#this has been brewing in my mind for Months. it was only a matter of

[aakipple]

some of my favorite stills from a cherry magic animatic i made yesterday :)

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[classyrbf]

THE MAN I USED TO KNOW! #2 — SUGURU GETO

SYNOPSIS...you feel suguru has grown distant your relationship, leaving you lonely and confused, so when you confront him in hopes to find reassurance, you find out the worst instead

INFO...geto x fem!reader, angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of breakup, arguing in public, no comfort, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

part 1

It’s been a month since you left the apartment. A month since he’s last heard your voice. A month since he’s last seen you. He can’t tell what’s so different now, what makes him feel like he suddenly cares about you and how things ended. In his mind it doesn’t make any sense. How could someone be said he fell out of love with, cheated on, suddenly be plaguing his heart like a disease. You were hard to get rid of.

He stays up at night, staring up at the ceiling after trying hours and hours to fall asleep, only to fail. The house is so quiet you could hear a pin drop and the bed feels so empty and cold. Not a sound could be heard, not your small breaths as you slept, or your touch when you cuddled against him in the night because you wanted to feel loved by him.

He twisted and turned in the bed, flipping over to your side, staring at the pillow. He swears he could smell your perfume faintly on the fabric, but that could be his mind playing tricks on him. It’s been doing that ever since. Dinner was always takeout, never the warm home cooked meals that you always had prepared. He was starting to get sick of the taste, opting out of eating in general because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t replicate your cooking.

A deep sigh leaves his lips as he sit up, feet planting on the hardwood floor. His phone rings loudly, illuminating the dark room. He slowly turns his head, looking at the caller ID. It was the woman who he threw everything away for temporary pleasure. He’d been ignoring her calls ever since that day and he doesn’t know what overcame him, but he decided to finally pick up the call. “Hello?” He answered, voice scruffy and gravely.

“Suguru! Finally you pick up! Why have you been ignoring my texts and calls?” She asked frantically.

He rolled his eyes, shutting them. “It’s the middle of the night can we not do this?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“Is it because of her? Are you two still together? I thought you said you were going to end things with her eventually? What changed?” She was asking question after question which only made him more irritated than he already was. “I miss you, Sugu,” she pouted.

The nickname made him wince, reminding him of how gently you used to call his name. “I need to go.” He abruptly hung up the call. His thumb hovered over his screen, pressing on his messages and scrolling to find your name. His jaw clenched at the sight of the contact name he had for you, forgetting to change it.

“My girl” it read.

He clicked on the contact, eyes scanning over the last messages that were sent. It was the day he told you, the day it all fell apart.

Geto: might be a little late for dinner

My girl: no worries, I’ll keep it warm :)

Even when you were falling apart you always treated him with kindness. It was never about the arguments, not with you. Yeah, sure you’d fight with each other, screaming matches back and forth. But, that’s normal in a relationship. Sometimes things lead to disagreements. It’s only when he took it too far, grew distant, fell out of love, cheated, while you were at home, waiting for him each and every night.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, contemplating to text you. He stares at the screen for a few more seconds before deciding to close his phone, placing it back down on the nightstand.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee filled the air, a quiet atmosphere settled around you as you sat at a small table, scrolling through social media. It was a cold early morning, soft snow flurries fell from the cloudy sky and painted the ground in a blinding white. It was the perfect day to relax in a cozy coffee shop and enjoy yourself, something you haven’t done in a long time.

From time to time, your brain wanders to that night you found out Suguru was cheating on you. It still makes your heart twinge, an odd feeling in your chest. You’d cry countless times in one day, wondering what it was that you did, how you could have been better. There were so many questions that you still had to ask, but you weren’t sure if you wanted answers. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. You’d think about them, wondering if Suguru and whoever the woman he was seeing were now happy together, living in the apartment that you once shared with him.

You sipped on your coffee, the hot liquid trickling down your throat. The cold breeze from the outside blew into the coffee shop as the door opened for a few seconds, the bell above letting out a high pitched ding.

“Morning, could I small latte, please?” The familiar voice made your body freeze in place, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Lifting your head, you seen the familiar long, black, silky hair. Quickly, you looked away, scrolling on your phone. The longer you looked at him, the more afraid you’d threaten to break down in tears, maybe even scream at him. “Thank you,” he softly spoke.

It felt like time froze, the more you sat here, the harder it felt to get up. Did he already see you? Maybe he’s ignoring you too? While your thoughts were telling you one thing, trying to convince you of some other reality, you could feel eyes burning into your skull. You didn’t dare turn around to see if he was looking at you. With flared nostrils, you inhaled deeply, clearly your throat to rid of the awkwardness, mindlessly scrolling on your phone to make it look like you were busy.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as the barista called for his coffee, you were quick to stand from your seat, grabbing your wallet and coffee off the table and making a dash for the door. The cold winter breeze hit your skin as soon as you stepped out, a cold chill sending down your spine.

“Y/n.” You halted in your tracks at the sound of your name. With closed eyes, you let out a deep sigh. Do you keep walking? Do you turn around and face him? Would you be able to keep your composure for even a second if your eyes meet his?

The snow under your feet stuck to your boots, heels twisting into the ground. You were now facing him. It felt like every memory that you shared with him came flashing back in an instant—good and bad. Your heart felt conflicted, knowing you still had time to walk away. His mouth partially opened like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He looked defeated, stuck in place. His eyes could do nothing but scan your features, search for any hint that you were felt the same for him like he felt for you. But he highly doubts that. “How have you been?” He asked.

Clenching your jaw, you narrowed your eyes at him, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Fine.” You shrugged. Your tone was bitter and cold, one that he wasn’t familiar with. There you both stood in the middle of the sidewalk, snowflakes kissing your skin, stinging your cheeks. “What do you want, Geto?”

The use of his last name makes his heart sink into his stomach, a weird feeling in his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head with pinched brows. “I…I don’t know,” he said barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t get to say you’re sorry when you don’t mean it. You’re only saying it because you got caught. I don’t think you understand what you did. At all.” Surprisingly, your voice was calm and composed compared to the last time you spoke with him. It was hard not to lash out, but you knew it wouldn’t make you feel any better than you already did. “I loved you, Geto. It’s sad that you didn’t realize that sooner. Look,” you step closer to him, “I don’t know where our relationship took such a turn, I don’t know the exact moment you fell out of love, but I genuinely hope you find someone who is worth your time.” You softly smiled.

“You were worth my time!” He said with desperation, almost like he was begging.

“No, I wasn’t. And it’s fine, I accept that.” You nod your head at him. “You can feel regret, you can change your mind, but you can’t undo what you did,” you state.

“I miss you, y/n, so fucking much. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. All I ever think about is you, how I hurt you, brushed you aside—”

“Just stop, please. Nothing is going to change my mind, no matter what you say.” You chew on your bottom lip, a look of sincerity in your eyes.

“No, don’t say that. Come on. Please,” he begs, watery eyes looking at you.

“Let me go, Geto. It’s best for the both of us.” You felt your eyes sting with tears, your vision blurry as you tried your hardest to hold them back. You didn’t want him to see you cry again, he didn’t deserve it.

“What if I don’t want to? What if I can’t?” He had a pained expression on his face, closing the distance between you two. It’s the closest he’s been able to get you, the closest he’s felt to you in long time. He doesn’t mean physically, he means emotionally, mentally. It shouldn’t be under these circumstances, not when he’s ripped your heart in two. It should be when he’s holding you at home, his lips on yours as he tells you how much he loves you, because he does love you. He realized it when you walked out that door.

“Then I’ll make the decision for you.” You turned away from him beginning to walk away, the cold wing hitting your skin, your eyes burning.

Geto pulled you back by your hand, your touch warm and soft in his. “I’m not letting you walk away again.”

“Let me go, Geto—”

“I love you, y/n. I need you. I wanna feel your love again, your warmth, your laughs, I want it all.” His grip grew tighter, a tear falling from his eye as he stared at you. A frown formed on his face, the tears he was holding back all this time came rushing out.

“You didn’t want it then. What makes you think you deserve it now? Huh? Now you know how it feels.” Your tone was harsh, like sending daggers straight into his heart. You snatched your hand from his. “You cheated over a petty argument, not once, not twice, but several times you’d meet up with her, lie to my face! Do you know what went through my head? How disgusted I felt with myself? I was questioning my worth, wondering if I was enough for anyone! I shouldn’t fucking feel like that!” You pushed him, hot tears warming your cold cheeks. “Leave me alone! Please! Just do this one thing for me.” You sniffled, your feet moving before you could think, walking away from him.

Once more, he watched you slip away, your figure disappearing into the snow. He swallowed thickly, looking down at the cup of fresh coffee he had yet to take a sip from. He tossed it. The content spilling on spilling on the ground and staining the glistening snow. He no longer had an appetite for anything anymore. The pit inside his chest grew larger, sucking him in like a black hole.

He stood there for what felt like minutes, hoping, waiting to see you walking towards him again. But the wind just howled loudly and the cars drove past without a care in the world. Everyone has their own lives to live, their own stories. Though, in his story, he’d live with regret, guilt, and shame until the very end. Even if he does manage to find someone else, love someone else, live his life to the fullest, just know you’d always be in back of his mind as a reminder of every horrible thing about himself.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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

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

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else. 

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black. 

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials. 

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one. 

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison. 

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am. 

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it. 

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for. 

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house. 

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing. 

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval. 

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading. 

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents. 

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him. 

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.  

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it. 

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering. 

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone. 

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose. 

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing. 

8:59. 

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly. 

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm. 

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy. 

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock. 

But today is the day where everything comes to a head. 

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters. 

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty. 

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance. 

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning. 

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing. 

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet. 

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you. 

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears. 

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat. 

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action. 

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long. 

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly. 

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence. 

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed. 

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence. 

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester. 

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months. 

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare. 

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats. 

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. 

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me. 

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere. 

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it. 

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published. 

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach. 

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening. 

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to  catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet. 

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return. 

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung. 

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others. 

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you. 

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose. 

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game. 

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester. 

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance. 

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw. 

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried. 

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind. 

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone. 

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall. 

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?” 

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above. 

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach. 

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face. 

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare. 

But you hadn’t. 

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you. 

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer. 

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them. 

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected. 

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad. 

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with. 

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual. 

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him. 

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect. 

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class. 

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off. 

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him. 

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here. 

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?” 

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face. 

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind. 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you. 

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium. 

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time. 

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten. 

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need. 

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is. 

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord. 

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare. 

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy. 

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door. 

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation. 

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently. 

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door. 

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door. 

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend. 

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it. 

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold. 

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike? 

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom. 

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours. 

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with. 

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you. 

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one. 

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how. 

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting. 

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.  

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground. 

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once. 

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something. 

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it. 

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this. 

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you. 

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder. 

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud. 

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing. 

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage. 

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published. 

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume. 

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs. 

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye. 

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago. 

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently. 

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste. 

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days. 

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.  

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species. 

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago. 

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is. 

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago. 

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads. 

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads. 

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared. 

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive. 

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch. 

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear. 

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow. 

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes. 

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak. 

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood. 

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric. 

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even. 

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world. 

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all. 

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students. 

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style. 

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him. 

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You. 

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success. 

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing. 

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you. 

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours. 

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence. 

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different. 

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside. 

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her. 

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hook, line, and sinker.

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

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

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

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

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way. 

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it. 

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course. 

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited. 

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance. 

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands. 

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you. 

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas. 

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper. 

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same. 

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry. 

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read. 

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry. 

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it. 

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this? 

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page. 

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information. 

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these. 

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads. 

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up. 

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all. 

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed. 

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission. 

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.” 

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like— 

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?” 

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze. 

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all. 

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet. 

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation. 

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend. 

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, “Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided. 

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, “Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds. 

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even. 

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you. 

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much. 

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss. 

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say. 

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears. 

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours. 

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it. 

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing. 

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands. 

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value. 

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors. 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment. 

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it. 

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home. 

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you. 

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected. 

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind. 

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you. 

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works. 

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires. 

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting. 

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public. 

And then you make your way to the university library. 

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft. 

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website. 

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery. 

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between. 

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand. 

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels. 

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes. 

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents. 

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start. 

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page. 

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die. 

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date. 

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off. 

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity. 

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind. 

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name. 

The taste of blood. 

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash. 

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire. 

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts. 

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading. 

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book. 

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays. 

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire. 

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase. 

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality. 

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours. 

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you. 

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you. 

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave. 

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home. 

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound. 

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library. 

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint. 

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.”

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small. 

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another. 

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon. 

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them. 

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence. 

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.” 

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.” 

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable. 

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag. 

Sacred Monsters. 

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story. 

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you. 

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.” 

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him. 

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you. 

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect. 

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse. 

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks… 

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be. 

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end. 

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why. 

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now. 

 But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end. 

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives. 

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door. 

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look. 

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. 

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread. 

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes. 

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit. 

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist. 

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. 

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always. 

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence. 

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush. 

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is. 

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease. 

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense. 

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime. 

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads. 

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page. 

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat. 

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop. 

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred. 

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families. 

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it. 

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied. 

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now. 

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you. 

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems. 

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business. 

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain. 

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area. 

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers. 

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay. 

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings. 

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard. 

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing. 

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off. 

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now. 

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe. 

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside. 

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here. 

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response. 

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung. 

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room. 

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building. 

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange. 

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe. 

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you. 

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains. 

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away. 

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again. 

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction. 

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door. 

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now. 

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat. 

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear. 

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.  

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm. 

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel. 

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit. 

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come. 

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette. 

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person. 

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth. 

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit. 

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it. 

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true. 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would. 

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking. 

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions. 

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything. 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight. 

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck. 

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck. 

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics. 

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss. 

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory. 

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness. 

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would. 

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks. 

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel. 

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being. 

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat. 

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper. 

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck. 

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain. 

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air. 

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up. 

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you. 

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

[number1mingyustan]

-Cuffing Season-

His Friend

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader x boyfriendsbestfriend!jungkook

Warnings: established relationship, kissing, cursing, explicit smut, striptease, size kink, threesome, unprotected sex, protected sex, oral (f.+m.), gagging, fingering (f.), squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a lot of sexual tension, mentions of a safe word, surprisingly healthy communication

Summary: (What SZA said)²

Word Count: 5.3k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: ive never written anything like this, it's not really my thing but before i was a carat, i was an army and i fear that will never change)

The city lights shine brightly outside. Beams of red, green, white, and occasional blue reflect from the buildings surrounding you. You don't pay it much mind, thoughts elsewhere as the rays of light zip past your line of sight.

The train is moving pretty fast, and the window in front of you isn't all that clean, making it difficult to pinpoint where the lights outside are coming from. It's where everyone must be, you figure, considering the car train is empty.

Mostly empty anyway.

The two men sitting in front of you are engaging in conversation without you. You're standing, hands gripping the silver pole beside you as a means of support. Your eyes shift between your boyfriend and his best friend as they laugh and talk.

The vehicle suddenly comes to a stop, brakes working at full force to let the passengers off from the other cars. The sudden shift causes you to lose your balance, stumbling over.

A pair of strong arms act fast, reaching out to hold you up in your drunken state.

"Be careful," Mingyu mumbles, pulling you in by your legs to hold you up. Your hands move from the silver pole to the hand holder above you as you step closer to your boyfriend.

"I am being careful," you furrow your brows.

"Sure you don't wanna sit?" Jungkook asks, looking at the space between him and Mingyu that you occupied only a few minutes ago.

"I'm fine," You protest, walking away from the two men in front of you and back to the pole in the middle of the train. You spin around it mindlessly, nearly losing your balance again and giggling to yourself.

Your mind is a bit hazy, high off of pure fun, and maybe one too many drinks. What started off as innocent fun has slowly segwayed into much more.

You're not entirely sure how you even ended up here.

See, Jungkook and Mingyu have been best friends for years. They met when they were teens and have been pretty much inseparable since. But as they grew older, their lives took them in different places.

Mingyu stayed closer to home, but Jungkook has a more adventurous spirit. He moved about an hour away into the city, and opened up his own tattoo shop.

Of all Mingyu's friends, Jungkook had to be your favorite.

Of course the two kept in contact with one another, but they didn't see each other as much because of the distance. With both of them working and Mingyu's job being so demanding, it had been months since they'd actually seen each other. There were time where their schedules aligned and plans could be made.

Like tonight, the two made plans in the city and you decided to tag along. You found somewhere in the middle, hopped on the train and spent the night out drinking and singing karaoke. The time flew and before you knew it, people started to go home and you realized it was time to head back.

But you guys hadn't seen Jungkook in so long and you were having such a good time, didn't really want the night to end. So you invited him back to your place for the night, making it obvious that you didn't want the fun to end. Matter of fact, it hadn't even really begun yet.

You scan over his features, noticing his facial expressions and body language. You can tell something is weighing on his mind. He pulls at the piercing on his bottom lip with his teeth and his leg hasn't stopped bouncing.

You all know what's going to happen tonight. There's been a thick tension brewing the entire night and you've all silently agreed to it. You wonder if he's having second thoughts already.

"Something on your mind, Kook?" You ask softly, walking over to the tattooed man.

He lifts his head up, meeting your half-lidded eyes. You take in his features, roaming over the piercings littering his ears, lip, and eyebrow. His hair has gotten longer too, forming into light waves. He looks good.

He blinks at you, blush creeping up his cheeks and nose. The drinks he had earlier already had him flushed, but now you're the one causing it.

"All good, Shorty," Jungkook flashes you a grin.

You return it, lips pulling upward at the sound of the nickname. He's always used it with you, understandably so. You were much shorter than the two men before you, and even Mingyu towered over Jungkook.

You pat his head lightly, running your fingers through his soft hair. "Okay."

He watches as you make your way back to the pole, spinning around it playfully. The skirt you have on is entirely too short, and it's doing a poor job of covering you as your body rotates around the pole.

Jungkook's leg bounces faster and he crosses his arms over his broad chest. Fuck.

The train comes to another stop moments later and you lock eyes with Mingyu. He stands to his feet, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"C'mon Kook, it's our stop."

