#No matter how much of a pain in the ass this city can be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soufcakmistress · 1 month ago

Text

Distance

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

A/N: It's been a long ass time. Of course these beautiful Black people brought me out of retirement. Let's fucking gooooo

The sun shined bright in Clarksdale as Annie waited in line for the 8:30 train to Chicago. Her protections for her home had been set in her absence, as well as on her person with a powerful mojo bag she fed the night before. The Illinois Central Railroad had a straight route to the Windy City from Mississippi. Colored folk filled the train depot almost to capacity in their finest threads, packed to the gills with their prized possessions & family heirlooms, combined with enough food to last them the trip.

It had been four years since Smoke and Stack left everything they knew behind. Including her, and their child’s memory. Pain is not sufficient for what Annie felt. She really had no idea what she was doing there at the train station. Or what she’d hope to find when she arrived to Chicago. Or what she would do when she got there. Something had to be done. Energy had to be moved. She had to see Smoke for herself.

A handsome porter helped her with her bags and helped her to get settled in the colored section of the train. She couldn’t help but be mesmerized at all the different kinds of folks that were traveling for greener pastures. The Klan terrorized northern Mississippi in hopes of keeping Black people docile. The Black communities banded together for protection, and yet could not be moved by fear or intimidation. There were grandmothers with their adult children, young families with infants and toddlers running about the cabin full of energy, single people who didn’t have much more than the clothes in their backs. All looking to a new life away from Jim Crow.

Clarksdale to Memphis. Memphis to East St. Louis. East St. Louis to Springfield. Springfield to Chicago. She made sure to get some dirt from every stop of the route — sweeping her floors with railroad dirt from various places ensured constant flow of energy and resources to find her. She stepped off the train at the last stop and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Annie tried to not look so much a slack jawed yokel but she had never been no further than Louisiana in her life. The skyscrapers towered over the sprawling city, the winding streets that were two lanes wide were bumper to bumper with fancy cars, and there was just so many people! How could Elijah find comfort in a place like this and not with her?

She needed him. She needed him in her bones. In her blood. They were each other’s safe haven. As children, they would meet each other at the crossroads of Route 16 and Candler Road for a respite from their hectic home lives. Smoke’s father was a drunk and abused him and the rest of the family incessantly. Annie’s mother was always away — working roots for folks, doing house cleanings and driving out haints, performing exorcisms. They were both 15 the first time they kissed and 17 the first time they were intimate. They were so young then, and blissfully ignorant at how life can be.

As they aged, they were still inseparable. Both didn’t have much formal schooling. Annie grew into her power — learning herbs and recipes and how to protect, provide and punish if need be. Elijah eventually grew tired of working in the fields. Him and his brother Elias, who was the epitome of hell on wheels, made a living robbing trains. Those boys began to make a name for themselves — especially when their abusive father mysteriously ended up dead. Stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. Annie knew the truth of the matter. Smoke and Stack were growing into young men — they couldn’t tolerate the abuse any longer.

Shortly thereafter, America got involved in the Great War. The draft came to Mississippi and Annie’s worst nightmare came to fruition. Smoke and Stack were conscripted and were set to ship out to Camp Jackson for basic training.

“Put this on your neck.”

Smoke rolled his eyes and begrudgingly took the brown mojo bag. He tied it around his neck and let it fall to his chest. “You know I don’t believe in all that mess.”

“And you don’t need to. This “mess” has been around longer than we could imagine and will be around long after we return to this earth. Just keep it on. For me.”

The boarding house Annie lodged in was Black owned in a neighborhood called Bronzeville. All kinds of fancy colored folks lived there in their pressed suits and pristine dresses hustling to their next destination, with little time to converse. She asked a few people about Smoke and Stack andwhere they hung out at. “Elijah and Elias? About six feet, pretty teeth, dimples. They hard to miss.” But no one could point her in the right direction.

Her trip was only supposed to be for a week. Yet four days had passed and not a peep from either one of the twins. Riding the bus along Cottage Grove, she couldn’t help but to overhear two young chaps’ conversation. “Billy done fucked up for the last time. He was slow with Luzzato’s money and Smoke and Stack left him for dead on the pier. I ain’t fuckin with them twins.”

Annie knew that the twins were okay with violence and confrontation— this was not new information to her. But working for the Italians? How did they get wrangled with them? And how did they manage to stay out of jail?

Apparently Paul Luzzato was one of Al Capone’s lieutenants who was a bit more open minded when it came to race than the rest of Capone’s family. The teens made mention of a club right in the neighborhood of the boardinghouse where she was staying. This was the opportunity Annie needed to get a step closer to closure.

The Lighthouse was a cool joint for colored folks on the southside playing nothing but Chicago and Mississippi blues. Lowlit with the fog of cigarette smoke hovering at the ceiling, Annie moved gracefully to the bar scoping out the scene. Beautiful Black men and women in their finest zoot suits and bias cut gowns drinking and carrying on — she felt a bit country and backwoods around all these fancy folks. Annie wondered if these colored folks all traveled from down south as well in hopes of seeking a promised land.

The house band played a good ol southern tune that made Annie rock and sway in her seat. A young stocky man tending bar wiped off a glass, looking in her direction. “Would you like a drink ma’am?”

“I reckon so. What’s a girl gotta do to get some moonshine around here?”

The barkeep fixed her up a glass of moonshine neat. That familiar burn went down so nicely.

“Nigga, if you don’t count this money so I can go. Couple bitches in there dying to get broke off by daddy Stack.” Smoke and Stack sat in a dimly lit storage room counting up their money from their protection runs for the day. Capone had sway over the whole city — any business that wasn’t a patron of the mob had to pay up for their own sakes.

“Pussy hound. Can we finish this business please?” Smoke sucked his teeth at his twin’s one track mind. To be fair, they had a long day and he wouldn’t mind a nice nightcap as he hears that guitar wail and moan.

Every dollar and cent is accounted for. Stashed safely in their massive safe built into the wall, they put their suit jackets back on and spread out into the fray. Stack went immediately to coat check to seek out this young filly who had no idea how mischievous he was. Smoke however, sat alone at his usual seat on the second floor overlooking the band. He nursed his whiskey and scoped out the room. The club was full to capacity, there were no fights at the moment, alcohol flowed — he would have a good report for Luzzato.

Smoke peered toward the bar and saw Rallo, the barkeep chatting up with a dark skinned woman who filled out her dress like no one he had ever seen before. Not in a long time anyway. Imagine his surprise when he stood up gazing over the balcony to get a good look….

“It can’t— it can’t be. She said she would never leave Mississippi.” Annie had had a lot more to drink by the time Smoke recognized her and her lips and limbs were a lot looser. Smoke watched Rallo fill her glass up to the top and sat watching her gulp it down like a sucker for love. He would serve other folks and park his ass right back in front of Annie, charming her with everything he had.

“Oh fuck this.”

Smoke skipped every two steps to race towards the bar. Pulling out a cigarette Stack rolled for him, he stood behind Annie staring directly into the back of her head. Her hand rested on Rallo’s forearm, waxing poetically about the south and how beautiful Chicago was.

“Annie.”

Her heart dropped into her ass. Annie’s pulse skyrocketed head ring his southern rasp that hadn’t changed in four years. She forced herself to play it off however— he didn’t get to leave her and their home and their baby and demand immediate attention.

Annie turned to gaze him in the eye and smiled. Rallo however stood up straight as a board, having prior knowledge of Smoke’s reputation especially on the southside. He has never been on his bad side before and didn’t want to start today. Smoke was burning with rage seeing his estranged wife giggle and flirt with a measly bartender.

“I’m busy.”

She cut her eyes and returned to her moonshine on the bar. “Rallo, get the fuck outta here.”

“Sure thing, Smoke.” Rallo left Annie alone and assisted other patrons where it was safe. She huffed at his audacity and threw the rest of the liquor back.

“Still jealous, huh? You never did like my attention to be split.” She hasn’t looked him in the eye yet, staring at the mirror that spanned the backlit bar in front of her. He was still devastatingly handsome..

“What you sayin to him, huh? Had a good time socializin? Why are you here?”

“So Smoke the only one ‘llowed to leave the country? I’m looking towards a future, not the past where everything hurts too bad. Sound familiar?” Annie hissed at Smoke for daring to regulate her. He left HER. He needed to hurt now.

It sliced right through him to have his own words thrown back in his face. His jaw was locked so tight it could break an anvil. “Annie, can we talk in the back? Please?”

“Mmmm, no I’m fine just right here ,thank you so much.” Internally, she loved that she could rouse him still. He still cared. She could tell he still wanted her carnally— his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering the length of her body.

Smoke curled his lips in, gritting his teeth at her insolence. He did deserve the treatment. But he didn’t care— all he wanted was to cuss her ass out and give her all the love that had been pent up for the last four years. “Annie. Please.”

“Elijah. Please.” Her ire began to rise now. His eyes pleaded with her to cooperate and not have his business out for Chicago to see — he had a reputation to uphold. Annie acquiesced begrudgingly, jumping from the barstool and allowed him to guide her to the back. He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers like they used to. Electricity had no choice to spread through her body.

Smoke had a key to Luzzato’s office which had a bed and closet for whenever he was too tired to drive home from the club. Annie scrutinized the tall windows cased in luxurious drapes, all of the expensive hardwood furniture and floors, and fancy Art deco decor. Nothing like back down home.

“You like Rallo?”

“Tuh, you ain’t got not one lick of sense. He was friendly enough.”

“Why are you here, Annie? You said you could never leave Mississippi. You said you could never leave—“ Smoke stopped short of speaking their dead child’s name. Her name crumbled in his mouth, a raw memory that still threatened to take him down if he let it.

That made Annie’s chin tremble yet galvanized her to force the issue. “You can’t even say her name. The child we made out of love. And you can’t even do that.” She sounded so weary and exhausted.

His eyes were glassy already, and he grabbed both of her hands. “Annie…..I couldn’t stay and you know this. I fuckin couldn’t wake up every mornin seein that tiny grave every day. I couldn’t…”

Annie felt the tremors in Smoke’s hands. She couldn’t hold tears back any longer. “And how do you think I felt?! I pulled her from my womb myself. I nursed her. I prayed for her. And she wasted away anyway. What about my pain, Elijah?!”

The dam broke for Smoke, and he cried as he embraced her. She wriggled and struggled but Smoke held her in place, both shedding tears that had no end. “Annie, please forgive me. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you to the ends of the Earth. Please forgive me.” His lips sweetly grazed her chin, cheek and down to her supple neck.

She shuddered audibly, his touch still had the ability to make her knees weak like jelly. Annie hated that her body leaned into his affections without her permission. After all this time. After what he did. “You hurt me. You hurt me bad. How can I..”

Their mouths met in a whirlwind. Tongues lashing against one another, inciting soft moans from the pair. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do whatever. Spend the rest of my life doin it if I have to.” Smoke’s lips kissed down her collarbone to her chest and he tenderly pecked the top of her breasts.

Kisses turn to bites, and revert back to kisses along her cleavage, and a big bicep wraps around Annie’s waist for him to grind his hips on hers. Her moans rise in volume when he reaches under her gown, and pulls her panties to the side. Smoke folds his tongue back into her mouth while two of his agile digits swipe back and forth so tenderly across her pussy lips.

“Oh…shit Smoke…”

So much of her slick is already expelled, making a mess on his fingers just how he remembers. “I’ll just have to remind you how it feels to be loved by me..”

Smoke loves how buxom his wife is, and can’t wait another second without one of her titties in his mouth. Annie helps him pull down the straps of the dress along with her bra, showing her bare breasts in all their glory. Smoke walks Annie back to Luzzato’s massive dark oak desk and leans her up against it. She held the skirt of her dress while he played with her pussy and sucked her nipples so sweetly. He kneeled so he could look at her mound even closer, making her gasp at his anticipation. He ran his hand through her soft coils and spread her lips and put his face in between them.

Bliss can’t come to close to how sensational she’s feeling. Annie holds her husband’s head right on her clit, letting his tongue lap gently in tight circles. Two thick fingers penetrate her hole and if Smoke wasn’t holding her up, she would have slipped right off the desk.

“You…you motherfucker…don’t you stop baby…”

He has her to tilt her hips up so he can lick even more thoroughly, his handsome face covered in her essence. Smoke is proud as ever, and considers it an honor to make his wife come after the way everything went down. The telltale signs came one after the other — Annie grabbing her breast, plucking her nipple, her gritted teeth, her bewildered expression at the sheer amount of pleasure she’s receiving. Those juicy lips of his wrap around Annie’s clit and sucked to tumble her into sweet oblivion. The way his moans reverberated through her body as he took from her….she couldn’t ache for him more than she did in this very moment.

Smoke kisses her sensitive pussy for the last time and finagles with his belt and slacks. When he takes his button down off, Annie sees the mojo bag she made for him when he went to the war. Her belly fluttered, that he still kept it after all this time. Even with how he felt about her beliefs. “Turn yo ass around.”

He wipes his mouth off and sheds his underwear. Annie can feel how hard he is on the small of her back, urging a coy gasp out of her. A couple strokes of his shaft is all he needs to enter his wife. Her skirts are bunched up over her ass, and his hands can’t resist slapping both cheeks in tandem. Annie hikes her waist up, positively buzzing waiting for him to split her open. Smoke holds her open and lets the head of his dick penetrate her. They both shout in ecstasy at their coupling. It had been so long….

“I know you don’t believe me….but you the only one. You the only one, Annie…” One of his hands held her by the shoulder, forcing Annie to sit on every devastating inch of that thick dick. Her whines and cries spurred him to get in deep — make her remember that he was her husband, and she was his wife. Forever.

Her umber skin meshed so well with his, Smoke enjoying the view of him sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy. “Good ass pussy, that good ass shit, fuck!” Smoke licked and bit at Annie’s delicate shoulders and neck, grunting like a man determined to fuck his beautiful well.

Fingers played and twisted at her nipples, until he pushes Annie’s chest to the desk so she gets everything she deserves out of him. Her pussy feels every vein and pulse of his dick caressing her walls, his heavy sack making contact with her clit on every thrust. She can’t stop smiling. Her man. Her Elijah. Their love was bone deep — inescapable, insurmountable, and unbreakable. They were a committing a sacred act that she didn’t realize how much she missed until that moment.

Smoke is beginning to twitch inside of her, and Annie starts clapping her fat ass on his pelvis. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, feeling himself about to walk into Eden. He has to get her to come with her — he needs to make her ascend this way.

“Yeah baby, yeah baby, it’s coming — fuck fuck I—“ Smoke gives Annie three powerful thrusts and he erupts inside of her. So much cum from her and him, the floor is a mess. He stands back and spreads her open to see the amalgamation of their love inside her pussy, and she blushes. Smoke is tender and sweet, but so filthy and nasty for her, and she swears she’s the luckiest girl in the world.

He holds her from behind just taking in her scent mingled with his — Luzzato’s office smelled like old cigars and pussy. “I forgive you, Elijah.”

Smoke was startled when she spoke — there had been a comfortable silence as they held each other. He turned her to face him and held her close, looking in her eyes with hope for reconciliation. “I couldn’t quit you if I wanted to. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

He graced Annie with a rare smile, one that reached his eyes. One peck on her lips turned into twenty and he thanked her incessantly for her mercy. Ever the gentleman, he assisted his wife in redressing and rearranging Luzzato’s office. The sneaky pair rejoined the festivities — still lively like they never left. Smoke got Annie a seat at his personal table on the second floor, walking tall and proud with his wife on his arm. Heads turned and gossip flowed at this mysterious woman. Smoke had never been sighted with any woman before in Chicago, not unless it was about business.

Humming in the vibrant after sex glow, Annie could do nothing but look at her husband’s face. By no means, was this going to be easy for them to grow from. But they were both ready and willing. Their love was unstoppable. Ancestral. Celestial. Smoke sensed her gaze on him and he turned back to her. Reaching over the table to kiss her, he held her hand tightly to his chest, with urgency.

“I’m comin back wit ya. I can’t let you walk away from me. I’d surely die, Annie. Will you have me?”

She squealed with utter joy at his heartfelt request. Annie sprang up and ran to him, sitting on his lap and kissing him with everything she had. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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#soufcakmistress #black writers #sinners #sinners movie #smoke x annie #annie sinners #smoke x stack #annie x smoke #sinners 2025 #sinners spoilers

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stllmnstr · 5 months ago

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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 ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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 ♡♡♡

#heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung scenarios #enhypen scenarios #heeseung angst #enhypen angst #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines

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ofbatsandballads · 4 months ago

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so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.

Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.

Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.

Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.

Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.

“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.

Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.

“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.

Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.

“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.

“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.

“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.

He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.

“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”

Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?

“And then she broke his nose.”

Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.

“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.

“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.

Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.

Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.

“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.

He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.

“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.

Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.

“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.

“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”

You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.

“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #remy writes 🖋️#might be writing up a smutty companion piece of what happens when he gets reader home. but we’ll see.

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ailoda · 5 months ago

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updated: 04.06.25

ᯓ★ fluff

His Sweet Girl (❤): Bucky taking care of his best girl. (@brnesblogposts)

Marshmallow (❤): her bed is too comfy for Bucky. But she has a solution. (@vivwritesfics)

Wallpaper (❤): Bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to. (@cosmicbucky)

Clean Shaven (❤): you shave Bucky. (@your-highnessmarvel)

Dog Tags and Drunkenness (❤): you go clubbing with some of the girls from the team to try and find Nat a date, but Bucky has a pretty specific routine in place whenever you leave his side. (@buck-buck-buckaroo)

Sanctuary (❤): we all need a safe place to rest, even when some of us don't believe it. (@eat-limes-bitches)

My Responsibility Is You (❤): Bucky’s girl has to get her wisdom teeth removed, and he would go to all lengths to protect her from that experience—but he has to deal with the aftermath and takes care of her in the best possible ways. (@eviesaurusrex)

Snowfall (❤): you refuse to go outside on a cold day and Bucky is more than happy to keep you warm. - florist!bucky (@navybrat817)

The Marriage Bet (❤): if in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet. (@brunchable)

Loverboy (❤): Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you. (@thevillainswhore)

From Me, To You (❤❅): as Bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received. (@retrosabers)

Hold My Girl (❤): Bucky comes home from a mission and needs time to hold his girl. (@pellucid-constellations)

Magnetic Mishap (❤): you bought magnets for Bucky's arm, forgetting that vibranium is not magnetic. (@rinasauruss)

The Life (❤): Bucky Barnes and the domesticity he deserves. (@hesthermay)

Pluvial Kisses! (❤): Bucky being the absolute fuckin dream of a man. (@mercurial-chuckles)

Yours, Whether You Know It Or Not (❤): you’ve been running missions with Sam and Bucky for a while now, and everything was fine—until John Walker started showing up and taking an interest in you. Bucky isn’t having it. Not because he’s jealous. Definitely not because he’s jealous. He just doesn’t trust Walker. Right? (@magical-reid)

Bucky's Quiet Love (❤❅): after a painful breakup, Bucky offers quiet comfort and unconditional care, showing you a love that's patient and gentle. He mends the ache in your chest and reminds you that you deserve so much more. (@mugglebornmarvelite)

Five Days, Five Bouquets (❤): "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?" (@marvelstoriesepic)

Weakness (❤✧): you use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass. (@marvelstoriesepic)

The Soldier and His Mission (❤❅): when a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence. (@magical-reid)

Forever Sounds Good (❤): Bucky Barnes had been called a lot of things in his lifetime—soldier, assassin, hero—but when you called him your husband, everything else ceased to exist. (@billionairebratenergy)

Baby, It's Bad Out There (❤❅): your best friend Kate has always been good at attracting trouble and this time, it’s starting to become your problem, too. Then again, what’s Christmas in New York City without meet-cutes and gunfire? (@intrepidacious)

Your Girl (❤): you're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes. (@navybrat817)

All American All-Star (❤): falling for the club’s American striker, Bucky Barnes, was never part of the plan— especially since your father happens to own the club. (@aquaticmercy)

Courting (❤): Bucky is a man from a different time. It shows when you start ‘going steady’ and honestly, you love it. Alternatively; Bucky uses 40’s dating etiquette to woo you, and surprises you with a modern turn of phrase. (@inkdrinkerworld)

Tulip (❤): on a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you. (@elixirfromthestars) biker?

