#every time i open the document i have to read through the whole thing to remember it bc i haven't looked at it for months

[nxghtshades]

now that I'm no longer drowning in coursework, I've been writing again!

[pipszhou]

playback

✧ — synopsis: you knew flirting with the client would get under his skin. but you didn’t expect caleb to drag you into his office, press record, and make you say who you belong to—with the camera still rolling. jealousy is cruel. so is proof.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~1.4k

✧ — tags: jealousy, recording kink, rough sex, sexual overstimulation, possessive behavior, power dynamics, power imbalance, reader-insert, colonel caleb, office sex, degradation, plot what plot/porn without plot, pet names, they are both freaks i swear

✧ — notes: i am back with another horny fic. i have nothing to say other that i have sinned yet again in the face of the Lord. this one is also not beta read by anyone, only edited by yours truly so read with caution.

“caleb—what are you doing?”

you barely had time to catch your breath as he yanked your wrist, his steps swift, jaw clenched. fleet officers stepped aside. some stared. some whispered. no one dared move. he said nothing. his silence louder than fury.

your heels clicked against the floor as he led you toward his office. your heart pounded.

you hadn’t expected him to find out. you’d leaned close to that diplomat on purpose. finger tracing the rim of his glass. laughed at his jokes. let him look down your uniform. the deal needed to go through. and you needed caleb to remember how it felt to be provoked.

the door hissed shut behind you.

then you were slammed back against his desk, the impact making papers explode into the air like a startled flock. you gasped—but didn’t struggle.

his colonel cap hit the table. his jacket peeled off his shoulders. you didn’t dare speak again until you saw the fire in his eyes. you’d lit it. now you had to take the heat.

“you think i didn’t see that?” he growled, pinning your hips to the wood with his own. “batting your lashes. touching his wrist. whispering in his ear.” 

you inhaled sharply, your pulse thudding against your throat.

“it was work,” you muttered, but it was weak. you’d known what you were doing. you wanted this.

he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. “you know exactly what you were doing.” his mouth ghosted your ear. “you wanted to make me jealous.” 

a breath. a brush of his lips against your jaw. “wanted me like this, didn’t you? wanted me angry enough to ruin you.”

you swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. “no.”

he smiled against your skin, cruel and knowing. “liar.”

his fingers tugged open the buttons of your uniform, one by one, until it slipped past your shoulders. you gasped at the cold air, and the heat of his gaze devouring every inch of you.

“don’t you dare look away,” he hissed, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. he reached into his drawer. pulled something out. something small.

a sleek, black recorder.

he clicked it on.

beep.

“say it,” he said softly, voice venomous sweet. “say who you belong to.”

“caleb…”

your voice trembled like the flicker of a candle, eyes fixed on the camera in his hand. you tried to plead, play innocent, lashes fluttering like wings. but he saw through you. he always did.

“come on, pips,” he crooned, voice all smoke and steel. “tell them who owns you.” that devilish smirk curved his lips, the one that promised ruin and knew you’d beg for more.

he was in on it. the whole thing. the flirting, the baiting, the need clawing at your throat.

you’d stoked his jealousy on purpose—just to be devoured.

“you… you own me, caleb,” you finally whispered, voice breaking into breathless heat.

“fuck—yeah you’re mine.”

in one swift motion, he freed himself, the thick length of his cock glistening in the office light.

he didn’t give you a second to prepare. just pressed the blunt head against your dripping entrance, letting the tension stretch between your bodies like wire.

his hand found your chest—pushing you down to the desk, pinning you in place like a fragile document.

“so don’t dare protest when i do this.”

and then—he pushed in.

deep. thick. unrelenting.

you gasped—no, cried—his name, your voice echoing against the cold metal walls.

the sound would carry. maybe people outside could hear. maybe they were listening.

you didn’t care. your body bloomed open for him, soaked and wanting.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, lowering his face to your ear, “you like this, don’t you? making me watch you flirt just so you could end up here—bent over my desk, stuffed full of cock.”

the camera whirred in his hand, capturing every lewd slap of skin, every moan, every breathy chant of caleb caleb caleb—proof of your surrender.

his free hand slid under your skirt, thumb circling your clit as he pounded into you. “look at the camera, pipsqueak,” he hissed. “show them how good i fuck you.”

he suddenly reached forward and groped your breasts—rough, possessive, fingers curling into the tender flesh through your half-undone uniform.

you gasped, head rolling back, the edge of his desk biting into your spine. your hips moved on their own, rocking back onto him, greedy for every inch.

“caleb—fuck. so good, i can’t—”

your voice broke into a high, wanton moan as he slammed deeper.

his fingers tightened around your waist, nails digging into the softness of your skin hard enough to leave marks, markings of who you belonged to. his hips snapped forward again, again, again, like punishment.

you tried to reach for him—fingers fumbling backward, seeking the warmth of his back, desperate for anything to ground you—

but he slapped your hand away, sharp and stinging.

“no.”

his voice was guttural. absolute. “you don’t get to hold me. not today. today, you’re a toy. you wanted me angry? here’s what you earned.”

you whimpered, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably. the friction. the angle. the brutal pace—you were unraveling, nerves screaming, body barely holding together.

“you can’t do that anymore, pipsqueak.” he leaned in, biting down lightly on your shoulder. “no more flirting. no more fluttering those pretty lashes at anyone but me.”

you nodded helplessly, tears dotting the corners of your lashes. “yes, yes, caleb—only you—”

his thumb pressed hard against your clit, circling too fast, too firm. your legs kicked from the overstimulation, your voice breaking into a sharp sob.

“caleb—wait, i’m gonna—”

“don’t wait. i want you ruined.”

his voice was thick, rough, heavy with hunger. “i want you drooling, crying, too full of me to even walk.”

he kept going, thrusting deep, relentless, your pleasure turning sharp, electric, too much…

but you couldn’t stop.

your body was betraying you, clutching him tighter, choking on moans, your soaked folds dripping mess onto the desk beneath you.

“look at the camera,” he growled, still filming. “let them see what happens when my baby tries to act like she’s not mine.”

your body tensed under him, mouth falling open in a silent cry. his thumb kept rubbing merciless circles into your clit, even as your walls clamped around him tight, too tight—milking his cock like your body never wanted to let go.

“caleb—i’m close!”

and you did.

your whole body seized. your back arched off the desk. a moan ripped from your throat, loud, obscene, echoing in his sealed room like a siren.

you came hard, soaking him, your thighs trembling, eyes rolling back. the waves of pleasure hit you like a crash of heat and static—blinding, blissful, brutal.

but caleb didn’t stop.

“good girl,” he growled, breath hot against your neck, “but i’m not done.”

he didn’t slow down—just kept pounding into you, letting you ride out your orgasm while forcing your body into another. every thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. your legs twitched. your clit was raw, screaming for mercy.

he held your hips in place like you were nothing but a doll. “you’re gonna come again. you’re going to cry and shake and let me use this tight cunt until i say we’re done.”

you sobbed—somewhere between pain and pleasure, your body going limp beneath him, oversensitive, helpless. you were gushing again, slick dripping down your thighs, your mouth slack and begging.

he finally slammed deep and stilled, buried to the hilt, panting hard.

you thought it was over.

your mind drifted, dizzy and fucked-out.

then you felt his hand move—lifting the camera slowly, angling it to catch the mess between your thighs, your flushed, tear-stained face, the way you twitched when he moved just slightly inside you.

his voice came low, gravelled, thick with satisfaction.

“only i can see you like this.”

his thumb brushed your cheek.

“no one else. ever. and i’m keeping this recording…” he leaned down, lips ghosting over your ear, “as a reminder.”

you gasped, your body jolting weakly beneath him.

then, he drew back just an inch. let your oversensitive walls feel the stretch again. “round two?”

the camera clicked.

still recording.

cut to black.

[thedevillsmaid]

three rounds to ruin me - heeseung 희승

rock paper scissors but if we do the same attack we have to kiss passionately on the lips

━ ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING: student heeseung x student fem reader (afab)

━ ⋆.˚ GENRE: college au, smut, enemies to lovers kinda??

━ ₊˚⊹♡ WORD COUNT: 2,7k

━ ⋆.˚ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, kissing, teasing, both are very lustfull, sex in school & cursing (tell me if i missed something)

━ ⋆.˚ A/N: first time writing enemies to whatever this is lovers?? & first time writing a hee fic~ have not test read & english is not my first language! taglist

⋆˚࿔—minors dni | 18+ only | nsfw—⋆˚࿔ requests

You and Heeseung have hated each other since high school—rivals in everything from grades to sarcasm. Every class, every group project, every competition felt like a battle. The snarky comments, the passive-aggressive glares, the constant one-upping—it’s been a constant. Nothing has changed much since then.

Now, stuck in the same college club with one too many late-night meetings and way too much caffeine between the both of you, the tension has only gotten worse. Or… maybe it’s gotten different.

It started innocently enough. Or, at least, you convinced yourself it was innocent at first. You were both crammed into the corner of the conference room, staring at the endless stream of documents that didn’t seem to end. Your latest group project felt more like a punishment than an opportunity, especially with him sitting across from you—looking way too smug for someone who just barely passed the last exam.

“Wanna make this interesting?” Heeseung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, his lips curling into that annoyingly confident smirk that’s both infuriating and... kind of irresistible.

You raise an eyebrow, setting down the highlighter you’d been fiddling with. “What do you mean, ‘make this interesting?’”

“I’m thinking a game.” He leans back in his chair, the casual air around him somehow making you tense up even more. “Rock, paper, scissors. But here’s the twist. If we throw the same move, we kiss.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat—half scoff, half disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? That’s... ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m serious.” His eyes flicker to yours, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now—different from the usual antagonism—that makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

“Fine,” you mutter, half annoyed, half intrigued. You’ll play along, because what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just a kiss. You’re definitely not going to lose to him.

The game is stupid. It's childish. It’s beneath you. And yet, as your fingers curl into your palm and you stare at him across the table, there’s this quiet buzz of anticipation building between you both. Heeseung’s eyes never leave yours as you start counting down.

One, two, three.

You throw your fist forward—rock. You can practically feel his eyes on you, waiting for him to make his move.

But then… he throws rock too.

It’s almost like the room stops. The tension between you both thickens, suffocating in its intensity. You stare at him for a second too long, waiting for him to break. He doesn’t.

His lips curve into that same smug smile. “Guess you lost.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him how ridiculous this whole thing is. But the challenge in his eyes stops you.

"Rules are rules, right?" he murmurs, leaning forward just slightly, his voice a little lower now. "No chickening out."

The sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears, drowning out the noise of everything else. You’ve hated him for years, and he’s been nothing but an irritating thorn in your side. So, why does your pulse quicken, and your breath hitch when he leans even closer? Why does your stomach tighten when he raises an eyebrow, waiting?

This is stupid. So stupid.

But... maybe you do want to see what happens when the rules get bent a little.

Your mouth moves on its own before your brain can catch up, a breathless whisper escaping. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s pulling you towards him, his hand landing on your chin, his thumb gently grazing the skin there before his lips crash against yours. It’s not soft. It’s not delicate. It’s all hard edges and unspoken challenges. His lips are warm, insistent, and for a moment, it’s like time stands still. All the rivalry, all the years of built-up animosity, melting away into something too dangerous to name.

You could pull back. You could stop this. But something in you doesn’t want to. Something wants more.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. Heeseung’s smirk hasn’t faded. But his eyes are different now—darker, as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” His voice is low, teasing.

You want to slap that grin off his face. But you don’t. Not because you don’t want to, but because the silence that follows is thick with something else now. Something that wasn’t there before.

Something dangerous.

You blink, trying to clear the fog that's suddenly clouding your thoughts. What just happened? That kiss-so much more intense than it should have been.

Your lips tingle, a strange mix of lingering heat and confusion. Your heart is still racing, and you can't help but feel his eyes still on you, as though he's waiting for something.

For a second, you wonder if you've crossed some line that can't be uncrossed. But then, you remember who you're dealing with. It's Heeseung. The same guy who used to make your life miserable in high school with his cocky attitude and quick comebacks. The same guy who can't stand you, or so he says.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "That was—" you start, but you don't even know how to finish the sentence. The words don't come easily. You want to mock him, push him away with a snarky comment. But something in you hesitates.

Heeseung watches you with a look that makes your stomach flip, and you catch the faintest glimmer of something-something almost like amusement, but there's something else in his gaze now, too. It's not the same look of annoyance he usually has when he's trying to get under your skin. No, this is different. This is... something else. Something that makes the hairs on your neck stand up.

"Well," he says, voice still smooth, almost like he's toying with you, "I don't know about you, but I think I won that round."

Your jaw clenches. Of course he'd say that. Of course, he's acting like that kiss didn't just change everything. Like it was nothing.

"You're insufferable," you mutter, turning your head to avoid his gaze, but you can still feel the heat of his stare. You can feel it on your skin, like he's still too close.

He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but there's a new intensity about him that makes you uneasy. He's not the same cocky jerk he was before.

Not exactly. There's something new, something simmering beneath the surface. You're not sure if it's attraction or some new layer of tension between you, but either way, it's there, and it's impossible to ignore now.

"So, what now?" Heeseung asks, his voice low, like he's daring you to say something, to make the next move.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to hide the nervous energy thrumming through you. "What do you mean,

'what now?' You think we're just gonna keep playing this stupid game?"

He grins, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe... one more round?"

Your heart skips. The idea of another kiss-one that might be even more intense than the last-suddenly feels like a dangerous game. But you're not about to back down. You refuse to. Not to him. Not now.

"No way. I'm not kissing you again," you say, forcing your voice to sound more confident than you feel.

Heeseung chuckles, clearly amused. "Right. Of course. You're just scared."

"Scared?" 

you repeat, your eyebrows shooting up.

"I'm not scared of you."

"You sure? Because it looks like you're the one who's backing out."

There it is again. That damned challenge. That smugness in his voice. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and for some reason, it's working.

But you don't back down. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest and give him a pointed look.

"Fine. One more round. But if I win, you stop with this stupid game, understand?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Deal. But if I win..."

He pauses, letting the silence stretch between you, like he's savoring the moment.

"If you win, what?" you ask, leaning forward just a little.

Heeseung's grin widens, a glint of something dark flickering behind his eyes. "Let's just say I'll think of something... fun."

The challenge hangs between you like an electric charge, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

You've never felt this drawn to him, this twisted pull between rivalry and something more.

The tension is unbearable.

"Fine," you say, voice almost breathless. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."

You both count down again, the room feeling smaller, tighter, as you lock eyes with him, waiting for the moment to come.

One... two... three.

This time, you throw paper, and you can't help but watch as Heeseung throws scissors, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He's won. Again.

But before you can even register what's happening, he's closing the distance between you. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward him as his lips crash against yours. This kiss is different— deeper, more urgent, like he's been waiting for this moment. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and for a second, all you can do is respond, too lost in the heat of it to think clearly.

When he pulls away, you're both breathing hard.

Heeseung's chest rises and falls, his pupils blown wide. He doesn't say anything at first, just looks at you like he's reading you-like he knows exactly what this is doing to you.

You almost hate the way your body betrays you, your heart hammering in your chest, your skin tingling with the aftermath of the kiss.

"You're a terrible influence," you mutter, though you're not sure if you're angry or... something else.

Heeseung smirks. "That's the fun part."

And you hate it. You hate how much you want to kiss him again, how every part of you is drawn to him despite everything that's happened.

But more than that, you hate how you know this game... it's far from over.

The conference room was silent after the second kiss, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Heeseung’s smirk had faded into something darker, more dangerous—a predator sizing up his prey. You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his gaze lingered on your lips like he was waiting for permission to take them again. 

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly, standing so fast his chair screeched against the floor. His voice was low, almost a growl, and you didn’t need to be told twice. You followed him out of the room, your heels clicking against the polished floor as he led you through the labyrinth of the college building. 

You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You didn’t need to. The infirmary was on the third floor, a place you’d only ever visited for minor injuries or the occasional allergic reaction. It was quiet there, always. But tonight, it felt like a sanctuary. 

Heeseung pushed open the door, and the scent of antiseptic hit you immediately. The room was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the rows of beds. A few students lay in them, hunched over with bandages and IV drips, but you barely noticed them. Heeseung’s eyes were locked on you, his expression unreadable. 

“Why are we here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you toward the nearest bed, his grip firm on your wrist. You resisted at first, your pulse racing as he guided you to sit. But he was already undressing you before you could protest. 

“Strip,” he ordered, his tone sharp, almost possessive. 

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the hem of your shirt. “What are you doing?” 

“Don’t question me,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You wanted this. You kissed me back.” 

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, you wanted to lash out. But then he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, and you felt your resolve crumble. 

You unbuttoned your shirt, your hands shaking as you peeled it off. Heeseung’s eyes devoured you, his gaze lingering on your exposed collarbone, your trembling fingers, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t name. 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You were already undressed, your bra discarded on the floor beside your shoes. Heeseung was already halfway out of his own clothes, his shirt pooled at his feet, his muscles taut beneath the moonlight filtering through the window. 

He pulled you onto the bed, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned you. You were on your back, your legs spread wide, your thighs trembling beneath him. Heeseung hovered over you, his chest brushing against yours, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Remember this position,” he said, his voice a command. “Mating press. I’m on top.” 

You blinked at him, your mind fogging with confusion. “What?” 

He didn’t give you time to respond. He shifted his weight, his hips pressing against yours as he guided you into the position. Your knees were on either side of his shoulders, your thighs splayed wide as he pushed you down into the mattress. The pressure of his body against yours was intoxicating, his erection brushing against your core as he hovered above you. 

“You’re not supposed to be on top,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

“Shut up,” he growled, his lips finding yours in a brutal kiss. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, demanding, insistent. You gasped, your hands gripping his back as he thrust upward, his cock sliding against your clit with each movement. 

He was relentless, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust deepening the connection between you. You could feel him pressing against your entrance, his cock slick with sweat and desire as he worked you open. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice raw with need. 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. All you could do was moan as he drove himself into you, his body trembling with each stroke. The infirmary was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft creak of the bed. 

Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and lust. “I’ve never felt anything like this.” 

You wanted to tell him how wrong he was—that you’d never wanted this before. But the truth was, you had. Every time he kissed you, every time he challenged you, your body had been betraying you. And now, as he pounded into you with reckless abandon, you couldn’t stop him. 

He reached between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in slow circles. “You’re going to come for me,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re going to come so hard.” 

You did. The first wave of pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed as you screamed his name. He didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming faster, more desperate as he reached his own climax. His cock spasmed inside you, his seed spilling into you with a force that left you breathless. 

When he finally pulled out, he collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you. You were still trembling, your body drenched in sweat and his warmth. 

“You’re not going to run away,” he said softly, his hand brushing over your cheek. 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The game was over. The rules had been broken. And in that moment, you knew—this was only the beginning.

© thedevillsmaid

first time writing on tumblr eekk

[sheep-from-rad]

Crossover anon here

Yandere batfam vs SAGAU, you say?👀

I would very much like to hear your thoughts on it.

(Also, thank you for reminding me that SAGAU exists)

✨️✨️✨️

Masterlist also welcome back Anon! Hello! SAGAU and Batfam will get along swimmingly /s. Here’s the thing: How do you think the family would react if the accidentally neglected offspring (if neglected reader) or the normal child of the family started acting suspicious, started to become more withdrawn and spent more time with video games, and started muttering about how their game is becoming self-aware? 

Did you guess it right? Yeah, it’s a trip to Doctor Leslie or better yet a trip to Auntie Harley. They are most likely to dismiss it as a psychological disturbance first because let’s be real, if Gotham is a person and then it’s that person who lives permanently in a padded cell in a mental hospital. You can never really go around the place without the 50/50 chances of you dying in broad daylight. Also loneliness is a breeding ground for anxiety, depression, and even suicidal thoughts. Your game will likely be confiscated too but to be checked if you accidentally get hacked or if the game is bugged. 

I’d like to think that the moment they realized that the game is really self-aware like what you believed, it’s already too late. The game has already transported you somewhere else in Teyvat and now you’re trapped in the SAGAU plotline. 

Here’s a mini plot bunny (it’s just a plot bunny because I want to focus on the Blood bound series [I wrote it without drafting the series’ whole storyline so now I’m scared everytime I open the doc]): 

In most SAGAU plots that I have read (at least the non Impostor AU ones), Teyvat and Abyss are almost always buddy-buddy. Like ‘if the divine creator wants us to be neutral and then we’ll be neutral’ and most of the time Celestia is forgotten. Imagine Batfam being pulled to the SAGAU plot but the one who pulls them in is Celestia. 

My lore is rusty but I know for sure Celestia will try to brainwash Batfam into thinking that Teyvat and Abyss are evil and that they are lying about your divinity to keep you in the game. Celestia will weaponize the apparent yandere tendencies!  Batfam wants you back and Celestia wants the controls back, two birds in one stone. 

Is Batfam powerless in Genshin? I say around 60/40. They can fight but when it comes to vision users they might need to upgrade their contingency documents. Not to mention that not every user uses their vision the same. They will need to study those elemental reactions too and how each element interacts. But of course, Batfam is not stupid and sooner or later they will see it through Celestia’s agenda and they will have to break away and find their own way in Teyvat. 

SAGAU will be a fun ride especially if it’s a neglected reader x Batfam who wants forgiveness and just wants a sense of  family over again. If anything, the game characters aren’t simple-minded and they know how to listen (I’m looking at Ga Ming’s lore here of how him and his father became okay again on that lantern rite), I’d like to think that if the character sensed that Batfam is being genuine and then they might even become a bridge to forgiveness. 

