#It was the perfect opportunity for me to finally write this little story that's been on my mind for two months now!

[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

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

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

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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. ♡

[heartysworld]

The Deal // Lando Norris

A/N: I'm literary writing this as the England-Spain final is happening so I've got absolutely no idea whether I'm going to jinx it or guess the winner but I guess we're about to find out!

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST

W.C. 2k

The week between the Silverstone and the Hungarian Grand Prix was a much needed break in the intense Formula 1 schedule. Half the racing season was over, and you and Lando both needed a distraction from the relentless grind of the sport. It was the perfect opportunity to do something fun, to escape the pressure, and enjoy a few days just for yourselves.

“Alright baby, I have a proposition,” Lando said one evening as you both relaxed on the couch in your shared apartment, the remnants of a takeout dinner spread out before you. His fingers were gently running through your hair, and you could feel the tension of the season easing away.

“Oh? Do tell,” you replied, looking up at him with a smirk, already intrigued by whatever he was about to suggest.

“You know how you’ve been dying to go see a  Taylor Swift concert?” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye. You could already tell where thus was going.

“Obviously,” you replied, excitement bubbling up at the mere mention of it.

“Well, I’ve been thinking… What if we make a deal? We go to the Taylor Swift concert in Milan, but the next day, we head to Germany for the Euro Cup final. I'm sure we can figure something out regarding the concert tickets. Deal?” he proposed, his smile widening as he extended his hand towards to as a form of an agreement.

Your heart did a little flip. The idea of seeing Taylor Swift live had been a dream for you, and combining that with Lando’s passion for football seemed like the perfect plan for the remaining time before the next race in Hungary.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Norris,” you agreed, shaking his hand in a mock-serious manner.

The days leading up to the trip were filled with excitement and anticipation. You both packed your bags, making sure to include all the essentials – your Taylor Swift outfit and Lando’s favorite football jerseys. For a bit of fun, you had even gotten Lando a shirt that said, “So many Sainz, so little time,” a playful nod to his friendship with Carlos.

Finally, the day arrived. You and Lando boarded the flight to Milan, the city buzzing with the same energy that coursed through your veins. After checking into the hotel you'd be staying at, you quickly changed into your concert outfits. You wore a beautiful flowy dress that sparkled in pink and blue hues and twirled as you walked, while Lando sported his new shirt with pride.

As you arrived at the concert venue, the atmosphere was electric. Fans were everywhere, their excitement palpable. You grabbed Lando’s hand, your eyes sparkling with joy.

“This is it, Lando! I can’t believe we’re really here,” you exclaimed, squeezing his hand.

“I know, love. Let’s make the most of it,” he replied, pulling you closer as you navigated through the crowd to find your VIP seats.

The concert was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Taylor Swift’s voice filled the arena, her energy was infectious. You sang along to every song, your voice mingling with thousands of others. Despite not knowing all the lyrics, Lando joined in with your enthusiasm, dancing and cheering with you.

During “Love Story,” Lando placed his hands on your waist and twirled you around, his eyes never leaving yours. You laughed, your heart feeling light and free. The moment was perfect, a memory you’d treasure forever.

“Thank you for this, Lando. This means the world to me,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Anything for you, Y/N,” he replied, leaning in to kiss you softly.

Throughout the concert, fans recognized Lando and started handing him friendship bracelets. By the end of the night, both his hands were covered with colorful, handmade bracelets given to him by enthusiastic Swifties. The sight of Lando, a Formula 1 driver, adorned with friendship bracelets made you smile.

When “Shake It Off” started playing, you couldn’t contain your excitement. You jumped up and down, hugging Lando tightly, and he joined in, laughing and dancing along with you. Unbeknownst to you both, several people in the audience captured photos and videos of you two, sharing your unfiltered joy.

The next day, you were up early, the excitement of the previous night still lingering. After a quick breakfast, you and Lando hopped on a flight to Germany. Unfortunately, time wasn't on your side and you had no chance to explore the beautiful city of Milan with the love of your life. However, this led to Lando's idea for a vacation in Milan during his summer break.

The Euro Cup final was an event Lando had been looking forward to for months, and you were determined to make it just as special for him as the concert had been for you.

As you arrived at the stadium, the sheer scale of it took your breath away. Fans from all over the world were gathered, their team colors proudly displayed. You wore a jersey in support of Lando’s home country, earning an appreciative smile from him.

“Ready for this?” you asked, taking his hand as you made your way to your seats.

“Absolutely. This is going to be epic,” he replied, his excitement evident.

The match was intense, the atmosphere charged with energy. England was facing Spain, and the tension was palpable. You found yourself getting caught up in the excitement, cheering and shouting alongside Lando. When England scored the winning goal, the stadium erupted in celebration. Lando lifted you up in a jubilant hug, spinning you around.

“We did it!” he exclaimed, his eyes alight with joy.

“You did it,” you corrected, laughing as you hugged him tightly. “This was incredible, Lando. I’m so glad we came.”

“Me too, love. This has been the perfect weekend,” he replied, kissing you deeply.

Later, as you made your way back to the hotel, fans also captured moments of Lando jumping and cheering, celebrating England's victory. Videos of his infectious excitement quickly spread online, fans delighted by the sight of him in his element.

Back in your room, you cuddled up on the bed, exhausted but happy. Lando pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Lando. Thank you for everything,” you replied, snuggling closer.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that this weekend would be one you’d both remember for the rest of your lives – a testament to your love, your shared passions, and the joy of making deals that brought you closer together.

The next morning, you woke up to a flurry of notifications on your phone. Curious, you opened social media to find that videos and photos of you and Lando from both the concert and the football match had gone viral. Fans couldn’t stop talking about how cute you both looked together, enjoying something you each loved.

There were clips of you dancing and twirling to “Love Story,” Lando’s hands on your waist, and another of you jumping up and down, hugging him tightly during “Shake It Off.” Then, there were the heartwarming videos of Lando cheering and jumping when England won, his pure joy infectious.

“Looks like we’re famous,” you said, showing Lando your phone. He chuckled, pulling you into another hug.

“I guess the world likes seeing us happy,” he said, kissing your forehead.

And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for these perfect moments you had shared, knowing that you had created memories that would last a lifetime.

MASTERLIST

[reverieblondie]

Summer Vacation

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Fingering. You and Miguel have to be sneaky.

Summary: College has been stressful and your finally off for summer vacation... But then you receive a surprise visit...

A/N: Ya'll thought I wasn't writing for Miguel anymore... oh how wrong you all are... If this dose well I will make it a mini series! Just let me know! Enjoy!

Word count: 3,242

So much for your plans for a quiet vacation…

It had been perfect in your mind. Your parents were out of town, and their house was so close to the beach that you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have a nice and relaxing summer vacation all to yourself. School had been hectic, and you needed some serious relaxing time lounging out under a shady umbrella, cutting down on your TBR list with a frozen drink at your side and maybe a summer fling on the other.

But now... that’s not going to happen, not with the little surprise visit you received…

As you had settled in last night, you heard the sounds of a slamming car door. Your first thought was your parents made a surprisingly short trip, but that’s when you saw him entering through the front door. 

Your brother? What is his goofy -

But before you can finish the thought, you saw him following in. You haven’t seen him in years, but as soon as you see those familiar eyes, you know exactly who he is. Miguel O’Hara, your older brother’s best friend. The last time you remember seeing Miguel was the summer before he and your brother graduated. Lots of people assumed Miguel was a grumpy jerk from his quiet nature. Still, you always found him funny and kinda charming. You especially loved when he gave your brother a hard time: Miguel was definitely your favorite out of all your brother’s friends.

In contrast, the others ignored you, where Miguel was always friendly and looked after you in his own way. Sure, he wasn’t stopping you in the halls to talk to you your freshman year, but you would catch how he would be subtly watching you, and without fail, every time you were doing homework at your dining room table, Miguel would slide in next to you to whisper what questions you got wrong. Okay, sure, you planned it out to be there when he came over, but could you really blame a girl? Miguel was top of his class, plus it also helped that Miguel was quite cute.   

You ended up developing a bit of a crush on him, but he was off-limits, and that was only a silly little freshman year crush. You are way past that. So, as you sit here lounging on your couch, watching him walk in looking taller, buffer, and undoubtedly cuter, okay, he’s actually sexy as hell now…

As soon as Miguel walked in, his eyes met yours. At first, he was equally surprised to see you, but his shock quickly turned to a smile, like he was actually excited to see you. Though the smile was short-lived, as when your brother turned around to grab his bag from him, Miguel went back to his ever-stoic look. 

After your initial surprise wore off, you told your brother about disrupting your plans. He was quick to assure you that he wasn’t going to ruin them as he walked over and ruffled your hair, “Don’t sweat it, sis. Me and Miguel won’t bother you too much.” 

“Too much?”

He laughs as he saunters into the kitchen, “Well, I am your older brother, and I can’t just not mess with you!” 

The audible groan you give only earns a laugh from your sibling. Older brothers… 

While your ruined vacation plans are flashing before your eyes, a clearing throat catches your attention. Turning around, you see Miguel looking down at you with a bit of a smile back to his full lips, 

“Guessing you’re not too excited to see us…” 

Well, if it had just been Miguel….that's a different story… “Let’s just say I had plans for a stress-relief vacation and can’t exactly do now with an older brother lurking around…” 

Miguel chuckles and quickly looks you up and down for a moment. His eyes go to your brother as he leans down and whispers, “You could… if you know how to be sneaky about it…” 

For a moment, you don’t think this is happening, but… is Miguel flirting? You look at him, confused but very intrigued… you haven’t seen him in forever, and this is how he acts? Maybe you’re just reading too much into it; Miguel always gave you homework advice. Perhaps this is just him doing that, but your horny brain is misinterpreting… But just in case….

You look into his eyes, seeing that once warm brown now, has a tinge of red to them. “How do I know you won’t rat on me to my brother? Get me in trouble?” 

“Let’s just say I can keep a secret… troublemaker.” 

Troublemaker? You could be a troublemaker if he’s going to be the one that’s going to spank-

No, No, No! Off limits! Brother’s best friend, I don’t care if he’s built like a god and has a nose that you would pay good money to grind against. You can’t be the one to stick your neck out. Maybe Miguel is just a flirt now; all talk, but it doesn’t mean it. Off limits!

While your brain can still form some rational thought, you rush off to bed before Miguel can notice the blush rising to your face. As you make it to your door, you think you see Miguel leaning back to look down the hall at you with a smirk. Being a sane person you quickly scramble through your door and slam it shut, you go and flop down in your bed, cursing your brother for having brought with him Miguel. Out of all his friends, he had to get the one who makes your insides scream. 

Now here you sit, completely forgetting about the book in your hands as you stare at Miguel, looking so damn distracting! You know you shouldn’t be staring at him, but watching him running shirtless with his bulging biceps, massive chest shining in a sheen of sweat, and his flexing abs. Don’t even get started on his ass and legs in his swimsuit. You quickly slam your face in your book; stop sexualizing him… off-limits…off limits! 

Though you never were one to have good self-control. So, peering up from your book, you look at him. Sweat has never looked so good. 

Miguel just looked so effortless in his movements, and from the looks of the others staring, you’re not the only one to think this. Something in your chest tightens with that thought, the thought of him swarmed by admirers. For as long as you have known him, you have seen how people trip over themselves to fawn over him, but he always remained single from what you knew… you are sure he has had girlfriends before, but every time he was around you… he didn’t bring one up, he always was single, or at least appearing to be.

Then lost in your staring, his eyes meet yours.

You want to blame the sudden rush of heat to your face on the summer heat, but you know it’s from him… that same auburn gaze that always makes your stomach flutter and your insides ache. 

Miguel watches you as he pushes back his sweat-drenched hair before he lets a smile form on his full lips and gives you a slight wave. You work up the nerve to wave back, then quickly hide behind your book again. You’re stuck rereading the same line over and over, trying to hold onto the words, but that smile and those eyes…

Perhaps another peek won’t hurt…

Going for it, you take another look and see your brother, Miguel, and two pretty girls. The girls are all perky and smiles as they chat, something your brother is eating up, while Miguel has returned to being stoic—his ever-trustworthy defense mechanism. 

Looking away, you’re going through a swell of emotions. Well, more like one bitter emotion…

Jealousy…

You have as prided yourself on being a supportive girl; when you see a girl shooting her shot, you always wish silent good luck for them, but right now, seeing them talking to Miguel… It’s making you feel bitter. In no way is Miguel yours, hell he’s off limits for what you’re concerned, but watching this… hurts. This is ridiculous. Jealousy? Really? With a sigh you try to just forget it, though your skin is feeling hot, and you’re fighting the urge to stare.

To calm yourself, you place your book to the side and strip off your cover-up, the material that was once comfortable now irritating. You hadn’t planned on swimming or being out of your cover-up, so of course you make this the day you wear your smallest bikini. It’s funny how things always turn out like that. Stripping off the material, you instantly feel some relief. However, you have that distinct feeling of someone looking at you, watching you. 

With a glance, you see Miguel looking over everyone’s heads to make eye contact with you again…

Getting back to your book and swallowing down your jealousy, you keep your eyes on your book to keep yourself out of trouble. Finally, after a bit, when you're just getting lost in the text, there’s a nudge on your leg. 

“Uhhggg, please tell me you didn’t come here just to sit around.” Narrowing your eyes at the complaining source, you see your brother nagging you. 

You look down at your book, “You enjoy your time your way; I will enjoy mine my way.” 

Your brother rolls his eyes before grabbing his water bottle, “Goes to the beach and doesn’t swim or play soccer with her big bro. Are you depressed or something?” 

More like irritated… and frustrated… 

Before you can give your rebuttal, Miguel silences Your brother by bouncing the soccer ball on his head, “Stop messing with her.” 

Your brother, as dramatic as ever, holds his head and whines, “Ouch! When did you get so overprotective?” 

Miguel looks surprised and almost guilty for a moment before the mask comes back. “I’m not overprotective; just… let the kid relax like she wants.” 

KID?!

As soon as the words leave his lips, they are ringing in your ears. A kid? He’s older than you, sure, but calling you kid? What the hell? Is that how he sees you? You don’t know what’s the worst label: best friends little sister, or kid? 

Your brother pats your head, “Aw, got to be nice to the baby!” 

The words sting deeper. It’s not like you’re not used to your brother’s teasing; that’s actually how you two play with each other and show affection, but today…

You quickly stand, swatting his hand away. Your brother pauses and looks at you, confused. “Wow, what’s your damage?”

“I’m not in the mood…” You bite back, grab your bag, and walk off. 

“Where are you going?!” 

“None of your business!” 

You’re not even sure where you are going, but with your chest burning with embarrassment and annoyance, you just don’t want to be somewhere you’re labeled as a kid. 

You ended up at the concession stand to get some ice cream. Okay, not precisely screaming, mature lady. But your irritation at the situation is reaching a peak, and you need a nice cold comfort snack to cool you down.  

A kid… he sees you as a kid, you’re a woman in college, and he calls you a kid… and here you thought he was staring at you. Fooling yourself to think he’s interested. Looking down at yourself, you feel worse, wearing this bikini revealing your body secretly hoping to grab his attention. Ugh! Maybe you should go home, hide in your room till they leave… And why is this line moving so sl-

Suddenly, the feeling of a giant hand grabbing you close startles you. You’re pulled into what feels like a brick wall. Looking up at the sudden grabber, you see that familiar strong jaw and that dark wavy hair, but not his gaze. No, Miguel is looking off at a nearby table at a group of guys who are visibly avoiding eye contact and sweating bullets. 

You look between them for a few more minutes before you ask the million-dollar question, “What are you doing?” 

Miguel doesn’t take his eyes off the group, “Just... keeping an eye on you…”

This only seems to piss you off more; now he’s watching over you like you can’t handle yourself.

