nod. Retreating to your bedroom, you add, “Just give me a minute to grab my jacket.”

In all honesty, your jacket is the least of your concerns. Because despite your resolve, despite the will that you’ve forced yourself to steel, Heeseung is right. 

Even at a distance, he can still read you like the back of his hand. Like an open book with nothing but pages for him to peruse at his pleasure. 

The thought of going back to New Haven, of going back into that cold, dark, empty expanse of horror sends your mind spiraling. Walking into the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom, you place both hands on the counter on opposite sides of the sink. It’s an attempt, a feeble one, maybe, at grounding yourself. 

Forcing your gaze upwards, you match your own eye in the mirror. A million emotions are reflected back at you. Determination, weariness, resolve, fear. 

You’re scared. No matter what you tell them, no matter what you tell yourself, you feel it. Swimming in your mind, nestling in your bones. A terror rooted so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever get it out. 

You don’t want to go to New Haven. You don’t want to descend down that ladder. You don’t want to risk your life or your comfort or your sanity. You don’t want to have feelings for an immortal being that needs blood to survive. 

But reality doesn’t bend to the whims of frightened girls, and ignoring the things that scare you won’t make them go away. 

Bravery, you think, as you watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s not just reserved for moments that feel grand in scale. It’s also here, in places like this. Where there’s nothing but you, your reflection, and all of the things you wish you could avoid waiting for you just outside the door. 

So with a final inhale, you force your features into something neutral, something that at least five of the boys waiting for you outside will believe. And then you walk back to your bedroom, making sure to pull your jacket over your shoulders before stepping back out into the living room. 

Jake stands from his seat on the couch when you enter the room again. Heeseung avoids your gaze. 

“You ready?” Jake asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you nod, forcing a false sense of cavalier lightness into your tone. 

“Good thing I left the headlamp in the car,” Jake jokes, pulling on his shoes. 

“And the walkie talkies,” you agree. 

Despite yourself, you can’t quite stop your eyes from wandering back towards your living room one last time. 

Jungwon is dictating new assignments while the others listen attentively. Well, three of them anyway. 

Heeseung just sits there, his eyes still trained on the ground. 

You’re sure he can feel it, the way your gaze settles on the side of his face, traces his profile and then does it again. But no matter how long your gaze lingers, he won’t return it. 

And maybe this is it, you think. Maybe you’ll just have to make peace with the fact that all you’ll ever get from him are closed doors and avoided eye contact. 

He’s had his teeth in your neck and your blood on his lips, and despite it all, the only thing he has for you now is a cold shoulder disguised as concern. 

And if this self flagellation is some kind of atonement, an apology for a crime he’s convinced himself he’s committed, then that, you think, is where his true selfishness lies. 

He can call it altruism and immortal wisdom all he wants. But caring for you from a distance will never be something you thank him for. 

It’s not a declaration you can make in front of an audience, so with a final sigh, you turn towards your front door and follow Jake’s retreating figure from it. 

As it so happens, you can be selfish too. You pretend you don’t feel Heeseung’s eyes on your back the entire way out. 

However, you must not be as good at disguising your fear as you thought, because Jake is nothing but apologies while the two of you walk side by side down the stairs. 

“I really am sorry,” he breathes into frigid air. The warmth of his breath creates a visible cloud. “I shouldn’t have told you to just leave the book there, but I was worried–”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head. “I thought it would be best to leave the book, too. And it’s okay, really. I’ll be just fine.”

“Still,” he reiterates. “I’m sorry that it has to be you. It can’t be fun going down there all alone. And especially since we know what it was used for now…”

Your lips flatten. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Sorry,” He laughs, apologizing again. “You’re right. No more gloomy talk. We’ll just get you in and out as fast as we can, and we can worry about the rest of it later.” 

“Works for me.” You force a tight smile, reaching for the car door. If it’s any consolation, you’re glad that it’s Jake you’re with. His presence is steady, carries a certain kind of lightness that helps to chase away some of the lingering storm clouds, even if just for a moment. 

But just as you move to slide into the passenger seat, you hear the telltale sound of footsteps on pavement over your shoulder. They’re rapid, loud. Whoever it is, they’re running. 

Turning over your shoulder, your brow creases in confusion when your eyes land on Heeseung. Again, it’s not you he’s looking at. 

Heesung is talking to Jake when he says, “Change of plans. Jungwon wants you down by the river.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “But what about–”

“I’ve got her.” Heeseung’s words cut through the air like an arrow, pierce through your uncertainties like a knife. 

“I…” Jake trails off. He’s looking at you, not Heeseung when he asks, “You sure?”

“Go,” you nod. “I’m sure Jungwon has his reasons.” It’s flimsy reasoning, and between the three of you, no one is convinced that Jungwon is responsible for this change. 

But they’re switching places all the same. Jake gives you one final glance over his shoulder, and you swear you see him shake his head before he heads back up the stairs to where the other boys still sit in your apartment.

And Heeseung still won’t look at you, even as he walks around to the other side of the car and slides into it, sitting only a handful of inches away from you. 

It’s a reflection of this morning, an echo of earlier as the car turns out of your apartment parking lot and sets course for New Haven. Only this time, it’s Heeseung in the driver’s seat, not Jake. 

The silence between the two of you extends for long minutes, nothing but the gentle hum of the car heater to fill the empty air. 

Finally, with nothing but road ahead of you, Heeseung exhales a long sigh. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You say the word, and I’ll turn this car around. We can go back to your apartment or to my place or somewhere else entirely. I’ll get you on a plane out of the country, if that’s what you want.”

You raise a brow. His meager attempts at kindness have started to lose their shine. “And the book?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Fuck that stupid book.” 

Easy to say, maybe. But both of you know it’s not true. Besides, “I don’t want to leave the country.”

“Really?” You can’t tell if he’s serious when he adds, “I hear that Costa Rica is lovely this time of year.”

“I’m sure it is,” you concede. If he wants to skirt around admissions, you’ll run headfirst into them. “But I’d be worried about you.”

Heeseung only sighs. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re sure he knows it, but being difficult on purpose isn’t new to either of you. “And we’ve had this argument before. My mind hasn’t changed, and clearly yours hasn’t either. If you get to decide how to live your life without any input from me, then I expect the same courtesy from you.”

“It’s different,” he insists. Now, at least, he’s talking. Even if it’s only to beg for a bit of your understanding. “I’ve already lived a life. Too many lives. Five hundred years worth of life with no sign of any end coming soon.”

You have to disagree. “Have you, though? You know, when people talk about having lived a life, they’re not just talking about years. They’re talking about family, friendships, community. Achievements, accomplishments.” The last word dangles from your lips. Oh, fuck it. “Love.”

Next to you, Heeseung is silent. You press on, “I understand that you’ve made up your mind. That with all your five hundred years of immortal wisdom, you’ve decided you get to make decisions for the both of us. But you know what else is a normal part of life? Kissing someone and regretting it. You can just avoid me at parties, you know. You don’t have to threaten to send me to Costa Rica.”

“It wasn’t a threat–”

But you’re not done. “I liked it, by the way. In case you were wondering. I don’t care if you regret it.” Your pride feels like something forgotten, discarded long ago. Maybe it’s a facade or false bravado, but you find it easy to bare your secrets here in the passenger seat. “I liked it when you kissed me. I liked the way it felt when you put your hands on me. I liked the way you lost control with my blood in your mouth. I went home and I laid in bed and I thought about it. All alone in my bedroom, with my hands on my skin everywhere you touched me while I pretended like it was you. I dreamed about you. I woke up thinking about you.”

Heeseung whispers your name. A warning, a plea. He might as well be shouting in your ear. 

“You can avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened all that you want. I’m not going to. In fact, I’m probably going to think about it again tonight. Do what you want. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you, and I’m not going to avoid New Haven,” Your chest is heaving now. Between words, it’s easy to forget that you need to breathe, too. “And I’m not running away to fucking Costa Rica.”

“You think I enjoy this?” Heeseung’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. “You think I like having this… this war in my brain? This constant struggle? You think I’m playing with you? Toying with your feelings because I can’t make up my mind?” He shakes his head and sends your thoughts scattering. “I’m not. You used to glare at me across the lecture hall, and it would be the highlight of my day. I looked forward to every assignment Professor Kim gave us, because it meant I’d have another chance to read something you’d written. I’ve been alive for five hundred years, and I don’t think I’ve ever found anything that makes me feel the way your words do. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone else could take what I was feeling and put it into words.”

That gives you pause. He… thought about you? Even then? He read your writing?

“And it didn’t stop there. I used to go home from class imagining, praying that I could be like every other person in that stupid class. That I could be just another kid in my twenties worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. That I could waste my afternoons staring at the pretty girl in my literature course that couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. Fantasizing about asking her to study with me at a coffee shop or share a workroom in the library.”

Your eyes are wide now, and they’re trained directly on him. Heeseung is still looking out at the road in front. 

“You think I don’t think about you too? That I want to pretend none of it ever happened? You’re wrong. All I do is think about you, and all I do is want. But they’re things I can’t have, things I can’t be. I wish I could fall asleep dreaming about you. I wish I could wake up with you on my mind and know that I only have so many days to do something about it.”

He shakes his head, as if that will clear the errant thoughts that have clearly begun to consume him.

“But I can’t. I can’t sleep. I can’t shut off my brain, even for a second. All I do is think. All I do is remember. You think I didn't like it? You think I didn’t go home with the feeling of your skin on my hands and the taste of your blood in my mouth? You think I don’t spend every waking hour with the sound of you whimpering burned into my mind? I’ve wanted things before, but never like this. I made peace with myself a long time ago. I know what I am and I understand that ultimately, my existence is a burden to this world. I’ve learned to stop wishing for impossible things. But every time I look at you, I just… I just want.”

Your voice is small. You don’t know how to respond to any of it. “It’s okay to want things.”

“It’s not.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Not when they’re impossible. Not when it will only bring pain to the people I care about. I don’t want to be someone you avoid at a party. I don’t want to watch you move on with your life when this inevitably ends. But all of those things you talked about earlier, all of those parts that make up a life – friendship, family, community. I can’t give you any of that.”

It’s hard to hear. It hurts to see how visibly upset he is about all of it. 

“It doesn’t matter if I live for another five hundred years or a thousand years or until the end of time itself. I already know I’ll spend all of it thinking about you.  I’ve made peace with it before, and I’ll learn to do it again, but I can’t take your life from you. And even if I wanted to, I can’t watch you grow to resent me for it.”

In front of you, the road appears endless. With sunlight reflecting in the rearview mirror, the day is dying, and your hopes are going with it. 

“When I tell you that I’ll send you to Costa Rica if that’s what you want, it’s not because I’m trying to get rid of you. It’s because I want you to make the choices that are best for you. Not for me, not for the boys, not even for this city. I don’t expect you to take me up on it. Your moral compass will be the death of me, I’m sure. But the offer will always be there.”

Your emotions feel frivolous. Your desires feel petulant. Still, you can’t help but counter, “And what if I resent you now? For not even giving this a chance?”

Heeseung smiles, a wry thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll take comfort in knowing you have a whole life ahead of you to get over it.”

It’s a stalemate that has the car stumbling back into silence, even as your head spins. He noticed you, he thought about you, long before you ever thought you were even a blip on his radar. 

He read your words and connected to them. As a writer, it feels as if he’s admitted to seeing your soul and finding it beautiful. As a human, it makes you want to fall in love, despite all of the ways he’s thoroughly and entirely erased that possibility. 

You’re not sure how long you sit in the quiet, mind reeling. It can’t be more than a handful of minutes, though, before the scenery around you begins to take a familiar shape. You’re close. 

Early evening has just begun to close in. Around you, shadows are growing longer, street lights flickering on as the last rays of sunlight fade from the day. 

Still a few blocks away, Heeseung pulls into an empty parking lot. 

You frown. “Surely we can get a little closer than this?” It’s seamless, how well the two of you slip into your roles. You have a job to do. In the face of that reality, it’s as if the past twenty minutes don’t exist at all. The only evidence is the lingering tension that simmers in the air. 

“It’s not that.” Heeseung pulls his phone out, frowning at the screen. “Sunghoon’s not responding.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Heeseung assures you. “He was responding to Jungwon just fifteen minutes ago. But that means we haven’t heard from anyone with eyes on the professor since then.” Weighing his options mentally, Heeseung finally suggests, “Why don’t we drive by New Haven first? We can make sure everything looks okay. If Sunghoon still hasn’t responded by then, we can make a decision.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

Back on the road, it takes you less than five minutes to reach the publishing house. Immediately, you can tell that something is wrong. 

“There’s a car,” you whisper, even though you’re still inside the safety of the car, still driving down the road. “There’s a car parked out front.” 

“I see it.” Heeseung’s lips pull into a tight line. 

“I think it’s his car.” Your eyes widen. “The professor’s.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung confirms. “I think so too.”

“Why is he here now?” You wonder. “Didn’t you say Sunghoon had eyes on him at his house just fifteen minutes ago?”

“Something’s not right,” Heeseung agrees. “I’m going to turn around. We’ll head to the house and figure things out there.” He maintains an even tone, but you can sense the hint of panic in his voice, the slight tremble as he turns the car around and starts to head in the opposite direction. 

“Sunghoon…” You trail off. 

“Try calling him.” Heeseung passes you his phone, jaw tight. 

Taking Heeseung’s phone from his outstretched hand, you press the call button. The phone rings. In the quiet, each shrill ring sounds like thunder, burns like terror. 

“He’s not answering.” Your voice is quiet as you state the obvious. The call drops from lack of response. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung swears beneath his breath. But then he reasons, “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just occupied at the moment or–”

The sound of a ringtone suddenly fills the car. 

“Is that him?” A wave of relief washes over his features. But it’s premature. 

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the dark expanse of Heeseung’s screen. “It’s my phone. Hold on.” Digging it out of your pocket, the caller ID only makes the dread in the pit of your stomach intensify further. 

Again, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the car like a knife. 

“Who is it?” Heeseung asks. “Your heart just jumped like crazy.”

“It’s Professor Kim.” Your words are barely a whisper. 

“What?” Despite the task at hand, Heeseung takes his eyes off of the road and turns to you. 

“I should answer it, right?” You frown, fingers trembling. “He’s probably just following up on the draft I submitted earlier.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince – Heeseung or yourself. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung repeats. “I… yeah, you should answer.”

“Okay, just,” you sit up a little straighter, as if your professor can somehow see you. “Just don’t make any sounds.”

Sliding your thumb across your screen, you accept the call. 

“Hello? Professor Kim?”

“Hello,” he greets from the other end. Oily slick as always, but there’s something ragged in his voice, too. As if he’s recently exerted himself. At the very least, he doesn’t leave you wondering for long. “I had a chance to review your article.”

“Oh,” you reply, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “What did you think?”

“Outstanding work,” he praises. “Truly. You are one of the most gifted students I’ve ever come across.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d beam with the praise. Now, your anxiety only heightens. Twists knots in the pit of your stomach. “I… I appreciate that, professor. It means a lot coming from you.”

“I’d like to discuss my suggestions for edits, of course.”

“Right,” you nod. “Could I call you back? I don’t have my computer at the moment, and–”

“I’d like to discuss with you in person, actually.”