What if Yandere Batfam learns that the game is really self-aware before you get transported to Teyvat? Prepare for a technological lockout. Devices gone? Passwords? Changed! TV time? Limited. If you need to get homework done and then you’ll be using it with anyone’s supervision. No more isolation! If making you go out and bond with your siblings might play a role in breaking you away from the game and then they will do it. If you really need your devices, then you’ll be treated like a toddler with some apps being locked. 

All those precautions will fill them with sense of protection until a citizen comes to the GCPD reporting that an accurately dressed Dottore cosplayer was spotted working with Joker. 

[tokkiw00]

After Hours - Kim Mingyu ⌛

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DO NOT INTERACT. UNEDITED.

When the rain doesn’t stop pouring and the world seems harsher than usual, you can always find shelter in someone. For you? That’s Kim Mingyu.

⌛ mingyu x gn!reader

⌛word count: 1.7k

⌛genre: short one-shot, comfort, fluff, bf!mingyu, talent recruiter! reader, mingyu is really sweet :(

⌛ warnings: cursing, mentions of the hospital, mentions of a really shitty day, slightly heavy ig, not that much warnings honestly-

⌛ notes: hello! this will be a quick read for you guys! it's more of a short story but i've had a lot in my mind lately so i kinda just- thought dumped in it. i hope you guys find comfort in this :) thank your stopping by and reading this smol story :) my asks, messages. and requests are open! so feel free to drop by anytime! <3

Inhale. Exhale.

The weight on your shoulders is heavier today. 

Inhale. Exhale.

A 9 to 5 job was not really the plan after graduation. You think, what’s the use of your music degree if you’re not practicing it by the end? You assume you’d be working for a film post-production company after college or maybe freelance doing film scoring and songwriting. Maybe be an artist yourself, release your own music— your art, your soul.

You always had big dreams.

But here you are, working an almost 12-hour-shift for an entertainment company that barely pays you. Your salary can hardly cover your rent and you don’t even get to rest properly— Ending your day at 9pm and then having to go to work at 6:30 in the morning just so you won’t encounter the rush of people in the morning train. 

You were lucky enough that your family agreed on helping you pay for your own place while you pay your bills.

Inhale. Exhale.

Today was longer than usual.

You missed your alarm this morning, making you leave your place later than usual, and by the time you arrived at the train station, it was already almost 8.

Before you got to work, you had a university student, who was in a rush, accidentally spill their coffee on you. You couldn’t even be mad when you saw the poor girl’s disheveled look, so you just let it pass as she continued apologizing to you.

You went to the company with your cream sleeves stained brown, having to ignore the judging looks you got from other employees as you clocked in by a nose.

Inhale. Exhale.

You were in charge of your companies’ artists— having to do their paperwork and PR every time they release new music or a new comeback.

You’re good with deadlines and emails, you really are.

But today, you got falsely accused of not sending an important email that had something to do with a release for the next week. You got an earful from your superior just before lunch— your colleagues watching from the glass window as you got scolded alone in the meeting room.

When your superior saw that you did email them the documents they needed, they offered no apology whatsoever for their haughty behavior— only scoffing and glaring at you as they walked out of the meeting room.

Inhale. Exhale.

You ran around the building today.

After lunch, you tended to what your artists needed.

Your artists’ managers were demanding a lot— from scheduling the practice rooms, having more studio time, to fixing comeback schedules and tour dates. In addition to that, since some of your colleagues were on leave, you were the one handling their artists while they’re gone.

You know you’re good at your job, but it feels a little more taxing today.

Every “congratulations” and pat on the shoulder from the managers felt like it added to the weight of it all.

A little reminder of what you’ve been through the whole day.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate them, it’s just you wanted to rest.

Inhale. Exhale.

You were still in the building when your mother just called, telling you that your grandmother needs to be operated on.

You feel the twinge on your chest as you listen to her tell you her troubles. You’d rather have her tell you these things rather than keep it to herself. You’re aware that it’s not your responsibility, but as the eldest child, you feel like you had to do something. 

You hate having to think that your mom would bear it all alone.

You talk about her day, your siblings, and solutions for covering the hospital bill over the phone call. When your mom tells you that your aunts were willing to pay for the hospital bill and the additional costs, you let out a sigh of relief— that was one thorn off the stem. 

With slight resignation, you slump over your seat, looking out the office window.

Only an hour until work ends. You can finally rest, right?

Breathe in, breathe out.

It always helps.

Inhale. Exhale.

You forgot your umbrella.

The dark clouds that loom over the city cover the moon, while the heavy downpour of the rain pitter-patter across the concrete pavement.

“Shit,” you utter under your breath.

You can’t possibly go home in this weather.

You check your phone, debating whether or not to call your boyfriend to pick you up. But you remembered that he was busy and decided not to bother him anymore. 

While lost in thought, a bunch of college students pass by you, laughing under the rain and pushing each other out of their umbrellas.

Oh, how you miss that time.

You feel the migraine creeping in and your throat slowly closing up.

A shaky breath is all you can let out.

Inhale. Exhale.

Here you are, in front of the company building. The rain was falling harder and your phone was slowly blowing up with notifications from friends talking about a high school reunion.

You don’t have the heart to look at these messages anymore.

Your friends were nurses, software engineers, and university assistants who get paid full and can travel around when they can. They graduated a year or two before you could while you were stuck with this one minor subject in uni because you can barely pass it.

You’re proud of them. You’re happy for them. But you can’t help but compare yourself to them.

What do you even say to them? You didn’t reach your dreams of becoming the artist you can be? That you’re just a mere corporate slave to the entertainment industry that you were supposed to excel on?

These thoughts didn’t help at all.

Each weight from today kept stacking one after another.

You struggle to swallow down the lump forming in your throat as your eyes fog, and the sound of your surroundings slowly drowns itself out. 

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe in, breathe out.

But it doesn’t help you. 

Inhale. Exhale.

With your head hung low, you nibble on your lower lip, picking on the bag that you were holding on to.

Pathetic, you think. 

Tears slowly fall while you stand outside the company building. The hustle and bustle of the city covers the small sob you let out.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice slowly calls. You know who it is, but you couldn’t even look up to them.

But you didn’t have to.

He cups your face, gently pulling you to look up at him.

Your eyes meet.

Kim Mingyu.

Inhale Exhale.

Seeing your dreary eyes and melancholy look, he immediately held you close to him, his arms wrapping around your shaking form as you sobbed on his chest.

Inhale. Exhale.

“My poor baby,” he coos, his palm slowly stroking your head as you sob your heart out, not caring if passersby stare at the two of you.

He pulls away slightly, wiping the tears still falling from your cheeks.

“Tired?”

You can only nod at him, pulling him back in a desperate embrace.

Inhale. Exhale.

Mingyu hums as he places his cheek on the top of your head, rubbing the small of your back. “I got worried once it started raining. I saw your umbrella on the kitchen top this morning,” he says.

You inhaled his scent, burying your face on his chest once again. 

Despite the scent of this polluted city and rain, his was the only one pervading your senses. 

“You didn’t have to come here,” you muttered.

“I wanted to,” he replies, movements not faltering even when you look up at him. “I’ve finished my projects and meetings earlier, you don’t have to worry.”

Calm and warm. 

These are what you feel when your eyes meet once again.

Mingyu is your partner, your lover, and your best friend. You didn’t have to pretend to be strong in front of him.

He knows you like the back of his hand and you can’t fool him even if you tried.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you say.

“You will never be a bother to me.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’,” he shuts you down before you can complain.

“Y/N, we’ve been together for five years. I know when you’re tired, I know when you’re anxious. I know I have my own weight to carry, but it will never be too heavy for me to not be able to carry some of yours as well. I love you, so please let me do this for you?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” you reply, a small smile forming on your face.

The warmth on your chest slowly spreads.

It’s always easy with him. You didn’t have to try too hard nor did you have to be someone you’re not.

You’re just you when you’re with him.

He smiles when he sees you smile, “Tell me everything in the car, okay? Let’s just get out of this fucky weather and let me make you dinner at home. How’s that sound?”

The small nod you gave him was enough for him to bring out his umbrella, covering the both of you, as the two of you walk to the car.

Sure enough, on the way back home, you tell him about what happened with your superior and your artists’ managers, you tell him about your mom and your friends, you tell him everything that has happened since this morning.

He listens quietly, replying with small hums as the radio plays soft music in the background.

True to his word, he made you dinner and while eating, he lets you complain more— sometimes making jokes about how your superior looks like that one Five Nights at Freddy's animatronic. 

Once you guys have cleaned up the kitchen and have showered, the both of you lay in bed with your arms wrapped around one another and legs entangled to each other. You feel his skin against yours and his warm breath tickling your neck. 

All the troubles that were clouding your head earlier seem to vanish.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I love you, Gyu,” you say, eyes closed.

Mingyu places a soft kiss on your shoulder, “I love you too, you can always find rest in me.”

NOTE: This story is purely fictional. Any traits or decisions of the story's characters do not reflect those of their real life counterparts. This is a work of fiction and is not real. Please separate fiction from reality.

[malum-forev]

Neighbors

Bucky hated D.C. Absolutely loathed every part of the city. He hated the motorcades that would constantly make traffic jams impossible to navigate, he hated how the weather would go from freezing cold to boiling hot in a matter of seconds, and he especially hated his job.

The fact he had to read through hundreds of documents that said nothing and everything at the same time made his head hurt worse than when people smashed guns against it.

Bucky actually considered moving, many times. He thought the commute would be better than having to handle living in the city. For a while, he thought about moving back to Wakanda, the only place that had given him some kind of peace. He missed the normalcy of the city, and he wanted to settle down at some point. He was close to subletting his apartment and leaving the states altogether, but everything changed one fateful Friday afternoon.

The first thing he noticed was the floors. The old wooden panels felt like they had more give to them than usual. Like hundreds of people had passed through that day and worn them down.

The second thing was the lingering smell of perfume in the hallway. Spicy cinnamon with vanilla and something floral soothing the strong scent. It was definitely not his next door neighbor, the 6'7 burly foreigner who would only come out of his apartment to get his daily takeaway container. And it was clearly not the old lady who lived down the hall. The smell was way too modern for her to wear it.

The last thing, were the towers of boxes lining the sides of the apartment door directly in front of his. Cardboard boxes labeled: kitchen, bedroom, living room, in a nice loopy handwriting.

But none of these things could have prepared him for what was behind that innocently looking door.

The door swung open, wafting through the deliciously complex scent along with the comfort of chocolate chip cookies. Bucky never before understood the phrase feeling fuzzy inside, but as soon as he locked eyes with yours, the Sergeant's insides turned velvet.

It was like a movie, your head turned to him in slow motion, almost as if his mind was trying to memorize every single detail of your expression. So relaxed, so carefree, so happy. It had been years since Bucky had felt like that, and in just a couple of seconds you made him yearn for that happiness.

Next came your smile, your lips curved upwards like he'd just said the funniest joke you'd ever heard when in reality Bucky hadn't said one word. He's pretty sure that he hadn't even let out a breath.

He was completely dumbfounded. That was the only way he could describe it. He was staring at his new neighbor completely dumbfounded.

Bucky saw your lips move, but no sound registered in his head. To be completely honest, he was hearing church bells instead of words. It wasn't until you raised your eyebrows, expecting a response from him, that he realized he'd been staring silently at you for a full minute.

"What?" Was all he could get out. The word came out in a rush and sounded more like a seagull call than language.

"I said I'm sorry for the noise." You giggled. "I unpack faster if I'm listening to music."

"N-no worries." Bucky clears his throat, trying to remember how to properly speak. "I just got home."

"Oh! I finally get to meet the person on the other side of 4B! That's exciting." You hold your hand out, balancing a smaller box with your other hand and your hip.

"I'm the one who's excited." Bucky lets out, shaking your hand with way too much force.

Only silence follows his words and it makes him want to crawl underneath the new flowery welcome mat you've just set out and die. It's not until he hears you laugh that the life returns to his eyes.

"You're funny." You smile, introducing yourself.

Bucky barely catches your name because the whole hallway starts to sound like church bells again after you've said he's funny. It's been a while since someone called him that. Brave, courageous, sad, silent, those were synonyms of the soldier. But funny, almost no one called him that.

"I've just moved in, as you can see," you nod your head back at the mountain of boxes inside your apartment. "Do you like the apartment complex? I've been trying to vibe check all week but it seems our other neighbors aren't as friendly as you."

Bucky nods his head like his life depends on it. He'd be an idiot to say that the water takes over twenty minutes to heat up, and that the neighborhood isn't exactly safe.

"I love it." He tries to give you a relaxed smile but he's almost sure he looks in pain, lying has never really been his forte. "I'm actually thinking of buying my place."

"Well, congratulations on the thought of buying your apartment." You smile at him.

"Thank you, and-" Bucky takes a pause, gathering up all his courage to ask you out. He's spent years trying to rebuild the confidence he used to have. He hates thinking about how he used to be, back when everything was normal, but it's impossible not to think about it. Before the war, he'd easily come up to any woman and charm her left and right. He'd never admit it to anyone but he used to have at least five different women's pictures in his wallet at a time.

But now, he's trying to play catch up and it's almost impossible. It's like every day he needs to learn sixty different words to try and understand what they're talking about.

And just as the words "Will you go out with me?" were about to leave his mouth, he sees him.

Bucky's eyebrows raise and he lets out a defeated sigh as he sees another man cross through your living room to grab another box and bring it towards your bedroom.

"Thank you, and...." You wiggle your eyebrows playfully, hoping it's not the end of your incredibly hot neighbors sentence.

"Thank you, and I hope you have a lovely first night here." Bucky nods his head once before turning away, his heart twisting and turning as he catches your eyes one last time.

You're left behind, stuttering a goodbye before closing your door too. Confused and a little disappointed.

"Who was that at the door?" Your brother asks as he comes in and picks up another box.

"My new neighbor." You give him a light smile.

"He's cute." He raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, he's really cute." You say remembering those steel eyes that just a minute ago were looking at you like you set up the moon.

Author's note: Hiiiii guysss, I'm so sorry I hadn't posted in a while but as some of you know, I wrote a book! And it's now published on Amazon! If any of you are interested in it I would be more than honored to send you the link!

Anywayssss, I watched Thunderbolts a couple of weeks ago thinking it was going to kickstart my obsession again but I think I'm still not over Congressman Bucky! it's a problem. Hehe. Buuuutt I will be updating Eyes, They Never Lie, if you guys are still interested in that!

Okay okay my rant is over, I love you guys and thank you for your patience throughout this whole time I've been writing my book! Thanks xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen@whoreforbarnes@ironwinnerwonderland@oikarma@ellabellabunny123

[ch-4-eri]

LOVE POTIONS — Jill Valentine.

best friend’s mom! jill X female reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni!! age gap (don’t say i didn’t warn you) oral, dirty talk, hints at the reader being a virgin if you squint. i don’t know if i’m missing anything let me know.

word count: 1.4k

i’m so sick for this, i’ll go to hell on my own, don’t fuck your friend’s mothers guys. but do enjoy this.

you couldn’t explain it, even if you wanted, the whole thing was messy from the beginning.

it was supposed to be something innocent, completely harmless and has no threat to anyone in your life or yourself.

or your best friend.

if only you never met his mother, Jill Valentine, government agent, and a former RPD S.T.A.R.S member.

but god, you didn’t think it through.

didn’t think your attitude and the way you looked at the woman were entirely calculated, jill knew.

this woman has a love for details and reading you, every time you came over; what you’d say and what’d you do, what you’re wearing.

she’d show you she’s busy, working documents and important things for the BSAA, jill to you was just a best friend’s mother.

but you both had one hell of an unspoken sexual tension.

which you tried to hide, tried to shove in the back of your mind as your age gap is fucking nuts and you always worry someone would read your mind which isn’t even a realistic idea, but still, you were too anxious to act on it, even alone, self awareness preventing you from being able to stay in your head for long.

but jill on the other hand… when every time she analysed you, how you talk, how you act, your ass in your tiny skirts drives her fucking crazy enough she finds herself unable to sleep, her hand inside her shorts as she’s pumping herself up at the thought of you with her hand covering her mouth.

surely she felt ashamed, a woman her age acting and thinking like this, she felt so much guilt and shame for operating like a damn teenage boy riling with hormones over a girls ass in a skirt.

a girl her son’s age.

she knew if he ever found her out, he’d hate her forever and she can’t afford losing him, not after fighting for his custody for many years with her ex husband.

but that’s not what she had in mind that day, when she had you splayed down her bed so late at night, her fingers in your mouth as she ate you out like no tomorrow, your legs on her shoulders, your moans muffled by her thick fingers pressing down your tongue, drooling all over them.

“taste’s so good..” jill groaned against your clit, her mouth engulfing you, sending your back arching, she pulls away and sits up, making you ache at the loss of contact and the warmth you felt between your legs.

jill removed her fingers from your mouth, wiping your saliva off them down her bedsheets, going on her knees to meet your eyes as you were so lost in the feeling of pleasure you never got from anyone else other than this woman, a woman you shouldn’t even be doing this with.

but neither of you were even thinking of that right now.

jill had your chin in her palm as you opened your eyes, your breathing shaky and heavy, drool covering your chin as you smelled like sex and vanilla to the older woman’s nostrils.

“i want you to sit on my face, yeah? can you do that for me?” jill smirked, licking her lips with the tongue you want to be inside you again so badly.

you nodded eagerly, the thought of having her mouth against your pussy again was driving you mad with chills coursing through your body. “mhm.. yes please.” you begged, your eyes staring into hers pleadingly, like a lost puppy. fucked up enough.

jill patted your legs, lying down on the mattress of her huge bed, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her lacey bra and underwear, she was a fucking sight, you’d drool on her looks alone. even for a woman her age, she was damn delicious and you couldn’t get your eyes off her as you went on your knees and crawled to her.

she prepared the seat that was her face you were going to be sitting on for the next many minutes, hopefully hours if it were up to the older woman. moving her short brown hair away from her blue eyes you’d drown in.

as you made it closer to her, you were a bit nervous, a question rolling around your head you had to make sure of, you had to ask, as silly as it made you sound to a woman with so much experience.

“do i sit or hover?” you asked, your voice betraying you, your cheeks rosy and lips red and swollen.

jill chuckled, like she was making fun of you. “sit.” she demands. “i want you to suffocate me.” jill added, taking a hold of your thigh as she brought you closer with her strong grip.

“i want you to cum in my mouth.. am i clear, sweet girl?” she demanded as soon as you gasped, raising an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“y-yes..” you nodded like the puppy you are, you weren’t going to upset her, you hated to refuse jill.

and jill hated it when you refused her.

you finally scooted up to jill’s head, placing a knee next to her head, the other doing the same as you lowered your body so your wet pussy made contact with her nose, both of you let out a sigh while jill’s hands positioned you properly on her face, and as soon as you felt her tongue lick a long stripe up your sopping wet hole you let out a sickeningly pornographic moan, your hands grabbing at the headboard of her bed.

“ah.. jill..” you breathed, your thighs squeezing the older woman’s head, her tongue sucking and licking at your hole as she made it her sole purpose for you to cum in her mouth and if she keeps this up you’re gonna do it more than once, not that jill would complain.

her strong hands gripped your ass so tight, her tongue brutally slamming inside of you, as was her nose, sliding it up and down which drew pathetic moans out of you.

jill was humming, groaning into you, making your legs shake and your thighs closing in on her, and you were worried you were hurting her even though jill was having a fucking blast, she adored those damn thighs, if she suffocateds and dies like this it’ll all be worth it.

“please.. can’t take this anymore.” you cried out, making jill just suck at your clit like a starved woman, her body humming and shivering as she was desperate to get touched as well, rubbing her thighs together while her hands reached your hips in a bruising grip.

you were shuddering and whimpering, your legs so weak as you didn’t want to put your full weight on the woman’s face. “jill..” you moaned as she flicked her tongue against your sopping walls, your thighs filled with goosebumps.

“i’m..” you start, your lower belly so tight with a burning sensation that you were so close to your release, jill positioned you right into her mouth as she knew you were close, drinking you up as you finally gushed your orgasm down her mouth like she wanted.

“mmm..” jill mumbled, swallowing every last bit of what you can give her, you tasted like heaven, fucking delicious.

you were trying to catch your breath, your heart hammering against your rib cage as jill patted your thigh.

you weakly pulled your knee away from her head, your legs were shaking like crazy, your center so sensitive and puffy.

“i bet you can’t walk now, huh?” jill joked, sitting up on her elbows, her cheeks red from the heat of being between your thighs for as long as she just was, her nose and her lips shiny and sticky from your release and you were so sick for thinking she looked so darn good with your cum on her face.

you gulped, heat rushing into your cheeks at her words. “just a little sore.” you mumbled shyly, like you weren’t just seated on her face.

“a little sore hm? come here for me..” jill gestured for you to come closer to her. “you think you can just rest without returning the favour?”

jill smirked and brushed your hair away from your face, brushing two fingers against your hardened nipples.

“i know you can’t handle me sitting on your face… i’m afraid i’d break you entirely… but you have fingers don’t you?”

she says in a suggestive tone, grabbing your nipple into her mouth, your eyes closing at the sensation, your hands going into her hair as a moan escaped you.

jill took your hand and brought it near her panties.

then she pulled away with a pop, her blue eyes staring into yours so intensely. “now be a good girl and touch me.”

oh boy you’re screwed.