Pretty Please (❤): Bucky Barnes is hopelessly in love with you. He gives you everything you ask for—until you stop asking. That’s when he decides to give you the one thing you never say aloud. (@daxisyzz)

new! Enchanted (❤): Bucky finally found his missing piece and it was you. He knew from the first moment he saw you. (@plumsdoll)

new! All up in Flames (❤❅): you just want your toxic ex-boyfriend’s things to stop haunting your apartment. So you let your friends lit the match. But then the sirens come, and with them Bucky Barnes, who puts out more than just the flames. (@marvelstoriesepic)

new! Oh, My Love, Side to Side (❤❅): after a successful yet traumatizing mission, you dream of losing Bucky for the first time in years. In a fit of panic, you call him. He answers. Not the phone, but the call your heart makes to his. (@daddyjackfrost)

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randomsuggesteduseername · 6 months ago

Text

SPIDER’S SECRET I

🕸️ SERIES MASTERLIST

‧₊˚ when new york’s famous vigilante helps you out of a mugging, an arrangement is quick to turn into a friendship….and perhaps more. after all, his charisma needs no face to work its magic on you ‧₊˚

spidey!steve x fem!reader

wc: 4k

description of wounds and violence, fluff, slight pining, smoking

Three knocks stronger than the rhythmic pitter patter of the rain have your attention shifting towards the window. Had you not been welcoming him in your room for the past few weeks you would’ve jumped right out of your bed out of fear. But this was becoming a regular thing, it’s now a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.

Pushing your biology course books out of your lap, your mind on him rather than the endocrine system you’re supposed to be studying. As you briefly wonder the gravity of his wounds, you remember to close and safely lock your door to avoid interruptions, aware it would be worrying for your mom to find you patching up Spider-man, the boy in a tight, red suit who always makes it on the news. Some say he’s a necessary vigilante for the troublesome city, others state he’s just a dumb kid playing superhero.

Although he always refuses to tell you anything about his identity or his life, you’re pretty sure he’s certainly not just playing around, countless bruises and cuts can attest to that.

The sound of the rain gets louder as you open the window, droplets smacking against the emergency metal staircase climbing up the side of the building. Poking your head out of your room carefully, you look to the left, met with a dark figure sitting on the stairs, leaning back against the brick wall, chest still heaving, shoulders sagged yet tight with pain.

“C’mon Bug-boy…” Urging him inside, you step back from the window, letting him come inside, droplets of water sliding down onto your carpet from his suit. He’s limping, you notice as much, his usual flexible self being rendered to a few pained movements. You briefly wonder how he managed to make it here.

The moment he’s inside your room, he plops down to the floor, resting back against the foot of your bed while his body seems to finally relax a bit, assuming he knows he’s safe with you and you’ll take care of him. Silently bending down, you reach under the bed and pull out the hidden first aid kit you bought a week ago, having realised that some small bandages and a disinfectant won’t do anymore.

Shutting the window, you take the precaution to pull the curtains shut, aware how paranoid he gets sometimes. Kneeling next to him, you tuck some hair behind your ears and speak. “Where, and how bad?” Hoping he’s not actually too injured, hating to see him like this, he pulls his mask up to his neck, showing a cut on his jaw, and as you gaze down, you asses another injury on his waist.

You’ve never seen his face. He’s kept his mask firmly in place, and has instructed you to do the same even if he passes out. You’re not sure what would be so bad about seeing his face, but you stopped questioning it after a while, now staring at the sharp jawline, biting your lip as some wet, brown and blond-ish strands of hair stick to the side of his neck.

Forcing yourself from building him a face you think would fit him based on what you’ve seen already, you rummage through the kit and furrow your brows as you fish the cleaning cloth, dampening it with disinfectant before you announce that it’s going to hurt.

He knows that, of course he does, he’s been through this with you before. But it does feel reassuring to acknowledge his pain. Focusing on the bloody split on his jaw, glad it’s not too deep, you don’t bother to ask what weapon did this as you know he never answers. The pain you cause him is evident from the way his fists stay curled tightly, pressed against his thighs.

Wiping the blood away from his skin and ignoring his groan, you grab a bandage big enough to fit his wound and place it over, making sure it sticks to his skin. However, the cut on his waist is more concerning. His suit is damaged, cut just like his skin is beneath it, though luckily it has stopped oozing blood for a while now, saving the mess it would have made on your floor and carpet.

Scared to approach it, you stare at it and watch as he pushes himself up a bit, having slumped against the foot of your bed due to the pain. “Thought you were about to become a doctor…you’re going to leave me out to die?” His tone, despite trying to sound amused, still has that pained tinge to it. The absurdity of his statement has your eyes rolling, huffing while a bloody cotton ball falls onto the floor. He’s here, laying on your floor after being beaten up, yet he still has the audacity to humour you.

“First of all, you are not going to die from two superficial cuts.” You can see his lips curling up, showing his white teeth as they split into a grin. Lips so pink, you stop to admire for a moment before remembering the point you were trying to make. “And second of all, I haven’t even started my residency yet! I’m purely working on you with the theoretical knowledge I have.”

He stifles his laugh, teeth biting into his lip before he quickly chokes up a gasp, grasping at his side. Pursing your lips, you let him calm down before shaking your head and murmuring about him being a dummy, regaining your confidence to approach his wound, you try not to think about it too much before you use a pair of scissors to cut more of his suit in order to gain access to his cut. Letting him know you’re ready, he breaches for the pain and you work through the mess of dried up blood, brows pulling together and eyes squinting while you carefully sanitise the wound, wrapping it up before you lean back, plopping on your butt with a soft thump before you gaze at him, his head now propped against the wooden pillar, taking calming breaths through his mouth.

“You’ll be fine, it didn’t look too bad.” Silently appreciating your assuring words, he moves to stand up. He never lingers, this sort of agreement you two have never went beyond you cleaning and patching him up, moments later to have him jump right back out of your window and disappear into the night, swinging from building to building.

It didn’t bother you at first, but now you’d like him to at least acknowledge you a bit more. It’s selfish, you think. You can’t demand something like that from him, so you keep your mouth shut and watch as he pads to the window, his steps as light as a cat’s.

“See you soon, doc.” The last thing you see is another stretch of his pretty lips before he tugs his mask down in place and opens your window, leaving you with a shudder as a wave of cold air enters your room, watching as he confidently jumps down from the rail.

Shaking your head and sighing, you close the window, lingering by it for a few moments before you pack up the first aid kit and throw away the bloody cotton balls.

—

THREE WEEKS AGO

Chilly weather always has you adding another layer beneath your jacket in hopes of maintaining a healthy body temperature. But as much as you want it to work, you always end up shaking, legs not able to carry you as fast as you’d wish. This late at night the streets are mostly empty, as was the uni’s library in which you spend your whole evening, revising one last time for your exam.

And just a ten minute walk is all it takes to get back home, so without hesitating, you walk with freezing hands shoved in your pockets. You’re not aware of the man taking an interest in you until it’s too late, his voice, gruff and raspy, calls out for you, and you make your first mistake. Stopping in your tracks to turn around.

He’s about the same height as you, a black beanie and hood covering his features, shielding him from the streetlight’s golden cast. He holds a knife, you can tell by the handle of it, the blade hidden behind his thigh as he speaks again. “Give me your bag.” He demands, his voice wavering as if he’s scared, paranoically looking back over his shoulder.

“I said give me the fucking bag!” He shouts, getting a bit more frantic now as he reaches his left hand for the strap of your bag, fist curling around the leather, but before he can even think of tugging on it he’s blinded by a web covering his eyes. You gasp, stepping back as his grip falls from your bag and instead scratching his covered eyes to free them, another ‘woosh’ sound echoes, another web collides with the man, this time glueing his hand to his chest.

A figure slowly comes down, hanging upside down, feet pressed to the thin string that’s connecting him to the street lamp while he keeps hold of it. You notice him wearing a costume, covering his whole body, a spider shape etched onto his chest. He drops down on the pavement, easily tripping the mugger as he tries to run away. You stand there and gasp as you hear the loud thud as the man falls onto the concrete.

“You, my dear sir, need to be taught a lesson.” The man…boy? in the spider costume tuts and crosses his arms over his chest in disappointment, pretending to care though he’s clearly mocking him. “This young lady didn’t do anything wrong. It’s always the undeserving ones who experience the worst things because of assholes like you.” His words seem to hold a sort of personal value to him, you don’t dare speak.

After the police picks up the thief, you continue making your way back, an uneasy feeling still lingering at the back of your mind. “So…” You yelp as the boy swings in front of you, landing on the side of the building a bit higher up and sticking to it effortlessly as if his limbs are made out of glue. “Why’re you walking alone? You didn’t get dumped, did you?” He tries his luck, jumping to the next building by crawling on the side of it to keep up with your walking pace.

“Um…no.” Keeping your hands tucked in your jacket, not daring to look at him, he jumps down from the building, and surprisingly enough he starts walking backwards in front of you, hands locked behind his back as he effortlessly side steps over a puddle of muddy water. “Just coming back from uni.” You’ve heard of him before, the one in the spider suit doing good deeds expecting nothing in return, but a few blurry images couldn’t really convince you of his integrity, so as he walks in front of you, you’re not sure what he wants from you.

Maybe he’s just another creep, playing the good guy role to gain the trust of others— “Hello, earth to pretty girl.” He waves a covered hand in front of you, making you snap out of your pretty ridiculous train of thought. “Relax, m��just walking you home to make sure you’re fine.” He flicks his hand, trying to bat away your obvious worries. “So, what are you studying?”

His question catches you off guard, eyes widening for a moment before he clarifies. “You said you were coming back from university, right?”

“Oh…” The sound is breathy, feeling a bit embarrassed as you respond. “Medicine, general surgery.” The slight saunter in his walk doesn’t fade, head cocking curiously to the side as he gives you an approving nod.

Stopping in front of your building, you bite your lip, eyes drifting away from the mask, trailing to his arm where you’re quick to notice the cut on his bicep, blood reddening the material of his suit. Stepping closer instinctively, you look at the damage before you frown. “You’re hurt.” He curiously lifts his arm a bit before he notices his cut.

“Hm, didn’t notice…must’ve cut myself while i was swinging.” By the way his words come out you’re assuming whoever is behind the mask is frowning.

“I could help.” Out of the blue, surprising yourself too, you offer to patch him up. You’re not sure if he can be trusted, but the way he helped you out of a street mugging, you feel like you at least owe him a bit of help back. “I’m on the third floor, room on the corner…there.” You point to the window and he takes a mental note. “Be quiet, my parents can’t know.”

After patching him up, he climbs out your window, and then once again, something in your mind has you speaking up. “If you ever need help…with wounds and stuff— you can always come by.” You fiddle with your hands and watch the curve of his back, head turning to the side to gaze back over his shoulder, at least you assume so since his eyes are covered by the mask.

“Will do, thanks doc!” You gasp as he flings himself over the edge, free falling for a few seconds before he shoots out webs, catching himself against the next building, watching him disappear into the night.

—

“The amazing Spider-man, infamous hero of New York City, has saved a family from a burning building. Earlier today, the masked vigilante made his presence known by pulling out a family of four from their top floor apartment as it went up in flames. Authorities showed up to the scene and from what we know so far, they detected a gas leak—“

Tuning out the news reporter, you sigh as you wonder if you’ll see him again. It’s been almost a week and truthfully you’re glad he hasn’t shown up at your window with another set of bruises and cuts on him, but you still feel somewhat empty. Maybe you’re expecting a sign? Something to let you know he’s alive and well, even though there’s plenty of news attesting to that already.

It’s absurd really, but spending your time sitting on your windowstill has become a habit, whether you’re studying or drinking a coffee, you look out into the night sky, hoping to see a dash passing by. Maybe it was for the best, maybe he’s found himself a licensed doctor to take care of him, not some second year student patching him up in her bedroom with shaky hands. Tracing your fingers over the spine of your book, the words jumble as your eyes pass over them, not making any sense of them in your brain. It’s your third time reading this page, but you pull your eyes away from it the moment a familiar voice rings through the room, your eyes finding the TV where he’s apparently giving an interview.

“Rest assured, New York, the Spider-man is here.” He gives a salute to the camera before he swings away, quickly disappearing from the screen. Great. Now he’s giving interviews.

Pushing yourself off the bed, socked feet dragging over the floor as you make your way to the kitchen, passing your dad in the living room. He’s watching some game, newspaper sprawled open on his lap. After grabbing some water, you return to your room, a cold breeze darting over you, eyes widening as you find the window opened. “What the…”

Stepping into the room to close it, your brows furrow as you turn around, a voice coming from above you. “Language, young lady.” You gasp, stumbling back against the bed, finding him sticking to the ceiling, hanging in the corner of your room. Clutching your heart, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” Shaking your head, you watch as he drops down onto his feet, moving to rest against the wall by the window, you’re wondering if he’s looking for a quick escape in case it’s needed,

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out,” He lifts his hands, as if surrendering, but you purse your lips, a brow cocking curiously. “You say that while you were just hanging off my ceiling.” That makes him think for a moment, letting out a soft chuckle before he brushes a hand over the back of his head.

“I guess you’ve got a point…” His smile is obvious in his tone, his body more relaxed than usual which has you wondering if he’s hurt, because that’s why he must be here in the first place. Standing up, you walk to him and give him a once over.

“Are you hurt?” Not being able to find any injuries which might need your attention, you breathe in and watch as he dismisses your words with a shake of his head, making the furrow between your brows deepen. He pushes himself off the wall, walking around your room as he seems to be looking around curiously, pictures hanging off the walls, decorations propped up on furniture.

“Nope, I’m fine. Thanks to this new suit…something about impenetrable nanofibers I think.” His hand reaches for a teddy bear, grabbing it as he turns around, propping it in front of his face before he speaks in a higher pitched, mocking voice. “Bad spider, scaring his trusted doctor like that.”

You must admit, he’s ridiculous, watching him do that makes you grin to yourself, rolling your eyes for good measure before you step closer, yanking the teddy away from him as you prop him back into his place. “Hands off, bug boy.”

“Bug boy— really? I’m- I’m not some ladybug, or stink bug. I’m a spider, I shoot webs. I’m cool.” Defending his case, he makes a few “phew” sounds as he pretends to shoot webs all over your room, but you cross your arms, standing still before he stops, leaving silence to settle in for a moment. “Okay, that was ridiculous, not cool at all.” Laughing softly, you bite your lip, taking a look at him.

“Why are you here? Since you’re not hurt…impenetrable nanofibres and all.” Waving a hand jokingly to dismiss the words as he had done earlier, he simply shrugs, moving to pull the curtains shut as a last minute safety measure.

“I guess I just wanted to check in on you, you know? I don’t think I’ll be needing any patchwork done anytime soon.” Ah. So that’s it, he’s come to tell you you’re useless to him now. You toy with your fingers and nod, assuming this is the last time you’ll get to talk to him like this.

“That’s okay. So that means you won’t have any reason to come here anymore.” That seems to make him silent for a few moments, this time it’s awkward, not carrying that comedic effect like before.

“I can still come and see you, you know? We could hang out…as friends.” Your eyes widen. He wants to keep coming to see you. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. Your mouth opens, no words coming out, instead you settle for a small smile and a nod.

This could be good, at least it seems to be that way.

—

Carefully stepping out of your room, holding onto the railing, you sit down on the metal platform, knees pulling up to your chest as you hug the sweater tighter over your body, not letting the cool breeze beat you.

You’re not sure when you picked up smoking as part of your regular routine, all you know is that you’re out in the cold now, trying to take your nicotine fill. Red knuckled hand grasping the lighter in your hand, thumb flicking over the spark wheel a few times until a flame bursts out, burning the tip of the cigarette, taking a drag before stuffing the lighter in the pocket of your sweats.

Watching the cloud of smoke flow up into the air, the back of your head pressed against the brick wall, the cold not being such a bother anymore. “Didn’t anyone tell you those are bad for you?” A familiar voice pulls you out of your own head, he’s crouching on the railing, maintaining his equilibrium perfectly.

Taking another drag as if to humour his words, you sigh. “You’ve got to stop doing that. One day I’ll have a heart attack.” He jumps from the railing, settling down in front of you, legs outstretched as they cage you in, feet pressing to the wall on each side of your body.

Though he’s not touching you at all, the position feels somewhat cosy, offering you a sense of protection. Blowing another lungful of smoke, you hold your hand out to him, offering him a drag. The way his head tilts lets you know he’s thinking about it before his hand reaches for the cigarette, his other tugging his mask up over his lips, exposing his lower face once again.

How is it that just his lips have you in a trance, trying your hardest to build him a portrait in your mind? You’ve never asked to see his real face, though you doubt it he’d actually show it to you. A so-called friend of Spider-man’s.

He puffs out the smoke in a similar manner to you, eyes following the way his tongue wets his slightly chapped lips, trying not to let certain thoughts encompass you. “So how was your night? Any bad guys?” Deflecting with the start of a conversation, you watch as he ashes the cigarette over the railing, passing it back to you.