You push yourself out of Miguel’s hold, getting his attention to your huffy face, “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” You bite back. 

Miguel furrows his eyebrows at you, “I didn’t say you did!” he says, equally frustrated.

“Then stop treating me like I’m some kid!”

Miguel looks at you, confused, before he remembers what he said. “Look… I didn’t mean it like that.”

Before Miguel can finish, he’s being pushed past, you’re doing your best to show how thoroughly pissed off you are. You ignore him the best you can as he walks after you. Trying to ignore how his voice makes your skin tingle as he says your name. But right now, you can’t focus on that. You’re just wanting to slip away and hide! What you were not expecting as you slipped into one of the colorfully painted private changing sheds was for Miguel to follow behind you.

Miguel locks the door behind himself, and you groan. “I was trying to get away from you.”

“Will you at least listen to what I have to say? And stop acting like a brat?”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, so now I’m a brat!”

Miguel continues to get irritated with you, and you’re not listening, so he has to listen to your ranting. You go one about how you're not a kid, how they ruined your summer vacation, and what was the deal at the concession stand.

Miguels finally had enough. If you won’t listen to you he will just have to take the risk and show you.

So, during your rant, you feel two large hands gently grabbing your face. The gentleness of the touch sends currents of desire through your body. His eyes are steady on yours as he watches you lose your words, and your anger die down. Slowly, his thumb moves from your jaw to trace over your lips softly.

“Can you pause for a minute so I can kiss you?” 

You didn’t have to say yes; all you had to do is close your eyes and stand on your tiptoes to let him know you want it as badly as he does—to kiss him.

Miguel touches his lips to yours; their soft fullness blurs your thoughts. All that tingling turns into a back-arching static as Miguel guides you through the kiss. The intensity of the kiss grows with every second, with every careful caress, and as Miguel finally presses his warmth against you, you’re fully lost in him—lost in each other.

The feel of Miguel’s hands dropping to your hips makes your lips part with a gasp, allowing Miguel to slip in his tongue. The taste of him was completely intoxicating, making your thighs tighten and your pussy get wetter with every pass of his experienced tongue.

 Before he can completely lose himself in your kiss, he quickly turns you around so his chest is pressed against your back, and his hard cock is against your ass.

Miguel brings his lips to the shell of your ear, his warm breath softly panting over your skin, making you lean into him. Reaching behind you, you grab a hold of his dark hair between your fingers.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the second I saw you again.” he whispers in your ear.

Miguel slowly moves his large hand to the hem of your bottoms, his fingers teasing the material,

“Then... I’m forced to look at you in this tiny thing, which is driving me even more crazy.”

You can hardly think coherently as you let out a trembling whine, “Crazy…”

Miguel lets out a low purring hum as he slips his finger under the material, his fingertip softly teasing your slick folds. Tempting you to beg. How badly you want to beg... but the feeling of his rough fingers on your soft flesh as your hips slightly rolling against him. It’s all the begging Miguel needs (or that he can handle...) before he finds your slit and starts to tease your opening.

You can’t help but squirm, sick of the teasing and needing to feel him. With a shuddering pled, Miguel finally gives in to his lust, and your lust, and he sips in his finger. The stretch makes you rise to your toes, and your breath gives, the feeling of that curling pressure making you want more. Miguel presses his lips to your neck, his erection growing harder the deeper his digit goes. Miguel can’t help but grind his clothed cock against your ass as he whispers sweet words into your skin. Then right as your pussy is adjusting to his thick finger, he adds another, pushing in deep, all the way down to his rough knuckles. Your sticky arousal dripped down his thick fingers and pooled into his palm.

A sheen of sweat forms on your skin that Miguel eagerly licks up from your neck. Your core is starting to burn, and right as you think you can’t take anymore, his other hand comes down and starts rubbing your clit. Your legs tremble, and you begin to lose yourself in the feeling. Miguel’s breath matches your own as you start to approach that eye-crossing pleasure…

You feel yourself clenching on him, your whole body quivering. This feels like a dream: Miguel, the man you have been silently pining for, is touching you... kissing you... something he has equally wanted as much as you. The girl who was always so close... but off limits... Though now, you both couldn’t take it anymore how you needed each other…

Right as your bottoms are dropping to the floor and a moan is breaking from your throat, Miguel’s lips are on your rapid plus... then a ringing...

You both pause, gazing at each other, then at your bag thrown in the corner during the start of your rant. The ringing continues. You both knew who it was, but you didn’t want to leave this moment. At this moment, you two didn’t have to hide your wants, but if you didn’t answer, your brother would come looking.

Begrudgingly, you two part, with an irritated groan from the both of you. Bottoms back on your reaching for your bag, but your wrist is caught by Miguel before you can pick it up. Looking up at him confused, you see that classic stoic look,

“Wha-”

“I don’t want this to stop here.”

You’re completely dumbfounded. Here he is, the man you want saying the thing you want. “What if...” You don’t finish the sentence or want to think of any possible consequences.

Your Phone is still ringing, but you’re too entranced by him. Miguel leans his forehead against yours, “Be sneaky with me, trouble...”

Your summer plans might not be completely ruined after all…

“Think about it... and get back to me... Miguel gives you a chaste kiss, and before you know it, your bag is in your hands, and he exits the changing room. 

In your Miguel daze, you answer your Phone, reassuring your brother that you’re no longer mad and that you and Miguel are on your way back.

[melloollem]

Secrets in the family|| Bruce Wayne × Batmom reader × Batboys

Summary:Your children start an interrogation after noticing that you were hiding papers from them.

Warning: Comfort, silly story, Platonic relationship with the batboys.

(Dc masterlist)

"Aren't you old enough to leave home? What are you still doing here?" The shout from your youngest son caused your attention to wander for a moment from the papers in front of you, but not enough to stop you writing frantically.

"I lived here long before they knew you existed" Tim's reply was heard from an even closer distance, a sign that you would soon see them entering the kitchen, you began to collect the papers hoping that the heated discussion would be enough for them not to notice you.

"Yeah, you lived in my house as a favor, tell me something I don't know" Damian walked in front of Tim, being the first to enter the room. You tried to move slowly in retreat, deciding to head for the dining room, where you'd have a bit of silence.

"I didn't live on favor, I was adopted, they wanted me, you know what I mean?" Tim's cheeky reply came out quickly, taking Damian by surprise.

"Mom, did you hear that?" They both turned their heads in your direction, hindering your escape plan. Damian looked at you anxiously, waiting for you to scold his brother and Tim looked at you scared, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Timothy, that's not something you say to your brother, say you're sorry" You said the sentence so quickly that it didn't even sound like a complaint, walking out of the room.

You heard a cynical laugh from Tim behind you followed by a "She doesn't care", drawing a tired sigh from you. "It's not that, I just don't have time for you acting like five-year-olds. Damian, my son, Tim doesn't live here as a favor, he's as much my son as you and Tim, darling, don't say those things to your brother, Damian was as wanted by me as you or any of your brothers. Boys, I'm busy" You made the whole speech without slowing down, heading towards the dining room. The sound of footsteps behind you made it certain that the boys were following you. You let out a tense sigh, anticipating the questioning session.

"What are you doing that's more important than us?" Damian asked in an authoritative tone unaccustomed to you involving yourself so little in their quarrel.

"What are those papers?" Tim asked from beside her, much quicker to catch up than Damian and his short frame. "Nothing important." "If it's nothing important, why did you say you were busy?" Timothy retorted quickly.

"Okay, go back to discussing it in another room and enough of this interrogation," you said at the end of your walk, ready to return to your previous activity, dropping the papers on the table. "Tell us what these papers are," Damian said, standing next to Tim in front of you.

"Are those the divorce papers?" Dick said with a humorous tone of voice, as he joined you in the room, leaving everyone confused by his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here?" Damian was quick to ask. With all eyes glued to your eldest son, you saw the perfect opportunity to slip discreetly out of the dining room.

"I'm here to finalize some reports with - where are you going?" Dick said, drawing all attention back to you, a grunt of frustration escaping your lips, but you were determined to finish your notes, turning your back on your children, determined to find somewhere minimally quiet in the house.

"Are those Drake's and Todd's adoption papers? Are you going to burn them?" Damian asked, receiving a shove from Tim and a low laugh from Dick in response. The boys' pursuit hadn't stopped, only gained more momentum now that their eldest son was also part of it.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked, she was heading in the opposite direction to you, possibly to the training room, based on her clothes.

"We're chasing Mom to find out what she's hiding" replied Damian "Cool" said Cassandra, joining the group. "Mom?" "Yes, dear" Now you were climbing the stairs, heading towards the second floor of the house, you already knew where you could finish your notes in peace, away from the children's questions.

"Give me the papers, please" You let out a small laugh at the girl's request "No, but you were very polite to ask, congratulations" Even without success, Cassandra gave a small smile in response to the compliment.

"Bye, kids" You smiled as you found the door you were looking for. Before the door was completely closed, you could hear your children sigh in frustration that the chase was over, you thanked Bruce for making the office a forbidden place, now you understood the reason for this rule.

"What are you doing?" Bruce's sudden voice didn't scare you, you were used to your husband's sudden appearances. "Running away from the children," you said, sitting down in the chair opposite Bruce's desk.

You started distributing your papers on the table in an organized way so that they wouldn't get mixed up with your husband's documents and for the first time since you entered the room he looked up from the documents he was reviewing.

"What's this?" He asked, picking up one of the papers on the table. "They're really your children," Bruce ignored his comment. "Letters? For what reason?" "Yeah, I'm planning to run away and leave you with the kids" Your joke was met by a serious look from Bruce. "You're not as funny as you think" Bruce said. "Sorry, should I leave the jokes with-?" "Don't even finish that one".

"Why letters?" Bruce said, looking at you like he was being interrogated. "Why not? They're just letters, no big deal." You knew that your anxious rambling had given you away, this was not only one of the best detectives in the world, but also your husband.

"You don't want to tell me?" He was being understanding, but you knew he'd rather know. You took a deep breath before saying, "I'm just afraid of the future." "And does writing letters help?"

"I hope it helps them in the future" Bruce frowned at your answer. "Has something happened, dear?" He asked worriedly. Noticing your husband's fear, you grabbed his hand that was resting on the table "No, not at all" Your tone came out as sweet as possible "I just... I want them to have something to fall back on in the future, that's all, nothing bad has happened, it's just-" Your speech was cut off by a few knocks on the door, followed by the entrance of Alfred the butler.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, the children want to see you, Mrs. Wayne" you thanked the butler for the announcement and turned towards your husband again "I have to go, I'll need a good excuse for them to stop asking questions" You got up and left the room, mentally preparing yourself for the bombardment of questions.

[risuola]

CALL IT DOUBLE TROUBLE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU, who have a habit of sharing everything

It’s been a while since you last saw your college ex-boyfriend Gojo and a Halloween party led to your reconnection. It was cool to see him again, although your break-up was messy. What turned out to be a plot twist, was that he now has a handsome best friend and together, they are deadly.

cw: smut, exes to lovers, strangers to lovers, threesome, double penetration, praise, cum play, oral (f & m receiving), su*cide is mentioned (no description, just brief mention), reader discretion is advised — 6k words

masterlist

a/n: with that post I'm concluding the kinktober - sorry about the delay! work overwhelmed me, it sucked the life out of me, but I'll be getting back to writing now, so stay tuned! also, we hit 1300 followers, so I just want to say thank you so much for being here and reading the shit I post!

You were never that big on parties – you found them mostly annoying with the masses pushing and pulling all around you, drunk assholes that never seem to understand how consent works and even more drunk girls, that throw themselves at anyone slightly attractive. At least that’s how you remember every party you were on during your college years. You experienced firsthand how much effort men can put into chasing a hem of a mini skirt and you also saw in real life, how women were flexing their assets just to get into the pants they want. Unfortunately, usually pants that were in the biggest demand, were coincidentally belonging to your boyfriend. Uh, yeah, maybe that’s why you don’t really like parties.

Dating Satoru Gojo was a blessing, in some parts – he was just lovely to you. He was caring, to some extent, he was sweet-talking you into everything he wanted, and his arrogance always seemed to fly right over your head, but you loved him for longer than he deserved. You trusted him to not sleep with those eagerly spreading girls and he never did. At least that’s what you like to believe. Flirting with them – that was a different story. Satoru was an attention whore, really. He was basking in the gazes glued to him, the salivating mouths were feeding his already enormous ego and he seemed to have the time of his life pulling the strings of those poor, naïve girls that every time believed him when he told them they are just so pretty. His crystalline blue eyes were capable of turning lesbians into straight and straights into gay. The number of suggestive pictures he posed for flooded your social media each time after the parties you attended with him, and not one of those pictures he’s ever taken with you. And then, after leaving the frat houses and clubs, he would tell you how lucky you are to have him, how all of those silly girls were offering him their pussies oh so eagerly. He’d tell you how they envied you. All while he’d fuck you. You spent two years with him, then came the break-up and just as everything that involved Satoru was messy – so was your parting.

You really had no pleasure in partying, after freeing yourself from the toxicity of Gojo, you finally found peace. You flew through college with ease and after it ended, you found yourself quite a nice job – you were okay without attending any kinds of alcohol and loud music related people gatherings. That’s until Shoko called you earlier that month, practically begging you to pay her a visit on Halloween. She was in the city, having her family house all to her disposal due to her family being on a trip somewhere warm. It was a party where all of your college, mutual friends were going to be, a little reconnection if you will and she insisted you show up as well. It really sounded lovely to see where all of your friends landed in lives. With some you still had a regular contact, but some just went their ways and you rarely crossed paths with them, so you agreed to be there. That was a perfect opportunity to catch up and you were excited.

For some unknown reason, not even once you considered Gojo to be there as well. You just kind of pushed the memory of him to the back of your head, you removed him from the picture of your mutual circle of friends and completely you forgot that he’ll most likely be there as well. You realized it when Shoko asked you about him.

“Have you seen Gojo already?”, her tone was quite cautious when she mentioned the name to you, and with the way you looked at her from above your dying cigarette, she spoke again, “You know he’s gonna be there as well, don’t you?”

“Guess I blacked out that possibility,” you mumbled, shrugging softly to shake off the uneasiness of the thought and killing the cig in the sink before throwing it away. “No, I haven’t seen him and I hope it will stay that way.”

“Oh, you’re still wounded after him?”

“No, Sho, I’m not wounded,” you grabbed yourself a red cup from the array on one of the tables in the kitchen. You had no idea what concoction of liquid courage was inside every each of them, but you really couldn’t care less. If that was one of your first parties in years, you were not going to be picky and you trusted Shoko enough to not have death in those cups. “I’m really not. Thing is… I don’t know, it’s been so many years, I’m not really sure what to even tell him. We broke up in a mess that wasn’t addressed ever since, so you know.”

“Yeah, right, I remember the insanity of that action. Gojo was haunting my dreams for two weeks after the suicidal stunt he pulled off.” Ieiri flinched at the memory but laughed right after realizing how stupid all of that was. “He was a drama queen, we have to give him that.”

“See?”

“Well, you’ll most likely see him anyway, so just a hi will be good.”

“Noted.”

She left you to greet someone, and you shook your head, hoping to get rid of the flashbacks, but they were inevitable, you guessed it. Long time after ending things with Gojo you couldn’t find peace after what happened. You think you will forever remember the argument that unraveled after you told him you’re breaking up with him. There was so much screaming, your head pounded with pain for two days straight after that. Nothing more than accusing of the most bizarre shits and poison was spilling from his mouth when, for the first time, Satoru Gojo was informed that someone else is leaving him. Usually, it was him who ended things up, it was him who was cutting the strings and he was too immature back then to come to terms that other people are also entitled to just go away. You remember he went completely feral, almost psychotic as he was laughing at some point, throwing ironic insults at you as if it was gonna make you stay. He had to prove a point that it’s not you who want to leave him. It’s him who want to break up and you just accidentally happened telling him that before he managed to do so. After that, he threatened you that he will kill himself and he made it everybody’s problem – you had to know it, Shoko had to know it and every single one of your friends had to know it as well. You heard from Ieiri that after about three weeks he got back to being his usual arrogant playboy, as if he didn’t just cause drama of the century. He moved on. Traumatized everyone around him, but moved on nonetheless. Now you found the situation kind of funny. You were just kids and you were not meant to be together. That’s just how life works and you wondered sometimes if Satoru learned a little more life after that or did he stay the same.