“Oh,” you force neutrality into your voice, even as your heart gives a sudden lurch. “Okay. I’m available tomorrow, if there’s a time–”

Again, he interrupts you. “I would like to speak with you tonight. And I have something to show you. It’s quite urgent, I’m afraid.”

“Tonight?” You echo. And ‘something to show you’? At your side, Heeseung stiffens. “It’s a bit late. I’m not sure…”

“With the recent deaths in mind, I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence. The sooner we can publish your work, the sooner the victims can be avenged.”

You turn to Heeseung, a question in your eyes. Matching his gaze, you see the way his head begins to shake. His silent disapproval of the idea. But then he stops, sighs. 

In the driver’s seat, next to you, Heeseung silently mouths three words. 

It’s your choice. 

It almost makes you want to cry. His small adjustment. His trust in your ability to choose for yourself. 

Into the receiver, you ask, “Where should I meet you?”

“The publishing office,” your professor responds, approval in his voice. “How soon can you be here?”

Mentally constructing an alibi, you settle with, “I’m not too far away, actually. Probably twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line clicks dead. 

“I don’t like this,” Heeseung’s voice is dripping in unease. 

Yours is no better. “I don’t either, but it’s all part of earning his trust, right?”

“He said he had something to show you. I don’t like all of the possibilities that could entail.”

“I’m sure it’s just something to do with the article,” you try to reason. “He’s probably prepared it as a mock publication or something and thinks I’ll be thrilled to see my writing in an official format.”

Under any other circumstances, you would be.

On the topic of your article, you’re reminded that the words in question aren’t actually yours at all. If this car is a place for revelations, you decide to add one more to the list. 

“How did you do it, by the way?” Your gaze traces Heeseung’s side profile where he looks out at the road ahead. “How did you write that article just like I would have?”

Heeseung just sighs. “I told you,” his voice is low, quiet, “your writing means a lot to me. I’ve spent a lot of time with it. I suppose that made it easy to emulate.”

“Well, thank you.”

“For stalking your writing?” Heeseung teases. 

“For reading it,” you correct. “For taking the time to understand it.” To understand me. 

“You act like it was torture for me.”

“Well, I do remember you calling one of my pieces ‘nauseatingly vitriolic.’” It feels like a lifetime ago, that evening in the writing workshop. 

“That was one piece,” Heeseung defends. “And it wasn’t really you.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t.”

Heeseung glances at you, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it too. A world where he’s just Heeseung and you’re just you. 

Two humans that met by chance, worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. Arguing over semantics and vying for attention from their professor. Stealing glances across the lecture hall that start to linger just a little too long. Meeting outside of class and pretending it’s nothing more than a terrible coincidence every time, even if you never fail to slide down into the seat next to his. 

Stealing kisses outside of your professor’s office. Sharing a cup of warm tea at a sporting event both of you are only pretending to understand. Falling in love. 

Simple moments. Quiet moments. Human moments. 

Heeseung reminds you just how far away that version of reality is when he asks, “Should I turn around, then? It’s already been five minutes.” His voice is quiet, like there’s a fantasy he doesn’t want to disturb, too. 

You shake your head. “Take a right at the next light, and drop me off at the bus stop. There’s a group of cafes a couple stops down that are popular with students. If he asks, I’ll say I was at one of them when he called.”

Heeseung doesn’t bother to protest. He follows your directions until the two of you are parked on the curb of the bus stop. Bidding him goodbye, you step out from the passenger seat. “I’ll meet you back here,” you tell him. “I’ll take the bus this far, just to be safe.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “but message me before that. As soon as you can.”

“I will,” you promise. The moment lingers for seconds longer, a million words and promises and declarations dying on both of your lips. You sever them all with the shutting of the car door. 

Heeseung doesn’t drive away, not until the bus arrives. And even then, you swear it’s his car you get fleeting glimpses of in the rearview mirror. 

But a handful of minutes later, Heeseung and his car are nowhere to be seen as you exit at the stop closest to New Haven. With the absence of the sun, there’s a biting chill in the air. Grateful for your jacket, you pull it a bit tighter around your body, suppressing a shudder. 

Glancing down at your phone, you send one final message before taking your last few steps towards the publishing house. 

Going in now. 

Heeseung responds in milliseconds. 

Be safe. 

Raising a fist, it feels a bit odd to knock on the same door you’ve broken into twice in the past twenty-four hours. The irony doesn’t have long to linger. Professor Kim is quick to answer the door and even quicker to usher you inside. 

Tonight, he looks every bit the well-kept professor you grew used to in your classes. With a creaseless button down tucked into dress pants, he might as well be back at the front of the lecture hall.

“Thank you,” he reiterates as he leads you down the hallway. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” 

“Of course,” you nod, trying to look as enthusiastic as he wants you to be. “The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. I’m excited to review your edits and get my article published as soon as possible.” 

“Right,” he nods, a bit apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive me, then, but I have something rather important to show you first.”

That makes your brow crease in confusion. Is what he’s showing you not related to your writing?

“What is it?”

Your professor just shakes his head. “I’m afraid words won’t do this justice. Follow me.” 

Beckoning you forward, he leads you to the same room you were poisoned in the first time you visited New Haven. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, you force your footsteps forward, even as your senses start to scream at you in protest. 

Pausing at the door, he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “You’ll be pleased to know that I believe I may have been wrong about Lee Heeseung.”

That sends ice spinning through your veins. You don’t like the sound of Heeseung’s name in his mouth, hate the idea that he’s been so fixated on him. “What do you mean? Wrong in what way?”

“See for yourself,” your professor grins. And then, he opens the door. 

The room is as dim as it was the last time you were here, but this time, your professor is quick to turn on the overhead light. 

But the absence of darkness only reveals a horror much worse than anything you imagined the darkness concealing.  

Because on the opposite side of the room, hunched in the corner, there is a figure illuminated under the harsh fluorescent overhead lighting. 

His system is infused with so much moonflower essence that he can hardly do so much as lift his head. But when he finally finds the strength to do so, you make direct eye contact with Park Sunghoon.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Hello my loves! I am so happy to finally be able to share this with you all. I know I mentioned before that part of the reason it took so long was because of some recent changes in my life outside of tumblr, but if I'm honest, part of it too was that I was just having a really hard time continuing this story in a way that felt like it did justice to the first three parts.

There are so many moving pieces and things going on, and I really want to make this story come to life in the best way possible. Thank you for being patient with me while I agonized over that internally lol. I hope that this part was worth the wait. Love u all ♡♡♡

[valorums-archived]

WHEN ANAKIN'S HANDS BRUSHED against her skin to wipe away her tears, Shi'al's breath caught in her throat whilst her heart constricted PAINFULLY in her chest. Despite her best efforts to conceal her emotion, a quiet SOB escaped her lips. He was treating her with such wonderful gentleness — such compassion that she didn’t even deserve. Not after everything she’d done.

⠀ ⠀ Shi’al was trembling, and SO TOO did her once powerful voice tremble when she eventually spoke. “I did look into the Force” BARELY AUDIBLE were these words, choked out in a quiet whisper filled with unimaginable pain. She swallowed thickly, attempting in vain to quell the tsunami of turbulent emotions wreaking havoc within herself. “I did look into the Force, but I found nothing — could feel nothing. You were … I was …” Overcome with sheer HEARTBREAK, she shook her head, haunted eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment before fluttering back open. Why bother to explain this to him at all? Palpatine’s snide voice whispered within her subconscious, forcing Shi’al to take a deep, shaky breath. He won’t believe you. Your relationship is in a grave of your own making—

No. She has to try. There was a at last a glimmer of HOPE on the horizon, so close and so palpable that she could taste it. She’d never forgive herself if she let it slip away.

⠀⠀ ⠀”…I couldn’t feel you, and I was alone.” Here, she shook her head before continuing to speak. “Turns out that believing that lie was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life, and you know I’ve made more than my fair share of mistakes.”

⊱ ⠀⠀ … ⠀@forcenexus

Anakin wanted to be the one to greet her with open arms. She was his Dyad, which was why the betrayal ran way deeper. It made him keep his distance. He could feel her through the Force even if his Force signature had remain hidden. Maybe in a glimmer of hope, he allowed her to feel him. His grief was probably the heaviest. Skywalker had mourned over what was. Days before the Empire became to be, he had bought a simple ring. One he hid in his belongings. Just another reminder that she turned away from him.

"You still believed." He was certain of that. "You thought I was so easily swayed or cut down? You thought that little of me?" The lines on his face showed his distaste for speaking it. Little had changed, but his features grew tougher because of the sun. His hair was a lighter brown. Almost the same sandy blonde hair he had growing up. "He what?" In his time here, he knew he had grown patient. A little too patient. Training over five younglings could do that to a person.

"Again, you thought me as weaker." He shook his head. What would come of this meeting? Anakin did not know. What Shi'al thought was likely not going to be easy for either one of them. "And you believed him. You could have turned to the Force to get your answer. I wasn't that far gone." No, he was the hermit he feared. One that was set on being alone and living his life on his own terms. He was a Jedi no longer. That part of him died years ago. The lessons he had taught were ones of survival. To keep a low head was what he taught his padawans and it was a lesson he had to learn as well. When he first came to the planet he had come blazing and drove the Black Sun along with the Hutts out.

Seeing her cry almost made him break. He hated himself in that instance. Hated that he could just hold her at a distance when she was all he had ever wanted. It made his eyes turn downward to the sand at his feet. The boots of a scavenger were there. Worn down from use and needing mending again, he noticed that it was a metaphor for his life. He was worn down and needed mending. He took a few steps after lifting his head. Steel blue eyes stared down in concern for the other. Skywalker stopped a foot or two away from her. He was just close enough to reach out with rough hands and wipe the tears from her face. "I think we all made mistakes. Force knows I made plenty of them during the war." Was there hope for him yet? For them? He certainly hoped so.

[tetzoro]

MESSY — ༉‧₊˚.

fr. zoro roronoa !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : zoro has always been a little messy, so what else do you expect when he gets to have his way with you?

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, prone bone, creampies, mentions of spit & sweat, light choking, use of pet names (pretty baby, messy girl), mentions of overstimulation, honestly it’s just filth. — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : needed to write this out because it haunts my mind. thank you for reading & enjoy !!!

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

zoro’s just so messy. it’s especially true when he drinks, the sake dribbling down his chin as he takes steady gulps of the liquid. always finishing by wiping it off with the back of his hand, and depending on how far gone he is — he’ll lick that right up too.

it’s hard not to let your mind wander when you see him like this. it’s a stark difference to the way he fights, concise with a strategy meant to take down his opponents swiftly. it’s even different than the way he can be with others. no, it’s something more pure, driven by instinct.

his tongue will dip out of his mouth, swiping his bottom lip to clean up any remaining sake before a barely noticeable smile blooms. but you see it — you always do. your ever observant eye on him has you knowing more about him that he would think.

they say curiosity killed the cat but you wonder if death could ever taste this sweet. maybe heaven was found with zoro between your thighs, sloppily running his tongue all over your clit, spitting and sucking on it like his life depended on it. acting like a man starved for the honeyed nectar only you can give him, making sure to consume every last drop, unbothered by how many times you’ve cum already.

or maybe heaven was found here — caged under his body as you lay on your stomach, his body pressed on top of yours as his overwhelming girth stretches you out more with each thrust he gives you.

it didn’t start in this position, not by a long shot. after a few rounds you had no choice but to fold into yourself. propping yourself up on all fours took a heavier toll the more orgasms you had. like a fawn learning to walk, your limbs gave out under you, falling flat onto the bed— but he didn’t stop, not that you wanted him too.

he stayed upright at first, both hands firmly set on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. even if you tried to squirm out of his hold, trying, begging to get a moment of reprieve, he can’t stop. your silken walls just felt too good wrapped around his cock. it hurtles you into another release, taking him down with you — literally.

so now, he has you in a little headlock to hold you in place, his bicep keeping a light pressure against your neck that made you see stars. you’ve lost all vocal control at this point, moans steadily flowing out of your mouth, mewling nonsense mixed with his name.

you can hear zoro speaking — feel the rumble of his voice against your back and shivering up your spine, but there’s no way you can process it right now. your eyes are rolled so far towards the back of your head you swear you can practically see the heaven you’re feeling right now.

his toned chest slides along your back, your bodies both slick with sweat from the intensity of his thrusts. every part of you feels split open by him, but you knew deep down he’d stitch you back together once he was through. he always did.

whatever he was saying before has died out into soft grunts, his lips practically kissing your ear as he presses further into you. everything felt too hot, too close, but your mind was too dizzy to care. his cock continuously pumping his own cum back into you as it kisses the spongy spot deep inside of you.

you claw and writhe against the sheets, your body trembling as your release sneaking up on you. again. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum on his cock alone but judging by how disturbingly damp the sheets are, you’d say it was more than you could count on one hand.

and you just couldn’t stop shaking — your legs twitching under him, your fingers trying to find purchase in something, anything. it all felt too much, but you were right on the edge, ready to leap into the abyss knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

“gonna cum again f’me pretty baby?” he grunts out the question so close to you that you finally hear him.

he moves his arm from where it was lightly pressed against your neck as he starts to let up — his hand reassuringly grasping yours for a moment as you search for something to hold onto. he presses a surprisingly tender kiss between your shoulder blades, savoring the soft whimper you let out for him.

“please- ‘m so close!” you can barely choke the words out, each thrust he gives you has you gasping for air. you swear you can feel him all the way up in your lungs, whisking away every breath you take.

the other arm that he used to prop himself up slides down under your stomach to wrap around your waist, using it as leverage to go even deeper.

in this position, your swollen nub easily catches against the bunched up sheets that lay under you — and he knew it judging by the way he kept pushing you down against it. the game he was playing was unfair but you’d never tell him anything different, not when it felt so good.

“then cum.” he whispers, squeezing both of his hands on your supple skin as he continues driving himself into you.

with his blessing, you let go. the pleasure was mind numbing, your body locking up before releasing it in a sweet ecstasy that has you crying out his name. it didn’t take long for zoro to finish after that. frantically rutting into you, the sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fills the room as you squeeze around his cock, desperately attempting to milk every last drop out of him.

seeing you almost helplessly confined under him had him moving even faster, watching as your body bounces against the mattress from the force of his thrusts as you fight against overstimulation, eagerly awaiting for him to fill you up again. and he’d never want to disappoint his baby.

he pushes all the way inside of you, letting out a strangled groan of your name as he finishes deep within you, finally giving you what you want. you weren’t sure how many times he had come either, but you could already feel it oozing out of your overused cunt and onto the sheets.

“always so messy.” he slurs, an ounce of pride in his voice as he lays on top of you. like he’s one to talk. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d let him have a piece of your mind. but instead, he’s gently turning you over and cradling you in his strong arms, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss against your sticky temple. he looks at you so softly the words die in your throat. he lets out a breathy chuckle, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “my messy girl.”

taglist : @fuyuaika @otoyastoy @ushiwhacka @margumis @oooohno @the-tenth-shadow @aeternussidera @strawberrystepmom

[princessbrunette]

… and now introducing, the 10K follower special… ᙏ̤̫ ✧༚

OBX - the nsfw alphabet guide ♡

dearest boobettes,

thank you for 10k followers, whewie how time flies! i am forever grateful for the majority support, kindness and above all patience you’ve exhibited especially during times where real life gets in the way and i needed to step away from writing. i hope you continue to chortle away with me in my asks & enjoy my silly little drabbles,

love from princess ^_^ ♡

A IS FOR… aftercare, ft. pope heyward ♡

it goes without saying, pope has done his research and has engaged in copious amounts of conversations on your boundaries. after sex, he overthinks — massively, always worried that he got caught up in the throes of passion and somehow became aggressive or forceful (…spoiler alert, he didn’t! not to a degree you didn’t thoroughly enjoy, anyway.) therefore, he needs to know what you need, pretty immediately too - almost too an annoying degree.