[americancitizen2025]

"

Since Trump’s presidency, Don Jr. and Eric have been involved in major cryptocurrency projects,

Trump family STOLE from a children's CANCER charity.

read here

particularly in Dubai and the Middle East. These ventures are not just side hustles; they are multi-million-dollar deals, setting the stage for new financial pipelines that directly benefit the Trump family.

Ahead of Donald Trump’s recent visit to Saudi Arabia, Don Jr. and Eric were already there, locking in agreements for new Trump-branded hotels, golf courses, and resorts across the region. This is not speculation; it’s documented fact. They are using the Trump name and connections to secure massive developments in countries that are simultaneously engaging with Trump on diplomatic terms.

Let’s be clear—before Trump took office, Don Jr. and Eric had never been involved in these types of business ventures. Their meteoric rise in the cryptocurrency market and Middle East real estate sector only began once their father assumed the presidency. Now, they’re moving ahead of him, making deals before Trump even sets foot in these countries.

Don’t forget Following Trump’s time in office, Jared Kushner secured a $2 billion investment from the Saudi sovereign wealth fund, run by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. This is the same crown prince that Trump saluted at the royal court—breaking presidential protocol—and praised for his “strong leadership.” And the timing of that $2 billion? Right after Trump leaves office.

While the Trump family is busy cashing in, Trump is openly doing favors for Saudi Arabia. From lifting sanctions on Syria to making public displays of loyalty, it’s the kind of quid pro quo that screams corruption. Deals are made, money is exchanged, and Trump’s policies shift accordingly.SubscribeShare

Trump and his family accuse Hunter Biden of profiting from political connections, yet the Trumps themselves are cashing in on every possible opportunity. This isn’t just an accusation—it’s an observation.

While Hunter Biden’s business deals were dragged through congressional hearings and media spectacles, Trump’s family doesn’t even bother to hide their money grabs. It’s as if they know they’re untouchable within their own echo chamber.

I testified in Congress that Hunter Biden was a victim of political manipulation and Russian disinformation. I was there. I saw the lies spun out of whole cloth to tarnish his name. And yet, here we are watching the Trump family do far worse—brazenly and without consequence.

This blatant hypocrisy should offend anyone who claims to care about corruption and cronyism. If you’re genuinely upset about a politician’s family profiting off connections, then be consistent. Condemn Hunter Biden if you must—but spare a thought for Don Jr., Eric, and Donald himself, whose profiteering is right out in the open.

Trump himself has a long history of exploiting political power for personal gain. Whether it’s negotiating real estate deals while in office or leveraging his political brand post-presidency, the strategy is simple: demonize the other side while doing the exact same thing, but louder and with more bravado.

The Trumps accuse Hunter of being shameless. But when you look at what they are doing—raking in cash through business ventures, foreign deals, and media influence—it becomes clear that the entire campaign against Hunter was never about ethics. It was about projection.

We are watching this hypocrisy unfold in real-time. Trump and his family are turning American politics into their personal ATM, exploiting political power for financial gain. They are selling America’s foreign policy to the highest bidder, and they’re not even hiding it anymore.

The only way we can stop this is if we unite and stand together. That’s why I’m calling upon each and every one of you to bring three or four people who want to hear the truth. Re-stack, share this letter far and wide.

ShareSubscribe

If you’re not already a subscriber, join the movement. If you can become a paid subscriber. Contribute to Venmo @lev-parnas. " See your hypocrisy MAGA? YOU need to be screaming about this

All the while daddy is golfing 25% of the time (about $10 million a month) and getting payoffs with dark money ($Trump and his newest coin) from dictators that support terrorism like Qatar. https://www.pennlive.com/news/2025/03/donald-trumps-new-golf-tab-for-taxpayers-hits-incredible-milestone.html

Meanwhile DOGE is causing security breaches

https://www.reuters.com/technology/cybersecurity/whistleblower-org-says-doge-may-have-caused-significant-cyber-breach-us-labor-2025-04-15/

[jam3sacaster]

“Miss Baddingham, you are bad news.” PT1

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / You, Lord Baddingham’s daughter, encounter Mr Declan O’Hara on your first day at Corinium… 💋

18+ FANFIC / SMUT. Medium length? Reader character aged at 21.

Alone in your father’s office at Corinium, you take the opportunity to snoop around his personal belongings. As a father, he was much less than devoted, but your mother had somehow managed to persuade him to let you uptake a small office job — faxing documents, organising fathers diary but most importantly, shadowing Declan O’Hara for journalistic experience. “What are you doing?” Tony Baddingham asked, tightly suited and lips pressed together in common anger. “Sorry, Dad. Just… having a look.” You sigh, taking a seat at the other side of his desk. Tony reclined in his seat ahead of you, leather brogues resting in front of your face and arms clasped behind his head. “So… no fuck ups today. Don’t speak to Declan unless you’re spoken to, don’t fax anything that you’re not told to, don’t leave until I’ve told you to.” Your father instructs you, and keeps a close eye on you, rolling your eyes. “Yes, Dad.” You drone, rising from your seat and taking a step towards the door. “I mean it. I’ll be watching.” He ominously informs you once again. Exasperated with his tedious words, you swing open his office door and slam it shut.

“That’s about the right reaction for leaving his office.” Declan chimes as he hurriedly sped past the office, clicking his fingers at you to follow him. How brilliant — a whole day with two chauvinistic pigs instead of one. “You shouldn’t click at me. I would’ve followed you anyway.” You tut, slouching after him to his personal office. Declan didn’t respond, but pushed his office door open for you to sit down. “Right, much to do today. Did ya’ check the notes ‘ya dad gave to ‘ya?” He grunts, lighting a cigarette and taking a seat in front of you. Avoiding eye contact the best you could, you exhaled and lit a cigarette of your own. “I don’t read anything that Dad tells me to. Cunt.” You spit, rolling your eyes. Declan couldn’t help but laugh — there wasn’t a truer sentence said, in his opinion.

“Ya’ not too keen on him then?” He asks, glancing up at you from his mounds of paperwork. “No. He’s a pig, rude, and cheats on my mum all the time with this Cameron girl.” You utter, eyes scanning the windows of the office, willing the universe to allow a glimpse of the woman that ruined your parents marriage. “I think we’re going to get along,” Declan begins, before clearing his throat, “Cameron’s good at what she does, but I don’t see why Tony’s so interested. She’s twenty years younger than him, fa’ fucks sake.” His words feel like a twisting knife in your stomach. It took a lot to come to terms with your fathers infidelity — your mum handled it so well, but seeing her sitting alone in the lounge every night was simply too much for you to bare.

“Are you married?” You question the Irishman through an elongated puff of your cigarette. He visibly takes a moment to carefully consider his response, placing his paperwork back down on the desk and looking up at you. “I was. Not really anymore.” He states. Furrowing your brow, you can’t help but speak with an upturned nose. “Not really? How can you not really be married?” You ask.

“The same way ya’ father is not really married anymore.” Declan snaps, his harsh tone unwavering. Ouch. But, being the self-assured Baddingham that you are, you continue to probe him. “So you’re a cheat?” You snidely remark. “Not me.” He replies, tapping ash from his cigarette and maintaining intense eye contact with you. For once, you were left speechless. If there was one thing you had inherited from your father, it was most definitely your self-important, highly confident personality. Lifting your foot up underneath the desk, you raised it up Declan’s leg, stroking down the length of it gently.

•

“What are ya’ doing?” He quizzes, fighting the urge to smirk at your boldness. “I’ve watched your show. I love the way you pick apart your guests. It’s always been a dream of mine to have you bend me over that chair and fuck me senseless.” You wink, simpering at your own comment. Coughing in a flurry of both sheer shock and exhilaration, Declan’s gaze widened. “Listen, Miss Baddingham, you are bad news.” He mutters softly. In all honestly, there was nothing more than Declan would love to do than your suggestion. But the hypocrisy of being intimate with you after chastising Tony so heavily for sleeping with Cameron was too much for him to swallow.

Scraping your chair across the floor, you clambered onto your knees and crawled under Declan’s desk. Screwing up his face in confusion, Declan kept a close eye on the happenings outside his office. Briskly unzipping his trousers and pulling his erect cock from his boxers, you awaited for his gruff moan as you swirled your tongue around the reddening tip. “Fuck, ya’ such a naughty girl.” He grunts, scrambling for a pen from his drawer in order to feign busyness. Desperate to draw out this pleasurable experience for him, you sucked at the tip for a few moments, smirking through a full mouth as you watched his squirming legs from the corner of your eye.

Placing a gentle hand on your head, Declan stroked his brutish fingers through your hazelnut hair, his spine shivering from intimacy. Taking a deep inhale, you take as much of his 9 inch girth into your mouth as possible, saliva escaping from your lips as your head bobs slowly. Glancing up at him with sparkling eyes, Declan allowed himself a profound moan — the risk of it all heightening his senses. Chronically in need of Declan’s release, you maintain your tempo, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

“Look at me whilst I’m in your throat.” He orders, pushing your chin up with his finger and moaning as he gets to see your wide, pure eyes. Raising your hands up to grab a hold of his thighs, you pushed your limits even deeper, speeding up and keeping him towards the back of your throat. “Fuckin’ hell. If ya’ keep going like that, ya’ gonna make me cum.” He spat out, but his words only spurred you on even further. Eyes watering and nose sniffling, you continued your passionate assault on his cock — lust taking ahold of common sense. Your incessant deepthroating became all too much for Declan, and his thighs seized furiously as he shot his sweet load down the back of your throat, coating the soft palate of your mouth. Swallowing it without a second thought, you scooted yourself out from under the desk as Declan hurried to zip his trousers up. Staring at him longingly as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, you winked at him with fluttering eyelashes. “I can’t believe we just did that. Ya’ fuckin’ minx.” Declan beamed with pride.

The door of Declan’s office was prized open, and it took Declan a few moments to fully grasp the mischievousness of the situation he found himself in this afternoon. Tony Baddingham, eyes ablaze with fury, bellowed as deafeningly as his lungs could manage, “What the fuck is going on?” Truly, it baffled you for a moment how someone would be in the know of your sexual escapade. That was until you turned to your side, and three quarters of the office looked on, twiddling their thumbs and pretending in futile that they hadn’t witnessed you on your knees for Declan O’Hara. It’s very possible that you may both be in a slight bit of trouble.

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 5)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: None yet.

The house creaked under your steps — not in a creepy way, more like it was stretching. Breathing. Settling around you like a second skin.  

You tried not to read too much into that.

Agatha moved ahead without looking back, her silhouette framed in low golden lamplight. Her hair was slightly mussed from the rain, curls looser, a little wild. It made her look… less composed. More human. Not that you were going to say that out loud.  

You’d already risked enough tonight by existing in front of her with eyes and feelings and a soaked through shirt.

She disappeared around a corner. You hesitated in the threshold.

“Towels in the bathroom,” her voice floated back, dry and rich and far too casual for someone who had just flirted with you via insult. “Assuming you know how to use one.”

“Yes. I know how to use one,” you scoffed in a mutter and padded down the hallway.  

You heard Agatha chuckle lightly behind you, as if she knew she got under your skin.

The bathroom was warm, dimly lit, and lined with deep green tile. You peeled off your jacket and grabbed the towel hanging neatly on a hook, pressing it to your hair and trying very hard not to melt into a puddle on her antique rug.

When you caught your reflection in the mirror — tangled hair, flushed cheeks, a smear of mud on your temple — you blinked at yourself.  

You looked like someone who’d just stepped out of a fever dream.

Which, honestly, felt about right.

Your shirt clung to you in the worst possible way. Your jeans squelched with every step. And your socks… well. You were pretty sure they’d ascended to another plane of soggy suffering.

The whole thing was a sensory nightmare.

You mulled it over — whether you really wanted to ask Agatha for anything at all.

Then you peeked your head out the bathroom door.

Agatha was nowhere in sight, but the soft light in the hallway cast warm shadows across the dark wood floor. You hesitated. Then—

“Uh… do you—” you cleared your throat, voice catching from nerves and chill, “do you maybe have something I could change into?”

Silence.

For a moment, you thought maybe she didn’t hear you. Or maybe she was ignoring you. Entirely possible, given the night you’d had. You considered just shriveling up in the towel and living in the bathroom forever.

Then, from somewhere down the hall, she called back — tone flat as ever:

“I didn’t peg you for the type to need help dressing yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating.

“Not what I meant!” you shouted back.

Silence.

You nearly growled in frustration. Why was Agatha the most infuriatingly hot woman you’d ever met — and it was only your second time meeting?!  

In fact, you should just leave now.  

You thought about it…  

Even though the idea of going back out into those woods after what happened made a chill run straight up your spine.

Nope. Never mind.

A few beats passed. Then there was a soft knock on the door behind you. You jumped, towel clutched tighter around your shoulders.

“Open up,” Agatha said — and gods, her voice was low. Smooth like aged whiskey and just a little bored. “I have a change of clothes. Unless, of course…” a pause, a shift in her tone — dry, amused — “you prefer to be wet.”

The second you registered the words, heat rushed through you.

Your breathing quickened. You no longer felt cold.

Because she did not just say that.  

She didn’t. There was no way she meant it like—

You squeezed your eyes shut and made a noise that could only be described as a dying animal.

Behind the door, she waited. Probably smirking. Definitely smug.

You managed to croak out, “One sec.”

Then immediately began questioning every decision that had led you to this moment.

Oh right! It was your dumbass that decided to fly halfway across the fucking country all because you read a book.

Okay. Deep breaths.

You looked up at the mirror. A blush stained your cheeks.

You grumbled, staring at the door.

Then walked over slowly.

You crack the door open just enough to peer out. Agatha’s standing there, one hip cocked, holding a neatly folded bundle of clothes.

A pair of soft black sweatpants and — you blink — a vintag looking band tee. Faded black, threadbare. 

“Try not to drip all over them,” she says dryly, offering the clothes. Her fingers brush yours when you take them. Barely. Just enough to spark static in your chest.

You think she did it on purpose.

Before you can say anything — not that you had anything useful to say — she’s already turned and walked away, calling back over her shoulder:

“Living room’s that way when you’re done. Try not to get lost.”

You mutter under your breath, “yes I remember” mostly to yourself as you shut the door with a huff.

---

You change quickly. The clothes are too big but comfortable, the shirt worn soft with time, clinging faintly where you’re still a little damp. You towel your hair one last time, trying not to overthink literally everything that has happened in the past thirty minutes , then step out into the hall. And make your way toward the living room.

Agatha’s there, lounging on the same green couch as last time like it was made for her. Her long coat is gone. She’s rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, revealing her forearms and prominent veins that catch the light when she shifts her teacup. The top buttons of her white blouse are undone, just enough to reveal the clean lines of her collarbones.

You try not to stare. But gods the things this woman is doing to you.

She looks up, and her eyes trail over you — slow, unapologetic. From damp hair to bare feet. One brow lifts. Her tongue flicks briefly across her bottom lip before she turns her head and sips her tea like nothing happened.

You, on the other hand, briefly forget how to breathe.

“Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living,” she murmurs into her cup. “Though I wouldn’t recommend making late night cemetery visits a habit.”

You blink. Then scowl a little, defensive. “You’re the one who said it was a place worth visiting for my thesis. Last time we talked.”

Agatha tilts her head, faux-thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes.”

She shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Well. Don’t go again. It’s dangerous.”

You let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “And what, exactly, were you doing out there if it’s so dangerous?”

That gets her attention.

She sets her teacup down with the faintest click, her eyes cutting to yours — sharp, unreadable.

For a second, you think she might actually answer you.

But then she just smirks.

“Oh, darling, ” she drawls. “I don’t scare as easily as you.”

You scoff. You can’t help it.  

What wicked game was she playing with you?

“That doesn’t answer my question, you can’t just—”

Agatha cuts you off, utterly unmoved by your frustration.

“Sit, pet .”

The word is almost whispered — low, silken, with just enough command to make your stomach twist.  

You want to yell. Want to snap back. Demand she stop acting like this isn’t weird, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

But of course, you sit.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as if she knew you would.  

You bite the inside of your cheek and glare across at her.

Silence. But not a peaceful kind.  

It hangs there, charged.

You’re both watching each other. Or maybe you’re watching her while she lets herself be watched.  

You have questions. Too many. And somehow, every time you get close to an answer, she shifts just out of reach again.

You shift in the deep red armchair. Try to stay grounded. But then it hits you.

Your notebook.

Your eyes flick to Agatha. She's turned slightly, staring out the window now, her profile cut in gold and shadow. It's unfair how elegant she looks doing absolutely nothing.  

You clear your throat.

“Hey… by any chance did I leave my notebook… here?”

Her eyes move slowly, turning to meet yours. Blue. Unreadable.

“Hm?” she hums, sipping her tea like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. Like you’re not even there.

You exhale hard and drag a hand down your face. “My notebook. Did I leave it here last time?”

Your voice comes out more clipped than you intended. You’re exhausted, cold, and so far past your bullshit threshold you might circle back around to it.

Agatha arches a brow, her smirk sharpening like a blade.  

She’s enjoying this.

​​“You mean that poor thing you’ve been torturing with your witchy little obsessions?” she drawls. 

“You really do have a fascination. What is it, hmm? The witches? The history? Or is it something else?”

You freeze at that last part.  

The way she says it — like she knows. Like she’s read every word.  

Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you getting at?”

Agatha chuckles softly, sets her teacup down, and rises in one smooth motion. Her blouse shifts as she moves, catching the firelight — collarbones gleaming, as she walks to the tall bookcase beside the hearth.

Her fingers trail lazily along the spines. “Let’s see… ah. Here it is.”

Your breath catches as she pulls out your notebook — worn, and filled with weeks of research and way too many theories that were never meant for her eyes.

You surge out of your seat, crossing the room. “Thank god,” you mutter, reaching for it.

But she pulls it back.

“So eager…” she murmurs, eyes half lidded, a smile playing at her lips. “Makes me wonder what secrets you think I’ve seen.”

Your hand hovers midair, unsure whether to grab or retreat.  

“What makes you even think I’m writing about you , huh?” you scoff, folding your arms tightly across your chest, chin tilted up slightly to look at her.

Agatha laughs.  

A real laugh.

A deep, wicked cackle — throwing her head back like you’ve just told the funniest joke she’s heard in centuries. 

She shoves the notebook into your hands mid laugh and drops herself back onto the couch like she owns the world.

You stare at her. Then immediately flick through the pages, scanning for anything missing, anything altered—and trying not to combust from the heat of her gaze you could feel.

God, you’re blushing.

You hate that you’re blushing.

“I will say,” she starts, voice casual as ever, “the vampire werewolf theory? Gold. ”

You freeze.

“I can’t say I’ve ever fed on the blood of children, but… I did bite one once.”

Your blood runs cold.

You whip your head toward her.

She’s reclining, smug as ever, arms draped over the back of the couch like this is nothing.  

“You—you read my—”

You can’t even finish. You physically can’t.

She read it. She read the whole thing.

The theories. The suspicions.

The coordinates to her house.

The timelines. The math.  

She knows.

She knows you tracked her from Washington.

Knows you flew across the country.

Knows you came here just to find her.

God.

Kill me now.

You step back. A little too fast.  

Your foot catches on the rug.

You stumble.

And of course — of course — she sees it.  

Agatha’s lips twitch into a smile, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Graceful,” she murmurs into her tea.

You shoot her a glare and slink back to the red armchair, curling into it like it might hide you.  

“Well,” you mutter, flipping the notebook closed, clutching it against your chest. “It’s hard not to come up with theories when you give me absolutely no answers.”

You sound more defensive than you meant to.  

Scratch that — exactly as defensive as you meant to.

Agatha raises a brow, but doesn’t respond. Just takes another infuriatingly slow sip of her tea, watching you over the rim like you’re mildly amusing prey.

You grip the notebook tighter. “And don’t even start with that ‘common name’ thing again,” you say. “Agatha Harkness isn’t exactly John Smith.” You say quoting back to what shed said the first meeting.

That gets her.

A flash of something — recognition? Amusement? A tell? — flickers in her eyes. She sets her cup down with a little clink. Crosses one leg over the other, leans back like she has all the time in the world.

“That again?” she says, smile tight. “You know, for a historian, you’re oddly resistant to coincidence.”

You blink.  

“That’s not—”

She holds up a hand, like she’s doing you a favor. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to puzzle it out. You’ll cramp something.”

You scowl, because god, she’s so smug, and frustrating, and you hate that she’s right. About everything. Always.

Still—you press. You have to.

“So?” you ask, eyes narrowing. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re just some cozy tea drinking historian in a house that looks like a cursed air B&B, or are you finally going to tell me who you actually are?”

There’s a beat.

Agatha tilts her head, the firelight dancing in her eyes.

Then she smiles. Slow. Catlike. Dangerous.

“I already told you who I am,” she says softly. “You just don’t believe me.”

“You havent told me a single thing!” You huff out eyes widening

You run a hand through your hair which is still slightly damp but drying quicker thanks to the fire. 

“Who. Are. You.” you eye her as if you were to look away for a single second you miss something… anything.

Agatha stares right back leaning forward. “Agatha harkness hon, but you already knew that.”

“Are you a historian? Are you really mid-40s? Are—”  

You stop yourself. Your throat goes tight, the rest of the words catching fire before they can leave. But they’re there. Loud in the air between you.

Agatha’s smile doesn’t twitch, but something behind it flickers. A brief crack in the glass.

“Go on,” she says. Her voice is velvet and razors. “Don’t be shy now.”

You let out a laugh—dry, disbelieving, on the edge of desperate. “You want me to say it?”

The distance between you vanishes in two sharp steps. You stand beside the couch now, hand braced on the armrest, the other jabbing a finger in her face.

