#Third person letter about a story

[captainkurosolaire]

Your Devoted Page

Dear, Casta

Should upon when this reaches you, my beloved hearty. It's within my deepest crestfallen, I've failed t' keep your original journal held intact. Found out th' traitor upon our vessel was no other than, Sol. I should've foresaw his dark-nimbus; now I'm left missing another brother and a broken-family, scattered across th' realm. As you're aware perhaps, choosing to document our Crew's journey alongside, mine. I recall when you said I was your protagonist and explained to me their unique-powers in stories. ...Remember? Me running out the next 'morrow, and getting n' a dastardly tavern brawl t' my near-death, thinking plot-armor made me invincible? Earning Judas's ire for both ov' us, yet we laughed in joy, sharing a memory-made. ...See, I know you think, you b' just ordinary, times may feel you're an outcast upon these voyages, especially amongst th' company ov' this Wild Crew I strung along. Though again... strength you usher, you mend n' stitch others, you've Captaineered these sentiments. If weren't fer you, I'd surely b' wrecking havoc monstrously, cruel to its favor. Hardest thing fer me, was leaving th' Land behind, those who've I grown knowing upon my time, stranded, forming around them. Unlike n' this expansive-tumbling tides ov' sea life... It's different. We're molded by nature required by daily survival, we become grizzly, beastly, our teeth, claws, reinforced. 'Till tyme for our placed feet to own anywhere, we conquer taking our lessons ov' seas, skies, desert, and utilize devouring moments. Claiming what's denied. Ov' Bold n' Free, we are. However in yer company, stead, I've a rare opportunity t' take those lovers of land, with me. You're a messaged-bottle; a reminder, keeping th' rabidness from taking-hold. My humanity cannot b' extinguished with you. I've saw to restoring th' journal to forged identical perfection with extra-upgrades fer th' problems, this page is dedicated as yours, alone. You-mean th' heart to me. Additionally I've noticed there's many stories, untold... So I've seized liberty to give you my Stories of Origination, following Passages of One. We've lots of similarities you may-find in revelations... My failures, sins, bringing... May this Dawn have confession, may we find closure in unity, we'll breathe together our flaws, leaving only our marvels! Against these anchored weights only recently, you Crew of Gold, have begun helping relieve and restore t' myself of what I may become... When reunited next, I'll have spoil knowledge, setting out learning who my Mother was n' pursuit and hope searching for my discovery along the missing final answers. Then becoming Th' Captain who shall sail th' Fates themselves and ferry destination ov' all your worldly dreams. Formerly t' my treasured, Yours fondly, - Captain Kuro Solaire

[Prev:Chapter]: Ill-Fated, Sadness - ♪"Past-Lives"♪

[aceredshirt13]

gang i have to share this P. G. Wodehouse quote with you all because ever since I found it I can't stop thinking about it. it's from a letter he wrote when he was 78 years old to his friend Guy Bolton (many thanks to P. G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters)

I have been on the sick list myself, but am better now. Inflamed bladder or chill on the bladder or something, the symptoms being agony when I passed water, as the expression is. It brought back the brave old days when I used to get clap.

he really said "yeah the pain from my bladder issue reminds of the days when I used to have so much sex I repeatedly got venereal disease"

[nateconnolly]

[Image ID:

A picture that says “A student once asked anthropologist Margaret Mead, “What is the earliest sign of civilization? The student expected her to say a clay pot, a grinding stone, or maybe a weapon. 

Margaret Mead thought for a moment, then she said, “A healed femur.”

The second picture is a news headline. It is bolded and a much larger font. “27-year-old who couldn’t afford $1,200 insulin copay dies after trying cheaper version.”

The third picture is the same font and size as the Margaret Mead quote. It’s a continuation. It says, “A femur is the longest bone in the body, linking hip to knee. In societies without the benefits of modern medicine, it takes about six weeks of rest for a fractured femur to heal. A healed femur shows that someone cared for the injured person, did their hunting and gathering, stayed with them, and offered physical protection and human companionship until the injury could mend.” 

The fourth picture is another headline. It is in a large and bolded type. “Dying man who couldn’t afford to go to hospital after vomiting blood"

The fifth picture is a screenshot of the Margaret Mead story.

Mead explained that where the law of the jungle—the survival of the fittest—rules, no healed femurs are found. The first sign of civilization is compassion, seen in a healed femur. 

The next screenshot is of a slightly different font. The letters are pointier and the lines are a little curvier. It says, “Susan Finley returned to her job at a Walmart retail store in Grand Junction Colorado, after having to call in sick because she was recovering from pneumonia.

The day after she returned, the fifty three  year old received her ten year associate award — and was simultaneously laid off, according to her family. She had taken off one day beyond what is permitted by Walmart’s attendance policy.

After losing her job in May 2016, Finley also lost her health insurance coverage and struggled to find a new job. Three months later, Finley was found dead in her apartment after avoiding going to see a doctor for flu-like symptoms. 

A screenshot of a bold, bigger headline. It says ‘The house always wins’: Insurers’ record profits.

A final screenshot of smaller text with a slightly gray background. It says “We are at our best when we serve others. Be civilized.” /end ID.] 

[jjjjisun]

Little Sister, Big Secret

Miyeon X Male OC | 10745 words

TW: Incest

—

Author’s Note: Thanks for the patronage. Jae is the official reader name from now on. I know some of you are disappointed with this change, and I apologize. There are stories that I want to explore from a third person’s perspective, and using a real name instead of Y/N seems to be a better direction.

 This might be the last fic for my series of quick releases this past week. I will still be releasing incest fics, but it might take once or twice every two weeks. The first part of the ex-IZONE Minju fic will be released early in Ko-Fi this Thursday.

—

Jae rarely saw his sister Miyeon anymore. Between their going to school in separate cities and busy schedules when they were home in the summer, it was rare if they spent more than an hour in each other's company. He still always loved seeing her, though she and he both were changing as they followed their own paths. And, every time he saw her, it reminded him that she was a stunner. As they went through school, Jae knew she would be a beauty when she got prettier and prettier each year. However, it seemed that she never stopped; her breasts got bigger and bigger until they looked like they could fill Jae's hand and then some, or so he imagined. Her face was adorable, with a beautiful smile and that sexy way she bit her lip when she did something naughty. And her body...her workouts kept it so slender at the waist and yet her butt a spank-able little cushion. Topped off with her soft, brown hair flowing down to her shoulders, she was a picture of perfection.

It didn't matter, though, for all the torture he had to endure when she let her robe slip open as she lounged on the couch, revealing her bra and her taut stomach-- she was still his sister. He'd put up with the suggestive comment or two from guys at school and maybe stolen a peak at her cup size when she left a lacy number in the drier (it was 30C), but other than that, their interactions were mostly innocent. When they went to school, they drifted a bit further apart, but of course, whenever she came home, she seemed to have gotten hotter, more tan, better legs, etc.

It was a Friday afternoon, and Jae had gotten out of class early, so he decided to drive back home and drop in on his mom and dad for the weekend. He could use a break from the action at school. So, a few hours later he was pulling into his driveway. He arrived just as the mailman offered to bring the mail himself. He grabbed it and walked up to the front door, flipping through it as he climbed the steps to the front door. Something caught his eye, a manila envelope with a letterhead he recognized. Embarrassingly enough, after thinking about it for a few seconds, he placed it as a porn company he'd seen on one of those video streaming sites.

'What's this?' He thought to himself and paused at the front door.

Thinking quickly, he decided that whatever it was, his parents probably shouldn't be seeing it anyway, so he slipped it into his duffel and rang the doorbell. After exchanging hellos and sitting with his dad before he headed back to work, Jae headed upstairs to his room. The envelope in his bag had nagged at him while sitting with his dad and he intended to find out what it was about. He had only glanced at the envelope before stuffing it away, and looking at it now, he noticed that it was addressed to his sister. His heart spiked a bit at that. What the hell would a porn company want with Miyeon?

Ripping it open, he reached for a letter and a DVD. He'd have read the letter, but the DVD cover grabbed his attention for obvious reasons. It was a porno called "School's Out" with a beautiful young girl on the cover, but not just any beautiful girl, his sister. His jaw practically hit the floor. She was posing on the cover in a sexy schoolgirl outfit with the naughty look on her face that Jae had come to know so well. The caption beside her read that it was her first scene, and Jae was again speechless. The back had a few more pictures of her and other girls in the film, but nothing displaying what her part in the film was.

He walked over toward his bag to retrieve his laptop and sat down, waiting for it to power up before he took it in. His sister... in a porno... the very one he held in his hand? She looked so cute on the front cover, so innocent and yet so goddamn hot. How the hell had she become a pornstar? From what he knew, she was still in school and doing well.

'My God, porn?' He thought to himself.

In his haste he failed to even think that this was his sister he was about to see on his screen if he put that disc into his laptop. And not only that; she was going to be...presumably having sex with some random dude with a big dick. Christ, he hadn't even seen her naked in full before, and he was about to see a lot more than that. He hesitated as he stared at his desktop for a few seconds. Should he watch it...? Wow, it was like his dreams were coming true and he was simultaneously waking up.

'Maybe just a minute, to see if it's really true,' He rationalized as he slipped it into the drive and pulled up the menu.

The first scene wasn't her, or the second. It was as he suspected, the same type of story line he'd seen played out in plenty of scenes before. When his sister came on to the screen, it was a third shock in only a few minutes. She was wearing her sexy little school girl outfit with her breasts pushed up and short miniskirt cutting off close below her bubbly behind. She had a pierced belly button (man, did he love that on girls) and a touch of makeup. He watched in disbelief as she went through the motions with some guy, setting up the story of a sexy student trying to talk her way out of trouble. He had to admit, she was an adorable actress, and he found himself projecting himself into the role of the man being seduced by his student.

That was until she reached for the guy's belt buckle. He realized she really was going to sleep with the guy, and Jae covered his eyes with his hand. He couldn't watch this, could he? He peeked between his fingers and saw the guy reaching for his sister's breast. As he grasped it for a second, Jae found himself becoming angry with the actor for touching his sister that way. In a few more seconds, she had worked the guy's pants open and was holding his semi-erect penis. He wasn't all that much larger than Jae, he thought to himself happily.

And then the man worked Miyeon's breast out of its cotton sling, and he saw her nipple for the first time. It was utterly suckable, a big nub with a relatively tiny areola that his mouth watered at the sight of. She then started stroking his penis up and down in her tiny hand and kissing him in a way that he wished deeply to feel himself. Feeling his own cock begin to harden, a pang of guilt struck him for desiring his sister so.

He battled inwardly as the video played out, and his sister started to disrobe, and he decided to just click through. It wasn't as if he intended to see it, but the first click of the mouse brought him to a frame of his sister on her knees with a cock deep in her mouth. Even for the second he lingered he could see the side profile of his little sister and her rocking body. Bent at the knee as she was, he loved how the pads of her feet stretched to stabilize her, and her curves led from her toned legs to her taut, arched back. Oh no, he thought as she swallowed the cock a few times, and he averted his eyes. He haphazardly clicked forward into the video, and this time she wasn't on her knees but laid out on the bed with her pussy, which looked taut as hell, swallowing the man's shaft into her tiny frame. Piercing her over and over, the guy shoved himself into Miyeon, and Jae felt himself becoming angry, or was it jealous... either way, a few more times of watching his sister's quim stretch to accept the invading member, and he slammed his screen down, unable to watch it any further.

Her soft pants of pleasure rang in his ears, and it was as if he could see her wiggling beneath him as he shoved into her. His cock was completely stiff. He was reeling from what he just saw. Firstly, because he had just watched his little sister, the one who he'd walked with to school when they were little, wrestle in the backyard, do some different kind of wrestling altogether. Secondly, he could not believe how unbelievably attractive she was and how badly he wanted to be in the unnamed man's place. He felt all at once shocked about his relationship with the young girl he was just watching be fucked, and strange that he'd felt lust for her. After all, that's what she was there for, wasn't it? To be an icon for his desires, to arouse him enough to pleasure himself while watching her. Oh Lord, how would he face her now, knowing what he knew?

A sound woke him from his daze, and he got up to see who was making it. Looking over the railing as he left his room, he saw her standing in the doorway and shutting it behind her. It looked like he'd be facing her even sooner than he expected.

"Oppa!" she screamed as she dropped her things.

Bounding up the stairs, Miyeon's breasts bounced in her shirt, a deep v-neck sweater showing off plenty of them. The shirt was cut short of her belly button, and he could see the piercing that gleamed on her beautiful stomach. Below that, she had a set of distressed-looking low-rider jeans that could have been painted on for how tightly they held her beautiful legs. She practically jumped into his arms, and he prayed that she didn't feel his already stiffening erection.

With her body pressed up against his and her breasts, her soft, full breasts, mashed between them, Jae resigned himself to the fact that he'd never look at Miyeon the same again. Instead, he just wrapped her in his arms, returning the hug. Feeling her body against his, the warmth of it and the swell of her breasts resurrected the war between his brain and dick. She pushed off of him and looked at Jae deep in the eyes, a questioning look on her face. It was the same adorable face he remembered, and it caused him to snap out of his stupor and realize he'd not said a word to her yet.

"It's so good to see you, baby, sis. I didn't know you were coming home!" Jae managed.

One of his hands came to rest on the exposed portion of her back, warm and smooth. He thought about how it would feel to grab onto her there and about seeing that guy holding onto her waist as he plunged that big thing of his into Jae's little sister.

"Well, Jenna told me you were coming home, and I decided that I had some free time this weekend, so I'd join you. Are you happy to see me?"

Jenna was Miyeon's best friend in high school and now attended the same college as Jae. She was a year younger than him and almost as sexy as Jae's little sister was; he'd seen her walking home from class and mentioned he was going home for the weekend. Man, news travels fast, he thought to himself.

"Of course I'm happy to see you. This house can always use a little more action, right? especially a knockout like you, little sis. I swear you keep getting prettier every time I see you!" Jae said excitedly.

"Oh, stop it," Miyeon blushed, and then there was that look again -- her cheeks puffing up the way they did and that little nibble of her lip. The frame of Miyeon first being penetrated came into his memory and he shook it off. "When did you become such a charmer, huh? And while we're handing out compliments, you've been hitting the gym a little yourself haven't you?"

With a little free time here and there, now that he had gotten past the difficult years in school, he had tried to stay in shape. He was now a pretty lean 6'0" and 185 lbs.

"Well, I gotta look good for the ladies right? And speaking of Jenna, maybe I oughta look her up when I go back to school!" Jae said leadingly.

"You wouldn't dare! She's my best friend!" Miyeon screamed.

"I don't know Miyeon. She was lookin' mighty fine in that sundress today." Jae teased.

"Better than me?" Miyeon asked him. She stepped back, kicked her hips out to the side, and posed for comparison.

"Hmm... let me think... turn for me." Jae continued to joke with her, but she did spin around, showing him her great little booty and the rest of her backside. "It's a close one, I think I oughta sleep with her to find out."

"No way, mister, don't even think about it. And that wouldn't be fair. You'd have to sleep with me then, and I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to do that." Miyeon shot back at him.

Jae had to hesitate a second at that, had she just said that. He could hardly hold back the thoughts of bending her over the railing right there and taking her like the little pornstar she was.

'Get a hold of yourself,' Jae scolded himself. See her mock upset look? He said, "Oh, alright already, plus I don't think they have guys like me down at that school of yours. Little girls like you only go for the hipster-type guys with jeans tighter than yours and a personality disorder."

"Ha, got a pretty high opinion of yourself there, huh, sport." Miyeon joked. "I think it's me you couldn't handle. They don't make 'em like me in that winter wasteland you attend," Miyeon thrust her chest out while saying that, and Jae practically shot in his pants. She looked so god damned sexy, and she must have known it. "I bet the only girls you take home at that school have a bigger dick than you."

"I doubt that," Miyeon's eyes seemed to glint and shoot downward at that comment, but Jae continued, "But just ask your friend Jenna in a week or two and she'll tell you."

Miyeon gave up, "Ugh, you are relentless! Whatever, I'm gonna take a shower, will you please bring up my bags Mr. Manly Man?"

Jae watched her walk away, her beautiful hips swaying as she sauntered down the hall. What was happening! He had suddenly started talking sex with his little sister, and he had to reel himself back in. But he didn't want to; truth of the matter was, he was imagining himself in that shower with her, fucking her brains out. Holding on to those gorgeous titties of hers, he could just pound away at her from behind.

'She's your sister for god's sake.' Jae knew he'd really turned the corner with the way he looked at his little sister. 'But the way she played into my jokes...' He argued in his head, 'She'd never go for it... or would she.' He took a few minutes downstairs to process what was going on. Even if she wanted him to, could he really do it? He poured himself a glass of water and drained it before grabbing her bags and heading upstairs.

Approaching her room, he saw the door half open, and beyond it, his little sister was undressing. She peeled her sweater off and tossed it on the bed as he climbed the last stair. A few more steps toward her door and he could see her reaching for the button on her jeans and trying to wiggle out of their snug fit. Her breasts swayed back and forth and nearly spilling out of the confines of her bra, a simple white push-up. The curves of her smooth skin, sun-kissed by the California rays at her school, accentuated a flawless body. As soon as she had the jeans down to her feet, hopping once or twice adorably, she reached behind her to unclasp her bra, and Jae made a coughing sound to announce his presence.

"Eh, hhem," he interrupted.

Miyeon, still with the jeans caught around one foot, reached for her breasts as the bra straps fell from her shoulders. She covered herself as best she could, and Jae looked away to give her her privacy.

"Sorry sis, I was just bringing your things," He snuck a peak once or twice over his right shoulder.

"Ha-ha, I guess I gave you a bit of any eyeful huh?" She was rustling around behind him and then said, "okay, you can look now."

As he turned, he realized she wasn't all that better covered, she had a tiny towel covering the essentials, but the tops of her breasts and the very bottom of her butt were clearly peeking out on either side. He could do nothing to stop his cock from hardening in his shorts, and he could have sworn he saw Miyeon's eyes catch it once or twice.

"What's the matter Oppa, am I making you nervous?" She teased.

"No, you're just not wearing very much and your my sister," he responded

"Hmm..." was all she said, glancing clearly down toward her brother's crotch, if only for a second.

Jae left her alone for the time being; whether or not something would happen between them, Jae knew he needed to cool down and take things slowly. If he had only waited a few more seconds earlier he would have probably seen Miyeon strip fully nude and he wasn't sure he was ready to see that in person (even if he had seen her being stuffed full of cock in the video just before she arrived home herself)

Miyeon showered and he heard her ambling down the stairs to the living room while he was sitting and watching TV. He shouldn't have even been shocked when he saw that she was wearing only a tiny orange top that could have been a bathing suit and yoga pants, and yet his jaw nearly dropped seeing all that exposed skin.