“Pretty boring, but it’s gotten better.” Fighting the smile his natural charm tries to put on your face, you sigh and knock your foot into the inside of his knee lightly. “Funny…” Your word falls flat, followed by the slightest smile as you give him the last puff, letting him throw it away too.

“You know, for someone who is all about the law, you’re pretty ignorant of littering.” Quirking your brow as if to scold him, you notice him grinning, his mask still pulled up. “My apologies.”

Stargazing and small conversations ensued, he’d switched to resting against the wall right next to you halfway through talking about the moon’s colour tonight, shoulders and arms pressing together, you don’t feel like moving away, more so, wishing to drift closer even if by accident.

Tearing your gaze away from his jaw, you tell yourself how wrong this is, to want to reach out and pull his mask the rest of the way up, wanting to reveal his face. Something about the mystery of it has you yearning for more of him, though that would be insane since you don’t even know his name. All he gave to you was a few hours of his company from time to time.

“No, clearly you’re colour blind.” He feigns shock at your statement, hand pressing over his heart before he tuts with a disappointed look on his face. “Oh baby, don’t talk to me like that..”

He’s joking, of course he is, though the pet name, uttered so softly from his lips, makes you warm up, especially in the cheeks. Nudging your forehead to the side of his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle, yet still somewhat comforting, deciding to leave your head there, not uttering a word as he seems to accept the change in position, tilting your head back to gaze at his side profile.

You hate the way the moon lights up his angles perfectly, how the urge to reach a hand up to his face bubbles up inside of you and how everything is just nearly attainable but still out of reach due to your own self restraint. That doesn’t stop the words from coming out though. “Would you show me your face? I feel like we’ve known each other for a month already and all I’ve seen is that mask of yours.”

You feel dejected as he seems to tense next to you, his plush lips thinner now as they purse together. A beat passes where nothing is said, your head pulling back from his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly before he clears his throat, shaking his head with a small smile on his lips.

“I would, but that’s part of the trick, isn’t it? The whole—y’know, faceless act.” Looking down at your lap, you nod, feeling like he’s reducing you to the random passersby who might see his face while he swings from building to building. Trying to not let the disappointment show on your face, you force your attention back to the moon still high onto the sky, uttering softly.

“Yeah…I get it.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #joe keery #fem reader #steve harrington fluff #steve x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things season four #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #stranger things 5 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #stranger things characters #steve harrington my beloved #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve x you

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parker-artio · 5 months ago

Text

The idea of Steph being a med student cracks me up. Because this girl stays up all night beating people up, gets maybe two hours of sleep before she’s getting up for her 7am class on human anatomy.

She starts working in Gotham’s City’s ER as a volunteer student so she doesn’t have to take an extra class and can just take the test at the end of the year for the credit. One day she shows up and sees her patient is a thug she bullied last night while kicking his ass.

She might never show her face in his room again.

When she barely passes a test with a C- she wants to cry when Alfred asks how her test went, but Alfred reassures her, saying it’s good, and that she still passed. But Bruce always catches a stray or two when her major gets brought up. No way he wouldn’t.

Alfred: Congratulations Miss Stephanie, it might only be a C but it is still passing!

Steph: Thanks alfred but I feel like I could be doing better

Alfred: At least you’re sure you want to be a doctor. You haven’t dropped out and you’re passing your classes. That’s what matters.

Bruce at Wayne Enterprises in the middle of a board meeting, feeling a chill go down his spine: something just happened…

Plus there’s the added joke of her being called dumb, lazy, ect from Damian (he insults her so much I can’t remember them all rn)

Damian: What’s that Brown? Can’t shake your head in fear your brain will rattle around in there?

Steph thinking about her biology test tomorrow she got maybe 10 minutes of studying in for since it was announced last month: Shut the fuck up.

Thugs would hate to see her. Like genuinely HATE seeing her during finals season. They don’t know anything about these bats, but they all agree if it’s final season and you see a blonde haired bat in purple- you’re fucked. Run as fast as you can unless you want a concussion and her to ask where all your pain is.

None of the super villains in Gotham ever remember mentioning they have any kind of health issues, yet somehow she always knows. The purple bat who goes by too many names, just KNOWS.

Riddler about to pull the lever for something dramatic: Well you failed to answer my riddle so-

Steph cutting him off: Your skeleton

Riddler: wrong it’s-

Steph cutting him off yet again with a heavy sigh: Listen Nigma, you have to calm down for once. Your blood pressure hates you, slow down on the salty and fatty foods. Do you smoke? Because if you do, slow down on that too. Or just quit. And the actual answer is bare-bones. But synonyms of the answer should work too.

Riddler who’s doctor told him he was at risk for high blood pressure but ignored it: I- no… I don’t smoke.

Steph: …

Riddler: I quit years ago!

Plus she’d totally access Alfred’s medical records to learn little things about the others to annoy them with. She’d be elbow deep and learn that Dick’s left ankle was injured at 12 and is prone to injuries because it never proper medical attention because he avoided Alfred when he first got hurt.

She’d bring it up in conversation too.

Steph, after Dick pisses her off and she’s walking away: What your step, Boy Wonder, it’d be a shame if your left ankle got broke because of its fragility…

Dick unsure where she learned that: …what

The whole concept of her as a med student makes me laugh and I wish more people looked at it and thought about the humor and jokes that can go with her being one.

It’s peak comedy to me, I need more fics of her just being a broke college student who’s tired of thugs attacking her when she’s trying to study for her test on patrol. She’s sitting on top of W.E. Reading her anatomy book for her first class at 7:30 while her four other books are underneath. Why she has a test in all of her classes on the same day, she doesn’t know. Will she pass them? Who the fuck knows. But if that bat signal goes off again tonight she might break into the police precinct and give them a piece of her mind.

#she’s genuinely terrifying when she fails a test #thugs stay away #no one wants to deal with her #Bruce is scared of her when she’s like that too #stephanie brown #spoiler dc #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #dick grayson #richard grayson #shitpost #batfamily headcanons #headcanon #bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne catching strays #she hates college #but also love it

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wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

Note

Heyy gorgeous! I’m here once again lol. I was thinking about enemies to lovers this time. Elijah and reader despise each other. She’s always getting on his nerves and he’s always making her embarrassed etc etc. She’s also misbehaving - like interrupting him mid sentence, being sassy and he’s just trying to hold it together. One day they get into a fight or they have to train together (like he did with Gia in s.2) and there’s just too much sexual tension between them. Some angry sex and so on…? Thank youuu🥰

Misbehavior

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah Mikaelson is controlling, arrogant and absolutely infuriating, you don't know how anybody can stand him. That is... until he gets you in his bed.

♡♡ Thanks for the request lovely @msveronicag ! I love this idea so much and I got a little carried away with it ♡♡

8.2k words - Warnings: smut, dom!elijah, blowjobs, choking, spanking, rough sex, tinsy bit of ass play, Elijah being a smug little control freak...

You were back in New Orleans, visiting your old friend Marcel. He turned you nearly fifty years ago and he had always been a mentor figure for you. You left the city to go travel the world and discovered everything it had to offer. But you always remembered your roots, and Marcel was still the man you looked up to the most. So, when he called, asking if you wanted to come help him keep the peace and order in the city, you were happy to agree.

You knew the Originals had arrived in town and you were interested in meeting them. They were an endlessly fascinating bunch of lunatics from what you heard, and you couldn't wait to meet them.

But when you finally got the chance, you were surprised by a few things, number one, they were all ridiculously hot.

And number two, you instantly hated Elijah Mikaelson.

He was just so arrogant and stuck up. His constant use of posh words annoyed you to no end, and his perfect hair was just begging to be ruffled.

He just strolled into Marcel's loft one day and started giving orders. Talking to Marcel in a way that immediately pissed you off. You didn't like to hear your friend being talked to like he was beneath anyone, and so you spoke up.

"Excuse me," You drawled lazily, looking up from where you were perched on Marcel's couch. "Just because you're some original pain in the ass doesn't mean you get to control everything."

Elijah was clearly used to being obeyed. He slowly turned to you, regarding you with that arrogant sneer you came to detest in just a matter of minutes. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, looking at you as if he could barely see you.

You hated when someone pretended not to hear or understand something. Especially when they understood perfectly well, but were hoping for you to be scared into backing down. Well, that wasn't happening.

"If you didn't understand, I'll repeat it in simple terms that even your elderly ears will comprehend," You snapped at him, standing up to meet his eyes more equally. "Be. Nice."

He gave you a slow, crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes, then he looked back to Marcel with his eyebrows raised. "Are you going to control your little pet?"

You saw red, and opened your mouth to respond, but Marcel gave you a look that screamed 'don't', so you kept quiet, glaring at Elijah.

You couldn't stand the man, the way he would always be wearing a suit, his perfectly styled hair, and those dark, judgmental eyes that seemed to always be on you, looking down at you.

He was just one of those rich assholes who saw a regular person like you as something lesser, and you weren't going to let him walk over you. You'd think after living for one thousand years he would have gained some insight on human behavior, but no, he was just an old, pompous jerk.

You weren't sure what the hell Elijah and his siblings had done to Marcel to make him act the way he did around the Mikaelsons. But he was different around them. More obedient and less himself. You didn't like how the Originals acted like they owned the city.

Regardless, you weren't stupid enough to make enemies out of them. They were valuable allies, so you kept quiet for the most part, and just rolled your eyes and sighed whenever Elijah would open his arrogant mouth.

Marcel needed you to help train some new vampires that had turned recently. You would have them do drills and spar. Things were going well, the new recruits acclimating well to their new state of being.

When you saw Elijah and Marcel enter the room, you immediately felt defensive, you knew that prick was going to say something.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, his presence putting everyone on edge.

"Keep training," You said, gesturing for them to keep practicing. They were hesitant at first, but did as you instructed.

You walked towards Elijah and Marcel, trying to get the man to leave before he said something wrong and ruined their progress. You stood between the two men and looked up at Elijah with a forced, tight smile.

"Is there something you need? I'm a little busy here." You told him.

He raised his eyebrows at your tone, looking at you as if he was studying you, his eyes moving from the top of your head to your feet, and it felt like he was stripping you naked. He glanced around the room at the others with an amused smirk, and it irked you to no end. He turned his eyes back to you, tilting his head.

"They're not doing very well, are they?" He said, looking down at the trainees.

One of the vampires completely missed their punch and fell over, they were still adjusting to how strong they had become.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "They're new, they're not perfect yet. And you're not helping, your presence is distracting them." You told him. You weren't about to admit he was right. You weren't going to give him that satisfaction.

“They need a proper example on how to fight,” He smirked and looked at Marcel. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

Marcel nodded, then stepped forward. "Come on, I'll show them." He said.

But Elijah shook his head, holding his hand up. "I'm not talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "I'm not sparring with you, Elijah. You're too powerful." You told him.

You weren't scared, you knew you could handle yourself. But, he was an original, and you were just a vampire. He would win, easily. And you had no interest in being humiliated by him.

"It's just a friendly match, it doesn't have to be a contest," He said, and you didn't believe him for a second. "Unless you're afraid of getting hurt." He taunted.

You could tell he was enjoying this, he had a small smile on his face, his eyes shining with amusement. He knew you couldn't back down. If you did, he'd call you weak, and a coward. That's just the kind of guy he was.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, getting into a defensive position.

"Ready?" He asked, and you nodded.

Before you could even react, he punched you, and you went flying across the room, landing on your side, and you heard him chuckle. "This is who you got to train your recruits Marcellus?"

You growled and stood, launching yourself at him, and he dodged your hits easily. He grabbed you and twisted your arm, holding it behind your back, and you hissed at the pain. He pulled you closer, and his lips were next to your ear. "Yield."

"Never," You snarled, and he laughed.

"So, prideful, but I can break your arm and force you to yield." He said, twisting your arm more.

"C'mon Elijah, let her go," Marcel said, and Elijah smirked.

"As you wish," Elijah said, releasing your arm, and you turned to face him, glaring. "I thought you were stronger than that, but I was clearly mistaken."

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that hurt.

"I think that's enough for today," Marcel said to the vampires, and they all filed out, leaving the three of you alone.

"I don't know why you insist on acting the way you do," Elijah said, shaking his head. "It's quite unbecoming."

You raised your eyebrows. "Oh yeah, and how exactly do I act?" You challenged.

"Childish and impulsive." He answered, and you scoffed. "You need to learn some manners." He added.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. He was insulting you, and talking down to you, and it just pissed you off even more.

"Enough, both of you," Marcel said, getting in between the two of you. "You're both acting like children."

"Maybe because I'm dealing with a child," You muttered under your breath, and Marcel gave you a stern look.

"She's disrespectful, and ungrateful," Elijah said. "Perhaps I should teach her a lesson in obedience." He threatened, his eyes flashing darkly.

"No one needs to be taught a lesson in anything," Marcel said, looking pointedly at you. "Just. Stop." He sighed. "Both of you, just stop. I have a headache, and you two arguing isn't helping."

You glared at Elijah, and he glared back, but neither of you said anything. Marcel let out a long sigh and walked away, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I need a drink," He muttered.

You watched him go, feeling a little guilty for upsetting him. He had a lot on his mind and he needed your help, not your petty arguments with Elijah.

"He's right, you know," Elijah said, and you turned your glare on him.

"You think I'm the problem? You're the one who antagonizes me, and talks down to everyone. What's your deal, anyways?" You asked, crossing your arms.

His lips turned up into a smug smile, "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm simply stating the truth."

"I don't like you." You said, shaking your head.

"The feeling is mutual," He said, and you raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell did I ever do to you?" You asked, and he laughed, moving closer to you.

"You constantly have your mouth open, yet nothing of substance comes out. You look down on me, despite knowing nothing of my past, and you think I owe you something. Your insolence is tiresome, and I'm sick of seeing your face." He said, his eyes boring into yours, and his gaze was so intense it was hard to maintain eye contact.

He was so close to you now, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up. "Your mere presence is distracting."

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. You were angry, but you also wanted him. You hated that, but it was a truth you were having a hard time denying. You couldn't stop your eyes from moving over his body, and the way his stupid suit fit him so well, showing off his body.

"Well I think you are a self-righteous prick who can't accept the fact that people are allowed to have opinions that differ from yours. Just because you've lived for a millennia doesn't mean your opinion is more valuable than mine." You said, your eyes going to his lips, then back up. "You need to chill the fuck out and not take yourself so seriously. We aren't all your fucking minions. We don't all bow down and worship you."

He leaned in and his breath was fanning over your face. "You have got me all wrong."

"I don't think I do," You said, tilting your head up. "And you don't scare me."

His lips curved into a smirk and his eyes looked down at your lips, his hands coming up and gripping your waist.

And then he was kissing you.

His lips moved slowly over yours, and his hand cupped your jaw. He kissed you with such tenderness and care that you didn't know how to react. You didn't know if he was just using this as a way to humiliate you, but you were too far gone, and you kissed him back.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you couldn't stop yourself, and you didn't care anymore. He pulled you closer and his tongue swiped at your lower lip, and you let him in, moaning softly as his tongue moved over yours. He was an excellent kisser, and it annoyed you as much as it turned you on.

He pulled back, a smug smile on his face, "that's what I thought."

You blushed and looked away, your head spinning from the kiss. "Asshole."

He laughed and stepped away from you, adjusting his tie, "You're welcome."

You were so annoyed and flustered, and you glared at him. "Fuck off."

He chuckled and left, leaving you standing there, confused and aroused.

He was infuriating.

You had decided to leave New Orleans. You hated that Elijah was getting to you, and you didn't want to risk him using your feelings against you. You knew it was a mistake, he was messing with you in ways you didn't even think possible. You knew about his reputation of being manipulative and cruel, and you weren't going to get sucked into his game.

You had everything ready to go, you just had to tell Marcel. He would understand, although you weren't going to tell him about Elijah kissing you. That was just embarrassing.

But when you got to his loft, the only person there was Elijah. Sitting on the sofa, reading a book. He looked so good he was practically glowing, and you wanted to punch him for it.

He didn't look up from his book, "Marcel is out."

"I'll come back later," You said, turning, but he was in front of you, blocking the exit.

"We need to have a little chat," He said, looking down at you, and you sighed, crossing your arms.

"About what?" You asked, tapping your foot anxiously and looking at the door, wishing you could escape.

"Why are you avoiding me?" He asked, and you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm not avoiding you, I have better things to do than waste my time with an arrogant prick," You said, and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"That's not true," He said, taking a step closer, and you took a step back, not liking the intensity of his gaze.

"Yes, it is." You said, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Why did you come here?" He asked, moving closer again, and you walked backwards until your back hit the wall, and he was caging you in.

"To tell Marcel I am leaving." You said, and he cocked his head.

"Where are you going?" He asked, and you frowned.

"Away."

"Why?" He asked, leaning forward, his face inches from yours.

"Fuck off." You said, exasperated by his line of questioning, it was none of his business.

His eyes flashed dangerously and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, holding them tightly.

"You are not as smart as you think you are," he growled, his lips inches away from yours.

You could feel his arousal pressing against your stomach, his hips pushing into yours.

"Neither are you," you snarled, trying to get out of his grip.

But he held your wrists tightly and leaned down, his teeth scraping against your neck.

"You talk so much, yap, yap, yap. But you never say anything meaningful," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear, "perhaps I should put your mouth to better use."

Your heart was beating frantically and your pussy was soaked. The tension between the two of you was finally breaking and the hatred was dissolving into something else entirely.

"I'd love to see you tr-"

His mouth was on yours before you could finish your sentence. It was rough and needy, his fangs digging into your lip, and his hands still pinning your wrists above your head.

His knee moved between your thighs and you moaned, rubbing yourself on his leg.

Elijah chuckled darkly, his tongue tracing the wound he'd made.

"How pathetic," he murmured, his hips rolling forward, his hard cock pressing against your core.

"So is your dick," you lied, trying not to gasp at the sensation, it definitely didn’t feel pathetic.

His fingers dug into your wrists, his eyes flashing with amusement and arousal. His free hand slipped underneath your dress, stroking your wet pussy.

"And yet here you are, dripping wet, and ready for me," he smirked, his fingers slowly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Wearing a cheap, skimpy dress, practically begging me to fuck you,"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," you groaned, your hips moving in rhythm with his hand.

He slid his middle finger inside your cunt, pumping it in and out, his palm grinding against your clit.

"Oh so, this is all just a figment of my imagination, is it?" He asked, adding another finger.

Your legs were shaking, and your breathing was heavy. You couldn't think straight, his fingers were hitting all the right spots.

"Fuck," you moaned, your back arching.

He kissed you hungrily, his tongue dominating your mouth, and his fingers pumping faster.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his teeth grazing your neck.