“hey, too far? tell me what you need baby.” he’s cradling you before you’ve even caught your breath.

“mmph—”

“lets use our words, yeah?” your eyes are shut, but you know that stressed crinkle is sitting right between his brows.

“just wanna lay.” you whine, and he knows that tone means to stop pressing you. if laying is what you want, it’s what you’ll get. he knows he won’t be able to help himself from jumping up to clean you up soon enough, but for now he’s happy to indulge in your sticky embrace, stroking your head and telling you just how good you were.

B IS FOR… body parts, ft. bunny!reader x rafe ♡

rafes favourite body part of bunny’s is undoubtably her lips. there’s just something about them, the shape of them, the colour of them — that makes her always get her way with him. whether she’s pouting them, batting her long lashes when she’s in trouble or painting them with a sparkly gloss, one he probably bought her that week that she’ll leave printed around his cock later on — he can never keep his eyes of them. her tits are pretty fantastic too though, he must say.

bunny’s favourite body part of rafe’s? but there’s just too many to pick one! she is particularly fond of his shoulders and chest and it shows, always stroking down his torso when she’s speaking to him — the muscle beneath his polo perfectly pudged from exercise without being too firm, also making the perfect board for her to scratch her manicured nails down while getting put through the mattress.

C IS FOR… cum, ft.kitty!reader x jj ♡

there is something spiritual about the way kitty interacts with jj’s cum— like she swears she can tell what he’s eaten, how many sips of water he’s had that day and what the weather was like just from the taste of it. she’d lift her head from his crotch, mascara dwelling beneath her eyes as she smacks her lips thoughtfully, waiting for the blonde to catch his breath.

his ringed hand is still planted atop her head, supporting her limp neck as he looks down at her through spent and lidded eyes. “how y’feeling bae?” he queries, noting the pensive look on her face.

“all caffeine.” she hums, brows furrowing. jj blinks.

“y—…uh, what?”

“you didn’t drink any water today? not even a little? what did i tell you? you can’t survive off redbull!” she squints all pissed off, even her nose balling up as jj watches her rise up from her position.

“aint no way.”

D IS FOR… dirty secret, ft. john b x puppy!reader ♡

well, it was his dirty secret. you guess you could say d is also for dad, because that’s what he likes being called the most in the bedroom. it fills some… sick hole in his heart, fuels this odd complex he has around pup. he likes that she relies so much on him, he’s always taken the leadership role in any group so when it’s just the two of them it only feels right. it started off as daddy of course, but he’ll always remember that one sweaty night, roughly 4AM and they’d been going at it for hours, her legs over his shoulders, thick cock hitting that abused spongy spot until the word transformed before his very ears.

“mm—mm—mm—daddy—daddy—dad… dad!” it was music to his ears. apparently enough to have him blow his load at the drop of a hat.

E IS FOR… experience, ft. mouse!reader x jj x pope ♡

until she met jj and pope, she’d never even kissed anyone. well — she tells people she had, one guy — but the one guy in question was her one and only boyfriend in fourth grade (who then dumped her the next day because he wanted to ‘focus on powerangers’. she hates powerangers to this day.) it’s not to feed into her whole innocent aesthetic, you know with the baby pinks and the ballet and the glittery blusher dusted on the apples of her cheeks, no. she was just painfully shy— too touch starved to even imagine herself being intimate.

it wasn’t until she was sat in the middle of jj and pope on her bed, asking them if they could kiss eachother first to ease her nerves before she could kiss them — that she realised how badly she’d been missing out.

F IS FOR… favourite position, ft. lord!rafe ♡

when sabrina carpenter says ‘have you ever tried this one?’ referring to an unnamed sex position on her hit song, juno — the chances are, with lord!rafe, you had. the man was creative, especially when he was high, wanting to see just how far you’d contort and push yourself to submit to him. to bend to his will. but at the end of the day, he was just a man — and he craved that deep intimacy that his favourite pledge could give him, and that was a mating press.

“you like this, hm? feeling all— all close like this huh?” he pants in your face, your knees squished to you in a way that made it hard to breathe, especially with the way he was brutalising your hole.

“mm, mhm. thank you lord.” your voice is spitty and pleading and he chuckles through his exhales.

“yeah. like this one the most. get to see the life leave your fuckin eyes when i pull out. you just want that seed so fuckin bad don’t you baby?” he basically growling so you know he’s close. your eyes struggle not to roll back at the feeling.

“yes. yes lord!” your voice breaks.

“well that’s too bad baby. that’s too fuckin’ bad.”

G IS FOR… goofy, ft. jj x deer!reader ♡

much like mouse!reader, deer is a tough one to crack due to her shyness. however, through hard work and determination — jj discovered that the best way to get her to ease up and let go, was to quite literally giggle her out her panties.

“these are pretty.” he compliments her, warm breath on her neck as they both look between their bodies at her frilly white panties, a red bow at the centre which he plucks at gently. when he feels her tense up, he raises an eyebrow with a playful expression — letting her know it’s still just him, still her silly jj. “can i borrow ‘em?”

she busts into a fit of giggles, and whilst distracted — jj grins, sliding the fabric down her thighs as she writhes elatedly. “what? don’t think they’d suit me?” he keeps her happy and the vibes up as he parts her thighs, her giggles turning into slow breaths. his grin melts into a smirk, prompting an answer. “hm?”

“w—well— i was j—just—”

“mmmhm. yeah, i know. it’s okay baby.” he cooes, lulling her into being just a little more limp for him.

H IS FOR… hair, ft.john b ♡

john b is super hairy down there, never seeming to have the time to groom himself. the hair on his head is thick and wavy, and that’s not exception to his downstairs either, enough to bury your face in whilst deep throating his girthy length, the hair even crawling up his happy trail to his belly button. the sight when he stretches, arms lifted over his head causing his shirt to rise up and expose it has trained your mouth to water.

equally, if anyone is gonna advocate for you having a bush — it’s him. he had access to a load of his dads porno magazines from the 70s that he thought he’d hidden, so since he was younger he’d always had an affection for a pretty lil tuft peeking out some pretty panties. hey, it’s your body your choice as he’d be adamant on telling you — but if you wanted to give up shaving for a little while, he’d have zero objections.

many nights would be spent with his hand just affectionately patting your mound through your panties in bed before casually slipping his hand inside, twirling his fingers around some of the wiry hair.

“john b.” you’d scold, a little hot in the face.

“what, babe? getting a pretty neat bouquet going on down here. love it.”

I IS FOR…intimacy, ft. starwars!au!pope ♡

each time captain pope fucks you, he never knows if it’s going to potentially be his last time before he gets shipped off to some far away planet where all communication with you is severed. hell, sometimes he’s not sure if he’s ever going to make it back from his mission at all.

because of this, when he sneaks away from the bunks to fly to your apartment and spend a night with you — he fucks you like it’s the last time. skin to skin, direct, watery eye contact, arms wrapped around you like he’s never going to let you go as he rolls his hips, sweat dripping down his back.

“stars, i love you. i love you i love you. fuck, i fucking love you.” he groans, eyes fighting to stay open because he doesn’t wanna miss a moment of you, needing to ingrain your image into his brain for those lonely nights away.

“i love you pope. my pope.” you’d cry out, like it was a promise — and it was. a promise to be together properly one day with nothing and no one standing in between.

J IS FOR jack off, ft. stepbro!rafe ♡

before your parents married and you moved into tanny hill, rafe thought he jacked off a normal amount for someone his age. it was like you hit this switch, left him fumbling for control of his own body. it was no wonder he was so angry all the time, you had his hormones going haywire like some kind of teenager.

he was certain he’d had to quickly beat one out in nearly every room of the house. he’d see you in the kitchen, reaching up to a shelf that was a little too high for you — your shirt rising up, tits pressed to the fabric, underwear peeking from the waistband of your shorts and he’d be zipping out the room to relieve himself in the bathroom. he sees you out by the pool, slathering greasy spf over your skin, oiling yourself up in your bikini making you look like some kind of pornstar, and he’s taking a risk — standing in the empty window downstairs, hoping no one enters the room as he tugs one out.

you can’t even do your laundry in peace, rafe worried about the wrong load when he walks in and is confronted directly by the sight of you bent over the washer, digging around for that one pesky sock. he could just take you. right here, right now— but instead he ends up blowing his cum into his own sock that never made it into the wash pile back in his room.

he’ll pass your bedroom, and you’ll be out — so he’ll take the liberty to blow a load into a pair of your used panties in the hamper. you didn’t do anything to trigger him this time, but he felt like you owed him that at least, for all the times you’d unknowingly teased him.

K IS FOR… kink, ft. receptionist!reader x fireman!john b x fireman!jj ♡

unsurprising to all, the sweet receptionist bunking in a tiny apartment with two beefy firemen definitely has a fantasy or two. she knows the realities of how scary these fires can be, so she always feels a little guilty in indulging in being a damsel in distress in her daydreams, her two boys coming to save her from a smoky building before taking her home, spreading her out on the bed and making her feel all better, the two of them still greasy, soot staining their clothes and the scent of smoke radiating from them.

sometimes they get home from their shift when she’s mid fantasy with her hand down her panties and suddenly has to dive out of bed to greet them, all disheveled with her pupils dilated to the moon and back.

“you uh… alright there sweetie?” jj plays into it, knowing something was a miss, smirking. she swallows thickly, nodding unconvincingly.

“mhm! you guys just caught me by surprise! i was uh, napping.” her voice still trembles.

“hold on, you do look a little flushed.” john b touches the back of her neck and her knees buckle. but luckily his fireman instincts kick in and he catches her with ease. god, this was just like her fantasies. “lets lay you down, okay?”

L IS FOR… location, ft. pizzadeliveryboy!pope ♡

when fitting pope into your seriously tight schedule — sometimes it was just the most convenient to fuck in a rather odd location. your car and the kitchen of your house were good enough to get the job done — but popes favourite location to have fucked you in had to be the bathroom of the pizza place he worked at.

now, usually — he was a stickler for rules. the violation of his work place would normally make him shudder, but it was just the way you’d marched in there, so publicly, leant over the counter and whispered “i need it now.”

safe to say you were not talking about extra pepperonis.

he took his break early, and hey — it was a slow day, so he wasn’t too worried about ushering you cautiously but quickly into a bathroom cubicle and fighting your shorts down your legs.

“seriously? while i’m working?” he hisses in a whisper and all you can do is giggle, leaning against your cubicle wall and sticking out your ass temptingly. you match his whisper at full volume, in the moment not caring who hears. it was the closest he could get to a public declaration of love and desire.

“dont complain. know you’ve been thinkin’ about it.”

he definitely had been, so he shuts up and gets to work.

M IS FOR… motivation, ft. shittysoundcloudrapper!jj ♡

what gets jj going, is your eagerness to help him, doing whatever it takes to push and promote his hopeless career in soundcloud rapping. needs a female voice to moan for the backing track again? you’re eagerly setting up the mic and spreading your legs for him. needs a video girl? you’re holding up mini skirts asking which one he thinks you should wear (he says whichever one is shorter.) stuck in a slump with writing lyrics? there’s not much you can do there but spell check them in his notepad with glittery pink pen and make suggestions. each assist made, you do it with the same wide eyed, pleading for approval expression that makes his dick throb.

he didn’t like to admit it, but he was enjoying playing with you too much to make you his certified girlfriend just yet. which makes him kind of a selfish asshole, yes. he just loved watching you melt when he’d come up behind his pretty best friend, grabbing your hips and rocking side to side with you, making you smile because you know he’s about to suck up to you and ask you for something.

“you wanna be my helpful girl?” he hums, and you shudder — instantly and pathetically becoming that wide eyed yes-woman he knows and loves.

“mhm…”

“wow that was eeeeasy mama. you’ll do anything for me, huh?”

“anything.”

N IS FOR… no, ft. daddy!john b x puppy!reader ♡

one thing john b really doesn’t like doing, is pushing pup past her limits — especially as sometimes she doesn’t quite know where they are. when having sex, during particularly intense sessions she gets dazed, unable to think and sometimes even talk for herself because she is just so overwhelmed by emotion and pleasure.

he’d have her face down ass up in the bed, strong arm wrapped around her hips to reach her cunt, rolling her pearl beneath rough fingers as his cock stretches her, collecting cream at the base from her abundance of releases. hes going at a relaxed pace, but pup is limp, unable to let anything out by strained noises.

“hows that sweetheart? we still feeling good?” john b croons, careful not to get lost in his own pleasure to focus on his own. “pup?” he calls when there’s no answer.

that’s a big enough of a red flag for john b to pull out, leaning over her to gently lift her head. her eyes are screwed shut with tears on her cheeks and she’s breathing quickly through her nose. it appears she’s worked herself up into a frenzy. the brunette knows not to panic, as these things happen, simply scooping her naked body into his arms and stroking her head. “how ‘bout a break. okay? did so good for me puppy. juuust need a break. little tiny break.” he punctuates the sentence with a kiss to her crown, doing everything in his power to reassure and soothe her.

O IS FOR…oral, ft. rafe x lamb!reader ♡

with someone as strict as lamb!reader, oral is the loophole rafe needed to get into her panties. in the early days, he weasels head from her — telling her it’s the only way she can properly apologise to him after mouthing off against him after he’d done so much for her. there’s the light threat that he’ll tell on her too if she doesn’t, unspoken and lingering behind their elongated gazes — and that’s enough for her to frantically scamper to her knees, demanding the satin scrunchie from her dresser.

rafe isn’t big on giving oral — but with lamb, he’d see it as a stepping stone into sex. because if he’s eaten her pussy, what’s the point in stopping there? they may aswell go all the way. it’s obscene the way he’d have her on her back on her bed, his knees in both of his hands, spread as far as they’d go revealing her wet, pulsing cunt causing the fabric of her thin white panties to be completely sheered.

“c—can’t, after the first time… i had to beg for forgiveness. if i do this rafe there’s, there’s no going back.” she’s trembling, the poor thing — but not from fear, from need, her clit twitching beneath his gaze just begging to be touched. it was true, religious girls ovulated too.

“yeah? you’d probably start crying if i stopped n’walked away now alright? you want this. no, you — you need this, i can see it with my own two eyes. okay? give in. jesus isn’t watching.” he’s irritable, but if rafe was anything— he wasn’t a total creep. he needed that green light. he needed a yes.

there’s a silence, filled with lambs shuddering and sniffles and he’s honestly about to give up himself before her voice sounds, meek and guilty.

“just… just a little bit. just kiss it a little bit. maybe… maybe touch.”

he huffs out a laugh. sure, just a little bit.

P IS FOR… pace, ft.apocalypse!pope ♡

in a world where everything was a mad dash for safety, sex was the one thing pope liked to take his time with. he saw it as a luxury, a blessing reminding him of his gratitude toward having shelter, safety, warmth, companionship. he was never a risk taker, only ever having one actual ‘quickie’ in an abandoned warehouse when you convince him to take you beyond the gates of kitty hawk. he was stressed the whole time, an eye constantly peeled and unable to fully enjoy you as he bounced you hastily on his cock.