“You sit here in your creepy old house drinking tea like a woman from a goddamn gothic novel and act like I’m crazy for noticing something’s off?”

Her eyes flash. Not anger. Not surprise. Something ancient and knowing.

You jab your finger again, closer this time. “You're not just some recluse, Agatha. You're not just hiding—you're not even aging, are you?”

Agatha’s hand snaps up— smack —and bats your finger away with a sharp, practiced flick of her wrist. Not harsh, not violent. Just enough.

You freeze, breath catching.

She rises. Slowly. Effortlessly. And when she’s standing, you realize she’s just slightly taller than you. Not by much—but enough to make the air shift.

You straighten too, shoulders drawn back, your chin lifting a touch. You won’t be cowed. Not yet.

But neither of you look away.

It’s sharp—hot—taut between you. Eyes locked. Neither blinking. Neither breathing.

You wonder, distantly, who will move first. Who will snap. Who will kiss or kill or run.

But then Agatha's gaze slips—just slightly—past your shoulder.

Out the window.

Her expression doesn’t change, but her tone shifts—dry, disinterested, laced with a mock sweetness that only pisses you off more.

“Looks like the rain and fog’s let up,” she murmurs. “The damsel should head back to her little hotel in town.”

Your heart lurches.

You didn’t want to leave.

But you also couldn’t stay. Not like this. Not without asking too much, pushing too far.

You exhale, slow, ragged. Eyes still locked on hers.

“I’ll go,” you say quietly. “For now.”

Her lips twitch, almost into a smirk. But she says nothing.

You step back. Slowly. One foot, then the next. Until the fire isn’t warming your skin anymore. Until her eyes aren’t swallowing you whole.

You reach the door.

But before you open it, you glance back.

And she’s still watching you. Still standing. Still smug. But not quite untouched. Not quite unshaken.

You’re not done. Not by a long shot.

You’ll be back.

Because you need to know the truth.  

Because this—whatever this is—has only just begun.

Because who is Agatha Harkness?

And why the hell does part of you already know the answer?

---

The walk back was cold and dark. You’re just thankful it’s not raining anymore… though you’re still a bit paranoid trudging through the woods again, even if it’s only a ten minute walk back to town from Agatha’s.

You finally make it to the hotel, just relieved to have your notebook back. Maybe you could actually pick up where you left off with your thesis? That trip to the cemetery gave you more field work than you’d expected. Definitely worth adding.

With a sigh, you reach into your still damp bag, pull out the old room key, and unlock the door. The moment you're inside, you sigh again and rub your eyes. You don’t think you’ve been this tired since you and Billy stayed up all night watching the entire Star Wars saga. Which, admittedly, was worth it. A part of you misses Billy—way more than you'd like to admit.

It’s been about a week since you last saw or talked to him.

You grab your phone from your bag, along with the cheap notebook you'd bought as a temporary replacement. Some pages are wet, so you set it carefully on the hotel desk to dry.

After your little nightly routine, you finally crawl into the hotel bed, plugging your dead phone into the charger. With another sigh, you sink fully into the pillows and wrap yourself in the scratchy old blankets.

That’s when you catch a whiff of… lavender? Or—something else. Something familiar. Maybe—

You glance down.

Right. You’re still wearing Agatha’s clothes.

Ugh.

A part of you is giddy. You’re wearing something of hers. And it smells just like she did tonight.

You groan, frustrated that your thoughts wander back to her so easily.

Why does she have to be so difficult?

What is she hiding… and why?

You shift to lie on your back, eyes tracing the water stains on the ceiling—like you’ve done on a few other sleepless nights in this old hotel room.

Did you overreact back at Agatha’s?

Did you push her too hard?

Pfft. Like you could.

She carried that smug little smirk the whole time… and that look she gave you when you stepped out of the bathroom in her clothes—like she was devouring you with her eyes. Or maybe that’s just your overtired brain talking…

Your body starts to heat up and you huff.

“What is wrong with me?”

“What has she done to me?”

It’s like the second you read her book back in Washington, you were hooked. And no matter how hard you try to free yourself, she just reels you back in again.

You glance toward the desk.

There it sits. Agatha’s book. Smug as hell.

“Stupid,” you mutter.

Stupid book. Stupid everything.

Your phone buzzes—finally rebooting. The screen lights up.

12:47 AM.

What an exhausting day.

You toss the phone aside, and without thinking, bring the collar of her shirt to your nose and breathe in.

Your breath stutters. And you can’t help the pulse between your legs.

Your mind starts to wander…

Your faces had been so close. Inches.

Maybe if you’d just leaned in—captured her lips as your own—

Maybe then you could’ve stayed.

Could’ve gotten something.

Anything out of her.

You rub your thighs together and groan.

Fuck.

---

You woke with a grumble, vaguely aware of the soreness in your body and the sting of scrapes leftover from the night before.

Slowly, you sat up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

You didn’t want to get up. Or do anything, for that matter.

You could work on your thesis.

Add the new field notes from your replacement notebook into the old one…

But even the thought made your stomach twist.

You didn’t know if you could even touch it—

Not after knowing Agatha had read it.

Mocked it.

Mocked you. 

You grumble and drag yourself out of bed.

Time to start the day.

But first? You needed a long shower.

---

The coffee shop door jingled as you stepped inside, the scent of espresso and cinnamon hitting you like a warm blanket.

It had only been around a week now, but you were already a regular. The barista greeted you with a tired smile and a nod—your usual, unspoken but understood.

You gave a soft “Hey,” in return, eyes scanning the room more out of habit than anything else. The same two students hogged the corner table. The guy with the man bun was still pretending to write his novel. And tucked into the window seat, half shadowed by the foggy glass, was—

Her.

The woman from the bus.

Still knitting, still wrapped in some vaguely Victorian cardigan situation, still peering over her glasses at her project.

You blinked.

Something in your chest twisted—not fear, not exactly. Recognition, maybe. A strange sense of continuity . Like time in Hollow Wood looped in strange, quiet ways.

Coffee in hand, you hesitated a beat before walking over.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, keeping your voice polite, friendly, a far cry from the low level defiance you’d tossed around with Agatha the night before.

The woman didn’t look up from her knitting. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

You raised an eyebrow but took the seat anyway. “Back?”

“To me,” she said simply. Then finally looked up, her eyes catching yours with that same amused gleam as before. “You’re all tangled up again, sweetheart.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

She shrugged, as if that was your problem to figure out. The needles kept clicking.

“I’m only here another week or two,” you said, mostly to fill the silence. “So starting tomorrow I’m focusing back on my thesis. No more chasing ghosts.”

“Mm.” She smiled faintly, not looking convinced. “You think she’s a ghost?”

You scoffed, but your breath hitched. “No… Do you know something?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept knitting.

You shifted in your seat, annoyed by how unsettled you felt in her presence—even as part of you wanted to lean in closer, like she might drop a secret in your ear if you just gave her long enough.

“What’s your name?” you asked, a little too sharply.

The woman smiled again. “You can call me Irene.”

You nod softly and offer Irene your name right back before taking a sip of your iced latte.

Irene hummed, needles clicking steadily. Her yarn today was a stormy steel gray, wound up in a soft skein on the table beside her scone, untouched but clearly claimed.  

You leaned back, watching her work. “So, Irene… do you just hang out here and spook unsuspecting grad students for fun?”  

She snorted. “Only the ones who look like they’ve seen a ghost and then immediately decided to flirt with it.”  

Heat flushed your cheeks. “That’s… definitely not what I’m doing.”  

“Mm. No?” Her eyes flicked up, full of dry mischief. “Well, she is beautiful. Bit intense, though. That one always was.”  

You stiffened. “So you do know her.”  

“I didn’t say that,” Irene replied, but her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. “You’re the historian. You’re supposed to find that out, aren’t you?”  

God. They were all like this, weren’t they? Talking in riddles, like the whole town was in on a joke they refused to explain.  

You sighed, shifting your latte from one hand to the other. “Well, I’m pivoting back to the thesis tomorrow. I’ve let myself get distracted.”  

“I bet she didn’t even kiss you,” Irene said.  

You choked. “Excuse me?”  

“I’m just saying. If you’re gonna let a woman make you lose focus, she should at least kiss you.” She sipped her tea, unbothered, like she hadn’t just body checked you with the most unfiltered old lady audacity you’d ever experienced.  

You laughed despite yourself. “That’s a bold assumption.”  

“I’m old,” she said, like that explained everything. “I’ve earned the right to say whatever I want. People just nod and assume I’ve got dementia.”  

“Do you?”  

She grinned. “Only when it’s convenient.”  

You chuckled again, the tension easing from your shoulders. It was weird, how quickly Irene made you feel like you’d known her for years. Maybe it was the knitting. Maybe it was the eyes. Maybe it was just that she was the first person in this town to speak to you like a human being instead of a nosy outsider.  

After a moment, you pulled your laptop from your bag and flipped it open. Irene raised an eyebrow.  

“Back to work already?”  

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Working on a section about the broader context. You know, how witch trials didn’t start or end in Salem. They were the tail end of something older.”  

She nodded. “Good. Most people forget that. They think it started with some bored Puritan girls and a few too many mushrooms.”  

You grinned. “Well, technically it started in Europe. Witch hunts were already a centuries old tradition. By the time it hit Massachusetts, it was like… the final flare before the Enlightenment pulled the curtain back.”  

Irene tilted her head. “That’s quite the sentence. Write that one down before you forget it.”  

You actually did.  

“It’s wild,” you went on, warming to your topic. “The Salem panic started in 1692, but there’d been other cases in Connecticut and even in Boston before that. People forget how deeply the fear of witchcraft was woven into colonial law—like, ‘witchcraft’ was literally the second capital crime listed in the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s criminal code.”  

“They were killin’ men and lookin’ good doin’ it—God bless ’em.”

You laughed out loud. “Exactly.”  

Your fingers danced across the trackpad as you spoke. “The crazy thing is that the first accusations came after two girls got sick—like, sick sick. Their parents brought in a doctor, and he was the one who said it looked like witchcraft. Like that was just… a thing doctors said back then.”  

“They were half doctor, half priest in those days,” Irene said. “One foot in science, one foot in a Bible. You know what that gets you?”  

“A lot of people hanged?”  

She pointed her knitting needle at you like a sword. “And a thesis.”  

You gave a mock bow. “Touché.”  

For a few minutes, the two of you sat in companionable silence—your fingers typing, her needles clicking, the café’s hum like a cozy blanket around you. It was almost enough to forget you were hundreds of miles from home.  

Almost.  

“So,” you said eventually, “I visited one of the old sites this week. Cemetery out by the ranger park. Thought it might help ground me in the history a bit.”  

Irene’s hands paused. Just for a second. Just a blink. But you saw it.  

Her fingers resumed knitting like nothing had happened. “That so?”  

“Yeah. Weird place,” you said casually. “Felt… off.”  

She didn’t respond.  

you sipped your latte. “Anyway. I’m trying not to spiral too hard. I didn’t come all this way just to fixate on someone who’s probably just really good at hiding things.”

“She’s good at more than hiding,” Irene said, her tone light but laced with something heavier.

You looked up.

“She’s stubborn ,” Irene went on. “Slippery, too. And she always has been. Realer than most folks around here—just not always in ways that make sense.”

Your breath hitched. That phrase again. Close to the one she’d said on the bus, enough to make your stomach tighten.

You studied her face. “How do you know that?”

Irene’s eyes sparkled, but her smile didn’t move. “Because I’ve been here long enough to know when someone’s part of the folklore… and when they’re the one feeding it.”

Another riddle. Another evasion. But this time, it didn’t feel like she was brushing you off. It felt like a breadcrumb.  

You stared at her. “You’ve met her, haven’t you?”  

“She ever tell you about the moonflowers?”  

You blinked. “The what?”  

Irene just smiled again. “Huh. Guess not yet.”  

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “You people are killing me.”  

“You’re doing just fine,” she said, waving her hand like she could shoo away your stress. “Besides, I like you. You’ve got a good brain. Too many people walk into Hollow Wood with their mouths open and their eyes closed. You… you look. You ask. ”  

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, I think.”  

Irene finished the last row of her knitting and carefully wound the yarn around her hand, tucking it into a soft little bundle. Then she looked at you with an expression that was suddenly very serious.  

“Bring your notes next time,” she said. “Bring the thesis draft, too.”  

You blinked. “Why?”  

“I might have a few things that could help,” she said, standing slowly. “Old maps. Articles. Some books from my late husband. He taught history before he passed. Big on the weird stuff, like you.”  

Something warm bloomed in your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I’d love that.”  

She dug into her bag—an ancient tapestry purse that probably predated the moon landing—and pulled out a flip phone.  

You laughed. “Is that a Nokia ?”  

“I dropped this thing in a lake once and it still works,” she said proudly. “Can your fancy rectangle do that ?”  

“Fair enough.”  

She handed you a card. Her name and number scribbled in loopy cursive.  

“Text me,” Irene said. “I’m free most afternoons. And I make a mean lemon cake, if you don’t mind a little gossip while you work.”  

“I’d love that.”  

She smiled one last time. “Good. Then it’s a date. Don’t forget your notebook.”  

You watched her shuffle out the door with the grace of someone who had long since stopped caring what people thought of her, her knitting tucked under one arm like a weapon, her scarf trailing behind like a story yet to be told.  

You looked down at the card in your hand.  

Irene Whitlow.  

Your first real friend in Hollow Wood.  

---

Later that night, there was a strange brightness in you. Not quite joy—no, that felt too fragile, too temporary—but something like a spark. A sense of motion. A promise of forward momentum. You moved around the room with more pep in your step than usual, as if Irene had been some kind of angel dispatched precisely for your worst moment. An oasis of warm tea, dry clothes, and gentle curiosity in the wasteland of this haunted little town.

You glanced at the card she’d given you—her careful script scrawled across one side—and smiled faintly. Just the act of holding it made the world feel a little more solid.

But your eyes drifted toward the desk, where your new notebook sat like a siren call.

Your thesis wasn’t going to write itself.

You sighed—one of those long, loaded exhales that carried both determination and dread—then dropped into your desk chair with a dramatic little plop, grabbing your pens, highlighters, and both notebooks. Some of the pages on the newer notebook were still a bit damp around the edges—softened and wavy like old skin—but they’d survived. Your work had survived.

Good.

You cracked open your original notebook to the blank page where you’d left off and uncapped your pen.

Time to transcribe.

Your fingers moved with slow precision, eyes narrowed. You transferred all the names from the gravestones you’d seen, one by one, sketching the more ornate headstones with messy but impassioned strokes. Beneath each name, you recorded what you remembered—the state of the stone, any weathering, the symbols etched into the face, and the placement in the cemetery relative to the perimeter hedge.

You mumbled aloud as you wrote, part out of habit, part to keep yourself tethered to the living world. The room was quiet.

“Rebecca Nurse… hanged July nineteenth, sixteen ninetytwo…” you murmured, tapping your pen twice before sketching her tombstone. “Seventy-one years old. Respected in the community. Still accused of witchcraft. Of course.”

Your tone was dry. Wry. A little bitter.

“Sarah Good,” you continued softly, flipping to another page. “Beggar… poor, unpopular… accused of muttering spells under her breath. They even questioned her four year old daughter. Jesus.”

The lmap on your desk flickered, catching on the glint of your pen.

You glanced toward your laptop, grabbed it, and booted it up. A few clicks, and you were back in your thesis document—now on page sixteen.

Your title gleamed at the top:

"Haunted Hysteria: Power, Patriarchy, and the Echoes of the Salem Witch Trials."

Dramatic. Maybe even a little pretentious. But it was yours.

You’d started with the usual—Puritan beliefs, religious dogma, social scapegoating—but your more recent entries had veered somewhere stranger. Symbolism. Patterns. Whispers in the court records that didn’t feel like coincidence.

You shook yourself from the spiral and returned to copying the names.

Elizabeth Howe. Susannah Martin. Bridget Bishop—God, that one had hit you hard. You remembered kneeling by her stone, fingers tracing the name, whispering an apology she’d never hear. You jotted that down too.

You murmured more facts as you went, almost reverent in tone:

“Martha Carrier. Hanged August nineteenth. Cotton Mather called her a ‘rampant hag.’ Real original.”

“George Jacobs Sr… accused by his own granddaughter. Denied everything. Executed anyway.”

“Giles Corey,” you whispered. “Pressed to death with stones. Didn’t say a word. His last recorded phrase was ‘more weight.’”

You paused.

Something about that one always made your chest tighten. The idea of resisting until the bitter, crushing end. There was something noble about it. Terrifying. Almost... poetic.

You let the pen rest in your hand for a moment, your eyes flicking to the top of the page.

Your list was nearly complete.

Mary Eastey. Mary Parker. Alice Parker. Ann Pudeator. Wilmot Redd. Margaret Scott. Samuel Wardwell.

You wrote each name with care, like a roll call of the unjustly condemned.

And then—

You frowned.

Your pen hovered.

Wait.

Where was—?

You skimmed the page again. Then again.

No Agatha Harkness.

Your spine straightened.

That couldn’t be right. You remembered writing every name. You’d seen the stones. Recorded the dates. There were twenty in total. Nineteen hanged. One pressed.

But no Agatha Harkness.

She was supposed to have been executed in 1693, wasn’t she?

That was what the books and documents said…

So where was her grave?

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the notebook.

Maybe she was buried elsewhere. Maybe she had no marked grave. Maybe she wasn’t even real—just a local legend folded into the trials like some tragic afterthought.

Or maybe—

Your mind stuttered. Flickered.

Agatha. In the woods. That night.

You remembered it all too clearly: the way you’d run through the forest like something ancient was chasing you; the fog twisting like it had purpose; the crow screaming from somewhere in the trees.

And then you’d slammed into her.

Agatha Harkness. Dry as a bone, gleaming with annoyance. Looking like she’d stepped out of time.

You remembered what she’d said then—what she’d muttered as she looked toward the forest where the crow had screamed:

“Bridget always did like company.”

You hadn’t said Bridget’s name aloud. Not once. Not at the cemetery. Not in your notes. Not even out loud until tonight.

So how had Agatha known?

A slow chill crept down your spine.

You flipped back through your old notebook, scouring every page just to be sure. Maybe you missed it. Maybe her name was there.

But it wasn’t.

No Agatha Harkness. No execution date. No trial records. No grave.

Just a void where history should be.

You grinned slowly to yourself. A crooked, private thing.

Another crack in the mystery.

Either she was an ancestor with no tombstone, a ghost of a myth wrapped in centuries of storytelling... or she wasn’t dead at all.

You closed both notebooks, your heart tapping a strange rhythm in your chest.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was foolish.

But you didn’t care.

You were hooked.

You leaned back in your chair, the wood creaking beneath you, and stared at the ceiling. You only had a week and a half left in Hollow Wood.

But you were going to make it count.

And in a day or two, you’d be at Irene’s house—hopefully getting more answers. Maybe even a glimpse at whatever history she held close to the chest. She had a warmth about her. Something that made you feel safe… but also like she knew more than she let on.

Your gaze slid toward the window.

Outside, the woods pressed in like dark curtains.

You thought you heard the rustle of wings—like the flap of a crow’s feathers, distant but distinct.

You didn’t get up to check.

Instead, you turned to a fresh page in your notebook and scribbled down a question in bold:

“If Agatha Harkness was executed in 1693… why doesn’t she have a grave?”

Underneath it, you wrote a second:

“Was she ever buried at all?”

You tapped the pen against the page. Then wrote a third line.

“Was she ever dead?”

You stared at the question a long time.

Then added one more:

“Is she the woman I’ve been questioning all along?”

And for the first time, you didn’t feel crazy for wondering.

Just curious.

And maybe—dangerously—hopeful.

Next Chapter

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

hiiii, omg i would absolutely adore more of vampire rhysand fics, especially from that universe you created with them all vampires, will there be more? maybe when reader is turned, she can finally take both azriel and rhysand👀👀👀 or maybe to explore rhysand's relationship with her maybe nesta or someone from her family sneak in to the ball to steal reader back but rhysand is like nu uh tf

those are just some of the ideas that popped into my head, i love your writing and your smut💖

You must be psychic because I had literally just opened up a Word Document to try and write another Vamp!Rhys fic but couldn't figure out where to start!

I've got some ideas, and was thinking about doing some Monster Themed Fics for Spooky Season (More Vamp!Rhys + Bat Boys, maybe a Werewolf or Demon AU) if I can get my thoughts in order enough. Until then, pls enjoy a possessive!vamp!Rhys ;)

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

Mine

Content Warnings: Slight SMUT, Possessive!Rhys, Blood and Gore

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“I’m bored,” Rhysand says by way of greeting, as he throws his lythe body onto the chase across from where you sit, curled up in a reading chair in the library.

 The sun sets behind you, the golden rays peeking in through the blackout curtains that usually remain closed during the day. Most of the horde sleeps through the day, meaning, if you let your body’s natural rhythm guide you, you have the entire manor to yourself. And of course, you use most of that time to peruse the thousand year old vampire’s massive collection of books. There’s so many organized on the floor to ceiling shelves you’re not even sure you’re promised immortality will give you enough time to read all of them--that doesn’t stop you from trying, however.

The vampire lord remains in the shadows of the library, the crack of sunlight just far enough away to not burn his otherwise unbreakable skin. Sometimes you think it’s a shame he can only go out at night, while it’s true he looks his best under moonlight, the golden hue of the fading sun makes his bronze skin glow like a god. You’re tempted to set down the book in your hands and climb into his lap, unbutton the already half open shirt and run your tongue over every golden inch of him. Time has not dulled the need you feel for him, even after all these months, he’s still as tempting as he was the first time you laid eyes on him. 