___________________

It's been a while since Jungkook stepped foot in this apartment. You've decorated it nicely, surely it was your doing and your doing only. Mingyu's never had a creative eye. There's pictures of the two of you scattered across the space and Jungkook can't help but feel like he's intruding.

It's a fleeting thought though, he doesn't dwell on it. He buries it deep inside, beneath the alcohol pumping in his veins, clouding his thoughts and filling it with the desire brewing in his cock. Jeon Jungkook is not a man who lives a life of regrets.

He averts his gaze from the pictures, following you into the bedroom. You take off your black leather jacket and hang it up. "You can have a seat," You tell him.

He sits down on your bed, facing you. Like a man, his long legs take up most of the space as he sits wide.

"You want something to drink?" You ask, leaning against the door frame.

Jungkook nods. "Something strong."

You raise an eyebrow. "Having second thoughts already?"

"Never, Shorty," He grins.

He eyes you shamelessly. You've ditched your jacket, exposing the little black croptop you had on. He's seeing now that you decided to go braless, perked nipples peaking through the material of your short. You're not wearing your boots anymore either, removing the extra height you had earlier and placing you directly in his line of sight. His eyes are clouded with lust, scanning over your frame as he nibbles on the piercing on his lower lip.

Just as you turn to walk out of the room, Mingyu's body appears, blocking you from fully exiting.

"Sit down, sweetheart," Mingyu nods his head toward the bed.

"I'm serving our guest," You cock your head to the side defiantly.

Mingyu towers over you and his eyes grow intimidating. He narrows his eyes, erasing every hint of amusement in his expression. Goosebumps rise up along your skin and your body shivers.

"Don't need your drunk ass dropping any glasses, I'll get it," He says, holding you by the shoulders. He turns you around and disappears to another part of the house.

Almost immediately, you're sitting down on the bed. You're obedient, Jungkook takes a mental note.

MIngyu comes back a few moments later holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills up both the glasses and hands one to Jungkook, keeping the other for himself.

You frown. "Gyu."

Mingyu takes a sip, allowing the brown liquor to leave a satisfying burn in his throat. "Hmm?"

"Did you consider that I might have wanted a glass?" You huff.

"Don't throw a tantrum in front of our guest," Mingyu says, extending his glass to you. "You don't even like whiskey."

He's right, but it doesn't stop you from taking the glass out of his hand and taking a sip for yourself. It goes down smoothly, but leaves an ache in your throat and a bad taste on your tongue.

Mingyu takes the glass back and takes another sip for himself. "Kook," Mingyu says.

The tatted man averts his attention to your boyfriend. "Ground rules."

"No hickeys, she's still my girl and I don't want you leaving any marks," Mingyu says.

Jungkook nods. "Okay."

"Can't cum inside, or on her face, shit's disrespectful. You can be rough, but not too rough. No hitting or anything like that.," Mingyu continues.

You can't help but sit there smiling to yourself. The lisp in your boyfriend's

"I wouldn't do that to your girl, Gyu." Jungkook interjects.

"I know, but I just wanna make it clear. I trust you, but I gotta make sure she's safe and comfortable. Pretty much anything else is fine if she doesn't have any problems."

"You got any problems?" Jungkook inquires.

"As long as she's okay with it, I'm okay with it. Just listen to her. Slow down if she needs to slow down, and stop if she says stop. She's submissive, but she's in control no matter what.

He looks at you. "If it's too much, you say something. Use your safeword. What's your safe word, gorgeous?"

"Mango."

Mingyu nods. "Good. You heard that, Kook?"

Jungkook shifts on the bed, visibly growing more comfortable in your presence. "Loud and clear."

"This isn't something I'd normally do, but we're all a little drunk and Kook, I trust you with my life. Y/n and I have talked about it before, so don't make me regret it."

Oh? You guys have been planning this? Jungkook thinks to himself. He knew you were comfortable around him and he's heard in great detail from Mingyu about your very active sex life. But to think you'd actually discussed this? He's kind of flattered.

"Never," Jungkook blinks. "I'll be careful."

Mingyu sits down on the bed, large body dipping into the mattress as he makes himself comfortable. He takes another sip from his glass and his gaze doesn't leave you. "Go ahead, Sweetheart."

You stand before them both, in a similar position to how you were on the train. Smirking, you bend over and pull your black miniskirt off before tossing it. You now stand in just your black lace thong and your shirt.

Both men watch you in a trance. It stirs a feeling of boldness in you, having their attention like this. Confidence pumps through your veins as your hands dance over the fabric of your top. You pull it off slowly and toss it onto the ground.

You stand in front of them wearing nothing but your lacy black thongs. Both of them are silent, eyes locked in on you and only you. Mingyu's seen this view plenty of times, but in this moment he's seeing you through Jungkook's eyes. Like it's his first time and he can't look away.

There's just something about you.

You leave a little to the imagination, climbing onto the bed without stripping yourself bare. Your knee dips into the mattress and you wedge yourself between the two men.

You lean your head in toward Jungkook, pressing your nose against his. He lets out a ragged breath as the tension in the room expands. You lick your lips slowly before removing the gap separating you.

Jungkook's kisses are different. They're slower, but by no means hesitant. He kisses you like he cherishes you, doesn't want it to be a fleeting moment. He takes his time, appreciating the way you taste and the way you feel. Smart man, knowing this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. He leans in again, but you back away just enough that your lips don’t collide. He lets out a shaky breath, chewing on his pierced lower lip.

You tug on his shirt, “Take this off for me.”

You climb off Jungkook’s lap and onto Mingyu’s. You cup his cheek, leaning in and kissing him softly. He leans into your touch, kissing you back with desperation.

Mingyu... Mingyu kisses like like he's got no time left, yet it feels like all the time in the world. It's ironic almost, because he's sure he's going to spend the rest of his life with you. But he's impatient, desperate even, in the way he touches you and presses his lips against yours. But everything about him is so familiar, you always find yourself falling deep into him. His kisses are consuming, much like everything about him. Makes you feel like you're floating, and 30 seconds feels like an eternity.

You moan against his lips, placing a firm hand on his chest as your lips move against one another with haste. You feel one of his hands grip your ass and decide to pull away. You move his hand onto his own lap.

You lean back, leaving your boyfriend breathless and aching for your touch. You shift your gaze back to a now shirtless Jungkook. His tattoos are on full display, decorating his muscular body. The ink of his sleeve is nearly full, trailing all the way down to his fingers.

You climb off Mingyu’s lap, leaning in toward Jungkook. His gaze is intense, hazy as his eyes shift between your lips and your eyes.

“Kook,” You breathe out. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Jungkook’s mind feels hazy. The concept of you is messing with his mind. You’re submissive, but you know what you want and you’re not afraid of vocalizing it.

He holds his glass in his hand, swiftly bringing it to his lips and downing the leftover contents in the transparent dish. He sets the now-empty glass down on the nightstand.

Honest, he’s never looked at you this way before. He’s never had these kinds of thoughts about you. You were gorgeous and had a nice body, but anyone could see that. It was undeniable.

But he never actually had thoughts of you. As long as he’d known you, you were Mingyu’s girl. His best friend’s girlfriend, not the girl he’d ever imagine asking to suck his dick.

But who was he to deny you?

He licks his lips, giving you a small nod. You adjust your body, laying flat on your back. Jungkook stands over the edge of the bed, towering over your small frame.

He undoes his jeans, pulling them down with his underwear. His cock is already half hard, finally free from the material restraining it. You lick your lips slowly, waiting in anticipation.

His initial movements are slow, stroking his cock and dragging the tip along your lips. He teases you a bit, making sure you're comfortable before tapping his cock against your lips, signaling you to open your mouth.

You oblige, allowing your mouth to fall open and letting the tattooed man feel the warm slide of your inner cheeks, satisfying his newfound desire for you.

He exhibits great patience, taking his time to test your waters as he fills your mouth little by little. The weight of his cock on your tongue stirs a warm feeling in your belly.

"That's it," Jungkook groans, murmuring under his breath. There's a rasp in his voice that you've never heard before and it has you pressing your thighs together.

Of course your boyfriend could never be forgotten, finding solace between your legs. He pries open your legs, pressing them down on the bed as he pushes your panties to the side. There's a look of mischief written on his face as he disappears between your thighs. He immediately latches his pretty lips onto your clit, licking and sucking on your sensitive bud.

You nearly choke, letting out a moan around Jungkook's length. The warmth of Mingyu's tongue is driving you mad, causing your toes to curl up as you squirm on the bed.

One of your had entangles into Mingyu's hair, gripping and pulling at the lose strands. Mingyu grunts, sucking harsher on your clit and making you feel dizzy as you coat his face with your arousal.

Jungkook begins thrusting his cock down your throat, starting slow and building up to a steady pace.

Your mind feels hazy. There's so much going on, your brain can't keep up with everything that's happening with your body. Your eyes roll back and you gag around Jungkook's cock. He pulls out immediately, causing you to whine.

"You okay?" Jungkook asks.

You nod eagerly. "Don't stop."

He's taken back, but obliges nonetheless. He slides his cock back into your mouth, letting out a shaky breath as he watches the bulge appear in your throat. He finds his pace again, pressing the tip of his cock against the back of your throat with each thrust.

Mingyu slips a finger into you and you moan against Jungkook's length. You're soaking your boyfriend's finger, making it easier for him to slip in another, curling them and fucking them in and out of your tight cunt. He stretches you open, fingers moving at a fast pace that has you struggling to keep up.

You're careful not to use your teeth, remaining conscious and hyper-aware of the tatted man above you. Saliva pools in the back of your throat, and your other hand starts stroking the tatted man's length.

Your cunt squelches as it stretches around your boyfriend's fingers. Your hips move on their own, thrusting into his fingers and meeting his pace. He continues to suck down on your clit, groaning against your wet cunt and sending sensations traveling through your body.

You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. Mingyu can sense this, so he starts pumping his fingers into you faster and harder, curling them against the sweet spot that has your legs shaking in moments.

The pressure is building fast and you have to pull away. You move your head, and Jungkook's cock slips out of your mouth. You continue stroking him lazily, but your orgasm interrupts your mind and body.

"Oh fuck-" You cry out.

Your legs wrap around your boyfriend's head, nearly suffocating him as you ride out your orgasm on his face. Your hips grind against his tongue, moving frantically and quickly as the pleasure overwhelms you.

Your legs are shakily and your high-pitched moans echo through the room. Jungkook watches the view below him, forever etching it into his mind.

You ride out your high on your boyfriend's face, tugging harshly at his hair to pry him off once you come down. He lifts his head up, licking his lips as he stares at you with hazy eyes.

Your body falls limp on the bed. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as your fingertips tingle and you begin to fully tap back into your senses.

The room feels suffocatingly hot and your body trembles. The sheer intensity already has you tired, but your brain is screaming moremoremore. Your cunt throbs and aches, need to be filled–gotta be stuffed full.

"Need a break?" Mingyu asks.

You sit up, shaking your head. You slide the last bit of material covering your body off and look him in the eyes. “The opposite."

Your boyfriend smirks. "There's my girl, always insatiable."

You lean in, minimizing the gap between you and your boyfriend. "Feel so empty..."

Mingyu licks his lips. "Think I'm gonna let Kook fuck you first, okay sweetheart? I know that's what you want."

You nod eagerly in agreement.

"How do you want it?"

"I want-"

"Tell him, not me baby," Mingyu cuts you off.

Your body stiffens and you turn to meet Jungkook's hungry gaze. You bat your eyelashes at him. "From behind, fuck me from behind Koo.."

Jungkook doesn't need any more of an invitation. The tatted man reaches into the pocket of his discarded pants and pulls out his wallet. There's a shiny gold packet wedged between his two fingers. Naturally, he tears it open with his teeth and rolls the latex onto his length. He comes up behind you, pressing your back down so you're on all fours.

You feel the tip of his cock pressed against your folds. You're absolutely soaked, making him slide in easier than he thought he would, He planned to tease you a big, but your cunt invited him in so easily.

"That's it Shorty, let me in," Jungkook whispers.

You whine, gripping the bed sheets as he pushes his cock into you. He fills you up slowly, making you feel every inch of him. The stretch of his cock is delightful, filling up your lower tummy with a familiar warmth.

"Oh my g-" You whisper to yourself, voice muffled as you bury your head into the pillow.

"You're taking it so well baby, so good," Mingyu praises.

Your boyfriend's large body appears before you. His muscles are toned, stature stands above you almost intimidatingly.

"You're doing so good sweetheart, can you handle me too?" Mingyu asks.

You nod eagerly. Your back arches and you lift one hand to guide Mingyu's cock into your mouth. You moan around his length, allowing him to fuck your throat.

Jungkook finds a steady pace, ramming his cock into you from behind. The pleasure fills your body as he stretches your cunt. He slips in and out easily as your arousal drips on his cock.

The force of his thrusts make it easier for your boyfriend's cock to touch the back of your throat. Mingyu holds the top of your head lightly, guiding your mouth to maintain control and make sure it's not too rough.

You try to focus on your boyfriend, but the force of Jungkook's cock fucking you open makes it hard. You take a break, lazily stroking Mingyu's cock as you moan out.

You can feel the tension building between your thighs. Jungkook's cock is distracting, making it hard to do anything but moan and babble over the sheer pleasure.

"Please..." You beg. "Fuck–I"

He thrusts his cock deep into you, tip nudging against the sweet spot deep inside of you. The tension builds and you hardly have time for a warning. Your body is instantly overwhelmed and you completely lose control.

"Holy fuck..." Jungkook breathes out in disbelief.

You're cumming so hard you don't even realize the rush of liquid leaving your body. Your mind goes blank and your vision fills with dots, sinful moans, and screams echoing throughout your home. Your entire body trembles as you squirt all over your boyfriend's best friend.

The squeeze of your cunt forces him out and you gush all over the bed. He's quick to fill you again, fucking you through your orgasm. Jungkook buries himself deep in your walls, allowing the tightness of your cunt to pull his own orgasm out of him. It hits him fast, but the blissful feeling drags out for seemingly an eternity.

He groans, filling the condom with his load. It's filthy and overwhelming and you love it. Your entire body trembles and Jungkook pulls out once your grip has loosened. He lay on your back against the mattress.

His chest rises and falls as he breathes heavily, lungs desperate for air after experiencing his high. He climbs off the bed, disposing of the condom.

There are no words that can be said in this moment. It feels like forever before your eyes blink open and your vision clears. You look up, seeing your boyfriend's flushed face.

Mingyu looks down at you, hair falling over his face perfectly. His broad shoulders hover over you, making you feel even smaller under his gaze. "You good, baby?"

You whine, nodding.

He kisses your shoulder. "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

Your stomach does backflips at the sound of his promise.

Your boyfriend is all-consuming once again. His presence alone never fails to overwhelm you. Heat flows through your entire body as he fills you up. The familiar stretch has you trembling and squirming on the bed.

"Fuck!" You cry out.

Your entire body spasms, arms flailing as you desperately try to find something to hold onto. You can't keep still, nearly pushing Mingyu out.

A pair of large arms suddenly pins you down, holding you in place. You whimper.

"Hey..." Jungkook coos. "Where are you going, Shorty? Hmm?"

Unlike Jungkook, Mingyu has no interest in teasing. He's been on edge all night, since the moment you put on the damn skirt before you'd even left to go out.

It's almost cruel, how quickly he finds his pace, plowing his cock into you hard. It hurts, cunt sensitive from being used all night like this. But the pain is so good, it's almost addictive. It'll catch up to you later, but your body aches for more.

Jungkook's breath is hot against your skin, gentle hands applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you in place. His thumb draws small circles on the palm of your hand as he holds you. It deeply contrasts the sensations of your boyfriend's ruthless fucking.

"Shit.." Mingyu groans.

He can't stop himself, fucking his cock deeper into you with every thrust. The burn is so satisfying, fulfilling your every need and more. You wrap your legs around him, forcing his cock deeper into you.

And with that, you're squirting again. Another rush of cum leaves your body, soaking your boyfriend's lower half. He pulls out momentarily to let it happen, but he fills you back up in no time.

He lets you fully ride out your orgasm on his cock. Your sensitive inner walls tighten and spasm around him as he bullies his cock against your g-spot. He sinks deep into your aching cunt, relishing in the tight squeeze around his cock that soon drives him into his own orgasm.

You sob out in relief when the tension in your stomach is eased. A warm buzz flows down your thighs and your legs shake. The pleasure is so overwhelming you feel lightheaded.

Your mind is so clear, relishing in the pleasure of it all. Mingyu's deep groans bring you back into your senses, allowing you to feel the way he fills you with his load.

Your boyfriend pulls out, mind hazy as some of his cum drips out of you. You lay there on the bed, body completely spent. Your cunt is swollen and throbbing from the absence of touch.

Both of the larger men crowd around your exhausted body, ensuring that you're okay. You let them know honestly that you're fine and they help to clean you up and redress you and themselves in comfortable clothes for the night.

They change the sheets, discarding the ones you so shamelessly soaked. Not many words are exchanged, but a comfortable quiet falls over the room.

You sleep in the middle of the large bed, sandwiched between the two men comfortably.

___________

You're the second to wake up. When your eyes flutter open, your left side is empty. You look to your right, seeing your boyfriend sleeping peacefully.

Your head is pounding from the hangover and there's a soreness between your thighs. You look around, seeing Jungkook is standing on the balcony outside your bedroom.

You climb out of bed and open the screen door, coming up behind the tatted man.

"Morning," He says first.

Jungkook stands over the banister with his arms crossed, tattoos on full display with a cigarette wedged between his pointer and middle finger.

"Morning," You greet him back.

You walk over to him, standing by his side. "Cigarettes for breakfast? You know there's food in the kitchen."

The tatted man grins. "I know, bad habit of mine."

He takes a long drag of it, and allows the smoke to pass between his flushed lips. You take the cigarette out of his hand and inhale. "Can't say I'm much better than you though."

He chuckles. "Gyu told me you quit."

You shrug. "Mostly. He doesn't like it, so I don't really smoke around him. Only something I really do when I've got something on mind." You look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"

You hold your hand out, extending the cigarette back to him. He takes it back and sighs.

"I don't know Shorty, think I might be ready to settle down," Jungkook confesses, taking another drag of his cigarette.

You bump your hip against his playfully. "The Jeon Jungkook? What's gotten into you? I fucked some sense into you?"