“s’fine popey, no one’s here! nothin’s gonna — mmph— nothin’s gonna happen!”

“you don’t know that. fuck. you better cum. shit.”

back home at the base, he lights candles, lays you down on the blankets in his watch-tower, and gets to work. he rolls his hips languidly, relishing in every noise you make, falling love even deeper when you beg him to go harder, faster. but he never does. sex was one of the few enjoyable things there was left, and he wanted to make each time last. he never knew when it might be the last time, anyway.

Q IS FOR… quickie, ft. farmhand!jj ♡

farmhand!jj on the other hand, he gets off on the thrill of being caught. he doesn’t really want to— but there’s something so scandalous to him about the fact your father is a short walk up the hill, whilst you’re in the barn with him, grinding on his face, calling him daddy.

there’s a rarely a time either of you are able to get fully nude, relying on moving things out the way to put the ‘quick’ in ‘quickie’. he enjoys that element too, taking pleasure in pulling up that little gingham dress and moving your innocent looking panties aside to have his way with the farmers daughter.

he likes to tease you, it’s just apart of his cheeky personality — plucking some hay off your cheek as he fucks into you from the back, hay in your hair and dirt on your cheek on the floor blanket he laid down.

“what would ya’ daddy say, huh? if he saw you like this on his property? ain’t lookin’ too good for you, sweetie.” he teases, tightening his grip on your hips. you whine, which means ‘don’t say that’ in sex talk, barely glancing over your shoulder with hazy puppy dog eyes.

“you’re m’daddy.” you pout in the heat of the moment, pathetically and guiltily making him bark out a mischievous chuckle, biting his tongue.

“yeah? i’m your daddy. okay.” jj repeats with a grin, plucking his hat off his head and dropping it on yours.

R IS FOR… risk, ft. gooner!rafe ♡

look, he’s a rich, white guy in college. he doesn’t care about risks. before you, there wasn’t much risk in his porn obsessed habits, not outside of his search history being revealed anyway. but when he met you, someone who lets him do whatever he wants — it becomes more of a factor.

half way through fucking, he rolls off you, sliding the slippery condom off his cock and heading back to insert himself.

“rafey what are you doin’?” you mewl, shock and concern etched across your features. to be honest, the suggestion of fear in your tone made him throb.

“look, it’ll be fine, alright? i’ll— i’ll pull out, just need to feel that pussy. you gonna let me feel that pussy or no? hm?” he drawls, leaning over you on strong arms, the angle making it hard to disagree with him, infact — you felt your hand floating towards his shaft to guide him back inside, under his spell.

S IS FOR… stamina, ft. puppy!reader x jj ♡

what happens when you pair two of the most adhd, frantic beings in the obx in a bed together? it just keeps going, all night long. catch them when they’re amped up enough, and they’ll go like bunnies.

just when you think it’s over, the two of them catching their breath together in bed— they’ll turn to look at eachother with hazy smiles, before puppy rolls back on top of him.

“want more, jayj.” she’ll always beg, grinding her slick up and down his shaft as it twitches, blood rushing back to it.

“oh yeah? already? don’t need a snack? just… straight back in?” he teases, pretending to think about it until she pouts petulantly.

“dont need a snack want it right now!” she whines, frantically trying to stuff him back inside. he sits up, waving her hands away and cradling her.

“alright, alright no scooby snacks, got it. don’t worry, i’ll give y’what you want, mama.” he soothes, before flipping her on her back.

T IS FOR… toys, ft. toxicex!johnb ♡

let’s be real, whenever you and john b hook up — he wants to show you exactly what you’re missing, so when he feels the need to up his game, he’s definitely not above using toys to bend you to his will, guaranteeing a crazy orgasm you both know no one else can give you.

when you come grovelling at his door, he poses the vibrator he still keeps around as a punishment of some kind for leaving him. he’ll sit behind you on the bed with your legs spread open, holding the pink vibe to your clit as you fall apart.

“you know sweetheart i shouldn’t keep doing this… right?”

“mm—no—mmph john b, please!” you cry, willing to do anything for him to not turn the toy off just before you cum again.

“john b?” he repeats, voice dry and flat. “has it been that long?”

“daddy.” you mewl ashamed and feel him smile, satisfied with an exaggerated nod.

“ah. there it is. ‘guess i can make you feel good again. what’s one more time right?” his tone is sarcastic still as he rubs the vibe in circles, making your legs jerk obscenely, voice squealing involuntarily. “mm. but it’s not gonna be the last time, is it baby?”

U IS FOR… unfair, ft.spoiledexgf!reader x rafe ♡

we all know, when it comes to teasing — spoiledexgf!reader is straight up evil. she breaks less easily, never giving rafe what he wants unless it’s on her terms, using him for that delectable dick and money when she needs it. she knows he still belongs to her completely, and her attitude shows that.

she likes to call him at random times from another phone (because one of them always has the other one blocked on her phone.) just to check if she can still get what she wants. he’ll pick up the phone with “yeah, who’s this?”

“you know who.” she grins, kicking her feet and she hears him sigh, leaning back in his seat, probably pinching his nose bridge.

“what, okay — i’m working, what do you want?”

“i can’t just call to check up on my favourite businessman?” she coos, biting her glossed lip.

“no. you always want something. so what is it— or— or should i say how much? huh? how much you need?” he’s sarcastic, but she can literally him hear scuffling about for his wallet.

“just a humble 300. there are these pair of shoes and… well, i won’t bore you with the details. i’ll be sure to repay you.”

“yeah, you fuckin’ better, alright? not just a piggy bank. not doin’ that shit anymore okay i need something in return.” he demands, frustrated and dick already jumping at the thought of potentially getting to touch her again.

she taps her chin though he can’t see her, fluttering long lashes at the ceiling. “hmm. i’ll see what mood i’m in later. bye rafey.” just like that, she hangs up — waiting for the money to be transferred.

V IS FOR…volume, ft. pope ♡

if there was a contest for prettiest male moan— the trophy would go to pope. he’s not super loud, because you’re either doing it at his place or yours, and with your family situations it was rare you had the places to yourself.

however, you could listen to it forever — the sound of his soft groan in your ear as he’d roll his hips against yours, slipping in whispers of “oh my god.” and “fuck…” under his breath, which was absolutely music to your ears.

sometimes, when he’s super pent up — right before he cums he’ll whimper, eyes screwed shut as he focuses on getting to his peak of pleasure. that was pope at his most vulnerable, and you cherish every moment.

“fuckfuckfuck… you’re so beautiful…shit!”

W IS FOR… wildcard, ft. barry x bunny!reader ♡

you read that correctly — there is a universe out there where bunny and rafe break up, and barry is quick to get his hands on that. he lets her rant at his place, wiping her tears with his knuckle with a joint hanging from his mouth, he takes a huff before holding the roll to her glittery lips.

“he got you fucked up babygirl… know i wouldn’t do that shit right? i’on know, maybe you need a real man to get you right… s’all i’m sayin’.” he lets the smirk slide onto his face. her instinct is to deny him, but why? she’s single now right?

before she knows it she’s pierced on his cock with him guiding her hips, his mouth tasting of something unfamiliar mixed with weed.

“shit, keep that thing real tight don’t you mama? country club di’nt even know what to do with all that.”

X IS FOR… x-ray ♡

when i think of who is packing the most — two characters come to mind. pogue!rafe, who stands at 6ft5– he definitely has the dick to match his huge beefy stature, and dbf!johnb— just the idea of him having to train his friends daughter to take his thick cock is simply mouthwatering.

rafes stands at 9 and a half inches, and john b at 7.5, but way thicker.

Y IS FOR… yearning, ft. john b x reader x sarah ♡

this couple is potentially the biggest gooner duo of the princessverse. as previously discussed, the pair are constantly trying to integrate sex into your life by tricking your innocent mind into thinking it was your idea, so of course they are constantly yearning for you.

when you posted some scandalous bikini pics on instagram — you thought most people would give it a like, maybe a comment and then keep scrolling. what you don’t know, is that two of your closest friends are in bed together, touching themselves and eachother with your pictures pulled up — talking about all the yucky things they’re gonna do to you when they get their hands on you.

“can you picture it john b? her laying right here between us, letting me suck those perfect tits.” sarah sighs softly and john b’s jaw falls open with pleasure as she takes over from his hand gripping his cock, stroking up and down.

“holy shit. i’m gonna cum all over the screen.” he grits his teeth and she sucks on her plump bottom lip, clenching her tanned thighs together knowing it’ll be her turn soon.

“yeah… cum all over her.”

Z IS FOR… Zzz, ft. linecook!jj ♡

jj works long days, but he always ensures to reserve enough energy to lay it on you when he’s home from work. however, when he’s done — he’s done, so if you were planning on having any conversations with him, you have to make sure it’s before he gets his hands on you.

he rolls off you once he’s fucked you through two orgasms, finally getting his own, dropping face down with his pants pulled down.

you catch your breath before rolling over to kiss his bicep. “jayj, left some dinner for you in the microwave if you didn’t get to eat at work…” you blink, hazy eyed and still a bit disorientated. “jayjie?”

you’re met with a snore, low and deep — muffled by the pillow. you giggle, stroking his back affectionately and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. he’ll eat it for breakfast, you suppose.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WICKED LOVE WILL LEAVE ME BLIND

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dangerous games are played between you and dazai during one of the most important events of the year for the japanese underworld. you're never this risky, not when your reputation is on the line, but fuck being near him just seems draw out all of the worst in you.

(wordcount: 4.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia member!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, public sex, spitting, unprotected sex, gagging dazai w/your panties, switch!dazai, switch!reader. lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOOWWWWWWW u all can thank tumblr user mioblobby for this one, she sent in an ask 3 days ago and this consumed me so badly that i dropped all of my wips to write this. anyway, enjoy dazai & pmreader being absolute FREAKS in public

His gaze hasn’t left you once all night. You can feel it dark and heavy from where he’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, black coat hanging around his shoulders and a cold, unapproachable expression on his face, looking every bit the wraith people claim him to be. 

Chuuya is off somewhere to your side, smooth talking two of Mishima’s daughters, surely planning to end the night in one of their beds to get those loose lips moving about the meeting that their father had with Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber two weeks ago, something he’s been unnervingly tight lipped about when Mori pried. 

You’re entertaining two of the younger members of Mishima’s upper echelon, Abe Kimifusa and Ibuse Masuji—they can’t be much older than you, early twenties max, and they’re delighted by the attention you’re giving them. Ibuse is half hanging off your shoulders, arm wrapped around you, too many drinks in as he leans in close and laughs at some comment Abe makes about one of their fellow executives. You smile idly as you listen, resting against him as you take in their words, trying to pretend to be engaged with the conversation to not give away how you’re hyper-focused on a certain black-haired executive in the distance. 

Usually, he would join you and Chuuya in your attempts to gather some easy intel on the Sun and Steel—that’s what he’s done the past year and a half, at least, targeting some of the older members of Mishima’s upper echelon who would sell half of their organs and their soul for a night with the untouchable Demon Prodigy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now, knowing what he told you, but you still can’t help but be a little surprised that he’s not even trying to put up a facade of charm and wit, rather spending his time skulking in the shadows watching you, especially when his usual targets are so blatantly staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.

You think it’s hypocritical the way you’re so pleased over the fact that he’s not entertaining anyone tonight, because the thought of him letting any of those men drape themselves all over him like Ibuse currently is with you leaves a very sour taste in your mouth.

You also think that’s why you’re letting Ibuse take it as far as he has—to see Dazai get wound up about it. You don’t typically let people get touchy with you unless you plan on taking them to bed, and you have absolutely no intention of fucking Ibuse Masuji. He’s pretty enough with dark hair and a nice smile, but too stupid for your taste—maybe that’s a good thing though, if he’s already so loose-lipped now with only a few drinks in him, you can’t imagine how much he’d let slip in a post-orgasm induced haze.

You start to reconsider your decision on Ibuse, looking up at him contemplatively as he makes a snide comment about Kamatsu Sakyo—an older executive of the Sun and Steel, one of the ones you know have spent a night, or more, with Dazai, so your smile is a bit more genuine when you hear the way Ibuse drags him for being incompetent and useless.

“The older generation has to go,” Ibuse hisses, shaking his head as his arm tightens around you, leaning back against the wall. “They’re running us into the fucking ground. That fucker Kamatsu wants us to take that deal from the Red Chamber-”

“Masuji,” Abe warns, giving you a careful look, not as drunk as his companion. You raise your eyebrows at the comment from Ibuse, looking at him questioningly.

Ibuse waves off Abe haphazardly. “The Port Mafia did it right,” he says bluntly, taking another sip of his drink. “Wiped out the whole old regime after the previous boss died. That’s what the Boss should’ve done when he took over from his father. All of these old fucks need to drop dead.”

“The meeting with Xueqin went that poorly?” you ask casually, sure to keep the interest out of your tone as you look up at Ibuse.

“Don’t even get me started,” Ibuse scoffs. “That fucker wants-”

You’re careful to keep the irritation off your face when you hear the telltale sound of Mishima preparing to give his annual ‘thank you, fruitful alliances ahead!’ speech that always bores you to tears. Next to you, Ibuse sighs and pulls his arm off of you, pushing off the wall.

“We’ve gotta go up there with him. I’ll find you later?” he asks you, eyes a bit too hopeful, voice eager as he waits for your response.

“Definitely,” you say—the things you do for information.

With most of the attendees of the ball distracted by Mishima’s speech, you slip away to make your way over to the far corner where Dazai is waiting. Still, he tracks you—from the moment you make your subtle escape from the crowd until you’re standing right in front of him in the shadows where he’s lingering, his gaze remains trained on you, intense in a way that lets you know that he’s unhappy, if the way his jaw is tight didn’t.

“You’ve been having fun tonight,” he drawls, voice low as he looks down at you, arms folded across his chest.

“Is that what it seemed like?” you say lightly, taking a step closer, casting one last glance behind you to ensure that all eyes are pinned on Mishima before hooking your fingers into his belt loops to tug him closer to you. “At least I’m doing my job properly then.”

“It’s your job to let Mishima’s whore of an executive drape himself all over you?” Dazai tilts his head to the side, one hand sliding behind you to close the small distance between the two of you, leaving your chest pressed to his.

No, you let that drag on just because you could tell how irate Dazai was becoming over it, but Dazai doesn’t have to know that. So instead, you play coy.

“I have appearances to keep up,” you say, tilting your head up with a simpering smile, enjoying the way his gaze immediately darts down to your lips, lingering there before he has to forcibly drag it back up to your eyes. “You know that.”

“Yeah?” Dazai hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze drifts above you. “Maybe I should be making more of an effort with appearances then, Kamatsu has had his eye on me all night.”

Your eye doesn’t twitch at his words, but your grip on his belt loops tightens. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice deceptively mild.

“And why is that?” Dazai drawls, looking too smug for your liking as he looks down at you as if realizing how much his threat bothered you.

“Because I’ll win,” you say easily, fingers slipping from his belt loops to slide your hands up and down his sides before settling them on his slim hips, relishing in the way his lashes flutter at your touch. “You know that. It’s unlike you to pick losing battles.”