"No," you moaned, but your hips were moving on their own, seeking release.

"I wasn't asking, darling," he growled, his eyes meeting yours, compelling you, "Cum."

His voice echoed in your head, and you could feel the wave of pleasure wash over you. Your orgasm ripped through you, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

You were trembling, your legs barely holding you up, and your brain fuzzy.

He let go of your wrists, and pulled his fingers out of you, before licking them clean. He took a step back, smiling at the look on your face as he adjusted his cufflinks.

"Now, on your knees," he commanded.

Your legs obeyed immediately, sinking down and looking up at him.

"What a lovely sight," he said, smirking.

He cupped your chin, running his thumb over your lips.

"I've been imagining your lips around my cock, since the first day I saw you," he said, unbuckling his belt, giving your cheek a little slap.

"Now open up and take it all,"

You opened your mouth and he shoved his cock inside. He was big, bigger than anyone you had ever sucked off. And he wasn't shy about using his power to keep you in place. His hands were tangled in your hair, tugging and pulling, and his cock was hitting the back of your throat.

Your eyes were watering, but he didn't care, he kept going, using your mouth, making you gag. He felt amazing on your tongue, hot and hard, and the taste of him was driving you crazy. You could feel yourself getting wetter, the more he fucked your mouth, and your hips were rocking, desperate for friction.

"Look at you, taking it so well, such a good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming deeper, and his voice sounding strained.

Your eyes met his, your mascara running down your cheeks. He looked so good, his lips parted and his eyes glazed with lust. His dominating nature was intoxicating, and you were drunk on his cock. The feeling of him sliding down your throat, and his moans of pleasure, made you feel so good, it was addictive. Your hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit, and making yourself moan around his cock.

He slapped your face gently, tutting.

"Naughty girl," he said, his voice a low rumble, "keep touching yourself, and I'll punish you."

You looked up at him, and rubbed yourself faster, daring him to stop you.

His eyes darkened, and he pushed himself deep inside your mouth, his cock pulsing as he cummed down your throat.

"Swallow it," he ordered, and you did, licking his cock clean.

You were a mess, your makeup smeared, and your body trembling with need. You wanted to be fucked. So. Badly.

Elijah looked at you, a smirk playing on his lips. He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you to your feet, his eyes roaming over your body.

"Such a pretty thing," he said, pushing you back against the wall, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your neck, "I knew you could behave."

He pulled his handkerchief out and wiped the tears and mascara from your face, before putting it away.

"There we are," he smiled, tucking his cock back into his pants, and buckling his belt.

"Are you not going to fuck me?" You asked, frustrated that he was leaving you unsatisfied.

"Oh no, my dear, that's your punishment," he said, grabbing a bottle of scotch and pouring a glass. He glanced up at you, seemingly confused on why you were still standing there, and nodded towards the door.

"You may go,"

You huffed, and walked towards the door, feeling angry and humiliated. But his voice stopped you.

"Oh, and darling?"

You turned and saw him grinning at you.

"Don't think I'm done with you,"

You were definitely leaving now, you had to. You couldn't stand another moment in New Orleans. The way Elijah had used you and humiliated you. You couldn't handle it, you had to get away. You needed to be as far away from him as possible.

But Marcel insisted that you come to a party he was hosting, it was a goodbye celebration for you. And you didn't want to let him down, he was one of the few friends you had.

You were packing your things, planning on leaving immediately after the party, when you heard a knock on your door.

You opened it to find a large box, wrapped in beautiful silver paper and tied with a blue ribbon. There was a card attached to it, and you picked it up, curious to know who it was from.

Wear this. I will be picking you up at 8 – E

You groaned, not wanting to see him. You had been doing your best to avoid him, and this was not helping.

The dress he had sent over was gorgeous, it was black and long, and the fabric was silky. The straps were thin and delicate, and the cut was low, and it was sexy, but not revealing. It was an expensive designer brand that was impossible to get, and the fact that he had somehow just had one that was your size pissed you off.

He was so smug and cocky, and the worst part was, he had great taste, and the dress was perfect. You didn't want to like anything about him, he was even good at being infuriating.

At exactly eight a car arrived to pick you up, and Elijah was in the backseat, waiting. He was dressed impeccably, and his eyes roamed over you, a smirk forming on his lips.

"You look stunning," he said, as you sat down, and the driver pulled away. "It's nice to see you in fine clothing."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the compliment, and staring out the window. His hand went to your thigh, pushing up the dress a little to reveal the top of the stockings you were wearing.

"Is this for me? How thoughtful."

You swatted his hand away, giving him a glare. "I don't dress for any man. I dress for myself,"

"Of course, I would expect nothing less from a strong independent woman," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, refusing to engage with him. He leaned over, his lips brushing your ear, and his fingers sliding over your thigh. "You do lots of other things for a man though, don't you?"

You bit your lip, the memory of being on your knees for him, and how good it felt to have him fuck your mouth, flooded your mind. You kept your composure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"No," you said, glancing at him.

He chuckled and put his arm around you, his fingers dancing along your bare shoulders. You wanted to push him away, but the heat of his body was nice, and you didn't hate the way his touch made you feel.

"We shall see about that."

When you arrived at Marcel's party, you were greeted with cheers, the local vampires loved any excuse to celebrate.

Marcel gave you a hug and poured you a drink, "I'm going to miss having you around, but I understand."

You gave him a smile and took a sip of your drink. "I can never stay in one place for long,"

"I know, and that's what I admire about you," he said, before turning to a vampire who had come to talk to him.

You were standing alone, looking around at the crowd of people. Trying to avoid Elijah, but also keeping an eye out for him.

"Having a good time?"

His voice made you jump and you turned to find him standing behind you, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"It's alright," you shrugged, trying to act cool, and not like you had just been caught looking for him.

"You seem lonely," he said, leaning closer.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said, taking a step back, but his hand reached out, grabbing your arm, and pulling you against him.

"You keep lying, why is that?" He whispered, his breath warm on your ear.

You shook your head, your heart racing. You could feel his body pressed against yours, and his lips ghosting over your skin.

"Is it because you're attracted to me?" He asked, his tongue darting out and licking the shell of your ear.

"No," you said, but your voice was unsteady, and your breath caught.

"Oh, so you just suck any man's cock then? That's an interesting hobby."

You tried to move away, but his grip tightened, and he turned you to face him. His expression was teasing, but his eyes were dark and intense.

"I apologize, I'm not usually so crude. It's just that seeing you in this dress..," he trailed off, his eyes roaming over your curves, his voice thick with lust.

You blushed, your skin burning, and your pussy getting wet. He was so close, his hands sliding down your body, his touch setting your nerves alight.

"I don't like you," you said, but it sounded weak, and he grinned.

"I know," he murmured, his fingers finding their way under the hem of your dress, dancing along the bare skin above your stockings.

"So why are you letting me touch you?" He asked, his lips brushing against yours.

"Because you are irritatingly fucking hot," you admitted, your body melting into his, his closeness clouding your senses.

"Ah, and there is that honesty I have been searching for," he smirked, his hands gripping your ass.

"Shut up," you said, your eyes locked on his. "Why must you be so arrogant?"

"It's not arrogance, it's confidence. You should try it sometime."

He was smiling now, his eyes twinkling. He had truly pissed you off with his boundless ego and you were done with him. You gave him a little push and then stormed out the exit. Marcel would have to understand, you just had to leave this stupid city, right now.

Elijah followed you, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you into a side room, away from the noise and bustle of the party.

"Have I upset you?" He grinned, pressing you against the wall.

"Yes," you seethed, your jaw clenched, and your blood boiling. You pushed hard on his chest, but he didn't budge, just looked down at your hands with an amused expression.

"What can I do to make it better?" He asked, pressing his palms into the wall on both sides of your head.

"Fuck off."

His grin widened, and he leaned in, his nose nuzzling against yours.

"No," he said, his lips brushing over yours. "I don't think I will,"

Your eyes closed as his mouth captured yours. The kiss was soft and sweet, his lips moving slowly, exploring yours. It was intoxicating, his taste and scent overwhelming. You felt yourself giving in once again, kissing him back, your hands clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

He hummed, pleased, and his hand slipped behind your head, angling your mouth for deeper access. He was such a control freak, and it only turned you on more.

"You like me," he stated between kisses, his hips rocking forward, his cock hard and straining against his pants.

"No I don't ," you lied, trying to ignore how good his body felt against yours, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And yet, here you are," he smirked, his fangs scraping along the skin, "ready and willing."

You moaned, tilting your head to the side, and allowing him better access. He ran his fangs along your pulse point, nipping at the skin.

"Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop," he whispered, his hands pulling the straps of your dress down, his mouth trailing kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

"I don't," you moaned, even though you knew it wasn't true. You wanted him, desperately.

"Naughty little liar," he said in a teasing tone, his hands squeezing your breasts, and his thumbs rubbing over the hard peaks of your nipples. He was getting you so worked up, it was so infuriating and so arousing.

He suddenly stopped touching you, moving back and leaning against the wall across from you, acting like nothing happened, his hands clasped in front of him.

You looked at him, confused and turned on.

"What the fuck?"

"Tell me you want me," he said, his expression smug.

"I hate you," you replied, frustrated, scowling at him and trying to fix your dress.

"That's not an answer."

"I'm not going to beg for it," you snapped, annoyed and desperate. You hated that he had this effect on you. You wanted him so bad, but he was making you work for it, and the game was getting old. But there was a part of you that liked it, the way he was challenging you, the power play, it was hot. But he was pushing his luck.

"I’m just going to go find someone else," you said, trying to sound cool and disinterested, but failing miserably. You were too flustered, your skin flushed, and your breath short.

He laughed, shaking his head and holding out his hand, gesturing for you to take it. "I don't think so," he said, a smirk playing on his lips, "come here."

You looked at him, hesitating, but your desire won out, and you placed your hand in his.

He smirked, his fingers interlacing with yours, and he guided you upstairs. His pace was slow, leisurely, and it was maddening.

"I thought you lived at the compound?" You asked, following him down a hallway.

"I have multiple residences," he said, unlocking a door and pushing it open.

You rolled your eyes, of course he did, he was so fucking extra.

"After you," he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

"How chivalrous," you muttered, stepping inside.

His loft was elegantly decorated, with a large four poster bed, and expensive art on the walls. It was so very him, but you kinda liked it. His taste was refined, and the space was masculine and sexy. You could already picture how the night was going to go, him fucking you on the large bed, the curtains drawn, and his fangs in your neck. Your pussy clenched at the thought, and you bit your lip. This man had you all twisted up, and he had barely even touched you.

His hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, and his lips brushed the back of your neck. "Do you like what you see?" He murmured, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass.

"It's alright," you smirked, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. "The view's pretty good," you teased, looking into his eyes.

"Get on the bed," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin.

"Or what?" You teased.

He didn't say a word, just stared at you, his gaze intense. You felt a rush of adrenaline, and excitement, and you decided to push your luck. He was so cocky, and it was time to put him in his place. You stood your ground, trying to maintain eye contact, but it was impossible, he was so dominating. He gripped your hips, and lifted you up, throwing you onto the bed. You landed with a bounce, and he was on top of you, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

You giggled and tried to break free, using your forearms to try and push him away. He was such a powerful man, and it made you feel vulnerable, but in a good way. In a way that had your pussy soaking, and your skin burning. He smiled and nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Behave," he warned, his lips moving down to your chest, and his fingers tugging at the top of your dress.

"Make me," you taunted, knowing it would set him off.

He ripped the dress off of you, making you gasp in surprise, and he sat back, his gaze roaming over your body, clad in nothing but the lingerie and stockings.

"I don't have any other clothes here, asshole!" you whined, annoyed that he had destroyed your beautiful dress.

"I'll buy you more," he said, his voice husky and deep, "so many more,"

He slid down, his tongue running over the swell of your breast, his hand pulling the lace fabric aside. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, and bit down, his fangs sinking into your flesh. You cried out, the pain mixing with the pleasure, and the sound of his low growls vibrating through you.

You squirmed and pulled this hair, trying to get him to stop, but he just bit down harder. Your back arched and you whimpered, tears forming in your eyes.

"Elijah!"

He released you, and licked the wound, sealing the bite, and making the pain subside.

"Are you done being a brat?" He asked, his hands stroking your sides.

"Yes," you panted, still trying to recover from the bite.

"Good," he murmured, his lips trailing down to your stomach.

He pulled at the band of one of your stockings, letting it snap against your thigh. He did the same to the other, humming softly as he did, before finally moving down, and burying his face between your legs.

He was frustratingly good with his tongue, his mouth sucking and licking, his hands spreading your thighs wide. You could feel the pleasure building, and your orgasm fast approaching. Your hands fisted in his hair, and you rolled your hips, trying to ride his face. But he held you still, controlling how much pleasure you received.

He eased two fingers inside you, slowly pumping them as his lips closed around your clit, his tongue swirling over it. You kicked your legs, the sensation was intense, and you were so close, the pressure building in your core.

He curled his fingers and the dam broke, a loud cry tearing from your throat as you came. He continued to work you, prolonging the bliss, and making you tremble.

He stopped and looked up at you. His face was glistening and his pupils were dilated, his eyes dark.

"Just admit that you like me," he teased, kissing your inner thigh.

"Not a chance," you smirked, still catching your breath.

He growled, and flipped you over, yanking your ass up, and spreading your cheeks.

"Then I'll have to make you," he said, his thumb tracing the seam of your asshole. His other hand coming down and spanking you, making you squeal in surprise.

He rubbed the sting, soothing the pain, and then smacked you again, this time a little harder. You gasped, burying your face in the pillows, and your fingers digging into the sheets. He alternated, slapping one cheek, and then the other, the pain becoming more intense each time.

"Elijah!"

He ignored you, his hand coming down on your ass, hard, and you cried out, your body shaking. He kept going, the blows landing faster and faster, and you were sure there were tears running down your face, the pain overwhelming.

He paused, his fingers ghosting over the heated skin.

"I'm sorry, am I being too rough?" He asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

You glared over your shoulder at him, and he smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I thought you were a gentleman," you shot back, annoyed with him.

"I can be," he purred, his finger dipping lower, and tracing the entrance of your pussy, "when I want to,"

You moaned, pushing back against his hand, and his fingers pumped slowly. His other hand went to the back of your neck, pressing your face into the mattress, holding you still.

He added a third finger, stretching you, and making you whimper. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Just give in," he whispered, his voice husky and low. "It'll be so much easier."

You bit your lip, trying to fight it, but he was too skilled, and your will was fading. You moaned, rolling your hips, and grinding against his hand.

He pushed his thumb into your asshole, making you gasp, and he chuckled, his other fingers curling and hitting your g-spot. The stimulation was overwhelming, and the pleasure was building fast. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension in your core reaching its peak. He was relentless, his fingers and thumb pumping in and out, the sounds of your wetness filling the room. You were moaning, begging, pleading, the need for release consuming you.

"Tell me," he commanded, suddenly stopping. "Tell me how much you like me." His hand moved from the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and making you gasp.

"Fine! Fine! I fucking like you, ok? I like you! I like your stupid face, and your stupid hair, and your stupid sexy accent, and your stupid dick!" You snapped, frustrated and desperate. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. "Are you happy now?!"

He chuckled, letting go of your hair, and pushing your head back into the pillow. He leaned down and kissed your ass cheek, his lips brushing against the hot, sore skin, before he moved, flipping you onto your back. He spread your legs, and settled between them, his fingers running along your thighs.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you, and kissing him hard, biting his bottom lip. You were tired of waiting, and you needed him. He growled, his hands cupping your face, and his tongue plunging into your mouth. The kiss was passionate and desperate, his body pressed flush against yours.

You unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and running your fingers over his muscles, feeling the strength of his body. You then tugged at his belt, taking out his cock, and stroking him, your thumb swirling over the head.

He smiled and groaned as you touched him, his hips thrusting into your hand. You spread your legs wider, but he made no move to enter you, his hand moving between your thighs, and rubbing your clit. You moaned, the sensation too much, and you pulled at his wrist. He was being so fucking frustrating, and you wanted him inside you, now.

"Stop teasing me," you complained, glaring up at him.

"Why? its so much fun," he said, smiling wickedly. "I could watch you squirm for hours." He pushed the tip of his cock against your entrance, circling your clit, but still not penetrating you.

"Tell me again," he said, "tell me how you like me, how much you want me," his hips rocking, his cock pushing and withdrawing, but never going deep enough to satisfy you.

"You are an arrogant prick, who knows exactly what he does to me." You said, your breathing labored.

He smiled and slowly eased into you, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt him inch his way inside, and you moaned, your head rolling back. He filled you completely, stretching you, and making your body burn with pleasure. It felt incredible, your pussy throbbing around him. He groaned, and nipped at your neck, his fangs gliding against the skin. You clutched at him, your nails scratching his back, as his hips started moving, slowly fucking you.

You were already on the verge of orgasm, the tension coiling inside you, ready to snap. He felt too good, his cock hitting all the right spots, and his fingers playing with your clit. You were falling apart beneath him, your back arching, and your thighs quivering. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affected you, as the waves of ecstasy washed over you, you bit down on your lip, trying to hide just how good he felt.

But it was no use, your body betraying you, your cheeks hot and your walls tightening around him. He smiled and kissed your neck, his tongue swirling over your pulse point.

"See, it's not so hard to give in," he purred, his hips slowly rolling.

"Shut up," you managed to get out, still panting, and your limbs weak.

"Already cumming on my cock, and we haven't even really started," he teased. He began to fuck you in earnest, thrusting hard and deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each stroke.

You gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his skin, and you could feel his muscles flexing under your touch. His cock was so thick, stretching you, you spread your legs wider, wanting him even deeper.

"Look at you, so desperate for me," he smirked, his hands moving to your hips, lifting them and changing the angle.

You moaned, and he chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck.

"So responsive, and so beautiful. My sweet girl," he whispered, his words washing over you.

"I'm... fuck- not… your girl." you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears.

"Maybe not yet, but you will be," he said, his voice confident, his eyes locking with yours.

He was so sure of himself, and it only turned you on more.

"You wish, Mikaelson."

He laughed, his breath warm on your skin. He thrust hard, hitting the spot deep inside, and making you cry out.

"I do," he said, his eyes searching yours, "and I always get what I want."

You knew it was true, he was so fucking cocky, and the worst part was, you wanted him to have you.

He leaned back, pulling you up with him, and holding you in his lap, his cock impossibly deep inside. His hands went to your hips, guiding your movements, and his eyes never left yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, rocking your hips, and taking him deeper. The way he was looking at you, intense, and possessive, it was doing things to you. You couldn't tear your gaze away, your chest heaving, and your nipples brushing against his chest. You squeezed his cock, trying to make him go harder, faster, but his pace remained steady, firm, his grip on your hips tightening. It was all too much and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by him, and everything you were feeling for him.