Jungkook's jaw slacks open. He lets out a genuine laugh at your comment. "Kind of, Shorty. I'm not gonna lie."

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow.

Jungkook has always been free-spirited. Never really committed to women, always just there for the ride. It was by no means a bad lifestyle, at least the way he went about it. He wasn't the type to hop from bed to bed each night, it was more of an occasional thing. But by no means did he seem to ever want anything real with anyone. For Jungkook everything always seemed so.. temporary.

He'd been in serious relationships before, his longest one lasted nearly 3 years. But even then, he wasn't really fulfilled, never felt satisfied.

Nothing ever felt permanent.

He nods, taking another drag. He hands it to you and exhales. "Last night was pretty fucking crazy I can't lie. But here we are cracking jokes and sharing a cig like it was nothing."

You take a hit, leaning your back against the banister.

"Mingyu's in there asleep without so much as a worry on his mind cuz he trusts you, you know? Like we can keep things cool between us and he doesn't doubt that cuz he's got genuine love and trust. I don't think I've ever felt that way with someone in my life, not enough to do some shit like last night."

You hum in agreement and hand the cigarette back to him.

"I guess I just realized it's actually kind of admirable, more than it is crazy. Got me thinking I can find my own girl I trust and love that much, you know?"

He takes another drag, inhaling and blowing the smoke out of his mouth. He hands it back to you.

"Gotcha, you wanna find a girl just so you can have threesomes with her and her friends," You joke.

Jungkook chuckles, hitting your shoulder playfully. "C'mon Shorty, don't twist my words."

"I'm just fucking with you," you giggle. "But in all seriousness, I get it though. I never imagined doing something like that either, but I know he's the only person I'd be willing to do it with. It's a rare thing in this world, glad I got lucky." You exhale and hand him back the cigarette. "I think you will too."

"Can only hope," Jungkook breathes out.

"You will Kook, just gotta take things seriously," You cock your head to the side and grin. "And when you do, and you marry her, I'm gonna tell Mingyu to mention last night in his best man speech."

Jungkook snorts. "You two are definitely getting married before me, c'mon now. During my best man's speech, I'll sure as hell tell the story and let everyone know you're a squirter."

You punch his tatted arm playfully. "You're the worst!"

"You started it!" Jungkook grins.

"Fair enough," You smile.

"Can't lie it's kind of a great story to tell. You took it like a champ," Jungkook comments.

"My entire family will be at my wedding, don't even think about it," You laugh. "I'm sure they won't appreciate hearing how I quote, 'took it like a champ."

"Fair enough," He grins.

It falls quiet again as the two of you smoke the rest of the cigarette. When it's done, Jungkook kills it on the floor of the balcony. You kick it off to eliminate the evidence.

"C'mon, Mingyu's gonna be up soon and I'm hungry."

You lead Jungkook back into the bedroom, greeting your sleepy boyfriend with a bombard of pillows.

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[abbyromanoff]

hello! can you write dom g!p student natasha x sub fem teacher reader?

DELICATE

PAIRINGS: Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 3356

WARNINGS: smut, professor x student, cheating, mentions of Wanda x R, dark fic, mommy (N), degrading, praising, dubcon, recording, nat has a dick, breeding, mentions of belly bulges, mentions of guns and killing, veryyyy dark!Nat, somnophillia, Nat kinda babying R, threatening, think that’s all :)

Kinktober masterlist!!

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Your pen collided with the paper stacked upon others, a black line of ink following your every thread. Your lip was held by your teeth tightly while the computer's blazing glow shined through the dark room, being the only source of light as you found yourself too tired to reach out to the lamp across the room.

It was past midnight and you were well over your scheduled time but you had to grade these papers, the students were depending on them and you were lacking this month. You promised beforehand that they’d all see their results in a week or two but it passed that limit, and no matter how many times you apologized you still felt a nagging guilt when you were reminded of how aggravating it was for you to hear such things from your professors.

A sudden vibrate came from your phone and, even if you were in a deep focus, you were able to tear your eyes away for a fleeting moment to read the text coming from none other than Wanda, one of your students. The two of you shared a more intimate relationship than normal, but neither of you could stop yourselves. She was so beautiful and so intelligent, she always strived to receive the highest performance and often times found herself staying with you to complete work. Even in the silence, there was a sense of comfort and you wanted nothing more than to see how far this feeling could go, but she was your student and you were her professor, you thought there was nothing you could do.

That was until her lips landed on yours one afternoon when everyone had disappeared, leaving the two of you alone with no one to stop either of you. That night she went home with you, bringing you to multiple orgasms before you woke up next to her, lucky enough to realize it was a Saturday and you didn’t need to come into work. You left after a shared breakfast and peck to the lips that lasted longer than it should’ve. And then, your relationship started to blossom as you shared contacts and met up on occasion, careful enough to make sure no one could recognize the two of you.

Wands <3: Hello, my love! I hope work is going well and you’re not stressing yourself out too much. I just wanted to say goodnight since I finally finished my essay for Professor Rodgers, I was also thinking maybe we could see each other sometime this weekend. You know, to get our minds off the stress of papers and essays and assignments, all that boring stuff. Anyways, goodnight, and I hope you get home safely, I’ll hopefully see you soon!

The well-written paragraph almost seemed to release the tension that had been brewing inside of you, instead replacing it with a warm fuzzy sensation that had you blushing a deep red. You started to type out a well-thought-out response until you heard a small creaking. You assumed it was just due to the old pipes that you sent multiple requests in to be fixed and shrugged it off. That was until it continued.

“Hello? Anyone there?” You set your phone down and stood up, the laptop light now dimming the longer it was left unattended. It stopped for a moment and you started to believe it was all in your head, that was until you heard a loud, booming sound playing through what you guessed was a speaker. The projector suddenly lit up and was embraced with a video of you and Wanda on a coffee date at the cafe two blocks down, you gulped fearfully. You looked all around you, your heartbeat suddenly increasing its pace when you found nothing but a looming shadow in the corner.

“Who the fuck are you?” The video continued to play and that’s when you heard a deep moan, one that sounded all too familiar. You whipped your head around only to see a recording of Wanda going down on you while your hand laced through her hair, the other resting on your breasts as you helped her bring you to an orgasm.

“What the fuck?” Came your small whisper, confusion settling in and overpowering the fear you held.

“Mm, I remember that day very well.” Hands suddenly found themselves placed on your shoulders, making you jump at the contact before a chuckle left the unknown figure.

“Don’t be scared, love, I don’t bite. Well, unless you wanted me to, and after seeing that video I’m starting to think you’d very much enjoy that.” A lingering touch was planted on your hip as they turned you to face them, your eyes widening as you met the redhead’s green eyes in return.

“Hey, Professor.” You were suddenly very aware of the limited distance shared between you two and tried backing up discreetly, only to hear a clicking on her tongue in return.

“What do you want from me? How did you get those videos?” You asked timidly, feeling yourself now very much exposed with your opened buttons adorning your blouse. You noticed her staring at your chest as well, eyeing the black lace that made its way to the surface ever-so-swiftly.

“So many questions and so little of answers to give, what a shame.” She gave you a faux pout before biting her lip hungrily, palms rubbing at your sides softly as she seemed to be soaking in your curves.

“I’ve known about your relationship with Wanda for quite some time now and, my-oh-my, am I disappointed in you.” She stated, and without knowing why, you let your head fall in shame. “Don’t hide on me now, love, you seemed so confident when you were moaning her name, why so shy all of the sudden, hm?” You felt tears starting to form and sniffled, resulting in a mocking tone from the younger woman.

“Awh, don’t cry, you should know I don’t like cry babies.” She wrapped her arms tightly around your figure and brought you even closer to her body which radiated a strong perfume she wore. You couldn’t stop your head from leaning onto her chest as she ran her fingers through your soft locks that appeared messy from your state.

“You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you? Such a dumb baby, stressing yourself out so much, why don’t you have yourself a little break, yeah?” You nodded, a small sense of comfort forming in your brain at her words. She led you to where you sat at your desk and had you relax in her lap, kissing the top of your forehead while shushing your cries softly.

“Don’t be scared, baby, Mommy just wants to spend some time with her sweet angel.” A part of you wanted to scream and interrogate her on how she found such private moments of you, but the other part of you wanted to stay in her strong yet soft arms. You didn’t know if it was the tiredness or the overwhelming stress you found yourself sinking further into her hold.

“I think I know what could get you feeling so much better.” You felt the pads of her fingertips teasing your inner thighs through the tight pants you wore. Suddenly being very aware of the situation you were in, you started to whine, trying to form words but feeling too tired to speak.

“Shh, trust Mommy, okay? You’ve been working so, so hard lately, you deserve some of Mommy’s love, don’t you think?” She was your student, always hidden in the back as her eyes strayed towards you instead of your writing and words, this was wrong. Although, you couldn’t quite say that when knowing you did the same with another redhead. Shit. Wanda.

“N-no, we can’t, Nat-” You tried regaining your composure but your words seemed to come out bubbly and drawn out, your mind becoming too foggy as you were in desperate need of sleep.

“It’s Mommy to you, Professor. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t want this, you’ve practically been begging me to fuck you all year.” She remembered vividly whenever you’d bend over to direct a student in front of her, your ass being displayed generously to her eyes. Or whenever you’d help her even if she lied when saying she needed it, and the pet names that rolled off your tongue sent her in a spiral, she even convinced herself it meant more than you intended it to. She was so delusional, thinking that everything you did was purposeful and that you only saw Wanda as a way to replace your love for Natasha, even though that was far from the truth.

“You don’t know how badly I despise that asshole for taking you away from me, but it’s okay now, we’ll be together soon enough, I promise.” You shook your head but she held it firmly in her palm, bringing you as close as possible to her chest while forcing the quietness in you.

“I dreamt of the day you’d finally admit your love for me and let me show you how badly I want you, but then she got in the way and ruined everything. Not to worry though, I know you’ll end things with her before I end her myself.” She grinned as you tensed in her hold, only to stroke your cheek softly while her eyes deemed into yours. She could feel herself growing impossibly harder the more she held back, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to for much longer.

“You need to get some sleep, little one. You’ve been working such long hours, such a hard little worker you are. C’mon, get some rest and Mommy will take care of you.” You denied it again and again, knowing you were going to lose as your eyes started to close on you. They felt heavy, unbelievably heavy, at that.

“You know you’re not going to win this one. Just give in, Mommy would never hurt her precious baby.” Your mind was turning foggy with the way she spoke so gently along with the way she held you as if she never wanted to let go, you knew you were a goner.

“That’s it, don’t worry, just rest now, love.” She smiled to herself when seeing your eyes fully close, no matter how much she loved them she’d rather see them closed over while she fucked you into unconsciousness.

She set your body on the wooden desk after clearing the stacks of papers and ruined pens. Her hands came to spread your thighs instantly, growing more and more desperate the longer she waited. Her cock was practically drooling at the sight of you as she reached beneath the barrier of her pants and boxers to cup herself, shuddering in pleasure as she welcomed the bliss that followed.

“Such a perfect slut, already so compliant for Mommy.” Your belt was thrown as she pulled down your pants until she was greeted with the wet patch forming on your panties. You looked so adorable like this, she just had to keep it in her memories forever.

Grabbing her phone she took a few quick images that she knew she’d spend hours jerking off to the rest of the semester. That’s when a thought came to her. Setting up her phone against your laptop she pressed the red record button and smiled at the thought, turning back to you where she continued to remove the little amount of clothing you had on. Joining the pile of fabrics were your blouse and soon after your bralette that she spent an extra moment admiring.

She quickly did the same to herself as she stood stark-naked in front of you, your body only being covered by the little undergarment left.

“Look at how precious my angel is, so fucking perfect.” She grasped the phone in her hand as she directed the camera towards you, letting the lack of audience watch as she stroked her length over your covered cunt.

“This has been a fantasy of mine for some time now, sweetheart. Mommy’s so happy you’ve been so obedient, I knew you would.” She found herself coming to a quick release as spurts of her cum splashed your body before she aimed toward your breasts, moaning lowly as she painted your perky nipples white.

She set the electronic back down before leaning in and pressing a kiss against your dry lips, frowning as you shuffled slightly in your sleep. Her cock was aching to be inside of you by now, a throbbing redness appearing on her tip as she teased herself against your clit. That only seemed to edge her further until she finally let herself break and prodded at your hole, using your wetness as a form of lube. She was shocked to see you nearly dripping even when you tried to deny ever wanting this, ‘such a dumb whore’, she thought.

“Oh, yes, you feel so fucking amazing! Even better than I knew you would be.” She moaned dryly and thrusted her hips slightly, feeling yourself take her deeper and deeper until her pelvis bone was pressing into yours.

It was like you were made for her as you wrapped around her perfectly, and in her mind, you two were meant to be. She tried to erase the thought of Wanda from her mind, of the lude acts you two shared when you thought no one knew, but it only angered her further.

She knew you loved her, that’s what she convinced herself of at least. All the touches, the whispered words, they were meant for her and for a reason. Wanda did nothing to deserve your love, but Nat had been watching over you and keeping you from harm, only you never knew. And if you did, you’d most likely freak, but she didn’t want you to be scared, especially not of her.

“I’ll kill that bitch if she ever comes near you again, I fucking promise, baby.” The way you were sucking her in, your walls trapping her in place, this was all the proof she needed. There was no doubt in her mind that you’d spend the rest of your life with her. After all, she got whatever it was that she wanted.

“Oh, look who’s waking up.” Your eyes fluttered open as a whimper tumbled from your lips instantly. She smiled in your direction before grasping your chin in her fingertips, turning your head to face the camera still pointing towards the two of you.

“You look so cute, can’t wait to fill that pretty mouth with my cock.” You were slowly coming to your senses when you felt your back scratching against the desk as her hips continued to slap against yours, creating a loud clapping that echoed across the large room.

“Nat- ah!” You wanted to tell her to stop, that you’d report her for such horrid acts, but you couldn’t. The fact that it was so wrong made it feel even better, that seemed to be an occasional occurrence with you.

“Tell me you want me to stop, tell Mommy you don’t want it.” She was aching to hear it, to hear you beg her for less, knowing you wanted more.

“Please- please stop! I can’t take it!” She covered your mouth with her hand when your pleads came out, shushing you with that soft yet raspy voice of hers.

“Shh, don’t want anyone to hear ‘ya now. How do you think they’d react seeing a professor getting used by their student like a pathetic slut?” Your breath was coming to a regular, your heart finally returning to a normal beat as you accepted your fate. But something about the way her cock teased that spot deep inside of you that had you squirming made it all the better.

“You want Mommy to play with your clit? Yeah? Awh, all you have to do is ask, sweetie.” She spoke when your hand came to rub your swollen bud in a hurry, moan after moan leaving your mouth in response. She slapped your palm away and replaced it with her own, using her thumb to rub harshly and she smirked when hearing your juices spraying against her fingers.

“Oh my, baby, look at that!” Your mouth went slack as you squirted on her length, basking in the sweet pleasure she brought you.

“M-mommy! Mommy- please-“ She chuckled dryly at your babbled words.

“Yeah? You need something? Or are you too dumbed down to speak?” You bit your lip, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“My brainless little doll, you like it when Mommy fucks that nice spot?” Your nods were rapid even if you had barely any knowledge of what she said.

“I’m gonna cum in this dirty little cunt, and you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl, alright?” There was no time to agree as you felt a warm liquid starting to fill you up, your walls being painted white while she pressed down on your stomach lightly, smirking when she felt a small bulge.

“God, you’re gonna be the best Mommy ever, you’ll look so fucking sexy all round and full. It’ll be a constant reminder of how you let your student use you like a worn-out whore.” The video ended and Wanda stared at her phone with tears ready to spill. Nat had sent her a file to which she thought would be notes from class, she never really liked the redhead but she was able to get used to her annoying antics. But now, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to step foot in that class or look at you the same. She knew you were asleep during the first half, but you accepted her request in the end. Would she forgive you? How would she ever be able to go on another date knowing her classmate was fucking you not too long ago.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and, while being hesitant to open it, Wanda eventually gave in but what greeted her was not you ready to meet up like she asked. No, it was someone else. Someone who held a loaded gun in her hand.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’d kill you if you ever look at them again.” The woman stated, laughing at the fear in the girl's eyes.

“So, I’ll give you some hope. You remove all contact you have with Y/N right now, then you pack up your bags and leave in less than twenty-four hours, got that?” When she nodded, Nat continued. “Then, you’re going to go as far as you can, somewhere that I’ll never have to see you again or I might just have to shoot your little brains out, Wands.” She twirled the gun in her hand as if it was a joke, a silly old laugh between two friends, but it was anything but.

“Well, I would say I hope to see you around but I guess you’ll be leaving now.” She gave an exaggerated pout and stuck her foot in the door when Wanda tried to close it in a hurry.

“If I come back here tomorrow and I see you’re still here, you won’t be the only blood splattered on the wall.” She whispered, thankful no one was nearby to hear her threatening words.

“Well, bye now!” She left with a smile planted on her face, knowing there was no chance of you and Wanda anymore. You were hers entirely, every part of you belonged to her and it would continue to stay that way.

Wanda closed her door with widened eyes, turning to face the body lying on her bed who seemed to have just woken from a nap.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, walking towards her as she refused to even look at you.

“I- uhm, I need to go.” She left before you could say a word, leaving the two of you with pieces of your heart damaged while Nat’s was perfectly healed, all while she was the one holding you at night.

[h8ani]

Sasuke Uchiha x Reader

Word Count - 4k

Warnings - smut, angry sex, public sex, fear of getting caught, hair pulling, angst, slight paranoia, kinda non-canon structures (its been a long time since i watched naruto tbh so disregard the village not being exactly how the anime is), oral - male receiving, face fucking, gagging, degradation, penetrative sex, fem!reader, choking, reader is described to be wearing a dress in this chapter, there’s a voyeur

A/N - Just a reminder that if you have joined my taglist and change your username please let me know! If you haven't joined I put the link down below :) But holy hell you guys I can't believe I actually finished this after almost 5 months in my drafts, but I hope you enjoy it!

taglist! - @bloodsiren @blackfire2013 @benkeibear @suyacho @kodzukein

join my taglist → here

Part One → Part Two → Part Three → Part Four

It’s been a few days since the last time Sasuke was over. You’re used to the silence in between his visits; it’s become second nature to go days, even weeks, without seeing him, and the radio silence between each time he visits has become more common than the last. 