"Jeez sis, you comfortable?"

"When did you become such a prude, huh? It's my own damn house and I just had a long drive, I would have gone naked but I couldn't risk mom or dad coming home early," Miyeon responded with some sass.

"Because it would be fine for you to be prancing around in the nude in front of me..." Jae questioned

"Like I said..." Miyeon said almost inaudibly, but not quite, "...prude."

Jae heard it and wasn't pleased to be accused again. "What's gotten into you, huh?"

"Oh nothing." Miyeon lied. She wasn't about to reveal that she was thinking about becoming a full-time adult film star, especially not to her brother.

So they just watched TV together like that, Miyeon lounging across the couch with her gorgeous tummy stretched just so and her breasts hugged in the strip of cloth across them. The yoga pants left absolutely nothing to the imagination; she was, put simply, an absolute knockout. She was way too pretty for porn, he thought to himself, wishing again he hadn't seen her being used by an unnamed actor. Although he was defenseless to her beauty, (he knew for a fact that every other man was anyway) Jae simply couldn't shove off the protective feelings he had toward Miyeon. He'd been looking out for her since they were little.

"Let's do something, I'm bored," Miyeon whined.

"Like what?"

There was a pause, and Jae watched her as she looked deep in thought. Then, as if a light bulb had gone off in her head, she sat up straight, causing her breasts to shake in the orange top and her abs to flex gorgeously.

"Oh shit... I just forgot," Miyeon trailed off, clearly deep in thought again.

"Earth to Miyeon!" Jae called out to her.

"I have to do something, I can't believe I forgot." Miyeon

"Umm... okay."

Miyeon hopped off the couch and took the stairs two at a time up to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her before Jae could even enjoy the sight of her spandex-covered ass. He stayed where he was on the couch nonetheless, half enjoying the episode of one of those shows brain-dead he watched sometimes and half processing all of the information he'd taken in over the last hour or so.

Visions of Miyeon came in and out of his mind, some of them from the clip he'd just seen of her a short while ago. He dozed off a few times and was making peace with all of the chaos Miyeon had caused within him since he'd returned home when she quickly opened the door at the top of the stairs and walked out.

"So......." Miyeon said, walking to the stairs and looking down at him,

"So......." Jae questioned her.

"I have this thing I have to do, and I usually have my roommate at school help me with it, but she's not here now, and I forgot it was due tonight,"

"We're not exactly in the same program, Miyeon. I'm not sure I can help you with your homework," Jae replied.

"Yea... It's not that kind of thing."

"Ugh, okay. What is it?" Jae responded to her as he got up off the couch. "Well, that's the thing. I know I shouldn't be asking you, you being my brother and all, but I need your help." Miyeon had a guilty look, and Jae was still clueless.

"Well, what the hell is it already?" Jae asked, growing impatient.

"Just... can you come here, and I'll show you." This time, the look on her face was more naughty than anything else, and Jae liked it.

It was his turn to race up the stairs this time, but with Miyeon standing at the top, he tried to keep his cool. When he reached the top, he nearly ran into his sister and found himself standing a few inches from her. The scent of her body wash was faint yet exciting, and there was a moment of silence between them before Miyeon spoke.

"So... I didn't think I was going to need to tell you so soon...but..." she dragged this out.

"Oh God, just spit it out already."

"I NEED YOU TO TAKE PICTURES OF ME NAKED." She barely managed to form separate words.

It took a minute for Jae even to pick the words apart. "Uhh... WHAT?" This was a stretch, even after some of the thoughts he'd been having.

She was racing again, "I know it sounds weird, but I guess I kinda may have done some porn, and now I need to do a photo audition for a company that could give me a huge offer if I look good in it and I can't take the photos myself because I forgot my remote for the camera so I need you to do it and I know it will be weird, but I need you to so will you just please do it." She said it all in one breath.

"Whoa......." Jae didn't know how to respond just then.

Miyeon just looked up at him with eyes wide. They were pleading with him to agree.

"I don't know, Miyeon, this is out there." Sure, he'd wished to get inside her when he saw her on his computer screen, but didn't every guy imagine having sex with their favorite pornstars? If they were really in front of them, though, would a guy go through with it, maybe cheat on a girlfriend, risk getting her pregnant?

Fuck it, he didn't have a girlfriend. Thinking of getting Miyeon pregnant made him want to do more, and she hadn't even asked him to have sex with her, just see her naked.

"I guess if you need my help,"

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She jumped into his arms, and he immediately felt his hands on that warm, taut abdomen he had drooled over before. 'God, she is so hot!' he screamed inwardly, and he rejoiced at the fact that he was about to see her naked.

"So I know this will be a bit weird for you, but if you just do as I say, we'll have the pictures we need in no time. I'll owe you so much." Her smile exuded sex now.

"Yeah, you bet you will," Jae said.

Miyeon took him by the hand and led him inside. She led him over to her dresser, where a pretty expensive-looking DSLR Camera and a few different lenses sat. On the bed was an outfit that he absolutely couldn't wait to see his little sister in, and when she picked it up and told him to wait as she put it on in the bathroom, he breathed heavily.

She walked out in an unbelievably sexy schoolgirl outfit. It had a blouse that was not much bigger than the plaid bra beneath and a miniskirt that couldn't even cover her pert little butt. She looked down at the floor and then up at Jae through the strands of brown hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

She looked so beautiful, and Jae suddenly decided to snap a picture. He brought the camera up and quickly took a picture. He perfectly captured the innocence she was exuding and kept taking pictures as she scolded him:

"Stop! I'm not ready yet."

"Hey, I said I'd take pictures, but I'll take them whenever I want, " he said with a smile.

"FINE! Like I said, you're relentless."

She slowly walked toward the bed and made sure to give him plenty of time to take pictures. She put a knee up on the bed and looked back at him; the pose was flawless.

"Are you sure this is okay with you? I know I was calling you prude earlier, so I don't want you to feel like you have to prove something, " she said, really meaning it.

"No Miyeon, it's really okay, you need help, and you're my little sis, so I'll do it. Besides, you're not so hard on the eyes anyway." He complimented

She was positively beaming after his comment and she bit on the tip of her pinky finger in embarrassment. She continued her path onto the bed and showed him a bit of her ass as she bent over on her hands and knees with her back arched impressively. Her little butt stood proud in the air, he snapped a pic every few seconds, moving this way and that to get good angles. She might have needed his help, but he would certainly enjoy this if he had any say in it.

Then Miyeon laid down flat and played around with her legs. 'Click, click, click,' went the camera as he got shots of her long aiguille socks snaking their way up her toned legs. They were so smooth and so alluring. She rolled over, once again arching her back as her brother took more pictures.

"You're beautiful, little one, keep doing that," Miyeon smiled as her brother breathed the compliment quietly not sure whether he'd meant her to hear it or not. She quickly untied the blouse to reveal the plaid bra beneath. It was a tight-fitting piece that caused her breasts to spill out over the tops. Jae couldn't imagine something more perfect or more seductive. He took multiple pictures as she kneeled upright on the bed to remove the blouse, her tits pushed out as she snaked her arms out through the sleeves.

Laying back down and stretching out on the bed, she posed a few times before reaching for the ties where her plaid miniskirt connected on the left and quickly tugging at the laces with her hand. The miniskirt loosened, and she slid it off her waist. She smiled a great, big, gleaming smile at the camera and flung the skirt her brother's way. Jae couldn't be certain, but he thought he may have gotten a great shot of the skirt midair with his little sister perched behind it on the bed, now in only her bra and a matching pair of panties.

Jae could feel his body heating up, though the temperature in the room hadn't changed a degree. It wasn't all that was going up either, and Miyeon took notice of the bulge in her brother's pants that was snaking its way toward his waistband. She felt so aroused that her big brother found her good enough looking to get an erection. It encouraged her further. She started posing more sensuously and in more provocative poses: tossing this way and that, sexy looks flashed across her beautiful face and she imagined that her eyes were begging him to ravage her.

Jae couldn't believe his restraint as he took picture after picture. But finally, it was the moment of truth, and as Miyeon reached around her backside with nimble fingers, disconnecting the clasp of her bra, Jae knew he was in for the treat of a lifetime. Once again, she let the bra fall only a bit before covering it with her hands, and he kept clicking and clicking. More of her breasts were showing now, and he wanted more than anything to see the remaining hidden objects of his fantasy.

Miyeon teased him, though, for as soon as she let the bra fall, her hands were there to cover her nipples, which were hard as ever, she noted. She stood and walked toward him, getting dangerously close, and when only a few feet away, she covered both her breasts with one hand and reached down to shove off her tiny panties. Down and over her cute socks they went and Miyeon's free hand covered her pussy. He could tell she was shaven, and seeing his sister's exposed body made his heart begin to race.

Jae was rock hard by then, so when Miyeon came very close to him and then backed away slowly after whispering, "see something you like," and then glancing downward toward his enlarged manhood, Jae was positively swooning. He remembered to take pictures, however, and was finally coming back to earth when his sister dropped her hands and ran them over her body.

She had been so breathtaking in the vide,o but it did no justice to what she looked like in real life. It was like she'd been sculpted from marble. Her breasts hung in part teardrops, a full handful or more. Her pussy was so tiny, he wondered how in the world she fit anything into it. She'd certainly have a hard time taking him. 'Whoa there, fella,' he thought to himself, 'don't move too fast, you're only here to take pictures.'

The pictures continued for a few minutes like this, with Miyeon prancing around the room and taking up different positions: on the bed, on the chair, lying down, kneeling, etc. His favorites were as she stood against the wall; he could just imagine pinning her to the wall and lifting her off her feet with his thrusts. She was so exiting that he couldn't imagine what company would turn her down. She really was way too pretty for porn, he thought to himself.

Then Miyeon paused and stopped moving about on the bed.

"You've been so helpful. I wonder if I could ask... no... that's too much, and I've already asked so much. Never mind." She seemed conflicted but sincere about letting him off the hook.

"What is it Miyeon, I told you I'd help no matter what, and I meant it," Jae assured his sister.

"Okay, but don't freak out. Just say no if you think you can't handle it." The way she phrased that was a little bit of a dig, but he nodded his head in agreement.

"So, the shoot has a second part they say is optional but encouraged," she had a much guiltier look on her face this time. "It involves a guy, and they said they'd really like to see how I perform a little on camera.

"Oh no, are you talking about what I think you're talking about?" Jae was a little worried, was she suggesting that he... have sex with her? He felt light-headed.

"You'd just have to let me take it out and hold it a little bit while you snap pictures, you can pretend it's Jenna or someone else." His little sister looked down at the floor again.

"You're going to what, jerk me off or something." Jae couldn't tell whether he was scare or excited, or both.

"Just for a little bit, I promise I'll be quick about it, I just need to borrow your..." she paused, "you know, your thing for a minute or two."

"This is a little more than taking pictures, Miyeon. And what if Mom or Dad comes home?" Jae questioned her; it was a legitimate concern.

"I talked to Mom after I got off the plane. She said she was going to be late tonight, and Dad never gets home before 8 p.m. anyway. PLEAAASSSEEE Oppa, please!

"Wow, I never thought I'd see the day of innocent little Miyeon begging to hold my dick." Jae laughed as he said it, bringing a smile to his little sister's face. "Yea yeah, go ahead."

"Oh my God I can't thank you enough, once again she hugged him, except this time without anything but his t-shirt between them he could feel his sister's nipples poking into him and much more of the heat of her body as she pressed it against him.

Reaching down between them as she hugged him, she felt over his jeans the long strip along which his hard cock had adjusted to fit in his pants.

"Wow, it can't be that big, can it?" His sister looked up at him.

Jae only shrugged at her, and she dropped to her knees to remove his pants. He pointed the camera down at her and took a few pictures with it zoomed out as much as possible. Her fingers skillfully unbuttoned his jeans and released the zipper. In a few seconds she had him stepping out of his pants and standing before her in only his boxers.

She involuntarily stroked a few times, before pulling the boxers down as well. Out popped Jae's sizable erection.

"Wow Oppa, I never knew." His little sister looked up at him with wide eyes and he snapped a shot of her, it was gorgeous.

She pulled him over to the bed and got on all fours, encouraging him to sit down so she could get a better angle. He held the camera away while she took his shirt off of him and the two of them were naked on the bed together. His sister started stroking his cock, and he was tempted to say something about how she was going further then she'd said she would but the feeling of her tiny hand wrapped around his enormous member was just too good. Plus, she had said she was going to need to touch him, so he couldn't back out on her now. 'Click, click, click," he kept photographing the whole thing.

He held the camera away and attempted to get a more distant shot when he felt something he did not expect. Pushing the hair back around her ear, Miyeon lowered her mouth to the tip of her brother's penis. She popped the whole tip in her mouth before Jae could say anything.

"Miyeon," he said quietly so as not to embarrass her,

"Miyeon!" he repeated, this time with more urgency.

She looked up at him to acknowledge his call as she licked around his sensitive tip, and Jae managed to take a few more pictures. Her eyes searched him for what he was calling to her for, and he started to say.

"Miyeon, I thought you said we weren't going to.....ahhhh"

He couldn't finish the statement for the life of him, for as he tried to, his little sister had begun plunging her head onto his cock and taking it deep into her throat. Further and further she took it until she could take no more, and she pulled it out slowly, not taking her eyes off his for one second. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen a woman do, and it was his sister, for crying out loud.

Miyeon continued to suck him like that for a few minutes, and Jae was in heaven feeling her warm mouth and tongue wrap around him, washing away any feelings he may have had to stop what they were doing. She worked him with her mouth and hand, and he snapped photo after photo of his hot little pornstar sucking him for all he was worth. Slippery with her saliva, Miyeon slid her hand up and down in tandem with her warm mouth, flitting her tongue about and kissing Jae's tip as she reached it.

She slowed to a stop and then gingerly lay back on the bed. Her breasts laid proudly atop her chest, and her narrow waist looked like something he could take into his hands and grasp on to. He was standing a few feet away, and Miyeon reached out with her sock-covered soles, expertly grasping onto his erect cock and pulling it toward her.

"I said I'd only touch it, but if I want the job, the more intense the shots I send, the better the chance..." She made the sweetest puppy dog face she could muster,

" You've helped so much. But..."

"Miyeon, I hope you're not thinking what I think you are..." Jae knew he wanted it, but he also knew it was wrong. Once again, he was conflicted, and the rod that his little sister held in her hands snugly was turning him against himself.

It was as if Miyeon hadn't even heard him protesting, "I owe you so bad, I promise I'll make it up to you. I don't have anybody else!"

"Miyeon, you can't ask me," his voice pleaded as he trailed off. I won't be able to say no."

"Can you put it in, just a little, and take a few pictures?" Her voice rang sweetly in his head. How could he possibly say no? "I promise that's all. Just an inch, and then you can stop."

But Jae knew he wouldn't be able to stop, and he couldn't even respond but walk closer to her and adore her body with his eyes and the camera. He pointed it down at her, his little sister's body lain out for him just like she was in the video he saw. He felt her legs pull from behind as she wrapped them around him and the ridged cotton high-socks rubbed against his skin. It was intoxicating, but not so much as the feeling he experienced as the tip of his cock made contact with his little sister's pussy.

It was soaking wet, and the first push of his sister's heels caused the underside of his shaft to rub all the way up his Miyeon's wet quim. As it made contact with her clit she let out a sweet little moan, reaching for her brother subconsciously. Her fingertips scanned his muscular chest and she pulled him to her lips just after he caught a picture of the incestuous contact his cock was making with her slit.

"Thank you Oppa, you don't know how much this means to me." She kissed him passionately and trailed with more soft kisses to his lips. He could sense deeper meaning in her words regardless of the empty promises coming out of her mouth. He accepted them willingly and kissed her back, camera in one hand and the nape of her neck in the other. His member mashed against her mound harder, and Miyeon moaned into her brother's mouth.

"Anything for you, little one, just tell me what to do." He really loved her and wanted to help her in any way he could, and thoughts of the inappropriateness of their tryst began to eke out from his racing thoughts. He'd stop if she wanted to in a heartbeat; all she had to do was say the word.

"Okay...mmmh..." she cooed as he retreated, and his underside rubbed its way back along her slick outer lips, "just put the tip right there...uhh huh... right on the outside."

She reached down between them and guided it a bit more, and Jae got a fantastic shot of her holding his shaft and placing it in the perfect spot. 'Click, uhhhhh, Click the camera's frames were interrupted by the soft pants of his little sister preparing for him to press into her, only an inch as she'd promised.

"Just a little baby?" He asked her.

"Yeah, just....mmmm... just the tip of it," she said breathily.

He pressed in a bit, not even half of the tip of his cock entered into his sexy little pornstar before he realized he was fucking her. It was beyond his wildest dreams, and by the time he'd sunk only an inch of his pulsing rod into her, she was breathing and gasping heavily.

"Fuckkk......it's too big.....just hold it there..... mmmnghhh," she sounded so sweet, so erotic, "Oh god, take a picture before I cum."

They both giggled, but Miyeon wasn't kidding, his tip alone had her fired up and hornier than she'd ever been. The fact that it was her brother made it so much more naughty and so much more exciting!

'Click, click,' Jae snapped shots of her whole body with his cock only just entering his little sister, they were beautiful photos, he was sure, and the look on Miyeon's face was so genuine, so full of lust and enjoyment that she sold it flawlessly. Someone would be looking at these photos to judge his little sister's potential as a pornstar having no idea that it was the little brunette's brother with his cock lodged inside of her.

Jae felt her socks on his back again. They urged him forward, and he had nowhere to go but in. 'Click,' another half-inch disappeared into Miyeon's tiny frame.

"Miyeon, ohhh, that's more than an inch...." They both knew damn well that it was, but neither Jae or Miyeon planned to do anything about it.

She moaned exquisitely, and another inch deeper he went. Miyeon's toes spread in her schoolgirl knee-highs as his head forged its way into her, and her tunnel spread to accommodate it, and Jae couldn't help but let out a groan himself. 'Click' the camera caught his shaft halfway into his young sister, and the warmth and tightness of it was excruciatingly perfect.

"Oh God, Miyeon, you feel so good. Should I stop, I'm already halfway in!" He was trying desperately to keep taking pictures as he pierced her with his rock-solid staff.

"Just a little further, then you should.....oh god....fuckkkk....I feel like you're going to split me in half..... so big......so fucking good." Her dirty talk was so sexy, he couldn't believe his ears. Almost all the way in his sister now, Jae snapped a picture with one hand and reached out to grab her breast in the other. It filled his hand like it was meant to be and he could feel the upright nipple poking into his palm like a marble. He massaged her breast and took another picture like that as Miyeon reached down to guide in the last inch of his enormous dick.

"Then I should...ohh... what, Miyeon? Stop?" He would if she wanted to, but she felt so good he sincerely hoped he never had to leave.