He groaned, and smacked your ass, hard. You whimpered and dug your nails into his shoulders. His hands ran up and down your back, soothing the sting.

"No hiding," he said, his voice firm. "I want to see all of you."

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, your eyelids heavy, cheeks flushed and your mouth open in a silent moan.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips capturing yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. "Show me how much you like me," he teased, nipping at your lower lip.

You placed your hands on his chest, moving your legs to straddle him, and his cock slid deeper. You rocked back and forth, slowly at first, and then increasing the pace.

His expression was serious, his eyes fixed on you, and his hands holding your waist. It was like he was memorizing every inch of your body, and the way you felt, the way you moved. You could see the desire in his eyes, the lust, and something else, something softer.

"I like the way you're looking at me," you murmured, your nails dragging along his chest.

He hummed and grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back, his other arm wrapping around your waist, and pulling you flush against him.

"I like the way you feel," he replied, his hips rocking into you.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you teased, knowing it would get a rise out of him.

"Only the ones I can't stop thinking about."

"Mmm, are there many of those?"

He laughed, shaking his head, and kissing your shoulder.

"None that compare to you."

His words, so unexpectedly sweet, made your heart flutter, and a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"Elijah..." you breathed, and he seemed pleased by your reaction.

His hands went to the small of your back and he pulled you closer, your breasts pressed against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, your skin warm and slick. The anticipation of what was to come sent a shiver down your spine. You threaded your fingers in his hair, gripping it as his hands went to your ass, guiding you on his cock.

"You don't have to leave, you can stay here with me," he said, his voice low and his eyes locked on yours.

You shook your head, not wanting to give in, not wanting him to know how much he affected you. How much you actually wanted that, wanted him.

"I don't like you that much," you replied, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

He smiled and kissed you again, his hand running down your back. You rolled your hips, grinding against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. Your movement picked up, and he moaned into your ear, his grip on your ass tighter. You could feel the pressure rising, the intensity becoming overwhelming. Your body tensed, your orgasm close, and Elijah gripped your hips and slowed you down, wanting to make the moment last.

"Stay?" He whispered, his nose nuzzling yours.

"You are so annoying," you muttered, and his chest rumbled with laughter.

"Is that a yes?"

You nodded, and his lips pressed against yours, his hands lifting you up and down. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. The kiss became messy, both of you chasing the pleasure, the friction and the heat almost unbearable. You broke the kiss, panting, and the coil in your core snapped.

You moaned his name in long, drawn out syllables, your forehead pressed against his. He held you tight, his body tense as your pussy clenched around his cock. He watched you, his breathing heavy, his eyes glazed with desire. His hands traced your spine, lightly grazing the skin, and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You could tell he was fighting the urge to cum, wanting to drag out the moment. You looked at him and gave him a small smile, no more teasing, no more games. You touched his cheek, and kissed him, the kiss soft and sweet. Your breath caught in your throat, the intimacy of the gesture overwhelming. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours, and you knew he was falling too, his control failing him.

He let go of your hips, his fingers clutching your ass. You wrapped your legs around his waist and rode him hard and fast, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone. He groaned into your mouth, his cock throbbing inside of you, and you felt him cum, his warmth flooding your body. You rested your head on his shoulder, catching your breath, and trying to make sense of what just happened. You never imagined that sleeping with Elijah would feel so right, so complete. Your mind kept telling you that this was a bad idea, but the connection between you was too strong to ignore.

He kissed your neck, his lips grazing the skin, and you let your eyes drift closed, succumbing to the warmth and comfort of his arms. He really was too good at this.

"I meant what I said, about you staying." He murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "I like you, a lot."

He pulled away, brushing a few errant strands from your face, his fingers lingering. His dark eyes held nothing but sincerity and you knew then, in that moment, that despite your resolve not to like him, this wasn't just going to be a one time thing.

"I know," you sighed, your hands stroking his jaw, "you are very persuasive."

He chuckled and kissed you again.

"You'll stay?" He asked, his smile growing.

"I'll stay."

"Good," he hummed, kissing your neck, and nipping at your earlobe.

His lips captured yours, and he kissed you, the passion and desire still burning. He kissed you until your lips were bruised and swollen, until your heart was pounding, and your skin was flushed.

"I still think you are an asshole," you said, once he'd pulled away.

"And I still think you are a brat," he smirked, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You laughed, and rested your head on his shoulder, enjoying the moment, the closeness, the warmth of his arms, and the steady beat of his heart.

You couldn't help but surrender.

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haeryna · 1 year ago

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feeling so high but too far away to hold me ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ;༊

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summary: satoru and suguru come to a critical conclusion, but is it too late for them to mend what was broken?

tw: angst, homophobia, abandonment, mentions of (unintentional) self harm, mentions of illness, barely proofread

notes: title taken from halsey's "without me." all images were taken from pinterest and are NOT mine! i'm not sure if i like how this came out but oh well gotta get through it lol. banner is from @/cafekitsune!

Lately, Satoru has been thinking a lot more about you.

He shouldn't be. Choso's been on his ass for stupid mistakes, like a slight misstep during practice, or the way his voice wavers ever so slightly on notes that are well within his vocal range. Nanami grumbles a bit more when recording sessions extend even further. Haibara brings him an extra water bottle during practice. Even Sukuna is slightly nicer to him, as if he can see how much Satoru is struggling.

Satoru hates it. It makes him feel weak, because he knows now that he misses you more than his heart can bear. He has women throwing themselves at him left and right, so why does a girl from a town he left behind make something in his chest twist? By all accounts, Satoru is thriving. He has a wonderful relationship with his boyfriend, his boy group has broken record after record with each single they release, and Satoru has just signed onto a brand deal with Chanel.

(He knows you're not just a girl, you were his. The only person he could bear to share Suguru with, the only person who could see past his flirtatious facade and say, "It's okay, 'Toru, I'm here for you." He knows the reason why he forces himself to believe you would have only shunned him like his parents, is to run from the realization that he abandoned you in the most horrific way possible.)

It doesn't help that his managers handle all of his social media accounts, and go through all his mail. As soon as him and Suguru signed onto the same agency, their phone lines were decommissioned, and they were given highly protected personal phones. You wouldn't be able to reach him even if you wanted to. Hell, they barely even saw Shoko, and the only reason was because they were both the only people who trusted her to take care of their medical needs.

Suguru had tried, once, to ask about you, to get a way of contacting you. Shoko had looked him dead in the eyes, steel hidden behind soft brown, and told him that, "if you were just going to abandon her like that, at least have the decency to stay gone until they could commit to her fully." The way Suguru's face had paled only confirmed the worst for Satoru; you hadn't understood. You had seen their leaving as the worst kind of betrayal. Shoko had refused to tell them more, stubborn in her loyalty to you.

At first, it was easier to hide shame behind a kind of disdain. Of course you hadn't understood what it had been like, being rejected so violently by parents you once loved. Of course you hadn't understood what it was like to feel the noose tighten around your neck until you knew you would either run, or die. Maybe if you couldn't let them go, it meant you truly had never loved them anyways.

As the months grew, slowly and surely, the tangle of excuses unraveled. You might not have understood, but you had defended him silently in small rebellious ways. The eyeshadow palette that still sat at his vanity. The birthday card you'd made him when you turned 14, with a small rainbow under the phrase "I'll love you no matter what." You too had felt the noose; you'd spent years fighting it, fighting your hatred of the small town you were forced to grow up in. "Satoru, Suguru, Shoko," you would tell them, "one day we'll all move out of here into the nicest, fanciest apartment in the city."

Grief was love with nowhere to go, and in that particular moment, Satoru found your absence particularly painful. Sighing, he stretches, resting his chin on the back of the couch to stare at the clock. 12:36; Suguru was probably still awake. Quietly, Satoru pads to the spare room in the apartment he shares with Suguru that they'd converted into their music and production room. Unsurprisingly, he finds Suguru perched on an old barstool they thrifted, gently strumming the strings of the guitar you'd gifted him so long ago.

"Satoru," Suguru says softly, pausing. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Wordlessly, Satoru wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into the slope of his neck. After a few moments, he speaks.

"I miss her."

He can feel the way Suguru stiffens slightly in his arms, before exhaling, tension releasing from his shoulders. "I miss her too. I've been thinking, Satoru."

"That's dangerous for you," Satoru chides, and Suguru rolls his eyes fondly.

"You're such a brat. I've been thinking, what if we went back?"

Satoru blanches, staring at Suguru. "What?"

"Not permanently," Suguru hastily amends, knowing how deep Satoru's scars run. "Just enough to...I don't know, Satoru. We messed up really badly. I know there's a large chance she won't even be there anymore. She used to always tell us about how she couldn't wait to move to the city. But we can at least start there, right?"

The news of Satoru's hiatus caused enough ripples for even you to notice it. Despite the fact you avoided anything to do with both his and Suguru's music career, every news outlet, radio channel, and social media post had something to say about it. Hell, you couldn't even open the local newspaper without seeing his face plastered on it, lamenting his temporary break from the group's next comeback.

Frowning, you slam the kitchen cabinet door a bit harder than necessary. Why should you care? If anything, you should be gloating with this piece of information, that not everything was perfect in Gojo Satoru's idol career. Yet, a small part of you still worried. Was he eating alright? Did something happen to Suguru? Should you call Shoko?

The door chimes, startling you out of your thoughts. Your parents are back in the hospital undergoing another round of treatments but they could have came back early. Sighing, you walk over to the door, opening it without a second thought.

"Hi, what-"

In that moment, you feel several emotions. Regret, that you hadn't checked who it was before opening it. An odd blend of concern and fear; why had they come back, was something horribly wrong? Most overpoweringly, was the deep sense of anger that welled up inside of you, seeing both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru standing on your doorstep.

"You're here," Sator- Gojo, breathes, crystalline blue eyes greedily drinking in the sight of you. He reaches for you, but you flinch back.

"What are you doing here?"

You're surprised to see that Gojo seems hurt by that statement. Sugu- Geto steps closer. "We wanted to see you."

"Oh, so a whim?" You can't help the harshness of your voice, or the way that your voice trembles ever so slightly. "Its been years, Geto. Five years since you left, and you come back now? What am I, just an afterthought? I already knew that but my god you're such an asshole."

"That's not what I'm saying," Geto sighs, and you want to throttle him. "We missed you so much, I can't even-"

You can't help but cut him off, fists clenched and hot tears pooling in your eyes. "You could have left a note. You could have left me an address, could have reached out once you settled in, anything!"

It's Gojo's turn to speak, hands fidgeting as if he wants to pull you close. "Our managers-"

"I don't care!"

A hush falls after your outburst, and you can't help the tears that slip down your cheeks. "Did I really mean that little to you? I would have left with you, I would have done anything for you, so don't you dare try to come up with an excuse. Don't try to tell me that your managers stopped you. I loved you." Your voice breaks. "How could you?"

Both men look ashamed. Geto is the first to speak. "We thought you would have moved away. We lost our original numbers, and Shoko refused to-"

Your eyes flash. "Don't try to blame Shoko for this. Unlike the two of you, she stayed with me."

Gojo flinches. "That's not fair. We didn't have a choice, why can't you see that?"

A sardonic laugh escapes your lips. "See what? All I see is the choice you made in leaving me behind."

"What happened to you?" Geto breathes, and you fight the urge to slap him. "You were so adamant that you would get out of this town."

"Well I can't," you hiss. "Not all of us can abandon their loved ones without a second thought."

Gojo's face looks like you've just shattered his world. "You never left?"

Something in the way he says that breaks something inside of you. "Mom and Dad have whatever Grandmother had," you tell them. You're not even sure why you're saying this, but there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching it start to sink in. "There's nobody else to help take care of them. Whenever she can, Shoko will try her best to stop by."

"You've been alone," Geto murmurs, horrified.

Venom fills your mouth. "I have been since I was sixteen, thanks for asking. You think I didn't notice that you two were together? You never even said anything to me and I still figured it out." Gojo's face pales but you plow forward. "It was always Satoru and Suguru, Gojo and Geto, but what about me? I was there too, wasn't I?" Blood drips down your palms; you're digging your nails in hard enough to cut. "You two forgot about me. You discarded me, left me behind. Did you really think so little of me? Did you really think I would treat you like everyone else in this town?" You can see the pain in Geto's eyes. "As if it wasn't enough, I had to see you everywhere. It's nice seeing how quickly both of you replaced me with other women."

Gojo calls your name but you shake your head, vision blurring. "Go fuck yourself, both of you. Don't talk to me. I wish you'd never come back." Whirling back inside, you slam the door, ignoring the frantic banging and shouts. As you sink to the floor, you finally allow yourself to sob, curled up against the solid wood doorframe. I thought it was over, you think miserably. But somehow it hurts more than the day they left.

#haerinwrites #idol!satoru gojo #rockstar!suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #suguru x reader x satoru #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk angst #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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appleblueberry-pie · 10 months ago

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Need Help Somewhere in the Head.

Miles wishes he could change his bad habits.

There's too much going on in his head all night and all day for him to function properly. He goes over this with himself all the time, but knows there's nothing he can do about it. It's his job to keep his work done. To keep people out the streets and to fix his city straight again. And again and again.

Too often has he found himself with bloody knuckles, shoving his hot and sweaty hands back into his jacket with searing pain to take his unreleased anger out on a random nigga he just didn't like from school. Too often has he found himself disturbing everyone surrounding him just from sitting there, brooding silently, his energy tainting the room.

Too often has he found himself taking mission after mission, coming back home at 4 in the morning and wounded. Just to try and forget everything. Forget his missing assignments, forget his judgmental teachers who jump to conclusions, forget his grief and everything else.

Too often has he found himself perched on your fire escape.

.....his mind is silent when you're right there.

It doesn't matter if it's late and no one's outside. It doesn't matter if he can't hear you. Can't smell your sweet perfume. Just as long as you're safe in bed, asleep. Every single night. He couldn't stop when he first started.

Out of all of the things that destroy him, steal his mind and his time, you're the one replenishing what's been torn away from him.

You've never spoken to each other before, never locked eyes, never took the same class, yet he knows all about you. He takes great care of all of the people that fuck around with you. He found where you lived only a few hours after he first saw you. From then, he knew he would become more of a problem in the worst way possible. And he doesn't know what to do.

He hopes that he doesn't treat you like everyone else. Hopes he doesn't push you away, gives you the silent treatment to make you leave him alone. He hopes that with you, he won't abuse his power over you like he does to every boy you talk to. He hopes he won't lie and threaten you like he does to his enemies at night when his mind is the most foggy. He hopes to stop depending on you to give him this high.

Just thinking about how shitty he is. How shitty he could be to you makes his hands tremble. His heart beats too fast for his liking, he can't control it and he feels like a mouse in a big ass room, alone and vulnerable. And when he looks through your dark window, seeing your back facing him, your chest rising and falling slightly with your breaths, it resets him entirely like a fresh drink of water, he doesn't fucking get it.

Why are you so perfect? Why can't he love you like a regular boy? Should he let himself have this singular pleasure in his life? Just this once?

#yandere miles morales #miles morales #yandere miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #atsv #yandere atsv #atsv x reader #yandere atsv x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere character #42 miles #earth 42 miles #miles g morales #prowler miles

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empress-of-time1109 · 4 months ago

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Track VI. The Phantom, the Devil, and the Red-Haired Menace[Dazai x Chuuya x reader] [requested]

Dazai Osamu was many things—a suicidal maniac, a flirtatious nuisance, and a headache wrapped in a trench coat—but a fool, he was not. And yet, here he was, six months into a game of cat and mouse with a ghost who barely left footprints.

“Again?!” Chuuya snarled, slamming the latest report onto Dazai’s desk. The impact sent his untouched coffee wobbling, but not enough to spill. A pity.

Dazai laced his fingers together, smirking as if he hadn’t just been handed a document detailing yet another failure. “Ah, Chuuya, my dear, do you ever stop to consider that maybe—just maybe—you’re the problem?”

Chuuya twitched. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but I must. It’s my calling, my burden.” Dazai gestured dramatically before picking up the report. “The Phantom strikes again, vanishing into the night like an overpaid stage magician. Honestly, it’s almost impressive—”

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Chuuya cut in, voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Dazai’s smirk widened. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Chuuya slammed a separate piece of paper in front of him. It was a hastily scrawled note, its ink still fresh, its contents obnoxiously familiar.

‘Better luck next time, Osamu. Try keeping up.’

Dazai’s brows lifted. “Oh, now that is rude.”

“Rude?” Chuuya scoffed. “Rude was last month when they left you a bouquet with a ‘Get Well Soon’ card after you got shot. Rude was when they stole my hat off my head mid-fight! This—this is straight up mockery!”

Dazai tilted his head. “Well, to be fair, I did get shot—”

“That’s not the point!”

It was the point. It was also the fact that no matter how many traps they set, how many times they closed in, the Phantom always slithered away. Not even Mori himself could find them, and that was saying something.

Which meant they were smart. Too smart.

And that—of course—meant Dazai had to know them.

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Chuuya, my dearest partner in crime—”

“I will break your legs.”

“—I have a hunch.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “If it’s another one of your ‘let’s do absolutely nothing until they come to us’ plans, I swear—”

“No, no, this one’s different.”

It wasn’t.

But Chuuya didn’t need to know that.

Meanwhile, the Phantom had a new problem.

A job. A big one.

And it was going to be a pain in the ass.

(Y/N) flipped the contract between their fingers, eyeing the reward with disinterest.

Get rid of both Dazai and Chuuya, was it? Simple on paper, if one ignored the part where they were essentially unkillable, impossible to track, and more stubborn than roaches.

Still, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

“You’re actually taking it?” came the dry voice of their informant, who had long since given up trying to predict their actions.

(Y/N) hummed, tucking the paper away. “What can I say? I love a challenge.”

Their informant gave them a deadpan look. “You love making their lives miserable.”

“That too.”

A job was a job, but (Y/N) had their own priorities.

There was a reason they couldn’t just up and leave this city, why they kept taking these jobs. A sick brother didn’t pay for his own treatments.

And when it came down to it—no matter how amusing Dazai was, no matter how easy it was to needle Chuuya—they would finish the job.

They had to.

It went wrong.

Spectacularly, cartoonishly wrong.

One moment, (Y/N) was flipping over rooftops with the kind of elegance that made the Port Mafia’s security look like amateurs, and the next—

“Gotcha.”

A hand closed around their wrist.

Dazai.