It doesn’t bother you. It does. You could really care less. Sasuke has been the only thing that’s been on your mind. You absolutely hate him. You feel…conflicted.

~~

Limbs tangled with one another, all you could hear were the heavy breaths that escaped both of your lips, your body rising and falling every time Sasuke took in a deep breath as you laid on top of him, his hands dancing along the skin of your back so featherlight it almost tickled. 

Neither of you had uttered a word, just basking in the feeling of touching the other’s skin; the warmth radiating off each other’s body heat brought a sense of familiarity that you couldn’t quite pinpoint just why you felt most comfortable in his arms. You mentally shook the thought away; there was no need to focus on that. Your mind had already cleared up from the sex fog he had put you under and had started to race with a million different things that you wanted to bring up to him. Why did he do what he did? When was he going to leave again? He’s going to leave right away, don’t be stupid. When were you going to see him again? Why did he leave in the first place? You wanted to bring up so much, but you couldn’t brush off this feeling that something was about to happen, as if the rainstorm you were caught up in earlier today was a warning of a disaster brewing and about to happen. 

“What’s wrong,” Sasuke spoke up, his words sounding more like a statement than a question. His eyes were trained on you, making your stomach involuntarily tighten with their intensity. He had been focusing on the multitude of expressions that had graced your face within the last minute; you were completely oblivious to his stare; somehow, he wanted to blame the sex for your lack of inattentiveness and not the fact that you may feel safe around him, no it couldn’t be that. Being distracted has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you being incompetent. Yeah, that’s it.  

Your eyes met his, and before he knew it, your eyes lit up, a small smile appeared, and a simple shake of the head erased any form of contemplation he had previously seen. “Nothing.” You quickly say, “Just thinking.” Bullshit

“About what?” He interjects, his hands that were once dancing lightly across your back were now holding your hips, gripping ever so slightly. 

“Just thinking, random thoughts, it doesn’t matter.” 

“If it doesn’t matter, then you can tell me.”

Huffing a sigh, you stare back at him, his emotionless pools of black not letting you get a read on him, yours: uncertainty. “You won’t answer me even if I ask.”

He raises and sits up, causing you to reposition yourself in an upright position as well; your eyes stay trained on him as his stare hardens, almost as if what you just said offended him somehow. His eyes glance into yours as if he needs to be wary now. “I’m not answering anything about why I’m back in the village or why I left.” He blurts out quickly, a scoff following soon after. “You know you can’t say anything about seeing me. Don’t go blabbing about it to any of your little friends, or I won’t be coming back.” His stare solidifies as your jaw drops ever so slightly; the hardened look he’s giving you makes your chest tighten, and your body rises in temperature. 

Sasuke sees your expression fall ever so slightly before you catch yourself and, in turn, sends the signature scowl he’s grown accustomed to back in his direction. Your eyes narrow while you sit up straighter, the discarded sheet on the bed now pulled tightly to your chest, and he curses at the way that made his stomach clench. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him, but he can’t lie and say he didn’t want to ruin your two’s good momentum today. The sex was great, and he wanted to leave on what would be considered a good note for the both of you.

“I think you should go,” you say simply. You avert your glare and decide to stare at the wall instead, avoiding his eyes. “You know where the door is.” Ouch.

He rubs his face and sighs. “Look, you don’t get-”

“I don’t care, Sasuke. Like I said, it didn’t matter. So why don’t you just leave? I never saw you, and I’m not going to tell any of my “little friends.” 

You sigh and throw the blankets off you, quickly grabbing your clothes and slamming your bathroom door shut. 

Your throat tightened from the moment you got up, wanting to get away from him from the very moment he opened his stupid mouth. You take a slow, deep breath and let it out; the tightness in your throat drops to your stomach. Why would he even snap like that? What gives him the right to think he could speak like that to you? You miff another sigh out as the conflict in you bubbles up even more with the thoughts running rampant. How stupid could you be for thinking he actually could’ve been somewhat of a nice human being after today?

Your thoughts were quickly silenced by the sound of your front door opening and closing, the door shutting louder than necessary. Fucking asshole.

~~

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror, you fix your hair and check over your outfit in the mirror, quickly doing a little 360 in your mirror. Everyone had decided that tonight was a good night to hang out and have some drinks as no one had any missions for tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about any impending hangovers. 

You changed into a nice dress that fell mid-thigh; it was form-fitting and casual enough that you didn’t overdress or underdress with it. You pulled your hair into a high ponytail and just enough makeup to cover any eye bags that were more prominent than usual, no less from your sleepless nights thinking about he-who-shall-not-be-named-or-thought-of. You looked yourself over in the mirror and smiled. You felt pretty tonight, and it was nice not constantly to be in work mode for once.

The stressors from work and the expectations you always got from everyone took a toll on your body more than you would have liked. You were expected to never make any mistakes and always be three steps ahead, and it was simply a lot. Was it fair? Probably not, but it was also what you got for being a perfectionist at such a young age. You gave everyone expectations where you could only rise instead of fall. If you fell, everyone would know, and you just couldn’t have that. 

You leave your apartment and make your way down to meet your friends. The air had a slight chill to it as the sun was finally setting, but something along with the chill was bothering you. You couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone was watching you. 

Your feet skid to a halt as you spin, eyes cascading along the rooftops of the buildings around you. Your breathing picks up as your heart begins beating, and you feel every thump as your anxiety spikes. You internally curse yourself for being so stupid as not to even bring a single shuriken with you. For god’s sake, you could’ve popped one in your purse just for safekeeping. The anxiety you feel is derived from being paranoid, and you have to remind yourself no one is watching you and that it’s just your own mind playing tricks on you. You take a deep breath as you hear a name call out to you; turning back around, you see Shikamaru and Choji waving you over. You speed walk over to them, swallowing down the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. Was Sasuke here again? You wouldn’t expect him to be over so soon after the fight you two had just days ago. He’s never over this soon after he leaves anyway. Usually, it takes weeks for him to come over, sometimes even months. Although his eyes being the ones you’ve felt had to have been it, there’s no other explanation.

~~

The buzz of the alcohol was finally settling in; once you got inside, you decided you needed a tiny little shot to calm your nerves and anxieties, then another once all your friends arrived and wanted to take a group shot, and now here you are ordering your third. You’re a lightweight, no shock about that, and feeling a bit dazed as you stare at the shot of alcohol sitting in front of you. You’re so zoned out, not even realizing the presence of someone taking the seat next to you at the bar table.

“You look nice tonight.” A familiar voice catches your ear, and you turn, seeing Shikamaru next to you. A sudden rush of heat hits you as you stare back at him. “Oh, T-Thank you.” You stutter out and mentally smack yourself. You divert your attention back to your shot glass, suddenly remembering how intriguing it was just two seconds ago. 

Suddenly, hearing the sound of glass scraping against the bar table, you look up and see a similar shot in Shikamaru’s hand. “Cheers?” He holds up his shot glass, waiting for you to do the same. A small chuckle leaves you as you hold yours up and clink your glass with his. “Cheers.” 

You knock back the shot, grimacing over the familiar burn down your throat and the fuzzy feeling deep in your stomach. You sigh and slump back against your seat as you look at Shikamaru. “You look nice too, I think I forgot to compliment you back.” 

He chuckles, “Thanks, I didn’t really know what to wear. I wanted to come in sweats and a hoodie, but Ino just about had a conniption when I mentioned that.”

“Oh, don’t lie, you didn’t even want to come to this.”

“And you did?”

“Well, you got me there, didn’t you?” 

Laughter fills the air around you two as you continue to talk about past missions, the latest drama you’ve heard around the village, and even as mundane as the midnight snacks you two have had, you were actually…enjoying yourself; the thought of Sasuke had been dissipated like the rain that had come and gone from the prior days. Listening to Shikamaru talk was something you found yourself rather enjoying. Still, maybe that’s just the alcohol in your veins talking. Yeah, that was definitely it. “So, what’s new with you?” Shikamaru asks, his eyes finding yours, and the sudden tightness is once again back, whether that being because the only thing that seems to be ‘new’ in your life was Sasuke and every little defiling and obscene moment between you two replayed again in your head or because you actually might be liking the attention Shikamaru is giving you the world will never know. 

“Ah, you know. Lots of training, lots of missions, lots of-”

“Staying in your apartment all day and night?”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, lips slowly following suit. “Shikamaru Nara, are you stalking me?” An indiscernible giggle leaves your lips, which shocks not only you but also him. You can see the pink rising to his cheeks at your minor faux accusation; his eyes widen, and his hands immediately come up to defend himself. “No, I just hear Ino constantly nagging at me to hang out with her, that’s how I know. I don’t stand out of your window or anything like that. Do you know how much time and energy that takes? Do you know-”

“Shikamaru?” 

“What?”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“You know, for someone with an IQ higher than a tree, you’re kinda dumb.”

“You know what…Shut up.”

~~

The air around you as you step outside drops a few degrees, causing you to shiver despite the multiple shots you had earlier. Glancing around, you notice how barren the pathways are and how barren the town seems. You glance back over your shoulder to see that Shikamaru is already on his way with his teammates, all drunk themselves, as you see them stumbling against each other. 

Your apartment isn’t far from where you are, so you, in turn, make your way down the path. Bad idea. The more you walk, the more you regret that last shot you took and every single life choice you seem to have made tonight because the line you had been walking in had slowly turned into a wave, making you plant your hand on the building beside you. “Just a little more, and I’m almost home.” You blow out a sigh before taking another step forward. Looking up, your body freezes as you see a rock fly past you and fall to the floor to your right. Your senses come to realize that someone is near as you stare at the rock. The alcohol has slowed your reflexes because you’re yanked backward, a scream bubbling up in your throat. Still, before you can release it, a hand is clasped over your mouth, and you get dragged in between the two buildings down the small alleyway.

You begin kicking back and screaming into the hand, fighting as you’re dragged back further into the small space between the two buildings, your front pressed against the wall and the chills finding their way back up your spine once you hear his voice. “How stupid could you be?” His voice is loud in your ear, hand still firm against your mouth, not allowing you to utter a word. “Walking home drunk is one thing, but what the fuck are you wearing?” He seethes. Your dress is already riding up higher on your thighs, just below your ass, due to being pressed between the wall and the man himself. It took all of one big gust of wind to blow it up or one perverted old man to ‘drop’ something of his to catch a look up your dress. The anger that welled up in his chest was undeniable as he pushed off of you and spun you around to slam you harder into the wall itself. Your eyes caught him scanning over you; his already dark eyes seemed even darker tonight. The dress you wore hugged every inch of you perfectly, and it drove him madder seeing it hiked up higher than intended, all thanks to him. One more inch, and he could see the little lace thong he knew you were wearing. He finds your eyes and tsks at the dumbfounded look you gave him; just how stupid were you? 

“Sasuke-”

“Shut up and get on your knees.” He cuts you off, hands gripping your arms and tugging you down until you plop down on your knees. The dirt underneath you digs uncomfortably into your skin. You look up, pupils dilated as you stare up at the ravenette. “Unless you want us to be caught, I suggest you not utter a single noise.” Without warning, Sasuke pushes two fingers past your lips and into your mouth, pumping the digits like they were his cock until they were soaked with your own spit. “I suggest you act right, given your circumstances.” He speaks, and your eyes narrow up at him; the urge to clamp your teeth on his fingers threatens to come to fruition, but you can’t ignore the subtle throb in between your legs. “Suck.” He says while pushing his fingers deeper and tugging his pants down with his other hand, pulling down the material along with his underwear, allowing his cock to spring out. You could feel yourself salivate just looking at him, wanting to trade his fingers for his cock against your better judgment. He presses his fingers down harder against your tongue, causing you to gag and choke on saliva; you can hear the snicker that comes from him as he watches you trying to quieten your coughing spout. 

His hand threads into your hair, messing up your almost perfect ponytail, the grip burning your scalp as he pulls you forward, knees dragging against the ground while the tip of his cock presses against your wet lips, his precum smearing across them in an almost erotic way that Sasuke doesn’t think he could last by just looking at you. 

You drop your jaw open while he pushes his cock past your lips, enveloping himself in the warmth that is your mouth. The grip on your hair grants you nothing but pain as his hips begin to move to their own rhythm, his cock hitting farther back than the last thrust. You try your best to breathe through your nose as he fucks your face to his liking; maybe if your mind weren’t so focused on Sasuke being here, cock down your throat and his eyes watching you so meticulously, you’d have the nerve to push back, make him slow down, maybe even explain why he knew you were out with your friends in the first place and not at home. 

Tugging you even tighter, Sasuke pushes your head until your nose is brushing against his stomach; your throat tightens as he effectively pushes each inch into your throat. “You feel me? Do you think that Shikamaru could ever stretch your throat out like I do? He might as well try something with you seeing how fucking drunk you were tonight.” His hips rock forward until his dick hits further back into your throat. You choke around him, drool effectually spilling past your lips and down your chin. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you sputter another cough, which turns into a gag around his length. A disapproving noise is heard from him as he pulls away, allowing you to take in deep breaths. As you open your eyes, you see him crouched down in front of you, a look one can only describe as displeasure. “How stupid could you be?” he says, slightly shaking his head before he speaks again. You’re supposed to be better than them.” 

“Better than-”

Crack!

“Naruto! You idiot!” You gasp as you hear the rest of your friends walking down and getting closer to the alleyway you were in. They must’ve just now left the bar you all were at; this isn’t good; you need to leave; they can’t see you like this. You pull farther away from Sasuke as you see them pass the opening between the two buildings, all of them stumbling and unknowingly passing you as they walk. 

Another tsk leaves his mouth as he shoves you forward; you catch yourself on your hands while grimacing at the sting that travels through the skin of your knees. You feel his hands positioning himself behind you, all while pushing your dress up to your hips and pulling your thong to the side. Suddenly feeling every bit of alcohol drain from your system, you become hyper-aware of what is really happening; you jolt forward, and before you can spin around to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, you’re yanked back by your hair, back arching to the point where you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Make sure to be quiet, or else everyone is going to see how much you love taking my cock.” A deep chuckle vibrates through him. “What would they think when seeing you on all fours in an alley? Perfect little (y/n) crying from how good my cock makes her feel; how would you ever live that down? You think Shikamaru would ever give you the slightest bit of attention after that?” 

Letting go of your hair, a knee between your thighs pushed them further apart while you balanced yourself on your hands. The itching feeling that someone could see or be watching from a distance burns brighter than the pain in your knees. The swollen tip of his cock prods your already glistening entrance; you bite down on your lip to stop any form of a whine from slipping out. You swallow down the nerves as his hand leaves your hair to slip around your throat; the silent plea that he wouldn’t make this difficult left the moment his hips slammed into yours, his hand tightening on your throat, restraining the scream that threatened to bubble out. He gave you no time to adjust, his hand leaving your throat and falling to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh so tight as he slammed into you that you knew bruises would be there by morning. 

You can’t help but glance up, fearing that any of your friends could leave the bar at any time and pass by, seeing you in the most compromising position you feel like you’ve been in. The subtle feeling that there’s a pair of eyes on the two of you grows larger while you scan around. No one has passed by the entrance, and this feeling could only be explained by you being scared of getting caught. 

Sasuke’s breathy grunts found your ears, and a pang of alarm shot right through you as he was the one making noise. The subtle sound of skin slapping skin makes you even more fearful. The coil in your stomach is already winding tight; the quieter you have to become, the more your pussy grips him. You clench around him, pussy squeezing for dear life. Your nails dig into the ground beneath you, knuckles turning white. 

“Oh, God…” You pant, dropping your head down between your shoulders. The sounds of everyone’s voices can be heard in the distance, and you try desperately to focus on anything other than the impending orgasm that’s slowly building up. 

Sasuke shifts, bringing his hand in between your legs and fingers quickly to find your clit, rubbing quick little circles. You bite down hard on your lip, the silvery taste of metallic dancing on your tongue from allowing the moan that threatened to escape. No, You won’t give him the satisfaction of making you cum, especially this fast. You grab his hand to stop his fingers and feel his hand that was once placed on your waist slide across your skin and reach back up to your throat, drawing your back flush to his chest, knees digging deeper into the gravel on the ground and seemingly reaching deeper within you, a desperate whine left your lips as your eyes faintly rolled back. “Stop me from making you cum, and I swear to god, you’re going to regret it.” He growls while tightening his grip on your throat and bringing his other hand back to your clit. His hips snapped into you even deeper while he assaulted your clit. You struggle to gasp as the coil in you snaps; your body shakes as you lean back into him more, pushing him even deeper that you swear you see stars. You spasmed as you dug your nails into the hand that held your throat while he continued to pound into you. 

He was chasing his own release, and the way he felt like you two would be caught at any moment spurred him on even more. He knew tonight was a lot, even on his standards of fucking you, but the way your pussy was fluttering around him, the deeper he got, and the rougher he became, he couldn’t stop. Your walls clenched around him, climax dragging out as your pleasure was heightened as he fucked into you; your name tumbled off of his lips before he bit into your shoulder, muffling the sinful moan he released as he came. You both fell forward, barely catching yourselves before hitting the ground, with heavy breaths syncing with one another while you catch your wit on what you two just did. 

The feeling of someone watching you never did go away. 

The angry pair of eyes attached to the redhead at the back end of the alleyway never left you two, either. 

network: @enchantedforest-network

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess. 

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great. 

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders. 

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile. 

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters. 

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face. 

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes. 

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little. 

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

[its-time-to-write]

three times ‘cause i’ve waited my whole life

I am apparently incapable of writing anything short. This has no plot. I think the only warnings are like swearing and innuendo. It is literally just Jamie and the reader being in love. I cannot stress enough how little plot this has. Enjoy.

three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life It’s one of Richmond’s biggest games. They’re facing Man City on their turf, an away game, and it’s a big deal.

It’s not important in that it really matters to their status in the premier league, but important because it’s Man City. Jamie has thrown himself completely into training, so you rarely see him except to eat dinner and then fall asleep, his arms around your waist as you watch tv, fingers combing through his hair. He’s awake before you are, but as soon as you hear him switch on the bathroom light, you make your way downstairs to make him breakfast. The team nutritionist had a strict diet for him, one modified by Roy to account for all the extra training. You rub sleep from your eyes as you brew a pot of tea, waiting for Jamie to come downstairs.