"Uhh huh..... yeah, we should st.....ohhhh, it just feels so good." She was arching her back as she had in the photos before, and this time, Jae pointed the camera to get her doing it while skewered on his pole. He bottomed out inside of her and felt his balls press against her firm cheeks.

"I'm gonna pull out now, mmm, okay baby?" Jae could hardly say it; he felt so good because of his sister's unbelievably tight tunnel wrapping him up in warmth and wetness. She nodded in agreement as Jae withdrew from his baby sister's slick warmth. The friction created as his head rubbed along her insides made Miyeon's eyes roll back, and Jae grabbed firmly at her waist to ground himself from the pleasure. As Miyeon's lips gave way to his bulbous head and he withdrew that final inch, Jae looked down for some response from his sister.

"Maybe just one.....one more time.....ohhh god... oh fuckkk.... Just to make sure we got good photos....mmmh." She was now closing her eyes as Jae's hand wrapped around her side as he'd imagined grabbing it. It was pliable in his hands yet warm and firm. He took a picture of his fingers making an impression on her hip as he removed his cock from his sister's womb and then began plunging it in again. Miyeon reached out for him and held her hand over his as her other held his sensitive balls and caressed them with her fingers. She worshipped him with her hands and her moans as he sank his entire cock into Miyeon faster this time. Inch by inch ,he plummeted into her, and her insides could barely take him for all the tightness her pussy was displaying.

"Ohhhhh....shitttt...... again..." she gasped.

He pulled out and shoved back in, barely taking any pictures now. It was doubtful the camera was getting anything good. He simply couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of his cock buried in his little sister's quim.

"I think we got it all Miyeon.... Fuck that's tight.... what do you want now?" He savored the feeling of what could be his last time burying his cock inside his little sister.

"One... moruhhhhhh." She didn't finish what she was saying over her moans of ecstasy.

"What was that Miyeon? Fuck...so good...what do you want?"

"Ohhhhhhh.... Just shut up and.... Fuck..... fuck me already!"

Jae took a second to process what he'd just heard before Miyeon snatched the camera from his hand and quickly cast it onto the pillows beside them. Taking his hands in hers she guided them to her ample breasts and massaged them into herself, leaving them there and opting to put hers around his waist and encourage him inside of her. Jae obliged his sister, fucking her as she'd asked and picking up the speed at which he buried every inch of himself into her. He could see her squirm and flex beneath him, hoping he was not causing her pain as he extracted so much pleasure from her sex.

He took her waist with both hands and withdrew his cock from her perfect little pussy. It was hard to believe it fit inside her, the opening barely looked big enough for two fingers. But as he placed his tip back at her soft, wet hole, and pressed inside, it gave way to her slick channel and his cock found its home once again.

His hands mashed into her waist as he used it for leverage to begin fucking his sister harder little by little. She grabbed his wrists to hold on too and he began to withdraw and sink into her faster, her body pressing into the bed under the force of his thrusts.

"Oh my godd.... You are so fucking.....mghhhh.... huge... I love you.... And your cock!

"I love you too baby, I could do this forever." He really could, and his breaths became laden with effort and pleasure. He drove into her and upon withdrawal said: "My baby sister..." plunging once again... "I'm fucking my.... " Miyeon smiled as he withdrew and slammed her, finishing: "my hot....little....sister."

Jae watched his cock disappear into Miyeon, and he could nearly see her abdomen yielding to his invading shaft, expanding and contracting with the path of his rock-hard staff. She was so little compared to him, yet she fucked him right back and her breasts bounced joyfully as he fucked her with reckless abandon.

Reaching down now, he brought his lips to hers kissed her sensuously and lovingly, their tongues tangling and his hands exploring her body as he pressed his abdomen to hers and caressed as much of her body as he could get his hands on.

"Mmghhhh.... Baby... fuck me harder..." Miyeon shouted to him

Jae scooped his sister up in his arms and sat down on the bed, reversing their positions so they were both seated, and Miyeon could begin to fuck him herself. She kneeled on the bed and lifted herself up, and then down, again and again while bucking and howling her pleasure on top of her brother with his cock buried inside of her. Jae began meeting her thrusts with his own pelvis and a soft slapping sound accompanied their hips colliding and his cock becoming fully lodged in their incestuous romp time after time.

He lifted her up in that same position and began to bounce her on his cock a few times. She giggled in the middle of a moan and it came out sounding so adorably sexy that they both shared a smile and a laugh as Jae continued to fuck his sister, standing straight with her supported by his strong arms. He walked over to the wall, pinning her against it, still lifted off the ground and accepting full, powerful thrusts inside of her.

The coolness of the wall, together with the heat of their exchange, had Miyeon ready and oh-so willing to come. Beads of sweat formed liked freckles atop her rosy cheeks, and Jae buried himself in her neck, kissing and suckling at her smooth, sweet skin with his lips and eliciting further moans from the adorable pornstar he was fucking against the wall. A tiny drip of sweat formed on Miyeon's nose and she blew it away with pursed lips and a pre-orgasm gasp of air. Jae adjusted his approach angle just a bit, but it struck Miyeon in a spot that widened her eyes in shock and excruciating pleasure.

"Oh.....My.....God, FUCCKKK.....keep going right.......mnnnnhhh.... there!" She screamed as he worked the angle and stimulated her g-spot with his large rod plunge after plunge. Shocked that he had not yet climaxed into the tiny pornstar he had pinned against the wall, he was far from complaining as he pushed her closer to her own release. Another stroke and he could feel his sister gasping for air; he pulled back from kissing her neck and looked her in the eyes. The brilliant green irises of her pleading eyes begged him to push her over the edge, so, maintaining the way he was spearing her against the wall, Jae did just that.

"Uhhhhhhh.... Oppaaaa......Unnnnnggghhh," She begged him.

Thrust, gasp, thrust, Miyeon was so immersed in pleasure she thought she'd lose consciousness. One more burying of her brother's cock sent her into one of the most intense orgasms of her life. Her pussy flooded with the wetness of her climax and eased her brother's domination of her sweet tunnel. She stayed there, pinned and helpless to stop her cumming until she stopped, which took a while. When she her cunt finally stopped quaking around Jae's invading member, she could see that her brother was exhausted. She loved him so much for the orgasm he'd given her and wanted to pay him back tenfold. She kissed him hard, biting softly at his lower lip and said,

"Let me down stud, let me do a little of the work, huh?"

Jae smiled and let his beautiful sister slowly down to her outstretched toes, still firmly planted and completely hard inside of her. The motion of her sliding down the wall urged his shaft deeper into her, the residual effects of her orgasm and Jae's ever-approaching one causing them both to grasp at each other when they felt it.

Miyeon took hold of his hardness with one hand, and, standing back on her tip-toes, slid her brother's cock out of her pussy in one long and reluctant draw. The cool air made Jae want nothing more than to slam his sister against the wall once more, and Miyeon felt terrifyingly empty without her brother's huge cock filling her up, but she quickly pushed Jae back to the bed and jumped on top of him before either of them could complain but for a second's longing glance.

She squeezed his shaft between her pink lips and his own abdomen and wiggled there atop him. The contact made him anxious to be back inside her, but with his sister in control now, there was nothing he could do now but hope that she'd soon place him back home inside her. Miyeon grinned naughtily as she slid her hips seductively over his shaft and her strong, toned thighs straddled him, making as much contact between their two bodies as possible.

"Don't tease me anymore Miyeon. I can't take it," Jae complained,

"Ohhh, what's the matter big bro, I thought you said we couldn't do this."

Jae only gave her a displeased look; they were far passed considering the morality of the situation and he wanted only to be planted firmly back where he could savor the heat and snugness that Miyeon's pussy offered. "Say please... mmmhh," she was still rubbing her clit up and down the underside of her brother's shaft and stopping millimeters from the spot where he could slip inside before denying Jae the satisfaction.

"Ugggh," he gave in, now it was his turn to beg, "Please Miyeon..."

She leaned down on top of him, her luscious tits hanging down and then pressing firmly to his chest as she kissed him and reached down between them. She kissed him and took hold of his cock as she lifted up her hips to allow him entrance. Lingering just a moment, Miyeon opened her eyes long enough to meet Jae's and then sank down onto his cock as he'd asked.

They both gasped in sweet, sweet relief. It was just as good as the first time, and as his little sister picked up her hips to slide him almost entirely out of her, he took her hips in his firm hands and followed the path they took back down to meet his pelvis. He pawed at and worshipped her like the beautiful pornstar she was (or intended to be) and enjoyed the feeling of her tight pussy walls hugging his member.

"Oh God," Miyeon was cooing once again, glad to have her brother filling her up again, "I love your cock, uhhhhhh." Her voice was so sultry he could hardly take it. "You like fucking your....ohhhhh Oppa....your little sister......mmmmnhhh? Your little pornstar?"

"God yes," Jae greeted her with his affirmation and the upward thrust of his hips.

He was so deep in her now; every inch of his cock was being stimulated by the grasp of her tight quim. Jae was squeezing her hips, her ass, caressing her soft skin and delving into it with his fingers. Again and again he met her hips and she dropped down onto him. Her breasts bounced awesomely as she fucked him, and Jae watched as his little sister's body flexed and writhed above him.

At one point she ceased bouncing atop him instead opting to stay locked hip to hip with him, rotating her hips and adding a new kind of stimulation to their incestuous fucking. Moaning louder, Miyeon rubbed her clit against him hard, and Jae's cock pulsed and slid about inside of her pussy so amazingly that both brother and sister were headed to release fast. Pressing her to him with his hands and working her left and right, round and round, Jae held his sister and helped her to fuck him just the way she wanted.

"Cum for me Miyeon, God I love fucking you!"

"You first baby, ooohhhhhh," Miyeon was starting to lift her hips off her brother again and return to fucking him in earnest. "Cum inside me Oppa, fuck me and cum inside me."

Miyeon lunged forward and pressed her lips against her brother, rolling to the side as she did so with her brother's hard shaft still lodged inside of her. They lay there, facing each other when the little pornstar wrapped a leg over her brother's hips and pulled his pelvis closer to her, urging him to resume his conquest of her body. Jae got her message and began to slide his cock in and out of his sister once more, spurred on by the return thrusts of his sister.

Seconds from release now, Jae pressed a hand between them to admire with his hands her beautiful breasts, palming and caressing in rhythm their fucking. They exchanged exasperated kisses and together struggled to focus on anything but their incestuous coupling and the pleasure it was giving them. Jae could feel his young sister entering the throws of another orgasm, and Miyeon, through her haze could sense her brother there as well. She ran her hands through his hair just so, the way she had since they were young. Kissing him and pulling away to look in his eyes, Miyeon whispered:

"Cum in me baby, uhhhhhhh please.... Cum inside your naughty little sister's pussy."

Gazing eye to eye they thrust their hips against each other, laying side by side kissing, fucking and needing each other. Jae shook his head yes to assure his little sister he was going to give her what she wanted, to coat her insides with her brother's seed. Miyeon began to gasp; the rhythmic motion of her hips becoming less fluid. Jae picked up the slack, desperately ready to release into his little sister. As Miyeon's orgasm began to wrack her body, Jae held onto her frame and pulled his cock just a millimeter from entirely out of his little sister's pussy before pressing it into her for one last complete, incredible stroke.

Miyeon was nearly howling as she began squirming next to her brother and he began pumping his seed into his sister. She could feel it, warm and oh so amazing as her brother came in her tiny little pussy. Her quim clenched and encouraged him to continue, rope after rope straight into his baby sister's womb. They were both so immersed in the pleasure of each other's bodies that neither cared about the risk of Jae freely filling Miyeon with his semen nor that it was his own sister. They simply loved each other, loved fucking each other and continued to do so as Jae held his sister in his arms as she shuddered and whimpered through a mind-blowing orgasm. Jae pressed ever deeper into his little sister, seeking complete immersion of his staff in his Miyeon's loving tunnel.

They could feel the products of Jae's orgasm working its way through Miyeon's tight pussy and she only enjoyed it the more as her climax echoed through her beautiful body. They were wrapped tightly, legs entangled, hands searching and lips seeking each other's between attempts to regain breath. They remained so for an indiscriminate amount of time before finally both had extracted as much pleasure as was available from the other.

Jae slowly, reluctantly, slid his still semi-erect shaft from inside Miyeon and saw her eyes filled with distress and the afterglow of her orgasm. She pulled him closer when he was finally entirely removed from her, as if their closeness would somehow fill the void left in her empty quim. At least, it was mostly empty but for the thick, white semen peeking between her lips. Miyeon smiled and Jae saw and admired the look on her face as she buried her head in the nape of his neck. Lightly perspiring, freshly fucked and full of her brother's cum she was more beautiful than ever. Jae never wanted to let go. They simply lay there, holding each other and emanating love through their contact. Miyeon spoke first:

"Two times!" She was still obviously worn and breathing heavily from what she'd just been through. "I've never been fucked so well in my life." Miyeon was positively glowing, with a smile that would not soon leave her cute face.

"You were.....are..... so amazing, Miyeon. Thank you for..." Jae struggled with the words, and his little sister giggled into his neck; it tickled him. "For.....everything."

They both had smiles a mile wide when Miyeon spoke once again: "I hope it's not too strange for you finding out how I've been making a little extra money on the side. I've only done one scene and I knew the guy it was with." She had a hint of worry in her voice.

"Strange? Not; you are so gorgeous. I think the whole world would want to have you the way I just did. Though I am going to try and talk you into fucking only me from now on, that was incredible."

"Bad boy!" Miyeon was laughing sweetly then.

"I have something to confess, though," Jae started, "I saw an envelope in the mail before you got home, and I may have opened it. It was a copy of the DVD from the company that you did the scene for...." Jae thought she might be mad and awaited her response.

"Hmmm... very bad boy... you knew all along? Did you, you know, watch it?" She didn't sound angry at all, flattered actually.

"I may have, you know, flipped through the scene a little bit, just to see if it was true. God you were so beautiful! I just got too jealous I think that some other guy was... you know." Jae was sincere in complimenting her, and Miyeon hugged him closer.

"Awww.... Okay well as long as we're being honest...."

Miyeon pulled back a bit, and Jae's eyes searched hers for what she would say.

"So.... I may not have been straight with you when you took pictures earlier." She had half-guilty, half-naughty look on her face that Jae thought looked extraordinarily sexy.

"And....?" He questioned.

"I may have made you do more than they asked for," she revealed as Jae was starting to crack a smile, laughing then and unable even to pretend to be upset, "In fact, I didn't need a guy in the scene at all, I kinda tricked you into fucking me."

Laughing harder, Jae quickly retorted, "I've never lucked out so well after being tricked!"

"I just really wanted to fuck you, I kind of always have, and I have a feeling you might have wanted that at least a little too?" Her eyes were searching his now.

"You've got me there," Jae said back. Miyeon sighed a little in relief after her confession.

They giggled and held each other close, remarkably content and looking forward to the time ahead. Jae was far from being done with his sister and her gorgeous body, and Miyeon intended to fuck her brother as many times as she could from then on. If their first experience was any evidence for the future, they had much fun ahead of them.

[victoryai]

JUNO IN THE SIGNS, 👩‍❤️‍👨

You can reblog ↪️ but please have the decency not 🚫 to steal my posts

(JUST AN HONEST OBSERVATION)

Juno represents your union and marriage with your spouse . Juno persona chart shows how both of you act and live in the union. According to me, Pls note that Juno is about the union and not your spouse . Juno focuses on you both(the union) not your spouse.

© Victoryai

♈ Juno in Aries: Your marriage/union is filled with bursts of energy and action. It's like a blockbuster movie. Life after marriage will NOT be boring 😄. You and your spouse create a union of energetic souls. You both have your own separate identities that if not handled well could damage this beautiful union. It's very possible one of you approached the other spontaneously and asked to date when you both met. Too much energy can however turn into agression if not kept in check 😭. You all can play fight 🥰 but don't let it get violent. If one is jealous they won't hide it. Cheesy couple 😤😁

♉ Juno in Taurus: This is what I love to call the chill 🌬️marriage. You guys are so steady and grounded 🥺. You're that couple that buys expensive stuff. Rich and comfortable are the words. After you say yes,you hardly go broke because this marriage has 🤑 and omg you guys look sooooo good together, people might think you guys have more than you actually have. You guys might have met in a restaurant or shopping mall, or an exotic place, or a place filled with products, goods or money. You guys eat healthy tho😁. Marriage is bringing money to upgrade you.

♊👬 Juno in Gemini: This couple can talk for hours♥️. They literally act like siblings. Always laughing at an inside joke🤣. This is the description of high school love 😘. They might have started as friend, met at school or neighborhood and have so many similarities. They're the type to write love letters to each other and roam around town at evenings. Travel short distances together such as going to school together. They're also the type to bicker alot sometimes. Childish couple 💩

♋🦀Juno in Cancer: The homie couple 🫂. Awwn 😊. You guys are so clingy. Your marriage is so sweet and homie. You both love to build a home together in a safe space. So shy🥺. This union makes both of you so empathetic and soft. Even if you are a naturally tough person, this union will soften you. You guys might have met at one of the others house or were introduced through family members.

♌ 🦁 Juno in Leo:The fun and spotlight couple always grinning from ear to ear. You both are people to get married because you derive joy from it or because you want kids so badly not because you see it a duty. Together you both will plan your outings together,make the other more confident. The downfall of this blissful union could arise because of ego or lack of passion.

♍ Juno in Virgo: In health and in sickness, till death do us apart. This Juno reminds me of marriage vows that are kept till the end. This is the marriage that will be there through thick and thin. If poorly aspected by rash planets or houses, it could mean that you guys always fight in your marriage. I know a lady who has this and she and her Husband always be bickering then the next minute they're laughing Wtf 😒😂. It might also mean that you guys may later turn out to be enemies then probably end in conflict or court 😭. I'm sorry 😔.

♎ Juno in Libra: This is a marriage!!!!!! 😆. Y'know all those countryside love stories where they meet, fall in love, get married and grow old together 😉. If your 7th lord is also well placed, then it will show a very balanced ⚖️ married life. You and your spouse will be able to settle very comfortably in your marriage with peace of mind 🌬️. The downfall of this union could be a third party interference.

♏ Juno in Scorpio: This is indicating that after marriage you guys might have a joint account/share funds together or keep important/confidential secrets from one another. Don't do that!👀. There's a tendency to get suspicious or jealous easily not because you dont trust them but because you don't want to lose them🥲. You both are passionate about love 💕* wink* 😉

♐ Juno in Sagittarius: When foreigners meet there's always curiosity to explore and understand the world together 🥺. You liked my phrase?😉🤭. Alright, you both might be foreign to one another. I mean that you guys might be from different countries, brought up in different ways or even religion but altogether what brings you together is curiosity/knowledge/adventure. You both might also meet at a place of learning or worship e.g university /church. Somewhere far from home. The marriage itself will be characterized by 😊 fun, learning, morals/religious beliefs or a significant distance between you both (physically or culturally. Don't laugh too much, you might end up falling in love 😂.