(Y/N) twisted, knee aimed for his ribs, but Chuuya was already there, blocking their escape route.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dazai grinned, a cat with its claws already hooked into its prey. “Miss me?”

(Y/N) glared. “Like a rash.”

They swung their other hand, something sharp gleaming between their fingers, but Dazai caught it effortlessly, eyes dancing.

“Nuh-uh,” he sang. “None of that.”

A flicker of movement. Chuuya’s coat rippled.

(Y/N) ducked.

Too slow.

Pain slammed into them, a fist to their stomach, an arm locking theirs behind their back. Chuuya yanked them forward with unnecessary force, his scowl practically tattooed onto his face.

“Done running?” he asked.

(Y/N) grinned, breathless. “What can I say? I like a little cardio.”

Dazai hummed. “And here I thought you enjoyed the chase. I’m almost disappointed.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” (Y/N) leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a purr. “I’ll still haunt your dreams.”

Dazai chuckled. “Cute. Now, how about we have a little chat?”

They didn’t get the chance to refuse.

Interrogation was as expected.

Dazai talked.

Chuuya threatened.

(Y/N) said nothing.

Hours ticked by.

(Y/N) whistled.

Chuuya twitched.

Dazai offered snacks.

(Y/N) threw one at him.

It hit his forehead.

Chuuya laughed.

Dazai pouted.

It was a mess.

And yet—nothing.

Not a word.

Not until—

Not until (Y/N) tried to escape again.

Dazai had been expecting it. Chuuya hadn’t.

Which meant when (Y/N) darted for the window, Chuuya reacted on instinct.

A blur. A shift.

Corruption.

And suddenly, (Y/N) was on the ground, coughing, gasping—

Pain.

Real pain.

Not the kind that bruised or cut, but the kind that unmade.

Their body screamed.

Their mind faltered.

And then—

Then they broke.

The words slipped out.

A name. A reason.

Everything.

And just like that, the game was over.

Silence.

(Y/N) sat, arms bound, eyes fixed on the floor.

Dazai leaned against the table, watching them carefully.

Chuuya had left. He wasn’t good with guilt.

Dazai sighed. “You should’ve said something.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond.

A pause.

Then—

“What’s his name?”

(Y/N) flinched.

Dazai tilted his head. “Your brother.”

Nothing.

Dazai exhaled. “You think silence is strength. That if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t feel real.”

(Y/N)’s fingers clenched.

Dazai softened. “It doesn’t work like that.”

More silence.

Then, finally—

A whisper.

A name.

Dazai nodded.

A deal was made.

Work for them.

Get paid.

Get the money needed.

Simple.

Or, at least, it should have been.

(Y/N) stared at their new contract.

Chuuya scowled. “I don’t like this.”

Dazai grinned. “That’s because you don’t like anything fun.”

“Fun?” (Y/N) echoed dryly. “I’m being recruited by the same people I was supposed to assassinate. You call that fun?”

Dazai shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Chuuya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

Dazai beamed. “Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

(Y/N) exhaled, staring at the contract a moment longer before picking up the pen.

For their brother.

For survival.

For whatever this ridiculous mess was about to become.

With a flourish, they signed.

Dazai clapped.

Chuuya groaned.

(Y/N) smirked.

The game had changed.

But oh, how it was just beginning.

Lupin’s bar was still humming with laughter and the clinking of glasses when (Y/N) slipped out the back door, hands shoved deep into their pockets. The night air was sharp, cutting through the remnants of warmth clinging to their skin. A job well done. Another step toward their goal.

And yet—

The weight in their chest didn’t ease.

They exhaled, their breath curling like ghostly wisps in the moonlight, before vanishing into the city’s embrace.

Back inside, Chuuya watched them leave, eyes dark with something unreadable. He didn’t say anything at first—just swirled his whiskey, watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass. Then, finally, he broke the silence.

“You really are the devil, Dazai.”

Dazai—lounging as if he hadn’t just orchestrated another grand tragedy—tilted his head, expression all easy amusement. “Oh? What did I do this time?”

Chuuya scoffed. “You know exactly what you did.”

Dazai hummed, swirling the ice in his own glass. “But do you?”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

“You roped them into the Port Mafia,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Just like you roped me in.”

Dazai’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something sharper behind his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Chuuya’s grip on his glass tightened. “No, what’s dramatic is how you dragged them into your mess and made me help.”

That made Dazai’s smile widen. “Made you help?” He tsked, shaking his head. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya—always so quick to blame me. You were the one who activated Corruption, weren’t you?”

The ice in Chuuya’s glass cracked.

Dazai leaned closer, voice barely above a murmur. “Face it—you wanted them to talk just as much as I did.”

Chuuya exhaled sharply, pushing his drink away. “Yeah? And now what, huh? We put them on a leash? Watch them like a damn pet?”

Dazai tilted his head, considering. “I suppose we could get them a collar—”

Chuuya nearly threw his glass at him.

Dazai laughed, the kind of laugh that said he had already won.

“Again?!” Chuuya snarled, slamming the latest report onto Dazai’s desk. The impact sent his untouched coffee wobbling, but not enough to spill. A pity.

Chuuya twitched. “Don’t start.”

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Chuuya cut in, voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Dazai’s smirk widened. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Chuuya slammed a separate piece of paper in front of him. It was a hastily scrawled note, its ink still fresh, its contents obnoxiously familiar.

‘Better luck next time, Osamu. Try keeping up.’

Dazai’s brows lifted. “Oh, now that is rude.”

Dazai tilted his head. “Well, to be fair, I did get shot—”

“That’s not the point!”

Which meant they were smart. Too smart.

And that—of course—meant Dazai had to know them.

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Chuuya, my dearest partner in crime—”

“I will break your legs.”

“—I have a hunch.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “If it’s another one of your ‘let’s do absolutely nothing until they come to us’ plans, I swear—”

“No, no, this one’s different.”

It wasn’t.

But Chuuya didn’t need to know that.

Meanwhile, the Phantom had a new problem.

A job. A big one.

And it was going to be a pain in the ass.

(Y/N) flipped the contract between their fingers, eyeing the reward with disinterest.

Get rid of both Dazai and Chuuya, was it? Simple on paper, if one ignored the part where they were essentially unkillable, impossible to track, and more stubborn than roaches.

Still, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

“You’re actually taking it?” came the dry voice of their informant, who had long since given up trying to predict their actions.

(Y/N) hummed, tucking the paper away. “What can I say? I love a challenge.”

Their informant gave them a deadpan look. “You love making their lives miserable.”

“That too.”

A job was a job, but (Y/N) had their own priorities.

There was a reason they couldn’t just up and leave this city, why they kept taking these jobs. A sick brother didn’t pay for his own treatments.

And when it came down to it—no matter how amusing Dazai was, no matter how easy it was to needle Chuuya—they would finish the job.

They had to.

It went wrong.

Spectacularly, cartoonishly wrong.

One moment, (Y/N) was flipping over rooftops with the kind of elegance that made the Port Mafia’s security look like amateurs, and the next—

“Gotcha.”

A hand closed around their wrist.

Dazai.

(Y/N) twisted, knee aimed for his ribs, but Chuuya was already there, blocking their escape route.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dazai grinned, a cat with its claws already hooked into its prey. “Miss me?”

(Y/N) glared. “Like a rash.”

They swung their other hand, something sharp gleaming between their fingers, but Dazai caught it effortlessly, eyes dancing.

“Nuh-uh,” he sang. “None of that.”

A flicker of movement. Chuuya’s coat rippled.

(Y/N) ducked.

Too slow.

Pain slammed into them, a fist to their stomach, an arm locking theirs behind their back. Chuuya yanked them forward with unnecessary force, his scowl practically tattooed onto his face.

“Done running?” he asked.

(Y/N) grinned, breathless. “What can I say? I like a little cardio.”

Dazai hummed. “And here I thought you enjoyed the chase. I’m almost disappointed.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” (Y/N) leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a purr. “I’ll still haunt your dreams.”

Dazai chuckled. “Cute. Now, how about we have a little chat?”

They didn’t get the chance to refuse.

Interrogation was as expected.

Dazai talked.

Chuuya threatened.

(Y/N) said nothing.

Hours ticked by.

(Y/N) whistled.

Chuuya twitched.

Dazai offered snacks.

(Y/N) threw one at him.

It hit his forehead.

Chuuya laughed.

Dazai pouted.

It was a mess.

And yet—nothing.

Not a word.

Not until—

Not until (Y/N) tried to escape again.

Dazai had been expecting it. Chuuya hadn’t.

Which meant when (Y/N) darted for the window, Chuuya reacted on instinct.

A blur. A shift.

Corruption.

And suddenly, (Y/N) was on the ground, coughing, gasping—

Pain.

Real pain.

Not the kind that bruised or cut, but the kind that unmade.

Their body screamed.

Their mind faltered.

And then—

Then they broke.

The words slipped out.

A name. A reason.

Everything.

And just like that, the game was over.

Silence.

(Y/N) sat, arms bound, eyes fixed on the floor.

Dazai leaned against the table, watching them carefully.

Chuuya had left. He wasn’t good with guilt.

Dazai sighed. “You should’ve said something.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond.

A pause.

Then—

“What’s his name?”

(Y/N) flinched.

Dazai tilted his head. “Your brother.”

Nothing.

Dazai exhaled. “You think silence is strength. That if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t feel real.”

(Y/N)’s fingers clenched.

Dazai softened. “It doesn’t work like that.”

More silence.

Then, finally—

A whisper.

A name.

Dazai nodded.

A deal was made.

Work for them.

Get paid.

Get the money needed.

Simple.

Or, at least, it should have been.

(Y/N) stared at their new contract.

Chuuya scowled. “I don’t like this.”

Dazai grinned. “That’s because you don’t like anything fun.”

“Fun?” (Y/N) echoed dryly. “I’m being recruited by the same people I was supposed to assassinate. You call that fun?”

Dazai shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Chuuya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

Dazai beamed. “Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

(Y/N) exhaled, staring at the contract a moment longer before picking up the pen.

For their brother.

For survival.

For whatever this ridiculous mess was about to become.

With a flourish, they signed.

Dazai clapped.

Chuuya groaned.

(Y/N) smirked.

The game had changed.

But oh, how it was just beginning.

And yet—

The weight in their chest didn’t ease.

They exhaled, their breath curling like ghostly wisps in the moonlight, before vanishing into the city’s embrace.

“You really are the devil, Dazai.”

Dazai—lounging as if he hadn’t just orchestrated another grand tragedy—tilted his head, expression all easy amusement. “Oh? What did I do this time?”

Chuuya scoffed. “You know exactly what you did.”

Dazai hummed, swirling the ice in his own glass. “But do you?”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

“You roped them into the Port Mafia,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Just like you roped me in.”

Dazai’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something sharper behind his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Chuuya’s grip on his glass tightened. “No, what’s dramatic is how you dragged them into your mess and made me help.”

That made Dazai’s smile widen. “Made you help?” He tsked, shaking his head. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya—always so quick to blame me. You were the one who activated Corruption, weren’t you?”

The ice in Chuuya’s glass cracked.

Dazai leaned closer, voice barely above a murmur. “Face it—you wanted them to talk just as much as I did.”

Chuuya exhaled sharply, pushing his drink away. “Yeah? And now what, huh? We put them on a leash? Watch them like a damn pet?”

Dazai tilted his head, considering. “I suppose we could get them a collar—”

Chuuya nearly threw his glass at him.

Dazai laughed, the kind of laugh that said he had already won.

And maybe he had.

Because Chuuya had helped. He had gone along with Dazai’s schemes, just like always.

And now?

Now, they had someone new trapped in their web.

Someone who, for better or worse, had nowhere else to go.

Chuuya let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

Dazai smirked.

“Oh, absolutely.”

(Y/N) leaned against the grimy rooftop ledge, their phone screen casting a dim glow against their smirking face.

The final thread to their past—a name, a number, a false promise of loyalty—blinked up at them. They hovered over the delete button, rolling their shoulders, exhaling slowly.

Click.

The contact vanished.

They grinned, slipping the phone back into their pocket.

Finally.

They were out.

No more groveling under the boot of those leeches, no more empty threats disguised as protection. The Port Mafia was dangerous, sure—deadly, even—but at least here, power meant something.

And more importantly—

Here, they could win.

With the Mafia’s resources, their brother would be safe. Treated. Cured. Everything had fallen into place, just as they planned.

It was almost poetic.

The hunted had become the hunter.

The pawn had become a player.

It was perfect.

(Y/N) chuckled to themselves, watching the city stretch out below them. A chessboard of flickering lights, of people moving in neat little lines, following their scripts without ever knowing whose hands wrote them.

And maybe that’s what it all came down to in the end.

Who was really in control?

Them?

Or Dazai?

(Y/N) closed their eyes for a moment, inhaling the crisp night air.

Did it matter?

They got what they wanted.

Dazai got what he wanted.

Perhaps it was inevitable.

Perhaps it had been planned from the start.

But planned by who?

(Y/N) grinned, pushing off the ledge, their silhouette vanishing into the shadows.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

A victory was still a victory—no matter whose game they were playing.

#anime #isekai #fanfic #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd oc #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs chuuya #dazai x reader #dazai osamu

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stllmnstr · 10 months ago

Text

sacred monsters [teaser!]

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

teaser word count: 1.7k

teaser warnings: swearing

release date: saturday, august 3, 10 PM EST

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note: this fic is my BABYYY so I really hope it’s well received and you all have a good time with it. it’s probably no surprise that still monster is one of my absolute favorite enha songs, and this story is essentially (my interpretation of) it in written form. this is going to be a multi-part story, and as of right now, the first part is almost ready to share. for now, enjoy this snippet!

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Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh.

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer.

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity.

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional.

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes.

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice.

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips.

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim.

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete, well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features.

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday.

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task.

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed.

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening.

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door.

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in.

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day.

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips.

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance.

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person.

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you.

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?”

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe.

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came.

Heesung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it.

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches.

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost.

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you.

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway.

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to.

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes.

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego.

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.”

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now.

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly.

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life.

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heesung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all.

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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note: thanks for checking out this little snippet! I can't wait to share the full first part soon. this one is going to be so much fun I'm buzzing already. I don't have a tag list, but I will most likely update this post and reblog it once I have a confirmed release date. like I said in the note at the beginning, I'm anticipating it will be ready to go by this sunday (august 4 EST) at the latest. woo!

#heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios

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royalsunshinehotel · 1 year ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet (The Kid, 18+)

One more day until we bring him HOME!!!!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like the kid is properly touch-starved. He's caught in a cycle of violence with himself in the underground fighting ring, so he takes the opportunity to be soft with you while keeping as much physical contact as possible.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I feel like he's a fan of his arms. We see in the trailer how hard he works with those water buckets, he likes his arms. They're long, he's made them strong, they're great.

As for you, he's very into your hair. You're so soft and warm, and he will put his face in it whenever possible. How do you always smell good? He doesn't need to find out, he'll just enjoy it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This is hard to explain, but here we go. I think that Kid has never finished inside or on a partner. He doesn't really fuck a lot, but now that he's met you, he absolutely loves finishing on your stomach

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to fuck you while wearing the fucking Monkey mask. Maybe there's a kidnapping/beauty and the beast kink involved too.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like he's a bit inexperienced. This throws you off because he's gorgeous, but you just need to up the communication. Initially, I feel like you need to break it down for him and say exactly what you want, eventually, he gets the hang of it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like it depends on his mood. If he's heated and angry, he needs you on all fours, ass up. If he's feeling more somber, he needs you slowly, spoon-fucking.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he gets a bit goofier when the two of you get out of the city. Until then, it's strict, serious, for stress release only. He doesn't care about you, at all (lie).

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I feel like things are minimally contained. He's been so focused on getting by, he doesn't take care of himself until things almost get out of hand.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It takes him a minute to really find his groove with intimacy/romance, but he does get there. Until then, prepare to be manhandled.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I fear it's minimal, but you do talk with him about it. When the two of you become 'official' (official what, you don't know), you tell him you want to watch, and he finds he likes jacking off way more when he's got an audience.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I feel like for kinks he can be into the following (1) getting slapped and having his hair pulled in the bedroom, (2) tying you up and having his way with you, and (3) anything in regards to blood. If you have a period, watch yourself, he can be a shark when he wants.

Also, overstimulation, see later.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I truly think he'll have you wherever he wants. If you're down, he's down, he doesn't care where. It could be in the bathroom at his work, in the shower in his shitty apartment, he could break into a hotel room at his other job and fuck you in a proper bed, or the two of you can go on the roof of a high rise. He's partial to the outside at night.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I think it's somewhat random. He's been trying to survive for so long it's not really something that comes to the front of his mind, that he is "turned on", he just knows he suddenly wants you in his lap. Maybe he wants your hands in his mouth. It doesn't matter why.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

I feel like he'd want to do what he could to keep you secret. Anyone else looking at you when you're compromised, with him, is going to be in a lot of pain very quickly. He's private above all.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Initially, I think he's a little confused about getting head. Like it's weird, and he likes it fine, but then he gets your legs around his head and he gets it. Giving for sure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I feel like the Kid is initially fast and mean. He's rough, but the two of you initially are just hooking up. that's how he thinks it's supposed to go! He doesn't even know all of his options yet, and that makes you a little bit insane. It just means you have to show him...

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If it's likely that no one will see you in a state of undress, he'll take you wherever/whenever he can.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I'd have to say no. I don't have any evidence to back it up, but if you want to make a change, even if it's minimal, you have to ask nicely.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I think it's criminal how long he can go. We know he's been training, we know he can fight, this can lead one to believe that, as an athlete, his stamina is way higher than it would be for a normal person.

This is how he figures out he really likes overstimulating you. It scratches an itch in his brain he didn't even know about. You're so sweet and vulnerable, crying that you've had enough, and trying to tell him he's mean.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think it's a bit out of his depth. He gets the concept, he's been in situations where he's seen how they're used, but I think in his head, they're kind of an obstacle to you. He wants to be as close as possible, but that doesn't mean toys are banned forever...

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, it's totally foreign to him. He's here, you're here, why bother with posturing?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The Kid has gone through most of his life alone. It's just facts. He's not had many people to talk to, and has a reputation for being a bit of a 'spook'. This is different with you, obviously. You'll get a lot of gasps, some panting, and your favorite, growling.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character

Chew toy. I think you and the kid bite each other a lot. There's not much else to say about it other than sometimes when the two of you are lying together, either you or he will just have some flesh between your teeth. Usually from the shoulder, but sometimes from the side of your neck. t's comforting, and neither of you feel the need to explain, it just is what it is.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I plead the Fifth Amendment because I might black out if I try to answer this question. I'm seeing the movie tonight, and I'm really not mentally prepared.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I've mentioned in this alphabet that he's been in 'survival' mode for so long, that certain areas of his life have been lacking. This being said, I think his sex drive gets higher and higher the longer the two of you are seeing each other. It's something the two of you work on together :)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The Kid strikes me as an insomniac. I feel like it takes him 30 minutes to an hour to wind down after fucking you. But when he finally does get to sleep, he'll be out cold, which is all you want really.