Sighing again, you took the cup and slipped in between people in the living room, stepping outside to breathe some fresh air on the terrace, thankful that no one was there. Or so you thought and no wonder you almost jumped out of your own skin when you heard a voice right next to you.

“Fire?” He asked, after a moment of watching you search for the lighter in the pockets of your makeshift schoolgirl uniform. The unlit cigarette in your mouth betraying what you were looking for.

His tone was soft, saccharine sweet and calm at the same time and as you looked up at him, it somewhat matched the picture that met your eyes. The man was tall and broad, dressed all in black with dress pants and a hoodie. His sleeves half up, exposing the veiny forearms as he was keeping his lighter visible, ready to give you a hand.

“Yes, please,” you replied finally, leaning into the fire he opened and with relief you take the first breath in. You were not a smoker in your day-to-day life. One pack of cigarettes lasted you a year, but it was Shoko’s influence that today made you poison your lungs more than usual. “Thanks.”

“I’m Suguru. Geto Suguru,” he introduced himself, offering you his palm and you gave it a short squeeze, telling him your own name. You couldn’t find his face in your memories, and you’d like to think that such handsome features would tattoo themselves into your brain in one way or another. He had to come with someone else, you figured. Probably a boyfriend or a husband even. You couldn’t care less about asking. “Enjoying the party?”

“I’m not big on parties, really,” you shrugged, keeping your gaze away from him because hell, he made it so easy to stare with his long luscious, black hair resting over his shoulders and back, half tied up in a little bun just to get them out of his face. You couldn’t tell what his costume was, he had some kind of alternative style going on, slightly rocker vibes with his pierced ears and silver chains hanging from his neck, but it might have as well be his usual style – he looked good in it. He most certainly looked like a big, red flag but hell was the flag attractive.

“I see. Well, I’m not either,” he confessed, huffing out a greyish cloud of smoke out of his lungs and by the smell of it, you could tell it wasn’t nicotine.

“What you’re smoking?”

“Weed, why? Wanna try it?” It was an offer that you should politely say no to, but it was your first and probably last party in a while, so you asked yourself why not and took the joint from his fingers.

“So, you’re here with someone?” you questioned, just to keep the conversation going once you gave him the smoke back. You could feel the unfamiliar but somehow pleasant burn in your lungs after the drag you took and slowly you blew the fume out. Suguru found the view attractive. Sharing a joint with you felt a little more intimate than it should have, the way your lips wrapped around the brownish paper made him wonder how would they look wrapped around something else. Thoughts like this shouldn’t bloom in his head right after he’s met you, not when he’s an adult man, not a stupid kid anymore, but some things couldn’t be stopped.

“Yeah,” he inhaled once more, deeply enough to kill the joint and throw it away. You watched for a moment how he kept the smoke in his lungs, letting it go after a moment. The cloud escaping through his mouth and nose in a soft stream. Fuck, what a gorgeous man. Whoever was the girl that got him had to be lucky. “You know him, he told me about you.”

Oh, never mind.

“He? Ah, fuck, don’t tell me you came here with that idiot,” you reached down for your cup that few moments prior you put on the ground while searching for a lighter.

“Ow, you’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart.”

And there he was. You wondered where that tower of an asshole hid.

Once you look back at Geto, there was also Satoru. He was standing next to his friend slash partner, with his forearm propped over Suguru’s shoulder as he looked at you from above the black glasses, with the very familiar grin painted on his face. Gojo changed a lot since you last saw him. He was now buffier, seemed even taller than you remembered, and his facial features matured – his jaw became more square, eyes a little more lidded and even the smirk on his lips seemed less playboy-ish and more menacingly manly. He lost his princess looks and became a man. You wondered if his character changed as well, because you could still see him using his looks to take what he wanted.

“Oh, do I?” You questioned, eyeing him up and down. His clothes were almost exactly the same as Geto’s – only difference being the light color and the fact his sweatshirt had no hood. What he was wearing completely contrasted to what his friend had on and it made sense if they were here together. Black and white, like yin and yang. You had no idea if they were here as friends or lovers, but either way, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“You sure do,” Satoru shook his head, his smile now more friendly as he approached you, entrapping you in a hug that surely took you by surprise. “It’s good to see you, beautiful.”

“You too,” you guessed, not completely convinced about what you just said but you let it be.

“I’m sorry. I have to say it before you run away from me. I’m really sorry, I was a dick when we were dating,” Gojo’s voice reached your ears directly, but you had a hard time believing what you were hearing. He was never a type to apologize for anything. Please, sorry and thank you is a set of words that you were certain he never used and yet there he was, saying just that. He really evolved. Or he wanted something.

“Yeah, you were. Hope you’re not anymore,” you chuckled softly, brushing your hand over his side.

“I try not to be,” he confessed quietly, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck before letting go of you. He shouldn’t have kiss you like that, but the feeling of longing was way stronger than him. Even if for a moment, he had to just have a little taste of you.

Ever since you broke up, Gojo had no idea how much he missed having you in his arms. Up until that night he was okay with some random girls coming into and getting out of his bed with no strings attached. He seemed to be unable to form a lasting relationship after you, you were his first and last girlfriend that he committed to for so long, no matter how poorly. Even if he was nothing but an asshole to you, he often wished to marry you back in the college. Even if he couldn’t possibly show you how much he cared, because his childish behaviors were standing in the way of him reaching your heart properly, he really thought you will be the one and only in his life and even if he seemed to move on so quickly after you broke up with him, it was only for show. A cover up for the thunderstorm that was raging inside his chest, a band aid over the bleeding wound. No other girl was able to even half-fill the emptiness you left in his heart.

You were special to him and it thrilled him to the core when for the first time he heard from Shoko that you agreed to be there, because if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t show up as well. His time for partying finished along with his fourth year of college, when he realized there was less and less fun in drinking alcohol and forcing himself into flirting. When it came to you, he had never needed to force himself to do anything. He was just an immature kid when you dated, but he loved the time you gave him.

And now, you were still fitting perfectly into his body. As if he was made from memory foam that still remembered your shape. Now, you were still just as beautiful and breathtaking as he remembered you. In your little, schoolgirl mini skirt, thigh-high socks and a white button up shirt with a loosened tie you looked way sexier than you had a reason to. It’s been quite some time since he was that aroused from just looking at someone and you made him harder than he thought is possible. Fuck, what you were doing to him?

“So, what do you do now? Still living from party to party and from girl to girl?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink. It was strong and it really was better for you to take it in slowly, but there was a certain burn of nervousness tied to meeting your ex that you needed to drown.

“No, it’s in the past,” Satoru replied, inviting you inside, where all three of you found a nice place to sit on one of the couches. You landed between the two men. “I took the lead of my father’s company, Suguru’s my partner in crime. We’re doing good, I don’t party anymore. Honestly, if Shoko didn’t give me a sign that you will be there, I wouldn’t probably step by.”

“Oh, so you came to haunt me,” you joked, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Yeah, kind of. Couldn’t reach you before and wanted to sort this whole mess out. I’m usually cool with having enemies, but you’re not someone I want to have as enemy.”

You gave his words a soft roll of your eyes. Maybe few years back you’d let yourself be sugarcoated into believing him, but not now. Maybe, just maybe, he matured a little, but some things will never change. Gojo was a flirt, is a flirt and probably will always be a flirt. But hell, was he cute. You cursed his innate ability to attract you from a mile.

“Sure, whatever,” you shrugged and the conversation after that was flowing nicely. You got to know Suguru, you learned who he is and why did he stick with Satoru. It was a friendship they developed that kept them together and maybe it was thanks to Geto that your ex wasn’t so much of an asshole anymore. Maybe it’s the brunette’s calm personality that somewhat grounded the playboy. Or maybe it was all an illusion. Yea, it had to be an illusion. There was no way that these two six-foot-three giants were not causing some troubles.

Yeah, they were a trouble. Double trouble, to be exact, and you got to learn that when the doors of one of many bedrooms on the floor closed behind you. You don’t even know how and why you agreed to go with them anywhere in the first place. You had no idea how on earth did Satoru sweet-talked you into fucking him again. For the old time’s sake, my ass. And more important, how did he sweet-talked you into fucking not only him, but also Suguru? At the same time?! You were not built for this, that’s for sure.

“Let’s have fun like we always did, yeah?” Gojo had this typical, shit-eating grin stretched on his face, when he was pulling you by the wrist onto the bed. Geto took his time and lit up another joint, opting to just stand and watch for now. He had a smirk on, his eyes were fixed on you, and you could tell that they weren’t new to sharing a woman. It really was obvious they did that before.

You had no time to think if that surprises you at all. Satoru was a stranger to patience. He never enjoyed waiting and always went straight for what he wanted, and this time was no exception.

“God, you look so fucking hot as a schoolgirl,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck, nibbing and kissing wet marks onto your skin whilst his fingers were already dealing with buttons of your white shirt. Your body acted on its own accord, responding to the red stains of his lips and the cold touch of his fingers with excitement that you felt for the last time when you were in college. It bothered you that you still were so receptive to the way he feels on you, you thought that you’re way over the Gojo effect but seems like you were gravelly wrong. “What a naughty one,” Satoru chuckled, his voice bordered a moan when he finally opened your shirt and your shapely tits, hugged beautifully by a lace bra entered his field of view. “Fuck, I missed those.”

“You’re talking too much,” you grabbed him by the hair, tugging the snow-white strands at the base of his neck and pushing his face down your neck and onto your chest, hoping it will shut him up. That was the issue with your ex. He really was a phenomenal lay but he was just talking so damn much. That was what ultimately pushed you over the edge when you were together back in the day. You just couldn’t stand listening about other women while he was with you.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, sucking a red spot onto one of your tits, earning himself another tug on the hair.

“Don’t mark me, idiot,” you warned him, but it was already too late and both of you knew it.

“My, my… so nervous. Let me help you relax,” Gojo smiled wide and made you lay flat on the bed. It took him no time to find his place between your thighs and before you even got a chance to react, he was already pulling your panties off of you. For a split second, your mind got distracted by the subtle scent of weed that’s filling the air. The smell that reminded you that it’s not only you and your ex in the room, but also another person.

“Don’t worry about me,” Geto smiled. Something mischievous lingered over his lips as he did before he took another drag. The joint between his fingers slowly but surely becoming smaller as he was saturating his lungs with the fumes, only to breathe them out after a moment.

“Are you not going to join?” You asked, your voice slightly breaking into a whine once Satoru flicked his tongue over your clit, reminding you how well he spoke the language of your body. He was fluent in your pleasure, you were never sure if it came to him with experience or was he just naturally gifted, but either way, he had a skill and was proud of it. He began eating you out like he was starving for the past decade. His tongue worked the puffy nub of nerves all the way around, he sucked and licked, slurped and kissed your cunt, causing your body to jolt in pleasure. He was purring while between your legs, his long fingers already working their way into your hole. The stretch was delicious, the symphony of his mouth and hands was slowly driving you insane.

“You’re so sweet,” Satoru mumbled, taking the pleasure away to smear some wet kisses along your inner thighs. “She’s so incredibly sweet, Suguru, you have to taste her,” he added, accentuating the thought with a bite onto the fat of your thigh. His friend just chuckled, making his way towards you and he handed you his half smoked joint.

“I’d love to,” Geto replaced your ex between your thighs. He kept looking into your eyes when he opened his mouth, presenting you with his pierced tongue. Little, metallic ball in the middle of the muscle glistened in the artificial lighting and it made you moan out loud, when he swiped it along your slit, gathering your juices. There was something absolutely intimidating about his calm demeanor, something nearly diabolic but it was exactly what attracted you to him. He was complete opposite to Satoru. He wasn’t bright and loud; his eyes weren’t big and vibrant. He looked mysterious, he kept himself quieter, his eyes kept the focus that Gojo couldn’t achieve. They really were made for each other.

“Oh god—,” your eyes nearly rolled back as he began working on your swollen clit ruthlessly. You had no idea if it was because of the piercing or was it just his skill, but it felt even better then when the snow-white was between your thighs. Or maybe it was just you being so turned on by him.

“You like it?”, your ex asked, grinning as he was taking the time to undress himself. “Knew you’re gonna enjoy it.”

You spared him the comment, losing the track of thoughts in the way Suguru was making you feel. You could have sworn you never felt something like this, he was just incredible with the way his tongue was engraving his own name into your clit. Cold metal of his piercing doubled down the pleasure you were receiving, contrasting with the heat of his muscle.

Your thighs began to tremble, your toes curled in, and you felt yourself quickly falling down the hole of ultimate lust. Euphoria was rushing through your veins; your heart was drumming in your chest as the smoke was leaving your lungs after the drag you took from the joint in your hand. Suguru was pushing you over the edge with such ease it felt illegal. You could feel him grinning proudly from his spot between your legs, you could feel his fingers gripping your hips with bruising strength, keeping them in place while he was slurping your soul straight from your weeping pussy.

Your orgasm exploded and you called out Suguru’s name. He didn’t stop. He kept drinking, thirsty for more of you as your juices coated his tongue and the bottom of his handsome face.

“You really do taste fucking sweet,” he commented, getting up and crawling above you. His lips were on yours the moment he reached your face. He tasted the smoke and you tasted yourself in that kiss. It didn’t last long, but the intensity of it made you almost dizzy. “Let’s get you out of this uniform.”

 It took just few moments until you were completely bare underneath the heavy gaze of two men around you. Satoru was just in his underwear, the tent in them painfully apparent and you knew him well enough that he won’t be able to wait much longer, but what bothered you was the fact that Suguru was still completely clothed. He looked sexy in his dark outfit, but he can look sexy in it later.

“Aren’t you a tease—” you muttered, once he got up from the bed to drown the rest of the joint in what little of alcohol was left in one of your cups on the bedside table. “Take this off.” You demanded, coming up to your knees and pushing his hoodie up.

“How demanding,” he laughed but complied and you managed to just blink twice before his god-like figure presented itself to you. A muscular, large body beautifully decorated with a dragon tattoo that wrapped its tail around his right bicep and spread on his back. You couldn’t decide what to focus on – his impressive musculature, the ink on his skin or the fact that even though he still had his pants on, you could already feel yourself salivating.

Satoru was right behind you, swiping the angry tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering your slick and making you shiver from the touch. He then pushed his girth into you, stretching you impossibly and pulling a quiet, whiny fuck straight out of your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve been having sex with anyone, not to say anyone with that size, but you couldn’t deny that the burn was delicious. It set all your senses on fire, the heatwave washed over you and once Gojo went with the first thrust, it reminded you how much you missed the physical act of intimacy with him.

“Can’t focus, pretty girl?”, Suguru brought your attention back to himself. His long fingers gently gathered all of your hair into a messy ponytail, and you got the hint immediately. As on cue, you unbuckled his pants, pushing them down almost too eagerly. “Good girl.”

The praise in his tone got you weak, you were already becoming a mess from how perfectly Satoru was fucking you right now, pounding his hips against yours in the mind-numbing manner. His cock hitting all of the sweet spots inside of you with each long stroke and that was enough to make you almost incapable of thinking straight, but your hands and mouth acted on its own.