♑ Juno in Capricorn: The couple that every one knows is together! or should I say power couple? Your marriage is going to make you high class or put you in a place of authority . You guys might be a celebrity couple or be in the same line of business. Marriage promises stability to you both. With other saturnian aspects inclusive, they might be a significant difference in age or status btw you both. You might get married late too. Make sure you don't get to caught up in the public eye after marriage, people are nosy 💩.

♒ Juno in Aquarius: You and your spouse are similar in many ways . Might be closer than people expect. From my observations, there's some weirdness with this union. I observed this in a chart and Her husband was about 30 years older than her(but it was also conjunct Uranus). People are just really confused about what to say concerning this union.

Another scenario could be that you were first friends then it turned into a love story 🤭 or you both truly were not expecting it to take you guys this far. Maybe it was something casual , then boom 🤯 before you knew it, you were getting married. You might meet online or through friend or big events. Marriage will help you achieve that long term goal

♓ Juno in Pisces:🌬️🍃. Juno in Pisces is the ultimate union of souls 🌬️. You both will never meet another person apart from your partner that will be able to understand you on a deeper level. Your spouse is someone that can be so far away from you, but so near at the same time. You guys might frequently dream bout each other even before meeting. Marriage will make you moreeee spiritual and in tune with other realms . Another scenario (take with a cup of coffee) is that overtime you both can grow apart 😭 due to emotional distance. One might go to jail because of this union (physical or mental) I'm sorry 😔.

@victoryai

[ventique18]

Dragon couple 🐉🌸♀️

When their first son was born, Yuu unfortunately resigned to her fate that she would be the mother of children named Malware, Malaria, and Malignant Cancer.

Her husband Malleus had named their firstborn Malleus. Which was not a terrible idea given the boy was his heir and inheriting his name could be symbolic, but she was certain there were not too many words starting with 'Mal' that could pass off as a name. So imagine her surprise when he had suggested that their second child, a lovely girl, be named Agatha.

"You're not insane after all. I was going to rethink our marriage if you tried to name our baby Malnutrition, or something." Her love for him had grown a tad fiercer, if that was at all possible.

When they welcomed their third child to the world, he had named him 'Lilia' and Yuu immediately caught up to his intentions.

"You realized we couldn't possibly give a good name that starts with 'Mal' everytime, so you decided to spell it out chronologically instead? Malleus, Agatha, and Lilia..."

"Oh, but my plan isn't quite as shallow as that." He commented with an eager smile, "We need five more children."

"Five more-- eight children in total?! Are you planning to build an entire Spelldrive team complete with a coach?"

"Perhaps." He replied, his grin both mischievous and secretive.

What ever could this man be planning? Some kind of ancient ritual that required eight of his own flesh and blood? World domination? Of course he wouldn't do something as terrible as that, but why eight in particular?

Seasons passed, years crawled on, yet their love for each other remained just as strong. True to his words, they managed to conceive their eight child after a few decades. They had the most delightful names, you see:

Malleus, Agatha-- the first two letters of her name stood for the element symbol of Silver, Lilia, Laverne, Eleanor, Yuuki, Ubek (he ran out of ideas), and Ulficia. They were his greatest masterpiece, the father would brag, and so he named them after an actual masterpiece that happened to exist before they did. Since their names were variations of the people closest to him, textbooks would then write him down as a king full of love and respect for those who had given his life meaning and became his strength.

... Or so the writeup could have been that respectable, if only he did not frown while reviewing such descriptions of him and personally wrote an edit request to the publishers. For they had omitted a crucial detail from their story:

That the first letters of their children's names, when arranged, spelled 'MALLEYUU.' Their names being variations of the people he care about were merely secondary. His main purpose was to immortalize in books his undying love for his wife, Yuu.

Later on, some would call him the Mad King; not because he was insane or cruel, but because they had never seen a ruler as madly in love with his spouse as he was with his wife. Their love story would then become a classic literary blueprint for centuries to come.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

His Name | Soulmate!AU

~1.1k words

Jason Todd. That's the name that etched itself on your thigh the night of your sixteen birthday. Which is great, you have a soulmate. The issue is that you know– knew a Jason Todd. He happens to be six feet under the dirt in a graveyard you visit every Saturday. Which is not so great.

Being soul bound to a dead person gets you a lot of pitying glances from the people you know. You tell them there's more than one Jason Todd in the world. It makes your family shake their heads. You try not to dwell on the heartbreak on their faces when you tell them that, when they think you can't see it. They saw you and Jason together when he was alive. There won't be another Jason Todd in your life.

It's something you've slowly come to terms with, when no other Jason Todd finds their way to you, the idea of never seeing your name permanently marked on someone else's skin. The fact that you might never really have the person that's supposed to be yours.

That's why you might have reacted kind of poorly when Red Hood brings you up to a quiet rooftop, tugging off his leather jacket in front of you, dragging the material of his suit up and over his forearm to reveal your name on his skin.

You weren't even doing anything dangerous to get here, just at the wrong store at the wrong time, while some third-rate rouge went on and on about conquering the city. Standard Gotham experience.

What wasn't normal was Red Hood crashing through a window, brutal and efficient with every movement until each person with a gun was knocked out and beaten on the floor. Sure, you were aware he wasn't exactly a crime lord anymore, labeled a 'turned vigilante' by the press, but press also said he doesn't tend to leave crime alley. And you definitely weren't in crime alley. None of news stories of him saving people exactly calms the adrenaline coursing through you when he picks you up like it was the easiest thing in the world for him, hoisting you like you're made of glass over his shoulder and grappling you both to a nearby roof. You're alone before you even have time to process it.

You stumble back when he gently, so gently it makes your heart stutter, sets you on the ground. "Who do you think you are? You can't just grab people–" your biting words cut off as you register the black lettering across his skin. Your name. Your name is there. On Red Hoods arm.

You reach out to touch it before you can stop yourself, fingers trailing down his forearm and over each letter of your name. He lets you, not speaking words, only sighing in what sounds like relief. You force your gaze from the mark you could stare at forever to meet the glowing eyes of his mask. "You're- Jason Todd?"

He nods, every nerve of his body completely locked on you. It doesn't clear anything up. He can't be Jason Todd, at least, not the one you buried.

You make a face and step back, crossing your arms, "Yeah right."

He seems to blank, arm still held out, showing your name permanently engraved on his skin. "Yeah, right?" He echos, deep and robotic through the modulator of his mask.

You set your jaw and nod.

He tilts his head, lifting his arm higher to make you see the mark. To see your name. "Do you think I faked it?"

That makes you falter. Why would he? There's nothing to gain by pretending to be your soulmate. "Well, no. But you still could have the wrong person."

He exhales a laugh, breathes out your name with more fondess than you've ever heard. "Always so stubborn."

Your frown. Sure, maybe you could be stubborn but he doesn't know that.

He says your name again, reaching up to tug his hood back, reaching for his mask.

It makes you freeze, eyes going wide in shock when you make out his face. Jason. Your Jason. "How–" You start, but can't quite manage to finish, eyes darting over the face that's so familiar, only older, more tired, more scarred. But his eyes are still the same. Intent and focused and bright when everything around him is dark.

"It's a long story." He says softly, before starting to ramble, nervous to upset you, to lose any chance of knowing you again. Any unease you felt around Red Hood fades as you recognize the boy you grew up with in him. "Maybe I could tell you? Over coffee? I have safe house nearby. But, only if you're comfortable. Or we could meet during the day, if thats better?"

His voice sounds more familiar without mask, and you study him, almost accusing. "You didn't have to kidnap me to tell me you're alive. Or that you're my soulmate, you know."

He stumbles over your words, taking half a step closer to you. "I didn't! I mean, I wasn't trying to. I swear– I just couldn't take all of this off down there." He gestures to the mask, a little frantic to gain your approval.

It brings a small smile to your face, and he stops still at the sight of it, breath catching in his throat as you speak, "I'm glad you're here, Jason."

"I'm glad you're safe." He exhales out, eyes softening and tension draining from his muscles in relief.

You can't quite fight the urge to reach out for him, so you do, taking his hand and gently flipping it over so you can read your name again. You have questions, absolutely. Gripes. Proably a lecture that he should have come seen you sooner. But you settle on how right this feels in your bones, how your soul feels like its missing piece slotted into place. "Do you have creamer?"

"Creamer?" He asks, voice airy and memorized by the feel of your skin against his hand.

"For the coffee?" You prompt, smiling a little wider at his dazed expression, his eyes following your hand, like he can't believe you haven't run screaming for the hills.

"Yeah. Course. Anything you want." And when he focuses back in your face, you know in the very essence of what you are that he means it.

"Coffees a good start." You say, a little fond as you pull away your hand away, and he reluctantly lets your fingers slide from his.

"Coffee it is." And it is a good start. To know your other half again, to follow the warm, soothing feeling in your soul when you touch him, you'll try as many starts as it takes.

[flamingpudding]

Glitterbombs for rogues

A/N: I got sick over the holidays. So I did not do any of the writing I originally wanted to do. So instead of that Christmas Story you get this Mark Rober inspired little tidbit.

Tim had a new favorite Engineer Youtube. The boy was a bit younger than him but a genius Engineer judging by the hand full of videos Tim had marathoned through. According to the listed self-introduction part of the video, Danny was currently an engineering student in Gotham with the goal to work one day for NASA. (Tim held out some hopes that he maybe could snag the kid for WE if possible. He had already sent out an internship offer after the third video he had watched)

Either way, Danny had potential and ideas that borderlined on mad science. But made his videos of his little projects even more entertaining and interesting to watch. Tim's favorite so far was Danny's explanation on how he reconstructed his toaster so that it would launch itself into space after the third his roommate burned toast with it. He did buy his roommate a new toaster at the end of the video though.

Still Tim liked this guy and his videos. So with anticipation he clicked on one of the newer videos. The title having caught his attention: 'Why Glitter'.

Instead of the usual introduction bit with little highlights of Danny's previous project the video started out with a big fat warning in red letter to not attempt to replicate anything in the video. That had Tim very curious already, but then a little video clip following that had Tim spitting out the coffee he was just sipping from.

Thankfully he missed spitting on his phone, still he jumped out of his cozy bed where he had been watching YouTube on his phone and hurried over to his laptop. The video, meanwhile, was continuing playing. He could hear the usual music from the introduction part as well as Danny's voice explaining his reasosn -which were valid, Tim had to agree with some of them- once that part was done.

By now he had fired up his laptop and was researching. The video in the background was explaining how Danny had build his Glitterbombs similar to the once another youtuber had but slightly modified them since he was not going to use fart-spray. Tim eyes widened as he found the first correlating news articles, wondering how they hadn't seen them sooner, but a glance at the date revealed that they were only posted a couple of hours ago.

Danny in the video was no explaining about his fist chooses victim and Tim dived onto his bed from his desk to get his phone back in his hands. Wide eyed, he watched as Danny obviously with a GoPro strapped to his head, crawled through what looked like an air vent. Once he reached an opening he looked through the slits into what appeared to be Riddlers hide out. Danny took the Camara of his head so that he could grin into it making the sign for silence as he barely contained his own chuckles. The other then waited for a moment, the camera work now getting wonky and the video even glitching out but a second later Danny was back in focuse before pointing down and then directing the Camara to his view. There in Riddlers hideout now sat Danny's self engineered glitterbomb.

"No he didn't..." Tim muttered as the video cut to a different scene. Danny was now walking through the sewers, humming cheerfully while explaining why he chose who he choose.

Another cut and... Tim spluttered. How the hell did Danny manage to just walk into Arkam?! So he hadn't seen wrong at the beginning of the video.

Growing paller with every cut on how Danny delivered his self-engineered Glitter bombs, Tim started to fear for his new favorite youtubers safety. Thankfully he had already done his work on Danny's person when he sent the internship offer. Now he just needed to get Danny to freaking safty.

He dragged himself to his laptop still in disbelieve as various clips of the rogues getting glitterbombed from the bombs perspective started playing. And yep, he definitely didn't see wrong now in the beginning. The Joker was one of Danny's chooses victums. Aside from the fact that he was so going to download and save that video for eternity as well as share it with his brothers and friends, (because as funny as it was that most of them were Gotham rogues, Luther and another millionaire by the name of Masters had also been made victims.), he still had to figure out how to ensure this definitely insane youtubers safer from the warmth of 90% of their rogues now.

Great newly discovered favorite youtuber has just painted a big fat red target on himself.

Tim was just about to call everyone in when a bonus at the end of Danny's video started to play.

He recognized that safe house.

He recognizes the weapons displayed on the walls also.

Oh... that's...

Still laughing Tim still sent out a message to everyone. When asked why all he did was sent them the link to the video with to timestamps.

The first one of the Joker getting glitterbombed

The second one being Red Hood getting glitterbombed.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Lilith The Enchantress: Lilithian Energy In The Houses. How Each One Brings Their Own Tempting Flair.

So you're probably wondering, where am I going with this?

I wanted to focus on the temptation of lilith, and why she is so oozing and attractive as is she.

For this reading, I will focus on the houses. In my later post, it'll be in each sign.

So lets dig in! Shall we ;)

Lilith in the first house - Pleasing to the eye. Can have a very sultry appearance. There is a point where they must undergo a transformation of the self, and at some point they will have a divine, sensual aura. There sensual power comes through the way they look at you, and often times they can tell when they're being a little too flirtatious. But that is so they can get the person of their choice. Like a siren, they go in for their target and come out on top. They use their attractive persona as like a spell, think of the girl on who framed roger rabbit with the beautiful red hair and dress.

Lilith in the second house - They have an eye for detail. This is the time to take you to their home and show you the rose petals on the bed with the red and white candles everywhere. They know how to make a person want them, by adding to some flair into their home. While also using different aesthetics for they're look to match with the energy that is being shared between them and they're lover. Very picky with who they spend their time with you know. They aren't for everyone. These are the type to make you wait for it.

Lilith in the third house - These are the lovers that can write erotic letters and make you think about them all night. The way their minds can carry a story, and then when you meet them in person its even better than the books. They hold their composure well, but deep inside they are ready to be explored in more ways than one. My my my, they sure know how to right a love spell. One that lasts til the very end.

Lilith in the fourth house - It's actually so much harder to get them to show you who they truly are, thats what makes their mystique so awe dropping. The way these lilithian beings share themselves is with the power of their emotions, and eventually they will bring you right into their beautiful dungeon they call a home. Where you will find all them in just one bite. Very sensual with the right one. The one that makes them feel good, the one that knows them from the inside out. These lilith babes will let you have all of them if once you have succumb to their power.

Lilith in the fifth house - The sensual energy these lilithians carry is a one of a kind. Their magnetism never goes unnoticed, and they take you on a roller coaster of emotions with their performance. They are intimate with their audience and can put you under a spell with the way they make things look. Their hearts are in it with this one. Very gentle to the eye, but to the soul its much more deep and profound. Can't take them anywhere because their wild manes get stuck in the pursuit of love, where they will drenched you with all their sweet and tears to make more use of the bloody romances they've indulged in. They will have you thinking about them for many moons, due to them putting their all into what they do in the matters of the heart.

Lilith in the sixth house - To be loved by a lilith babe with this placement, is to have made yourself fully devoted to them. Worship is what they want, and it is what they need to pursue them. They don't let just anyone in, so you must be prepared to give yourself as an offering. Very pleasant, and freaky to ones they want most. Most never see this coming, which is why they always get away with it ;) The sensual energy they carry is very smooth, abundant and hard to describe. Mysterious auras that you want more of, so much so you will spend every hour, every day of the week wanting to get to know them.

Lilith in the seventh house - The die hard lovers who goes in for the kill. What they want wants them, and they oozee it in with their attraction spells. Their auras are unique, fresh and able to commit to their partners. It's just that they have so many options to choose from so they have no use to sticking around if you're not pulling in your weight. Im sorry, its hard having to be loved by so many! The sensual power in them is hot, tempting, and alluring. You just can't get enough of them. Can see right thru you and can captivate you with just a look!

Lilith in the eighth house - The way they just make things easy with how they seduce people is something I feel nobody else can relate to. The way they come in and take the throne with how they please their partners as well as themselves, It may be that nobody could come close. But thats the thing about being in a scorpion house, is that you touch people in a way that people are not able to control within themselves.. yet you've already mastered it. Very pleasing, pulsating, bold and full of passion. The sensual nature in them could have you feel things you've never felt before, and that will have you in a panic. because the way they are able to get you to come out of that shell and move deeper into them . Will have you begging for more & more & more. Bewitching auras indeed!

Lilith in the ninth house - The delicacy mixed with erotic power. The angels and the demon. The artist and the muse. They have the power to seduce anyone with just their mind alone. They can seduce you with their wit, their humor, their charisma and just their soul in general. But on a sensuality note, they are abundantly clear on what it is they want. And they know just how to get it. They waste no time in going after the energy it is they feel desires them. They are devoted to themselves and the power of a Godly force and nobody comes close. So to the ones who get to experience them, they feel a closeness to the divine that makes you tremble a bit. Because they show us a sense of carefreeness thats been missing, so the way they seduce you is in how they free themselves in a world that is committed to self restraint.

Lilith in the tenth house - Enchanting and mysterious in nature. The world wants to have them but cannot get enough of them. The secret to these characters is that they know what it is you're looking for, but you just won't get it from em. Not immediately that is. They'll make you wait for it. Hell, they'll even charge you for it if your a beggar. They know you want it, but they aren't easy. Like a coquette, they'll have you waiting for years, and their energy will be intact and while yours feels depleted. Lilith tenth housers just know how to work it with their sex appeal. It can transform you, to say the least. ;)

Lilith in the eleventh house - A special energy is unlocked in these lilithians because not only do they have the capacity to seduce the whole world they can be someone close to them too. Be careful with them, because they might bite! ;) Their sensual power comes from the ability to be close with them and they have a compassionate nature too! This makes them way more likeable and seductive. And even if you're close to them, there is still something else about them. Almost hard to ignore, so its no wonder friends and associates try to get it on with em.

Lilith in the twelfth house - If all the other placements are tempting to the eye, then these beings are tempting to the soul. They have a capacity to entice others with the way they carry themselves. They have a gift in pulling you in, and telling a story with just their body language alone. The moment you are seduced by them, is the very moment you come over and have a meeting with God. They are no angel, but they can just about make you feel things that where never present before.

Lilith in these houses can show the tempting, seductive energies of a person if they learn how to tap in. There is a short story about lilith being the tempting 'devil' we kind of all known of her to be. However, learning more complexities of her story. She is so much more. So this just a small version of what we know as lilith, there will be many more to come!