#the kid #monkey man #monkey man 2024 #dev patel #he's so WET and Sad EYED

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lqveharrington · 1 year ago

Text

Hidden Hatred | V.

summary: You’re a new Overlord and meet Vox for the first time. Who knew what that first interaction would do for the both of you down the line.

pairing: Vox x witch Overlord!reader

includes: name calling, mentions of murder, technically enemies to lovers, Vox being whipped by you, jealously, suggestiveness, teasing, fluff, angst if you squint, (let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: 1st request for Vox done! Also, tell me why I love giving them powers like wanda? it’s so cool tho

When you became an Overlord, you quickly recognized all the other Overlords at meetings, matching their personality to name. For example, Alastor’s voice effects gave the illusion of a radio, hence Radio Demon. Or Carmilla and her pointe shoes made of angelic steel. However, there were some Overlords who never attended the meetings, sending in one of the associates in place. The Vees being the only Overlords to do so, typically sending the youngest to attend the meetings. In doing this, you never met the others, refusing to associate online presence with their real self.

So when Vox came in place for Velvette for one of the Overlord meetings, you were slightly confused.

“Vox, how lovely for you to join us this afternoon.” Carmilla gestured toward the Television Demon across the table, her stare sharp when he tapped away on his phone.

“Uh-huh, can we make this quick? I have a company to run.” He threw her a bored look and scanned the rest of the room, noticing a new face. “Who the hell is this bitch?”

Your face jumps in surprise at his words before giving him a small smile. “It’s—“

“You know what? I don’t give a shit.” Vox glanced back at his phone. “Please, continue Carmilla.”

You huff, conjuring up red wisps from your fingertips to mess with while the meeting continues. You thought dealing with Velvette when you first met was a pain, but Vox was ten times worse than she was, and you just met! He seemed interesting, and you never expected a demon Overlord to have a television for a head, but his disinterest in you put you in a sour mood. You genuinely wanted to understand how he was an Overlord, but it seemed impossible with his nature.

“Now dear, let’s not think of murderous thoughts.” Alastor hummed in your direction when he saw you send a death glare toward the Television Demon as you left the meeting room, to which you only received an eye roll back. “Only I can have an enemy like him.”

“Al, during our short break he told me to fuck off and shoved his finger in my face!” You seeth as your eyes glow red with more wisps emitting from your fingers. “I’m going to murder him.”

Alastor caught your arm, “You will not do such things to an Overlord. If he appears at the next meeting and continues to act rude toward one of our gracious ladies, please tell me.”

“Of course, Al.” You snap your fingers, creating a portal to your Overlord territory. “I’ll see you in a month.”

Although you weren’t going to see all the Overlords in one place for a month, that didn’t mean a certain Television Demon consumed your thoughts because of your behavior toward one another during one meeting. It seemed as if every piece of technology reminded you of him, causing some unwanted thoughts to form during wanting times.

Much like you, Vox’s thoughts were filled to the brim of you. How has he never met you? How has Velvette never mentioned a new Overlord in Pentagram City? Oh, he wanted to know more about you. It was only a matter of time before he realized he was entirely whipped by your presence.

“What’s up your ass?” Velvette stepped inside the elevator with Vox as he messed with his suit for the nth time. She already had a suspicion something was up when he decided to tag along for the meeting, but he was acting nervous for a group of people he disrespected. How the fuck does that even work? “Vox.”

“What?” He whipped his head over to his shorter associate as the elevator door dinged.

She gave him an unimpressed look, “What’s going on in your system? You look like you’re going to reboot any second now.”

“Do I?” He reached up to touch his screen, pulling out his phone for vitals.

Velvette furrowed her brows at his reaction when they walked into the meeting room, a couple of other Overlords mingling amongst themselves. “Okay, what’s the fucking problem? Is there someone you—“

“Vox and Velvette.” Carmilla took her slow strides into the room, quickly diminishing the added noise. “To what do we owe the pleasure of two out of the three Vees?”

“This fuck wanted to join me for no reason.” Velvette jabbed her thumb in Vox’s direction, earning a snort from you. All heads turned as you covered your mouth, letting a quick apology fall from your lips.

Carmilla raised a brow, “Thank you… We’ll start off with the…”

Her voice soon became white noise to Vox as he took his seat, glancing up at you every few seconds. God, he hated the way you would quietly speak with Alastor or how you made eye contact with him just to break it with a glare. He hated the way you always dressed to your heart's content and how you failed to respond to Carmilla when asked a question. He hated how he failed to actually hate you.

“Vox, you’re wrecking Carmilla’s table,” Velvette murmured in his direction as Vox’s claws dug deeper into the table’s top.

He looked down at the table, pulling his claws out. He was too focused on your quiet laughter with Alastor to notice the damage. As your quiet laughter subsided, you made eye contact with Vox again before glancing down at the claw marks, and raising a brow at the television.

‘It’s boring.’ Vox mouthed toward you.

You pursed your lips at him, not understanding the game he was playing. ‘Of course it is, it always is.’

Vox rolled his eyes in a joking manner, shooting his attention back to the Overlord in front of the table. You, on the other hand, shot a quizzical look toward him. Sure, your dead heart sped up a bit, and you felt your face warm, but it was only an exchange of two sentences. You felt the red wisps emit from your fingertips again from confusion, pulling at the soft fog created by the magic.

“My dear, what’s gotten you all out of sorts?” Alastor caught up with you when the meeting adjourned with a sharpened grin, noticing your encounter with the Television Demon.

“What do you mean?” You glance back at Vox who offered you a small smirk. Waving him off, you let a small smile slip through.

“That, my dear!” He squinted his eyes toward the television. “Don’t fraternize yourself with him, he’s involved in too much trouble.”

You tilt your head back to Alastor, “We’re in Hell, I can’t think of any reason why anyone would not be in trouble.”

“What I mean to say is don’t get too comfortable with that… thing. It’s not ideal.” His ears fell flat as you paid zero attention to him.

“I won’t. Plus, I’m sure he got bored and bothered the first person he saw. After all, he did tell me to fuck off during the last meeting.” You tuck your arms behind your back. “Don’t worry so much about me, Al. I can handle myself just fine.”

“I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about the man you’re associating yourself with.” He patted your head. “Until next time, my dear.”

You watch as he slips away with his shadows, rolling your eyes at his antics. It was highly unlikely that you would start a friendship with Vox, considering the people he lives with. Alastor had nothing to worry about, it was just a moment of boredom consuming the both of you.

At least, that’s what you told yourselves. Satan knows that the first interaction was uncalled for, but it wasn’t Vox’s fault. No, he blamed himself for the image he had to uphold and being struck by a new Overlord’s looks. But as time passed, along with meetings, the urge to see each other became stronger, resulting in meetings outside of the Carmine building.

Literally.

“Doll, you take way too long to get here.” Vox pulled you toward him by your hand, linking them together.

“Aw, I’m sorry. Were you too scared to be here all on your own? Too afraid there are no bodyguards to protect you?” You tease with a wide grin. You watch as he rolls his eyes at you, tugging you closer. You laugh while patting his chest, “I had to deal with an incompetent sinner. I know you wanted to spend more time together before the meeting.”

“You have to make it up to me now.” He smiled down at you, eyes filled with admiration.

You hum, your own eyes gleaming in such a lovesick look. “Like what, Mister Vox? How should I make it up to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tilted your head further up, the electricity over his hat reflecting his fast heartbeat. “What do you think?”

“I think…” You flit your gaze to his lips before moving them back up to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t be in debt to you.”

“Is that so, doll?” He squints as he tightens his hold on you. “I think I’m deserving of something at least.”

“Mm, no.” You squeeze his hand. He gives you a playful look before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You grin before reciprocating, using your free hand to hold his shoulder. The both of you separate, eyes fluttering open with soft smiles. “Must you defy me, handsome?”

“Only when I want to.” He whispered against your lips as he pressed more kisses on your lips. You giggle as you let your red wisps emit from your fingers, watching as your wisps pull him away from you. “Doll…”

“Mm?” You stay still as he continues to get pulled away by your powers.

“What are you doing?”

You flick your wrist, the wisps disappearing. “Nothing, you’re the one moving away from me.” Vox grabs at your waist, pulling you flush against him. You squeal as he peppers kisses across your face, “Vox, we could be seen.”

“Who’s going to come down this alleyway?” He left one last kiss on your lips, smiling as a fool would.

“The other Overlords who are going to attend the meeting.” You push his screen away as you catch the time on your watch. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know?”

“Yeah, but they should know you’re taken.” He squeezed your waist.

“You want them to think we hate fuck each other?” You grab his wrists as they sway you around. “You know they still think we hate each other right?”

“Who said we don’t?” He bared his teeth to you, earning an eye roll. “You can’t tell me you don’t like it—“

“Shut up.” You sucker punch his shoulder. “The Tech Overlord dating the Witch Overlord? Never.”

“Never.” He linked your hands again, leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I despise you.”

“Horrible thought.” You pull him along out of the alley, separating as soon as you see Alastor appear out of the shadows. You watched the Radio Demon send you a sharpened grin, which you returned with a small smile.

Although you kept your relationship a secret from the likes of sinners and Overlords, both the Technology Overlord and Witch Overlord knew what they were to each other, even if that meant it was kept hidden.

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galactic-magick · 1 year ago

Note

would you possibly be down for some assistant reader pining for Viktor content to write? 👀

COMING RIGHT UP BESTIE

When you applied for this job, you definitely didn’t think you’d get it. You’re from the Undercity, and people like you don’t tend to get opportunities in high places like this. You’ve worked your ass off to better your life and leave all the traumas from your past behind, trying to make yourself palpable to arrogant topsiders. You thought surely the top two scientists in the city—funded by the council themselves no less—would want nothing to do with you. But you applied to be their assistant anyway, despite having such little experience with tech and science and surely being under-qualified.

You also certainly didn’t think you’d end up falling in love with one of your bosses.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Viktor shared so much in common with you, being from the Undercity as well and dedicating his time to bettering the life of himself and others. There’s so much pain behind his eyes, yet so much hope for the future in every sparkle. You’ve gotten lost in his features too many times to count, the brokenness and idealism each fighting for dominance in every expression he makes.

You also learn very quickly that your feelings are unlikely to be reciprocated, considering how dedicated Viktor is to his work and how oblivious he is to most anything else.

It’s not that Viktor doesn’t seem to care about you—quite the contrary. He asks you how you are every single day and seems to genuinely want to know the answer. He’s patient with you when teaching you how to do things, and doesn’t treat you like you’re stupid just because you’re not as skilled with tech. He doesn’t send you on silly errands or give you busy work—when he needs your help you know it’s important and worth your time. If he ever needs your help when he’s working late, he insists on walking you home to make sure you’re safe despite all your objections. He has such a kind heart, and he makes it incredibly challenging to not fall for him more and more every day.

Regardless, you remain professional. You attempt to avoid admiring him long enough for it to be noticed. You hold back every compliment and flirtation you want to say to him. You try your hardest to not allow yourself the luxury of fantasizing about him. You try for months—to no avail.

No matter how hard you try, it becomes increasingly difficult to live with both your feelings and the reality that they’ll never be heard.

That is, until the day Viktor doesn’t come into work.

It’s very unlike him to ever miss a day in the lab. There’s plenty of days he’s late or comes in and out, but never a day he stays home completely.

Jayce reassures you that Viktor is fine, and that he was the one who told Viktor to take a day off. As both of you know, Viktor has quite the tendency to work himself into the ground, ignoring his health and fixating on things for long stretches of time despite his chronic pain and severe sleep debt. He wouldn’t have listened to anyone else, but he trusts Jayce’s judgment as a close friend, or at least he did after Jayce practically banned him from coming in today.

It feels a bit odd to only be working with Jayce today. Not that you don’t get along with Jayce as well—quite the contrary—but you usually spend more time with Viktor for obvious reasons. Still, Jayce is much more talkative and outgoing, so there’s certainly not much silence despite one less person being here.

As you talk, you start absentmindedly organizing Viktor’s desk so it’s nice and neat when he comes back. You put all his tools back in their drawers, separate all the little machine parts into their respective categories, and clean and dust everything within your reach. You’re sure not to lose or accidentally throw out anything, and you try to put things away in as user-friendly of a system you can muster.

“He really appreciates you, you know,” Jayce says, noticing the care you’re putting into this. His comment startles you slightly, not realizing he was paying any real attention to what you were working on.

“I just try to be helpful,” you shrug, wiping your hands off. “That’s my job, right?”

Jayce chuckles, “You always go above and beyond what your job actually is, and you know it.”

“I guess so,” your face feels a bit hot. “I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever. I’ve had to be to get where I am.”

“Well,” Jayce sighs, turning back to his desk. “He really likes you—I mean, he really likes that about you!” he grumbles a curse under his breath as his voice trails off.

“What did you say?”

“Shit, I promised him I wouldn’t say anything,” he grumbles. You’ve never pegged Jayce as someone who’s good at keeping secrets, so you’re not surprised he’s let something slip he wasn’t supposed to. But this? He knows something about Viktor’s feelings about you?

“Too late now,” you smirk at him, attempting to hide how simultaneously excited and terrified you are to hear what he says next.

“He’s crazy about you, okay? It’s actually getting pretty annoying. I keep telling him to just ask you out but he won’t. Thinks he’ll get rejected or something,” Jayce rolls his eyes.

Your jaw falls open slightly. There’s no way he’s actually felt the same way about you this whole time.

“Can I...can I leave early today?”

Jayce grins knowingly and nods, and within a minute you’ve packed your things and head for the door.

Though you’ve never been inside, you know where Viktor’s house is. It’s not too far from yours, in a neighborhood of smaller and run down homes that are usually sold to people from the Undercity. It’s rare someone with your background scores a place genuinely nice.

You knock on his door, and after a few moments he opens it. You smile at the adorable sight, his hair disheveled and his clothes loose and comfortable. His eyes widen upon seeing you, clearly going through at least ten different thought processes on why you would be here.

“I wanted to check on you,” you say quickly, trying not to laugh at his shock.

“Yes, of course,” he replies, his accent thick and voice husky from exhaustion. “I guess I needed a day off more than I thought, I’ve been sleeping almost all day. But don’t worry, I’m alright.” He smiles softly at you. “I would invite you in, but I’m afraid my home is no less messy than the lab. Worse, in fact.”

“I don’t mind. I just wanted to talk to you,”

He doesn’t take more convincing, moving away from the door so you can enter. You both sit on his small couch.

“Did something happen at the lab? Is something wrong?”

“No, it has nothing to do with work,” you assure him. “I just...missed you.”

Splotches of pink come to the surface of his pale cheeks, “After only a day?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Jayce did too, I think. Though he’d never admit it.”

“Ah,” he joins your laughter. “Of course.”

You take a deep breath, “I also wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything,” his gaze focuses in on you.

“Would you maybe want to do something sometime? Like outside of the lab and stuff?” you say quickly. “Like...go out? I mean, we don’t have to literally go out, I know you’re not really a big out person, but-”

“You want to go out with me?” the color leaves his face and his eyes widen again.

“More than anything, Viktor.” You smile.

(I will likely write a part 2 to this sometime if y'all enjoy! Currently not taking requests but I'm open to suggestions like this, just no promises they'll get written)

#arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #machine herald #arcane #league of legends #arcane x reader

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mimasroom2 · 4 months ago

Text

Accelerating Fury pt 3

Pt 1

Pt 2

Guys I didn’t even realize they don’t use guns in the hunger games until I started writing what weapon Ellie would use….. only the peacekeepers use them. Interesting very interesting. Uh sorry I haven’t been active in a super long time. I take a lot of breaks from writing but I at least wanted to finish this series! Idk how many more parts to this there will be. I’m gonna skip some of the hunger games bc it’s not that important to explain ALL of it and EVERY SINGLE THING that happens. Probably 1 or 2 more parts.

C/w: Death. It’s the HUNGER GAMES LOL. Angst angst angst all the way until the very end. Hmmmm. More death but it’s not super graphic.

W/c: 4.9k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

As you stand on the pedestal, the countdown grows fainter and fainter in your mind. You see Ellie across the way with her eyes locked on something just outside the cornucopia. She hasn’t looked at you even once.

You can’t stop looking around at your surroundings. How bold the gamemakers are for this arena. A whole ass city with numerous nooks and crannies and corners for anyone to hide in. You can see in the distance a bunch of shops with old logos your parents told you about. You’re trying your best to see if the gamemakers made it accurate to the old world at all, squinting to see if maybe there’s a hair dryer from this shop called Ulta that maybe you can choke someone with. You try turning your head the most you can, you don’t want to risk turning with your feet and misstepping. Now is not the time to be blown to smithereens. No matter where you look, none of the shops have anything in them. Then it dawns on you: it’s all abandoned.

Your jaw would drop, but you still can’t believe the madness of the situation. Suddenly, a big, booming alarm goes off that sounds like an air raid drill, and your feet are already hurriedly carrying your body away from where you stood before you even realize it. You swear it hasn’t even been 5 seconds, and you already hear the screams of the weak who fell victim to those at the cornucopia.

As you run away from the bloodbath at the cornucopia, you realize there are no ressources. What the fuck? You keep thinking to yourself as you run: There’s always a plethora of supplies in the cornucopia. That’s why it’s called the cornucopia. And the city and its stores have no supplies in them. What are we going to do? Do they expect us to murder each other with our bare hands?

As if on cue, a mix between a grunt and a scream catches your attention from behind you. You try not to stop running, but you glance back, and you swear what you see will haunt you forever. It’s Ellie - she’s straddling another tribute, hands above her head, knife in hand, blood spattered on her body, and a snarl on her face. She swings the knife back down into the throat of the male tribute she’s on top of. Even more blood squirts disgustingly out of his throat and onto Ellie’s entire face. By the looks of it, he’s dying pretty slowly, however he can’t get up or even move. Ellie quickly stands up and turns around. She’s leaving him a painful death.

She doesn’t even wipe his blood off.

Suddenly, a young girl runs up with a broken piece of glass behind her. Ellie swiftly cuts her throat in one motion. The girl collapses. Then another boy tries his hand at killing Ellie. So much for hands, you swear you see one of his fingers being cut off as Ellie uses her knife to stab and slash at his hand to make him drop whatever weapon he was carrying.