“There are a number of things you can do in this manor,” you say, ignoring your instincts and going back to the fantasy romance you’ve been devouring for the last hour. In truth, the smut on the page before you might also play into why your mouth is practically watering at the sight of him. You’re right at the good part, and your mind is torn between finishing the chapter and indulging your own fantasies with the very real, and very eager, vampire before you.

“Not entertaining enough,” he whines. 

Your eyes still on the page as you try and think of something to offer him. He hasn’t been able to throw another ball in nearly a month, not after a group of vampire hunters had come rolling into town. Their presence had been tiresome and even Azriel, for all his talents had not been able to figure out who’d tipped them off and brought them around. Rhys had initiated an indoor ban on the whole horde just to keep everybody safe. That meant for the most part, everyone had been living off of sheep’s blood and well, you. Mostly the sheep’s blood though. Rhys had threatened to keep you locked in his room, for only his enjoyment if Azriel didn’t stop leaving so many bite marks in your thighs--his favorite place to feed from you apparently. There were more than enough bite marks across your throat to give the others pause before they tried to drink from you these days. And it hadn’t helped that Cass had snuck out and nearly been caught, drinking from a barmaid in an alley three nights ago. Everyone was on edge. 

You glance up at him over the top of the worn pages in your hands. He keeps an arm thrown over his eyes, as if, even the little bit of sunlight filtering passed is enough to hurt him. Aside from that, he lays with one long leg tossed over the back of the couch, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, the swirl of ink across his chest on full display. His dark hair is tousled, falling messily over his forehead. He had to have come directly here from his bedroom.

You look back down at the paragraph you were reading, the spicy scene practically leaping off the page at you, then back up to him as you bite your lower lip in thought. It’s usually him that initiates your interactions, him that dictates how and where  you take him. You don’t mind. Truth be told, you love being able to let go of everything and let him dominate you in whatever way he sees fit. It is the height of your pleasure, knowing he could so easily break you, and yet he doesn’t. You think meeting him might actually have put some pieces of your soul back together, rather than shatter them further and you love him all the more for it. And now, in that freedom, you can’t help but wonder if there are still other things to explore?

“We could play a game?” You suggest, voice softer than you mean it to be. Neither of you have ever talked about switching things up. Why mess with a good thing, right? But he’s here, asking, and the idea is literally in your hands as you speak, like fate prompting you to try something new and exciting. It can’t hurt to ask, right? He’s never denied you anything before.

Rhys spreads two fingers over his face, so you catch a glimpse of one, gleaming, violet eye. A grin spreads across his handsome features, fangs glinting in the scarce few rays of sunlight left. There will be nothing but starlight here soon, the plain of existence made solely for him. The others may live in the dark, but it is Rhys who thrives in it. “I’m listening.”

You draw a shaky breath. It’s just a question. No harm can come from a question. But how exactly do you suggest… this? You glance down at the pages again, trying to see if they even gave it a name for you to offer him, but there’s nothing but the promise of pleasure blurring across the pages.

Gathering your courage, you unfurl your legs from beneath you and cross the distance so you can climb onto his lap. Those thighs might have been made just for you, muscle shifting to let you get comfortable as his hands settle on your hips. He sighs contentedly, like this is something he’s been missing as you settle your weight against him.

“I was reading this book and these characters are…” you scrunch your face, trying to explain without sounding crass and failing. A blush works its way up your cheeks as you shove the open book into his hands. “Maybe you should just read it.”

He takes his time, tongue slipping out to wet his full lips as he reads. You count every breath he takes in the silence, watching his face with rapt attention to try and gauge what he’s thinking about it. He’s a master of schooled expressions, always collected and together, but after all these months, you like to think you know his tells. Yet, as he reads, there is no gleam in his eye, no obvious indication of arousal from where you sit over his hips. There is nothing but careful calculation as he reads--and maybe rereads, judging by the time it takes him--the pages.

Finally he closes the book and sets it down on the floor. “You’re suggesting we do that?” 

It’s hard to identify if that is amusement or irritation in his voice and you find your heartbeat quickening regardless of which it is. “I-if you want.”

“That’s not what I asked, Little One,” he tuts, hands resuming their rightful place on your hips. His thumbs stroke gentle circles into your skin, a move that can turn either teasing or cruel at a moment's notice. 

“I don’t know, you said you were bored. I thought maybe, you know, since we haven’t had a ball in awhile you might want to…” the word sticks in your throat and you swallow as the intensity of his gaze pins you in place. “You know… hunt.”

His eyes light up at the word. “And you want me to hunt you?”

Your thighs clench involuntarily at the thought, a move that doesn’t go unnoticed in the slightest. He grins wolfishly, gaze pinned to where your hips rest over his. He could have you right here, like this and he knows it. All it would take is a couple rocking motions of his hips, a slide of his fingertips beneath the thin silk of your top, teasing up bare skin until he can play with your breasts and you’d surrender. He could drink his fill and take you just as you are, right here and now. But there’s no challenge in it, no fun to be had, and he wants you to tell him you want it. Want him like that.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never thought about what he would feel like if he let loose his control and showed you just how much a monster he was capable of being. You knew that even if he lost his usual composure, he would never hurt you. Even his basest instincts would balk at the thought of causing you pain. If you said you wanted it, he would make sure that you enjoyed every minute of it.

“Yes,” you say softly.

He sits up, swinging his legs onto the floor, moving you with him. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, squeezing playfully as you squeal in surprise over the sudden shift in position. “What are the rules to this game then?”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest. You’re actually going to do this.

“I want a ten minute head start,” you say slowly, mind spinning. 

He hums as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Done. What else?”

“No going past the gardens.” There is enough yard between the manor and the perimeter walls that you could still feel like you were outside without risking an encounter with a hunter. 

“Agreed,” he kisses the opposite corner of your mouth.

“If you catch me-”

“When I catch you,” he says, lips pressing to my chin.

“If you catch me before the end of the hour,” that gives him a total of thirty minutes before the clock chimes, “then…” It’s not like you’ve never talked dirty before, but still, your cheeks are a deep set of red as you say, “then I am yours to do with what you wish.”

His eyes gleam, fangs glinting as he leans back and grins like he’s already won. “And if I say I want to be so deep inside you that every sorry hunter for miles will know your mine regardless of where I find you?”

You clench your thighs again, or attempt to, this new position in his lap doesn’t give you a lot of room to do so. “If you can find me.”

He slides you effortlessly off his lap, but you find, given the nature of the way he’s looking at you, that your legs feel weak already. “You should get going. You’ve only got ten minutes, Darling.”

You waste precious time leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, but you don’t care. Every kiss, every touch is worth the lost time. He is a promise of endless time, of boundless freedom and new adventures, time is never wasted with Rhys.

He pulls away with some difficulty. “I’m still counting,” he warns.

You grin as you turn and sprint out the library, leaving the doors wide open as you run. It occurs to you now that you’ve never actually seen him hunt outside a ballroom. There’s a lot of strategy to those hunts, as you’ve observed, but he’s never had to chase anything. He’s like a spider, waiting patiently for his prey to get caught and stuck in his web for him to devour. You don’t actually know how fast or strong he is. He certainly has a heightened sense of smell, but how heightened?

You know you want to make it outside, just to let him feel like he’s getting out of the house, but going straight out the back door would be too easy. You run up the stairs to the second floor instead, then into one of the many empty rooms and unlatch the window. This might waste more of your precious time, but still, you’re curious to know if he’ll save time and run right out the door, or if he can actually follow your scent. 

Carefully, you climb onto the roof and pick your way across the slanting tiles, until you reach the side of the manor where tree branches reach for you. The gardens outside the estate are massive, their own little forest, and with the gates closed, the gardeners haven’t been around to trim the trees. Branches that would normally be clipped to keep the leaves from collecting on the roof have been allowed to blossom and you find a sturdy one and nimbly walk across it like a balance beam. He may be the expert hunter here, but you spent years outside the Spring Estate, back when your parents were still alive, exploring the massive gardens and climbing the trees. Until your Governess had dragged you back by the ear, yelling about your ripped skirts and scraped knees. Hardly the lifestyle of a lady, they’d said. You couldn’t care less now as you climb, hand over hand through the dense leaves, moving from tree to tree. This is familiar yet different, you are far more free here than you had ever been back home.

Anticipation sits hot and heavy in your lower belly as you move. It’s hard to tell how much time you have left and you need to decide if the plan is to just keep moving or to hunker down and hide in wait. 

When the trees start to thin, you finally clamber down onto the damp floor below and take a good look around. There are certainly plenty of bushes to hide under, but that feels… boring. 

You glance over your shoulder, the trees blocking out the moonlight that has now replaced the earlier sun. Shadows cling to the trees providing ample cover, for both you and the predator you know is coming. 

You bite your lip. You want it to be a challenge. So you keep moving, ears straining for any little sound that might indicate your ten minutes is up. Every rustle of leaves makes a shiver run up your spine, heart thundering beneath your ribs. It’s a heady sort of rush that makes you laugh as you break into a full on sprint, wind tearing at your loose hair. 

This is freedom. Unbridled and unrestrained, there are no limits on what you can do or want, and right now, you want exactly what he promised you.

You slow to catch your breath, the trees thinning as you come closer to the hedge maze on the far side of the property. There’s usually a whole slew of string lights bobbing overhead, so partygoers can see past the towering hedges full of roses and attempt to find the bubbling water fountain at the center of the maze. It’s a showstopper when lit, but right now, it is dark and unyielding and you inch your way towards it with more than a little trepidation. It would be a good place to make him walk through to get to you, but some of the hedges are so thick and overgrown it blocks out the light, and you do not have the night vision of vampires, not yet.

A twig snaps behind you and you jump with a hand clamped over your mouth to keep from screaming as you turn to face the noise. There’s enough moonlight to see by out here, but there is no familiar shape stalking towards you. There’s nothing there at all but the trees and the maze at your back.

You give yourself a little shake to calm your nerves as you inch backwards towards the opening of the maze, still anticipating Rhys’s sudden arrival. One step back, then another, until you can almost feel the shadow of the hedges against your back. It’s a degree colder within it than outside of it.

The first bit of darkness covers your entrance.

And it covered the hiding place too, because you hadn’t seen anyone or anything within the maze until a firm hand clamps over your mouth. Surprise makes you scream, the noise muffled beneath the weathered palm as a strong arm wraps around your waist. 

How the hell had he gotten behind you?!

Hot breath fans your ear as he puts his lips to your ear. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

That’s not Rhys’s voice at all!

Panic grips you and you have just enough presence of mind to fight, digging your elbow into the stranger’s soft gut, throwing your head back into his shoulder. You twist and claw and bite down on the hand covering your mouth so hard you taste blood.

“You little bitch!” The stranger snarls, his hand slipping off your mouth.

You don’t have time to spit out the blood as you scream, “RHYS!!!” As loud as you can.

The stranger grabs your hair and spins you, face scraping over a cluster of thorny roses that cuts open your cheek as you fight to keep your footing. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, another rough set of hands grabs your arm and yanks, pulling you deeper into the darkness of the maze. 

“Get off me!” You shout, your game forgotten. There is nothing but wild panic in your blood as you claw and punch at the hands that pull you deeper and deeper into the maze. 

Rhys can find you in here, right? He knows this isn’t part of the game?

Blood trickles down the wound in your cheek, following a trail down your neck and chest as your head whips around to try and get a good look at your attacker. He’s not much taller than you, but he’s twice as large, his arms made of thick, corded muscle. A spiderweb of scars travels up the bare expanse of his right arm, but he has no other defining features you can see in the darkness.

The second remains in the dark as they drag you through the maze. They must have been here awhile, if they know their way through it. In no time at all, you find yourself at the maze’s heart, the fountain that’s usually so dazzling at parties remains full of stagnant water and dead leaves. Sitting on the lip of it are another two men, one carrying a sword and another wearing a bandolier full of wooden stakes. Hunters.

Your mouth dries, heart skipping a beat. No no no! This can’t be happening! How’d they get past the gate? Rhys had it made by some local witches, it was supposed to be spelled to keep hunters out!

“Y/N?”

The world narrows in to the sound of that voice, as the body attached rounds the fountain. The sliver of moonlight cuts through the overgrown shrubs, highlighting the swatch of blonde hair, carefully tied back from a face that looks so similar to your own. 

Though you have no fangs of your own, you pull your lips back in a snarl as Tamlin draws nearer. “You did this?” You hiss at your brother.

He looks older, tired. Emerald eyes framed by dark circles. It’s been months since you’ve seen him. Months since he sent someone to tell you not to bother coming home since you’d ruined yourself with Rhys. Based on the stories you’d heard, he’d trashed the manor in a fit of rage when he’d found out he could no longer auction you off like a mare to be wed and bred by some stuffy, old baron or count.

He takes you in, nose crinkling as he spots the hickeys littering your throat. You’re not wearing anything more than a pair of lounge shorts and a silk top, an outfit that had felt appropriate a moment ago but now, based on the judgment and leering of the hunters, feels poorly out of place.

It’s an effort not to try and cover yourself, to stand there, blood still dripping from your cheek and keep your chin up.

“Where is he?” Tamlin demands. 

Shit. Shit. Shit! Of course he’s not here for you, he’d made it clear you were as wanted as a wadded up gum wrapper. He--they--are all here for Rhys. 

“Who?” You play dumb, trying to buy time. Rhys is walking right into a trap and if you don’t think of something quick…

“Don’t play dumb!” Tamlin snarls. “I know you’ve been whoring yourself out to that blood sucker!”

He can’t know that Rhys is the town’s vampire, there’s no way. Every person that leaves the manor is compelled to forget everything they saw. The whole horde is meticulous, Az has even followed people home to ensure the protection of the den. 

When you don’t respond, he says, a little gentler this time, “Tell me where he is, Y/N, and I will consider this whole mess a compulsion on his part and not hold it against you. We’ll go home and find somewhere safe for you to live. There’s a temple that will take in ruined women…”

You’re seeing red. “Nobody fucking ruined me! It is my body! What I do with it is none of your business!”

He frowns. “Nesta thought you might have been compelled, I didn’t want to believe that you were so weak minded that it could happen to you, but now that I see you…”

Nesta. Your stomach twists itself into knots. She was supposed to be your best friend, and yet she had gone to Tamlin and he’d called the hunters. She must have seen Rhys drinking from you that first night after all. In her rush, she’d pissed off Cass, who had been so distracted with her leaving he’d distracted Az from following her home. She’d gotten out of the den knowing what they all were and Tamlin had spent all this time summoning these hunters. 

The betrayal stings worse than the cut on your cheek, your eyes burning despite your attempts to keep it all bottled up. You can’t cry here! Not in front of them. The four hunters hover near the exits, blocking your escape, but keeping watch for Rhys all the same. They all have stakes. They’re all clearly fighting men, all capable of taking on an unsuspecting vampire. 

“Don’t do this, Tam,” you whisper. If anything happens to Rhys… If they get their hands on him because you suggested going outside the manor, you’re never going to forgive yourself.

“You forced my hand!” Tamlin snarls, advancing a step towards you. “You went and made a mess of things as always! If mom were still alive she would have keeled over and had a heart attack from the strain of having you for a daughter.”

The words hit like a slap. He’d always been good at that; when he couldn’t use his size and strength, his words were just as sharp as a blade, and he’d used them to keep you in line for years. Even now, the freedom you had so desperately craved feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You feel your shoulders hunch, chin dipping towards your chest. He’s always been so terribly good at making you feel small and useless and so terribly unwanted. Even now, your own flesh and blood isn’t here to make sure you’re alright, he’s here to prove himself a hero by killing a vampire. Your vampire.

Figures, as soon as you’d found something to love, Tamlin found another way to rip it from you.

Seeing a weakness, Tamlin stalks towards you, his footfalls heavy in the damp earth. He reaches out a hand to grab you, but before he can so much as brush a fingertip over your arm, his body flies backwards like it’s been tossed by an invisible hand. He hits the statue guarding the water fountain so hard the old angel’s head falls from it’s stone shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Rhys snarls so loud the ground shakes. He’d come in silently, stealthy as a cat. The power that radiates off him is nothing like the demure courtier you see in the ballroom, there is nothing subtle or charming about this Rhys. There is only cold, unyielding rage as he moves around you faster than your eyes can track. You don’t even have time to warn him about what the hunters are armed with before he uses his teeth to rip the throat out of the first man. Blood splatters across his face as the hunter falls. Another blink at the second falls, his heart still beating from where Rhys holds it in his fist.

The third hunter has just enough time to slide a stake out of its sheath and lunge, but Rhys is so much faster and stronger, there is no contest. He snags the hunter’s wrist, snapping the bone so hard his wrist twists backwards, the stake now aimed at the hunter’s heart. His own momentum keeps him moving forward, even as he screams in terror, and he impales himself on his own stake. Rhys hurls the body into the thorny hedges, leaving it to bleed out as he turns to face the fourth and final hunter. 

It's the one that had grabbed you initially, his thin lips pulled back in a sneer as he flips two stakes around in his large hands. 

“You think you can waltz into my domain,” Rhys seethes. There’s an eerie calm to his steps now, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering the trampled grass. “And try and take what is mine?”

Rationally, you know you should be terrified of him like this--this is who he really is, not the courtly mask and disarming smiles you know, this is a full-fledged vampire in all his glory--but you’re not. Not even a little bit. If anything, the sight of him makes you feel like you can breathe again. 

“I’ve killed worse things than you,” the hunter spits. “You won’t even be a challenge.”

Rhys cocks his head like he’s thinking, a grin spreading across his face. His fangs are longer than you’ve ever seen them, poking into his lower lip, where the first hunter’s blood still lingers. “Is that so?”

He takes a small step forward, and though the hunter’s fingers twitch around the stakes, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He stands still as a statue, his chest barely rising and falling. Almost like he can’t move at all.

Rhys reaches out and plucks the stakes from the hunter’s hands like he’s taking a toy from a belligerent child. The hunter doesn’t move; doesn’t speak in his own defense. 

Rhys lifts the stake to get a better look at it in the moonlight. “These are poorly made,” he tuts, right before he jams it between the hunter’s eyes. The man falls, still completely immobile.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Tamlin hisses from where he’s still struggling to get back to his feet. 

Rhys slides the hand not dripping blood into his pocket, appearing bored as he puts a boot on Tamlin’s shoulder and pushes him back down into the mud. “Humans are so very dull.”

“Yet you keep my sister like a fucking pet!” Tamlin snarls, trying to rise again and losing the battle as Rhys’s heel pushes down against his shoulder until the bone snaps. “You compelled her into being with you and have been keeping her here against her will.”

You stare at the two of them. Rhys is holding back now, toying with Tamlin--the brother that had locked you up, had insisted your Governess cut your meals in half to keep you thin and desirable for a suitor; the brother who had ignored your wishes your whole life and had stolen almost every bit of happiness you had tried to carve out for yourself. Only one of them is the monster here.

“Nobody compelled me into staying,” you hiss. “Nobody compelled me into doing anything! I chose it.”

Tamlin tilts his head to look at you, despite the pain flashing across his face. “He just used his powers to freeze a man in place, you’re too stupid to know if he used them on you.”

Rhys moves his boot from Tamlin’s shoulder to his wrist, heel crushing down until the bone splinters, the resounding crack echoing through the maze. “Try that again,” he dares. 

Tamlin’s howls of pain have somehow not drawn everybody else outside, but you are relieved to see it. As much as you want him out of your life forever, you’re not up for watching them all devour him like a turkey at a Sunday roast. 

You pick your way around the mess of bodies until you can grab Rhys’s hand, the blood now cold and sticky over his palm. You do not balk from it. This is still your Rhys. He is still what you would choose, if you could go back to that first night on the dancefloor. Bargain or no bargain, you would have come back time and time again, to be with him and this family you have made for yourself here. This is the life you want, messy and full of monsters.

Rhys glances down at your joined hands, yours so small and delicate against the mess of his own.

You intertwine your fingers. “Please don’t kill him.”

He reaches out with his free hand to run a thumb over your ruined cheek, checking how deep the cuts are. “Why not?”

“Can he be compelled to forget about all of us? Can you make it so that we never existed?”

“Y/N!” Tamlin screams. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I could,” Rhys admits. “Is that what you want?”

“I want to be with you,” you say confidently. “As a human or a vampire.”

Tamlin tries to move out from under Rhys’s boot but gets nowhere.

“I want him to no longer have control of my life. I want to be free to choose where I go and who comes with me. I am angry at him. I’ve been angry at him my whole life. But… but I don’t want him dead.”

Rhys nods, then brushes a tender kiss over your forehead. “It’ll be done then.”

Azriel appears from the shadows then, as if he’d been hovering somewhere in the maze just in case. That intense hazel gaze sweeps over you, taking stock of your injuries before he hauls Tamlin to his feet. 

Your brother still tries to fight it, but his right arm hangs limp and twisted at his side, and even if he was whole, he’s no match for either of them. 

Rhys takes Tamlin’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, holding him in place with just those two fingers alone. “Any last words, Darling?”

You flash your middle finger at Tamlin, “If you come back through these gates, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“Vicious,” Azriel praises, tongue running over his lower lip in appreciation to this new side of you. 

Rhys keeps his attention pinned to Tamlin. “You’ll return home. You’ll forget this vampire business. You went out and got drunk and got your ass handed to you by the barmaid.”

Azriel snickers at that. 

You’ve seen that barmaid, she very well could hand Tamlin his ass, the story will be convincing. 