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part two .

“you were a dick last night.” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.” “do you?” “i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—” you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?” he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.” or, the amylaurie au fic.

part  one,  two,  three,  four,  epilogue. word  count.   4.9k a study on.   non-linear  storytelling,  even  more  egregious  little  women  references,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  friends  to  eventual  lovers,  stem  major!reader,  the  gifted  kid  burnout  trope, author pretending to know anything about mechanics / engineering . author's  note.   i  yapped  too  much  about  this  chapter  so  you  can  read  about  my  thoughts  HERE.  generally  treat  that  as  the  author's  notes  after  an  ao3  fic  I  LOVEEEE  talking  if  u  didn't  notice  !!   very  similar  disclaimer  that  i  put  in  my  previous  post,  though.  y/n  operates  from  a  result  of  gifted  kid  burnout,  which  is  very  much  explored  in  this  chapter,  so  i  guess  there's  a  content  warning  for  that.  that  being  said,  there's a lot of josie mention here... sorry streaks u can't tell an amylaurie story without the jo i fear !  i  promise  again  this  fic  has  a  happy  ending  we're  getting  there mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know?  cover  by  hozier,  the  bolter  by  taylor  swift,  orange  show  speedway  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  this  is  me  trying  by  taylor  swift,  chinese  satellite  by  phoebe  bridgers,  supercut  by  lorde.

THEN, 2014.

the day starts early— too early— the kind of early that feels like your body isn’t fully awake yet, your limbs heavy and your thoughts slow, swimming through freshly made molasses. your mum nudges you up from the cramped back seat of the car when you arrive, and you blearily take in the early morning light over hampshire, the sky still tinged with the last hints of dawn.

beverly is already sunburnt, despite the fact that the sun has barely been up for an hour. she’s got her earphones in, the wire tucked into the pocket of her shorts, and she doesn’t even react when josie calls her name. your mum sighs.

(bev hates the heat. hates racing, too. when you asked her why she even came, she just shrugged and said, "maggie said i should."

and, well. maggie is twenty-two and the oldest. she always knows best, so no one questions it.)

the drive to hampshire was long, sat all cramped between mags and bev, because josie called dibs on the third row all to herself, and while that would usually annoy you, you didn’t mind it much today. the whole ride, you kept turning over the ticket in your hand, running your fingers over the raised print, tracing the letters like they might disappear if you don’t.

lando’s family gave you tickets. they wanted you there.

you wonder if lando wanted you there.

you don’t know what to expect, because you’ve never seen a real racecar before. the first time you saw one up close, really up close, was probably in one of da’s magazines, glossy pages filled with detailed photos of engines and sleek bodies and captions that explained, in smaller words, what made them special. and they are special, because the way they move, the way they are built—everything is made to be the fastest, the most precise.

you know all this, but it’s different seeing them in person.

you aren’t meant to be loitering near the garages, but you keep sneaking glances, gaze darting over mechanics hunched over machinery, engineers discussing statistics on screens. this is what you love.

"you’re nosy.”

you turn so fast you nearly trip.

lando is grinning at you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his race suit, looking—well, kind of like he always does. but different, too. he’s taller now, lankier, his hair curling a little more wildly at the edges. he has that same teasing glint in his eyes, though.

"i just wanted to see," you say, a little defensive, but his grin doesn’t waver.

"want to take a proper look?"

your eyes widen. "i can?"

"i’m letting you, aren’t i?"

you nod, swallowing the excitement bubbling up in your throat. and then—

then you are inside, standing just a few feet away from a real, actual race car, and your heart is in your mouth.

“it’s a ginetta g40,” lando says, watching your expression carefully, like he’s waiting to see if you’re impressed. “junior spec. one-point-eight-liter engine, 100 brake horsepower.”

you stare at the car, at the fine lines of the chassis, at the way it sits, poised, elegant. “it’s light,” you murmur, running through the numbers in your head. “like, really light. that’s why the power-to-weight ratio makes it so—”

“fast?” lando grins.

“agile,” you correct. “fast is just a given. but if you were just fast, you wouldn’t be able to take corners well. you need the balance.”

lando blinks.

“what?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

he shakes his head, looking impressed. "you’re twelve. how do you know that?"

"i read," you mutter.

there’s a pause as he studies your face, and then: “you're scary smart, kit-kat.”

heat rises to your face, and you look away, embarrassed, unsure what to do with the compliment.

but lando keeps talking, and you keep listening, and for a while, you forget about everything else— about your too-tight shoes and your awkward limbs and the way you sometimes feel like you don’t fit into your own body anymore.

then the race starts.

you don’t know what lando is thinking when he climbs into the car, don’t know if he’s nervous or excited or both. but you know that when the lights go out and the cars launch forward, your breath catches, because there he is, in the thick of it, weaving through the chaos, pushing forward.

it’s fast, faster than you expected, and your fingers dig into your seat as you watch the laps tick by. you don’t remember what place he finishes. you only remember him crossing the line.

you only remember the way he jumps out of the car, the way he runs to his parents first, grinning so wide it could split his face in two, and then he turns and sees you and—

he hugs you.

it’s quick, barely a squeeze before he pulls back, excitement buzzing off him like static.

"did you see that?" he says, breathless.

"you absolutely obliterated that last turn!" you say, and his grin widens.

"i know!"

and then you are talking, rambling about the car, about the way he handled the braking zones, about how you could hear the engine struggling in the mid-corner but he still managed to keep it stable. and he listens, nodding along, eyes bright, because he knows you know what you’re talking about.

you are twelve years old, and you are in love—not with a person, not yet, but with the way things work. you love machines, love knowing how they fit together, how they break, how they can be fixed. you love understanding things, love seeing the world in bolts and gears and schematics.

lando laughs, bright and unrestrained, and for that moment, it’s just you and him and the machine between you.

NOW, 2024.

the first thing you feel when you wake up is nothing at all.

and then, slowly, something like sadness settles into the empty spaces.

it’s quiet in the flat, just the hum of the heater kicking in and the faint drip of last night’s rain off the eaves. the curtains are drawn, but you know it’s gray outside, that kind of dull, lifeless morning where time feels suspended, like the day hasn’t quite decided to begin yet. you shift under the covers, the fabric of your too-old pajama shirt soft against your skin, and exhale slowly, willing yourself to feel something else. anything else.

but there’s nothing pressing to do, nowhere urgent to be, and you are alone, which means there is nothing left but to sit with it. you grab your phone from the nightstand, half expecting— half hoping— for nothing, but there it is. a text from an unknown number, sent thirty minutes ago.

from: unknown number i’m sorry. can i make it up to you?

you don’t answer immediately. you get up instead, pad into the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, stall as long as you can. when you check your phone again, the text is still there, staring back at you, insistent.  you don’t have his number saved. haven’t, for a long time. haven’t needed to. but the moment you open up the message again, your thumb hovers over the contact, and before you can stop yourself, you’re typing in his name.

no. nope. no. why do you do this to yourself?

why? you type. delete it. type it again. delete it again. stupid.

you lock your phone, breathe in deep through your nose, and then—before you can think too hard about it—type back:

to: lando n how?

the reply comes faster than you expected.

from: lando n coffee? pastries? i’d offer a full english, but i know you hate the fried tomatoes.

you hate how that makes something warm and stupid curl in your chest, hate even more how he remembers.

to: lando n woking park, one hour.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the walk to woking park is cold, your breath curling in the air like smoke. it’s the kind of winter day where the sky is a uniform, dull grey, the kind that makes you feel small, like the world is pressing down on you. the streets are quiet, most people preferring the warmth of their homes, but you walk anyway, hands shoved deep in your pockets, jaw tight against the wind.

you don’t see him at first. you’re halfway down the path, watching the way the frost clings to the edges of the benches, when you catch a glimpse of him—hood up, head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of his puffer jacket.

you stop.

he sees you first. stands as you approach, a paper bag in one hand, two coffee cups balanced in the other.

the moment stretches between you, just long enough for you to wonder if this is a mistake, if you should turn around and go home, if you should put more distance between yourself and the boy who has always, always had a way of slipping through your fingers.

but then the corners of his lips curl upward as tilts his head slightly. “you look like you’re about to bolt.”

“i should.” you say, carefully, definitively. but you walk toward him anyway.

there’s coffee in his hands, a bag of croissants. "this supposed to be my compensation?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"trying to impress you," he says, offering you one of the cups. "not working, is it?"

"not even a little." you take the coffee anyway.

you walk. the park is quiet, just the sound of your footsteps on damp pavement, the occasional rustling of bare branches in the wind.

"i'm sorry," lando says after a while.

you glance at him. he's looking ahead, jaw tight, like he's bracing himself. "for what?" you ask, even though you already know.

he exhales, shaking his head. "for being a dick. for not picking you up last night."

you shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. "it's whatever."

"it’s not."

"it is."

lando shifts beside you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, like he’s waiting for you to say something. so you do.

“you were a dick last night.”

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. i know.”

“do you?”

“i do.” he pauses. “i just—i don’t know. i was already in a shit mood, and i saw you, and i thought—”

you raise an eyebrow. “you thought what?”

he hesitates. and then, finally: “i thought you’d make me feel better.”

it’s honest. too honest. you wrap your hands tighter around your coffee, letting the heat seep into your palms.

“and did i?”

lando exhales, breath curling in the air. “no.”

there’s something about the way he says it, something raw and unguarded, that makes you press your lips together, eyes flicking away. because what the fuck does that even mean? he thought you’d make him feel better? is that all you are? some sort of safety net? some kind of comfort object? a childhood relic he pulls off the shelf whenever it’s convenient? you almost say something about it. almost. but then—

“josie would be a better conversationalist.” you say instead, because it’s easier. because it’s safer.

lando’s quiet for a beat, then, “why do you always do that?” he gestures semi-wildly at you, hands flailing slightly, drops of coffee spilling from his takeaway cup onto the gravel, seeping into the stone.

you frown. “do what?”

“deflect,” he says simply. “i asked you to meet me. you.”

that throws you off more than it should. you take another sip of your coffee to buy yourself time. “… she’s fine, you know.” you say after a moment. “busy. writing. she has a novel coming out in the summer, apparently it’s really good.”

lando nods, like he already knew that. maybe he did. maybe he still keeps tabs on her, in whatever distant, half-removed way he allows himself.  “and you?”

and you?

you hate that it feels like a loaded question.

because the thing is, josie is a better conversationalist. she always has been. she’s whip-smart and well-read and funny in a way that makes people want to listen. she has always known what to say, how to say it, when to say it. she’s the kind of person people orbit.

you don’t resent her for that. not really.

but when you were kids, when it was always lando and josie running ahead, and you— three years younger, three years too late, still catching up— when you were left behind more times than you can count, it had been impossible not to feel like you were somehow less than. not because of anything she did. your sister never made you feel small on purpose. she was always kind, always patient in the way that older sisters are, looping an arm around your shoulder, ruffling your hair, letting you tag along when she could. but you were the little sister.

not the best friend. never the best friend.

and lando— he had been different with you. not in a bad way, just in a way that had always made it so fucking clear where you stood.

because even if he talked to josie about everything— about school and friends and whatever cool thing they were obsessed with at the time— when it came to cars, to machinery, to racing, he had always turned to you. always sought you out. and maybe it was pathetic, but you’d lived for those moments, for the times he looked at you like you were worth paying attention to.

so maybe you aren’t jealous of josie. but there’s still something ugly curling in your chest, something that’s been there since you were six years old, always struggling to keep up. you swallow, push the feeling down.

lando is watching you now, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. like he’s waiting. "and you?" he repeats, like he actually gives a shit, like your answer is worth hearing. maybe he does. maybe it is.

you swallow. shift in your seat. “oxford’s good,” you say, finally. “stressful. but good.”

lando hums, not looking convinced. “you like it?”

you hesitate. “yeah.”

"liar."

you scowl, shoving him lightly. he laughs, a quiet huff of air, shaking his head.

"no, really," he says, more serious now. "i just—I dunno. i feel like you always wanted to be doing things, not just reading about them. i guess i just figured you'd be in a garage somewhere, fixing things, not stuck in a classroom."

you let out a dry laugh, more so a huff than anything else. "i'm getting the best of both worlds, aren't i?" you say. "i’m at oxford, and i’m at mclaren. probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, if i’m honest.”

lando tilts his head, studying you. “you know, i always figured you’d end up there one way or another.”

that surprises you, eyes widening slightly, focusing then on your cup of coffee, not letting him see that you had a reaction to that. “figured?”

lando shrugs, like it’s obvious. "you were always gonna go, weren’t you? you were always brilliant, kit-kat."

there’s something about the way he says it that makes you pause. something that makes your chest tighten.

because, yeah. you were always gonna go. you were the little girl who thought she knew everything, who thought she was built for something bigger, smarter, greater. and now—

now you think about the days spent staring at coursework until your vision blurred, about the moments in the mclaren garage where you felt like an imposter, about the creeping, awful realization that maybe you were never as brilliant as you thought. maybe you’re just ordinary. maybe you’ve just always been good at faking it.

just another small fish in an impossibly large pond. swimming, sinking, drowning.

lando watches you carefully, like he can see the thoughts flickering across your face, and maybe he can. maybe he’s always been able to. “when are you gonna fix my car for me?” he asks suddenly, motioning for you both to sit on a nearby bench.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “fix it yourself.” you follow him, sitting down, making sure to keep a respectable distance.

“we made a deal when we were kids,” he reminds you, all mock-serious. “you were six, had that stupidly big toolkit, told me you were gonna be just like your dad. and i told you i was gonna be a driver.”

“and now you are,” you say, quiet.

his smile falters slightly, just for a second. then he shrugs, like shaking something off: “and now you’re gonna be an engineer. my engineer, by the way. don’t get any ideas about other teams poaching you.”

you don’t reply. neither of you acknowledge the soft blush blooming on your cheeks, though. perhaps it's just the cold. perhaps it's for the better you don't.

but still, it’s easy. sitting here, like this, eating croissants in the cold, talking about nothing and everything.

you forget, sometimes, that it can be like this. that you don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.

but then his phone buzzes. you glance over as he checks it, sees whatever’s on the screen, sighs. "what?"

"uh, my management team, actually," he says. "season starts in a little over a month. lots to do before that."

you nod, swallowing down the disappointment before it can settle. "right."

he looks up at you, something unreadable in his expression. "i’ll keep in touch."

you don’t say anything. not because you don’t believe him, but because you do. because you know he’ll try. he always tries. he’s not a bad friend, not intentionally. he’ll text when he remembers, when the world slows down just enough for him to think of home, of the people he leaves behind in it. and when he does, you’ll reply. you always reply. even when weeks pass, then months. even when the messages become sporadic, spaced further and further apart, when they turn into half-hearted apologies and late-night voice notes, you will still reply.

it’s pathetic. you are pathetic. you tell yourself you won’t fall for it again, won’t let yourself be swept up in the inevitable cycle of lando comes back, lando leaves, lando comes back, lando leaves— but you know better than anyone that you are a fucking liar.

you finish the last of your coffee, let the heat sear against your tongue, grounding yourself in the bitterness of it. he does the same, crumpling his cup in one hand before shoving it into his pocket, stretching his arms over his head in that loose, easy way of his. and then he shifts on his feet, rocking slightly, like he doesn’t quite know how to end this, like there is something else left to be said but neither of you know what.

"i should—"

“yeah,” you cut in, too quickly. too eager to get this over with before you do something impulsive. “yeah, me too.”

there’s a beat of hesitation. and then he moves, stepping into your space, and for one stupid, ridiculous, impossible second, you think—

but no. he doesn’t kiss you. he hugs you. it’s quick, fleeting, the kind of embrace that shouldn’t mean anything at all, except it does. his arms curl around you, solid and certain, his chest against yours for just long enough that your breath catches. long enough that your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket before you can stop yourself. long enough to make something in your chest ache.

and then he pulls away. smiles like nothing happened.

"see you around," he says, easy, casual. and then he’s gone.

THEN, 2014.

it starts with the laptop.

the one you and josie share, the one with the crack on the hinge and the spacebar that sticks when you press too hard. the one where she writes all her stories— half-finished, scattered across folders named new draft and new draft (2) and new draft (REAL ONE) because she never thinks anything is good enough. the one she guards with her life.

it isn’t your fault. not really. you just wanted to download a simulation— a mechanical software, a model of a car’s engine, something you read about in autosport and f1 racing, something you thought would be so freakin' cool. you should have been more careful. should have checked the source. should have seen the warning signs, but then the screen freezes, glitches, and the entire system crashes before you can stop it.

you try everything—restarting, booting in safe mode, pressing every key in frantic succession—but it’s too late. everything is gone.

including all of josie’s drafts. she doesn’t talk to you for a week.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

lando is home. sometimes. in flashes, in bursts, in stolen days between races, between tests, between whatever it is he has to do now that he’s growing more and more distant, quicker than you can keep up with. always on the move, always somewhere else. but sometimes he finds the time. when he does, he’s with josie.

you try not to let it sting. really, you don’t even know why it stings.

(it’s whatever, you’ve come to realize. your mum laughs and says it’s your new catchphrase. whatever. whatever! josie can hog up all his attention, for all you care.)

josie’s been mad before, but this time it’s bad. she won’t look at you, won’t say your name, won’t even respond when you tell her you’re sorry. you are sorry. but she doesn’t care.

and then lando shows up in a chauffeured car, leaning out the window with a lazy grin, calling josie’s name. “c’mon!” he says. “we’re going to the lake.”

there’s always an open invitation for you. always a space next to him, a do you wanna come? thrown in your direction. but josie is still mad, and when you turn to her, hesitant, she gives you the look.

“can i come?” you ask, anyway.

josie crosses her arms. “no.” it’s the way she says it. sharp. final. like she’s making sure you know you aren’t wanted.

“come on,” he says, lightly, like he’s trying to diffuse the tension. “don’t be mean.”

josie crosses her arms. “i’m not being mean, lan.” she doesn’t look at you when she says, “i just don’t want her to come. not today.”

lando had looked at you again, uncertain. but josie was already getting in the car, and he always follows josie. so he does.

you watch them go. and then you grab your bike.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe it’s the anger, all hot and stinging at the back of your throat. maybe it’s the way your hands shake, fingers tightening around the handlebars, pushing harder, faster. maybe it’s the way the car gets smaller and smaller, like you’re losing something, like something is slipping away from you before you even have the chance to hold onto it.

the wind is sharp against your face. your breath comes fast, too fast, and your legs burn with the effort, but you don’t stop.

not until the back tire wobbles. not until the bike tips. not until the ground is rushing up to meet you and you don’t have time to catch yourself.

the impact is instant.

pain spikes up your arm, all white-hot and blinding. water rushes over you, soaking through your clothes, seeping into your skin. the ditch is deeper than you thought. not enough to drown you, but enough that when you try to push yourself up, something sharp and wrong jolts through your wrist, and you can’t breathe, and you can’t move, and—

you think— no, you know— it’s josie.

the sound of her voice cuts through the haze, high and frantic, breaking against the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears. you can’t see her at first, only hear the way she stumbles over her own feet, the way she skids down the slope, half-falling, half-running. and then she’s there, crashing to her knees beside the ditch, hair coming loose from her braid, eyes wide and terrified.