“I won’t lose,” Dazai says with a scoff, and you walk him backward until the back of his knees hit a chair, guiding him back to sit down in it as Mishima finally starts a long-winded speech that’s going to last at least twenty or thirty minutes.

You give Dazai another teasing smile as you stand in front of where he’s sitting, lifting your hand to his chin, tilting his face up toward you. You lean down, lips brushing his as you murmur, “You already have.”

“Have I?” Dazai asks, amused. He unconsciously leans forward to capture his lips with yours but you shift just out of reach before he can, raising your eyebrows pointedly at the annoyed look he gives you.

You make quick work of undoing his tie, slipping it from his neck before wrapping it loosely around your wrist, hyper aware of the way his gaze is trained sharply on your face, studying your every move. You bring your other hand back up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, and your breath catches as he leans into your touch, eye lidded as he looks up atwith you. He tilts his head to the side to press his lips against your palm, keeping eye contact as he lifts his hand to cover yours, shifting it so he can graze his lips against the pulse point on your wrist.

“You have,” you agree, grateful that your voice isn’t as breathless as you feel from the combined intensity of his gaze and his lips on your skin.

“How so?” Dazai looks entirely too smug, probably can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, and you itch to wipe the smugness right off of his face.

“I’m meeting Ibuse after this speech,” you tell him, now entirely too smug yourself as Dazai expression drops and goes icy, fingers stiffening from where his hand is still pressed over yours. “Need to get him to spill about the meeting with the Red Chamber, he already started getting into it before. If I get him alone, we’ll know everything we need.”

“Go ahead,” Dazai sounds deceptively calm, you’d almost believe he didn’t care if the look in his eye didn’t betray him, cold and promising bloodshed. “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll start a war,” you say absently, the tips of your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

“I don’t care,” Dazai replies, and you know that he’s serious—it should worry you, he could throw all of your work with the Sun and Steel out the window in a split second, but instead you only find yourself giddy, tongue pressing behind your teeth and a smile curving at your lips as you look down at him.

“Careful, Dazai,” you breathe out, “almost sounds like you care.”

He does care, you know that and he knows that, but he refuses to admit it out loud. Refuses to put a label on anything between the two of you. You think it’s his way of maintaining some semblance of control over things; he thinks that if he actually admits what’s going on between the two of you, it’ll be a loss of control over himself that he can’t afford. 

As if threatening to start a gang war with the Mafia’s most important ally because you’re planning to sleep with someone for vital information isn’t a loss of control in itself. 

You also think it might have to do with the broken gasps he’d let out over the phone during the assassination plot on you a few weeks ago, when he thought that he’d miscalculated and they called his bluff, that they were going to get to you and no one was going to be able to get there in time to protect you. 

“Everything I never want to lose is always lost the moment I obtain it.”

You wonder, maybe, if he thinks that not making things official with you is his way of protecting both you and himself. 

But it’s fucking frustrating. It’s frustrating dealing with his hot and cold—days where he’s so clearly enamored with you, spending hours laid up with you admiring you while you do work, looking at you with eyes that should only be reserved for long time lovers, and then there are days where he can hardly bring himself to look at you, avoiding you at every given chance, cold and aloof. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhausting, you just want to be with him.

His eye darkens, jaw clicking at your words, but he doesn’t respond other than that.

You’re not sure what exactly compels you to take another step forward, you watch as his gaze tracks down to the low cut of your dress, as he shifts in his seat, legs spread, clearly withholding the urge to adjust himself in his pants. A dangerous thought crosses your mind, one that you know you should toss away because of where you are, how many people are just on the other side of the room, but you find your body moving before you can stop yourself.

You watch him inhale, gaze tracking down to where your hand has slipped into the high slit of your dress, casting one last look over your shoulder to make sure the two of you are at an angle that no one would be able to easily see you before pulling down your thin black panties—the ones you know he loves and wore just to see the way the pupil of his visible eye becomes blown wide at the sight of them, breath hitching.

You shift closer to him, balling them into your fist, one hand sliding behind the back of his head, fingers entwined with his dark hair as you tilt his head back, eyes tracing the exhilaration on his face as he looks up at you, realizing what you’re going to do, where you’re going to do it.

“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. The words are reverent, he speaks them in the same way you imagine he would tell you he loves you, it makes your breath catch. “Here? What're you gonna do if one of them looks over and sees you stuffed with my cock, hm? How're you gonna explain why you're full of cum when you go meet that clown?”

“You talk too much,” you note, stepping forward. “Open up.”

Dazai’s lips part instinctively, but before you stuff his mouth with your panties, you lean over him, fingers hooking around his bottom lip as you force his mouth a little wider, watching as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter when you spit right into his open mouth, swallowing it immediately. 

Your lips curl up as you lift the hand holding your panties, taking in an unsteady breath as he lets you push your panties between his lips; he lets out a muffled groan around them, eyes sliding shut as if savoring the taste of them. You shift your dress around slightly so you can comfortably straddle his thighs. His hands immediately fly to your waist, but you click your tongue lightly, pushing them off and sliding his tie around his wrists once you’ve got them behind his back.

He tilts his head to the side, giving you a heavy, judgmental look. He doesn’t even have to speak to know what he’s thinking: “You really think this is going to stop me?”

You give him a sweet smile, leaning in to graze your lips against his jaw, feeling the shaky breath he lets out around your panties. “If you free yourself from them,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear as you speak, “I’ll stop.”

You don’t wait for his reaction, directing your attention down toward his slacks, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You ease his cock out of his briefs, weight heavy in your hand, tip flushed pink and leaky. You give it an experimental pump, using his own precum as lube, and watch as he tilts his head back, giving a full body shudder.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” you sigh softly, shifting forward so that his cock slides between your slick folds, you press your lips to the underside of his jaw to smother the moan you almost let out when his tip catches on your clit. “I love it.”

You know he’s trying to shoot you a withering look, but the effects of it are severely diminished with how his face is flushed pink and his eyes are unfocused. You give him another saccharine smile, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re sinking down on his cock. 

You can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up until the tip of his cock is nudging right up against your cervix. It takes all of your self control to bite back the loud gasp that nearly rips from your lips, not wanting to have to bury your face in the crook of his neck just yet, watching as he lets out a choked noise that’s loud even with your panties stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Careful,” you warn, leaning in to drag your lips up his neck to the corner of his lips. You lift one of your hands to hold the back of his head again, gripping his hair as you force him to look at you again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. His gaze is unfocused, lips parting as he heaves around your panties, throat spasming—he looks fucking divine, and for a moment, you regret doing this here because you might have to kill someone if they see him when he’s looking like this. “You don’t want them to see you like this, yeah?”

You can hear the whine that builds in the back of his throat, trying to rock his hips up into yours. The sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt is too loud—Mishima is still speaking loudly, drowning out any noise that could possibly be coming from your secluded corner, but it’s so risky, you almost don’t know what’s gotten into you. If anyone happens to wander over this way…

“God, what do you do to me?” you gasp, leaning in so you can graze your teeth against his neck, threatening to bite down. 

You’re never this reckless—not when it’s your reputation on the line, you’ve spent years honing it into the weapon it’s become, and here you are risking it all just because Dazai Osamu decided to give you bedroom eyes during one of the most important events the Port Mafia attends. Fuck, he drives you insane.

His head lolls forward, forehead resting against the side of yours, lips brushing your ear. You can feel his heavy pants, each one catching over a moan muffled by your panties. You rock your hips back and forth quickly, each drag of his cock against your walls making you hot and lightheaded. Whether it’s just from the sheer pleasure of it all—the way the tip of his cock pressees right into that sensitive spot deep inside of you, the way he’s so quickly coming undone beneath you, body trembling and drool pooling at the corner of his lips around your panties—or if it’s because of the way anyone could wander over in this direction, catch you fucking Dazai so brazenly when there’s a crowd of one hundred and fifty, two hundred of the most important people in the Japanese underworld just on the far side of the room, you don’t know, but heat pools in your abdomen so quickly that it’s almost impossible to control. 

You can feel his breath ragged, his body tense, each roll of your hips against his has Dazai falling apart, and you can feel the telltale sign of his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he’s about to finish. You tug his hair, pulling his head back from where it's fallen against you, and you lift your other hand quickly up to his lips, pushing them inside of his mouth to hook your fingers around your panties, pulling them out of his mouth.

Instantly, Dazai is pushing himself forward to press his lips against yours, freeing himself of his own tie so his hands can fly to your waist. You let out a low moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue into yours, one hand sliding from your waist to your back, keeping your body flush to his as he grinds you down on his cock hard.

“Fuck,” Dazai groans into your mouth, voice choked. You can see the way he can hardly keep his gaze steady, the way he’s gripping your dress to try to keep himself grounded. “I-ah, shit-I’m close. I’m-”

You lean in to swallow his moan, kissing him hard as his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips stuttering as he spills his cum deep inside of you. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cum filling you up, warm, heavy, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling out from where his cock is still stuffed deep inside of you; it’s the last thing you need to push you over the edge, mind blank and jaw falling slack as your body shudders in his arms.

Black dots spot your vision, your nails dragging down his black coat, your whole body consumed with pleasure—it hits you so hard that you think maybe you might’ve passed out for a split second. The feeling of your release sends a shockwave through Dazai, you can feel the way his body spasms and jerks when your walls suddenly tighten around his sensitive cock.

“God,” Dazai breathes out against your lips, eyes glazed over as the two of you come down from your high, an expression so adoring on his face that you think for a moment, you might be imagining it. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaves it to your imagination, and you want to press, but you don’t have the chance because you’re slapped hard with reality when you hear Mishima’s speech coming to an end, eyes widening. Your legs are shaky as you push off of him, hissing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your cunt—you almost snort when you see how Dazai twitches and winces at the sudden movement, still sensitive.

“Clean yourself up,” you tell him sharply, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, trying to catch sight of yourself in the reflection of a nearby glass, watching from the corner of your eye as Dazai stuffs himself back in his pants, wiping your cum off of his expensive black slacks before sucking it right off of his fingers. He grabs his tie from where he’d let it fall to the ground, and then your panties, winking at you before he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket. 

His gaze lifts to you as he rises to his feet, drifting lazily over your form, lingering on the way your skin glows with a soft sheen of sweat, the loose strands of hair that cling to your forehead—something you hope you can play off considering the air condition in the ballroom isn’t on. Then his gaze settles down on the lower half of your body, lips curling up into a slow smirk.

He takes a few steps closer to you, holding his tie out to you. “Re-tie it?” he hums, and you roll your eyes because you know he can do it himself and you know he has some sort of ulterior motive right now, but you take it from him regardless.

You quickly slide the tie around his neck, trying to tie it quickly before anyone catches sight of the two of you, but with you so focused on getting this done, you miss the way his hand sneaks forward until you feel it slip into the slit of your dress. 

“Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice low, but your breath catches when you feel him gather up all of the cum that had dribbled out of your cunt, head falling against his shoulder as you try to force yourself not to react when he uses two fingers to stuff it right back inside of you.

You can feel the wicked grin against your ear as he leans down to tug your earlobe gently. “Good luck explaining this to Ibuse.”

Then he steps away, dark eye glittering dangerously as he looks down at you.

“I’ll find you later,” he says before turning to walk away.

You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a promise and you don’t have time to make a snide comment asking, because you hear Ibuse approaching you from behind, giddy and excited until he catches sight of Dazai’s infamous black coat retreating, swallowing thickly and eyes flickering nervously between the two of you—a common reaction to the executive’s presence, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable he can be.

You wonder if Dazai would make Ibuse half as nervous and uncomfortable if he’d known he just spent the last fifteen minutes with your panties stuffed in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back, whining and whimpering, muffling all of his sounds so people didn’t overhear the two of you. But you dismiss that thought—that’s knowledge for you to keep to yourself, you don’t like sharing.

“Let’s get out of here?” you hum, drawing him out of his thoughts before he can spiral.

He lights back up again, but you can tell he’s still nervous from Dazai’s brief appearance. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Two hours later, you wander out of one of the back rooms in Mishima’s mansion, intent on getting back to headquarters. You don’t get more than two feet before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you backward hard until your back meets a familiar chest.

Your heartbeat stills from the brief bout of erraticness when you felt someone grab you, relaxing back into Dazai, tilting your head back and to the side to look up at him as he holds your hips, keeping you flush to him.

“Did you fuck him?” Dazai asks, voice low and expression unreadable.

You have half a mind to say yes, just to see what Dazai plans to do if you did. He can’t kill Ibuse, not even he is reckless enough to start a war with the Sun and Steel right now, but you don’t think you want to risk it.

“Didn’t have to,” you say honestly. “He was babbling out everything I wanted to know before the doors even closed.”

Dazai searches your face for a moment as if trying to decide if you’re being truthful, when he does, one of his hands slips off your waist into his coat, and you hear the familiar sound of Dazai flipping the safety of his gun back on.

“Dazai,” you snap. “You can’t just-”

“I can do whatever I want,” Dazai interrupts you with the type of confidence that lets you know he had every intention of putting a bullet through Ibuse’s head if you fucked him, regardless of the consequences. The thought of that alone makes your blood run hot, pupils dilating as you look up at him; Dazai’s lips curve up slowly as if he knows just what’s going on in your head. He looks behind you curiously before focusing back down on you asking: “Is he passed out in there?”

“Mhm,” you agree, watching him curiously as you try to figure out what he might be thinking. “Drank too much.”

“Good,” Dazai murmurs, walking you right back into the room you’d come out of, a sharp smile on his face. He closes the door behind the two of you, gaze flickering over to where Ibuse is unconscious on the couch before he backs you up until your knees hit the corner of the bed, pushing you back onto it. “Let’s see if we can wake him up then.”

[brights-place]

You write for so many fandoms! I don't even know what to request! I'm so excited! Your blog is so beautiful!

Can I request a fanfic with Jade Leech or Kokonoi Hajime (my favorite boys 🥺) with a cute and innocent reader? Reader loves wearing bows and wearing cute things, besides being very innocent and naive.

Can you make it NSFW too? Thank you very much for your attention! Have a great day! Sorry for my English, it's not my first language.

[TWST & TR] Jade & Kokonoi x Reader (separate) Warnings: Smut, NSFW!!, shibari, Gagging, Praise, Masochisim, Corruption, cursing, Dacryphilia, Cream pie and Dumbification

A/N: I can see a repeat of your taste in men gaalaxy and ngl I agree with your taste in men personally I love the kawata twins I think that also explains why I like the leech twins... Heads up BTW!! I cannot control if minors read this or not or if your un-comfy with smut don't read this I do not recommend if you do not enjoy these topics and if you IGNORE my authors note and my simple instruction to click off this tumblr post and get mad at me if you don't like it I will tell you off for not READING a basic instruction from my typed out words. I write smut I write angst I write fluff I write what you request because I enjoy it so if you get mad I will shake my filipino fist telling you "TO GET OFF MY BLOG" like an old white man now ENJOY if you still wanna proceed

Summary: Jade Leech & Kokonoi Hajime with a cute and innocent reader? Reader loves wearing bows and wearing cute things, besides being very innocent and naive.