You’re stunned. It’s all too much. Your heart and feet feel planted and you can’t even move. That is, until you see another tribute quickly run by you. There’s no time to think, you run, heading toward the street where the clear view of the cornucopia ends. Before you turn the corner, you can’t help but quickly look back one last time at Ellie. She’s still killing people, but you realize her knife isn’t just any normal knife.

It was the same knife she used when you first met her.

A few hours have passed since the incident at the cornucopia. Your heart isn’t racing nearly as much, but the fact that you can’t even find Jesse to tell him what happened makes your head spin with worry.

You’ve realized after walking through multiple shops, all while being careful not to make any noise, that there are a few things scattered around here and there. Small things, never enough in one place. So far you’ve secured yourself a water bottle, a hammer, and some bandages. Definitely not the best you could hope for, but better than nothing. You catch yourself thinking about Ellie again. Do you think she’s got a shit load of more sponsors now that she’s killed half a dozen people? You actually weren’t sure of the count, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is she did it. And why weren’t you getting anything from sponsors? Was it too early in the games? Night had already begun to fall. Tommy assured you multiple times that everyone loved you. Even at your lowest, everyone was intrigued by you.

You scoffed to yourself. Even at my lowest, huh? Fucking Ellie. Why’d she have to go and say that. You felt so strange feeling mad about it. It was like a strange combination of disgust, disappointment, disbelief, and jealousy all in one. You wondered if this is what everyone else calls ‘angry’.

You decided to put yourself to good use and try finding Jesse… and somewhere to sleep. You were lucky enough to grow up in district 8, where at least you had a proper bed. You sighed to yourself. Going from the Capitol beds to probably having to sleep on the actual street was going to kill you.

As you wandered the streets, you didn’t see any sign of anyone else. You would think with all these blocks of buildings close together you’d be running into more people, but clearly not. Still, you held you hammer in your hands.

There was no more news of Ellie and even less signs of Jesse. You didn’t really know which worried you more. You also don’t know how long you’ve been wandering around for. Maybe two.. three hours? Judging by the sky. But you couldn’t be sure. The gamemakers could easily speed up or slow down the sky and other tellings of passing of time in here. You hated not knowing anything anymore. At least at home and in the Capitol people would tell you things, or you could just guess. But here, a guess isn’t enough. You have to be absolutely sure, or you may die.

At a certain point you have the bright idea of sleeping on the roof of a building. You’re not the best at climbing, but it can’t really be all that hard. Especially because it’s not a tree or anything. Plus, you have the amazing advantage of being able to see farther from higher up. A random memory from outside the arena lodges itself into your head. Didn’t someone else do that one time? Climb a pole or tree or something?

You find a nice building that’s not too high, but still offers you some nest-like qualities. You take your hoodie off and tie your three tools into it like a sack. You then tie the hoodie to one of the loops of the jeans they gave you. You start to climb, and try your best not to fall, placing your feet and hands onto where the windows and lopsided brick poke out to hoist yourself up. You wonder if Tommy’s watching right now. Watching you specifically. You wonder if he’s keeping an eye on Jesse. If he’s not already dead.

At this thought, one of your feet slide off, but luckily you have a tight grip with your hands, so all it does is scare you a little. You curse to yourself and finally push yourself onto the roof. You untie your hoodie and look at the view. It’s not the best ever, not by a long shot, but it’s dark out and you can still see pretty far away. You sigh and unpack your things from the makeshift sack. Luckily there’s a lot of room on the roof, and even though all the buildings are abandoned, everything is still pretty sturdy. You take the bandages you scavenged and place them down like a pillow, and use your hoodie as a blanket. Not too shabby. You’re pretty proud of yourself. For surviving this far. For not dying. Or killing anyone.

Just as your mind shifts to what you’d have to do in order to kill someone, a loud song starts playing. Startling you, you quickly sit up and see the projection Tommy told you about. It’s all the tributes that have died so far. Tommy told you it was a good idea to keep count. That’s what he did. His voice is in your head, saying: “…Let me know when it was over.”

As the pictures start appearing, you’re shocked to see just how many people have died already. Some thanks to Ellie, no doubt. The cannons start too, with each picture. Your knuckles tighten on your hoodie, you keep repeating in your head, “Not Jesse or Ellie. Not Jesse or Ellie.” You don’t pay attention to anyone else projected. Or any of the canons that seem just a bit too loud.

Suddenly, the whole thing stops, and you think it might’ve glitched, but it never turns back on. Ellie and Jesse and You survived.

You don’t even remember falling asleep. You just remember waking up, cold. And scared. You had a nightmare that Ellie was in her interview. She said the exact same things. But this time you couldn’t take it. You walked right past all the other tributes. Past the Avox blocking the way. You went right up on that stage and strangled Ellie. In front of everyone.

The nightmare ended there, but you knew what happened after was the worst part. The Capitol would punish you in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

You sat up to clear your mind. Thankfully, it was sunny out again today. A few clouds, but a nice, cool morning. You decide to get down from your roof, you thought about just waiting it all out, but decided that was an absolute shit plan. You’d probably end up waiting forever only to come down and be face to face with the strongest tributes left standing. Recipe for disaster.

After climbing down from your roof, you decide to go out and look for Jesse and Ellie again. You have no idea where your roof was. If you had to guess, probably a little northeast from the cornucopia? ‘Fuck if I know’, you think to yourself.

You decide to walk a little more east. Your guess is most of the tributes went super far north, to explore what was over there and to get away from the cornucopia. You break some windows to let yourself into different stores, if the doors are boarded up. You’ve found nothing really useful, a few screws in an old matchbox and some random cords you have no idea what to do with. You stow them away in a corner in case you need them later, but leave them behind.

Suddenly, your stomach growls. You’ve been hungry for the few hours you’ve been scavenging, but chose to ignore it. Most of the stores and buildings you’ve been to didn’t seem like they’d have food in them. But now, it was getting to the point where it hurt, and you were starting to feel lightheaded. When was the last time you ate? You think probably in the Capitol. But you didn’t have breakfast the morning you were brought here, and you didn’t even eat much the day before. So.. what does that make it?? Two days?

As you continue walking, you guess you’re probably heading as east as you can get. That shiny thing by the last row of buildings looks like a forcefield.

You decide to enter a building that looks like a mall. At least, it looks like a mall from what your mom has described to you. You wander around and see a sign for a store on the first floor that says ‘Boulangerie’. That sounds kinda fancy. Maybe they sell lingerie or something? You wander over out of curiosity, but you soon realize there’s a cake stand in the window.

HOLY SHIT.

You rush over and look around inside. It seems like it used be a little shop that sold food. You catch yourself. ‘Used to be’, as if the gamemakers didn’t fabricate everything about this. You scoff, and run your fingers along the vacant cake stand. Everything seems to be empty. All the shelves have dust and the displays are all gone. You decide to look in the back just to be sure. There’s nothing much back here either, some boxes and drawers. You look up to see another door you didn’t see before. You walk over and move the boxes that were in front of it out of the way. As soon as you successfully open the door, you see some baked thing inside plastic packaging. You gleefully rush over and grab one. Turning it over in your hands, you see it’s some sort of bread or roll. You realize it’s in the shape of a heart. Rolling your eyes, you tear it out of the plastic and take a bite. It’s definitely stale, but it’s a little sweet and seems to be pretty filling while not being all too dense. You smile to yourself, deciding you could survive off of bread for the rest of the games. During one of your hunts in an old office building, you found a satchel type bag. You can’t fit an entire box worth of bread in there, but you manage to take a few, about seven, and stuff them in without crushing them.

You want to look at the other stores in the mall, to see if maybe there’s more food or some better tools than a hammer. You exit the Boulangerie, and you’re about to walk across the way to another store when you hear glass break.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to face the entrance of the mall, and, to your horror, you see a group of three tributes slowly walking towards you. You see that they’re not careers, but still, they’re all holding weapons, and you’re sure they’ve seen you.

There’s two girls and one boy. You recognize the girl in the middle as the female tribute from district five. She’s holding a machete. Where the fuck did she find that? The male is holding a bat, and the other female has only a shield in her hands. You deem the first girl as the ‘leader’, and she’s slowly walking towards you.

She makes a clicking noise with her mouth, as if she were calling a cat. “Cmere angel, we’re not gonna hurt yah.”

You’re scared out of your mind, but your mouth says differently. “That’s not even my name.” You retort, slowly backing away, “And what a fucking cliche thing to say.”

As soon as those words come out of you, you regret it, because in a blink, the whole group starts running at you.

You turn on your heel and run away, quickly going up the stairs to the second floor of the mall. The building is massive, but you haven’t had any time to explore it, so you really don’t know where you’re going. You turn left down a hallway and into what looks like a small gym. They’re not hot on your trail, but running makes enough noise, and the building is designed to hold a lot of people, so they can easily see you pretty much wherever you go.

You zigzag in and out of the work out machines, trying to lose them so you can hide somewhere. It works a little, but with three of them they’re all trying different routes to get to you.

Eventually you find what looks to be a good hiding spot. There’s an office that’s tucked away in a corner of a hallway. You run inside and crouch down behind a desk. You can hear them out in the hallway, trying to figure out where you went. With all the running, you forgot to take your hammer out, so you try holding it firmly, but it’s hard when your hands are shaking like crazy.

You can hear them getting closer. You’re playing the waiting game now. You can hear each person going into all the different stores in the hallway that you’re in. At this point it’ll only be a matter of time before they check out the last one and find you. With each door they open and each time they curse that you’re not in there, you find yourself not even thinking of your family, or even Tommy or Dina.

You can only think of Jesse. How you never got to properly say how much you appreciated him, or how good of a friend he was. You wonder how you guys would’ve been in another life, returning home after the reaping, going back to your separate families and never really ever talking to each other. You realize that you really do love him, and you wish that you could see him one last time before you die.

You hear the door open, and footsteps of your hunters walking inside. You grip your hammer as hard as you can.

“There’s really no use in hiding now, Angel. Cmon, if you come out now I’ll make your death nice and swift with my blade here. How’s a decapitation sound to you, hmm?”

You try breathing as quietly as you can. But you know there’s no use. This is the last place they have to check, and you’d be kidding if you thought you stood a chance against all of them. Maybe one, yes, but all three? Hell no.

You hear them giggle to themselves as they slowly make their way closer to the desk you’re hiding under. It’s really over, huh?

All of a sudden, you hear someone burst through the door, grunting and running up behind them. You hear a scream and a slash, a body dropping to the floor.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!?” You hear a male’s voice yell, but he screams as well. You don’t know what to do, you’re even more frozen in fear, afraid that the person who just came in will find out you’re here and kill you too.

There’s more fighting going on, you close your eyes and put your hands over your ears, still while holding your hammer. A couple more seconds pass, although it feels like an eternity, when then everything goes eerily quiet. You don’t open your eyes. Why on Earth is everything so quiet? Could you have died and not remembered it?

You’re trembling too, not daring to move in case the person is still in here. You hear footsteps approaching you. You think it’s all actually really over until a familiar voice says “Hey.”

You slowly take your hands off your ears, open your eyes, and look up. It’s Ellie, knife in hand, dripping with blood. You slowly look her up and down: her shoes are all scuffed up, the hair from her half up half down style is all in her face, and she’s managed to get even more blood on her than when you last saw her yesterday. She looks completely out of breath too - she’s panting.

You know it’s her, but you really can’t believe it. “Ellie?” You set your hammer down.

“Don’t wear the name out, okay?” She says and reaches out her hand for you to take. She helps you stand up, and you raise an eyebrow at her. If you were still in the Capitol she probably would’ve said that last line with a shit-eating grin on her face. Your confused expression suddenly turns cold blooded and angry, when you remember how much of a dick she’s been to you.

“What the fuck, Ellie? Now you’re being all nice to me? What happened to fucking hating my guts or whatever bullshit thing you said during your interview.” You try walking past her, but she puts out her arm to stop you.

“Hey, I just saved your fucking life. You’re welcome.” She stares at you directly in your eyes.

You don’t have time for this, you know you’re making a nasty face right now. “Why? What were you even doing around here? I haven’t seen your selfish ass since what you did at the cornucopia.” You realize you may have fucked up after letting that last bit slip. Ellie’s eyes dart down and then back up at you, and her eyebrows furrow.

She shrugs her shoulders and looks down at her feet, before admitting in a reluctant tone, “I was looking for you, okay?”

You can feel your eyes widen and a wave of heat wash over you. Was she really looking for you? Or is this an act to gain your trust so she can just kill you off?

You want to believe her, you really do, but everything she said during her interview and backstage to your face all comes back to you. You roll your eyes and look her up and down, “Yeah? Gimme one good reason I shouldn’t choke you out right now.”

Ellie’s eyes widen and she smirks ever so slightly before replying “Well I’ve got this knife in my hands and I haven’t tried killing you.. right?” She raises her eyebrows and smiles.

You huff and shove her a little, murmuring about how stupid this all is. You blush and pull away immediately when you realize your hands are still on her.

She gives you a weird look, to which you recognize immediately and try coming up with something to say, but you end up just mumbling, “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” and crouching down to pick up your stuff off the floor.

She stares at you for a moment too long, and sighs, “Well, now that that’s that, let’s get a move on.”

You mutter to yourself as you pick up your hammer and put it in your satchel. You notice Ellie staring at you as you guys walk out of the office.

You make a confused face at her, “What?”

She laughs and says, “We need to get you a better weapon.”

You roll your eyes at her again, this time playfully, and rustle around in your bag to put the hammer away.

“You got any snacks in there?” She looks at you with her iconic grin on her face, and you accidentally stop walking for a second, but play it off as stopping to look in your bag.

“Oh shit, yeah. Here.”

You pull out one of those stupid heart shaped breads, and you swear this situation could not get any more bizarre.

Ellie takes it and gives you a weird look, to which you scoff and say, “I’m obviously not the one who made them, okay? Just eat it.”

You and Ellie have been making your way north for a couple hours now. You don’t really say anything. What is there to say? You still don’t know why she saved you, or why she was looking for you in the first place. You know that you should bring it up, but you need to do it at the right time, or else something bad could happen. You feel bad for being cautious, but this is the hunger games, right?

You still have the empty water bottle in your bag, and Ellie’s been insistant on getting you a better weapon. You’ve been occasionally popping in and out of different stores to see if there was either of the two in any, but so far everything has been empty.

Eventually, you two find a fountain in a little hidden corner. You’re hesitant at first, but Ellie says it’s fine. It’s in the corner, so if someone tries hurting you, at least there’s only one way they can come from. You two sit down on the edge of the circular fountain, facing each other.

You fan yourself from walking, and Ellie reaches into your bag to get the bottle. She fills it up. The water doesn’t look dirty all too much, thankfully. You feel like you’ve just found the garden of Eden.

You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes catch Ellie lift up the bottle to her mouth and take long, drawn out sips of the water. You never even realized how plush and full her lips look. You unconsciously bite your bottom lip and look away.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and hands the bottle to you. You take a few sips and set it back down.

Ellie says nothing. You feel like you could cry with how many wild thoughts and emotions are all built up inside you. Everything has been all too much. All your thoughts of Ellie are all muddled up, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or sad that she saved you.

You look up at her and you realize she’s looking at you too, and she still has all that blood on her face. You reach to take your bag and jacket off you, placing your bag on the ground and your hoodie in your hands. you silently and slowly dip the corner of your hoodie into the small pool of water to the other side of you, ring it out a little, and bring it up to Ellie’s cheek. You pause and look in her eyes, silently asking permission to touch her, to which she puts her hand on yours to place the wet cloth on her face. The blood starts coming off. You go back to the water to dip it and clean the blood out. You bring it back up to her face, and with your other hand you gently hold the other side of her face to keep her steady. You can tell your eyes are already glassy from trying not to cry. You look into her eyes and say, “Why did you save me?”

Ellie’s bottom lip actually trembles. She looks down and says, “Because I wanted to.”

You’re still cleaning her face, but you feel yourself start to cry. Your voice shakes as you say, “I thought you hated me.”

She shakes her head slightly, but not enough to disrupt your work. “I don’t. I promise. I don’t hate you. It’s the opposite.” Her tone is so soft and sad. She still can’t bring herself to look at you, and you suddenly bring your hand down.

Your voice completely breaks and there’s tears streaming down your face. “Then why did you say those awful things about me?” You shout, a little bit louder than you intended to. Ellie winces a little. You can tell it’s not from your volume, but from shame.

“Because my mentor told me to.”

You just stare at her. You don’t even know what to say. “Wh… What?”

She finally looks up at you, and you swear she looks like a lost puppy who came up to your doorstep in the snow. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. About all of it. I never should have agreed to it. It was so stupid. My mentor told me what to say because she was scared of you. After your training score was announced, she saw the reactions other people and sponsors had, and she was scared that you’d be more popular than me. That you’d be a threat.” She looks up, blinking back tears, “I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know what I can do to convince you, but it’s the truth. I really- I really knew I fucked up after I walked away from you backstage. And the guy from my district said he was gonna kill you. And then we were sent here and I knew I had to kill him the first chance I got. I know it’s bad and it’s a horrible thing to do but I just couldn’t let him hurt you with how kind and thoughtful you are to me.” She’s fully crying now, once a few tears slipped she couldn’t stop, and she’s rambling on and not making any sense. But still; you get it.

“Ellie, I get it. I- I understand.” You wish you could say more, but you really can’t think of anything.

“I’m sorry. I’d never do anything to hurt you, okay?” She looks at you directly, and takes your hands in hers. You think Ellie is probably the best person you’ve ever met.

You take your hands away to wipe away your tears, and nod silently.

Ellie pauses for a moment, looking away. “Yknow… I did really like your dress.. by the way.”

You laugh, drying your eyes more, “Oh yeah? Which one?”

She laughs, “All of them.”

You just giggle in response, and look up at her. Your eyes accidentally flicker to her lips. But she notices, because she does the same. You let out a small, shaky breath, scooting closer to her. She’s not even trying to hide it anymore, she’s staring at your lips, and she comes closer too.

She’s reaches up, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. You can’t exactly read her expression, but you’re literally swimming in her eyes with how gorgeous they are up close.

You’re relieved that Ellie never hated you. You honestly hated how it felt to feel mad. To be angry. It felt wrong and disgusting to you. You’re still staring into her eyes.

You lean in, holding the side of her face like how you did when cleaning the blood off her. Both of your eyes keep flickering back and forth between lips, and each others eyes.

She takes one last look at your eyes before softly kissing you.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

#ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #wlw #lesbian #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #the hunger games #hunger games #the hunger games au #jesse tlou

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