“oh my god,” she gasps, breathless, voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. “oh my god, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry— i didn’t mean to— i—” she whips around, looking up, and then she’s yelling. “lando! get down here and help me!”

you want to tell her you’re fine. you want to tell her it’s okay, even though it’s not, even though your right arm is bent at a weird angle and your left ankle pulses in sharp, jagged bursts of pain. but your throat feels tight, squeezed shut by panic, and the words won’t come out.

there’s movement above you, fast and urgent. another voice, sharper— lando.

the world tilts. the water is cold, seeping through your clothes, clinging to your skin, but your head feels hot, dizzy. you blink hard, trying to focus, but everything is too much. too bright. too loud. the pain makes your breath hitch, coming out in shallow, uneven gasps.

and then—hands. steady. careful. a solid weight beneath you, lifting you up, pulling you out.

you look up. he calls your name. your vision swims. you don’t know if it’s from the pain or something else entirely.

⸻ 𐙚 ⸻

the hospital is white. sterile. too bright.

they say your arm is broken, your ankle twisted. one week of bedrest for the leg, and three weeks with the arm cast. nothing serious, but serious enough. the doctor smiles at you like that makes it better, like knowing the exact number of days you'll be stuck in a cast will ease the discomfort, the frustration, the humiliation of it all.

josie stays by your side that first night. she doesn’t say much—she doesn’t need to. she just sits there, curled into the old, soft lightning mcqueen-themed sleeping bag on the floor beside your bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes trained on you even when you pretend not to notice. you tell her you’re fine, that she doesn’t have to stay, but she just shakes her head, brushing you off like it’s ridiculous to even suggest it.

a day passes, and then another. then lando is in your room, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, even worse than falling into a ditch— and that's how you got into this mess in the first place!

you’re in your pajamas, the ones with the stretched-out collar and the dumb little cartoon gears and cogs that felt soooo cool when your da got them for you last christmas but now feel like the most childish, humiliating thing ever. you think about changing, but your arm is stuck in a cast, and your ankle’s in a boot, and lando is already here, standing awkwardly at your door like you’re the one intruding.

“kit-kat,” he says, tilting his head at you, like he can sense the mortification rolling off you in waves. he grins. “you always go to bed looking like that?”

you grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him.

he dodges, laughing, and then, because he’s so unbelievably annoying, he drops into your desk chair, spinning once before settling, all casual, like he doesn’t have better places to be. “i’ll take that as a thank you, lando, you’re so thoughtful.”

“shut up.” you cross your arms, sinking further under the covers. “what do you want?”

he scoffs. “you wound me.” but then he lifts the stack of magazines in his hands and plops them onto your bed. thick, glossy issues of f1 racing and racecar engineering and even a few autosport weeklys, their covers gleaming with high-speed shots of cars mid-corner, of engine cutaways and pit stop breakdowns. you skim lazily through the pages. “brought you these. figured you were losing brain cells just lying here doing nothing. you must be bored out of your mind.”

but then you catch sight of something— a technical deep dive into the new 2014 power unit regulations— and all at once, the irritation is gone.

“holy shit,” you say, forgetting everything else as you flip through the pages. “did you know the new energy recovery system increases efficiency by like, sixty percent? the hybrid system is so much better than kers— like, the thermal efficiency alone—”

lando raises an eyebrow, amused. “you really need to get out more.”

you ignore him. “and the turbo— look at this thing, it’s insane—” you tap the diagram of the split turbocharger, excitement spilling into your voice before you can stop it. “they moved the compressor away from the turbine to reduce turbo lag, and it’s so smart because now they can use a smaller intercooler and—”

lando leans back, watching you with that stupid grin. “you sound like a mechanic.”

you scoff. “i am a mechanic. or, i will be. one day.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease. just shrugs, like it’s obvious. “yeah. you will.”

you hesitate.

because lando, with his races and his big ambitions and his already being on the path— he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. your face feels hot. you look back at the magazine, trying to focus, but your brain won’t stop buzzing.

lando kicks his feet up on the edge of your bed. “so, what’s the verdict?”

you clear your throat, using your free, not-injured leg to push hit feet off the bed. “it’s… cool,” you say, because you refuse to let him know just how much you appreciate it.

but lando just rolls his eyes, grinning. “you’re welcome, kit-kat.”

your stomach flips. you hate him. you hate him so, so much.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

lando doesn’t stay.

he has to leave again—more races, more training, more things pulling him away, just as they always do. he says he’ll keep in touch, promises, even, and maybe he really means it, but you know better. you know how this goes. he’s always going. always leaving. always slipping through your fingers like water, something impossible to hold onto no matter how tightly you try. in and out, in and out, like the tide, like clockwork, like something you should be used to by now.

but the entire summer, every week, without fail, a fresh stack of racing magazines appears at the door.

(you know your da doesn’t order them.)

[dropitpunk]

oliver quick being obsessed with you

tw: dark nsfw, saltburn's oliver quick x gn!reader, dubcon kissing, blackmailing, stalking, cheating (you're felix's partner), sexual themes, voyeurism, he's a creepy lil dude overall.

when he first saw you, you were sitting on felix's lap. a long arm wrapped loosely around your waist, lips stuffing promises into your ears and a coy smile plastered on your face. you looked happy, satisfied to be with felix.

he paid attention to you and to felix, how you would smooth out your hair and clothes countless times before seeing him, hiding behind a wall so he wouldn't see even the smallest flaw in your appearance.

you were all smiles around felix, squeezing his biceps when he made a joke, hearts swimming in your eyes after he kissed you. you didn't even let your smile falter when felix told you for the third time that week that he was too busy to hang out.

you looked fake, or perhaps insecure to be around someone that stole the spotlight every single time, and oliver was interested in how to break your facade.

oliver wanted to change everything in you, make things so messy and confusing you just wouldn't be around felix anymore.

befriending felix was easy when he had so much information on his life, on your life. he knew what to say to make felix intrigued, to enter his circle of friends in a way felix wouldn't be able to get him out.

getting to you was just the next natural step.

you were friendly when your boyfriend introduced oliver to you at the library, curious enough about the new friend that felix was so interested in.

you smiled at him, almost the same way you smiled at felix, and oliver could feel his stomach burn, breath quickening in desire.

"it's nice to finally meet you! i don't know what took so long." you glanced at felix as you shook hands with oliver, not seeming to notice his fingers lingering on your skin longer than the usual person would.

"you're just a busy person, it seems." oliver smiled back, sitting in front of you and felix.

oliver knew you were having relationship issues. you weren't busy, he watched you from the window in your room enough to know you kept your phone by your side at all times, just waiting for felix to call you, to invite you to anything.

"it seems so." you answered, forcing a happy face again, poor concealed resentment all over your pretty features.

of course, felix didn't notice, he didn't notice anything about you. not like oliver did, anyway.

he didn't notice the way you tapped your fingers on the page of your book before turning it, how your eyes seemed to cling onto every word, trying to memorize it. the first buttons of your shirt were open, a necklace with the first letter of your name over your soft skin.

oliver's eyes were locked in for a moment, imagining tugging on it to make you kiss him. or maybe he would pull you closer by your thighs, your legs were just restless under the table. you crossed and uncrossed them over and over again, and oliver wished he was sitting in felix's place so he could make you calm, let a hand wander on your inner thighs and ask you what was making you anxious.

perhaps it was the story you were reading, he knew that was your favorite book, you had quotes of it on the walls in your room. oliver bought the book and read it in two days so he could ask you about it, make you talk to him with your melodic voice.

but the more oliver looked at you, the less he wanted to interrupt your reading.

oliver knew he wasn't good at pretending not to look, so it didn't come as a surprise when you seemed to be embarrassed under his attention. eyes darting between him and felix with confusion, your lips parted with questions at the tip of your tongue, but oliver was quicker.

he silenced you with a finger in his mouth, smiling as if you two now shared a secret. you frowned, but didn't say anything, going back to your book with a gulp.

that was the moment oliver knew he could have you, he just needed planning.

but keeping a straight plan was so hard with you looking so beautiful.

he followed you to your dorm every night, making sure you were safe and everything was fine before he took his place at the tree next to your window. you were always too distracted to notice, writing about felix in your diary and then ripping the pages, dancing to the music in your record player or having a hand down your underwear.

the last seemed more common to you now that you didn't have felix's undivided attention.

oliver knew your routine, you would drop your bag on the floor, sighing away your problems and then sit on your bed, touching your neck, your chest, your stomach, licking your lips before opening your legs a little and taking your pants off. oliver allowed himself to open his zipper, touching his bulge over his boxers, almost tasting your skin on his tongue.

he would bite his fingers so the only thing he could hear was your moans, your breath heavier as you got closer to your climax. he wanted to cum with you, so he held the base of his cock until you were arching your back off the bed, fingers moist from your release.

his cum would paint the walls of your dorm, blood pooling on his tongue from how hard he would bite it to restrain himself.

oliver watched you until you fell asleep, then he would open your window and hear your soft snores. he would take your hand carefully and lick each one of your fingers, swearing he could still taste how sweet you were. he would kiss your cheek and play with your hair as a boyfriend would, touching the fading marks felix left on your skin.

"soon enough i'm gonna be laying with you right here, my dear." he patted your bed, smelling the sheets and smiling to himself.

the only thing that wasn't according to plan was the perfect opportunity falling right onto his lap.

"i don't know what to do anymore, he just won't talk to me and tell me what i did wrong." you came to him one afternoon, face all droopy and pouty, eyes glistening with tears and flushed cheeks.

oliver's heart ached for you, eyes traveling over your trembling hands and disheveled appearance. you were desperate, and your only solution to fix things with felix was to ask for help from his new best friend.

"i don't know what i can do to help you." oliver needed to know more, to have you more docile, more pliant. you almost started to cry again and he put a hand on your shoulder, trying to encourage you.

"i just... it's been weeks of felix avoiding me and it's only getting worse. i think he's going to break up with me." your lower lip trembled and you almost lost oliver's attention from your eyes. he smiled, feigning a gentleness that wasn't all there at that moment.

"where should we talk about this?"

"we can go to my room." right where he wanted. your eyes were full of hope, looking at him as if he was the savior of your relationship.

your knees were touching and that was all oliver could think about, he had to concentrate twice as hard on your lips to actually understand what you were saying about felix but that was just worse.

you were too preoccupied to notice his body getting closer to yours, his absent nodding being more frequent and his glossed over eyes studying your form.

"i could really talk to him, you know. make him listen to you." oliver just said the obvious, what you wanted to hear, but that seemed to be enough to bring you relief.

"really?! but isn't it gonna be too on his face?" you worried and he shrugged.

"i can be discreet, he won't even know you asked." you nodded at his words, trusting and too afraid of a break up to even question the honesty in his tone. he wouldn't talk to felix, he didn't care.

"but i need you to do something for me."

"of course... anything." you were too grateful and that was naive.

"give me a kiss." oliver smiled.

you stood up, betrayal all over your face, "how could you ask me that? are you out of your mind?"

"it's a simple wish, really." he made himself comfortable in your bed, watching your every move. you were suddenly self aware and aware of his presence, a chill ran down your spine.

"you want me to tell felix that you were cheating on him with his best mate in your room?"

"you're crazy, i would never do that. i have a boyfriend." barely, oliver wanted to say and be cruel to you.

"what? i didn't..." you got as away from him as you could, your back hitting the wall as he stood up, taking slow steps towards you.

he smiled at you and you shivered, his cologne making you dizzy. he cornered you with his body after cornering you with his words, you had no way of escaping.

"he wouldn't believe you." you said meekly.

"you know that's not true," he whispered in your ear, caressing your face with the back of his hand, enjoying your soft skin under his fingertips. "you're not on good terms and rumors spread quickly around here."

you could feel his breath on your face, blue eyes overtaken by dilated pupils, full lips pouting a little to mirror your expression. you pushed at his chest, weak and uncertain, his voice penetrating your psyche.

felix didn't like you as much anymore, it was too easy for him to use that as an excuse to break up with you.

you closed your eyes, feeling oliver kiss your forehead and temple, lips dragging all over your face before hovering over your mouth.

"always knew you were smart," he murmured.

a hand behind your neck made your lips touch, your arms falling limp on your sides. his lips were soft, the kiss starting slow until his tongue was exploring your mouth, messy and eager. his other hand went to your waist, bringing you closer and closer and your only option was to hold onto his shoulders.

he was strong, firm, and kissed you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do.

his hand squeezed your waist, stopping at the curve of your ass, fingers resting under your shirt. he tugged at your hair, making you gasp, and smirked against your mouth.

he kissed you until you were panting heavy, stomach clenching against your will, not so concerned about your boyfriend anymore.

all according to plan.

a/n: this is mild but his yandere potential is crazy. i also love barry keoghan.

[joesalw]

Taylor Swift has an unhealthy obsession with changing her personality according to the men she dates from time to time. It’s funny how she talks about how she's never gonna get back the six years of her life being wasted for being private. But this is the same person who released interviews saying she craves privacy and it has made her life manageable and feel real instead of being the objective of tabloid stories by the media.

It's like she doesn’t have her own perspective of life, she always sees the world the way her partners see them. When she first started dating Joe and started talking about him, she made it look like he is the best thing that has ever happened to her, even in her songs she wrote so highly of him. All the things that she's rejecting now are the things that she admired back in 2016-2022. With all the privacy cravings back then, her fans were dragging Tom hiddleston and Calvin Harris for being so public with her, they dragged these guys saying they only used her for fame and never seen the real Taylor. Back then the narrative was, only Joe was a real guy who loves Taylor for being herself and not the Taylor Swift tm. But since the relationship didn’t work out, she switched the whole narrative again.

This time Joe is the villain for not being public with her. She is so proud of Kelce, she loves to enjoy his shows and apparently she doesn’t care about how many people are pissed of seeing her face everyday, she made a quote on that. But how long since she will switch this narrative too? Again swifties will villainize Travis Kelce and not TS. It's funny how they totally erased the existence of Matty Healy from the interview as well, since it was bad for her image. But we didn’t forget it Taylor that you were proudly hanging out with a racist, xenophobic, islamophobic, zionist guy and publishing articles on how your relationship is NOT platonic.

Her whole activism era started because Joe was an activist. He didn’t stop it after the breakup because it's a part of his personality, he still signed the ceasefire letter. But Taylor didn’t utter a single word about genocide, she's busy learning football and crying about how oppressed she is in her billionaire lifestyle. And somehow she is the Person of the Year in Times magazine.

And talking about her new boyfriend so publicly is something she never did even with Calvin Harris, which was (in comparison) her third most public relationship. But somehow all of this is directed towards Joe as if he was the one in fault for keeping her silent for so long. She is a grown ass woman who can take her own decisions. If she wanted an out from being locked for so long in her own mansions, she could've done that anyway. But to make it look like someone else fault is something she never gets tired of. It's always her exes' faults and not hers. When will you take accountability for your own decisions Taylor Swift?

Like this woman is pushing 40 and is still acting like a high school bully. She is proud of having a boyfriend from football team which is fulfilling her dreams from high school. She loves the attention, loves to play a cheerleader role as a gf. She got a platform like Times magazine’s person of the year where she could talk about serious issues in the world but she'd rather talk about how independent she feels being in a public relationship like this.

Btw it will take no longer than two years for this to turn into a victim trap again, she will then release another article about how she hates so much attention from public and how she craves privacy again, (based on whatever her then boyfriend would want lol) and her fandom will again forget everything she's said in this interview and make an ultimate villain out of Travis Kelce. Literally the same way they did with Jake Gyllenhaal, Calvin Harris, Tom Hiddleston, Harry Styles and Joe Alwyn. It is a never ending cycle and it will go on forever until she decides to seek some therapy for herself.

[ominium]

farewell p2

character : gojo s. context : your husband reads your letter D: pov : third person (gojo) content : angst (still) no comfort

note(s) : farewell p1 if you haven't read it ty to everyone who asked for p2 >O< did not expect it to do any numbers  + made up char named tomiko btw, not real !!| + didn't want to verbally include "time skip" but if it's too confusing just lmk and i'll edit it :D

—

The mind of Satoru Gojo was foggy. He woke up after what felt like a long slumber in daze, surrounded by people he remembered—and people he didn’t. But within his state of confusion, he understood one thing: the person who was there when he first woke up mattered.

It felt like an invisible force that pulled at his heart, lingering in his mind...with no answer. 

The first time his eyes met theirs, it was like he saw the world in a new perspective: under a different light. He felt like he could hear colors, taste the tasteless, and felt so undefeated staring into the depths of their eyes. It felt like a rebirth when he woke up—but he had no clue why this person had such an effect on him.

The second time he felt the warmth and connection with this person was when they had returned to “their” home together. While he recognized the address, the inside of the home was a different story. Pictures he was in that he couldn’t recognize, furniture that he swore he would never choose himself—but despite all that, he didn’t feel as if anything was out of place. If anything, it felt like he was getting closer to filling the voids that plagued his mind. However, in the attempts to fill that void quickly, he overlooked the truth that stood right in front of him. What was missing?

“Satoru~ wanna hang out today?”

It was the same question he had been getting all week, the week before, and the one before that. He had recently run into his old friend, Tomiko, who had been reaching out constantly ever since hearing about his accident. While not necessarily for the hangouts, he wasn’t particularly against them—he just couldn’t figure out why. Was it to fill that void in his mind? To fill in the gaps?

“Yeah. We’ll meet up later at the convenience store.” As he got ready once again, he shuffled down the hallway, passing by the frames of memories he got used to. The supposed partner in the photos was smiling in all of them, some at the camera—and some at him. A subtle hint of a smile graced his lips, as he looked at how lovingly he’s being stared at. Why couldn’t he remember?

“Good morning Toru. I made you eggs again. Are you heading out today as well?” He followed the source of the voice as he entered the kitchen, seeing their figure glow in the subtle morning light. He nodded, giving a quick thanks before digging in on his breakfast. 

To be honest, Satoru almost couldn’t care less. Despite months of seeing the same photos, no new emotions or memories had emerged. Nothing had changed over the time that he had been spending with them, and it felt like each interaction had become more meaningless. What’s the point in even trying?

But with her, with her, it seemed so refreshing to create new memories. It was fun, rejuvenating…he felt like he wasn’t just living, but alive. But why was it so different?