Arms snake around you as you wait at the stove for the tea.“You don’t have to do this,” Jamie says, kissing your neck. You smile and reach back to him.

“I know,” you reply, “It’s just the only time I really get to see you.”

Jamie pulls away and turns you around. You see that he’s frowning.

“I haven’t been a good boyfriend recently, have I?” he asks.

You smile, lacing your arms around his neck. “Jamie. This is just a part of life. You have a big game, you disappear for a while, I miss you and I adjust. You finish, win or lose, and we’re back. I knew what I was signing up for.”

He puts his hands on your wrists. “Yeah, but, like, we’re supposed to be talking to each other and shit. And I’m so tired all the time that I can’t think of anything to say. I also’ve been a shit listener. Can’t even remember what we talked about yesterday.”

You sigh, move his hands back to your waist, and then reach up to smooth the furrow in his brow.

“Remember when I had all that extra work last month and ended up working 60 hours a week because of everything that had to be done? I was up late every night, and all you did was bring me food and kiss me, then you left me alone. I think the longest we were together was when you let me sit with my legs on your lap for two hours. I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Yeah but-”

You cut him off: “Jamie. It’s just life right now. It’s not forever. It’s ok.”

He looks like he has more to say, but is interrupted by the kettle whistling. You give him a quick kiss and then point to his breakfast on the counter. You sit on the kitchen island while he eats, with your head on his shoulder until Roy comes.

—

Here’s the thing; no one knows you and Jamie are together. Sure, Roy knows. But Jamie loves Roy. Keeley knows. But Jamie said you’d love Keeley. (You did). Ted and Beard know, but only because they saw you two walking around the Richmond green late, late at night. (What they were doing on the Richmond green that late is beyond you, but hey). It wasn’t long after that that Jamie put a picture of you two up in his locker, so then all of AFC Richmond knew. But you weren’t public public. You had yet to show up in a tabloid or be seen with Jamie at a game or public event. You went to his games, absolutely, but you stayed in the stands, not the box.

He always got you a spot as close to the field as possible, but you would always meet up with Keeley and Rebecca after games to rendezvous somewhere else later. 

You don’t mind. It doesn’t feel like Jamie is ashamed of you, especially because the people he cares about know. But you also know that you can handle it, and if he wants to go public and kiss you in the stands after a win, you would be ok with that. (You might be more than ok with that).

But as it is, no one knows about you. He knows where you stand on it, so the ball’s in his court. It’s been a year of this, but you just wonder how long it’s going to last.

—

Finally, finally it’s the week of the game. You had been staying in Manchester with Jamie’s mum, which was absolutely terrifying at first. It was not your first time meeting her, just your first time staying with her without Jamie present. You left a day before the team, so when they arrived Jamie sneaked away to come visit. You are sitting in comfortable silence on his mum’s porch looking up at the night sky, when he turns to you and says, “do you love me?”

You’re taken a little aback. “What kind of question is that?” you say. “Of course I love you.”

Jamie’s forehead is all scrunched up again, like it was that early morning. “What if I fucked my leg so badly I could never play football again?”

You laugh. “Not sure if you’ve noticed babe, but I’m not really a big football person. I’m more of a you person, so I guess there’s some overlap.”

Jamie is still weirdly nervous. “What if I play football till I’m forty, and you barely see me like it’s been? What if I’m always on the road and always training and all we get are dinners and shitty 3am breakfasts?”

He’s removed his arm from your shoulders at this point and you shiver, puffing out a breath into the cold air. He notices without saying a word and drapes his jacket around you.

“Jamie,” you reply slowly, trying to formulate your thoughts, “where is this all coming from? You know I love you. We’ve been together for a year, and this has never been an issue before.” As you’re speaking, you’re seized by a sudden, terrible thought: “Are you breaking up with me?”

The words tumble out so fast, you’re not sure he hears you until he’s looking at you, aghast. 

“No, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” you reply. “But you’re acting all weird, and we’ve been together for an entire year and that’s the longest you’ve dated anyone and I just thought that maybe this was your way of letting me know gently that you’re over me.”

Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest.

Jamie breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh. No. I’m not ending things. I want to be with you forever. I just get all freaked out in me head before games like this, and it’s been fuckin weird coming home, and I just want to win, you know, so that way all this time away is worth it.” He pulls you close to him again and you can feel his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace, in sync with your own. 

You sit there till his mum comes out to remind him that it’s time to go get some rest, and it’s not until you’re half asleep in Jamie’s childhood bed that your mind replays his words:

I want to be with you forever.

—

It’s game day. You send Jamie a quick love you! text and then slip into your Jamie Tartt jersey. It’s from one of his old kits so it’s a little worn, but you always put it into his laundry pile so it comes out of the wash smelling like him. It’s not something anyone would notice, but you know, and it makes you smile. You get to be in the stands and know that Jamie Tartt loves you and you love him, and at the end of the day he’s the one you get to hold. You give yourself a shake, and open your phone to figure out where you’re meeting Keeley.

—

“And Richmond wins, 3-2 with a smashing goal by number 9 himself, Jamie Tartt!”

You’re screaming and jumping in the stands, overwhelmed by the fact that we won, we won, we won! The Richmond team are piling onto each other, Dani on Isaac’s back, Sam and Jan Maas jumping up and down like kids. You lose sight of Jamie in the mix.

“Well Arlo, it looks like Richmond has once again, exceeded all of our low expectations.”

“That’s right Chris, all thanks to Jamie Tartt’s brilliant goal. Looks like he’s having a good time celebrating with the Richmond lads. Wonder what they’ll get up to tonight? But what’s this? It looks like Tartt has broken away from his teammates and is running to the stands! He’s stopped in front of a fan and it looks like he is kissing a very lucky Richmond fan full on the mouth!”

“Have you ever been so caught up in a moment that you’ve made out with a stranger, Arlo?”

“Can’t say that I have, Chris. Can’t say that I have.”

It all happens so fast, that you don’t even know how to process it. One moment you can’t find Jamie and the next he is leaping over the stands, catching you in his arms, and kissing you in front of the whole stadium as if no one else is around. When you finally pull away, breathless, he takes your hand and helps you hop over the wall onto the pitch. Not usually allowed, but you suppose they’ll let it slide for football’s golden boy. AFC Richmond has caught up to Jamie, and you’re all on the field, screaming your heads off out of the sheer joy of winning.

—

“You’re coming tonight, yeah?” Isaac asks you as you wait for Jamie by the team bus. It’s the day after the Man City game, and you’re back in Richmond with a plan to hit the town yet again, as though the night before wasn’t enough for them. (You actually wouldn’t know, because you were in a very nice hotel room with a certain striker).

“Yeah, you know the only reason we invited him anywhere is in the hopes that you’ll finally be able come along,” Colin adds.

Any story of Richmond’s win had a somewhat fuzzy picture attached of Jamie kissing you in the stands with some variation of the title “Tartt’s mystery girl.”

You laugh. “Yes, we’ll be there. It’ll be nice to actually be out and about with you guys. Family dinners are fun, but there’s more to life.”

Once you found out that Jamie’s whole team knew you existed, you made him invite them over for dinner once a month. It’s one of your favorite things, especially because they all bring food to share. When it’s warm you do pool parties and when it’s cold you play bracket uno. It was nice to meet Jamie’s family, whether he’ll admit that’s what they are or not.

“You ready, babe?” Jamie asks as he slings his arm around you.

“BYE TED!” you yell. “Ok. Now I’m ready.”

— 

Sam closed his restaurant special for you all, and turned it into like a private club. You say like because it is, at its core, a restaurant. However, under Isaac’s supervision and creative design, he apparently has transformed Ola’s through rearranged furniture, dimmed lighting, and music into a place where AFC Richmond can celebrate their win without feeling crowded by strangers. You’re secretly grateful, because clubs are not really your scene. You’ll get all dressed up, sure, but you never know what to do with yourself once you’re there. 

Speaking of getting dressed up, you were feeling yourself. You had a light blue mini dress, with an asymmetrical neckline and a single puffed sleeve. It was more a-line than bodycon, but hey. You like a little bit of a twirl when you spin. Your absolute favorite part though was that you were wearing two-inch silver block heels, with straps around your ankles. The dress plus the shoes made your legs look magical. 

You and Jamie are in the bathroom getting ready, you fixing your makeup and him fixing his hair. He half-turns to you and points to his hair with a questioning look. “Lookin’ good,” you smile, and he smiles back.

“Oh, babe,” he says, tweaking his hair one final time, “I left my sunglasses back at the locker room, and I was wonderin’ if you’d be ok getting them with me before we head to the party? I just don’t want Bumbercatch stealing them.”

“Why would Bumbercatch steal them?” you ask.

Jamie shrugs. “Something about ‘no name, fair game.’ That’s how Jan Maas lost his favorite socks.” 

You shudder. Why Bumbercatch would want Jan Maas’ dirty old socks, you have no idea. They must be really amazing.

You reply, “Yeah sure, I hate being too early to things anyway,” as Jamie absentmindedly kisses you on the forehead with a “thanks babe,” as he heads downstairs.

—

You don’t live far from the Richmond pitch, so you’re walking across the dark parking lot in no time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Jamie says.

He’s swinging your hands as you walk. He looks nice, the sleeves of his cream shirt rolled up. Nice pants, nice shoes. Nice ass. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say, momentarily distracted by the fact that this man is going to get laid tonight. 

“No, I mean you’re always down for what-fuckin-ever, and you just let things bounce off you. And you like me, for my personality for some fucking reason? And I think about you all the time, when I’m gone or when, like, I have early training with Roy. And you make laugh because you stopped being afraid to be yourself around me. I just like you. And I meant what I said the other day, I do want to be with you forever. Not to freak you out or whatever.”

He’s stopped right at the doors and he looks so uncomfortable and earnest in a way that you’ve never seen before.

“I’m not freaked out, Jaim,” you say. “I love you, and you know I’m in it to win it with you. Now, let’s get those sunglasses and for the love of god, please don’t act this weird tonight.”

This elicits a chuckle, and he nods in concession. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The halls are dark and quiet as you walk to the Richmond locker room. It smells clean, for once. Like lavender. There’s a faint glow coming from the doors and Jamie pushes open the doors to the most magical thing you have ever seen.

There are candles on the benches and twinkle lights strung across the lockers. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the room and as you turn to Jamie, awestuck look on your face, you see him kneeling behind you, small black box in hand.

“Jamie,” you say.

“Yes, love,” he replies.

“What are you doing.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it comes out more wobbly than you’d care to admit.

He cracks a smile. “Eh, I hope it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing.”

You can feel a fucking tear forming in your eye and you will it to go away. You refuse to have streaky foundation.

“Love of my life,” Jamie begins.

“Yes,” you say.

“Oi, you’ve gotta let me finish.”

“Right, sorry, as you were.” You think your face is going to split in half with the size of your smile.

He takes a breath then continues, “there’s no one else I’d rather have shitty 3am breakfasts with, no one else I’d rather beat at MarioKart, and no one else I’d rather do life with. Will you m-”

He’s cut of by you kissing him like you have never kissed him before. After a moment, he pulls away and asks, “Is that a yes?”

You can’t help it, the furrow in his brow gets you every time so you laugh and reply, “Of course it’s a yes, you dummy!”

Jamie smiles and then yells, “Lads, she said yes!” and the blinds go up from the coaches office as the entire AFC Richmond team storms into the locker room. Dani and Richard are spraying champagne in the air as people hug you and slap Jamie on the back. 

You find his hand amid the chaos and squeeze it. 

“Can’t believe I were so nervous about this,” he says into your ear.

“Can’t believe you think you beat me at MarioKart,” you respond.

“Oi, we are not getting into this again-”

“There’s only one way to settle this.”

Jamie looks at you, then to all your friends celebrating, then back to you. “Think they’ll even notice we’re gone?”

You shake my head. “Nah,” you say, “let’s get out of here.”

Jamie smiles at me as you slip through six different lynx scents out the door. “You’re going down, Mrs. Tartt.”

“Only one of us is going down tonight, Mr. Tartt, and I can assure you it is not me!”

“You can say that again.” Jamie sticks out his tongue and wiggles his eyebrows at you, and your laughter echoes up into the night sky.

[thesharktanksdriver]

a Magical Girl and the justice league 1 (platonic)

Part 1 part 2 part 3

Tagged: @harpy-space @mxtokko @viviyene

I shall make a part 2 sometime for the other members is just cause this already took me long enough lol

Also I’ll probably make one but for the light

It’s about a month after your initial adoption by Bruce that he knocks at your door one day

After you welcome him in your now adoptive father pokes his head in, a once empty storage room now full of personality and life

It makes him smile, especially as you you breathed a new sense of life not only here but also across the manor

As it turns out Superman, has practically been begging Bruce to bring you to the next Justice league meeting

And while Bruce wasn’t demanding you to go, he asked if you’d join (only if you were comfortable with it though) in the next few days

Safe to say you didn’t hesitate to say yes

Like fuck yeah your going, your not missing the opportunity to meet Wonder Woman…oh and the other ones

(Across the world several hero’s felt a chill go down their spine yet didn’t know why)

Each day you get more excited, your practically buzzing with excitement throughout the day and into the night

It gets to the pint that everyone kinda notices especially since your usually kinda stoic in the sense you control your emotions

It truly makes you seem like your age for once, bustling with energy and having a bright smile that makes your cheeks hurt after awhile

When he does take you (the others tried to convince him to let them come along he denied them) your extremely ecstatic

Your hand is slipped into Bruce’s, magical girl outfit practically sparkling in contrast to his grim and dark uniform

Safe to say it’s a culture shock to the rest of the league when the doors open to reveal you and Bruce

Y’all have the complete opposite aesthetic of the entire Batfam

You sit down, scooting your chair to a more comfortable distance near Bruce who hides a smile at the sight

Though the entire league is talking about serious stuff it’s obvious what their actually paying attention to

Your lightly kicking your feet under the table, Rigel curled around your neck and furiously taking note about what everyone says (lol)

You even colour code the entire transcript of the meeting

When the entire meeting is over and things have been discussed, Bruce is like “oh yeah this is my new kid. Say hi y/n” “hi” “let’s get this over with”

And then you have several adults crowding you looking at you with awe

Clark aka superman is the first to introduce himself, he reminds you of a golden retriever with how bright his smile seems to shine

He’s friendly and gentle, a certain enthusiasm in his voice as he lightly hovers above you till you use your powers to do the same

Bruce is brewing in misery as you, him, Hal and Martian man Hunter form a hovering squad

As he talks to you he kinda sends some slightly passive aggressive jabs at Bruce

Kinda salty his best friend didn’t fucking tell him how he adopted again, and that he didn’t respond for the 15th time to bring the family to his farm

He’s really happy the Wayne household has someone who’s as calm and level minded as you

God knows the amount of times he’s lost sleep wondering how Alfred keeps that house afloat

Thinks your outfits really fun and adorable, especially finds it cool that you can magically change it at will

He has a soft spot for small animals (he secretly befriended a few possums when he was a kid) so he loves Rigel

You haven’t told him that Rigel is an inter-dimensional god yet and your not sure he’d believe you

Definitely tries to convince you to meet his son and visit much to the chagrin of Bruce

Listen, Bruce likes Clark but he can be a bit overbearing for his and most of his families nature

100% will offer you a slice of his apple pie that Lois packed for him

Half the league doubles takes cause he’s never done that before and the last time flash ate it he was brooding in the corner

No matter the situation if he sees you he’ll give a polite little wave and smile even if it’s during a battle

Like once he and Luther were going at it but then you casually strolled by, both stopped gave you a hello and then right back into their fight

His wallet has pictures of Jon, Connor and Kara, and he’ll spend an hour talking about them

For April fools you buy him green rock candy as a joke and he eats it in front of lex

That leads to Luthor having a fucking panic attack now thinking the ONE thing that could seemingly kill him was now basically nothing to him

He finds it really funny if you change your outfit to look like a mini him cause it makes everyone (but especially Bruce) poute

When you find out that the only thing that separates his identities is a pair of glasses you end up not believing it

Until green arrow chimes in and is like “yeah that’s it”

Your silently wondering if people in metropolis just know he’s superman but don’t acknowledge it

Your betting on it with Flash and Aquaman

As a joke you begin calling him overpowered and a “Gary stu”. He’s so confused but doesn’t say anything

You sometimes go to him for writing tips for essays since he’s a reporter

And he absolutely helps you get an A without any effort

Lois and the rest of the family really want to meet you and he makes his fact very apparent

When your class trip went to metropolis he definitely does a fly by for fun

It makes you smile at how he makes the class erupt with cheers

Is definitely concerned for your safety but also your mental health because of the amount of stress you have over being the only one able to kill the “shadowmites”

He’s definitely glad Bruce has taken you under his wing and your basically safe wherever you go since you have some inate ability to befriend literally everyone by accident

He doesn’t really like you being friends with certain villains but as long as their not hurting you then he’s not complaining

Wonder Woman aka Diana Aka your favourite definitely catches on that she’s the favourite

And not to brag, she’s totally lowkey happy about it lol

She’s been your favourite hero since you were a kid since she was one of the only female ones

She reminded you of the magical girl cartoons you’d watch for your only bit of joy in the day

Thus you have a lot of respect for her

She finds it really cute that you look up to her so much

Especially since your such an amazing young mind with a kind heart

She doesn’t need her lasso to get that your telling the truth when you talk about basically abandoning your life to save others

100% tells you about themyscira and the Amazon’s whom she calls sisters

Definitely like everyone else finds your outfits really cute especially when she’s surprised by something new each time

Like the others she’s silently worried for your mental health but is at least happy you now have Bruce and his kids to help you as best they can

Maybe started a bet about what other villains you’ll end up befriending

Her bets are on Klarion since she has a feeling you’ll work whatever magic you did on Damien who’s similar in the fact that he’s a chaotic ball of anger

While meeting her you kinda inched your chair closer to her, she noticed and thought it was sweet

Bruce definitely pulls her aside as your talking to the others and explains that yeah “your the favourite” which makes her laugh at his kinda sour expression

At some point she places her tiara on you and takes a photo cause your super happy

She might be testing the idea of maybe taking you back home for a weekend cause she knows everyone would be really happy to meet you

Since she’s kinda immortal you go to her sometimes for history projects

She’s always happy to help especially since she really enjoys talking of all the change she’s seen over the years

It kinda makes her feel fuzzy that someone is interested since she kinda assumes most people find history boring

Definitely lightly teases you about using her as a source for your project lol

One day you show up with your magical girl outfit somewhat resembling hers and she’s gonna treat you like your her mini me for the day

And all Bruce can do is watch with the expression of “this is my life now. My kid is getting adopted by others now as well”

He is content though with how happy you are and how you don’t seem to ever not be able to bring a smile to others as well

She’s kinda iffy on you being friends with villains but after seeing them full on pause as you pass by she’s a little better with dealing with it

But she does worry that you might be influenced by their behaviour

Also she 100% can tell Rigel isn’t a normal Ferret and is the only one of the league to actually believe you

She’s not sure where he’s from but she trusts the white fur ball enough we’re she knows they’ll protect you

Flash/Barry Allen is sliding near you at the justice league table and leaving little post it notes with doodles and making funny face when no one’s looking

What can he say?, he’s good with kids and your not an exception to that either

He’s kinda like a fun uncle

The one who’ll pick you up and place you on his shoulders before running around base

Out the then all he’s kinda the most laid back of the bunch

Sure he can still get serious when the time calls for it but on the other hand he’s a chill guy

He’s also the most in touch with stuff than the others so when you reference something he’s like “I get it!”