Geto watched how your lips wrapped around his dick. The sight of you taking him into your mouth with such hunger was something he wanted to engrave onto his brain and if the picture was amazing, then there was no word to describe the feeling itself. Your soft, plush lips felt divine brushing along his sensitive shaft, your tongue dancing around his length made him almost lose his composure. You were a sight. And you made him feel so good, he could feel himself twitching in the hot, wet embrace of your mouth. You were sucking him as if your life was depending on it, as if it was your last supper and you wanted to devour it and every time his plump tip hit the back of your throat, he could feel you taking control over him.

“Isn’t she amazing?”, Gojo mumbled from behind you. His grip remained iron on your hips, the bruising force being the only thing that was grounding you now. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your juices were running down your thighs and the wet sounds of skin slapping against each other were filling the room.

“Oh, she is,” Geto confirmed, applying some force onto your head. The tug on your hair was enough to send you overboard and the vibration of your throat once you moaned were enough for him as well. You couldn’t tell who came first, and frankly, you couldn’t care less about it, as long as it felt so damn good.

“I, fuck— I told you,” Satoru panted out. His hips moved slower as he was sloppily riding the high out. You licked the cock in front of you clean, satisfied with the first course but hungry for more.

You shouldn’t allow all of this to happen. There was not a single argument that could justify everything that was happening right now – you shouldn’t sneak out to god-knows-whose room in your friend’s house and you absolutely shouldn’t sneak out there with not only your ex-boyfriend but also his friend. You couldn’t even remember how you agreed to that. Why have you agreed to that? You had no idea. Was it to talk?

You wouldn’t exactly call the way your body was being stuffed full by two cocks at the same time talking. You were squeezing Suguru’s shoulders as he was thrusting his hips up against yours. His body below you, laying flat on the bed made for a canvas for your nails to leave marks, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. He was kissing you with a mixture of passion and laziness, a smirk stayed prominent on his lips as he was swallowing your moans. The subtle taste of weed in his mouth got you wanting more of him. He felt perfect in every way, his movements were setting your nervous system on fire as the heat was spreading over your entire body, radiating from your core. You could feel Satoru’s fingers teasing your clit, you could feel his lips smearing wet trails along your spine. The way his hips were moving seemed to be perfectly in sync with the brunette.

You were so full of them, you never felt something like this before. The initial pain you felt when Gojo pushed his girth into your asshole was long gone now as he was pounding into you in complete unison with how Geto was moving. The sensation of being so incredibly full turned your brain into a heated mush, your body was trembling between them, electrocuted time after time with a sharp waves of white pleasure. Your vision was blurry, the stars covered most of it. You could no longer tell whose hands were where and your thighs were wet and sticky from all the seed that was being pumped into you, gushing out with every piston of their hips.

“You’re so perfect for us,” someone told you. A low, rasped out voice resounded right next to your ear, followed by a harsh bite onto your shoulder and the sudden wave of new pain that radiated from it pushed you over the edge. You were speeding, falling with no parachute. You couldn’t breathe for a moment as the climax was overtaking you. “Such a good girl, you’re making so much mess.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered, gasping for air as their thrusts picked a pace. You couldn’t form any coherent sentence as they were fucking the soul out of your body. Right after you came, they both came as well. Their cum coated your insides and leaked onto your thighs, dripping down as they pumped into you some more.

Gojo was first to pull out, spreading your cheeks and admiring how his white overflown your hole. The menacing grin spread across his face as he gripped your hips and lifted you off Suguru’s cock. The long-haired man sat up as you, led by your ex’s hands turned to straddle Geto’s lap. Your back was facing his chest as he pulled you back onto his shaft. All of his length sank right into your ass, pulling a moan right from your chest.

“Look at you, so gorgeous,” Satoru was in front of you, admiring for a moment your bouncing figure before his long fingers slipped into your cunt, curling in a way that got him pressing onto your oversensitive sweet spots. “Open your mouth for me.”

You barely registered his words, but your jaw dropped nonetheless. His cum coated digits slid right through your lips and you sucked on them, twirling your tongue around and tasting the mixture of your juices and their seeds. Suguru’s hands were kneading your breasts as his friend was playing with the mess between your thighs.

There was something deeply erotic in a way the white-haired man kept your gaze up. How he looked right into your eyes while you were being fucked by his best friend, how he enjoyed the way you gave them your body to play however they wanted. And it felt even more erotic when Satoru licked the lone drop of cum that escaped the corner of your mouth only to kiss you right after.

Geto was still slamming his pelvis up and you got stuck in the realm of pleasure, hanging somewhere between the movements of the cock in your ass and the lips over your own. You could feel your thighs trembling. Your body, still oversensitive from the last orgasm and yet, already entering the state of another. The wave of lustful relief now flowing dangerously close to your core, the knot in your stomach holding just barely and you squeezed Satoru’s hair, tugging at them harshly. You were struggling to breathe through the heavy kiss he was laying on your lips, but the sensation of it rendered you unable to fight it.

And then it hit you once again. The man below you filled you to the brim, tearing down the last bits of composure you had and your world shattered once the final climax. You felt as if the lust and desire were steaming off of all three of you. The breaths were mixed and the tastes concocted. As all three of you fell onto the bed, blissfully satisfied, you began to slowly regain your mind to the sound of a soft chuckle from your left side. Satoru. He had a habit of laughing when he was fulfilled – a sign of his happiness, the state nearing high. There was some gratefulness in it as well.

“How are you feeling?”, the question came from the right side, where Suguru seemed to already plan how to take care of the entire mess. He kissed your shoulder softly.

“Good,” you replied to him, watching as he gathered himself up from the bed.

“You rest a little bit longer; I’ll go get washed first and then you two.”

[danikamariewrites]

The Hand Thing (SMUT)

Eris x reader

Note: I feel like this is unnecessarily long but I will never pass up an opportunity to drool over Eris soooo that’s whats’s happening here. I’m also a huge slut for Mr. Darcy and the hand flex video came up on my TikTok so blame pride & prejudice for this one. This is part of the Corrupt story and I have linked Kisses and Romance Books :)

Warnings: mentions of oral sex, fingering

Eris’s hands are enchanting to watch. They’re strong and powerful, directing the Autumn army as their general and wielding the fire that runs fiercely through his veins.

They’re elegant in the way he writes, his calligraphy nothing less than perfect. Elegant in the way he ties and buttons his clothes.

But those slender, pale freckled fingers are most enchanting when they hold you. You feel so at peace in Eris’s embrace. His hands mold perfectly to the curves of your body, gripping your hips and the nape of your neck. They make you feel at home when he rubs circles on your back and threads his fingers through your hair. And when you're cold or in pain, Eris uses the fire in his veins to comfort you, heating his hands.

Now, sitting across from Eris at his grand oak desk, you watch as Eris flexes his fingers as he thinks. Balling his fist, resting his chin on the top of it as he lets out a sigh.

You just wanted to reach out and hold the tense limb. To press soft kisses across his knuckles. As you continue to think about your mates hands your thoughts divulge into dirty and depraved. Wanting more than him to hold you. Wanting…no.

You two haven’t done more than kissing and Eris eating you out. Your cheeks heat at the thought of your activities from a few days ago. While the feeling of his mouth against your pussy was euphoric, you couldn’t help but think about his hands squeezing at your things. The small bruises he left behind from how hard he dug the tips of his fingers into your flesh.

Letting out another aggravated sigh Eris leans against his high back chair. Not noticing that you’ve been staring intently at him for the last thirty minutes.

His hooded gaze traveled from the papers in front of him to your untouched book.

Those beautiful amber eyes landed on your face, noticing how your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth. Your own gaze focused on his large hands. “Something on your mind, little fox.” Eris teases. You let out a hum, snapping back to yourself. “Sorry my love, did you say something?”

Eris smirked at the airiness in your voice, flexing his hand, rubbing his jaw. You noticed the veins bulge a little on the back of his hand. Eris noticed what you were honed in on finally. His smirk grows at the realization.

His fingers curl, beckoning you to him. Plopping yourself in his lap you don’t hesitate to hold the hand that’s been your focus for the past hour. You lightly run your fingers across his palm and tracing up his fingers. Eris watches you with a love sick look plastered on his face.

He was already taken with you when you first met, but after becoming mates Eris knew he was done for. He couldn’t get enough of you. The male was truly in love with you.

“I want to know what they feel like.” You say, your voice just above a whisper. “What what feels like, my heart?” He asks softly. Meeting Eris’s russet gaze, your cheeks heat. Your lips part slightly as you try to get your words out. “Don’t be embarrassed heart, you can tell me anything. Promise.”

Inhaling deeply through your nose you let out a sigh. “I-I want your fingers, like in my romance novels. But like that thing you did with your mouth,” you rambled on, the signs of Eris’s arousal going over your head. The male could only stare at you wide eyed, lips slightly parted. The hand that rests on your hip tenses, grabbing your attention. “What?” You ask innocently.

Eris shook his head, still in disbelief. He was so proud of you for asking for something instead of waiting for him to show you. Slowly but surely he corrupting his sweet innocent mate. Making you needy for him and him alone.

“I’m happy. Happy that you trust me and want to explore these things with me.” You light up at his words, holding his hand to your chest. Batting your eyelashes at Eris you ask, “Can we now? I want Er, so bad.” You punctuated your words with a pout. Mother above, this is not going to make what Eris has to say next hard.

He folds your hands in his warm ones, bringing them to his lips, placing soft kisses across your knuckles. “Unfortunately we can’t right now, little fox.” You frown damn near broke his heart. “I have to finish work but tonight, I promise. Ok?” You nod and he pecks your lips as a thank you.

——

After dinner you wait for Eris in his bed chambers. You had brought extra clothes for tomorrow so you wouldn’t have to creep back to your rooms in the morning. Even though you were right next to him. Still, you didn’t want to be spotted in your nightgown by the maids.

You perched yourself on the middle of his large bed, picking at the soft cream comforter as you waited. The bond in your chest thrummed. Eris was close. As he got closer and closer you felt that wonderful warm sensation grow. The first door opened and you perked up with excitement.

As he opened the bedroom door you jumped off the bed, running and flinging yourself into his arms. Eris scooped you up effortlessly, hugging you to his chest as he walked back to the bed. Laying you down Eris propped himself on his elbows above you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. He feels your smile against his lips, using his tongue to prod your lips open.

Pulling away Eris presses kisses to your cheeks and nose. “You look exquisite little fox.” He murmurs, eyes drifting down your cleavage to the lace and silk clinging to your form. His fingers lightly tracing your thighs that are still sporting bruises, though faint, from the last time he was between your legs. “Are you ready?” Eris breathed out.

“Yes,” you practically whine. Smirking, Eris slowly moves down your body. Running his hands up and down your thighs, the tips of his fingers flirting with the hem of your nightgown. “Please.” You beg him.

Eris pushes the silk up past your belly button pressing more kisses against your hips. Closing your eyes at the sensation you miss his hand move to your clothed core. Eris starts to rub your clit in small circles. You suck in a sharp breath, your hips jolting.

As soon as Eris could feel the wet spot on your panties grow he sticks his hand down your panties. His rough fingers touch your clit and you gasp. Your eyes flutter open to watch his movements. “Off,” you moan.

“What was that little fox?” Eris teased. “Take them off, p-please.” Another moan slipping between your tightly pulled lips. “Of course little fox.” Eris pulled your panties down with ease, tossing them to the floor.

His fingers return to your pussy, running his fingers through your wet folds. A growl sounds from Eris’s throat at feeling this new part of you. Last time Eris had neglected to dip his fingers in you, obsessed with the taste of you.

Eris slid one of his fingers inside you. Curling against your walls to get you used to the feel of him. And the feel of him was amazing. Much better than your own and even better than what you had imagined Eris’s fingers would be like this afternoon.

You go limp against the bed, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders. You moan as he adds another finger pushing all the way in to his knuckles. “Eris, that feels so good.” You breathe out.

He drops his face to your neck, licking and nipping to keep you stimulated. Your hands fly to his hair to tug at the firey strands.

As his fingers curl against your g-spot you feel his thumb press hard against your clit. Your mouth opens in a silent scream. Eris rubs your clit as he keeps thrusting his fingers. A moan falls from your open mouth right next to his. “So tight fox. You’re doing so good for me.”

You squeeze around his fingers making Eris groan. That feeling at the bottom of your stomach growing, a knot about to snap as Eris keeps pleasing you. “P-please Eris, please, please let me cum. Your fingers feel so good, please.”

Cauldron, your sweet begging is going to be the end of him. Eris loved you like this.

“Go ahead sweet fox. Let go, I got you.” He says sweetly. A few more pumps of his fingers had you coming all over his perfect hand.

Coming down from your high you hugged Eris to your chest. Not ready to let go of him just yet. His weight comforting on top of you. Eris pulled his fingers from you, lightly kissing up your jaw as he sat up. You watch with wide doe eyes as Eris licks his fingers clean of you.

You grab his hand, attempting to pull it back down to you but he was unmoving. “More,” you whimper. Your eyelids looked heavy as you blinked up at him. How were you so tired from just this, he thought to himself. Cauldron, what would you be like the day he actually ruins you with his cock?

“Not tonight, little fox. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed yeah,” Eris scoops you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. Ready to pamper you and keep you in his arms all night.

[jareaul0ver]

Nika is SUCHHHHH gf material I feel like she’d be the biggest simp

my god she would be.

nika simp hc's

SFW

she's always surprising you with small gits

little bouquets of flowers, bracelets, rings, you name it and shes getting it for you

shes in awe of you every time you dress up for a night out, or even when the two of you are just relaxing in bed

"you look so pretty, bebo" she always posts you on her story with some sort of little caption like "my gorgeous girl" "pretty thang"

whenever you're out in public and someone starts hitting on you, she gets super defensive

"my girlfriend is beautiful, isn't she?" "surprised she's single? she isn't, she's with me"

if you two don't spend the night together, she makes sure to call you and say "goodnight, i love you" or "goodmorning, i love you" every time

she'll send you cute texts of things she's doing throughout her day because she just can't stop thinking about you she has to make sure to include you in everything, she loves keeping you in the loop

she also loves when you just talk her ear off

"like i was saying, she was being a total bitch about it! like seriously, how can you give so much work outside of class.." she ends up just staring at you while you talk

she's always touching you.

when you're in public it's less obvious, only linking pinkies or holding hands, but if you're anywhere else she has her hands all over you; your waist, your shoulders, your thighs, she's probably giving you a back rub too that girl just cannot keep her hands off of you

pet names are huge for her

she loves calling you baby, love, some croatian pet names, honey, all the cute stuff

she secretly takes pics of you all the time

on one of your birthdays she surprises you with a book of all the pictures she's taken of you while you've been together she calls it her memory book, and it makes you cry because she loves you enough to keep all these pics

always tells you how proud of you she is

good grade on an exam? proud struggling to do something simple and you finally get it done? proud doing nothing special at all to make her say shes proud? proud she is literally just proud to call you her girlfriend

NSFW

she loves taking care of you in bed

she always makes sure you cum, and if you give to her, she has to give back to you if you want her to

sex is usually pretty soft, but sometimes she loves when you let her do as she pleases

she usually takes the opportunity to make sure it's entirely focused on you

she worships your body and loves praising you

"good girl" "you're doing so good for me" "you're so perfect, my love"

her aftercare is phenomenal

she never leaves you hanging she'll run a bath for you, help you in the shower, cuddles you right after and makes sure you're comfy and okay especially after if you guys are a little more rough than usual

i haven't done headcannons yet, but i felt like this was the perfect time to do so

i actually enjoyed writing these bc it was so easy to, so maybe ill do more if you guys want that

[ierofrnkk]

the sum of his parts - steven grant

Summary: You love Steven Grant, and there are some parts of him that stick out in your mind a little more than others. (~1.2k)

Content: 18+, gn!reader but reader has a vagina (no fem pronouns used), very brief & vague oral (f receiving), fingering, egregious use of italics.

a/n: This is the first thing I’ve really ever fully written AND posted!! Forgive me for it being vague and unpolished—I will get better!! I’ve just been so captivated by these boys after watching Moon Knight that I had to write something!