“If anyone asks about your sister, you’ll tell them she ran away to be with the people that love her. There is no need to look for her. She is happy.”

And you are. Your chest warms at the words. You are happy here. You will always be happy here, with this new family you’ve found. 

Tamlin repeats the words in monotone, like they’re being forced out of his head.

“You’ll have to find and compel Nesta too,” you say softly. “She saw us that first night.”

“Leave it to Cass to put us in this mess,” Azriel grumbles. “I should make him compel her for the trouble.”

“He’d just turn her for shits and giggles and then we’d be in bigger trouble,” Rhys responds as he releases his grip on Tamlin. Your brother’s head sags to his chest, unconscious, and Azriel drags him out through the back gate.

“It’s done?” You ask, watching them leave.

“It’s done,” Rhys confirms. 

You turn to face him again and stretch up on your toes to kiss him gently on the lips, despite the blood. “Thank you.”

When you try to pull away, he slides a hand into your hair and pulls you back for another, ravenous kiss. “Are you all right?”

“A little shaken,” you confess, reaching up a hand to brush a tendril of dark hair off his head. “But alright. Are you?”

He slides his arms beneath you and picks you up like you weigh nothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll feel better.” 

In no time at all, you’re back safe inside the house, perched on top of the counter in the bathroom attached to his room. Candlelight flickers to give him a better view of the gash across your cheek, now forming a bruise beneath the split skin. 

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” you assure. “Just stings a little.”

He frowns as he pokes at it, then brings his wrist up to his mouth and sinks his fangs into a vein. “Drink,” he orders, bringing it to your lips. “My blood will heal you.”

You stare at him for a moment. It has become an easy thing to accept that he likes to drink from you. He needs blood to live and you want him to keep on living, it is an easy exchange--and one that always ends pleasurably for you at that--but this is different. It’s not necessity. He’s offering because he wants to. Because he cares about you.

“Please,” he says gently, pushing his wrist a little closer. “Let me take care of you.”

You wrap your hand around his arm as you bring his wrist to your mouth, unsure of how to go about this. He holds you steady, pressing his wrist to your lips, guiding you through it like he has everything this far. His blood is a coppery tang in your mouth as you run your tongue over the two puncture marks in his wrist and swallow it down. 

By the time he pulls away, the stinging in your cheek has subsided. 

“It’ll taste better once you're one of us,” he explains as he grabs a towel and cleans the remaining blood off your skin.

You watch the slow pace in which he moves now, all that rage and strength once again contained within the confines of courtly manners, but there is a stiffness to those usually graceful motions. You can almost taste the unease coming off him as he uses the same towel to clean the blood off his own face and hands.

“You’re not changing your mind about turning me after this mess, are you?” 

He tosses the towel in the hamper near the door and comes to stand between your legs. You have to tilt your head back to look at him as he cups your face in his large hands. “Never.” The finality in his tone leaves no room for doubt. “I never wish to be parted from you again.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. This bargain between you is fun and exciting, and truth be told you are more fond of him than you’d ever dare say out loud, but you had always assumed those budding feelings were one sided. This was a game and a bargain at the end of the day, what was one human in the span of eternity to a thousand year old vampire? Daring to believe that you meant more to him was not a luxury you had let yourself indulge in.

“And I thought…” he shakes his head and kisses you gently at first, grounding himself in the reality that you are safe and in his arms, but it turns rough and desperate as he considers what he’s saying. “I thought I might lose you.”

You run your fingers through the silky strands of his hair, knocking a few loose leaves that had gotten caught when he’d come running after you. 

“If anything were to happen to you, I don’t…” he shutters as he slides his hands beneath you and lifts you off the counter, carrying you towards his large bed with ease despite the shakiness of his breathing.

 “I’ve killed thousands of hunters. I have drained entire covens of witches and packs of werewolves.” He lays you down in the center of the black silk sheets, body propped up against a dozen pillows someone who is undead doesn’t really need, his large frame kneeling over yours as he kisses you again. “I have fought and won hundreds of battles and taken down an army of other vampires. Bloodshed is in my nature. It is woven into the lifeblood of creatures like me. I am used to the killing, but I have never enjoyed it. I avoid it if I can, but tonight, when I saw those hunters around you…”

He steals another kiss, tongue sliding behind your teeth to try and claim your very breath as his weight settles between your legs. “I wanted to take my time. I wanted to make them pay for putting their hands on you. I enjoyed making them suffer. And I’d do it again.”

Perhaps the long lasting effects of being locked up has altered your brain chemistry, because such outright aggression should be a warning sign to run, but it makes heat flare in your chest instead. This is a dangerous amount of possessiveness and yet, you enjoy it. It is nice to be looked after so deeply.

“And I know that I should turn you,” he continues. “You have more than fulfilled your part of the bargain and after seeing those hunters today, I should give you an edge over them, just in case, but…” Another kiss, his hands slipping beneath your top to skim your sides. “But to turn you I have to… You have to die to become a vampire. How am I supposed to do that, knowing that it’ll hurt, even for a moment? Knowing that I will have to be the one to do it?”

Your fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping them open so you can touch him. “It doesn’t have to be today. We never set a time.”

“I saw that scratch on you and almost went out of my mind,” he says as he leans back enough to let you push the shirt off his shoulders, but as soon as the article is off he’s right back on top of you again, kissing you like he won’t ever get enough. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I have never loved a human before. I have never been so conflicted before. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I’m just not ready to turn you yet either.”

Your hands skim up his tattooed torso, tracing every curve of ink up his chest and shoulders until you can cup his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me. Like I said, I choose you. I want to be here with you. Like this or otherwise. I am in no rush.”

He tilts his head and kisses your palm. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you assure, using your free hand to grab him behind the neck and pull him down for another kiss. “I trust you. When the time is right to turn me, we’ll know. It’ll feel right.”

His lips pull away from yours just long enough to catch your breath before he starts trailing kisses along your jaw and neck. You let yourself relax beneath his ministrations, eyes drifting shut. It no longer feels strange that this has become the place you feel safest; this is right.  

“I love you,” you say softly.

He all but purrs into your throat, the kiss he was placing there more forceful than the last. “Careful, that’s a dangerous thing to say to an immortal.”

“You said it first,” you counter, hands sliding off him to reach for the hem of your shirt. You want it off, no clothes between your bodies, the warmth of him like this seeping into your skin. There is no telling how different it’ll feel once you’re no longer human, you want to relish every experience you have while you still have it.

He nips teasingly at your throat, fangs just barely scraping your skin. Not enough to feed, but just enough to remind you they’re there. “What power you wield over me, Little Human.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” you reply.

He laughs at that, the sound rich and deep, and you think you might do just about anything to hear it again and again. “Be careful how you wield it, I would do anything you asked.”

“Anything?” You ask with a grin, a few things coming to mind. 

He nips at your throat hard enough to leave a bruise this time. “No questions asked.”

“So if I have other scenes in my books I want to try out…” 

“What a dirty little mind you have,” he tuts. “And when we didn’t even get to finish the first one.”

“That really is a shame,” you muse. “I was looking forward to it too.”

“Another night then,” he promises, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. “Tonight I want to take my time with you.”

And how can you say no to those kinds of promises?

[sprunkisunshinesuburbia]

Resident List part I

These are edited forms of the town’s documents and bios written by council member Therman. We omit things that could be considered far too personal for us (The town council) to reveal without consent but are merely to make introductions easier for vistors or new residents.

Jevin Amyclides

Age: 57

Gender: Male, He/Him

Height: 6’7

Color: Royal Blue

Quiet and reserved, he seems quite intimidating to talk to with the cloak, the stern looking expression he generally has and well… Alot of assumptions (mainly of the cult variety… Honestly I don’t blame anyone for making them- You really have to be careful out there...Some of them are a bit— Misguided on the whole sacrifice idea… Especially about the Sun!)

But when I actually talked to him he seemed pretty apologetic for— Uh almost everything he seemed to think he did wrong. He’s a very kind shy person just maybe a bit awkward- I feel a little bad for him sometimes, he cares a lot about his son and seemingly others he doesn’t know well. (Got real worried when I stubbed my toe- It was a little silly of me to like double over-)

He keeps to himself mostly, but doesn’t seem to oppose being dragged into things. Even if he seems a touch uncomfortable about it. I hope people don’t push him too much because… I doubt he’d push back….

Sky Amyclides

Age: 14

Gender: Male, He/him

Height: 4’10

Color: Sky Blue

Mr. Amyclides’ son, He’s pretty protective of his father- (It sounds like they’ve been through… Alot out there.. whoof.) he’s usually around him and often is the first to pick up on his dad’s unease and will let you know when you’re overstepping.

He’s a very smart and capable kid no doubt but it seems he’s trying to grow up too fast- Drinks his coffee black but cringes at every sip kind of person. Not very trusting either… Very curt with his answers.

Though if there’s anything that can get him to open up- It’s bears, he collects plush ones and loves talking about wildlife! Tells me that he has a bunch of books on them and even writes his own observations. It’s cute!

Gray Reindola

Age: 21

Gender: Male, He/They

Height: 4’10

Color: Gray

He doesn't really come out his house too often aside from going to his job at the theater and filming nature and other things in the park- (Which is where I usually see him- I haven't really seen a movie in awhile... Never found the time to.) I've asked him about his fancy camera which he told me was from his mom and that he used it for his film classes- Like maybe twice? And just kept making short films with it afterwards. I was kind of surprised how much he actually was willing to talk until he looked behind him and just- Suddenly excused himself to leave. I was confused for a moment and realized Wenda was here. (And um... He didn't really leave in time to I think avoid her?) And it was the three of us on the bench. He'd stop talking and just.. Filmed a leaf, On the grass while making this low hum. It was awkward....

Wenda Wilely

Age: 22

Gender: Female, She/her

Height: 6’0

Color: White

She's... Interesting to say the least- Uh I actually have no idea what she likes- She just seems to show up and sort of insert herself into groups and joke around a bit! I mean her sense of humor is...Er... Making playful jabs at people. (At least I think that's what's intended? She made fun of my lisp and then when Gray kept filming that leaf- I don't know what her deal is???) I stayed as long as I could tolerate the jokes and then her.. Asking me questions about myself and avoiding my own- She's... Maybe just not used to this place (She's relatively new here- Came alongside Gray but he says he didn't know her before moving here. Only that they're from the same city.) Maybe she'll settle at some point? She's odd. I mean everyone's bound to be but... She scares me a little.... She also works at the theater with Gray and I can only hope they're actually good friends and I just can't read people as well as I thought-

Pinned Post << >> Part II

[jeankluv]

But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.05]

short series

summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

tags: 18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n, mention of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, character death, nightmares

words: 5,2k

Notes: enjoy this last chapter, just know that the epilogue still needs to happen 💋

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Your gaze was on the window, you had barely moved a muscle since the sun had risen. But it had been like that since your father read that letter. You didn't know how much time had passed, you had stopped counting, the only thing you knew was that summer was coming to an end. Was it September? You didn't know, nothing mattered to you anymore.

You knew Rose was in the room, despite everything she still came and took care of you. Every morning she was there, trying to cheer you up and make you smile again, to pick up one of your books, to go to the market with her.

The only time you got out of your bedroom was when Mr. Harrison visited. You felt nauseous when seeing him and when he talked about how excited he was to take you with him to his house and finally have an heir. You felt sick to your stomach, but you stood there in silence, feeling how your heart didn’t beat anymore.

“My lady…” Rose whispered. “You need to take the herbs.”

You turned your head and looked at Rose. “Don't you think that if there was a baby, that baby is no longer there?”

Rose grimaced and sat up on the bed. “I don't know, my lady. But your mother insists that she keep drinking it until you bleed again.” You just nodded and took the glass from her hands.

You felt the bitter taste pass through your throat and the unpleasant smell invade your nostrils. It was so unpleasant that your eyes watered and a gag shot up your throat. You closed your eyes tightly and swallowed.

“I know you don't want to hear this…” Rose whispered. “But the wedding is in three days.”

“You won’t come with me right.” You raised your knees and rested your forehead on them.

“No, my lady.” You could notice the anguish and sadness in her tone. “Mr. Harrison doesn't want anyone from the house to accompany you, he will provide you with maids in his house."

You closed your eyes and nodded. “You can leave now Rose.”

“My lady… please eat something.” She said walking towards the door.

You heard the door open and then close. You sighed heavily and lay back down on the bed, looking again at the blue sky outside. No matter how much you thought about Satoru, you had a hard time believing, you had a hard time accepting that everything had been a hoax. That you had been manipulated by him.

Maybe it was the fault of your heart, the fault of falling in love the way you did for that man with white hair and crystalline eyes. Maybe it was all your fault and you should never have given him your heart the way you gave it to him.

But his voice and his words echoed in your head.

Trust me.

We will live in a house by the sea, you will have your own library.

I don’t plan on hurting you.

His memory was fresh in your mind and the pain was intense.

You rolled over yourself and you cowered between the sheets, mulling over the matter. The letter talked about some documents, something about the nobles. Satoru told you about it, how your family and a few others had refused the king's reform proposal 20 years ago and had paid for it. And some time later Satoru's parents had been murdered and Satoru's brother had spent his entire life investigating to clarify the facts and they had taken him to your family.

There was something that didn't quite fit you in that whole matter and that is, if Satoru was thinking of betraying you from the beginning, why did he tell you the plan he had in the middle? Maybe he thought you were going to be extremely stupid not to say anything.

You shook your head and tried to remember the last encounter between the two of you.

“I told you.” He said with a smile. “Before you finish your second book I will be back.”

“I trust you.” You whispered.

“Just… believe me.”

Were those promises empty? You stood up from the bed and walked around your room, feeling your body aching and heavy.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Satoru knew something was happening. And that’s why he looked like that the last time you saw him.

Covering yourself with a thin jacket, you left the room and walked looking for a specific figure. If Rose was your most trusted person in that house, that person was the second most trusted.

When your eyes met his straight figure and his gaze looking straight ahead, you smiled and approached him.

“Nanami.” You whispered causing his head to turn in your direction.

“My lady.” He said, bowing his head subtly to show her respect.

“Nanami, I need your help. But first walk me to my room.” You turned around. “I don't want anyone to hear us.” You walked, feeling Nanami's footsteps on your back.

When you got to your room, you made sure that no one was in the hallway and you closed the door. You walked to the couch and looked at Nanami.

"I need you to do me a favor." Nanami nodded slightly. “I have a feeling that something happened to Duke Gojo and I would like you to check it out. You and Rose are the people I trust the most, which is why I want to entrust you with this mission.”

“I will gladly do it my lady.” He said bowing.

“But before you leave, my parents are gone, right?” Nanami nodded and you felt your heart accelerate at the idea that had been established in your mind. “I need you to accompany me to my father's office and watch the door while I look for something.”

“No problem my lady.” You smiled and thanked him.

Waiting for a while to pass, you and Nanami left the room, trying not to be seen by any curious eyes. As you stood in front of the door of your father's office, you felt your heart pound and your nerves begin to attack your body. You took a breath and looked at Nanami, who nodded giving you the signal to enter.

Nanami stayed outside, keeping watch and preventing anyone else from entering. You moved through the room quietly and carefully, and among the pile of papers and letters that were on the desk you began to search and read, wanting to find something, some clue that would indicate that Satoru had not lied to you, that there was something more behind all that.

You found two letters that caught your attention, one of them had a stamp that you didn't recognize and the other was a letter addressed to your parents. It was a letter from one of the servants informing your parents about how you had been having premarital relations with the duke. You crumpled the letter slightly and sighed, there was nothing you could do about it now.

You took the letter with the unknown seal and began to read, the letter was addressed to your parents and talked about the crown prince and how to change the balance in favor of the person who sent the letter.

“My lady.” Nanami called you. “I think it’s better if we leave.” You nodded.

With that letter in your hands, you left the office followed by Nanami's steps. You felt your heart racing, that letter could mean something. You knew that Satoru was a friend of the crown prince and that your parents had not disagreed with the king's reforms, so this could mean something. But that seal, you didn't know which house it belonged to, nor were the names known.

“Nanami.” You called him when you got to the room and, uncrumpling the letter, you showed it to him. “Do you know this seal?”

You could see how Nanami was stunned looking at the letter. “Was this in his father's office?” You nodded confused. “My lady, if this letter is found by the palace, the entire family will be condemned for treason.”

You opened your eyes surprised. "What? What do you mean?" Nanami sighed and pointed to the seal.

“The seal belongs to the king's brother, that is, to the uncle of the future king.” You looked at him confused, you had never heard of the current king having a brother. “You are young to remember, but the king had a little brother. He was sent into exile after he tried to assassinate the prince. The king took pity on him and did not kill him, he simply exiled him.” You opened your mouth in surprise.

“Did this person have anything to do with the event 20 years ago? Where several noble families opposed the king?” Nanami nodded and you sighed. “Nanami, I fear that the duke knew about this and that something has happened to him.” You looked at him. “Please find out.” Nanami nodded once again.

“I will leave right now my lady.” He bowed his head and left your room.

When the door closed and you were alone in your room again, you sat on your bed and put your hands to your face, terrified to think that something could have happened to Satoru and that your parents knew about it.

It was terrifying to think that Satoru could be… No, no. You shook those thoughts out of your head and tried to think positively. That Satoru hadn't betrayed you and that he would be fine. You just needed Nanami to return and confirm all your suspicions. And you prayed that this would happen before the wedding that would take place in three days.

Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling, the night darken the room and the accumulated fatigue that you were carrying covered you peacefully. But it was not like that. That night you couldn't rest.

Nightmares tormented you. The image of a dead Satoru haunted you throughout the night, reflecting in your tired eyes every time you closed them. The dreams were vivid and unrelenting, showing you scenes of Satoru lying lifeless, his once vibrant presence reduced to an eerie stillness. You saw his bright blue eyes, usually full of mischief and warmth, now dull and empty. You watched as the confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of eternal peace that brought you no comfort.

You tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around your legs as you struggled to find a way out of the nightmare. Every time you woke up suddenly, your heart would race and your breathing would be difficult. The silence of the room was oppressive and the darkness suffocating, leaving you gasping for air with every breath you tried to take.

You shifted between the sheets when the first rays of the sun began to penetrate through the curtains. A new day began and in your mind and heart there was only the anguish of knowing Satoru's whereabouts and condition. You got out of bed and opened the window, letting the breeze fill the room and the smell of the sea occupy your nostrils.

“My lady?” Rose entered the room with a surprise look on her face.

“Rose…” You smiled at her. “Good morning.”

“My lady, how are you feeling?” She approached you and held your hands with care.

“I am…” You sighed. Not knowing what to respond.

“It’s okay my lady.” She tried to calm you down.

You sat down on your dresser and looked at her through the mirror. “I send Nanami to investigate the whereabouts of the duke.” Rose looked at you, intrigued to know more. “Rose, I think something happened to the duke and I think my parents have been involved.”

Rose swallowed and opened her eyes slightly. “My lady, are you sure?”

You nodded and clenched your fists. “If it's true... and what they did is discovered, the palace will kill us.”

“My lady”

“Rose, we must find some way to leave this place before the wedding, if Nanami does not arrive with news before.”

Rose nodded. “I will be with you my lady.”

You felt your chest fill and your eyes water as you realized you weren't alone. “Thank you Rose, thank you.”

“No problem my lady.” She gave you a warm smile. “But my lady…” You looked at her. “Your parents and Mr. Harrison will be arriving today.”

You sighed. “Alright.”

The morning and part of the afternoon passed faster than you would have liked. Anguish and uncertainty had established themselves in your body, they almost seemed like an extension of you, one that was dragging you down. Your hands were sweaty and your heart rate was fast, having to meet your parents and Mr. Harrison was like putting a noose around you. You were afraid but you wanted to be brave, even if it was for once in your life, you didn't want to tremble.

The carriage carrying your parents and Mr.Harrison arrived and now you looked at your reflection in the mirror while Rose brushed your hair. Your gaze was fixed on your face but at the same time not, you were lost in your own thoughts, trying to find something so that the wedding would be delayed or canceled.

“My lady…” Rose whispered as she let the brush down. “I have an idea that might help us win some time.”

You looked up and looked at Rose through the mirror. "Tell me." Rose leaned close to your ear and whispered her idea to you.

It was crazy but it would be a shock and Mr. Harrison would even want to cancel the wedding. You lightly laughed and looked at Rose.

"Thank you."

“I am here for you my lady.”

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed candlelight. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed chandeliers. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

The room was filled with the faint smell of old books and ink, a testament to the countless hours spent here studying and negotiating.

Your parents sat on the side of the desk, their expressions a mix of expectation and concern. Mr. Harrison was standing by the window, his back to you as he watched the darkening night. The silence in the room was oppressive, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on you.

“Just two more days and we will all be family.” Your father proudly smiled.

“Yeah.” Mr. Harrison proudly sat on the chair. “Hopefully a baby will also come soon.” He looked at you and you felt nauseous.

You took a deep breath and stood up in your seat, trying to show a little confidence and strength. “Father, mother, my hand has already been asked for by another man.” You spoke without showing any hint of tremor.

You knew that talking about this in front of Mr. Harrison was not the right thing to do but you had to find some way to escape from this or the wedding would be delayed.

Your mother ground her teeth and said your name in a harsh, cutting tone. "Shut up."

“Darling.” Mr. Harrison called you, with that nickname that ok his lips sounded so disgusting. “Duke Gojo only came here and used you. You really want to marry that boy?”

You clenched your fists and clenched your teeth as you looked at the cynical smile that had spread across his face. Your blood boiled as the atmosphere in the office became increasingly overwhelming and cutting.