While the others stare at him in confusion as you high-five him

Sometimes you like asking hims questions about his powers and y’all try to test it out

Bruce has had to stop him many times and put him in the figurative time out corner

He finds it fucking hilarious when he once walked In on your practicing and you had a giant battle axe as your magical girl weapon

Gives you several nicknames like “sailor moon” or “madoka”

Y’all definitely watch anime on your phone when no one’s watching

He likes messing up your hair only to see it go back into being perfect about a second later

Kinda is now tempted to go to the future and see what you do later on in your life

So he can then tease you about while your looking at him confused

You like to joke that he does shit too fast and he jokes back that your just two slow

By god Bruce is gonna kill him if he begs one more time for permission to gift you knockoff merch of your persona for the 50th time this week-

Pranks…just gonna say be careful cause he’s already on thin ice after the last time he pulled one

He likes telling you stories about his nephew and how proud of him he is

He finds your outfit pretty neat especially since you can change it by will whenever you want

Please be warned though that having anything yellow and red themed may be a bit iffy for him

Bruce probably warns about that beforehand along with not bringing up Barry’s mom

Probably finds it funny that your hanging out with villains n shit

Like especially since your kinda bow just like a neutral ground/entity

Finds it hilarious the juxtaposition of your aesthetic and personality vs big bad Bruce

Rigel is his lil buddy and likes curling up on his shoulder

Kinda gets cosmic vibes from the ferret though

[hihello-pinky]

middle of the night

last installment to the After 8PM mini series (yep, calling it that) hehe

part one | part two

suna rintarou x afab reader!

angst to fluff, ig

latter part is not edited and written during the middle of the night (intended)

likes and reblogs will be appreciated! xoxo

leave me love? (tips!)

***

almost everyone will agree that finding something to dislike about hani nakamura is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

you remember the first time you overhear that statement at lunch in the cafeteria, and you laughing a little to yourself. you can’t even blame the gossiping students because that’s just how nice hani is.

however, you should have known that when trying to find a needle in a haystack, you begin to doubt its existence until you feel a prick and you’re bleeding and the needle already got you.

the pain you’re currently feeling is far akin to a small prick as you replay the conversation you had with suna at the convenience store in the middle of the night again and again and again.

“what did you want to talk about that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” he had asked.

you had taken a deep breath before replying, the words came out of you quickly, as if your bravery for confessing has a timer. “well, i… i have something to tell you. it’s actually a bit selfish of me to say this to you but… i like you as more than just a friend, rin, and it’s been a while now. i’m sorry for suddenly springing this unto you but i just have this need to confess or else i would feel like exploding inside. you don’t have to say anything; you can choose to interact less with me from now on but yeah, i just really needed to get it off of my chest.”

suna had surprised you with his reaction. he had a deep frown on his face and given you an accusing look. “do you really not want me to be happy?”

“huh?”

“for fuck’s sake, y/n, i know about your little game! hani told me everything. you dropping all the hints all those months ago, fueling whatever sort of feelings i had for you, playing with my heart, when you only want to use me to be closer to osamu. i even chose to ignore those because i know we’re young and inclined to do stupid, bad things. but damn! can’t you just leave me alone?”

and you were so dumbstruck by what he had told you that you were only able to look at him in disbelief.

“cat got your tongue?” he bitterly asked before breaking eye contact.

you shook your head after you had processed what he said and with a defeated sigh, said, “we’ve been friends for two years. did you really believe i was that kind of person? why didn’t you ask me to confirm it? and most importantly, i grew up with the miyas so why would i even use you to get to osamu, who, by the way, is like a brother to me? you know what, suna? maybe you’re right. i should leave you alone. i don’t deserve to be around someone who would easily believe lies about me.”

you feel tears roll down your cheeks as you force your mind to stop the reel of what would probably be the last time you ever talked to suna. not for the first time, you wish to never have called him and asked to meet. oh, to only have sucked the pain up and not confess to him. maybe the heartbreak would be less than what you have to deal with right now.

the concerned look on his face as he met you in the convenience store doesn’t matter anymore; neither does the fact that he was wearing the hoodie you’ve always asked him to give to you.

hurt, betrayal, and anger all brew inside of you. you can’t even fully process everything. hani, who everyone sees as the sweet and kind person betrayed you as a friend. suna, who had captured your heart, hurt you for believing that you are capable of doing such terrible things. and to top it all, anger at the both of them and mostly anger at yourself for walking away from suna before he can even respond to what you said to him.

*

suffice it is to say, the next time you see suna is extremely awkward. it’s at volleyball practice and thankfully, you’re not the sole manager of the club, making it easier for you to avoid any interactions with him.

“are you feeling better now?” osamu quietly asks you as he takes the water bottle from your hand during one of their breaks.

you reply with a nod but before you can let go of the bottle and escape from the twin's prodding questions, the grey-haired boy uses it to pull you closer to him. “you didn’t respond to any of my messages yesterday and you’re avoiding suna like he’s the plague.”

you click your tongue. of course he would notice. the same way he knew the reason of your breakdown in his car after that dinner. i’m not an idiot, y/n. i can see through your lies during all the time ‘sumu and me teased you. you actually really like sunarin.

“i swear i’m fine, ‘samu. stop being a worry-wart for me, okay?” you forcefully take your hand from the bottle and you swivel away from the twin only to meet eyes with suna.

it’s obvious he’s been watching the interaction and your chest tightens, thinking about what he said the other night. once you notice him begin to walk towards your direction, you quickly turn to tend to aran. thankfully, the coach calls for the practice to resume not long after.

you usually admire suna during practice (when you’re not too busy taking notes) but just seeing him at the present brings back memories of what happened so you try to avoid looking at him. those same memories keeping you up at night. suna, at your favorite convenience store in the middle of the night, looking at your exasperatedly and shooting words that hurt you while wearing your favorite hoodies of him.

the coach’s whistle echoes in the gym, breaking you out of your sorrowful thoughts. “suna, are you not feeling well? you seem a lot distracted.”

suna sighs heavily and you barely miss your co-managers whispering to each other how there are rumors that suna recently got in a lovers' quarrel with hani. your heart is thumping wildly as you watch him approach the coach who is sitting very near to where you’re standing.

“sorry, coach,” he says as he scratches at his nape. “yes, i’m not feeling well.” he then shoots you a not-so-subtle quick look. “can y/n accompany me to the clinic?”

*

he knows it’s a foul move to involve the coach and the team in the middle of practice but suna didn’t know what else to do. you’ve blocked his number and all his social accounts. his attempts to talk to you in person have all been futile. it's not helping that osamu refuses to talk to him about you.

so, really, he was left with no choice.

however, you remain awfully quiet as the two of you walk towards the school infirmary, a good distance between your bodies. he wants to talk to you but he doesn’t know where to begin, especially that this is very different from all the times that he has walked you home in the past where a silence is most welcome, oftentimes interrupted when a stray cat passes by.

when you arrive at the clinic, the nurse is out so you take seats at the waiting area. “y/n…” he finally says after a few moments pass with your deliberately ignoring him.

you still refuse to look at him and instead play with your hands. the action calls his attention towards your wrist and it breaks his heart to see the absence of the beaded bracelet that you always wore ever since he gave it to you after he won it in an egg claw machine game a year ago.

“y/n, please… will you hear me out?” suna doesn't mind that there obviously is desperation in his voice,

your jaw clenches a little as your fingers pause. he imagines the internal conflict within you before you finally let out a soft sigh. “okay.”

suna doesn’t miss a beat. “i’m sorry. i’m so, very sorry, y/n. i talked to hani and she admitted to everything. still, it does not change the fact that i hurt you by believing in her lies. i don’t know what happened to me and i have no excuse for myself.”

when you finally look at him, he almost wishes you continued to avoid his gaze. gone is the warmth that he always sees in your gaze and in its place is just hurt and sadness. “i just keep thinking… that all these months, during our every interaction, at the back of your mind, there’s this thought that i’m a bad person. and i…” your voice breaks as you swallow. “i don’t know, suna. why didn’t you just talk to me?”

why? it’s the same question he’s been pestering himself with for the past two nights. how could he let that happen? why was he easily deceived by hani’s lies?

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he apologizes again, aware of the despair laced in his voice. “i wish i can take away the hurt i’ve caused you.”

your teary eyes mirror his own. “i don’t know if i can trust my so-called friends ever again. i’m just confused and sad and hurt, rin.”

the slip of his nickname buries the hatchet deeper in his chest and suna just wants to scream. he wants to say that he broke up with hani shortly after she confessed about the lies. but that wouldn’t change anything now, and it’s not like you would care. not knowing what else to do, he moves to sit beside you and carefully reaches for your hand.

when you don’t resist, he begins to rub this thumb against your palm as he gently maneuvers your head against his shoulder. his chest tightens as the sleeve of his uniform quickly dampens.

no more words leave either of your mouths, the silence enveloping you as he lets you cry against him, just like how he let your tears stain his hoodie the first time you bumped into each other at the 12th convenience store in the middle of the night over a year ago, the warmth of his shoulder comforting you from your pet hedgehog’s passing.

only this time, your tears are caused by him.

*

“suna, you’ve been a close friend of miya atsumu ever since high school, how are you feeling about his engagement?” the reporter asks behind the camera.

you watch suna wear that signature smirk of his. “of course i’m happy for my friend, and i wish a lot of good luck to his beloved.” his answer causes a few laughter from around him.

“how about you, then? you’ve been extremely secretive about your love life.” the reporter follows up excitedly.

suna raises an eyebrow. “i thought you said you only have one question for me?” he shakes his head before beginning to walk away. “but all i can say is that i’m happy.”

the reporter fumbles a little but he has lost suna already, so he moves on to one of the other players from the national team.

you’re about to switch channels when a small figure joins you on the couch. “mama! was that papa?”

you turn to your son – a complete miniature of his father – and ruffle his hair. “yes, sweetie.”

he breaks into a toothless grin and goes to the center of the living room to dance around, all the while singing about how his papa is in the television.

meanwhile, your phone rings and you answer it quickly. “hey.”

“hey. did you watch?”

“yeah… you were so great. though i have one question for you, and i promise it’s one question only.”

rin’s soft chuckle at the other end of the line makes your heart flutter. “so you saw the interview? go on, what’s your question, love?”

you take a quick but deep breath before asking. “do you ever regret agreeing to keeping our relationship secret? like, nobody knows you’re married and with a kid, and most people think you’re just some volleyball-obsessed person who’s going to grow old alone.”

he laughs once again. “i didn’t know people think that about me,” he mocks surprise. “but to answer your question, no. i’d rather people believe i’d grow old alone than curse me for being a jerk who once hurt the love of his life when they were teens.

"i also don’t want people to know that i spent my senior year in high school trying to woo you and earn your forgiveness. how you forgave me and we became friends again but then you rejected me when i confessed after graduation? no way.”

you’re also laughing now, reminiscing on the past. how, after that day in the clinic, you and suna drifted for the rest of sophomore year. you had wanted space and he respected that.

you never got closure with hani, her family coincidentally having to move to tokyo after that school year ended but you think that’s for the best. you didn’t know what you would have told her anyway.

“so all this secrecy because you don’t want people to know that you’ve been rejected?” the teasing in your voice makes you giggle yourself.

“yes,” he replies playfully. “and also because i want to protect you! i remained loyally single for years until you finally agreed to a date during your senior year in university. god knows some crazy fans might curse you for making the suna rintarou wait for you!"

“and whose fault is that?” you’re smiling crazily into the phone now. “also, since we’re spilling stuff here, how about you also tell the world how you knocked me up three months into our relationship?”

your eyes drift to your three-year-old son who’s running towards the sounds at the front door. it’s when you notice that rin has dropped the call. he crouches down to kiss your son at the top of his head before covering his ears. “again, i’m sorry about that accident honey, but look at our little angel, isn’t he a cutie?”

you cross the small distance from the couch to the doorway. finally reaching your husband, you kiss him on the cheek. “the world is missing out on seeing your cute mini version.”

he wraps an arm around you as you both watch your son whose attention has gone back to the toys on the carpet. “what’s with all these hints, love? are you saying you’re finally okay with giving the public a glimpse of our happy life?”

you nuzzle your head against his chest. “maybe yes. maybe no… maybe later when…”

“hmm?”

you don’t respond for a while. “say, rin, do you want to drop by the 12th convenience store later around midnight once our son is asleep? i already asked osamu to come over to watch him.”

rin hums against you. "that's random, though? and how come you get 'samu to agree to babysitting favors so easily when i have to literally boost the sales of his onigiri?"

"silly, silly, sunarin," you singsong as you slap him playfully. "so, what do you think? wanna go to our convenience store later, at the middle of the night?"

"okay. do i need to bring the big eco-bag for the snacks we will be hauling?"

you untangle yourself from his arms as you make your way to your child. a perfect guise to hide your grin. "actually, no. we'll just be buying a little item."

*

in hindsight, you should have known better.

atsumu miya, despite being a professional volleyball player and recently getting engaged to the nonchalant sakusa kiyoomi, still likes to drink alcohol.

here you find yourself again at a long table, your friends from the volleyball club in high school gathered along with some of their plus ones. onigiri miya had closed early today for the private event. as osamu miya worked on the food with the help of his new assistant (whose eyes can't stop admiring her boss, but you'll tease osamu about that later) his blonde brother is already almost done with his first bottle.

he's telling the story of how they pranked one of their teammates that he and sakusa had broken up as a way of sharing their engagement. when the poor younger boy learned of the joke, he had ignored them to the point that atsumu had to reach out to kageyama to get him to talk to him.

"i told you it was a stupid idea and yet you didn't listen," sakusa adds to the ending of atsumu's story.

you laugh with your friends around the table, your lips opening up in a yawn once the laughter dies down. rin, ever the observant lover, lowly asks if you're okay, gently squeezing your hand he's holding under the table.

"i'm fine," you smile sweetly at him and his eyes soften a little. upon seeing he's still a little bit worried, you peck his cheek. "don't worry about me."

"you should be getting some rest," he says.

he must have said it louder than he intended or maybe you two just did not notice the table going quiet. atsumu speaks. "rest? suna, we're still not at the age to be tucking in bed at 8:00 PM. you know what we actually need? drinks!"

somehow, he gets the others to drink as well. shortly after, osamu finishes with the food preparation and his assistant, along with kita and aran, help set the table. the group happily eat and converse, sharing updates about their lives and reminiscing on their high school days. suddenly, you feel someone glaring at you.

"what?" you curiously ask atsumu whose eyes are looking at you with as much focus as he can muster with his tipsy state. "you're cheating!"

"huh?" your brows are furrowed and you turn to rin beside you but to your surprise, he's laughing. everyone looks at the both of you, half-intrigued and half amused.

rin kisses your forehead before taking the glass on his left and sipping. "he meant this, love. idiot surprisingly notices i've been drinking for us."

you're pretty sure you're already blushing. "oh."

"ah ha!" atsumu looks proud. "so i was right? come one, y/n, it's no fair! why are you not drinking? omimi and ginjima are the designated drivers tonight so no need to hold back!"

your cheeks still feel warm. "actually, i can't... i shouldn't have been drinking three weeks ago..." you exchange a look with rin and he nods at you. before you can continue, atsumu cuts you off with an excited squeal. "suna rintarou! how dare you keep this secret from me! and you, y/n, i thought i'm your brother!"

"for goodness' sake, 'tsumu, calm down," suna responds to the blonde, we actually only found out a week ago."

atsumu pouts, his cute drunken antics entertaining everyone at the table. "fine, forgiven. but i better be the godfather this time around!"

*

despite ginjima's insistence to drive you and rintarou home, you both decline his offer. after all, the walk home for onigiri miya restaurant to your home is not that far and late night walks with your rin is always welcome.

the moon and stars provide the two of you light as you walk home, your arms linked together. the night's breeze is nothing against rin's warm body. "love, i'm gonna tell you something but please don't panic, okay?"

his sudden sentence surprises you but you hum in agreement anyway.

"we're being followed by some media."

"oh."

he stops in his track, urging you to do the same. he looks down at your face, eyes holding gentleness one would not have expected from the stoic middle blocker. "do you want me to tell them off?"

you surprise yourself by saying no. rin cocks his head slightly before you respond. "i think i'm okay with a little bit of our private life being shared to the world."

he studies your face for a moment before smiling. "okay."

"okay?"

"yeah," he breathes close, hand already cupping your face. you get on your tiptoes as suna rintarou leans down and kisses you, but not before softly whispering, "i love you, y/n."

camera shutters be damned.

*

[ 11:07 PM]

[Instagram Update: s.rintarou posted a photo]

[is the "growing old alone" in the room with us?]

-end-

[okieedokes]

girl worth writing to | john egan x f!reader

summary : john pays you a visit while he’s on leave and things get melodramatic lol

warnings : brief mention of suicide, doesn't exactly follow the events of the show

word count : 888

The vibration of gentle snores rouse you from your sleep, your eyes search for the clock ticking away on your nightstand.

5:04 am

The sun had barely risen yet and you cursed yourself for being such a light sleeper, knowing the day you had ahead of you. However, the sight of shirtless John Egan dozing peacefully beside you was certainly one for sore eyes. You lifted a hand to his disheveled curls and attempted to stroke them back into place, whilst your mind replayed the events of the night before…

5:34 pm

You had just returned to your flat from another agonising day at the infirmary, to the incessant ring of the telephone. You are hesitant to answer, as you are sure it’s your head nurse, calling to inform you there’s been another emergency and you would need to return.