—

You love Steven as a whole, the culmination of all things that make him him, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t notice the little things.

The details.

—

The first thing you loved about Steven was his hair; the way that the curls were always pushed to one side, sitting atop his head like his brush had broken and he’d neglected to buy a new one.

It was one of the first things you touched when you finally had the opportunity to, making up some story about how he’d had a shred of paper stuck to one of his curls—he hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

You couldn’t get enough of the soft texture, even after months of getting to experience it. You had your hands in his hair every chance that you got.

When the two of you lay on the couch together, him cuddled against your chest as you watched the next documentary about the evolution of earth’s marine life, or something, you would drag your fingers through his hair idly. He would sigh in appreciation of the gentle touch.

When he’d be in a flurry early in the morning, racing to get ready on time before he missed the bus, you caught him for the briefest moments to smooth your palm across his unruly curls, taming the locks as best you could before he raced out the door.

When he’d settle himself between your thighs, mouth on your cunt like he’d die if you pulled him away, you’d tangle your fingers in those same dark curls, tightening your grip just enough to keep him in place. He always sighed appreciatively then, too.

—

The next thing you’d found yourself loving about Steven were his eyes, always wide like saucers and taking in every ounce of information that they can. The color of them always reminded you of coffee, but specifically the cups that he’d make for you in the early hours of the morning, perfect like no one else could.

You’re stupidly fond of the way he looks at you when you talk—it could be the most mundane thing, like laundry or dinner, and he’d be watching you so intently it’d feel like you’re giving a presentation on newly-unearthed artifacts in Cairo.

You remember the first time he cried in front of you. It was over something that seems so simple now; the two of you had made plans for dinner at your apartment, and he’d shown up late—through no fault of his own, the train wasn’t on schedule—but he’d felt so guilty about it that it brought him to tears. You can still see the way he looked in your mind: brows knit together, those beautifully dark eyes rimmed red and filled with tears.

He’d apologized profusely, and you silenced him with a kiss.

You like the way he looks when he’s half asleep, doing his best to fight his drowsiness to spend as much time with you as physically possible. His gaze is softer, somehow, his eyes half-lidded even with the way he fights to keep them wide open. That’s when you know he’s not going to last much longer before he’s out for the night.

When you’re kissing him, and you pull back for that brief, glorious moment, his eyes are dark, pupils blown with desire in a way that sends a wave of heat to your core.

You don’t miss the way those pretty eyes of his flutter shut whenever you touch him, even if it’s something simple; he’s touch-starved—not that he’ll ever admit that to you—so any physical show of affection is nearly enough to put him over the edge.

You’ve become familiar with the way he drifts, his eyes seeming to haze over and go unfocused—when he goes away for a moment—caught in his own reflection and watching as if there’s something else there with him.

—

You’ve quickly grown to become fond of his hands, in many more ways than just one.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want to hold his hand all the time, to feel the warmth of his palm against your own, fingers interlaced with yours in the way that makes you feel like nothing could separate you two. He made sure to hold your hand at every opportunity.

You’re very grateful for that.

When he takes one of his hundreds of books off of his bookshelf, flipping through page after page as he looks for a specific section, you can’t help but watch his hands. He moves with ease and precision, stark from the way he’s usually fumbling or unsure of where to go. He’s in his element, and you recognize that.

When he joins you on your monthly grocery trip, he insists on bringing all of the bags up in one go—he’s trying to be helpful, even if it means making things more difficult for him; that’s just how Steven is. Selfless. You can’t get enough of the sight of him like that, though, with multiple grocery bags held in each hand, all while he does his best to navigate your apartment complex.

You remember the first time he truly, properly held your hand; he’d done it in such a Steven way that you couldn’t deny him. He’d gone off on some spiel about human evolution and something about how in ancient civilizations, the size of your hands denoted status—you can see where this is going—and he insisted the two of you compared the size of your hands. For the sake of anthropology, of course.

Knowing what he was getting at, you obliged, pressing your palm to his, and without a beat of hesitation, he laced his fingers with your own, a sheepish grin on his face as a result of his boldness. You couldn’t even be mad about it.

Of course, those hands of his are good for more than just holding yours or carrying your groceries.

—

The first time he made you come was with his hands; he was too impatient to even wait to fuck you properly—he just had to touch you—so, he did.

You remember the feeling of his hands on your thighs, shifting and adjusting you until you were in a good position for him. He had made sure to not be too rough with you, even in his desperation. Sweet, considerate Steven.

His hands, as fidgety and hesitant as they usually are, were precise and sure when he touched you. He moved deftly when he found your slit, dragging his fingers through the wetness that’d already gathered there.

It wasn’t long after until one of those same thick fingers pushed into your heat, then another. It’s practiced—efficient— like he’s done this for you a thousand times, even though you both know he hasn’t.

When his thumb had brushed your clit, with just enough pressure to send another wave of heat up your spine, you knew you were done for. He had looked at you with those eyes, pupils blown and eyes half-lidded, and you could tell right then that he was more focused on your pleasure than his own.

When you finish, you card your fingers through his raven curls, holding just enough to bring him close enough that you can kiss him.

He goes willingly, all sweet and pliant as you maneuver him closer, and you’ve never been more grateful to have someone like him.

—

Steven is much, much more than just the sum of his parts, but you sometimes have to put him under a microscope and appreciate everything that makes him him.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Long Awaited Punishment {part. 14} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

Not So Patient After All {part. 13} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: sorry this took so long. writing smut is hard enough but writing smut with a submissive man is even harder. i hope you enjoy. i tried my best to write a good sub/dom dynamic in this but i don't know if i did very well. let me know if you enjoyed by leaving your feedback and reblog. xoxo

This story contains: talks of kinky things, male douching, smut obviously, mild edging, face sitting, sub/dom, handjob, blowjob, pegging, crying from pleasure

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - subrry - bi!harry dom!reader }

word count- 3,214

Tonight's the night you finally get to 'punish' Harry by fucking him with your brand new pink strap-on until his mind is sent into another dimension, but not before teasing and edging him beforehand.

"You sure you're up for tonight? Just because we've had this planned doesn't mean we have to do it, okay. I wouldn't be mad or disappointed, at all."

Lounging in bed on Friday morning, you and Harry engage in some pillow talk before he has to get ready for work. It began with inquiring about each other's sleep and dreams, but took a serious turn when Harry mentioned tonight.

You nod your head where it rests on his shoulder and reply back, "Yeah, I'm sure. I mean, I'm a little nervous. I have played dom before but I've never fucked any of my subs. They wouldn't let me. So I've only tied them up or edged them. Like that one time I made that guy wear a cock ring while I rode him. Which, by the way, was pretty fun to do."

"Please, don't ever torture me like that. M' all for being tied up, gettin' fucked, even havin' my ass spanked, but edgin' for an hour with a cock ring on, while you ride me, I draw the line there."

You let a laugh escape your mouth. "Because you said that, I may just have to purchase a cock ring too, just for you."

Shrugging, Harry replies, "Eh, never said I didn't already have one. Just that I don't ever want you to torture me like that."

You sit up straight, your bed head framing your face, and ask, "You own a cock ring and didn't tell me?"

Now Harry giggles before turning serious again, "Hey, it's never been brought up. I wasn't keepin' it a secret from you. But um, on a more serious note about tonight, you don't have to be nervous, Y/n. Just be your confident self and remember what I did to warrant you fuckin' me. Remember I'd been a bad boy."

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

While Harry was at work all day, you took the opportunity to get things ready for tonight. This includes sterilizing the pink strap-on and tidying up the bedroom to create a more comfortable atmosphere. Not feeling up to cooking, a pizza was ordered for dinner just before his arrival home.

Upon Harry's return from work, he joined you at the table to enjoy the delicious pizza you had ordered before taking a thorough shower. This shower wasn't his usual routine; it was a pristine cleansing to ensure he was impeccably clean for the night ahead.

He meticulously shaved his bum to avoid you having to stare at his possibly hairy backside, and then used an extra douche he had kept in the storage space beneath the bathroom sink. Before partaking in anal sex, Harry always took the necessary steps to cleanse himself. The mere thought of accidentally getting shit on his partner was enough to make him cringe.

After completing his grooming routine, he thoroughly washes his body and exits the shower, drying himself off and putting on only a pair of underwear. Harry then leaves the bathroom and entered the bedroom where you had arranged everything. He gasps in amazement, expressing, "Wow!".

You nervously look up at him and question, "It's not too much is it? I.... I wanted to make the room all cozy for us."

Harry shakes his head before approaching you, gently placing his hands on each side of your face. Speaking softly, he reassures you, "No, it's perfect, baby. I appreciate the effort you've put into tonight. It makes me feel really comfortable with you and what we have planned. Thank you, m'love." He leans in to give you a tender kiss, causing you to melt at his touch, momentarily losing track of your responsibilities for the evening.

Before things get too heated, you pull away and think to ask before things get started, "Do you have a safe word, Harry?"

"Mhm, it's cherry. You know, because cherries are red, red means stop."

With a clap of your hands, a switch flips in your brain, triggering a surge of dominance. "Excellent. Climb on the bed and place your hands above your head. I won't tie you up, at least not for now. Just remember to keep your hands to yourself, no touching, understood?"

Harry answers with a meek, "Yes." and does as instructed. Before joining him on the bed, you stand off to the side and begin stripping your clothes off, revealing what you have underneath. A pair of black lingerie. It's nothing too extreme but it does make you feel slightly more powerful. After your reveal, you look to Harry and see his mouth has dropped open and his eyes become darker. You can also see the large dent he's made in his briefs.

You kneel on the bed, positioning yourself between Harry's legs. Placing your hands on his meaty thighs, you glide your hands up and down, moving higher and higher each time, nearly touching him where he needs it most. You notice his struggle as he refrains from touching you, wanting to bring you to his aching cock but doesn't as he wants to please you and be a good boy.

Harry is fixated on your hands, hoping you'll shift just a bit higher. The suspense is tormenting him. He believes he's never been so aroused in his whole life. It's so intense that it's causing him physical discomfort. His testicles are pulsating from being so engorged with semen, and the extent to which his erection has expanded is becoming excruciating in his underwear.

Recognizing the unease Harry's in, you make the decision to reposition your hands and place them directly on his stiffened cock. You cradle his junk in your hands, still atop his underwear, and he sighs with relief from the momentary comfort it offers. Slowly, you glide your palms up and down the fabric, noting the rise and fall of his stomach. You continue this action for another minute before feeling restless and eager to transition into more of the fun stuff.

You halt your hand, and before Harry can express his discontent at your pause, you grasp the waistband of his underwear and lower it. His erection springs up, revealing his lower abdomen glistening with precome. "Aww, does my poor baby want me to touch it? To make it feel better?" you inquire in a mocking tone.

"Please, baby. Hurts s'bad!" Harry's immediate response reveals that he's fallen under your spell. His voice has become higher in pitch, indicating his vulnerability and submission. Unlike your past submissive partners who sometimes had a hard time fully submitting in front of you, Harry has quickly embraced his submissive role tonight, making you feel honored and content. Happy he feels safe enough to let go fully and be in a different headspace altogether with you.

You toss his briefs onto the ground to deal with later, then choose to end his discomfort. You lean towards Harry's lap, allowing a lengthy strand of saliva to flow from your mouth and observe as it trickles down his pulsating penis. He moans at the sensation of your warm spit sliding down his cock. You use your right hand to gently stroke his erection, spreading your saliva along his entire shaft.

Harry wishes for more but decides to keep his thoughts to himself, allowing you to do as you please. He's considerate of your wishes and refrains from interfering, despite his deep-seated urge to grab your hair and shove your mouth down on his cock.

Once you have dedicated time to pleasuring him with your hand, the desire to take him into your mouth becomes more compelling. You lower yourself, positioning your knees beneath your body, and carefully ease him into your mouth. Harry is the largest you've ever encountered, making it challenging to take him fully without experiencing pain. You begin to move your head in a rhythmic motion while using your hands to stimulate the portion that cannot fit in your mouth. As his breathing becomes more intense, it's apparent that he's nearing climax, and so, you withdraw yourself.

"Hey," Harry scolds, missing the touch you just had on his cock.

Looking up with a reassuring smile, you reply, "Shh, no whining. I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby." Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you duck down, lifting his scrotum in one hand, and allowing your tongue to lap at his puckering hole.

"Oh, God damn!" His expression of pleasure through profanity arouses you, causing you to subconsciously stimulate your clitoris with the heel of your foot that's tucked beneath your body. You knew of Harry's enjoyment with having his ass played with, but you didn't fully comprehend the extent of his passion for it. You're thankful he maintains good hygiene, otherwise, you wouldn't be engaging in this activity right now.

Before psyching yourself out, after licking around his shaven rim a few more times, you use both your thumbs to open his hole and insert your tongue. You thrust your tongue in and out of his anus, making him crumble in response. Despite not touching his dick, Harry believes he could achieve a hands-free orgasm with enough time like this. However, he's certain you wouldn't permit it.

Once his hole is nice and wet with your saliva, you pull away and announce, "Okay, time for the strap-on."

Though Harry's mind is beginning to become fuzzy, he's still courteous enough to ask, "Are you wet enough, m'love?", knowing the type of strap-on you bought doesn't have a harness on your end, rather a bulbed part that goes inside you and a suction part that goes over your clit.

In a cheeky manner, you reply, "Why don't you find out." Though there's heaviness in his limbs, Harry is about to sit up and comply with your request. However, you start to crawl up his body and kneel over his face. He looks up at you with his big, green eyes, as if he can't believe you're about to sit on his face.

Despite your panties still covering your damp pussy, you proceed to lower yourself, allowing your cunt to make contact with his mouth. Harry extends his tongue out and traces a wet path along your core, prompting a moan to escape your lips. He then begins to suck on the area where he believes your clit is located under the black fabric, and his mouth fills with the juices that have soaked into your underwear.

It's Harry that's moaning now. Popping his mouth off of you for a second, he mutters, "Fuck, you are soaked."

As he prepares to resume eating you out over your panties, you decide to withdraw. Although his mouth would have provided immense pleasure, your anticipation for the main activity of the night is growing. "I need to fuck you, now." Harry, in a state of a blissful daze, simply nods in agreement, ready to follow your lead. He observes from his position as you discard your black lingerie onto the floor alongside his briefs. Then watches as you reach for the lube and strap-on from your nightstand.

You get back on the bed and instruct your boyfriend, "Get on all fours for me." He follows your instructions, getting into the submissive position known as doggy. Even though he's feeling vulnerable, he trusts and feels safe with you. The last time he was in this position was with a guy he met on a dating app months ago, getting his back blown out.

Before you begin, Harry decides he wants to watch you insert your end of the toy inside you cunt. "Wait, can I watch you put it in yourself?"

"Yeah, baby. Of course." You make your way to the top of the bed, and Harry turns his head to the side as you begin to gently insert the egg-shaped ball into your body. The initial tightness gives way to a sense of relief once it's completely inside your wet pussy. Harry's limbs tremble from his position, despite you not having touched him yet with the toy. The mere act of you placing the toy inside yourself has awakened a strong feeling of arousal, adding on to the several times he almost had orgasms but was edged before he actually came. "Now it's your turn," you state matter-of-factly.

Carefully, you slide back behind his body and grab the lube. You're fortunate not to have needed it for yourself, as your body produces its own lubrication, but Harry doesn't share that advantage. You apply some of the clear, slimy, liquid to the lengthy toy that's inserted in you on one end and carefully spread any remaining lube around his rim. "Mhm, fuck!" His response makes you chuckle. You find joy in the way he seems to unravel with minimal effort on your part.

Once the toy and his bum are properly lubricated, you confirm, "Sure you're ready? Let me know if it hurts at all and I'll stop, okay, baby?"

"Yes, please, just fuck me already!"