You wanted to get out of there but you couldn't, you had to delay that wedding. Or else, in two days you would be damned forever.

“Honey.” Your father spoke, with that false tone that you had already gotten used to hearing. “Mr. Harrison is right, don't you think about the damage that boy has done to us?”

Looking at him you wanted to laugh out of anger and ask your parents if they knew the damage they had caused to you for years and that Satoru had been the only one who had managed to make you feel alive.

Filling your lungs with air you spoke or rather screamed. “But daddy I love him!”

It had been years since you stopped calling your father that, but you knew that if you threw a tantrum in the middle of that place, your parents would be embarrassed and maybe, with luck, Mr. Harrison would put the wedding on hold.

You looked at their faces and could see how your mother was red with rage and your father clenched his teeth tightly.

“Well darling.” Mr. Harrison spoke, cutting the tension in the air. “I’m sure you will grow to love me too.”

You bit your lip and the crazy idea that Rose had proposed crossed your mind. What else could you lose?

“I’m having his baby!” You said out loud.

“What?!” Your mother and father screamed with speechless looks on their faces.

Out of the corner of your eye you looked at Mr. Harrison, who had his mouth slightly open and his face, like your parents', was a poem.

“This…” Mr. Harrison began and slightly smirked. “This is humiliating.” He turned to look at your father. “Did you know?”

“Mr. Harrison, I…” Your father stuttered trying to find some words, but they all got stuck in his throat.

“You stupid bitch.” Your mother approached you and held your arm tightly, you narrowed your eyes, feeling his nails dig into your skin. "Didn't you take the herbs that the doctor prepared for you?"

“Yes mother, apparently they didn’t work.” You smirked.

“You stupid bitch.” She slapped you and your head turned to the side, leaving you breathless.

Stunned by the slap heard how your father tried to reason with Mr. Harrison and how your mother also joined in.

They weren’t hiding anything anymore, how that marriage was going to bring them a large amount of money and how Mr. Harrison was also going to support the king’s brother's return. You smile when you hear those words, it was the confirmation you needed that those letters were real and that most likely there were more.

You left the room and practically ran to your room. Your heart was thundering in your ears and your head hurt from the enormous pressure you felt. It was almost like you were going to pass out before you could get to your room.

Holding onto the doorknob you entered your room and leaned your forehead against the door once you closed it. Trying to make your heart calm down and air return to your lungs.

“My lady…” You heard Rose approaching you from behind.

“Rose I need a minute, but…” You began to talk.

“My lady.” You froze and turned yourself to look at the man that just talked.

“Nanami!” You said breathless and looking at him.

“My lady.” He looked at you, then at Rose and then back at you. He took a deep breath and then you heard his words. “Your suspicions about him were correct, Duke Gojo had an accident when he was heading back here. His carriage failed and he fell down a hillside, all I know is that the Duke is currently under the care of His Majesty the Crown Prince. But I don't know his condition."

When your father read Satoru's supposed letter your heart stopped, but at that same moment you felt like your heart was falling out of your chest. Your breathing accelerated and you began to feel your eyes stinging because of the tears that were accumulating.

“My lady.” Rose caught you when your legs gave out. “My lady, you need to breathe.”

We tried but it was like a foot was pressing on your chest and sinking you into the ground. You held Rose's hands and tried to speak. “We need to go…”

Rose looked at Nanami and they both nodded. “We will leave here as soon as possible, my lady.”

“The letter…” You whispered.

You had to take the letter with you and give it to the king or someone from the palace, you knew that this would mean the death of your parents but those two people were no longer your parents and you wanted to see them sink.

Rose grabbed your arm and the three of you left the room, heading towards the stable. You still felt your emotions on the surface, at any moment you felt like you would break but you shouldn't. You had to stay strong and leave that place and send that letter.

Taking the reins of your horse you raised your gaze and fixed it in front of you. Sighing heavily, you signaled to Nanami, telling him to leave.

Your body was so exhausted that you practically didn't remember much of the trip. You remember stopping to pick up Rose's husband, you remember Nanami telling you to ride with him, and you remember arriving at a lodge where you spent the night, but other than that, your memories were vague and confusing.

When you opened your eyes, you blinked repeatedly, taking in the light that filtered through that window. Rose was still asleep in the bed next to her. Sitting up carefully and quietly, you changed your clothes and left the room, meeting Nanami's figure guarding the door.

“Nanami.” You spoke with your voice still sleepy.

“My lady.” He greeted you with the same courtesy as always.

You chuckled and shook your head. “You don't need to continue behaving like this Nanami, I don't belong to that family anymore.” You smiled at him. “But my last proposal as your lady is that you accompany me to her majesty so I can deliver the letter to her.”

Nanami held your gaze and shook her head. “My lady, if I am still here serving you and accompanying you it is because I trust you completely and my loyalty is yours alone.”

“But…”

“I don't care if you never belong to the family again, I am faithful to you my lady.” He bowed. “And I will follow you.”

You looked at him stunned by the words he just said. “Nanami…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I will follow you and make sure you meet the duke once again.”

“Thank you…” You whispered, whipping away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. “How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

Nanami thought for a moment, thinking of the shortest and most feasible route for everyone. “Probably in two more days.” You nodded and smiled calmly.

“Good.” You said.

And so once you were all ready you left again, heading towards the capital. You were amazed with each new place you visited, with the people and the landscapes. It was the first time you traveled, since you had always been in your town and had never left there. You didn't know what would happen after delivering the letter and showing them the evidence that the king's brother was still plotting against the crown. If they would also condemn you or what would become of you. You did not know.

You also didn't know if you would be able to meet Satoru. Nanami had told you that he was in the capital, where the palace doctors were treating him but you didn't know if you would be able to see him, but you longed to see him, you longed to touch him again and feel his warmth.

When you crossed the wall that surrounded the capital you felt your heart begin to accelerate and when you began to enter the castle gate to have a reception with the king it accelerated even more. And standing there in front of the king and the prince, you felt like you could faint.

“So…” You began. “His majesty, I’m the only daughter of…” You said your family name and bowed. “I’m here to give you this letter that I found in my father’s office.” You held the letter in your hands. “I believe it’s extremely important for his majesty to know about this information and to take care of it.”

The king nodded and one of his guards took the letter from your hands and brought it to the king. He read it carefully and with a slight frown.

“You say you found this letter in your father's office?” You nodded. “You know what it means right?”

"Yes sir." You said with your eyes downcast.

“Why would you betray your family like that?” He wondered.

You clenched your fists and clenched your lips into a thin line. “Those people were not my family, my family is the ones who have accompanied and supported me on this journey and the man I am looking for.”

The king touched his chin and smiled and then looked at his son who nodded. “Thank you very much for this young lady, the crown will take care of it.”

The crown prince looked at you and smiled. "Follow me please." You looked at Rose and Nanami doubtfully and the prince, noticing it, turned to you. "Don't worry, you can trust me."

You nodded and followed his steps, tightly gripping the pendant you were wearing, trying to calm your nerves. Your eyes roamed every corner of the hallways you walked through, marveling at the details of the walls and ceilings, admiring the paintings of old monarchs that hung on the walls and the large windows that illuminated your entire path. It was like being inside one of your books, where the protagonist toured her spacious palace.

“It must have been a long trip, right?” The prince spoke again, exalting you a little.

“Uh… yeah a little.” You smiled.

“Well now you can rest here as much as you want, I'm welcome.” He smiled at you again and you smiled back. “Oh!” He stopped short in front of a large white door. "We have arrived." He said, taking the knob he opened the door.

His back blocked your view of what was in front of you so you couldn't see well what was inside.

“Look who came to see your injured ass.” The crown prince stepped aside and you finally saw what was in that room, who was in that room.

Your breathing stopped and your heart forgot how to beat when you saw him lying on that bed. His face had the occasional scar that seemed to be healing and his arm was completely bandaged. But it was there, he was there. Satoru was before you, he was alive.

“Angel…” He whispered with his blue eyes looking at you, unblinking.

And that nickname, that whisper was enough to break you down. Crying, you approached the bed and fell next to it.

“I thought…” You tried to speak but words were hard to pronounce.

“I’m so sorry my angel.” He held your hand. “Suguru give my future wife a chair or something!”

“Tsk.” You heard the crown prince. “You know I’m going to be the next king right?”

“And she is going to be my wife, so what?” Satoru replied.

“It’s okay, I…” You tried to speak.

“My lady, here you have a chair.” The crown prince smiled.

“Thank you, his majesty.” You bowed and sat down on the chair.

“I will leave the two of you alone.” The crown prince said and left the room.

“Angel…” Satoru called you.

“I though you died. I thought you left me, I…”

“I’m sorry.” He caressed your hair. “After going on that visit, I planned to take you with me to my house and finally get married. But well, the accident... it left me unconscious for several weeks and when I woke up your engagement to Mr. Harrison had become official and my condition was not the best." He sighed and squeezed your hand lightly. “I wanted to go there, get you out of that place and take you somewhere where I knew you would be happy but…” He touched his leg and smiled. “Suguru, the prince, did not allow me to do anything and I had to resign myself to knowing that the love of my life was not going to be able to be happy.”

You grabbed his hand in your hands and looked into his eyes. “But now I can be happy.” Satoru smiled.

“I didn't tell you at the time and when the accident happened my last thought was how sorry I was for not having told you but I love you my angel. I love you." He said and cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

You closed your eyes, enjoying that kiss that you had longed for so much and you let yourself be enveloped by all the love and affection that Satoru was emanating at that moment.

You had believed that you would never taste those kisses again, that you would never again feel the soft touch of his skin against yours. But there you were, enjoying the love you both felt for each other.

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Satoru…” He hummed in your ear. “Your brother was right.” You looked at him. “I’m sorry my parents were behind your parents death and also behind your…”

“Hey angel.” He made you look at him. “None of that was your fault, you are not like your parents. And soon you will be a Gojo.”

His kiss made all the storms disappear from your heart, and calm was restored, allowing your heart to beat again with serenity and tranquility.

The tumultuous waves of doubt and fear that had threatened to engulf you subsided and were replaced by a deep sense of peace. Her touch, gentle, felt like a soothing balm for a wound you didn't know was so deep. It was as if, in that moment, all the chaos and uncertainty that had plagued you dissolved, leaving only the clear, steady rhythm of love.

Satoru broke the kiss and caressed your face. “Suguru told me that before you ran away from home, Mr. Harrison had called off the engagement or proposed. What happened?"

You smiled slightly. “I told them I was having your baby.” Satoru opened his eyes. “No I'm not.” You clarified. “But you should have seen their faces.”

"I would have loved it." Satoru smiled. “But next time it could be true.” He whispered.

You turned your face. “You must recover first.” You said.

“Angel, we can do a lot of things while we wait for me to recover.” He kissed your shoulder. “A lot of new things you still don’t know.”

You turned your face to look back at him. “Like what?” You had been tempted and Satoru knew it, which is why that smile that had captivated you from the beginning appeared on his face.

Fin

Notes: I can’t believe BDILH is over (the epilogue still needs to happen but still) 😭. The fact that this short series started as a Mikasa one shot, then turned into a dark romance with Sukuna but it ended up being a Gojo short fic bc I’m such a Gojo sucker… But thank you everyone for the likes, the comments and the love.

Also sorry bc this final didn’t have much angel x Satoru but the epilogue will be fully focus on them and just them and it will be 4-5k. But the main story needed a conclusion and didn’t want to extend the chapter too much. I’m quite satisfied with the result and I hope everyone enjoyed it ❤️

— comment if you want to be tagged in the final part

🏷️: @catobsessedlady @zoeyflower @satoracyxys @lavender-hvze @slashersgirlypop @tinydonkeysforlife @oddball08 @tttttttf @crybabytoru @fccxxxcvvx @augustine13028 @alwaysfreakingout

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter One

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : The full first chapter. For anyone that missed the first sneak peak, this is going to be a vampire fic, so it's going to have smut, dark themes, and blood mentions. I've been reading a lot of gothic novels lately so there's a bit of inspo from that in here. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter One

It was official; you'd lost your fucking mind.

You’d been standing outside the building for five minutes now, the paperwork tucked in your coat pocket feeling heavier by the second. Were you sure that you wanted to do this? Could you really give up a year of your life to serve a vampire?

What other choice did you have?

A lithe and pale figure watched from behind the tinted, UV proof glass while you changed your mind a dozen times over. After a few more minutes, the sun finally disappeared into the New York skyline, plunging the street into shadow.

The door opened.

The figure called your name, and you stepped forward, almost mesmerised by the lilting, lyrical tone of her voice. You shook your head a little, trying to keep your wits about you. 

You took in the sight of her as she held open the door; taller than you with a willowy figure, long white hair down to her hips, and eyes of pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You’d seen enough vampires to tell one by sight.

Your small suitcase was clutched in your hand, the few possessions that meant anything to you had been hastily packed before you’d headed to New York, and now felt like all you had left in the world. She glanced at the suitcase with disdain, but said nothing.

“Do you have the paperwork?” She asked, the soft but icy sound of her voice sending a shiver up your spine. You nodded and she held out her hand expectantly, waiting while you fished the folded mess of documents from your coat. She gave the contract a cursory glance, making sure you’d signed every dotted line, before; “good. And are you sure you understand everything that this position entails and what will be required of you?”

You nodded again.

“Speak up,” she prompted. “This is your last chance to ask questions.”

Despite the impatience on her face, you took a moment. Only minutes ago you’d had at least half a dozen questions about the job and the mysterious vampire who had hired you.

“What happened to the last person who took this job?” Her eyebrow rose, obviously not expecting that question. “The contract is for a year, but I’ve seen this job advertised three times in the last ten months.”

“There are a lot of people who mistakenly believe that they can do what is required of them. Many have come to work for Mr Russo, and many have disappointed him,” she shrugged.

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that will happen to you if you breach your contract; immediate dismissal with no severance,” she explained, slowly starting to step towards the elevator. “During your time here, everything will be provided for you and you will only be paid once your term of service is completed.”

“A million dollars,” even though that was the amount in black and white on the contract, it still didn’t seem real to you.

“Yes,” she pressed the call button, putting an obvious timer on this conversation. “Like I said, this is your last chance to ask questions. Once I take you upstairs, your contract will officially begin, and you will forfeit the agreed upon rights.” 

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and nodded, knowing you had no choice. You needed the money and a year wasn’t that long if you really thought about it. 

The elevator doors slid open and you took one last deep breath before stepping inside.

“What floor are we going to?” You asked, not wanting to stand in silence.

“The penthouse,” she answered, allowing another moment of quiet before adding; “you’ll find that Mr Russo has been more than generous with your living quarters, far more generous than most.”

“Do a lot of vampires do this? Hire people to feed from, I mean?” 

“For those that can afford it, or those with particular... tastes, it’s quite common, yes,” she replied offhandedly, not even bothering to look at you, knowing that it didn’t matter anymore; it was too late for you to change your mind.

“And which is Mr Russo?” You dared to ask, which was enough to earn a glance from her.

“Both,” she answered coldly, “as you no doubt saw in the advertisement, Mr Russo is very particular, and you’d do well to remember that. He is a man who likes everything in its place.”

Your lips parted, more comments and questions about your mysterious employer on your tongue, but they were cut off by the opening of the elevator doors. She led you out into the penthouse; a large open-plan living and kitchen area, with an open fireplace and wrap-around sofa, decorated in dark colours and dark-stained wood.

“Leave your suitcase there,” she instructed. “You won’t need it.”

You did as you were told, speechless as you took in the huge space in front of you. The windows drew your attention; tinted and obviously UV proof, but spanning from floor to ceiling, giving an amazing view of Central Park.

“This is the main area of the penthouse,” she started, as if she was a tour guide, reeling off facts that she no longer found interesting. “You may use this area as you see fit during daylight hours, but between 9pm and 6am it is off-limits. You will clean up after yourself.”

You nodded, following her as she slowly started towards the kitchen, leaving your suitcase at the elevator.

“All food will be provided, and should not be left in this kitchen area. You have your own private kitchen in your quarters. As per your contract, you will keep to the list of acceptable foods, and will receive grocery deliveries once a week on Fridays.” She stopped for a moment, letting you get a look at the main kitchen.

While there didn’t seem to be much in the way of food in the main kitchen, there was a large wine rack, filled with bottles. But it was the small glass-fronted refrigerator that caught your attention. That was where he would keep your blood. Suddenly it all started to feel very real to you.

If your guide cared, she didn’t bother to show it. She started to move again, and you followed after.

“Behind that door,” she pointed, “are Mr Russo’s rooms. You are forbidden from entering. Any breach of that rule will result in your immediate dismissal.”

You nodded, eyes lingering on the door, wondering if he was behind it right now, if he was listening in to everything being said. The thought caused your heart to beat a little faster and, that, you were certain she did notice. She led you away, towards the other end of the apartment.

“Through that door is Mr Russo’s library, you may use it as you see fit during daylight hours,” she didn’t linger or allow you to look inside, so you decided that was the first place you would explore once you were alone.

“And this,” she pushed a door open, “is your private suite.”

The door led to a small corridor with three doors. You continued to follow her. 

“Your kitchen,” she pushed open the first door and let you glance inside before moving to the door on the opposite side of the hallway, “your bathroom.” Again, she only gave you a second before moving to the door at the end of the hallway. “And this is your bedroom. For your privacy, the door can be locked. Though once you’ve slept here, no vampire will be able to enter without permission.” 

You were almost speechless as you stepped into the room, immediately noticing the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the corner of the room, giving you amazing views of Central Park and the city. The room contained a large bed, a sofa and TV, as well as a small gym area in the corner. There was a wardrobe, the doors of which had been strategically left open so you could see that it had already been filled with clothes for you. Beyond that, there was a desk and several mirrors, and everything was decorated with the same dark palette as the rest of the penthouse. 

“As per your contract, you are expected to remain clean and healthy at all times,” she continued while you slowly stepped around the room, cautiously running your fingers over the desk and opening drawers. “Mr Russo requires that you shower at least once every day and that you wear only the clothes provided. If the clothes provided are not to your tastes, reasonable adjustments to the wardrobe can be made.”

You opened a drawer and felt heat rise in your cheeks when you realised that it was filled with silk and lace lingerie sets. Closing the drawer, you decided to look elsewhere, moving towards the nightstand. There was a silk sleep mask beside the lamp, with your initials sewn into the fabric.

“You will not leave the penthouse without permission. Any attempt to do so will result in your immediate dismissal,” again, on paper, it had sounded easy but now you weren’t so sure. “Part of remaining clean for Mr Russo means that you will forgo sex for the duration of your contract, and you will not allow anyone to touch you in a sexual way. However, Mr Russo understands that this can be... difficult for someone your age, so he has provided everything you need to keep yourself... satisfied.”

Your confused glance was met by a raised eyebrow and the slightest dip of her head, indicating the drawer which, stupidly, you opened without hesitation.

“Oh...” you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but a drawer full of sex toys certainly wasn’t it. Your cheeks got hotter and your heart raced in your chest.

“I would suggest getting that under control, your embarrassment is quite distracting to vampires,” she stated before leaving the room. You quickly pushed the drawer of toys closed and followed after her. 

She led you into the kitchen, a clean and sterile looking room with everything you’d ever need to cook for yourself. Waving at the only chair at the small table, she instructed you to sit, take your coat off and roll up your sleeve.

“For the first week, I will assist you in drawing blood and showing you how to store it, after that it will become your responsibility. You will do this at least once a day, and it is your job to ensure that Mr Russo never goes without,” she explained, opening a drawer and removing what she needed.

You felt queasy the moment the needle punctured the skin, and you were sure she scoffed when you looked away from the sight of blood. Clearly, she didn’t think you were going to last in your new job.

“While your contract is in effect, Mr Russo is the only vampire who may drink your blood,” she continued to list rules and stipulations. 

“And he’ll only drink it like this? He won’t -” you hesitated, trying to decide if the question could be seen as offensive to a vampire.

“It is, legally speaking, entirely up to you whether or not you would allow Mr Russo to feed from you directly,” which, of course was something you knew - since vampires revealed themselves to the world, lots of safe-measures had been put in place to protect humans from being involuntarily fed upon. “However, Mr Russo prefers to feed this way, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

After almost ten minutes she pulled the needle from your arm and began to explain how to seal the blood before handing you a bottle of supplements and a glass of water. 

“Take one of those every day after bleeding, they will help your body replace what you’ve given.” She watched as you took one of the supplements without questions and then led you back out into the main area of the apartment, showing you how the blood was to be stored in the fridge, with the day's date clearly marked on the jar.

“Now, you should go shower and change into the clothes provided. I can either dispose of what you’re wearing or it can be placed in storage with your other things until your contract is complete.”

“Wait - storage?” You asked, your heart skipping a beat.

“As per your contract, everything is provided -”

“I get that, but... you’re saying I can’t keep my things? What about my phone?” Sure, you’d read the contract, but you’d never realised that that was what it meant.

“Mr Russo is a very private man, your phone or other electronic devices would be a security risk,” she answered sharply. “If you wish to terminate your contract -”

“No - no, it’s fine. As long as they’re kept safe.” As much as you hated it, you knew the alternative was worse. No, you could live without your phone and laptop for a year if it meant earning a million dollars, if it meant finally being free.

Without hesitation, you removed your phone from your pocket and handed it to her. She seemed almost amused that it was already turned off, and quickly slid it into her own pocket.

She nodded and started to walk away. “Leave anything you want put into storage by the elevator.”

It was then that you realised that she was about to leave you all alone and you’d have no more chances to ask her questions.