Jade Leech

- Jade is kind of interesting to write for smut because he may seem sweet yet we all know that its cannon he's much more... interesting then floyd in aspects probably enjoys to toy with you - Jade finds you such an easy target to pester to toy with - He finds you fun to use but if you don't suffice he'd probably throw you away like floyd does when he has his fill of well you - but so far that hasn't happened he's to pussy drunk on having you sobbing infront of him body tied by the red shibari that clings to your body - Seeing your tears streaming down your face but not in pain most likely lust while he makes sure to position you properly and also keep the good view of the tears that come from him overstimulating you - He loves seeing your cute outfits as you both would be standing beside each other so Innocent anything could be happening and you two aren't phased but you'd know jade would be taking you somewhere hidden lifting you up and ripping your cute skirt and taking out your ribbons to tie your hands and/or legs together - Azul would be telling you to do something and jade would be always hovering around making sure your alright - Jade likes to help fix your appearance later on just to ruin it when you go to his and floyd's shared bedroom - He looks well maintained and calm but this man is a FREAK caling you pet names praising you while he dry humps you over your vanity when you try to put on your makeup and do your hair - Sobbing into his arms like a giant mess as he praises you while enjoying seeing you suffer because of him in many ways how you grab anything you could hold onto before gagging you with his dick before you get too loud he wouldn't want Azul to hear nor Floyd he'd just like to keep you for himself for now - To continue with the shibari Bondadge he enjoys watching your body wrapped by it held back restraining you as he feels more in control in these situations doesn't matter if he sees it touch the rolls of your stomach cling to your V line your thighs squished and getting slight marks he just enjoys seeing you in such a state - Eels know everything is fair game as they bite with enormous force so imagine him biting you harshly to keep his grunts quiet as he fucks into you clawing into your skin - Jade is content to wrap himself around your body muttering things to your ears enjoys and tells you how you'll make a wet, warm, soft hole for breeding pressing his hand on your stomach. - His dick is prehensile and he can wrap himself around you swiping kisses and nuzzling into the crook of your very sensitive neck while his cock continuously pounds into you - Though he can't help but smirk sometimes when he sees your ribbons come undone if he feels like it he'll let you wrap the ribbon around his ahem... baggage - Enjoys the added texture this comes in with an extra for his love for ropes, ribbons, and other types of restraints - When he bites into your neck and shoulders to make his claim on you don't worry most morays bites aren't venomous and even if they are you have him to care for you - He is able to treat them but he had to get you to Professor Crewel to hep you for a bit of a too deep of a bite from one night where you both got TOO into it

Kokonoi Hajime

- Kokonoi is kinks aren't bad nor are they good it's more like I'll see what makes you squirm more - Think he'd love to fuck you till you go dumb thats where the dumbification kink comes from - loves fucking you until you're so dick drunk that all you can think about his him and his dick pulvarizing you - He wants you to love his cock so much that you're bending over and spreading yourself open for him with hearts in your eyes when he gives you a certain look - No thoughts head empty and focusing mostly on him and his cum that will be shoved deep into you every time it tries to spill out - He loves whenever you wear cute lacy white underwear and bra he loves the thoughts of corrupting you with impurity - Your so Innocent so Naive and such an easy fucking target for him to fill up and grab by the hips to bounce on his dick - LOVES when you beg for him to eat you out more tugging his hair as his snake like tongue drags through your pussy as he enjoys lapping his tongue - he can’t fucking stand it when you just sit there look pretty so he makes sure to make your pretty little dressed up self is using yourself properly - Kokonoi bites his lip as he would be gripping your thighs panting heavily flushed face staring down to your messy and dishevel appearance - It’s really rare for Koko to have any sort of down time, but when he finally does, he spends it with you - Kokonoi has always bought your cute outfits little ribbons and enjoys stuffing your body as he fills you up as you thank him for whatever he buys you - this man will wave you off and tells you Go get your nails and hair done all pretty for me and use my card to go and buy a new outfit and shoes maybe some ribbons for him to ruin you in - He loves to buy you those cute short ass dresses you’re obsessed with just so he can see that little glint of joy in your eyes as he then fucks into you later that night like a drunk man - Kokonoi likes sticking his tongue out at people and it being the same tongue that was lapping at your wet folds the night before as you were gone dead numb in your mind sobbing as he can't help but get into it more - Leaves hickies and bite marks onto your body as he smiles sometimes wrapping the ribbons around your body lifting them up to left hickies or bite marks there - he loves seeing you get messed up and gagged by his hands as he enjoys seeing the bliss on your face as if its the only thing he can enjoy yet he does get annoyed when some moments get messed up when he's called to go gang activities

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[lovelytsunoda]

naughty list // oscar piastri

summary: oscar's bored, horny and hopelessly smitten with his lover. but if he keep this up, he's going to land them both on santa's naughty list this year.

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

prompt: "let's both be naughty and save santa the trip."

warnings: soft smut, praise overload, christmas lingerie, oscar is a big simp, sex on a shag carpet, oscar 'if she's not enjoying herself, neither am i' piastri,

author's note: am i incapable of writing anything wholesome about this man? possibly.

oscar piastri was head over heels for his girlfriend.

perhaps that's how he got himself into this situation, on the couch by the fire on a cold london winter, christmas tree lit up behind the couch, tennis on the tv. fresh gingerbread cookies sat on the island, filling the ground-floor apartment with their familiar and warm scent.

y/n had slipped away just moments before, kissing his forehead and promising a surprise, her nervous giggle punctuating the end of the sentence as she slipped away to the bedroom.

a nervous giggle that made him wonder, if, perhaps, the surprise was a little on the naughtier side. his lover wasn't one for wild bedroom escapades, but the fact that she might have been trying to spice it up a little for him?

it drove him fucking wild. worried him slightly, yes, because he didn't want her to push herself too far out of her comfort zone if she wasn't ready, but excited him nonetheless.

meanwhile, in the bedroom, she was nitpicking everything, standing anxiously in front of the mirror as she twirled her hair. the red set stood out against her skin, and while the corset was almost no different than many of the shirts that she wore, she wasn’t sure how to feel about the lacy panties, leaving so much skin exposed.

she’d never been a lingerie person. she wished she could be, but even stepping into victorias secret sent her in a self-critical spiral. no, until now she had tended to stick to skimpy pajama sets, never as exposed as she was now.

she thought she was being ridiculous, oscar had seen her naked, for lords sake.

but even still, looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered if she should have picked the set with the silk robe.

she closed her eyes, counting to ten before she reached for the santa hat on the bed, pulling it over her head and dangling the pom pom on the end over her shoulder.

when she gently trod back into the living room, she cleared her throat to get oscars attention. the driver looked up from his phone, choking on his kale smoothie when he saw her. he promptly dropped his phone, getting to his feet and ambling over to her.

“y/n, love, you look stunning.” his touch was gentle, starting at her hands before running gently along her skin, index finger tracing hearts on her exposed side. “you’re so beautiful, and I’m happy you feel comfortable enough with me to let me see you like this. it’s a privilege I count myself lucky to have.”

she sighed into his touch, fingers messing with the lapel of his flannel. the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his arms flexing sharply as his fingers continued to soothe her skin.

“I thought I’d try something new.” she said sheepishly, a blush rising on her cheeks. “you like it?”

“baby, I adore it.” oscar beamed, leaning in to softly press his lips to hers. she tasted like peppermint, and smelled like vanilla bean as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. “my gorgeous girl.” he growled, biting gently on her bottom lip. “all mine.”

smiling sweetly, she pulled oscar closer, wrapping her arms around him and playing with the hair on the back of his neck, pressing gentle kisses to his cheek. the aussie hummed contentedly, his large, warm hands trailing over her back.

he was well and truly smitten.

she looked like a christmas angel, wrapped in red and white, the cutsey santa hat propped on her head. who knew santa hats could be so sexy on the right woman?

"i love you." he hummed, moving to gently kiss her neck, smiling to himself as she propped up on the tips of her toes, gasping softly as his tongue ran over her pulse point. "my darling, darling girl." he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "maybe i should dress up next time? get that whole magic mike kinda vibe going on."

she giggled, moving one dainty hand up to cover her mouth as she laughed. god, that laugh. oscar was getting painfully hard just listening to her giggle.

she stepped back, and oscar followed, gently pressing her up against the wall. she winced at the cold plaster pressing up against her smooth skin, but the discomfort was soon forgotten as her lover leaned over her, one hand bracing him against the wall and the other under her chin to tilt her face up. she beamed, trying to hold back her giddy giggles as she stared into his wonderous eyes.

"pretty girl, love of my life." oscar started softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "let's both be naughty and save santa the trip, aye?"

"that's your smoothest holiday line yet." she nodded with a laugh, enthusiastically pulling him closer to her, eliminating the space between their bodies as best she could. "i love you." she said quickly, pressing her lips to his as his hands began to rove her front, fumbling with the strings of the corset top.

she gently pushed his hands away, watching as his eyes grew three sized when she pushed the cups of the corset bra down, nipples pebbling in the cold air, silhouetted against she stunning red of her top.

"you'll be the death of me, sweet thing." oscar laughed, running his hands over her skin. "tell me what you want, pretty girl."

"you, oscar. touching me. kissing me." she sucked in a breath as he bent down, sucking a hickey onto her supple skin, his thumb gently running over her nipple. "making me yours."

oscar groaned, laving his tongue over her sensitive bud, one hand reaching to hold hers close. "sweetheart, just let me take care of you, yeah? give you exactly what you need." he detached from her breast, a line of saliva trailing from her bud to oscar's tongue. he used one hand to wipe his mouth before kissing the back of her hand. "give my sweet perfect angel the full princess treatment."

she smiled down at him as he sank to his knees, nuzzling his nose into the soft skin of her thigh, her fingers carding through his hair. "baby, you left one of the girls unloved." she playfully pouted at him, nudging her other breast. "you don't want the one on the left to think you love the one on the right more, do you?"

oscar laughed, rising to his feet before taking her left breast in his hand. "you're so right, love. wouldn't want one of the girls to feel underappreciated. i hope they know how loved they are."

"you're such an idiot."

"yeah, but you're the one who gets turned on by me acting like a complete and utter fool."

"shut up and kiss me, pretty boy."

"yes ma'am."

oscar kissed her, his hands slipping down to the globes of her ass, lifting her into the air. she squealed, wrapping her legs around him so he was carrying her like a koala, her fingertips gripping his still-clothed shoulders.

well, she couldn't have that. why was she the only one showing any skin?

he set her down on the shag carpet, warmth from the fire gently hearing her chilled skin, hair fanning out behind her head. oscar wasted no time, shedding his flannel and t shirt before he dove right in, wrapping his lips around the tip of her breast. she gasped, arching into him with one hand gripping the carpet and the other in his hair.

“atta girl.” oscar exhaled, sucking another hickey onto her skin. in his opinion, his job wasn’t done until her tits were covered in proof of his undying love. “that’s my pretty girl.”

“need you, baby.” she pleaded, grinding up against his jeans, the denim rubbing at her sensitive core through her lace panties.

she was so shamefully soaked after oscars devotion to her breasts, and she needed some kind of release. she was almost certain that there was a damp spot forming on her lovers jeans as she ground against him.

oscar leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of her panties.

“you look too pretty in this set to take it off, baby.” he hummed, kissing over the red fabric, nuzzling into her skin as he rubbed his thumbs over her hipbones. “might just have to push them aside, but they’ll get stained badly when I make you see stars.”

“jesus, oscar, just do something!” she groaned, running her finger along his nose. “please?”

“anything for my girl.” he pushed her panties aside, gently pressing his lips to her sopping wet center, his tongue darting out to trace a heart on her lips.

she moaned, throwing her head back, her pelvis rising off the carpet to try and build more friction against her lover. she moaned his name, eyes fluttering closed as she began to see the stars he had promised her.

she was so lucky to have a man like oscar. a man who made her feel so confident in herself, treated her like a queen, and made sure that she got the calm, quiet love that she craved.

“fuck, baby. you taste fucking incredible.” he groaned, holding her thighs open, thumbs rubbing reassuring circles on her soft skin.

oscar could have spent all day between her thighs. hed always been a giver, but when he had the chance to spoil y/n, he was almost certain it made him way hotter than it made her. what could he say, acts of service was his love language.

and when she wrapped her thighs around his head, practically screaming his name, his tongue licking fat stripes up and down her opening, and over swollen her swollen clit?

he had to start thinking about tyre degradation to avoid coming in his jeans.

“fuck, oscar, baby.” she whined, tugging on his hair as his nose nudged her sensitive bud. (he moaned at the action) “just like that. god, that feels so fucking good.”

she could feel the band in her stomach begin to tighten, her thighs closing in around oscars head as pleasure spread around her lower body.

oscars tongue darted in and out of her, the lewd sounds filling the room. “are you going to come for me, pretty girl. yeah? yeah, that’s right, come on my tongue, princess.”

he slipped a finger in, and the sensation of his finger flexing while his tongue played with her sensitive, puffy clit made her cry out, rutting her hips into his face, grinding against his finger and trying to get herself off.

“oscar, im coming!” she cried, the coil in her stomach finally snapping as she cried out his name, fingernails leaving scratches in the skin on the back of his neck.

his hands gripped her thighs; he was holding himself up over the carpet on his forearms, his body shaking she coated the bottom of his face in evidence of her arousal. he moaned at the taste, sitting up on his knees and catching her eyes before sticking his finger in his mouth and sucking the salty fluid off his finger.

she smiled at him, face rosy and flushed. her limbs felt like jelly, arms giving out underneath her as she tried to prop herself up to kiss him. chuckling to himself, oscar braced his hands on either side of her head, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her cheeks, and then the tip of her nose before, finally, her lips.

“I love you.” they both whispered, one after another, the room silent save for the low hum of the tv and the crackling in the fireplace.

“baby, as much as I would love to stay here with you, I am absolutley throbbing and if I am not inside of you in the next five minutes, I am going to lose it.” oscar chuckled, kissing her softly.

she smiled, giggling as he ran his hands over her flushed skin. “you know you’re going to throw your back out if we do this on the floor, right?”

“yeah, but it will be so totally worth it.” oscar laughed, kissing her forehead softly. “stay right here, and keep warm. I’ll be right back.”

she hated to see him go, but she loved to watch him leave, eyes zeroing in on both his impressive back muscles and the way his jeans hugged his backside. how did she get so lucky to land such a god of a boyfriend?

when he vanished into the bedroom, she stripped out of the corset, cringing when she noticed the reddened imprints left on her skin from where the wires dug into her. she pulled the santa hat off, dropping it pathetically to the carpet before pulling a blanket around her shoulders. she was slowly regaining feeling in her limbs, a feeling of contentment spreading through her stomach as oscar came back, a festive box in his hands,

“right, so your choices are peppermint, gingerbread and eggnog.” he grinned, tossing her three small packages before slipping out of his jeans.

her limbs tingled as she watched him undo his belt, his rock-hard cock straining against his flannel boxers. it was only when oscar sat down next to her, stealing half of the white knit throw blanket to wrap around his own shoulders, that she looked down at the packages in her hands.

they were christmas themed condoms, a reindeer face smiling up at her from the gingerbread one. she couldn’t help it when she burst out laughing, sniffing the peppermint package.

“oscar! what the fuck?” she managed through laughter. “you know the flavoured bit only counts if I’m sucking your dick right? and that’s not happening tonight.”

“they were a gag gift from lando.” oscar laughed, fiddling with one of the foil packets. “I brought out normal ones too; I don’t know how much I trust these ones anyways.”

she laughed, leaning over to kiss him. “thank you.”