Because of his bold attitude, you pull your hand back and lightly slap his right ass cheek as a small punishment, but know deep down that Harry enjoys it. Then, you place the tip of the fake cock against his puckering hole and gently push it in while holding onto his narrow hips. You expected to feel more nervous when this moment arrived, but surprisingly, you don't. You feel powerful and confident. The role reversal of being in control and fucking a man gives you a sensation that is entirely new, and you love it.

The arms that were supporting Harry give way, causing him to fall onto the bed, with only his ass elevated and his knees drawn beneath him. "Oh my God, Oh my fuckin' GOD!" he exclaims repeatedly, recalling precisely why he enjoys anal sex. The sensation of something inside him brings immense pleasure. As soon as your hips connect with his and the toy is fully inserted, you pause momentarily to let him adjust. However, Harry doesn't require this adjustment, as proven when he begins pushing his hips forward and then rears his hips back, essentially fucking himself on the toy.

Witnessing his eagerness, you start to thrust. Initially, it feels unfamiliar as you're not accustomed to thrusting during intercourse. Although, after a few awkward movements, you begin to get the hang of it. Yet, because this particular strap-on is designed to bring pleasure to you as well, you soon realize the challenge ahead. The part that's inside of you is stimulating your g-spot directly, providing additional pleasure as you have to continuously squeeze your pelvic muscles to avoid it from slipping out while thrusting.

After about two minutes of thrusting, you suddenly remember that the strap-on is actually a vibrating toy. You remove one of your hands from Harry's hip and lower it to activate the on button. In an instant, both of you are uttering moans and profanities. The vibrating bulbed egg inside you, along with the outer part stimulating your clit, sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, causing you to slow down involuntarily. The overwhelming pleasure makes you want to remain still and revel in your impending orgasm.

"Dnt' Stop!" Harry's speech is slurred, indicating a significant alteration in his mental state. This situation scares you a tiny bit, as you have never encountered someone entering subspace, nor have you experienced it yourself. The entire scenario is foreign to you. However, you conducted some preliminary research prior to this evening to ensure that you would be equipped to assist him appropriately should the need arise.

With a shaky breath, you manage to spit out, "I’m not... not trying to. It’s just, I’m about to come. Holy shit!" Your body trembles as an overwhelming orgasm surges through you, leaving your ears ringing. Although you've felt pleasure from vibrators in the past, the one inside of you right now is stimulating your g-spot so intensely that the vibrations travel from your head to your toes. Furthermore, the vibrations sucking your clit enhance the intensity of your orgasm.

As you begin to come down from the powerful orgasm, the urge to remove the strap-on is strong; however, you decide to push your own boundaries for Harry's sake. The stimulation is overwhelming, affecting every nerve in your body, yet you take deep breaths to center your attention on your boyfriend's pleasure. Harry's been very well-behaved tonight, listening to your commands and not touching you unless you instructed otherwise. He's followed your every command. He certainly deserves to have a powerfully orgasm experience.

You begin to thrust once more, this time reaching around to take hold of Harry's painful erection. He tries to express his pleasure through moans, but only a faint whine emerges. In your desire to hasten the moment, your dominant hand moves swiftly along his shaft, while you maintain a focus on thrusting deeply and forcefully rather than at a rapid pace. You're getting exhausted by this point. Dominating is taking a lot out of you.

Harry's breathing becomes increasingly labored as his face is pressed into the pillows beneath him. His hands grip the sheets so tightly that they appear to be in pain. This is a side of Harry you have never witnessed before. It seems as though he has placed complete trust in you, surrendering both mentally and, soon enough, physically.

When you feel his cock twitch in your hand, you're ready to assure him that it's alright to let go, but before you can express this, Harry exclaims, "Gonna come, oh m'..." Suddenly, his back arches and his entire body convulses as he succumbs to his orgasm. As you continue to stroke him, you feel warm spurts of cum escaping his dick, coating your hand and the sheets below, and it just keeps coming. No wonder his balls were so swollen, they were about ready to burst with how full they were.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry experienced not only a penile orgasm but also a prostate orgasm simultaneously. While he's encountered this phenomenon before, tonights proved to be the most intense he's ever experienced. As the waves of pleasure continue to envelop him, he finds himself unable to suppress a sob that escapes his lips. Initially, you feel a sense of concern, but then you recall Harry mentioning that he occasionally cries when the intensity of his orgasm is overwhelming, reassuring you not to worry if it occurs.

Gradually, you withdraw your hand from Harry's cock as you sense it starting to lose its firmness, and ceasing the movement of your hips followed by promptly turning off the vibrations. With his head pressed into the mattress, he emits strained cries, his body shaking from the remnants of his intense climax. He looks so vulnerable in this moment that all you want to do is scope him up and hold him, tell him everything is gonna be okay.

You slowly remove the strap-on from his body, which causes him to cry out more intensely for a moment, and then you carefully pull your end out as well. Despite feeling just as drained as you believe Harry is, you understand that the dominant role comes with responsibilities. The key responsibility is aftercare, and you conclude that the first step in providing aftercare tonight is to help Harry calm down.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

Aftercare {part. 15}

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

fucked royalty

Summary: You are working as a nurse on a military base when you meet and fall for Frankie Morales. And he for you. But before he could finally tell you the truth about him he just... disappears and you are left heartbroken without any way to get back in contact with him. After moping for a week you put in a request to relocate and get send to Spain where your new roommate wins a weekend trip to the Kingdom of San Senova, not knowing that all your unanswered questions regarding to Frankie, would soon get their answers.

Wordcount: Alejandro Carlos Francisco Sanchez Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 5.7k

Rating: M

Warnings: Royalty AU, fluff, falling in love, light smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex), angst, heartbreak, me not knowing shit about royal titles, phones are not a thing (just go with it) happy ending 😍

A/N: omg I had so much fun writing this. Hello @flightlessangelwings! I am your secret valentine and I hope you love this little story!

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

The first time you saw Frankie Morales, he was getting stitches by the Doctor on military base you had been working on for almost a year as a nurse. 

You were carrying some more supplies and the medicine the Doctor had asked for, setting it down next to him when you met Frankie’s eyes for the first time. He gave you a small smile and even though his whole face was bloody (you could already see the stitches on the side of his forehead) he was still the most attractive man you had ever seen. 

You didn’t know that this would be the start of a whirlwind romance that would leave you heartbroken. 

You saw him again the next night at the bar just around the base. 

He was with there with his three friends, sporting a serious bruise on his eye from whatever had happened to him the day before. At some point one of his friends must have caught you starring, and it wasn’t long before Frankie asked if he could invite you for a drink. 

A drink turned into two, and you spend the whole night talking to each other about everything and nothing. Maybe you fell for him right then, watching him smile shyly at you, his hand holding yours. 

He insisted on making sure you got home safely after. 

„You know it’s just a five minute walk?“ You smiled at him. He shrugged, taking your hand. 

„A lot can happen in five minutes,“ he said seriously. 

He kissed you good night in front of your door, promising that he would see you soon. 

And he did. 

He was living on base and apparently on call being part of the special forces, so going on dates was a little complicated at the beginning. But what he lacked of opportunities, he made up with ideas. 

„This is…. This is beautiful Frankie,“ you smiled at him. 

He had found a field full of sunflowers, his hand holding yours as he let you through them, snapping picture after picture from you. 

„I flew over it the other day and I thought this is perfect to spend some alone time with you,“ he grinned, pulling you against his chest.

„So this was all a scheme to get me all alone to yourself?“

„Mhhh,“ he hummed, a smile on his lips as he dipped his head down, kissing you softly. You crossed your arms behind his neck, getting on your tiptoes to get even closer. His hands were on your hips, his fingers carefully digging into your skin.

He had you pinned against the wall the moment you got to your place, his lips and hands all over you. 

„Want you,“ he mumbled, kissing down your body, pushing your summer dress up. 

„Take me then,“ you gasped, when you felt his nose run up your thigh.

„I have heard the wildest rumour,“ you flopped down on the couch next to him. He was at your place for the whole weekend, insisting to wine and dine you for a change, even if it was at your home. He was waiting for you when you came home and you love the feeling of knowing someone was waiting for you. 

You had been dating for almost six months now. 

And you hoped many more months would follow. 

He was basically living at your place when he wasn’t on mission. 

„What rumour?“ He asked, his hand coming down to rest on your thigh. 

„Carla said that she heard that there’s some European Prince undercover on the base doing his military service,“ you snorted. You stretched your muscles, sighing loudly, missing Frankie’s eyes widening. 

„Sounds to me like a Hallmark movie if you ask me,“ you rolled your eyes, letting your head fall against his shoulder. 

„How would Carla know?“ Frankie asked. 

„Dunno. She send me the link to his Wikipedia page though. Wait a second,“ you pulled your phone out, opening the link. 

„There we are. Alejandro Carlos Francisco Sanchez Morales the third. Future king of San Senova. I don’t even know where that is,“ you read out loud. 

„Between France and Spain,“ Frankie provided and you looked at him, impressed. 

„How do you know that?“ You asked. He shrugged, though you could see him blushing. Adorable.

„Dad is big on geography,“ he said and you nodded, laying your head back against his shoulder. 

„Maybe you’re related to them too. Your last name is Morales,“ you chuckled. 

„Many people with the name Morales. It’s pretty common,“ he said right away. 

„I guess you’re right,“ you sighed. 

„Any pictures of him?“ He asked, kissing your hair. 

„Sadly no pictures after he turned five years old. Cute little boy though, don’t you think?“ You held the phone out.

„Cute,“ he said before he pulled your phone away, throwing it on the couch next to him. 

„Heeeeey,“ you pouted, shrieking when he pulled you beneath him and kissed you.

„Want you,“ he hummed, his hips dragging against yours, making you gasp. 

„Take your clothes off baby,“ you grinned, already pulling your shirt over your head. 

Within minutes both of you were naked and Frankie was inside of you, making you cry out his name while his lips were all over your body. 

He made you cum four times on that couch.

Making you forget about a potential European future king working among you at the base.

Santiago Garcia was Frankie’s best friend. 

And, to say it in the most nicest way, a slut. 

He had broken the hearts of all the nurses at the base, which left you to be the only one still willing to attend to him, if he had some medical issues. 

„So how are things between you and Frankie?“ He asked while he sat on the table. You were cleaning his bloody knuckles, not even asking how it happened anymore. He had a wild streak, leaving you to patch him up regularly.  

„Is this the part where you ask me about my intentions?“ You teased and he chuckled. 

„Nope. Everyone who has eyes can see how much you love him,“ he said and you stilled, taking a deep breath before you carried on tending to him. 

„Same with him too though. He speaks about you all the time. Kinda annoying if you ask me,“ you looked up at him and he winked. You continued cleaning his wounds. 

„I haven’t told him that I love him. I… We haven’t talked about what happens when he has to go back home. I don’t even know where is home for him, he always changes the topic. And I’m scared he’s just gonna end up leaving me here,“ you confessed. Your turned away from Santiago, grabbing the bandages. 

„Talk to him. Frank is… A little hesitant when it comes to feelings. He told you about his ex?“ Santi asked. You nodded. 

Frankie had told you about his last girlfriend. It was pretty serious. They had been together for three years and he could see him getting married to her. He found out that she had been cheating on him with one of his cousins. And then she tried telling him that she was pregnant which turned out to be a complete lie to somehow baby trap him. 

Your heart broke for him as he told you about it. 

„I think the whole thing broke him more than he wants to admit. Means also he can’t see what’s right in front of him,“ Santiago explained as you finished bandaging his hand, looking up at Santi. 

„So you mean I have to confess my feelings in a big gesture?“ You asked. 

„I mean you can. I bet he would loooove a flashmob,“ he grinned and you slapped his arm playfully. 

„Just tell him how you feel. We’re not gonna stick around for much longer,“ he said and you nodded, watching after him as he left the room. 

Frankie had told you that he had received word that he was close to being finished with his service. He didn’t tell you an exact time frame, but you knew the end of whatever this was could be closer than you liked. 

You would have to talk with him. 

About your feelings and about a potential future. 

Because you had already decided that if he would ask you, you would follow him everywhere. 

You had no family and only a few friends here. 

And nurses were needed everywhere. You would find work quickly. 

You and Frankie had made plans for the next evening. You wanted to cook and confess your feelings to him. 

But when he didn’t show up at your place you grew worried.

Frankie was always punctual, always calling you if he would be running late. Private cellphones were forbidden at the base, so the only way of contacting him, would be calling the base. So when fifteen minutes went by after he had promised to be here you called the landline of the house he was living at, but nobody picked up. 

Next you tried the base but the line was busy. 

An hour later and no message you grabbed your car keys and drove the way from your place to his place at the base. You hadn’t been here often. He shared the small house with his three friends and privacy was not really something they valued, leaving to interesting encounters and teasing in the morning when you stayed the night. 

The house lay in darkness when you got there. 

After knocking and ringing the bell you received no answer. 

You had a bad feeling in your stomach. You stood there in the darkness looking at the house. 

There was no one here. 

Maybe they had an important mission and he did not have time to tell you. You shook your head. In the months you had dated he had always informed you when he had to leave on short notice. 

Something was not right. 

It’s why you made your way back to the base to ask around. 

„You here about Frank?“ His superior, General Lopez asked, after you knocked on his door. You nodded. 

„He was sent home together with the whole fifth devision,“ he said. 

„Oh,“ you said surprised, your heard beating fast in your chest. 

„Anything else you want?“ He barked and you shook your head numbly, before you walked out. 

You held the tears in until you were back in the apartment and saw Frankie’s hoodie still hanging over your chair. 

He had to leave without you being able to tell him how you felt. 

You just hoped that he would call you once he made it out of the plane. 

He didn’t call. 

He did not send a letter.

He didn’t try to get in touch with you. 

So after moping around for a week you applied for a transfer packed your things and took the new job. 

In Spain.

Vowing to yourself to get over Frankie.

Two months later

„I can’t believe you dragged me into this,“ you whined before you turned the air conditioning of the car to its highest level. 

„For someone who got invited to spend a two night stay in a five star hotel in San Senova without having to pay a single cent for it, you sure sound ungrateful,“ your friend Lisa hummed as she drove the car down the highway. 

You had to admit that she was right. 

The last two months had been long and dark and depressing, but meeting Lisa on your first day, finding out she was your roommate for the six months you would spend here in Spain, was the greatest distraction. 

She was loud and playful and funny and she made it her mission to get you out of your „depression hole“. 

It’s why after winning this weekend stay in a raffle on the 4th of July celebration on base, she didn’t even ask you if you would like to come. She just informed you that you were going. 

„You know that there was a rumour back in my old base that the crown prince of San Senova was doing his military service back there?“ You asked. 

„King,“ she said.

„Huh?“

„He’s the king now. Has been for almost two months. Apparently his father died suddenly and he had to take the throne overnight,“ she explained.

„Look at you being informed,“ you teased. 

„Don’t want to be the dumb American stereotype tourist. Also, thanks to my research, I know that tomorrow will be a national holiday in San Senova because it’s the kings thirty fifth birthday. Apparently there’s a military parade. It’s a whole thing,“ Lisa said. 

„What I am hearing is, that you gonna drag me to this thing, isn’t it?“ You sighed. 

She turned her head, grinning at you. 

„You know me so well already,“ Lisa winked. 

With a chuckle you shook your head. 

Spending time with Lisa this weekend would be great. 

You wouldn’t be thinking about the plans you and Frankie had made for this birthday that was tomorrow back in the states. 

After parking the rental car and checking into the hotel (which made your jaw drop) you passed out for a nap almost right away. 

It hadn’t been a long drive, but you had started studying to become an OR nurse and you had only fallen asleep in the early morning hours after having been allowed to watch an operation last night. 

Lisa made sure to roughly wake you up an hour before she had made reservations in a local restaurant she had found on trip advisor. 