“When will I meet Mr Russo?” You asked as she pressed the call button.

“That depends on Mr Russo,” she shrugged, “you may never meet him if he doesn’t wish it. He’ll decide when he returns to New York tomorrow. For now, I’d suggest you spend your time getting comfortable. A year is a long time for warmbloods...”

The elevator doors slid open and she carried your suitcase inside.

“I’ll be back after sunset tomorrow to draw more blood.”

It wasn’t until she was gone that you realised you’d never even gotten her name.

Alone, you remained in the kitchen for a few minutes, half expecting her to come back to explain more rules but, when she didn’t, you decided to explore.

It felt strange and you didn’t dare touch anything, practically creeping around the apartment, even though you were fairly certain that you were all alone now. You got yourself familiar with the main living area, taking a moment to enjoy the view from the windows before heading for the door that led to Mr Russo’s library.

Whatever thoughts you had about it, you weren’t expecting what you found behind that door. The book cases covered two of the walls and, in the corner of the room sat a grand piano. There was a worn looking leather sofa and, towards the back of the room, you realised that there was a set of shelves filled with vinyl records. Suddenly, being stuck in this apartment for a whole year didn’t seem like enough time. 

There was a strange mix of old and new about the room, things that made you wonder about the sort of person your new employer was. How old was he? How long had he been a vampire? 

You decided that you were definitely going to spend a lot of time in the library but, for tonight, you settled on taking a battered looking copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from a shelf, hoping that no one would mind if you took it back to your room.

While it wasn’t getting late, it had been a long day and you were still feeling a little shaky, so you decided to do as instructed and have a shower before changing into one of the silken pairs of pyjamas that had been provided. Once you’d neatly folded and piled your old clothes by the elevator, you returned to your bedroom.

Paranoia had you checking around the room, beneath the bed and in the wardrobe, before you finally felt safe enough to lock yourself in. While it had been your plan to read until you fell asleep, you were too distracted by thoughts of home; had anyone noticed that you were gone yet? Were they looking for you? Had they been trying to call?

The only thing that you knew for certain was that no one would find you here. And, once you’d completed your year and had your million dollars, no one would find you ever again.

The next morning you realised why you’d been provided a sleep mask; as stunning as the floor to ceiling windows were, the moment the sun rose your room was filled with light. Grumbling, your hand reached for your phone on the night stand before you remembered exactly where you were and that you no longer had your phone.

There was a clock in the kitchen, on the wall above the small table where you sat and had breakfast, telling you that it was far too early to be awake. 

After breakfast you showered and decided to spend the day getting used to your surroundings, starting with the bedroom. 

The contents of the wardrobe left you speechless. Even the leggings and jeans were expensive brands, and some of the ball gowns... honestly, you didn’t even know why they were in there, but you’d spent enough time attending balls and gala’s back home to know that each was easily worth tens of thousands of dollars. Some of the garments felt a little more questionable; corsets and dresses that would probably reveal far more than you were comfortable with.

And the shoes.

You’d never seen so many pairs of shoes. Everything ranging from cute sneakers, to thigh-high boots with heels so big you’d break your neck if you fell over in them. Every kind of shoe for every sort of occasion, and they were all stunning.

Then, in the drawers, you had your more everyday items; underwear, tee-shirts, leggings. And, again, it seemed like no expense had been spared. Admittedly when you finally changed out of the pyjamas, it felt a little bit weird to put on underwear that you hadn’t bought for yourself, and weirder still to think about how soft the lace felt on your skin.

You picked out a pair of jeggings, an oversized sweater and a pair of Uggs to wear before continuing to search through your room. There was everything you could think that you might want or need, with the exception of a laptop or phone. (And you were very mindful about ignoring the drawer of sex toys, not even wanting to think about it.)

It took you almost the whole day to get through it all and find where everything was. Once you were done, you decided to cook dinner; a simple pasta in sauce with some bread. You hadn’t even stepped out of your suite and into the main apartment, you’d almost managed to forget that anything existed outside of your bubble until the sudden knock on the suite's door. 

You opened the door to find her standing there, remembering she had promised to return at sunset.

“Have you found everything to your liking so far?” She asked as she stepped past you and made her way into the kitchen. 

“Everything is fine,” you told her, following after. “I did have a few... questions about some things?”

She indicated that you take a seat and moved to the cupboard that contains the equipment for drawing blood. You rolled up your sleeve without being asked.

“Yes?” She prompted.

“In the wardrobe, there are ball gowns?” More statement than question and she looked at you with a raised eyebrow until you clarified; “why?”

“Mr Russo occasionally likes to host parties or attend events in the city,” she answered, piercing your skin with the needle. “If he decides he enjoys your company, he may ask you to attend with him.”

“Oh,” you decided not to ask the ridiculous follow up and instead change direction completely. “And, while I’m here I’m not allowed a phone or the internet?”

“As I told you yesterday, Mr Russo is a very private man. If you wish to contact loved ones, I can -”

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly cut her off. “What if there’s... I don’t know, an emergency? Or something I need?”

For a second she paused, the slightest look of realisation on her face, as if she’d just remembered something. 

“By the elevator, there’s an intercom. You can use it to contact me or, if I’m not available, you can contact the doorman.”

Which, of course, brought you to the next awkward question.

“... you never told me your name.”

“Lissa,” she quickly responded, off-handedly, almost dismissively, like she thought you’d never need it. 

Once she was finished drawing blood, you followed her out into the main area of the penthouse and over to the fridge where, to your surprise, yesterday’s blood was gone.

“Is -” you started to ask, glancing towards that foreboding door that was off-limits to you, “- is Mr Russo here?”

“He’s back in the city, yes.” 

You took that to mean that he wasn’t in, so you decided not to ask any more questions - what had she told you yesterday? That he’d decide whether he wanted to meet you when he got back. Well, he was back now and, obviously, he didn’t.

Lissa asked if you needed anything desperately and you told her you didn’t; she didn’t exactly make it seem like she was interested, more that she felt obligated.

The next few days passed in much the same way; you’d spend your afternoons exploring the penthouse, trying to get some idea of what Mr Russo was like. Then Lissa would help you draw blood and, by the end of the first week, you no longer needed her assistance. Every morning you checked the fridge and found it empty. He was there, in the penthouse. But, as the days passed, you started to think you’d never cross paths and maybe that was by design.

Maybe that was for the best, maybe it would be easier to get through the year without meeting him. You could just pretend that the penthouse was yours.

But it seemed like a lonely way to live, especially once Lissa no longer had a reason to visit. You weren’t used to space or privacy, not like this. You took to muttering to yourself, moving from room to room of the penthouse just to get a little bit of variety in your life.

The first day you were completely left alone, you decided to start the morning with a run on the treadmill. It was raining outside but you tried to picture what it would be like to run through the winding paths of Central Park, all the way to the fountain. Then, after showering, you rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen to find all the ingredients you needed to make chocolate muffins.

By the time the sun started to set, you were quietly impressed with how well you’d managed to distract yourself. But it was only one day, and you had over three-hundred and fifty more to fill. You made yourself some dinner, drew some blood and took it out to the fridge for Mr Russo, whenever he decided to get it.

Then, you ended up on the sofa.

Initially you’d only wanted to sit down for a few minutes, feeling tired and a little bit unsteady after putting today’s blood in the fridge. You had a feeling that you might have drawn a little too much, and you found your eyes drifting shut. 

The alarm on your watch woke you, set to remind you every night when it was approaching 9pm so you could retire to your suite, as per the rules. You felt groggy as your eyes opened, taking a second to sharpen.

And there he was, sitting on the opposite side of the wrap-around sofa, a glass in his hand, dark eyes set on you.

You sat up quickly - so quickly that it made you feel dizzy.

Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or nausea.

If he cared about your display of discomfort, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, for a moment you were sure you saw a flicker of a smirk cross his lips. For a second you found yourself staring, taking in the sight of him; dark suit, dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was stunning, even by vampire standards.

“I’m sorry, I -” you started, flustered. You didn’t even know what you were apologising for. It wasn’t like you’d broken any of his rules.

“So you’re the new one,” his voice didn’t sound like you thought it would. For the look of him, you’d imagined a smooth but commanding tone, instead there was something rough to it.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, quickly introducing yourself to him rather than addressing what exactly he meant by the new one.

“Drink that,” he instructed and you noticed the glass of orange juice on the table. “It’ll help with the blood loss.”

Your cheeks warmed a fraction, embarrassed that he’d figured out why you were sleeping on the sofa. (Just how long had he been sitting watching you sleep, anyway?)

You gave a muttered thank you before reaching for the glass and slowly starting to drink. You’d forgotten to take your supplement too and that probably wasn’t helping.

“So, what are you running from?”

“I'm sorry?” You asked, not understanding the question. 

“You've agreed to spend a year living in the home of a man you've never met - a vampire, no less - so, what are you running from?” He looked at you as if he could look through you, as if he expect a lie and he’d be able to catch you in it

“I’m not running,” you answered, forcing yourself to sit a little straighter, despite the light-headedness. “I just didn’t want to be at home anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?” You answered flippantly before realising that that wasn’t the best way to talk to your new employer. “I mean - I already signed all of your contracts, so does it make a difference?”

“It does if I end up with your parents at the door screaming about how I spirited away their daughter and have her under my thrall so I can drain her blood.”

“Has - has that happened before?” There was something about his face, his eyes, it made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious. “Things like this are legal, so it’s not like they could complain...”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

It was only then that you realised what was in his glass, the dark viscous liquid he was gently swirling. He was sitting and having this conversation with you while cradling a glass of your blood.

“I’m not avoiding it,” you decided to tell him, “I just don’t want to answer it. I appreciate how this could look to some people, but I can promise you my family won’t be an issue. They don’t even know that I’m here and they have no way of finding me.”

“So, not running, escaping,” he stated like he didn’t want a response and already knew he was going to get one. And, finally, he lifted his glass and took a slow drink..

You didn’t want to watch him drink, but you found that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, watching the gentle bob of his throat and the way he licked his lips after draining half the glass. When he caught you looking, you dropped your attention to your own glass and took a slow drink.

“I’m not your first am I?” 

Sputtering, you almost choked on your drink and, for some reason, your mind immediately went to the drawer of toys in your bedroom. Your cheeks continued to warm as the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk.

“My first what?”

“Vampire.”

“No. I mean, I’ve never -” you took a second, trying to regain your composure. “I’ve met other vampires, I’ve just never let them...”

He lifted the glass and cocked an eyebrow before taking a drink. This time when he drank, you let him see you watching, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. Again, his tongue wiped away any trace of your blood from his lips and he looked oddly satisfied.

“Do you like it here? Are you settling in?” He asked, and you were starting to realise he was trying to get a measure of you. “Are your rooms to your liking?”

“Yes, you have a lovely home,” you answered before taking an awkward drink. You weren’t sure what else to say about it because, outside of the library, there wasn’t much to the penthouse. In fact, once you started thinking about it, you couldn’t help but realise that it seemed a little cold and lonely. But, perhaps it was different in his rooms, perhaps that was where he’d made his penthouse into a home.

“You like the library,” a statement more than a question.

“Yes, I - how did you know?” Had he been spying on you? Watching you?

“My copy of Dorian Gray,” he stated softly, and you felt your breath catch, “it doesn’t seem to be where I left it.”

“It’s in my room,” you answered, worried that you might have already done something wrong - you couldn’t afford to lose this job, not after only a week. “No one told me that I couldn’t take it out of the library, I just wanted something to read in bed and I -”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement. “You can take as many books from the library as you want, as long as they’re returned undamaged.”

It seemed to mean a lot to him and, perhaps, you should have asked why but, instead, you found yourself feeling indignant.

“I’d never damage a book,” you told him, “especially one that didn’t belong to me.”

Again, he seemed more amused than fazed by your response. “So, you like to read?”

You nodded.

“Why?” His eyes stayed on you, staring through you, right to your soul. At least, that was how it felt. Your lips parted, but you didn’t have an answer for him. Why did anyone like to read? “Escapism? Perhaps to imagine a better life? Or is it love and fantasies of fictional men who will treat you better than anyone in the real world that you enjoy?”

“Is that why you have all those books? To fantasise about fictional men?” you found yourself responding, trying desperately to ignore the heat burning through your cheeks.

He let out a laugh, a deep and dark sound that sent a shiver up your spine. The smirk on his lips grew and, for a moment, he just watched you before shrugging.

“Sometimes men, sometimes women,” he admitted with ease, lifting his glass and draining it, leaving nothing but a pinkish stain on the inside of the glass. “I like you,” he decided and you weren’t sure if he meant you or your blood. “This is going to be fun.”

With that, he got to his feet and all you could do was watch, getting some idea of his height and how he held himself once he was standing. He moved with the confidence of a predator who knew his own strength even if others couldn’t see it, and you knew immediately that you shouldn’t underestimate him.

“You should return to your rooms,” he told you, turning and heading for the kitchen to get rid of his empty glass. “I wouldn’t want Lissa finding out that you’ve already broken your contract.”

For a second you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you saw the time. Twenty past nine. He’d kept you talking for almost half an hour. (Could he really fire you for that when he was the reason?)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time, I -” you got to your feet so quickly that you almost fell back down

“I’m joking,” it hadn’t sounded like a joke. He glanced back towards you, offering something of a smile. “You should go back to your rooms and rest, though. And tomorrow, take more care when you’re drawing blood. I wouldn’t want you fainting.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before moving towards the elevator and slipping inside once the doors opened.

For a few seconds, you stood, at a loss over what had just happened, before quickly making your way back to your own rooms.

CHAPTER TWO

End Notes : Sooo... there it is. I honestly hate starting new fics because I always feel like they start a little slow. I'm not sure what the posting schedule will look like for this one, I'm hoping once a week (on Friday evenings) but I'll post an update or something if that changes.

Thanks for checking this out, I know it's a bit of a departure from Catch Me if You Can. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 34 — FALSE PEACE

wc — 1k+

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The thing about broken friendships was that they didn’t always explode in dramatic, irreparable ways.

Sometimes, they just lingered. Stretched thin. Warped into something unfamiliar. And sometimes, they got shoved into a group project with no way out.

You stared blankly at the email on your screen. Your professor’s name sat at the top, followed by a subject line that made your stomach sink.

FINAL PROJECT GROUPS – COMPULSORY PARTICIPATION

Your cursor hovered over the message, a part of you hoping you had read the names wrong the first time. But when you opened it again, the reality stayed the same.

Group 5: Y/N, Jake, Jay, Sunghoon.

It was almost laughable. Almost.

The four of you hadn’t been in the same space, in the same conversation, since everything fell apart. And now you were supposed to work together? Pretend things were fine? Smile and collaborate like nothing had happened?

The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

When the time came for your group to meet, the air was thick with unspoken things.

Jake sat at one end of the table, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the surface in front of him. Jay was directly across from him, eyes scanning his notes with the kind of forced focus that meant he was trying to ignore everything else. Sunghoon had taken the seat beside you, the only person in the room who didn’t look like he was mentally preparing for a fight.

You kept your head down, pretending to be deeply invested in adjusting the alignment of your document.

No one spoke first.

It was Jay who broke the silence. “We should probably start by dividing up the work.” Jake didn’t look up. “Whatever.”

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, shooting a glance at you before responding. “We can split the research first, then decide who’s presenting.” You nodded. “That makes sense.”

Jake let out a quiet scoff.

You froze.

Jay’s expression darkened. “Something you want to say, Jake?” Jake leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Nope. Just love how some people get to make all the decisions now.”

Sunghoon barely reacted, but you felt his presence shift slightly, like he was aware of where this was going before anyone else.

Jay’s jaw tightened. “No one’s making decisions for you. You could try acting like an adult and actually contributing.” Jake’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Right, because you’re the expert on maturity.”

Jay dropped his pen onto the table, pushing his chair back an inch. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Jake shrugged. “I think I just did.”

The silence was sharp, and you wished more than anything that the table would just swallow you whole.

Sunghoon shifted beside you, his tone deceptively light. “Can we not do this here?” Jay exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake didn’t respond.

The meeting continued, but the tension sat thick between every word exchanged. Jay spoke directly to you and Sunghoon, carefully avoiding Jake. Jake barely said anything at all, but when he did, it was always clipped, almost mocking.

You tried to focus, tried to keep your attention on the work, but the weight of their resentment was suffocating.

At some point, you excused yourself under the pretense of getting water. You weren’t even thirsty, you just needed air.

The hallway outside felt marginally better, though your pulse was still uneven.

You hadn’t even taken two full breaths before Sunghoon followed you out, leaning casually against the wall beside you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You exhaled. “Fine.”

He hummed, unconvinced.

You hesitated. “It’s just… this is unbearable.” He nodded. “Yeah. They’re unbearable.” That almost made you laugh. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.”

You sighed. “Why does it feel like this is never going to end?” Sunghoon glanced toward the closed door. “Because they don’t want it to.” You frowned. “What do you mean?” He looked at you then, gaze steady. “They’re holding onto it. The anger, the guilt, the blame. None of it’s productive, but they’re still gripping it like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

You swallowed hard. “And you?” “What about me?” “You’re here too. You’re a part of this.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not fighting anyone, am I?”

“No. You’re just…” He raised an eyebrow. “Just what?” You hesitated. “Just making it easier.”

He didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at you for a long moment before nodding toward the door.

“Come on. Let’s finish this.”

The rest of the meeting dragged on, but you noticed things differently now.

You noticed the way Sunghoon redirected conversations whenever tension flared. The way he subtly engaged Jay before he could react to one of Jake’s passive-aggressive remarks. The way he leaned forward slightly when Jake made a comment about “some people” always needing to have things their way, cutting off whatever reaction you might’ve had before you could give it.

It was effortless. Unobtrusive. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you might’ve thought nothing of it.

But you knew better now.

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because if Sunghoon was stepping in like this, if he was making a point to shield you from the worst of it, then that meant he saw how much it was affecting you.

It meant you weren’t hiding it as well as you thought.

By the time the meeting ended, no one lingered.

Jay was the first to leave, gathering his things quickly and walking out without a word. Jake followed not long after, his expression unreadable.

You sat frozen in your seat, waiting for the tension to dissolve.

It didn’t.

Sunghoon watched you carefully. “You good?” You forced a nod. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced.

For a second, you thought he was going to push you to talk, to admit how much this was getting to you. But he didn’t.

Instead, he just nudged your arm lightly.

“Let’s go.”

And just like that, the suffocating weight in your chest felt a little lighter.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[eu0n1a]

Pls I need more of yandere Izuku!!! I BEG OF YOU!!!! I 100% believe he is stalker material and would have that wall of pictures of you.

yandere prohero izuku breaking into your home (+more Stalking details) (-follow me on tiktok: @sunnytingz69 for ur fav character edits & help me hit 1K so i can livestream games, book streams, n more)

your relationship seemed normal to you, he's your childhood best friend. after graduating UA and quickly rising to the top. you never escaped his mind. he misses you SO MUCH!

i mean you two have spent practically your whole lives together, and now what? nothing? he's so busy now, beating villains bloody, attending national TV interviews. if it's not the work then it's the media not giving him space to breathe. and you barely have time with all the pile of work your professors give you.

he would try his best to maintain contact with you. but everytime the messages would be hours apart. he felt you fading away and it upset him. he hasn't seen you in so long.

so he decides to visit you. issue is during his visit ...

he knows it's late at night. but something caught his eye. around the small space between the curtains and he saw YOU!

"gosh you're so cute," he thinks with heart eyes.

deciding to let himself in.

"best friends let themselves into eachother's houses, right?"

"i just want to turn off the TV, i'm doing her a favor."

taking advantage of the fact it's 3AM. passing through the white picket fence. in your backyard he opened the back door you forget to lock. Japan is one of the safest countries in the world. why lock it?

because of him. you'll learn soon.

exploring your house first, particularly your bedroom. rationalizing it by saying, "their birthday is coming up. maybe i'll find out what she likes."

of course he rationalizes every odd thing he does.

sniffing the pillows, a soft smile, whispering to himself, "mm strawberry shampoo" total lovesick idiot.

by the time, he finished learning things about you, he got to the living room. The TV radiating light on your face, everything else dark.

today was his first picture, his heart beating rapidly as he took it. gosh, how much he wanted to kiss you, hold you. you always lingered on his mind and he hates himself. hates himself for not confessing his love to you back in UA.

you could have been his. his honey, his lover. someone to dote on, someone to love, he hated how he wasn't able to caress your cheek.

but for now he had to return back home.

creating fake social media accounts. thank goodness you didn't have a private account. saving all your pictures, visiting your page whenever he could.

screenshotting pictures, making deep dives on the surroundings. who's that? he's searching up everything about the people around you in those pictures.

but he wouldn't talk to you, no. he needs to make sure he has all his facts straight about you. needs to make your reunion perfect.

instead he took pictures, videos. his phone had a whole folder dedicated to them. it was private, labeled as 'documents'. even bought a usb to upload it to his personal laptop.

pictures of you out on a walk, at a club, at home. he would dedicate his time simply staring, excusing it as "she's changed so much, i need to learn more about her".

it turned into something he couldn't help. secretly following her because 'a quirkless person must be protected. nothing will happen to them on my watch.'

familiarizing himself with you again as he opens one of his drawers. notebooks upon notebooks, all about you, from elementary to his UA years. reading through them either to give himself a good laugh or reminisce the past.

opening up a new notebook for a new era. once the pen hits the paper, he writes quickly, whispering gibberish at a rapid pace only he could understand.

(thx 4 the ask, I've literally never had one before💗)