“Be safe, Toru!...If you can, come home a bit early tonight. I have a surprise for you!” With a quick wave, he left through the front doors. Knowing they would lock the door for him, he left with haste to meet up with his old friend. 

“That was sooo much fun Satoru~ we should hang out tomorrow too!” She slurred out, waving frantically before entering the taxi. He gave a curt wave back, grinning ear to ear before turning down the path towards his home. Did it feel like a home anymore? He wasn’t so sure, but it felt much better to live a bit day-to-day and push any worries tomorrow. 

On his way back, his steps slowed. It felt so empty without someone chatting his ear off…without Tomiko. Has it always been someone else? Or was it just too easy to place her in all those missing memories?

With a shrug of his shoulders, and a shake from his head, Satoru continued his walk home, reaching his front doors. Usually, he would hear their music humming through the doors already, but it seemed…eerily silent. Brushing off the weird feeling, he decides to unlock the door and go in.

“I’m home,” he called out, taking off his shoes. Looking around waiting for a response, he was only met with silence, confusion surrounding him. Normally, he would have been greeted, asked how his time went, and would’ve been offered some sweets….

He continued in, looking around in complete confusion by the sudden bareness. Some of the usual frames had been taken down, and the house overall felt…empty. He turned into the living room, being greeted by silence and nothing but a paper that seems to have been folded on the coffee table. Swiftly, he took a seat on the couch, hesitantly reaching for it.

“In another universe, we would have grown old together.” As quickly as his eyes could run over the words, Satoru read every word over, and over, and over again. What did they mean, ‘in another universe’? Anniversary? Today was their anniversary? See her again? Tomiko? Flowers…what’s going on? Why aren’t they here?

The final time he felt the pull was when he read the final words. Satoru then, and only then, realized the mistakes he had made…the irreversible neglect to the only person who had been there for him.

He had forgotten who he had woken up to for the first time in awhile. He had forgotten who had given him his good morning’s and good night’s. He took for granted the lunch boxes, the ironed clothes, the refilled bowl of sweets by the door…

He had finally understood why they mattered. Way too late.

[hivemuthur]

In Thy Name - Ch.1. - Dark Entries

viktorxfemale!reader nothing filthy yet but will be :v, gothic AU

Reader is a highly renown linguist hired by Viktor, a paranormal investigator, for a case he cannot crack himself.

MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 5,7K

author's note: Story time, it's boring, you can skip it. So: one day my cat dies. I start to write. Then, another day a person asks, can you write a Bridgerton AU? And I'm like yeh, sure, why not. It swells in my hands until I can't control it. From it blooms a crushing amount of beautiful artworks from you guys. Then, a person says, I like Victorian Era the most. The rest is history. I'm convinced that's how covid has started. If I ever end up doing a McDonald's AU hire a hitman and kill me painfully, make me fucking suffer. So, here you go, a gothic AU :') Playlist here! @rennethen and @mithrava thank you for beta-reading! And art, of course, by @cringemaster3!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Surrounded by the scent of dust and the faint aroma of melting wax, you lurk in the academy’s library. What was once a sanctuary of solace now fails to provide the comfort you so desperately seek. In your hands, an envelope rests—its paper crisp and unmoved, despite the wear of its long journey. The wax seal bears the mark of a sharp V, devoid of ornamentation, one corner slightly crumpled, though you are certain you are the only one to notice.

Hidden among the towering rows of books, you grasp a letter knife, its blade gleaming faintly in the light of the candelabras. You regard it as though it were a life you were about to claim— as if it were not merely paper that would yield to your blade, but something far darker, its insides spilling only words, no organs to be bled.

Wincing, expecting red to spill from its violently torn mouth, nevertheless, you open the letter, still unbelieving that the V might mean what your mind has conjured. The paper inside is equally crisp, as though it had arrived directly from the pocket it was kept in, folded neatly, and its bloody insides glare at you in sharp, elegant strokes of a fountain pen.

13th of October 1851

Greetings,

I trust this letter finds you in good health, though it is with some urgency that I extend my proposal to you. I have been made aware of your commendable accomplishments in the field of linguistics, and I am of the belief that your expertise would prove invaluable for a certain task that I currently undertake.

Should you be amenable, I wish to offer you a temporary contract under the following terms:

A fair monetary payment, the sum of which can be discussed upon your acceptance.

Provision of food and shelter for the duration of your engagement.

The understanding that your services will be required until the task at hand is resolved.

This offer shall remain valid for a period of ten days from the receipt of this letter. After this period, the proposition will no longer stand, and I shall seek other avenues to fulfil the task.

Should you accept, I expect you at your earliest convenience.

Yours sincerely,

Viktor Velesny

You read the letter thrice, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you unfurl its edges, the sharp, crisp folds of parchment yielding to your touch. The words blur, then sharpen in your vision, each stroke of ink etching itself deeper into your mind with every passing glance. The third reading is out loud, your voice sounding foreign to you, hoarse and thick from hours of silence in the library. You had feared opening it for seven days, dread mingling with an eagerness you could not wholly suppress. The envelope, now empty of its contents, still weighed heavily in your palm. With only three days left, you knew tonight was the last opportunity to make a decision. You could either close the book on it entirely or surrender yourself to whatever unknown awaited you at his mansion.

For days you had worked relentlessly, pushing your research on ancient Greek texts to its absolute limits, your fingers aching from the effort. But it had not been clairvoyance that drove you to finish; no, it was the whispers that travelled faster than any letter. Gossip—blistering, scalding gossip—had swept through the academic halls like wildfire, and the tale of Viktor Velesny seeking external aid, however vague and fleeting, had reached your ears before he’d even put ink to parchment. The notion of this strange request—coming from a man whose reputation already stirred both dread and intrigue—had made its way to you before you even realised it.

You pointed a figurative finger to three other colleagues, even though you knew, deep down, that this particular invitation would ultimately find its way to you. It had to. As it arrived, your heart quickened in a strange mixture of fear and excitement, your colleagues' inquisitive eyes watching, perhaps with the faintest trace of envy or disbelief. Some were astonished at your consideration, others appalled you hadn't immediately leapt at the opportunity. That look—the one that lingered long after they caught wind of this peculiar summons—reminded you of the well-known truth: people were intrigued by the unknown, yet they feared it just the same.

And Viktor Velesny? The subject of this gossip? His reputation preceded him like a ghost, each whisper darker than the last.

Some spoke of him as a conman, a trickster who built his name on the broken backs of others’ credulity. He was said to be a charlatan, one who sold illusions of grandeur, pretending at knowledge he did not possess, preying on those desperate enough to trust his word. He was known to swindle patrons with false promises, only to disappear as swiftly as he’d arrived, leaving behind a trail of victims too ashamed to speak of their losses. His name was tied to failed endeavours, to reputations destroyed, to whispered accusations of dishonesty that always seemed to vanish into thin air, just as quickly as they were spoken.

Others, however, viewed him as a mad scientist, a delusional visionary whose fevered mind spun tales of grandiose ambition. The more extreme among his critics claimed he was a man who flirted with the very edge of reason, throwing his humanity aside for the sake of uncovering the forbidden knowledge that could undo the natural laws themselves. His obsession with the occult, with science, with all things esoteric and unnatural, bordered on madness. They spoke of experiments gone awry, of strange and twisted works that few dared to witness. Was he truly a genius, or was he simply a madman too lost in his own pursuit of the unknown?

And then there were the darker rumours—the faintest voices murmuring of a man of no honour, a man who would descend into the deepest circles of hell to fulfil his sickening ambitions. Dangerous. Delusional. A man who had supposedly sold his very soul to the devil in exchange for powers beyond mortal comprehension. Few dared to speak these words aloud, for to do so was to risk their reputation—or worse, their very sanity. Those who whispered of his brilliance did so in hushed tones, almost afraid that the mere utterance of his name would invite calamity. Some believed he was more than human, that he had crossed a threshold no one should ever cross, and that to aid him was to invite a curse upon oneself.

Your cheek is relentlessly chewed, your lips reddened from being constantly pressed together as you try to read this mysterious man’s intentions, deciphering them only from the curvature of the letters he’s bled in ink. From what you can comprehend, this is a linguistic investigation into something he cannot complete on his own. The unknown time frames for the endeavour unnerve you especially, but what excites you—this feeling crowns over all others—is the challenge.

An opportunity like that comes perhaps once in a lifetime, and the thought of spending another couple of decades—if you were so lucky—waiting for another after letting this one slip from your grasp fills you with no hope.

With trembling fingers, you dip the pen into the ink jar and scribble only a few words, the quiver in your hand preventing you from writing more.

20th of October 1851

Dear Mr. Velesny,

I accept.

Yours sincerely,

Jane Hathorne

Your name is signed with a flourish countering Viktor’s reserve with letters. Then, you blow out the candles and call for a messenger.

***

You spend the following day wrapping up last-minute errands and packing your trunk. The woman in you mourns all the garments you cannot fit, while the researcher side scolds her, insisting on taking as many books and papers as possible. They eventually reach a compromise by introducing another trunk to your previously planned, limited inventory.

It is only when you are about to step into the carriage that one of your colleagues comes running into the rain after you. The sound of your name echoes across the academy courtyard, and a few heads twist on their necks as eyes snap and ears perk up, eager to drink in the latest gossip.

“Have I forgotten something?” you ask, startled.

“No, I—” John, one of the few souls kind enough not to talk behind your back, stumbles out of the building’s mouth, chasing after you as if his life depends on it. “Are you certain you wish to go?”

“Oh. Yes, quite certain.”

“What if—” He hesitates, eyes darting with concern.

“What if? Do you fear for my health?”

“I’ve heard terrible things about him, you know,” he says, voice low but urgent.

“You and me both,” you reply with a sardonic smile. “And great things. And absolutely ridiculous things. So, if half of everything is true, he adds up to an utterly mediocre man.”

John looks unsure, wringing his hands as the rain soaks his coat. “Will you write?”

“Weekly. I will,” you promise, forcing a more reassuring smile. “You needn’t worry.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but finally nods, his concern still written across his face. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With a final nod, you step into the carriage, leaving behind the academy—and John’s worried gaze—just as the rain begins to fall heavier. In its warm cloister, you drown in what you do best—research.

The texts before you vary in nature, some profoundly enlightening, others more dubious in their claims. There are scientific treatises, dense and methodical, dissecting the latest advancements in physiology and human anatomy—works penned by Viktor himself, sharp and logical, written with a mind that had clearly observed and analysed the minutiae of life with a surgeon's precision. You find his approach to medicine both bold and exhilarating, especially in his attempts to bridge the gap between the known and the unknown.

Interspersed with these are his more obscure writings, some of which veer into the realms of the occult. One text, On the Nature of the Soul and Its Astral Travels, delves into theories of spiritual manifestations and possession—strange, perhaps, but compelling in its rational structure. Another, The Resurrection of the Dead: The Theory of Reanimation, blends pseudoscience with arcane knowledge, positing that the key to immortality lies in unlocking the hidden potentials of the human body, a claim that strains credulity, yet has an undeniable allure.

Alongside these, you pore over an assortment of occult texts that were allegedly penned under Viktor’s tutelage or at least influenced by his growing fascination with the supernatural. The Aether and Its Influence on the Material World, written in florid prose, is far less scientific than his medical texts, but nonetheless an intoxicating read. You find yourself drawn to the rhythm of the language, and even as you question the plausibility of the claims within, you cannot help but be captivated by the intensity of the author's convictions.

And then there are the darker ones—tales of demonology, possession, and the dead who walk amongst us. The Unseen World: The Threshold Between Life and Death is a chilling account of the various occult practices that Viktor had reportedly studied, exploring ghostly apparitions and the interaction between the living and the dead. Some of it makes sense, neatly fitting into the framework of what you know of the natural world. But others… well, they stretch the boundaries of reason so far that they threaten to snap.

What connects them all, however, is their sheer passion. The fervour with which they are written grips you, pulling you deeper into the labyrinth of Viktor's thoughts and obsessions. Whether grounded in science or swirling in the more dubious realms of the supernatural, each text is a window into a mind that pursues knowledge with an almost feverish determination, unafraid to venture into realms others might consider madness. You find yourself lost in them, turning page after page, unable to pull away from the intense, consuming brilliance that flows through every sentence.

Impressed, is what you are at first. As a linguist, of course, most of all, you admire his ability with words, drawing his reader right into the realms of his mind. Intimidated, comes second, as Viktor begins to grow in your thoughts into a man who will indeed stop at nothing to satiate his passion and curiosity.

One of the treaties bears a picture—it is a portrait of Viktor, you presume. His expression is intense, almost ferocious in its focus, the kind of look that suggests he is not just observing the world, but dissecting it with a hunger that goes beyond simple understanding. His eyes are bright, sharp, as if they could see straight through to the very marrow of things, and they stare out of the page with an unsettling intensity. His features are aristocratic—high cheekbones, a square jaw, and sharply defined nose with a slight curve to it. His dark hair is neatly combed back, but there is a wildness to the way it catches the light, as if it rebels against being tamed, much like its owner. Two dark spots mark his face, decorating his undereye, and oh—his lips. Those you don’t dare to look at for too long.

The portrait captures him in an almost unnatural stillness, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm. His posture is upright, rigid, a man of discipline. Yet, his hands—gloved, resting on a cane—seem poised on the verge of motion. The background is dimly lit, offering no distractions, leaving Viktor’s imposing figure to dominate the frame. The entire picture is bathed in shadow, except for a faint light that seems to follow the contour of his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features and the gleam in his eyes.

It's a haunting image. An impression of a man driven by something darker, deeper—an insatiable desire for knowledge, perhaps, or something far more dangerous. There is an undeniable allure in the way he is depicted, a magnetic pull that you cannot put a finger on.

You trace a gloved touch through the paper, trying to read more into it. Your heart flutters when the carriage jolts over a cat’s head, and the parchment falls from your hand. With your mind full of ideas and presumptions, you decide to lean against the window and spend the rest of your journey memorizing the images flashing past.

And those, too, grow progressively more unfamiliar. The landscape outside the window unfolds like a painting, drenched in the muted light of the fading afternoon. The sky, heavy with brooding clouds, casts a pallor over the earth, as though the very air trembles in anticipation of something inevitable. The fields roll in endless waves of withered grass, their once-vibrant green now a weary brown, hanging on to life with a final breath before the frost comes to claim them. The hills, distant and indifferent, stretch out like weary bones, sloping gently, only to fall into a vast, oppressive nothingness—a barren, lifeless expanse that stretches endlessly before you. The land seems to sag under its own weight, as if the very earth itself has given up hope, awaiting the final kiss of winter's cold embrace.

The gloom thickens, devouring what little warmth remains in the air, until the world outside becomes a blank canvas—void, desolate, and endless. In the midst of this eerie silence, a dark shape slowly begins to emerge on the horizon, its form rising like a spectre from the desolation. A shadow, strong and commanding, breaks the monotony of the emptiness—the shape of Viktor’s home. Its silhouette looms against the darkening sky, an imposing presence rising out of the desolation, a dark monument to something unknown. Its walls, heavy with the weight of secrets, stand like a watchful sentry, ready to consume you whole.

It stands alone—a place that seems to absorb the very light around it, as if it exists in a perpetual twilight. The closer it draws, the more foreboding it becomes, pulling you into its vast, dark heart. And as the carriage moves ever closer, you wonder if the land itself, stretching out in weary despair, is simply a reflection of what lies within.

Your chin slides off your hand as the carriage approaches the main gates. A tall, stiff butler steps out, holding a black umbrella, ready to escort you the ten steps that part you from your future. He keeps his gaze lowered as he walks toward the vehicle, opens the door for you, and—before greeting you—swings the umbrella open.

“My lady,” he says, bowing his head. “Allow me to escort you. Master Velesny awaits you.”

“Oh, I take it the messenger got here safely?” you ask, taking his hand as you step out of the carriage onto the muddy ground.

“Yes, and he arrived with haste, for which Master Velesny is grateful,” the butler replies with practiced politeness and signals to two young footmen to take care of your bags. “I see you come prepared, my lady. Allow the boys to handle your luggage.”

“Ah, yes, forgive me—I couldn’t decide which books would be useful,” you say, neglecting to mention that one trunk is, in fact, full of velvets, not books. “May I ask your name?” you say, craning your neck, trying to take the house in.

Beyond the rim, the mansion looms—a stark silhouette against the slate-grey sky. Its façade, once grand, is softened by time; ivy clings to the stone, withered by autumn’s touch, its skeletal tendrils retreating from the ornate window frames. The first floor boasts tall, pointed arch windows, their leaded glass darkened by the overcast day. Above, a row of smaller lancet windows punctuates the steeply pitched roofline, lending the structure a solemn air. At its highest point, a narrow tower rises—a third level in miniature—its presence lending the house an air of quiet vigilance rather than menace. A pair of weathered statues flank the entrance, their faces softened by rain and years, watching as you step forward.

“Certainly, my lady. My name is Algernon Griffiths, and I have been in Master Velesny’s service for many years.” Butler’s voice makes your head snap back. He talks with pride as the rain drums against the stretched black membrane, and ensures you remain completely shielded from the drops, though his own shoulder is undoubtedly gathering dampness. “I am at your service whenever you may need me as well.”

“Thank you, Algernon, that’s—” You pause as you both step through the main door.

The hall is… intimidating and impressive at once. Something vaguely unsettling nestles in your throat at the strange shadows cast by the flickering candelabras, and you notice that not all of them are lit. Some remain empty of candles, while others hold fresh, unused wax, presumably reserved for the evening hours. Yet even in the husky daylight of this gloomy day, the space remains dark.

The ceiling stretches high above your head, where a wrought-iron chandelier hangs, its spiked ornamentation promising a clean kill to anyone unfortunate enough to be standing beneath it should it fall from its hook.

A curved double staircase straddles the far end of the hall, its dark wooden steps worn down at the edges near the winding handrail. The floor beneath your feet is polished to such a gloss that every sound bounces off it. And indeed, it is not the beauty of this space that has made you gasp, but the suffocating silence that presses against your ribs like a held breath.

“Master awaits you in the study, my lady,” Algernon urges gently, noticing your hesitation. “I assure you that you will be given a proper tour of the house and introduced to all the staff, but I’m afraid Mr. Velesny has insisted on escorting you upstairs as soon as you arrive.”

“Oh, certainly. Forgive me, it’s all very—” You gulp down the stale air and force a smile. “Enchanting.”

He nods, unimpressed, passes the umbrella to a footman, and extends his hand, motioning you up the staircase.

Your footsteps echo as you ascend, the creak of the worn wooden steps swallowed by the hush of the house. The balustrade curves beneath your gloved fingertips, polished but old, its edges softened by time and touch. The hall above yawns before you, lined with closed doors and dim sconces casting long, flickering shadows against the wallpaper—dark green, its pattern faded, some places curling at the seams.