And while you wanted nothing more than to sleep, you let her excitement over this trip influence you. After a small dance party in the huge bathroom of the hotel room where Lisa told you that if you were a guy, she would have fucked you in the big walk in shower first thing while proceeding to sing into her brush-microphone, the two of you stepped out of the hotel.

Lisa had talked you into wearing a dress, so you were wearing your most casual, yet fancy dress. A dark red wrap dress that ended just above your knees. 

You drew the line at wearing heels, leaving you with some flat sandals as you walked down the street, your arm hooked under Lisa’s as she led you towards the restaurant, google maps on her phone showing you both the way. 

Walking through old European cities like these, alway left you impressed and yearning to live here. You had managed to visit Barcelona and Seville since getting to Spain and frankly you couldn’t imagine ever going back to the United States. 

You made smalltalk on the way, both of your eyes taking in the old city.

And men. 

Well at least Lisa did.

She knew about Frankie and she knew you weren’t ready for someone new. Which did not stop her to point out candidates which you had to admit were super attractive. 

But they weren’t Frankie. 

How things ended with him still left you with a billion questions. The loudest of them all being if you could be so wrong about his feelings for you. 

Even Santiago had told you Frankie loved you. 

And while you or him never heard or said the words, you deep down knew he loved you. 

He could maybe lie to you, but what reason would his best friend have to lie?

Why did he ghost you like this?

Taking a deep breath you stopped walking as Lisa announced that you made it. Looking around you saw that the restaurant was pretty busy. 

„Seems like trip advisor was right to make a reservation, huh?“ You asked and she nodded. 

„Looks expensive,“ you noticed and she turned her head, grinning at you.

„You’re paying! I invited you for this trip“ Lisa announced and your jaw dropped, watching her walk towards the entrance. 

„This trip was free!“ You gasped. 

She only laughed and you shook your head, following her inside. 

„You might have to carry me back to the hotel,“ you groaned almost two hours later. The dinner was probably the best you had in your life. 

Lisa and you had shared a bottle of wine between the two of you and you were now waiting for dessert. 

„Would it be weird to call a cab?“ She asked. 

„It’s a five minute walk,“ you laughed. 

She pouted. 

„I don’t think I can do it,“ she said with a dramatic sigh before she smiled. 

„Gonna go to the restroom. Don’t steal from my dessert when it comes,“ she said seriously, before she grabbed her purse and walked through the restaurant towards the restrooms. 

It was almost fifteen minutes later, your dessert almost gone when you heard her laugh. 

Your dessert was almost gone and you were sipping on your wine glass when you turned your head towards the sound, finding her sitting with her back towards you at the bar. She was talking to a man, her hand on his shoulder, and you smiled to yourself until your eyes landed on the face of the man she was talking to. 

As if sensing your eyes on him, his head tilted, his eyes frowning before they widened. 

„Santi?“ You whispered in disbelief. 

Lisa’s head turned when Santi stopped talking, her eyes narrowing between you and Santiago. 

She left him standing walking towards you. 

„Why are you looking at Santiago like you’ve seen a ghost? I just met him?“ She asked, her hand on your shoulder as she stood beside you. 

Looking up at her you gulped. 

„That’s Frankie’s best friend,“ you whispered, suddenly very tired. 

Lisa’s eyes widened before she turned around to look at him, just as he stepped beside her. 

„He’s what?“ She asked. 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. 

Santiago said your name and you could feel yourself shaking. 

It was like you were underwater. You could hear Lisa and him talking, but you didn’t understand what they were talking about. 

If he was here, was Frankie somewhere here too?

What was he doing here out of all places in the world?

Why did they leave?

Why did he leave?

Why did no one tell you?

You finally looked up at him, tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. 

„Why?“ You asked quietly. He looked at you with sadness in his eyes. He was sucking on his bottom lip, nervous. He let his eyes wander through the room, noticing some people already staring. 

You didn’t know that people were staring because they knew who he was. 

Not yet. 

„Not here,“ he said and you frowned, about to open your mouth to ask what he meant, when he took a step closer. 

„It’s not my place to explain. I’ll try. But not here,“ he said. 

Both you and Lisa followed Santiago to a private dining room of the restaurant that was empty. 

You weren’t sure if you wanted to talk or if you wanted to run. 

As soon as the door closed his eyes were on you, then on Lisa. 

„Talk,“ she snapped, her arms crossed in front of her chest and you almost laughed as you saw him jump, surprised by her outburst. 

He looked at you as if in question and you rolled your eyes. 

„She knows. About me and Frankie and how all of you just…. Ghosted me from one day to another,“ you said. 

„Like I said, it’s not my place to explain,“ he started and Lisa scoffed. 

„I would love to just tell you everything but I made a vow I can’t break,“ he said and you confusingly stared at him. 

„A vow?“ You whispered, he nodded. 

You looked at Lisa who looked like she was ready to scratch Santiago’s eyes out if you gave her the go. 

„Let me take you to him,“ Santiago said. 

„Let me take you to Frankie.“

The ride in the car was silent. 

You were anxious, your hands sweating. Lisa was holding your hand while glaring at Santiago. 

„Can you tell your friend to stop looking at me like she wants to choke me?“ Santiago said after a while and your lips almost broke out into a small smile. 

„Last thing I remembered I heard Nurse Sam say you’re into that,“ you said and his eyes widened before he laughed. 

„I might be, but in the sexy way, not in the I’m gonna die way,“ he winked and you released a shaky breath. 

You tuned out the conversation that now started between Lisa and Santi, your head resting against the cold glass of the car window, your eyes trying to figure out were he was taking you. 

You hadn’t been driving for a long time, before the car stopped at a gate. You could only make out what looked like a long fence before the car started driving again, driving towards a huge building. 

It didn’t take long then before the car stopped in front of an already opened door, a deep red rug on the steps leading up and inside. The door on Santiago’s side opened and he stepped out, turning to hold out his hand, helping you out. 

Taking a deep breath you stepped out of the car, taking a look around as he helped Lisa out of his car. 

A man in a suit walked out, bowing his head.

„Duke Garcia,“ the man said and your head turned to Lisa who was already looking at you with wide eyes. 

„Where is he?“ Santiago asked. You saw the man look at you and Lisa before he focused back on Santiago. They talked to each other in hushed voices before Santiago turned around with a sigh. 

The man walked back inside, leaving you alone with Lisa and Santiago, the car driving off. 

„Frankie is in a… meeting. But I think we can interrupt it. That is, if you want?“ He asked. 

You nodded. 

You wanted answers. 

„What about you?“ You asked, looking at Lisa. She suddenly had a shy smile on her lips as she looked at Santi. 

„I’m gonna take care of her,“ Santi said with a wink and you playfully rolled your eyes. 

It took almost ten minutes of Santiago leading both you and Lisa through the building before he came to a stop in front of two closed doors. 

He looked at you, silently asking for permission, before he loudly knocked on the door. 

He didn’t wait for anyone to invite him in, before he pushed the door open. 

The first thing you noticed was that the room behind the door was huge. And looking more… opulent than some of the hallways you had walked through. Golden ornaments and deep red on the walls made it look like out of a fairytale. 

You were in a castle. Why were you in a castle?

You let your eyes wander through the room until your eyes stopping on the very end. There was a woman sitting on a chair in front of a canvas, painting someone. Taking a step further  into the room you noticed someone sitting in front of her. On a golden chair. A throne? He was wearing what looked like a uniform with various medals and buttons, looking very official. 

The man stood up and you titled your head up, finding Frankie’s wide eyes looking at you. 

The woman in front of him, got up from her chair too, bowing her head with a whispered your majesty as he took the three steps from the podium down and walked towards you. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he walked towards you. 

„Clear the room,“ he said and you released a shuddering breath. You felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. 

Breaking eye contact you looked at Lisa who looked as confused as you felt. 

„You okay?“ She mouthed. 

You shrugged. She eyed the man who was now standing almost in front of you with a frown before she looked at you again. 

„I will be right outside,“ she said loud and clear before she let Santiago lead her out of the room, closing the door behind them. 

You closed your eyes, gathering your thoughts before your eyes opened and found Frankie looking at you. 

Allowing yourself a moment to really take him in, you noticed how tired he looked. There were bags under his eyes you could see, even though someone did a shitty job of covering them up. It seemed like he aged at least ten years since you’ve last seen him. His hair was shorter, his beard was trimmed. 

His head tilted to the side and it was only then that you noticed the tears in his eyes. 

„You left,“ you whispered and he closed his eyes, releasing along breath.

„I’m sorry,“ he said and you had too look away from him when he opened his eyes again. Turning away you slowly walked towards the windows, looking out of it. 

If you would continue to look at him, you would cry. And right now you weren’t sure if it was out of anger or because you had missed him so much. 

You crossed your arms, your hands tucking underneath your arms to soothe yourself as you looked out into the dark night. 

„Tell me why you left,“ you said quietly. 

Footsteps came closer towards you and it was like before, like you could feel his warmth. 

„My father died,“ he began. 

„I received the news of his death while I went through the store to get some of your favourite snacks. I wanted to go over to you anyway and finally tell you the truth. Tell you that I lo…. I had the plan to tell you everything that night even before all of it happened. But… Once my father…. The King of San Senova died, I was swept up by the royal protocol. Thirty minutes after I received the message I was already on a plane and being briefed on what was going to be happening as soon as I arrived here back home.“

„You didn’t even have a minute to call?“

„I… I tried. But your number had been disconnected by the time I finally had a minute to breathe. And I had left you messages with my superior but he told me that you weren’t interested….“

You turned around, your head tilting up to look at him. 

„I never received any message from you,“ you shook your head. His eyes widened. 

„I left you a letter. And… at least a dozen messages….“

„I went to the base an hour after you hadn’t shown up and talked to your Superior. He only told me that you left earlier. There was no message.“

His jaw tensed as he took a deep breath, his eyes darkening for a moment. 

„I left you a letter that explained everything. I gave it to him weeks before I even left because I wanted you to have a way to contact me. It had Santi’s and Will’s number. Because I am not allowed to carry a cellphone.“

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at him. 

„Why would he not give me your messages if you left them for me?“ You questioned. 

His face fell and he groaned. 

„His fucking daughter. Fuck, I can’t believe this…“ He turned around, his hand running through his hair in frustration. 

„Santi!“ He yelled and you almost jumped at the tone of his voice. 

The door opened and Santiago walked in, looking a little… wild. His hair a wild mess and… was that lipstick on his lips?

„Your majesty?“ He asked and your could see Frankie roll his eyes. You caught Lisa in the hallways behind Santi with big eyes. You chuckled to yourself. 

„I want General Lopez and his daughter here first thing in the morning,“ he hissed and Santi’s eyebrow raised. 

„Fucker never gave my messages to her,“ Frankie explained and Santi sighed as he looked at you. 

„I will get right to it,“ he promised. He turned around and closed the door behind him. 

„I should have known…. I should have tried harder,“ Frankie shook his head, his fingers rubbing over his temple. 

Slowly you approached him. 

Sure, he could have tried to get in touch with you somehow. But… you couldn’t even imagine how much his life must have changed in a matter of hours. Not that you weren’t hurt how things went, but… you could at least understand him. 

Carefully you brought your hand up to rest on his shoulder. 

He looked at you. 

„I missed you so much,“ he whispered. 

„Yeah?“ You asked. He nodded. 

„Even though there are now always people around me, I feel so alone. I always felt so alone. But not with you. Never with you,“ he turned around so he was standing in front of you.

„I missed you too. Every single day,“ you said, tears lingering in your eyes. 

His forehead came to rest against yours as he pulled you into a hug. The big clock in the room began to ring, the clock striking midnight. 

„Happy birthday Frankie,“ you whispered. 

Ever so slowly you pressed your lips against his.

„Tell me everything?“ You asked. 

He smiled. 

Things went very fast after that night. 

It turned around General Lopez had indeed not given a single message Frankie left to you because he was hoping that Frankie fell for his his daughter, who was in line to be Frankie’s wife and future queen.

He just hadn’t counted on how deeply Frankie had fallen in love with you. 

You had spend the whole night talking. After he had gotten out of his uniform he had taken you to his private quarters that fell much more like Frankie.

He told you about growing up in this palace, knowing that he was next in line for the throne. How every single relationship he had in the past only was about getting what they wanted, which was power or money, but never him. Frankie. They wanted Alejandro Carlos Francisco Sanchez Morales The Third, or now King Alejandro the third. 

That was the reason, he was so hesitant to tell you. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he was scared it would change something between you. 

It took a while to realise that the man you heard singing „Everytime we touch“ under the shower in the morning while he ran late for work, was now a king of a whole country. 

Your weekend trip became a lot more serious once Frankie told you he loved you and asked you to stay on the day after you arrived first at the palace. 

He did not want to waste any more time pretending he wasn’t in love with you and… you didn’t want that either. 

So you stayed. 

In separate rooms in the palace at first. 

Not that you slept in separate beds even one day after you arrived. 

But the King having his girlfriend move into his quarters right away apparently wasn’t a good look. You learned much about the royal protocol in the weeks after you arrived.

Part of you wanted to let him grovel for you for a while, but you knew from the start that you wanted him back in your life. 

You didn’t want to waste any more time apart from him. 

Almost four months later Frankie asked you to marry him and you said yes. 

There would be a huge royal wedding in the next spring, the planning already under way. There was talk to combine his official coronation with the wedding, but two months was apparently too little time to plan it. Your dress alone would take half a year to make. The times of ordering your clothes online were officially over.

You had a stylist now. 

And responsibilities.

Because you would become the Queen of San Senova in the coming year. 

Which is how you found yourself here, wearing a deep green floor length gown, your back leaning against a wall, next to a room full of people who were waiting to officially see the new King. 

The new King who was on his knees in front of you, one of your legs thrown over his shoulder, your dress carefully held up as he licked into you. 

Your hands were pressed against the wall behind you, trying to stop yourself from running them through his hair. 

„Frankie,“ you whimpered quietly, your head falling back against the wall. 

He had pulled you into this room not five minutes ago, both of you not really having seen each other more than in passing in the last four days. 

Which was apparently too much time. 

You could hear the people cheering outside of the palace as they waited. 

„Don’t let the people wait, my love. Cum for your King,“ he grinned before he sucked your clit into his mouth and you came with a quiet gasp, your legs shaking. 

„You’re a fucking menace,“ you sighed and you felt him chuckle against you, before he carefully slipped your panties back and kissed you thigh. 

A knock on the door, someone reminding you that it was time, let you both jump before you laughed to yourselves. 

He put your leg back to the floor as he got up, standing in front of you. 

„How do I look?“ He asked and you smiled, bringing your hands up to brush over his shoulders. 

„Majestic,“ you smiled and he kissed you softly. He took his hand, wanting to exit the room with you when you stopped him. 

He frowned.

„You have….. me all over you….“ You mumbled and he licked his lips. 

„Just how I like it,“ he winked before he opened the door, pulling you through it. 

And minutes later Frankie stood on the balcony, wearing his crown, waving to his people as their new crowned King, while he held your hand. 

Looking at you he gave you a small wink before he kissed you softly in front of thousands of people who cheered both his and your name. 

Not knowing what their King was up to not only ten minutes ago. 

[sweetiebarnes]

Twisted Pairing: Step Dad!Lloyd Hansen x Step Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 600+

Warnings: stepcest, voyeurism, female masturbation, nudity, implied future anal, minor daddy kink, dubcon/noncon if you squint, reader is early twenties, age gap.

Request: Lloyd Hansen, Step Dad, “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.”, and anal. Requested by: anonymous

A/N: I'm sorry I've been so slow with writing these. January has proven to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. I promise the stories are coming, and I am looking forward to doing your requests. This isn't my best work, but I still had fun writing it. It has not been beta read, so any mistakes are my own. As always my work is intended for adult audiences so 18+ only! Minors DNI. Pay attention to all tags and warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Writing Event Masterlist (still in the works)

From the first time Lloyd saw you he knew he needed to have you. That’s the thing about Lloyd Hansen, he always gets what he wants. He’d only married your mother because of the connections she provided. With her he’d be able to spread his business out throughout the country. What he hadn’t expected was the delicious present she had been hiding. 