With a deep breath you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed and retrieve the telephone.

“Hello?…” You had meant to use a more formal introduction but simply couldn’t find the strength.

“Y/N?! It’s me, Bucky! You remember?” He teased.

You had half the mind to pretend you had forgotten the pilot after not hearing a word from him in almost six months.

“Unfortunately, I do remember.” You mask your tone with sarcasm.

“Atta girl!” He remarked and you found yourself repressing a smile as you imagined the cheeky grin on his face.

“I just completed my twenty-fifth mission today and it was frankly very nearly my last, so they’re graciously giving me the weekends leave!” He boasts sarcastically and you suppress a giggle.

“Lucky Buck!” You retort and hear him scoff.

“Anyways, I was thinking I’d come pay you and London a visit…that’s if you’d have me, of course.”

You take a pause, pretending you have a choice. Unfortunately the truth of the matter was that you’d take the Major in, always and forever no-matter the heartache, come his departure.

“Do you still remember the address?” You asked, placing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to ease the brewing butterflies.

“I couldn’t forget if I tried sweetheart, I’ll see you soon enough.” He teased playfully and ended the call.

You sighed at the realisation that you would have to spend all evening making your tired self presentable for the pilot, knowing deep down that for John it would always be worth it.

5:36 am

You jump at the feeling of his large hand wrap around your wrist that was still embedded in his hair. You feel your cheeks grow bright red as you push your body towards the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean you scare ya.” He croaks in his deep morning voice that never fails to make your knees weak.

“That’s okay! I need to get ready for my shift anyways.” You stutter wrapping yourself in the bedsheet as you crawl out of bed.

“Y/N please…” Bucky groans and grasps at the sheet that is now tightly wound around your shivering frame.

“You always do this…it’s too early and it’s bloody freezing.” He pleads and gently pulls you back into the bed and his embrace, gently guiding your into head to the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I scared you…twenty-five missions…it’s starting to get to me now, I think.” He admits whilst stroking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can only imagine the horrors you boys have endured…” You whisper.

“You would probably understand more than most Y/N…what with the hospital and all the bombings.” He adds, his tone soft and comforting as he continues to stroke your hair. This is not the witty and sarcastic John you were familiar with.

“I suppose you could say that.” You mumble as you fidget with the dog tag that hangs around his neck, a cruel reminder.

“I guess it doesn’t help that I have this American pilot of mine who when I’m sure has gone and died on me-”You attempt a teasing tone but it falls flat.

“What’s all this about me being a goner? Don’t you have any faith Y/N?” He interjects, his tone only half joking.

“Well you never write or call? What am I supposed to think?!” You feel anger boiling in your chest as you push yourself away from him.

“Or maybe I’m just not worth writing to!” You accuse before John had time to even consider a response to your sudden outburst.

“I promise it’s nothing like that Y/N… you know how I feel about you. Christ! I wouldn’t be using my weekend off like this if I didn’t have feelings for you!” He scrambles to defuse the situation, knowing your spirited ways.

“Oh really?!” You mock.

“Y/N these missions, they’re suicide! I couldn’t never let you get involved with me now! It would be cruel!” His statement cuts the conversation like a knife, silence falling over the entire flat.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stifle a sob.

“I-I’m sorry John…but I think I’m already…involved.” You stutter.

The pilot sighs, using the bedsheet gathered around your waist to pull you back down into the mattress, so now you are pinned underneath him. There's nowhere to hide.

“If you only knew how many times I’ve heard your voice in my head or seen your face in a crowd…” He whispers whilst gently placing a kiss to each of your tear soaked cheeks.

“You’re my girl…I’m sorry I ever made your feel like you weren't worth writing to.” His tone is soft but sincere.

Without looking away, he reaches for a scrap of paper that was resting atop your bedside table.

“In fact I’ll start right now…My dearest Y/N…” He declares in a exaggerated british accent and you playful slap his shoulder, giving him permission to attack you with kisses again.

When he finally pulls away your eyes meet and you raise a hand to his cheek.

“Come back to me, Major Egan.” The words tumble out before you even able to acknowledge they are there.

“Always.” He whispers, before burying is head in your chest. It wasn't long before you feel his soft snores radiating against your body again.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

The Only One

Steve Harrington x Reader.

Summary; I was watching Stranger Things earlier and the part where Nancy is in the trance that Vecna has her under and all I can think about is writing a similar story with the reader (like it's you it happens to instead of Nancy) and Steve freaking out.

You've been sleeping together for a while, it's just casual to him at least but you're falling for him but don't want to tell him, especially with all the shit going on in The Upside Down and Hawkins and with Steve and Nancy kinda connecting again.

Steve realises when he thinks he's going to lose you that he loves you and not Nancy and he confesses he loves you just as Vecna's hold on you breaks.

Warnings; Angst with a happy ending. 18+ minors dni

I don't give anyone permission to copy, reuse or repost my work.

❤️

The relationship between you and Steve had started a few months ago, both of you growing closer since July 4th last year.

The first night you slept together was a combination of Steve bemoaning a string of bad dates he had went on with a girl called Demi and you wanting to forget all the nightmares surrounding July 4th for a little while.

Then it snowballed to meeting up regularly, sneaking around during your shifts together at Family Video.

Honestly, the sex was mind blowing and the more you lost yourself in Steve, talking to each other until the early morning, getting to know him the more you fell for him.

Yet you kept quiet even as the new threat plaguing Hawkins was in full force.

It was no time to confess feelings, not now.

The new threat, Vecna. It drew Nancy and Steve together again, the unresolved tension hung in the air and you could only watch your stomach sinking as Steve gazed at Nancy.

He still loved her. He would never love you and it broke your heart.

Nancy dove right after Steve as fast as you did when he was pulled under water by the vines and into The Upside Down.

You saw the looks as she tended to his wounds after the demo bat attack, the way he reached for her when earthquakes rocked the Upside Down.

Every interaction tore your heart in two and yet you couldn't say a thing because no one knew about you and Steve.

Let's face it even if they did it's not like you could compare to Nancy. She was the first girl Steve loved, she was special.

You were just an outlet to him. Even if sometimes you thought that his feelings for you were deepening it was most likely wishful thinking on your part.

It didn't matter though, not now. Not when you had a possible brewing apocalypse to help stop.

So you pushed your broken heart aside.

❤️

You didn't know what happened. One minute you were climbing the rope made of bedsheets that Dustin had fashioned to help aid your way out of The Upside Down.

The next minute everything changed and you were falling through the air into nothingness, hearing the faint echoes of Steve calling your name fading away.

When you finally landed after what feels like hours, you're at the mall standing up shakily as fireworks burst around you.

Anna your friend who died last year near the mall, flayed just like all the other poor souls who had lost their life is currently walking towards you with a soft smile on her features.

Memories from last summer flood through you, how she died.

She was heading to the mall to pick you up from your shift at the small boutique clothing store but unbeknownst to her you were with the Scoop Troop at the time when you were meant to be finishing your shift and meeting her.

On the way there she had met Billy and it was too late for her, she had joined the flayed.

Guilt filled you up inside because you hadn't told her what had been going on with Billy, no matter if she thought it crazy or unbelievable if she knew what was really going on in Hawkins then she wouldn't have been out in the first place.

You were with Dustin, Erica, Robin and Steve at the time, pulled into the Scoop Troops mission to decode a translation that Dustin had heard on the radio.

You were friends with Robin and she reached out for your help in decoding the saying as both of you learnt many languages.

Everything after that was a blur, investigating that delivery company, being trapped in the lift that plunged down to the depths of Starcourt mall, being captured by Russians, Steve taking a beating for you and Robin...

Helping Dustin's friend El from Billy and that horrifying monster from trying to kill her, it was terrifying, your heart hammering in your chest as you were introduced to the horrors of living in Hawkins.

Another dimension of sorts right under your feet.

Anna walks over to you and your frozen on the spot. When Anna was confirmed to be part of the many people that died as the part of the Flayed, you were inconsolable.

The guilt plagued you, survivors guilt the counsellor had told you when you spoke about Anna to her briefly.

"Why didn't you mention what was happening? You knew what was going on in Hawkins with Billy, that monster and yet and not once did you mention anything to me?"

The words eat away at you and tears roll down your cheeks because you could have said something, found Anna and warned her once you escaped from the Russians but you didn't.

Between being drugged by the Russians, to escaping them and then all the shit that followed everything was focused on the absolute nightmare you and the rest of the Scoop Troop found yourself in.

But what if you had managed to find Anna somehow? It was irrational as there was no time but your mind constantly clung to the what ifs?

"There was no time, I'm so sorry, I wish I could have found some way to save you. Every day I think of what I could have done...I"

The smile from her face slips and anger flashes across her features.

"Lies! You could have but you didn't! You'd rather run around with Steve Harrington!

I bet you're so happy right now that his attention is all on you, sleeping with him to dull the fact that you're a bad friend, the guilt eating away at you"

Sobs escape your lips and you shake your head desperate for her to understand but she grips your arms tight, shaking you.

The smile is back but it's eerie, it makes your stomach bottom out.

"No matter, you'll die soon too, you all will" the voice that speaks isn't Anna this time. No, this voice sends chills down your spine and Anna morphs into a thing of nightmares.

The evil that killed Chrissy, Jordan and Freddie. Who had cursed Max.

Vecna.

✨

❤️

You're someplace new now, surrounded by the bodies of people, children, teens and adults blooded and dead on the floor.

Fear pulses through you as you run through the halls. There's a sinking feeling inside you that this is where El was kept and experimented on, the others like her.

Sadness aches deep in your bones. What happened here?

Growls fill the air and fear roots you to the spot as Vecna approaches and calls your name.

No matter where you run it's no use because he will find you, even as you try desperately to move the boards blocking off the door you know it's no use.

Still, every instinct in you compels you to fight, to escape.

Vines snake their way up your jeans and tighten around your skin before you can stop it.

They wrap around your legs and your arms to keep you in place.

Vecna walks slowly towards you, and your heart pounds in your chest.

"It's time for me to show you who I am. What is coming. You can't escape it. Victory will be mine" his fingers latch onto your face and visions flash through your mind.

Vecna was Henry , Victor Creels, son, he was the cause of the physiological torture of his family, of his mother and sisters deaths.

Brenner found Henry at the hospital when the power overwhelmed him, fabricating that Henry died in a coma when in reality he became Brenners first test subject.

001

Then there's flashes of things, all of it leading up to a fight of powers between El and 001 after he murdered all the others like El, the doctors and scientists.

El refusing to join him to rid the world of mankind.

Then she sees how he became Vecna, how he first ended up in The Upside Down, his hatred for humans, thirst for revenge palpable.

Then the vision changes.

Death, screaming, blood everywhere. The bodies of your parents, of Robin and Steve lay dead as monsters ravage Hawkins.

This is Vecna's endgame. To open the gates between Hawkins and The Upside Down for good. To unleash hell.

Steves voice is calling to you. You hear it barely at first but it grows stronger.

I love you.

It must be a trick, a torture method of Vecna's because you know that isn't true. Steve doesn't love you.

At that moment the thrall you are under breaks and you are back in The Upside Down with Steve gasping for breath and shaking from what you have seen.

❤️

At the very second you were under Vecna's curse in The Upside Down, Steve had gestured for you to go next to climb the rope and get out of the hell scape you were in but when you don't respond he turns to you in confusion.

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, your body twitching and it feels like there is ice in his veins as realises that Vecna has invaded your mind.

The curse. Pure fear shoots through him and he swears his heart almost stops and he rushes to you, shaking you and shouting your name.

Confused voices echo from above as he sees Dustin, Nancy and Eddie peer down at you and him in worry.

"Get tapes, anything you can! Now!" he yells at them as he begs you to snap out of the trance.

"Please, please sweetheart"

Were you going to die? The thought of your body broken, limbs bent in unnatural angles, just gone... almost breaks him.

The thought of not seeing you smile, hearing you giggle at his lame jokes or curling up beside him, head rested on his chest terrifies him.

"Baby, please. Can you hear me?" he begs but it's like talking to a brick wall. You don't respond just stay under the trance and Steve just for a few seconds feels numb with agony.

Quickly he snaps out of it. No, he will reach you and you'll be fine he tells himself even when it feels like he can't breathe and dread and panic clouds his mind.

He can hear the faint sounds from up in Eddie's trailer and he shouts for the others to hurry.

There has to be something in the Munson trailer to use, some tape that Munson has that possibly includes your favourite song.

As he thinks of this he knows it's a long shot because your musical tastes and Eddie's were worlds apart.

You sang along to Blondie or Madonna, danced around your room to Duran Duran and The Beatles, tapes of Journey, AC/DC, would Munson have something of them?

He knows your favourite song though, it comes to him as he remembers you singing it in his car when he picked you and Robin up one day.

Crazy for you- Madonna. Frantically he shouts to the others to find the tape with Crazy for You on it, even though he knows deep down Munson won't have anything like it.

Time is running out and he's desperate, begs you to wake.

"I can't lose you, sweetheart. Come back to me please come back to me"

It's then he realized something that he's known deep down for a while and yet never fully accepted until now.

Nancy and him could never work, not again. They were too different, yeah they needed to clear the air between them, many things were left unresolved but there was no going back.

He didn't want Nancy back because he had moved on. Over the last few months, he had slowly fallen in love with you.

It was you who he wanted to be with. It was you who he loved.

"I love you, sweetheart, come back to me. I love you" he calls to you.

He startles as you come out of your trance and he catches you before you drop to the ground.

Relief floods through him and he cradles you to his chest. Did you hear his confession? What had happened when you were under Vecna's spell?

"Steve" you choke out as tears run down your cheek and he wipes them away tenderly.

"I'm here honey, I'm here"

❤️

Somehow Steve had managed to get you and him out of the Upside Down and when you woke up to Nancy and Max kneeling next to you the vision Vecna showed you comes to the forefront.

"What happened?" Nancy asks kindly and you recall everything that occurred, leaving nothing out.

Everything Vecna showed you. Including the vision that would haunt your dreams.

"All I could see was death everywhere, cracks along Hawkins splitting the town in half, monsters and darkness and my parents were dead... Robin and... Steve" he is at you at once and his hand entwines with yours.

"It was what would happen if Vecna won, if Max died and the gates opened. Hell would follow, death. We can't let that happen" you say and your voice goes stronger, fiercer.

It was time to save Hawkins, save Max and avenge Chrissy, Jordan and Freddies death.

❤️

A few days had passed since Vecna's defeat, The Upside Down being gone for good.

Eddie was recovering in hospital, Hopper miraculously back from the dead had taken on the role of sheriff and cleared Eddie of any involvement in Chrissy, Jordan and Freddie's deaths.

Max was recovering in hospital as well, she almost didn't make it when she was under Vecna's curse but somehow, by some miracle El's powers had come back and even in California she helped Max.

All of you banded together to weaken Vecna but El delivered the killing blow that destroyed the mind flyer and The Upside for good.

Now she was back along with Hopper, Joyce, Murray, Jonathan and Will.

Also, their friend Argyle who you liked immediately, the guy knew how to chill out.

There's a light tapping on your window and you peer up and giggle at what you see.

Steve was perched outside your window, flowers in hand and you smile as you open the window and let him inside.

"You could just use the front door you know" he shrugs, looking nervous.

"Where's the fun in that? He jokes and sits down, I spoke to Nancy, was long overdue. Cleared up some things"

Was he here to tell you he was back together with Nancy? You want so desperately to tell him you love him but what would be the point?

It would just add to his confusion, make him feel guilty he didn't return your feelings and you didn't want that.

His expression is tender and he stares down at you.

"Are you and Nancy together again?" you blurt out and he softens and shakes his head.

"No honey we aren't" This wasn't what you expected to hear.

"I don't understand. You still love her?" he settles beside you on the bed.

"We talked a lot. Both of us realised we would never work. I don't love Nancy, she's the past sweetheart. We both agreed that"

He hands you the flowers and something akin to hope blooms in your chest.

"I didn't see any of this coming you know? Getting to know you better, us being together. I didn't expect to fall in love with you but I did"

He loved you. What you heard wasn't a trick. He truly loved you.

"When I thought I was going to lose you I told you, I don't know if you even heard me" he murmurs and you take his hands on yours feeling giddy.

"I heard. Shit, I thought it was some torture trick from Vecna and all along it really was you?" his lips press to your forehead.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to realise sweetheart, sorry you thought I still loved Nancy when it's you I want, only you sweetheart"

Gently you touch his cheek, wincing as you gaze at the scar around his throat, the scar made by the Demobats tail.

"Does it still hurt?" you ask worriedly and he nods as you press a tender kiss near it.

"Sometimes, not now though" his arms wrap around you and he pulls you onto his knee.

"I love you, Steve, so much. I've been wanting to tell you for so long" he smiles as his head rests on top of yours.

"How about a date tomorrow? A chance to spoil my girl, dinner and a movie?" you agree to this and the joy in the air is palpable, you would discuss paying half for the date tomorrow even if Steve would argue against it.

For now, you just let the glow of happiness fill you.

"It's a date"

❤️

[band--psycho]

Chibs Telford x Reader- A Confession Of Love

For the Anon who has waited so patiently for this! Thank you so much for the request!

I hope you all enjoy this!💛

Y/n and Chibs stood face to face in the clubhouse, the air thick with tension and emotions. Chibs' face was a mask of barely contained anger and frustration, while Y/n's had a mix of fear and sorrow. She knew things with the club weren’t going great; she didn’t need anyone to tell her that, it was clear to see; and she’d heard the rumors of the escalating violence between SAMCRO and a rival gang. That’s why she’d been begging them not to get involved; but it was quite clear to her that her opinion on the matter didn’t matter that much because it was club business; and she wasn’t part of the club. 

She just didn’t want anyone to get hurt. 

In the six months she’d been in Charming, she’d grown quite close to all of the members of the sons of anarchy, especially Chibs and she didn’t want any of them to get injured.…but they were all being so cocky, saying that they wouldn’t get hurt and that she had nothing to worry about. 

“Chibs-” Y/n began, her eyes meeting his in a silent plea to somehow stop this feud from escalating. 

“It’s club business, lass, that’s all,” he stated simply as he walked closer to her. 