The air is scented with books, wax and smoke, as if the house itself has been holding its breath for years. Your skirt brushes against the wooden floor, and the fabric's whisper is the only sound apart from the occasional groan of the planks beneath your feet.

At last, you reach a heavy wooden door, already ajar. Inside, dim afternoon light filters through the tall window, throwing pale, skeletal patterns across the floor. The scent of parchment and ink lingers here, richer, untainted by the cold draft of the corridor.

Algernon knocks anyway, his knuckles rapping lightly against the wood. “Master Velesny,” he announces, “your guest has arrived.”

Viktor stands by the window, his back to the door, gazing out into the grey afternoon. He does not turn fully, only angles his head, revealing his profile—sharp, as you’ve expected.

“Thank you, Algernon. That will be all for now.”

It is the sound that catches you off guard—something neither his writings nor the picture you studied in the carriage could have prepared you for. Heavy, thick, a slow roll of his tongue as it wraps around the vowels, his accent settling into the room tangibly. It complements his visage perfectly, and suddenly, you are grateful for the house’s silence, allowing his voice to echo undisturbed.

With a polite nod, Algernon steps back, retreating down the hall. The door closes with a soft click, sealing you inside the study.

As soon as it does, his shoulders slacken, and he turns to face you. His hands, bare, rest atop the handle of a cane. His stance is uneven, weight shifted onto one leg, his hips set at an angle beneath a pair of tightly fitted high-waisted trousers. A ruby velvet vest, its surface pressed with winding patterns, hugs his chest, and beneath it, a crisp white shirt peeks through. No cravat, you note—his high collar instead nudges against the sharp line of his jaw.

His throat peaks from thick material—a long, pale column, crowned by a chin that hangs low from his cheeks. His face is all sharp planes and hollowed angles, the skin stretched over pronounced bones beneath deep, sunken eyes. His brows, thick and furrowed, lend him an air of permanent concentration as he studies you—or, at least, you presume that he does.

And his eyes—oh. No picture, dulled in shades of grey, could have prepared you for them. Two rings of amber glide over your body, sharp and bright, like mead set aflame. Embarrassed, you drop your gaze, and it lands on his leg, hugged tightly by a contraption of metal and leather.

You shift, rid yourself of your cape, and wrap it around your forearms, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of his gaze. If there are thoughts stirring behind those eyes, he does not betray them. His expression remains unreadable, sculpted into something close to stone.

"You took your time to reply," he says finally, blinking as slowly as an owl would. His voice curls around each syllable, daring.

"I... I had to run some errands before accepting," you reply, forcing yourself to maintain his gaze. Then, steadying your breath, you add, "I have met the deadline, have I not?"

"You have, for which I am grateful," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower. He takes a few measured steps toward you, graceful, you notice. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for your hand, fingers cool as they close around yours. He lifts it to his lips, the warmth of his breath pressing through the fabric of your glove.

"It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, my lady," he mutters against your knuckles, eyes still locked onto yours when lips come to press against the thin leather.

"Have we met in the spirit, then, without my knowledge?" you ask, your voice lighter than you intend, a thread of uncertainty winding through it.

His lips curl into the shadow of a smirk. "Ah, if you wish to go that far," he muses, rising and tilting his head, yet not letting go of your palm. "I am familiar with your work. And if I allow myself some presumptions"—his thumb brushes briefly along the side of your hand—"such as this: if you are as meticulous in your spirit as you are in your craft, then I would expect you have done your share of research on me." His eyes glint. "Therefore, our spirits have met. Metaphorically, of course."

"Bold of you to presume this much, Mr. Velesny," you counter, though there is no denying the way his words have wound their way beneath your skin. Presumptuous and cunning, this man has your curiosity piqued.

"Have you expected me to be anything but?" His lips quirk at one corner, the ghost of amusement there before it fades into something gentler. "And please—call me Viktor."

You speak your name in response, and the moment it leaves your lips, his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours. A slow squeeze. He smiles then, small but certain, as if tasting victory in the syllables.

Then, your hand is free, and Viktor turns toward the desk. Only now do you take in the room as it is—a cavernous space, dim, just as the rest of the house. Heavy drapes of deep burgundy frame mullioned windows, drawn back just enough to let in a reluctant sliver of day.

To your left, a fireplace yawns, unlit, its carved mantel adorned with a single brass candelabrum and a clock that ticks with an unsettling steadiness. The dark wood panelling along the walls bears the weight of countless bookshelves, their spines pressed tightly together, some worn to near illegibility, others pristine, their gilt titles catching what little light the room allows.

Viktor’s desk, positioned near the window, is a grand but cluttered thing—an ocean of scattered papers, maps, and instruments of his trade, the chaos strangely at odds with the meticulousness of the man himself. An oil lamp with a green glass shade casts a dull glow over the mess, illuminating the glint of a letter opener resting atop a half-folded letter.

A chair sits across from his own, clearly set for you. “Take a seat, please. This won’t take long,” Viktor says, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “You must be weary from your travels. I will leave the debrief for tomorrow, but I would like you to take a look at what we are dealing with.”

The we rings pleasantly in your ears—infuriatingly so—as you gather your skirts and lower yourself onto the chair. The leather creaks softly beneath you. Viktor does not sit. Instead, he leans over you, one hand braced on the cane, the other pointing a long, precise finger at the papers sprawled before you. His proximity is unexpected, his scent even more so—fresh, unadorned, untouched by perfume or powder. Like moss in an undisturbed forest. Freshwater drawn from a deep spring. Skin sunbathed and warm.

An insistent tap of his finger against the desk pulls you from your daze. You blink and focus on the papers. Letters—familiar yet unplaceable—are scrawled across countless sheets, some rough and uncertain, others more refined, as if Viktor had been attempting to capture them with increasing accuracy.

“This… looks like some proto-Slavic dialect,” you say slowly, tracing the edge of a page with your fingertip. Your brow furrows. “Forgive my bluntness, but have I wrongly assumed your accent to be Slavic?”

“Not at all. I am,” Viktor confirms, his voice smooth and clipped. His gaze flicks to the documents. “But this is no known language to me. I am at my wit’s end. Otherwise, I would not be calling for aid, as you may know.”

You nod, intrigued. “I have brought some books with me. We could compare sources tomorrow?”

“That would be perfect,” he says dryly, as if he’s expected you to do exactly that.

“How did you come across this?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“I was called upon for a job. Usual business. Seemed like a mediocre haunting at first.”

“Mediocre?” You tilt your head. “Are you truly this well-versed in ghosts, Viktor?”

His lips twitch, but it is not quite a smile. “Ah. By mediocre, I mean possibly a con,” he corrects. He shifts, standing upright again, his hands folding over the handle of his cane. “A family member trying to scare their relatives. A neighbour hoping to chase people away from valuable land. Hauntings of that sort are what I usually come across.”

“Usually, but not always?” you ask, studying him.

“Not always,” he replies offering nothing more.

“So… are you a myth buster, then?” you tease, watching him closely.

“No,” he says without hesitation, his golden eyes locking onto yours. “I am a truth seeker.”

His gaze is sharp—challenging—but something beneath it feels measured, a shield. You sense a restraint in him, a man who has learned to temper his own excitement, to speak in careful tones that reveal nothing. And you wonder—when was the last time he had the opportunity to speak with someone as an equal?

“But I suppose you have heard many names granted to me,” he continues, tone even. “A con man. A devil worshiper. A mad scientist.”

“I’ve also heard of your brilliance,” you offer quietly

“Ah,” his lips curve, knowing. You hope he doesn’t read it as a pity. “And which one do you think to be true?”

“I do not know yet.” You hold his gaze. “I suppose I will have to find out for myself?”

“That you will, hopefully.” He exhales, straightening, the flicker of an expression unknown to you vanishing as he retreats behind composure once more. “I shall keep you no longer. Algernon will give you a short tour and escort you to your rooms. Your luggage should already be there.”

It’s a gentle but firm dismissal, and soon after, Algernon returns, inclining his head and ushering you politely through the study door.

As he guides you down the dimly lit corridor, his steps are even, his voice smooth and practiced. “I shall show you the most necessary rooms first. There will be time for a proper exploration tomorrow, but for tonight, I believe you will wish to settle in, my lady.”

The first door he gestures toward reveals a vast library, lined floor to ceiling with shelves of aged leather-bound tomes. A single chandelier sways faintly above, its candlelight flickering against dark wood and gold filigree. A sturdy desk sits by the window, and near the hearth, two deep armchairs face one another, waiting for occupants who never came. The scent of dust fills the air.

Next is the music room. Though smaller than the library, it holds an air of quiet grandeur. A grand piano dominates the centre, its polished surface reflecting the dim light. A violin and cello rest nearby, their strings long untouched, and in the corner, a harp stands draped with a fine sheet, as if to protect it from time itself.

“The guest quarters are also on this floor,” Algernon notes, leading you past a series of doors. “Though I do not expect they will be occupied anytime soon.” He moves along without pausing.

Descending the staircase, the house’s shadows stretch in strange ways, the flickering sconces offering little comfort against the vastness of the halls. The dining room is stately yet stark—long enough to seat far more than its apparent master keeps for company. The drawing room, in contrast, is lived-in, with a decanter of dark amber liquid resting on a side table, books left slightly out of place on a chaise, and a few logs stacked beside the fireplace.

At last, Algernon stops by a set of wide glass doors leading into the winter garden. The panes are fogged, obscuring what lies beyond, but the skeletal shapes of vines press against the glass. “You may visit the garden tomorrow during daylight,” he says, his voice lowering slightly. “But not tonight. The day has been especially dark.”

His words are peculiar, but you say nothing.

When you come back one storey, Algernon points to another set of stairs, far less impressive than the main staircase. “The master’s chambers are upstairs,” he states simply, and you wonder why on earth Viktor would choose to climb two stories daily when he clearly uses the cane not only as an accessory.

As you continue, one door remains conspicuously closed, and Algernon makes no mention of it, his stride never faltering.

Instead, he turns to you. “The household staff is minimal but sufficient. A maid will attend to you in the mornings and evenings, should you require assistance.”

At last, he stops before your own quarters and steps aside, allowing you to enter first.

Your bedroom is unexpectedly inviting, with a large canopy bed draped in heavy fabric, its dark wood carved with intricate detailing. A fireplace rests along one wall, unlit, but stacked with fresh logs. A writing desk sits beneath a wide window, its curtains drawn, and across from it, a modest yet elegant wardrobe stands ready for use. A faint scent of lavender lingers in the air—perhaps a lingering touch from the maid who prepared it for you.

Algernon lingers just outside. “Dinner is served at six. If you require anything further, do not hesitate to ring.” A pause, then with a slight bow, he departs, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality.

And for the first time since your arrival, you are alone.

Wasting no time, you sit on the bed and kick your shoes off. You sigh deeply and heavily, stacking the events of today in your head. Viktor is... nothing and everything you expected. Driven, yes. Eager, even more than you anticipated. And still, he manages to remain reserved, as if torn between reaching out and closing in on himself. A sadness of some kind lingers around him, but you try to withhold your pity. Is he the demon they paint him to be, or the genius you wish him to be? You do not know, but you itch to find out.

[holybibly]

Warning: Sensitive topics, cyberbullying, harassment, insults, veiled threats

Good afternoon everyone, I'd like to ask for a minute of your time as I'd like to raise an important issue about cyberbullying and malicious attacks on writers with large audiences, as well as the spread of slander, libel, and so on.

My name is Valerie, but on Tumblr you may know me as Holy Bible, the author of stories such as Crazy Form, Pink Star Presents, My Little Empress and many more.

I'm on my third day of being bullied by user moilele, and also on my second day of being bullied by user wisejudgedragonhairdo, who together have been bullying my blog and me.

You can read about the whole situation on my blog, or contact me personally as there's quite a lot of information.

I had not originally planned to take this beyond the blog, but due to the large number of aggressive comments and inboxes, as well as the continued spread of slander and persecution, I want to make this public so that anyone who has ever experienced something similar will not be afraid to speak out to a wider audience.

At this point, the situation has gotten so out of control that I have had to contact Tumblr's legal department and appeal to the letter of the law for spreading slander, bullying, insults, harassment and so on. So I hope that you can take a sober and unbiased look at this situation and put an end to the spreading of rumours.

I am a respected author who is a member of several writers' networks (whose administrators check the content before reblogging to the network), an author with a large audience of over 5k followers, and simply a person who, in the two years of this blog's existence, has never stooped to insulting anyone, humiliating anyone, calling on his followers to spread hatred, and other such things.

After several requests to leave me alone, to block my blog and to live his life, the user moilele continues to follow my blog, to leave hate comments, to spread lies and to encourage others to do the same.

Her attacks forced me to partially show my passport to prove my innocence, and also to file several complaints with the Tumblr administration, who in turn, after reviewing all the evidence, aggression, harassment, etc., unilaterally decided to block this user.

I would like to note that Tumblr did this on their own, after reviewing the confirmations. Nevertheless, the author continues to monitor my page, comment on my posts, tag me in her offensive, degrading posts, and accuse me of ruining her life, considering that

I did not even know about the existence of this user and her blog moilele until yesterday, and yesterday I repeatedly asked her to move on and not touch me, but the situation continues to escalate. At the moment I don't feel safe on my own blog as the messages in the inbox etc. have turned into real threats and malicious complaints.

I want people to be able to see my side and not draw conclusions based on lies and insults. I have proof, screenshots of posts, messages, attacks in my inbox.

This is a completely abnormal situation, a person who is a complete stranger to me offering me to rot in hell and d*e , curses me and publicly insults me and many other unpleasant things that she thinks are right.

I have already written about my position and a more detailed explanation in this post.

It's not that I want to protect my blog (even though it's my brainchild and I've put a lot of time and effort into it), I want to protect myself, my friends who are also being insulted, my followers, and I want them to stop spreading lies about me and my blog.

At this point, I had to resort to the letter of the law, which I warned in my post, that if the bullying continues, I will file a formal complaint for emotional abuse, harassment, cyberbullying, etc. Also, all malicious comments and "anonymous" messages have been forwarded to the Tumblr administration.

If you see posts that are aggressive and humiliating to my blog and my dignity, please do not encourage the spread of this information. If you have also experienced intentional bullying or similar, please contact me, you are not alone. Don't tolerate bullying and insults from people you don't know on the internet, take care of yourself and your emotional and mental state.

Thank you for your attention.

[yuu-kantokusei]

Valentine's Day❤️❤️❤️

Third year version

Characters: Cater, Trey, Leona, Vil, Rook, Idia, Malleus, Lilia

TW: cute, fluff, wholesome

♦️Cater Diamond

Cater kicks off Valentine's Day with an energetic selfie spree, dragging you along for the ride. "Come on~! We need at least twenty cute pics for my Magicam story!"

But amidst all the fun, he suddenly pulls out a small heart-shaped box. Inside is a delicate charm bracelet, each charm representing something meaningful—your dorm, a tiny camera, even a little cupcake. "I saw these and thought of you! Cute, right?"

As you admire the gift, he gives you a rare, softer smile. "You make my days way more fun, y’know? Hope you stick around, my fave little Valentine~!"

♣️Trey Clover

Trey surprises you with a special Valentine’s treat—an entire cake, personalized with your name in icing. "Made this just for you," he says, placing it in front of you. "Hope you like it"

As you share the cake, he hands you a small, elegant box. Inside is a silver spoon engraved with your initials. "Figured you could use a good luck charm" he says with a chuckle.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in quiet comfort, baking together in the Heartslabyul kitchen. "Valentine’s isn’t just about romance," he says thoughtfully. "It’s about appreciation too. And I really appreciate you."

🦁Leona Kingscholar

Leona acts like he doesn't care about Valentine’s Day, but when you find a wrapped package on your desk, his scent lingers on it. Inside is a soft, high-quality scarf.

Later, when you go to thank him, you find him lounging under a tree. "Took you long enough to notice," he mutters, eyes half-lidded. "You’re always runnin’ around in the cold. Don’t want you gettin’ sick."

He lazily tugs you down to sit beside him, resting his head in your lap. "Since you’re here, might as well stay. Ain’t got nothin’ better to do than nap with my favorite herbivore." His tail flicks, betraying how much he enjoys your company.

👑Vil Schoenheit

Vil presents you with a beautifully wrapped gift the moment he sees you. Inside is a set of luxury skincare items tailored to your needs. "A beauty as radiant as you deserves proper care," he says with a pleased smile.

He then takes you to a private rooftop dinner, where everything is curated for aesthetics and elegance. As the sun sets, he studies your face. "Out of all the things I strive for, your happiness is one I truly wish to see."

Before you leave, he carefully applies a bit of lip balm to your lips. "Can’t have you walking around with chapped lips, darling," he teases, but his touch lingers a second too long.

🏹Rook Hunt

Rook approaches you with a flourish, handing you a handwritten letter sealed with wax. "Mon trésor, today is a day to celebrate the beauty of devotion! And so, I dedicate this poem to you!"

His words are grand, poetic, and filled with admiration, making your face heat up. Before you can respond, he presents a beautifully carved wooden bow. "A hunter must always cherish their most valuable companion. Let this be a symbol of our bond!"

He then whisks you away on a nature walk, pointing out the beauty in everything—from the way the wind moves to the way your eyes light up when you smile.

🎮Idia Shroud

Idia avoids you all day, only for Ortho to deliver a wrapped box on his behalf. Inside is a limited-edition plush from your favorite game. There’s also a shaky, handwritten note:

"Happy Valentine’s. Don’t make this weird."

Later, you manage to find him hiding in his room, his hair glowing pink. "Ugh, I knew you’d come looking for me," he groans. "I mean… I guess it’s cool that you liked the gift or whatever."

Despite his grumbling, he lets you stay, the two of you gaming together late into the night. At one point, he mumbles under his breath, "This… isn’t so bad."

🐉Malleus Draconia

Malleus appears before you at midnight, inviting you for a walk under the stars. He gestures to the sky, where countless glowing wisps float around you. "I wished to give you a sight as enchanting as you are," he says softly.

He then hands you a beautifully crafted pendant in the shape of a dragon. "This holds a minor enchantment," he explains. "Should you ever need me, it will guide me to you."

As you stare in awe, he gazes at you with quiet intensity. "I have lived many years, yet this is the first Valentine’s I have truly cherished. Because I spend it with you."

🦇Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia starts the day by pranking you with a questionable batch of homemade chocolates. "What? It’s the thought that counts!" he laughs as you gag.

But later, he surprises you with a beautifully played violin piece, dedicating the melody to you. "Music is the language of the heart," he says, eyes twinkling. "And my heart sings for you."

His real gift, however, is a small, enchanted music box. When opened, it plays a soft lullaby. "A tune to remind you that you are always loved," he says, patting your head fondly.