“anything for my girl.” oscar deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to gently and politely explore the inside of her mouth, pushing her down onto the carpet once again, thigh pushing her legs apart.

he grinded against her sensitive core, trying to find some sort of relief for himself while also making sure that he lasted more than a minute when he finally got inside of her.

her legs curled around his waist, pulling him him closer as they made out, warm and sweaty skin sticking to each other as they warmed up by the fire.

he didn’t even need to pull away to make a grab for the discarded red hat, only drawing back to put it on before he extracted his cock from his boxer shorts.

she giggled, sitting up so she could take him in her hands, jerking him slightly before ripping open a condom package (just a regular one, not the peppermint one she knew he had been eyeing).

laughing to herself, she twirled the end of the hat in her fingers. “I should not find this as hot as I do. just so you know.”

“duly noted. are you ready for me, princess?”

she smiled at him, slipping out of her lacy panties before she straddled him, his sheathed cock teasing at her entrance, shivers running up her spine. “I wanna be on top. wanna ride your cock.”

and who was oscar to argue?

he gripped her hips, her hands on his shoulders as he positioned himself by her entrance. she was so wet that he slid right in, her fingernails leaving crescent marks on his shoulders as she winced, hiding her face in his neck.

“I know, sweet girl.” he moved his hands up and down her back. “i know it’s a lot to take, but you’re doing it so so well. you make the first move, sweetheart.”

she straightened her back, touching her nose to oscars as she began to slowly grind her hips, getting used to every inch of his dick splitting her in half.

“that’s it, pretty girl. nice and easy.” oscar groaned, palming her ass. “that’s it.”

with oscars hands guiding her, she began to pick up the pace, pulling up before sinking back down against his cock.

“fuck, baby, feels so good.” she whined, fingers tugging at the hairs on the nape of his neck. “feels so deep.” she reached for his hand, pressing it to her stomach to show oscar just how deep he actually was.

“yeah? yeah, this cock is all yours, baby. whenever you want it, you tell me. I’ll drop everything to give it to you.” he grunted, one hand gently smacking her ass. she yelped, hips startling before she smashed her lips to his, moving her hips in subtle circles.

he moaned into her mouth, thrusting up to meet her hips halfway, watching as her mouth dropped open in a guttural moan. “you like that, sweet girl? yeah, you just let me take over and fuck you until you’re all blissed out.”

he took the lead, planting his feet on the floor, one hand supporting his weight and the other holding his princess close, her perky, sensitive nipples pressed against his chest as he thrust up, his cock sliding in and out of her like it was nothing.

“oh, yes.” she whined.

“that’s my pretty girl. that’s my fucking girl.” he growled, rolling over so he was on top again. normally he loves it when she rode him, loved the intimacy that came with it.

but he was so pent up that he needed something more.

he slipped her legs over his shoulders, muscles rippling as he leaned forwards to thrust into her, balls slapping against her skin.

her hands gripped his shoulders, slipping down his chest and leaving little pink marks in their wake as he pounded in and out of her, the pom pom on the end of his festive hat dangling in her face

“fuck, I love being like this with you.” he rasped, fingers digging into the shag carpet. “being this close to you.” he started to kiss up the side of her throat, tongue occasionally darting out to lick the sweat off her skin. “you’re so fucking pretty like this, all blissed out and at peace on my cock. love making you feel good, honey.”

he allowed her legs to slide off his shoulders, leaning down to kiss her, swallowing her moan as he bit down on her lip.

“shit, I love your cock, oscar. I love having it inside of me. needed it so bad!” she cried, clinging to his upper body as she let him have his way with her.

she knew he knew what she wanted, what she liked. he could read her like the back of his hand, and she was so blessed to feel safe enough with him that she could just clear her mind and let oscar make her feel good.

“that’s my girl. taking it so well. how are you feeling, princess?”

“perfect.” she breathed, inhaling sharply as his cock brushed up against her walls. “absolutley perfect.” her eyes slammed shut as her walls started to contract, squeezing oscar’s cock for all it was worth

“are you going to come, pretty girl? come all over my thick cock?”

“yeah.” she whined, tears of pleasure pricking the corners of her eyes as he kept slamming into her. “yeah, I’m almost there.”

she almost didnt get to finish her sentence, oscars lips claiming hers against his own as he kissed her deeply, one feee hand coming down to play with her clit. she gripped his biceps tightly, moaning harshly against his lips as she felt herself clamp down on him, seeing stars as she started to let go.

“that’s it, princess. let go for me, cover my cock in your sweet sweet come. give it to me, sweet girl. I’ve got you,”

she came with a cry of his name, feeling her body go weak as all her energy evaporated. the motion triggered oscar’s own orgasm, his entire body shaking as he grunted (arguably louder than she did, back muscles rippling as his body tightened and then went slack) spilling into the latex shield before his arms gave out and he collapsed against her.

“I love you.” he mumbled, kissing her softly before gently pulling out. he reached behind him for the blanket, tucking it around her body before sliding a throw pillow underneath her head. “hang tight for me, baby. I’m gonna go make you a hot chocolate.”

he slipped the condom off, balling it up with the intention of chucking it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen, pulling his boxers back on before washing his hands and pulling two mugs out of the upper cabinets.

y/n watched him from her position on the floor, a soft smile on her face as she marvelled at the scratches on his back, and the pure soft domesticity of watching her lover make her a hot drink after he made her see stars.

he came back minutes later, with two mugs piled high with whipped cream and a foolish smile on his face.

“merry christmas, pretty girl.” he hummed, kissing her softly, not expecting anything more than what it was.

“merry christmas, oscar.”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @twinkodium @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @cartierre @lorarri @thatsdemko @oconso @sidcrosbyspuck

[valorums-archived]

          @forcenexus      said;        “You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.”

╰►      SOURCE:        forbidden love and starcrossed quotes

SHI’AL SWALLOWED THICKLY, deeply flattered by Anakin’s proclamation but nonetheless FIXATED upon a single word. The comment was undoubtedly meant to be ROMANTIC; however, she could not avoid the all-consuming REIGN of unexpected insecurity upon her aching heart.

         “…a prisoner?” Shi’al echoed hollowly, taking a step back from her lover. “I apologize, then.” Her voice was soft, to the point that it became barely audible. “I don’t … I don’t want to make you feel that way, Anakin.”

[prythiansprincess]

SWEET TOOTH

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🤍 pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so american by olivia rodrigo.

🤍 author’s note: just a cute and fluffy little piece because enzo gives off major boyfriend vibes.

It was a well-known fact that Lorenzo Berkshire had a terrible sweet tooth. 

So well known that his mates often hid their stash of sweets from him. Not that it deterred Enzo. If anything, he saw it as a challenge of sorts. 

As Lorenzo ransacked his roommate’s belongings, it should’ve occurred to him that Regulus was far too clever to leave his candy in plain sight, but his attention was focused solely on stuffing as many chocolate frogs into his mouth before his surly friend returned. In his haste, Enzo failed to notice the strange metallic taste until practically inhaling his third frog. 

Still, he figured that it was probably fine. How much damage could a chocolate frog do anyways?

Unfortunately for Lorenzo, that pesky little question would be answered soon enough. 

After carefully rearranging Reggie’s things, Enzo happily skipped off to breakfast. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he spotted you in the Great Hall. With a murderous expression, you swiped a chocolate croissant out of Mattheo’s reach and glared at the curly headed boy. 

“Make one more move towards my food and I’ll snap your arm like a twig, Riddle.” 

Theo snickered and draped an arm over your shoulder. “Come on, bella. Mattheo just wants a taste.” The twat wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And so do I.” 

You flicked his arm off and rolled your eyes. “For the last time, I’d rather gouge my eyes out, Theodore. You’d think you’d be sick of rejection and embarrassment by now.” 

Nott merely smirked. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Could’ve woken up in mine instead, if you stopped playing hard to get.” 

“Keep pissing me off and you’ll wake up to a bed full of cockroaches.” 

Mattheo cackled before ruffling your hair. “Turn that frown upside down, Y/N. Guys don’t like a grump.” 

“I do,” Enzo blurted before he could think better of it. “I think Y/N’s cute when she’s mean. Especially to you two idiots.” 

Theo and Mattheo gaped, their gazes pinballing from you to Enzo. They were no doubt expecting you to smack your best friend upside the head, but instead you shrugged and bit back a smile. 

“Really?” Theo remarked incredulously. “You’re letting that slide? You threatened to tie my tongue into a bow the last time I called you cute.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yeah, well, Berkshire doesn’t annoy me as much as you do.” 

Enzo beamed as he slid into the seat beside you. “Wow, I feel special.” 

Clearly, he was well aware of the sweet spot you had for him. Though you’d never admit it. Just like he’d never admit his long standing pathetic little crush he had on you. Except, he did sort of slip up just now, which he unfortunately would continue to do for the rest of the day. 

Lorenzo couldn’t help it. The compliments he normally kept to himself just kept spilling out of him. 

When you were studying in the library during free period, he found himself speaking thoughts that he usually saved for his inner monologue. “I like the way you scrunch your nose when you read. It’s adorable.” 

Surprised, you peered up at him from your book. His words were rewarded by an uncharacteristically shy smile. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his lack of control over his mouth.

Later in History of Magic, Lorenzo stared at you instead of focusing on completing the assignment in front of him. You tapped his nose with the end of your quill playfully. 

“You alright there, Enz?” 

“You’re so beautiful, it’s distracting. I can’t even focus on my notes.” 

You flushed in response and Enzo found that he rather liked making you flustered for a change. Maybe a case of loose lips wasn't so bad after all. 

During lunch, Lorenzo glared at Draco as the blonde asked you a question about the Draught of the Living Dead potion. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, cousin?” Draco asked after a moment. 

Enzo continued glaring at him and inched closer to you, draping a protective arm around your shoulder. “Look at Y/N like that again and I’ll turn you into a ferret myself.” 

The other boys snickered while Draco backed away from you. His brief stint as a rodent clearly traumatized him enough to balk at the threat. You turned away from the recounting of the infamous fourth year incident and faced Enzo. 

“Are you feeling alright, Enz? You’ve been acting strange all day.” 

Come to think of it, Lorenzo did feel a bit different. Unfiltered, unadulterated, and perhaps a tad bit unhinged. Oddly enough, it was freeing in a strange sort of way.

“I’m fine. I’m just saying what I’ve been thinking all along. Usually, I’m too scared to speak my thoughts out loud, but I’m not now.” Enzo scrunched his nose. “Also, the chocolate frogs I stole from Reg tasted kind of funny.” 

Before he knew it, you were marching right into the boy’s dormitory with him in tow. He shuffled hurriedly behind you as you yanked open the door to his dorm. Regulus lounged at his desk, flipping through the pages of his book and not bothering to look up as the two of you barged in. 

“Learned your lesson yet, Berkshire?” 

You frowned as you snatched the book out of Reggie’s hands and threw it over your shoulder. “What the hell did you do to him, Regulus?”

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly. “Slipped a bit of Veritaserum in my chocolate frogs because I knew the little weasel had been secretly stealing them behind my back.” 

“Hey!” Enzo exclaimed. “That’s rude.” 

“Is that why he’s acting so strange?” 

The youngest Black leveled an amused glance at you. “Define strange.”

“Well, he’s been complimenting me all day. He even threatened to turn Draco into a ferret for looking at me. It’s like he has no filter at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Veritaserum makes you tell the truth.” 

You paused, taking in his words. “So everything Enzo said today…” Enzo smiled brightly as you glanced warily at him. “He means it?” 

Regulus nodded in confirmation. “Mhm, I’m afraid young Lorenzo has a little crush on you.” 

“Hello?” Enzo exclaimed. “I’m literally right here.” He turned to face you. “Also yes, I do have a crush on you. I have for ages. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t noticed. I’m not that great at hiding it.” Your jaw dropped as he pivoted back to Regulus. “You’re a twat for dosing my candy, Reg.” 

“Your candy?” Regulus huffed. “I bought that with my hard earned money.” 

“You mean your allowance that mummy and daddy sends you every month? Please, Reg, you have more galleons and candy than you know what to do with. Honestly, it’s a bit selfish not to share.” 

Before you could put a stop to it, Regulus launched himself at Enzo. The boys wrestled, smacking and taunting each other like toddlers. With a frustrated sigh, you pried the two of them apart. 

“You two are honestly ridiculous.” 

Enzo pushed Regulus off of him and brushed off the front of his shirt. “Yes, but hopefully you find it cute and endearing, right? Well, me. Not Reg. I don’t really think you’re into the whole tortured poet thing he’s got going on.” 

Regulus glared at his friend. “Rude!” 

Enzo shrugged. “What? It’s true. Don’t worry, it works for some people. I think that redhead in Gryffindor likes you, but you’ve got to stop being so goddamn oblivious. She obviously wants you to break her back like a glow stick.”

“Lorenzo!” 

You smacked your best friend on the arm for his rather candid commentary, but it was half-hearted. You were too busy trying not to burst into laughter given the fact that he was completely correct. Said redhead definitely had a thing for Regulus. 

“I’m just stating facts. Anyways, if he didn’t want to hear it, he shouldn’t have dosed me.” 

You tugged Regulus by his tie. “You did this to him. Now you’re going to help me get this under control. Do you understand?” 

Regulus sighed in defeat. “Fine.” 

For the remainder of the day, you kept a close eye on Enzo. Though you and Regulus were both babysitting him, your best friend didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed rather thrilled with spending the rest of the day by your side. Truth be told, you didn’t mind either despite the fact that you had to pull Enzo out of a sticky situation more than once. 

As you watched him during quidditch practice, you nearly fell out of the stands when Lorenzo cocked his head at his captain and narrowed his eyes. “Flint, why is your head shaped like that?” 

It was by sheer luck that Regulus swooped in to save the day and promptly dragged him off to perform drills at the far end of the field. At the end of practice, you thought it would be safe to lounge in the common room, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Enzo snuggled to your side, his slightly damp hair tickling your neck. The familiar scent of citrus and cedar distracted you momentarily as he stared at Tom. The older Riddle was currently hustling Theo through a game of chess. 

“Tom, even though you scare me, I still think you’re hotter than Mattheo. Just don’t tell him I said that.” 

The entire room fell into a hush as Tom directed his smoldering gaze towards Enzo. You tensed beside him, fingers curled protectively around his arm. 

Finally, Tom spoke. “It’ll be our little secret, Berkshire.” 

“Salazar save us all.” 

When dinner rolled around, your fight or flight response was completely shot. Thanks to Enzo’s current condition, you were on constant alert. 

By now, the boys were perfectly aware of his inability to lie and the twats found his predicament particularly hilarious. All except Mattheo, whose ego had taken a hit after Theo told him all about Enzo’s confession to Tom. 

“I can’t believe you think Tom is hotter than me,” Mattheo grumbled. “That’s just completely mental.” 

Theo pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. I’ll always think you’re hotter.” 

“How can you two flirt at a time like this?’ You sighed exasperatedly. “One of your best friends is under a truth spell and all you care about is being the hot brother?” Mattheo protested, but you held a hand up to halt whatever stupid remark he was itching to say. “Where is Regulus? I should wring his stupid neck for putting poor Enzo through this.” 

“I think he’s talking to that Gryffindor,” Theo said with an eyebrow wiggle. “Finally. Maybe dosing Berkshire wasn’t so bad if it gets Regulus laid.” 