Y/n sighed, trying to keep her emotions in check, "I know.  But I also know what could happen if you do this. It will only lead to more violence…” 

This feud had been brewing long before she arrived in Charming; and she knew that either way one of the clubs was going to want retaliation from tonight's fight. They were just going to end up in an endless cycle of blood, pain and loss. 

Chibs looked away, his jaw clenched. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Chibs finally looked back at Y/n, his voice ragged,"We can't just let them get away with this.” 

“Chibs-” Y/n repeated gently, stepping closer to him and putting her hand on his arm.

“Lass, we’re doing this,” he said, his voice gruff, as he pulled away from her touch, knowing damn well that if he stayed here much longer; especially with her looking at him like that, he’d change his mind. 

“Well,” Y/n sighed, frustrating running a hand over her her face, trying to fight the ache in her heart , “I hope none of you get killed,”

“Y/n/n-”

“If none of you are gonna listen to reason then I’m not gonna continue to waste my breath,” she snapped back, not caring that she interrupted him, as she grabbed her bag and jacket and left the clubhouse. 

Though as soon as she was in her car she wanted to go back inside; she wanted to tell Chibs how she felt; that she loved him and was terrified of him dying. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

So she just drove home; hoping that her fears wouldn’t come true. 

~~~~

“Jax?” Y/n drowsily questioned; staring at the blonde haired man at her front door. 

“Chibs is in hospital,”  Y/n's heart sank as Jax's words registered in her brain. 

This. This is exactly what she was afraid of. 

“How serious?” She asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking. 

“Serious enough for me to be waking you up at 3am,”

Without another word, Y/n quickly got dressed, throwing on some clothes and slipping on her boots. Jax waited patiently by the door as she grabbed her keys and followed him out to his bike.

The ride to the hospital was a blur, the wind whipping past them as they sped through the deserted streets. Y/n held on tight to Jax's waist, her thoughts consumed with worry for Chibs.

~~~~~

The hospital was a flurry of activity as people rushed in and out. Y/N ran past them, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes fixed on the entrance. She pushed her way through the doors and ran down the hallways, her heart racing and her eyes searching for Chibs.

Finally, she spotted him. He was lying in a hospital bed, his face pale and his clothes covered in blood. He was surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses, all trying desperately to save him.

Her heart broke at the sight. 

All she wanted to do was run to his side and grab his hand but she knew she couldn’t, not now, all she could do was wait. 

“This is your fault y’know,” Y/n mumbled as Jax stood next to her, both of them terrified about what the outcome for Chibs was going to be. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Sorry?” she scoffed turning to face him, “Chibs could die and you’re fucking sorry?” 

“I didn’t want this…”

There were so many things Y/n wanted to say in response to him; but she swallowed them down before they could leave her lips. 

She knew he didn’t want this. She knew how much he cared about him. 

But that didn’t stop the anger from boiling in her veins.  

~~~~

 Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, a doctor emerged from the room and gave them a small smile.

“He’s going to be okay,” the doctor said. “But he’ll need some time to recover.”

Jax and Y/n both breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Can we see him?”

“Of course, he’s not awake yet though, so you’ll have to be patient,” 

Y/n nodded as she processed the words before turning her attention to Jax. 

“You go, I’ll go tell the club he’s okay,” he said with a relieved smile on his lips as he squeezed her shoulder before leaving. 

"Chibs," she said, her voice barely a whisper, as she sat down, in the chair next to his bed, placing her hand over his softly,  "Chibs, I'm here."

She repeated those words for the next hour or so until she noticed his eyes began to flutter open and then he looked at her, his gaze filled with pain and confusion.

"Y/n/n," he said, his voice hoarse, "What are you doing here?"

"I had to come," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I had to tell you something."

He looked at her, his gaze softening.

"What is it?" he asked.

Y/N took a deep breath, and then she said the words she had been wanting to say for so long.

"I love you, Chibs," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I love you so much."

He looked at her, his gaze full of surprise and then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

"I love ye too, lass," he said, his voice barely a whisper, as he attempted to wipe the tears from one of her cheeks away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she sniffled; leaning into his touch, savoring every second of it. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he admitted, moving his hand from her face so that he could take his hand in hers. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered, with a small smile on her lips, her hands tracing over his face and neck, feeling the stubble of his beard, trying to ignore the lingering fear that was in her heart. 

She wanted to believe that this would play at like a fairy tale and that they'd get their happily ever after together; but she knew that real life was rarely ever that fair...and that's what scared her.

All she could do was hope that what happened tonight made the club realise that the feud needed to end.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @rebelwrites @munsinner @withmyteeth @little-diable @beeroses @i-just-read-stuff @05supernatural20 @xbreezymeadowsx @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @sassymox @skyofficialxx @jitterbugs927 @samanthaofanarchy @the-mayan-queen @stillbreathin @lady-writes20 @lady-writes-flanagan @thexhostess @tempt-ress @beth-gallagher22 @oskea93 @lexondeck @bl3333h @choochoo284 @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @thekaelicobain @rosieposie0624 @bestbitchsstuff @missbee1095 @xxemberlights @igotmajordaddyissues @livingdeadblondequeen @theestorm @babygirl8900 @jtelford

[sky-fire-forever]

happy friday! how about Spite/Rook for "I've had a lot of dreams about you lately"?

Thank you for the prompt! I had a lot of fun with this one!

For @dadrunkwriting - Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers

My Rook in this is Voltah de Riva, who uses they/them pronouns.

It’s early in the morning when Voltah tiptoes into the kitchen to prepare themself some coffee — late enough that everyone else has probably gone to bed and early enough that even the earliest risers won’t be up yet. Voltah expects to be entirely alone as they brew themself a pot and sit nearby to wait for it to be ready. 

They’ve been having strange dreams lately, not that most of their dreams could be considered normal. No matter if they're having conversations with Solas or remembering their initiation into the Crows or imagining fighting the elven gods with their pants down, their dreams often venture into territory that most would consider strange and unusual. 

Their most recent dreams have been strange in a different way, however. They're not about drowning or dying or losing everyone they hold dear. No, these dreams are a bit spicier in nature. 

It makes sense, all things considered. Lucanis and them have been dancing around each other for months now and while they've solidified their relationship, they've barely so much as kissed or held hands. It's a chaste romance, with lots of flirting and supporting one another, but very little else.

And Voltah is fine with that! Really, they are! But they're an elf with certain desires and it only makes sense for their sleeping mind to wander, to conjure up dreams of their lover in more compromising positions than they've actually experienced with him.

The problem is that their dreams haven't been limited to just Lucanis. 

The water for the coffee has just begun to simmer when a figure creeps out of the shadows. 

“Smells like guilt and heat!” If the tone of voice and words spoken aren't enough to reveal who exactly the speaker is, the purple of his eyes are. 

Voltah does their best not to jump in surprise, their training allowing them to suppress the urge enough to act natural as they turn towards their spirit friend. 

“Good morning, Spite. What're you doing up so early?” They raise an eyebrow at him.

Spite grins. “Lucanis sleeps. My time to play!”

“As long as you make sure the body gets some rest. Can't have either of you fighting while exhausted,” they remind him. 

Spite scowls. “Sleep is boring! Rather play.” 

“Sleep isn't always boring.” Voltah turns away from him so they can pour the water over the coffee grounds, watching the water seep through the filter. “Dreams can be pretty interesting.” 

Their comment just reminds them of their most recent dreams and they feel their face heat up. The phantom feeling of calloused fingers gripping their hips makes their skin tingle, so they try to banish the memories away. They shouldn't be thinking about those dreams, especially not with Spite actually standing before them. 

“Don't dream,” Spite says and Voltah can hear the pout in his voice. “Just watch Lucanis dream. Boring!” 

Voltah laughs. “What does Lucanis dream about anyway?” They turn back to Spite and lean against the table, their blush fading. 

“Boring things.” Spite makes a face like the very memory of Lucanis’ dreams disgusts him. He pauses, looking considerate for a moment. “And Rook.”

Voltah raises an eyebrow. “Am I not included in boring things?” They ask, their voice light and teasing despite the burst of feeling that flows through them at the knowledge of Lucanis dreaming about them. 

“No.” Spite shakes his head. “Rook is. Interesting. Rook is good to dream about.”

Voltah smiles and moves to fill their cup with the freshly brewed coffee. “Y'know, you're not too bad to dream about yourself.”

Why did they say that?

Their face warms again and they're glad their back is to the spirit so he can't see how they wince at their own words. They can practically hear the way he stops and ponders what they just said.

“Rook dreams of me?” 

“Uh, sometimes,” they admit, swirling their coffee. They pause, staring at the dark liquid. Too dark, they need to add a shit ton of cream still. They hate the bitterness of black coffee. “Actually, I've had a lot of dreams about you lately.”

They risk a glance back at Spite, who is watching them like a hawk, something curious and almost predatory in his gaze. 

“What dreams?” He demands.

They blush. “Oh, y'know. Dreams.” But Spite is stalking towards them like a lion after prey. They hold their coffee protectively against their chest as Spite slinks into their personal space. 

He inhales deeply. “Smells like lust.” 

Voltah's face burns. “Whoa, I never said–”

“Smells like shame.” Spite tilts his head and stares intently at them. “Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why shame?” He steps closer and sniffs. 

Voltah can't believe they're having this conversation with a demon. “Well. It's embarrassing to be having those sorts of dreams about a–” They pause. “About a friend.”

“What dreams?” But Spite grins like he already knows. “Rook dreams. Of me.” He takes another step closer, until they're almost chest to chest. He puts his hands on the table on either side of Voltah's hips, caging them against the counter. 

Voltah swallows, their gaze darting to Spite's lips. “Yeah,” they admit. “I dream of you.” They summon their courage and place a hand against Spite's chest, setting their coffee aside with their free hand. “I dream about doing a lot of things with you.”

“Not Lucanis?”

“Lucanis too, don’t get me wrong. But also you.”

Spite growls and his hands move to grab at Voltah's hips. “Mine.”

“Maybe.” A smirk plays at the corner of Voltah's lips. 

Spite digs his nails into them. “Mine,” he repeats.

Voltah laughs. “If you want me to be yours, let's make some dreams come true.”

That's all the invitation Spite needs. 

[letters-from-dekarios]

{ After he was met with his affliction, Gale withdrew himself into his tower for a year. With only Tara for company, and bless her - she tried her best, the wizard drowned in guilt and shame. After the first few weeks, the incessant sending spells died down, after some months, colleagues stopped coming by, safe for only a few friends and his mother. Around that time he stopped checking for mail too. It didn't matter anymore.

Safe to say, Gale was unprepared when the sky suddenly darkened and before he could react, he was plucked right from the ground and taken by the nautilod. But his unexpected adventure served to be quite enlightening and he returned to Waterdeep as a happier and healthier man. He comes back to his home to find his mailbox absolutely flooded. He's got some mucking out to do.

Beneath all the letters of concerned, confused and even some angered colleagues and acquaintances, as well as archmage business, he finds a rather surprising set of letters penned by an old friend from his time at the Blackstaff Academy : Theofiel Rivershade.

A timid but sociable half-elf. The two of them lived parallel to each other in the first few years there, same friends and mentors but somehow never crossing paths. Until they began nursing a quiant friendship after Gale needed help in hunting down a set of very rare and old books by an author that was as sound of mind as he was known : barely.

But after a while of idle comradery, Theofiel, who was quite studious and hardworking, a trait Gale admired as he was more of the sleep-in-class-but-ace-the-test kind of guy, became.. unmotivated and sluggish. And as he attended the Academy less and less until completely dropping out, Gale never truly knew what had become of his formerly bright and curious friend apart from rumors that he had fallen on quite hard times with his health.

And now, four letters lay before the wizard on the coffee table. He brewed himself some tea in the meantime as he opens the first letter. The date was about five months after he'd secluded himself from the world. The second letter was sent eight months in. The thrid was nine months and the last just recently, about a few weeks ago when he was still in the midst of his quest to safe Faerun.}

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

1st letter : Warm greetings, Gale Dekarios

Or Gale of Waterdeep, if you prefer it. It's a quite imposing and deserved title, after all.

I know you haven't heard of me in a long time, and I hope you'll forgive me for it. But I have heard of you in the meantime. And while what I usually hear fills me with a content warmth in my chest, it has recently begun to feel colder and tense.

I do wish you well with what has been ailing you. You should know that I'll always be an open ear, like in good old times.

~ Best of wishes, Theofiel Rivershade

2nd letter : Greetings Gale Dekarios,

I know my concern might be of little comfort or significance to you, I admit it's been a while and in our brief friendship I don't think we ever talked about the plights that weighed on our souls. I know I never did. Perhaps I should have, and then we could have ended up more closely acquainted and I would have come to visit instead of sending letters.

But alas, I can't help being concerned, I always am. And if I learned one thing back then, it's that it's always worth trying. So I hope you're taking care of yourself, Gale. I hope you have someone with you.

~ Be well, Theofiel Rivershade

3rd letter : judging by the slightly skewed writing and the spelling mistakes, it must've been written either in the late hours of the night, while drunk, or both.

Greatings Gale Dekraiu

Theres an very uneasy feeling that has been playging me for a while now because the longer yur silence stretchs, the harder it bites down in me somewere. Like a fly trap but more big. I don't know what is hapening to you but I keep thinking about how similar it is to when I dropped out of the Acadeny. They say it's like you steppd into the shadows, or you are just drowning yourselv in research. But I have a bad feeling, I don't know. When I shut away it was because I was tired. Everyting was exsohsting. I felt a fire in me dying out. I felt like I was rotting slowly away and something eating me from inside. So I hid away to rot in peace. I was ashamed. But you were never exhasting to me, you know? It was easy with yu. But learning wasn't. I'm sorry. I'm not asking you to reply, it's still not my plase to do so. This is my last letter, I don't want to bofher you anymore. I hope you are okey.

At the bottom of the page was a sentence scribbled out, but he could still make out the words : "You've always been someone special to me, even after all these years."

~ Theo

4th letter : Warm greetings, Gale Dekarios

You've always been a common topic in my circles but now you're a topic everywhere it seems. I can't express to you how relieved I was when I heard you reappeared, be it quite far from here, and that you were with company. Fighting for the greater good.

I assume you are doing better. I hope so.

I apologize for my previous letters. There's nothing I can really say for myself except that I have a bad case of 'being a worrywart'. You may discard them if you so please. I think that's for the best.

I'm wishing you lots of luck for your quest and with yourself. All of Waterdeep has faith in you. Me as well. Keep your new friends close, they'll be good for you.

All I want is for you to be okay, happy if I dare say so. This letter is actually my last, I promise.

~ Sincerely, Theo Rivershade

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

( I'm so glad this blog exists. I've been very nervous about writing here but finally got over myself xD

I imagine the relationship between Gale and Theofiel never got explicitly romantic, but they did have moments that sometimes felt like it would become more, but neither of them acted on it. They got along, but never deeply knew each other but it still felt weird to go from a pleasant friendship to complete silence from Theo's side. But it happens.

I hope this wasn't too long though, I'm sorry °~°)

Dearest Theo,

I apologize for not writing you sooner. Time has gotten the best of my mind, even now but more upon the initial sending of your letters. As I sort through the piles of untouched words from friends much like you, it is only then I see how much I truly missed out on. As you may have deduced, I spent little time outside my tower for some time. I will admit to my isolation, but there is far more to it than that simple word.

Regardless, I’d like to address everything in each letter you sent me. As busy as my mind is, I cannot shake the feeling of losing out on something by not taking it all in. You must know how I recognize every letter you planted into these pages, or I fear my mind may give out.

It’s common knowledge that yes, again, I had isolated myself for a while. A year, to be exact. Given your standing as a friend, I’ll be honest in also admitting that I was not doing well. I’m not quite sure how far the grapevine went, but I was shunned by Mystra for… well, I’m not sure where I stand with her now despite it all, but it was a while. A long while. I was selfish and stupid, qualities I am not proud of holstering at that time. But, alas, young minds and a desire for greatness are not always the best combination. Thankfully, though I was not taking the greatest care of myself, I had my Tressym, Tara. You may remember her, do you? I’m sure if I mentioned your name she would have plenty to say.

Worry naught! After a year of sulking and withering away, Tara found the solution to my needs. And, now, those needs are gone. Replaced with ones that are much more fulfilling to the soul, I can happily say I am an entirely new man! As you also may have heard, being infected with tadpoles and nearly transforming into a Mindflayer does change a person.

Theo, dear Theo… I’m not sure where to begin with your third letter. Your drunken worry brings a feeling to the heart I cannot begin to name. While I try to keep this letter more lighthearted, I cannot help but feel akin to what you described. Just the same, I locked myself away with the intent to… pass away, silently. I’m not sure why. I had everything, yet nothing at all- isn’t that odd? I often reminisced on my relationships with people of my past, you included. I knew that if I just asked, you’d extend your hand to help. Shit, you wrote to me all that time. I feel a fool for not replying sooner- for not easing your concern sooner. Now I ramble here, hoping for an answer to the questions I had back then. I don’t wish to put this on you, as aforementioned I’d like to keep it light.

But, Theo, you were special to me, too. I believe you still are.

I can reassure you now, though. I am doing significantly better than I had been. Please, do not apologize for your former concern. You had every right. It is I who should be apologizing for leaving you to worry in silence. I promise to do as you ask, it’s certainly part of my plan for the future.

I’m not sure where you consider me, after all this time of silence, but I hope I can still be considered a friend. I still think of you as one, truly.

Perhaps we can meet sometime to reminisce over the past and catch up on what we’ve each missed. I’d enjoy that. Though, the trip to Waterdeep is a long one. Perhaps our correspondence can make up that time for now.

Tell me, Theo, how are you? Are you taking care of yourself? I hope you are. How are your studies nowadays? I never had the heart to ask how you were after you left, for fear of rubbing my success in your face. I hope you don’t hate me for that.

I’d hate to kill the pigeon who carries this letter from the weight of my words, so I shall end it here.

Thank you, for all of it. It calms my mind to know that I am surrounded by those who care. I used to believe I didn’t have anyone, but that just isn’t true.

Your friend,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

oh my god I absolutely loved this!!! I literally squealed reading this for the first time. This is so so cute! never ever apologize for writing long, this makes me so happy. I’m still kicking my feet as I write my little a.n cause this is just so [ chefs kiss ] ~ kore