As if on cue, Enzo snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face. “Cousin, you really need to lay off the bleach. I think it’s seeping into your bloody brain. You’ve been staring at Granger so intently that it’s starting to freak her out.”

The boys snickered as Draco snapped out of his trance. Before the blonde could reprimand his cousin, you stood up and grabbed Enzo’s hand. Your best friend grinned as he linked your fingers through yours. 

“Oh, we’re holding hands. This is nice,” Enzo shuffled to his feet as you tugged him out of his seat. He didn’t seem to mind being dragged out of the Great Hall. “Hey, have I ever told you that your eyes remind me of the sunset? You’re pretty. I really want to kiss you.” 

You pointedly ignored the kissy faces Mattheo and Theo were making. “We’re leaving. Let’s go, Enz.” 

Enzo waved to your friends and grinned. “I hope we make out.” 

The boys snickered as you turned beet red. “Lorenzo!” 

“Yes, dear, coming!” 

With the promise of an impromptu movie night, you managed to coax Enzo back to his dorm. He shuffled in your lap, nuzzling into your touch as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Reg says the serum should wear off in an hour, so you just have to hold off until then.” 

“Oh,” Enzo said with a tinge of disappointment. “That’s a bummer. It’s kind of nice just saying whatever was on my mind.” 

“Enz, you told Theo he smelled like day old lasagna and then you hit on Tom. Tom!”

Enzo’s honey eyes blinked up at you. “What? He’s hot. You’re telling me you wouldn’t hit on him too?” 

You shook your head. “Psychopathic maniacs aren’t really my type.” 

“What’s your type then?” You fell silent for a beat before Enzo nudged your elbow with his nose. “C’mon, it’s only fair. I’ve been making a fool out of myself all day. Grant me this one, love.” 

You sighed, knowing that you’d cave to his puppy dog eyes. “I do have a crush on this one guy.” 

“What’s his name? Enzo asked as he sat upright. “His house? His dorm number? I might ask Tom to hunt him down for me.” You glared at him in response, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Blame the serum.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “To answer your very nosy questions, he goes by a nickname, he’s in Slytherin, and we’re currently in his dorm.”

“Oh my god. The emo act worked on you, too?” Enzo smacked his forehead in distress. “For fuck’s sake!” 

“It’s you, you idiot. I like you.” 

Enzo beamed. “Thank Godric! This is the happiest day of my life.” He bounced as he talked, eyes shining brightly. . “Do you want to go on a date with me? We could go to Hogsmeade. Wait, no. That’s not good enough. Let’s go to London. Or Paris. Fuck it, I’ll borrow Malfoy’s jet.” 

You giggled at how ridiculously adorable this boy was. “Enz, slow down! First of all, I’d love to go on a date with you. Hogsmeade is perfectly fine, but we should probably wait until you’re back to normal.” 

Enzo sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can wait. But you’re staying to  cuddle, right?” He flashed those honey eyes at you again, perfectly aware that you couldn’t resist him even if you tried. To add to his plea, Enzo jutted his bottom lip into a pout. “Please?” 

“Sure, Enz.” 

With a triumphant grin, Enzo pulled you against him. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek, making you melt. As you continued watching the movie, you couldn’t help but revel in the affection Enzo showered you with. He was a great cuddler and he smelled nice and oh gods you really, really liked him. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Enzo murmured against your ear. “Mostly because I can’t, but I definitely have a boner right now.” 

“Lorenzo!” 

You burst into a fit of giggles, which caused Enzo to laugh as well. He only snuggled closer, burying his face into your neck. “Sorry that I find you super hot and pretty and cute. Honestly, I’m the victim in this situation.” 

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god, just shut up and cuddle.” 

Enzo grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “Yes, honey.” 

[vaaaaaiolet]

Your writing is so superb , but I would appreciate it if you could recommend other Leon Kennedy fan fiction blogs you think are as superb as your work.💛

AWWW GOSH 😭 you're too sweet :)

what i CAN do for you is recommend some very fantastic authors (in no particular order) who i look up to immensely 🫶 and rest assured they're far more skilled than i am so you'll def find a new fic to love in their masterlists!!

please be respectful when perusing their work and don't bother them with asks to write leon fic bc many of them have moved to other fandoms :) and mind their dnis!!

@miss-oranje-disco-dancer (masterlist):

never penelope, always calypso haunts me enough that i've written shitty poetry to cope about it in my SPARE TIME, liz's angst is that good. her writing packs a sucker punch every time without mincing words and her attention to detail never misses!!!

@uhlunaro (resi masterlist):

a tale of grief in ten parts is literally what made me start writing. leon's (hell, every resi character's) characterization is FLAWLESS in ro's fics. using my full chest to say i've cried to their writing multiple times yeah what about it🧍‍♀️

@crsssie (leon masterlist):

nobody does a delicious back-and-forth dialogue like cressie :3 you'll either be crying of laughter or punching your screen wishing it was leon (in the best way). that racer leon au you've been seeing? she pretty much invented it. and in 20k words no less.

@sweeterthanficstion (masterlist):

if you've ever wanted to taste sunshine in writing form, YOU'VE FOUND YOUR GIRL!! with her soothing flow and fairytale prose, amber's writing always has me blushing and crushing like the first time i laid eyes on leon <3

@inkonparchment (masterlist):

ink is leonblr's classics author and we are spoiled BADDD with her writing!! her leon is just as - if not more - charming as a jane austen male lead. give class of '95 (or any of her fics) a read and invest in a fainting couch for when you swoon ;)

@byexbyez (masterlist in pinned):

ronnie writes like a freaking renaissance painter. you WILL feel everything with all 5 senses in her prose. i found her through love me more in '23 and it STUCK WITH ME until '24 when she finished it like a NOVEL in both length and quality. she's that good.

@mandalhoerian (resi masterlist):

HOOOOO BOY. you know the "hide them from mappa" meme. apply that to shai but with publishers bc her prose deserves to be BOUND IN GOLD AND LEATHER and WE OUGHT TO PAY TO READ IT. come prepared with kleenex. trust me.

@comatosebunny09 (masterlist):

some of the DREAMIEST writing i’ve ever read. i highly rec lighting candles and going over her leon musings as self care bc YOU DESERVE IT. more often than not i read bunny’s work only to end up taking notes 😭

@uncouth-the-fifth (resi masterlist):

she is MAGIC!! user uncouth's prose reads like MOVIE SCENES i'm not kidding. please give her leon works a go bc they far surpass mine in their worldbuilding, narrative voice, and just in general. her leon is so very real and dear to my heart <3

[valorums-archived]

SHI’AL HAD JUST FINISHED A BRIEF afternoon teatime with Chancellor Palpatine and was leaving the man’s office when she felt something soft brush against her ankles. Her gaze flickered downwards, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the adorable little feline. She crouched down, reaching out and petting the cat behind the ear.

“Hey there, little fella.” She said softly, her voice GENTLE so as not to frighten the creature when she spoke. “What brings you here to the Senate building, hmm?”

╰► @hyakkiyagy0

bakeneko approaches @valorums ...

Nobody could explain where the cat had come from. But they couldn't shoo it away either.

No, the white long haired cat seemed perfectly content to wander the halls of the palace, avoiding any brooms swiped their way, any flailing limbs. It was found in inexplicable places as well-- as if able to teleport from space to space.

The cat knew every hidden spot. And that was how it had come upon the maiden, trotting on silent feet before rubbing up against her ankles.

A purring-mrrp left the feline, elegant feather-duster tail swishing back and forth. It wanted attention.

[namism]

Request: Hi, I was wondering if you could write about Mihawk x civillian reader and about how their relationship would work with him being the world's strongest swordsman and the reader being an ordinary civillian with no fighting skills, no haki and no devil fruit? Thank you for taking the time for reading my message. 🙃

not a hero, lover | dracule mihawk

➳ categories: canonverse, gender neutral civilian reader, failed kidnapping scenario

➳ word count: 1.5k

➳ summary: Running into the face of danger is a price you pay for dating the world's strongest swordsman and Warlord of the Sea, Dracule Mihawk.

➳ notes: i wasn't too sure about this so i might write headcanons next time. thank you for requesting! 🍷

➳ cross-posted on ao3

Years after Mihawk was globally recognized as the "Strongest Swordsman in the World," he found himself getting bored.

There was no competition, no enemy who wanted to challenge him because everyone feared him (pirates, Marines, and civilians alike) beyond the perilous waters of the Grand Line. Even as he searched far and wide for an opponent worthy of fighting, no one ever came close.

So he took the peace that came with it, the solitude that came with being feared by all and many, as well as the privileges of a Warlord who was untouchable by the Marines and wandered out and about. He was vacationing in islands in the East Blue, sometimes the North, and regularly the Grand Line to find something that interested him. That was when he met you.

As a vineyard owner, you were popular among the locals of your town for cultivating a special cultivar of the common grapevine. You had hectares of land, and you sold the best wine. Mihawk was interested the moment he stumbled upon your stand at the bay market, and knowing himself, he couldn't resist purchasing a bottle.

Although one bottle became two, and two bottles became four. There was something about the wine you sold that made him come back for more, sailing off to your town on days when he needed to restock, until you decided one day that he was a loyal customer.

On his eighth visit, he realized he had a problem.

Or rather, problems. He had a drinking problem and a crush problem.

He was disgusted. Not by you, but with himself.

Mihawk had no business calling anyone a crush at his age. He was in his 40s and it revolted him every time he thought of having a "crush"—but unlike his drinking problem, it was an issue that could be resolved with a simple meeting, a simple question.

Mihawk took the liberty of visiting once more on a random evening. As you were closing down, he waited at the corner street until you were ready to settle for the night.

When you emerged, Mihawk caught you by surprise and introduced himself for the first time. He expected you to run amok and start a panic among the civilians, but you giggled to yourself and invited him over. The next thing he knew, he was looking into the horizon, admiring the stretch of land that housed rows and rows of the cultivar he loved. He was silent as he admired the sight, but he didn't tell you that.

Instead, he told you how good your wine tasted, that it tasted complex on his palate after he swallowed and waited for the aftertaste. Then he dropped the question.

"Would you like to go out sometime?" he asked.

You were surprised.

But you accepted.

It still feels like yesterday, even though a lot has changed. It has only been five months or so, yet Mihawk visits every week whenever he can, sometimes more when he's bored. He stays at your place on nights when you can't sleep alone, and you spend it on the hill overlooking your vineyard with some late-night wine. Mihawk has to be more careful now that he's committed to you, as he would be attracting criminals left and right. While his Warlord status keeps the Marines and weaker pirates at bay, he's positive that trouble will come regardless. If they aren't after him, they would be after you.

You suppose it's a price you pay for dating him. Although you hope to steer clear of danger, you wouldn't give up your lover for anything.

"I should teach you," Mihawk suggests one day as you walk across the vineyard, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Teach me what?" you ask.

"How to hold a sword," he says. "How to fight. You live too close to the town that pirates roam often. You must learn how to protect yourself."

"Hmm. I'll think about it."

Born an ordinary human, you have not once faced danger in your life. Nothing ever called for the need for combat, swordsmanship, or the arcane power of the Haki unlike the pirates who sail the seas. You come from a place of privilege, but it soothes your nerves that your life is peaceful.

Mihawk warned you several times that he was going to bring trouble before dating you, yet it didn't bother you one bit despite your lacking abilities. You knew he was strong and you trusted him. He can protect you on his own just fine even if you aren't skilled at fighting.

Well, not quite.

Tonight is one of those nights when you can't sleep a wink, so you invited Mihawk over who didn't need much convincing to come. As you arrive at the hill where you spend most nights together in secret, you notice something strange.

A gust of wind blows west. The smell of fire wafts in the air, followed by the scent of burnt grass. You hold your lantern out in the dark. You're close to the hill's peak where no one rarely goes, yet something feels bizarre.

You sniff the air. The scent is awfully close. When you trudge up the hill and reach the very top, your eyes land on the remains of a campfire under a mahogany tree. Two cups of steel lay on the ground empty like someone was just here with another, the other cup knocked over like someone had just scampered away.

You shudder.

You and Mihawk never made a fire. No one else should even have access to this place besides you.

Suddenly, a man pounces on you from behind.

"Ahhh! Let go of me!" you wail as you struggle against his grip. A big man who can overpower you, he binds your hands together with a rope and throws you over his shoulder. "Ugh! Please—"

A second shadow emerges from your peripheral vision. Holding a rope, he binds your feet together and poorly stuffs a cloth in your mouth. Squirming, you spit out the cloth. He forces a hand on your face to still you, but you bite down on him, causing him to pull away.

"Why, you little—"

"Help!" you scream at the top of your lungs. The other man tries to suppress you, but you wrestle out of his clutch. "Mihawk! Someone, please— ew, don't touch me!"

"Just shut up already!" He slaps you across the face, and you quiet down. His accomplice snatches the cloth and ties it around your mouth.

"Shit at fighting, but amazing at biting." He grimaces as he looks down at his bleeding hand. "Stupid one! Couldn't get your man to teach you how to fight, so you bite people?!"

You thrash around and howl suppressed cries. He points downhill with a weak finger.

"Pack it up. We'll leave before anyone hears."

As they trek down the hill, you start to accept your fate. They're burglars. You've seen them in the newspaper a long time ago when they made it to the local news. They primarily targeted property owners and emporiums, but you were out of their radar because your vineyard was two blocks down the constabulary. Now that you're associated with Mihawk (and news of his frequent visits has spread among the island felons), they suppose they can get him by taking you hostage, even if it meant waking the constables in the middle of the night.

"Sorry, but hear what, exactly?"

In just a split second, the man holding you falls to his knees and lets you go. You stumble backward helplessly as he screams in agony. Blood seeps through his vest, a pool of liquid collecting on the grass under which he lays. Suddenly, a gust zips past you, and the man's accomplice gets down. Mihawk cuts across his chest and fluidly swings his sword to pierce through him.

Your eyes close in fear. You inch away from the man below you and fiddle with the knot that fastens your hands.

A few feet away, Mihawk scoffs.

"'Before anyone hears?' Anyone would have figured it out by now. You fools run around like mice."

"Mihawk!" you exclaim. He quickly runs over to you and helps you out of your plight. As your limbs break free, you untie the cloth around your mouth and lean into your lover. "Good god, I was so scared! I thought you wouldn't come, I—"

"I'm sorry," he says exasperatedly. He strokes your cheek softly with his fingers, eyes casting downward. "Were you hurt?"

You shake your head. "No. Just horrified."

He sighs.

"I'm afraid we can't stay here. If they find these two gone, they will look for you," he says. "Did you lock up the yard?"

"Yes," you say. "Why?"

"Come to Kuraigana with me."

"Like, where you live? I-I'll leave with you?"

He pats your head gently. "Just for tonight, my dear. We'll be back in the morning when it's safer."

You breathe out. Mihawk expects an answer.

"Fine. Take me with you."

Mihawk offers a hand and hoists you from the ground. At that moment, you lean into him for a hug as you look away from the lifeless bodies below your feet. A shudder runs through your back once again.

"Thank you for saving me, hero," you tease. Mihawk almost chokes on his spit as he cringes, but he keeps you close to his chest.

"Not a hero. Just your lover," he corrects. "Anyway, about that training I was telling you a month ago..."

"I'm in. Please, go and lead the way."