Tonight your mother was out with friends from college. Lloyd knew this was the perfect opportunity to get what he’d been craving. You. He could picture you up in your bedroom reading one of your countless books. It was cute how you always seemed to find ways to avoid him. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he knew you felt something too. There was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and tonight would be the night he finally gets what he’s needed.

Lloyd makes his way up the stairs and stops outside your bedroom door. He’d expected to hear nothing, but instead he could hear what sounded like quiet whimpers. His eyes flutter shut as he leans in closer hoping to be able to hear you better. “Oh… Oh fuck, Lloyd.” There was no denying what he heard that time. You were in there touching what belonged to him. Without giving it a second thought, Lloyd quickly began to undress himself. This hadn’t been how he planned to do this, but when the opportunity presents itself how could he say no?

Once undressed, Lloyd opens your door. It takes you a moment to realize he’s standing there, and boy was he thankful for that. For that meant he was able to get a full spread eagle view of your soaked cunt. He watched as your finger meticulously rubbed your clit. The little moans that left your mouth were like music to his ears. It was when he let out a small grunt of approval that your eyes finally opened. 

The look of embarrassment washed over your face. But that look quickly turned into confusion and horror when you spotted that he was naked. Your eyes traveled down to his hard cock which was now between his large hand. Lloyd’s smirk grew when he saw that your eyes appeared to be glued on him. “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” His eyes never once leave yours as he slowly strides across your bedroom. “Oh come on, sunshine. We both know what you were just doing — who you were thinking about. Come on, be a good girl, show me.” 

The more he talked, the more your body seemed to tremble from nerves. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lloyd.” He rolls his eyes at your attempt to play dumb. He wasn’t going to allow you to continue your charade of being so called innocent. “You really want to play that game? Fine, show me. Prove to me that you’re not soaked right now. Because you and I both know that your little pussy is dripping for me. Dripping for your step-daddy.” His words cause a small to leave your lips.

Maybe just this once you can give into your desires. Maybe just this once you can be bad. 

Lloyd could hear a semblance of a plea when he watched you lay back on your bed. Your legs spread wide, inviting him to come give you both what you need. But Lloyd lets out a small tut and shakes his head. “Sorry, sunshine. That pussy isn’t what I’m interested in right now. I’d rather fuck your untouched hole. Turn around now.”

[denileisariver]

pairing: batman aka bruce wayne x f!reader

summary: in which batman mistakes you for a prostitute, so might as well give him a treat, right?

warnings: no actual smut :(, mentions of non-con but nothing actually happens, implied age gap, no physical descriptions of reader besides having hair long enough to pull, reader doesn't make the best decisions, readers' also probably touch starved with attachment issues but that's okay twin <3

a/n: poorly paced just like everything else i write :) might make a part 2, idk yet :/

you never thought you'd end up here..

yea right, who were you kidding? dressing up in tight shirts and mini skirts, stumbling around gotham in pleaser heels you could barely walk in. you were surprised this hasn't happened sooner.

you'd always been cat-called and hollered at by desperate horny men, looking to get their dicks wet. guess this time, one of them finally got sick of you not ever giving it up.

rubble crunches beneath you, whatever nasty grime on the street of the empty alleyway staining your skin when you're forced onto your knees. dirty hands pull and grab onto your hair to hold you in place. you feel like screaming, but you're frozen, like a deer in headlights.

"c'mon bitch, show me what you got,"

you whimper a bit at one of his painful tugs, tears threatening to well up. you're sure you look pathetic right now, letting this stranger contort your body to his will, not even putting up a fight. and he seems to get off on it, too. one of his free hands begin to pull down the zipper at the seat of his pants, a disgusting, toothy grin on his face that you wish you could smack off of him.

"so glad i met you tonight, love, or else i woulda missed the perfect opportunity to ruin your pretty little cu-" his words are cut off from him, those large wretched hands pulled off of you before you could even blink.

that's when you see him. angry and seething, beating the man that was just about to violate you damn near half to death. batman, knocking in the teeth of the sad man whose pleading for his life like he wasn't just about to ruin yours.

you're stuck in place, just watching, until his face is unrecognizable, dripping with his own blood. it's only then that he finally stops to look at you.

"it's okay, you're safe now."

his voice in low, something deep from his chest that sends chills down your spine. he towers over you, still knelt on the ground from shock, lending out a gloved hand that was still covered in your assailants blood. and you take it.

"are you hurt?" just mentally, you think. when you don't respond immediately, his eyes scan over your body, noticing the scrape on your knee, and you notice it the same time he does.

"i'm fine.. thank you," it's the first thing you say to him. this moment will be forever ingrained in your memory. ever since you were a little girl, you've heard stories of batman. the man who patrolled these streets every damn night, made criminals live in fear, and protected the helpless. you never thought you'd be standing face to face with him.

"it's dangerous, you shouldn't be working these streets this time of night," he grumbles, handing you crumbled up cash that you assume belongs to the man he just beat the shit out of. it isn't yours, but you don't tell batman that, and hesitantly stuff the dollars in your purse. wait.. working these streets? what's that supposed to mean?

your eyes flick up to him in confusion, and that's when you realize. oh.. he thinks you're a sex worker. you guess you shouldn't be surprised. i mean, who in their right mind walks around looking the way you do, a bit tipsy after leaving the bar, at three in the morning in the narrows? prostitutes, apparently. and also apparently, batman seems to think you look like one.

stunned to silence once again by him, twice in the span of less than twenty minutes, you stare up at him with your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of how to even respond to that.

"let me take care of you." is all he says when he realizes you won't add more, a surprisingly gentle hand pulling you towards the batmobile that you didn't even notice was there. your eyes focus in on his hands, and how they could easily wrap around your wrists and arms like nothing.

let me take care of you.

those words repeat in your head, soft and comforting, and you can't explain why. maybe it's cause you haven't been taken care of since you ran away from home, haven't had anyone to protect and provide for you. and you miss it. not that you ever really had much of it to begin with.

he sits you on top of the hood of the car, not even attempting to make conversation while he dresses your wound, carefully cleaning and applying ointment to the cut. his demeanor is almost in stark contrast of what it was just mere moments ago, touching you like you were a fragile glass doll, threatening to break if he applied too much pressure.

you take the small time you have around him to take a really good look at him. batman, right in front of you. a leather cowl that was covered in cuts, armor littered in bullet holes. the only skin that was available to your eyes was his mouth. you could practically feel your own mouth watering, noticing the grey hair that was seeping into his scruff. and those damn lips that looked so kissable.

no.. that isn't right. you shouldn't be lusting over this man just because he saved your life. but then again, you'd always gotten clingy towards guys who showed you the kind of attention you craved, even if you barely knew 'em. you're too caught up in your thoughts to notice him finishing up. "it's rude to stare, y'know?"

"shit, i'm sorry," you stutter out, face flushed in embarrassment. you coulda swore for a split second you saw a smirk on his face, but if it was there, it's gone before you can confirm it.

"it's fine.. let me take you home."

well, there goes that fleeting feeling of actually being taken care of. admired felt like too big of a word to describe it, but that's what it felt like, even if it was just for a couple of short minutes. you don't know why it disappoints you so much that you won't be able to see him any longer, even if it was because someone put your life at risk.

the only thing you can think about while he drives you home is how much more of it you wanted. more affection, more of someone who just cared enough to ask if you were okay, how your day was. you hear him talk about how you should take care of yourself, and it only reminds you of how earlier he assumed you were prowling the streets, looking to sell yourself for cash.

"I'm not a prostitute." you finally tell him.

the rubbery leather of his gloves strain beneath his grasp, hold tightening on the steering wheel. you can see his jaw clench a bit, and you can only assume your confession catches him by surprise. "what?" his eyes flicker over to you, looking over your skimpy outfit.

"i.. was just walking home after a night out." you explain, swallowing a bit when you notice his eyes focused on your legs probably a bit longer than intended. "and thank you.. for saving me."

he's quiet for a moment, seemingly in thought. whatever was on his mind, you'll never know, but you wanted so damn much to know. your heart aches a bit, knowing your apartment was just around the corner.

"i'm sorry that i misinterpreted that," he begins slowly, turning onto your block until the vehicle was stopped right in front of the tiny place you called home. "and you don't have to thank me." and that was the last thing he ever said to you, at least for now you hoped..

he exits the car, opening your door and helping you step out, too wobly on your own heels to stand up right. before you part ways, you make eye contact for a long moment, taking him in as much as possible before he disappeared from you completely. "goodbye, batman."

something about it is melancholic, a look in your eyes that bruce couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. he watches you enter the apartment, staying there for a couple of seconds to ensure your safety, before entering the batmobile again to finish patrol for the night.

he sits there in silence for a moment, his brain rewinding the entire interaction with you. maybe you were just feeling down because of what almost happened to you, or maybe it was something else. a part of him thought maybe you were lonely, and he only suspected that because he felt lonely too. his gaze moves over to the passenger seat where you were just mere seconds ago, and that's when he sees it.

red lace panties, sprawled out of the floor of the car.

you must've taken them off in a hurry when he was going to open your door for you. you take him by surprise for the second time this night, his hands quickly going over to grab them and inspecting the material. they're wet. the cloth is darkened and damp, slick glistening in what little light there was available.

bruce feels his cock jump in excitement at the sight, strained in the tightness of his pants. he subconsciously licks his lips, the urge to put them to his nose or even taste your juices creeping up on him, but he resists. what a naughty girl, he thinks to himself, a tiny grin forming on his face. bruce pockets them for later, looking over your apartment once more, seeing your familiar shadow in one of the windows.

no, this would definitely not be the last time you meet the batman.

[airaibunny]

miyeon x reader - “the idea of her” (warnings: fluff, kissing, nudity)

a/n: BLONDE MIYEON APPRECIATION! this is literally an adaptation of a chapter story i had in my notes app😭 i haven’t the slightest clue if miyeon can drive, but pretend she can. i also do not know how gidle’s dorm situation works, once again, just pretend i’m right.

IM SORRY FOR LYING, I KNOW I SAID I WOULD WRITE THE ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ MINA SMUT NEXT, BUT THIS JUST POPPED INTO MY HEAD AND I HAD TO.

anyway, hope you enjoy pooks😭

word count: 1.3k

"y/n."

"y/n!"

"Y/N?!"

you barely register yuqi calling you as you’re zoning out. you’re at a fansign and should be paying attention to the fans, but you just can’t help being completely enraptured with her.

everything from her gorgeous blonde hair to the way her eyes squint when she smiles has you completely smitten. you’ve been in the same group for years and you’ve felt this way from the very beginning. you’re sure nobody can notice how you feel though, or at least you hope so for the sake of your career. if you’re wrong, cho miyeon might be the reason for your untimely expulsion.

"y/n? are you there? we’re leaving." yuqi waves a hand in front of your face and pulls you out of your chair before you can react. you finally notice everyone packing up around you. maybe you zoned out a bit too hard.

"oh, okay." you simply follow yuqi as she pulls your hand and walks you to the car. the entire way there you’re looking around for miyeon, but she’s nowhere to be seen. once you get to the car, yuqi practically throws you inside and you bump into shuhua.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” of course shuhua being shuhua starts yelling and whining at you. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING, YUQI THREW ME!” shuhua shifts her anger towards yuqi, shouting at her instead.

“oh sorry, i didn’t realize i was in your way, BITCH!" she rubs her arm where you bumped into her and then does the same to you. "you’re the bitch, STOP YELLING!" shuhua stops rubbing your arm and fully turns to the passenger seat where yuqi is. “how the fuck are you going to tell me to stop yelling WHILE YOU’RE YELLING?!”

just as shuhua is finishing her sentence, miyeon gets in the drivers seat of the car.

“oh my god, both of you shut up. i can hear you from outside.”

she isn’t even talking to you, but you halt your breathing unconsciously. fuck, how is she so devine? you’re sitting in the backseat opposite to the drivers seat, so you have a perfect view of her.

“minnie and soyeon are driving back in the other car, does anyone want to switch cars to even it out?”

yuqi immediately storms out of the car and slams the door behind her. shuhua scoffs in response. them arguing is normal, you’re sure they’ll be completely fine as soon as you get home.

“now i feel lonely, someone come sit up here.” shuhua doesn’t react, so you’re guessing she doesn’t want to move. you take advantage of the opportunity and go sit bedside miyeon. she smiles when you sit and your eyes widen, she’s just so incredible.

once you’re on the road, you put headphones in and sneakily stare a miyeon every now and then. a few more minutes into the drive, you feel her hand land on your thigh. you tense at the feeling, but continue facing forward. you all have little to no boundaries with each other, miyeon doing this is not new. nevertheless, her touch quickens your heartbeat immensely.

you fiercely wish you could tell her how you feel. she’s never explicitly told you she doesn’t like girls, so a relationship with her is plausible. be that as it may, you have no clue if she likes you.

you finally arrive at the dorms and follow miyeon around while she grabs things from the trunk and walks upstairs. you practically attach yourself to her every chance you get.

you walk through the front door and flop down on the couch, watching as miyeon walks around trying to tidy things up before bed. you don’t realize that you’re dozing off until someone pats your upper back, softly whispering to you.

“hey, let’s go to bed.”

you slightly open your eyes to see miyeon kneeling in front of your face, smiling at you. you stand and she takes your hand, holding it all the way to her room. you’re hesitant to go in because you don’t normally sleep with miyeon, you share a room with shuhua.

“oh, right. yuqi and shuhua are over their little fight as usual so yuqi went to sleep in your room, they kind of kicked you out.”

“oh.”

you try hiding your excitement as you completely walk into the room. this doesn’t happen often, but you love when it does. you delight in falling asleep next to miyeon, even if she’s in a completely different bed.

“oh shit, i didn’t think to grab your pijamas before they fell asleep. you can just wear mine.”

she picks random clothes from her closet and hands them to you. she also picks some for herself and begins undressing. you get extremely flustered. even after all this time changing together for music shows and photo shoots and whatnot, you still can’t handle seeing her naked. when it’s any of the others, you’re not fazed at all, it’s only her.

she finishes changing and looks your way, rolling her eyes. “change! i don’t want you to fall asleep in those clothes.” she walks outside to do something and leaves you alone in the room. you try changing, but fall back on the bed instead. you’re so tired, you start to doze off again.

you fall asleep and awake a few minutes later to miyeon pulling your shirt off. you nearly die in that instant.

holy fuck.

“i told you to change.”

she completely takes your shirt off and throws it aside, turning back to you. her face is centimeters away from yours. so close that one rough move would make your lips touch.

you feel a sudden rush of adrenaline and lean into her without thinking. you immediately pull back, slapping a hand over your lips.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to.”

she’s frozen for a few seconds. you curse yourself as you feel tears forming in your eyes. why would you do that? that was so reckless. what if you just ruined your friendship with her?

“miyeon, i’m so sorry.”

she puts a hand on your cheek, bringing you in for a kiss. you swear you can feel every single thing on your mind fade away. the only feeling you’re aware of in this moment is her lips on yours. they’re warm and soft, just like you imagined.

“don’t apologize.”

she whispers against you lips with a smile. you pull her back in, deepening the kiss. you know it’s cliché, but you wish you could stay here forever. you part her lips with your tongue, gently pushing it inside her mouth. she giggles at your excitement, letting you take control of the kiss.

“how long have you been holding that in?”

she taunts as she pulls away, placing her hand on your thigh. “i don’t know.” she chuckles at you. “wanna know how long i’ve been holding it in?” your cheeks redden at her question. she’s liked you this entire time. why didn’t you do something sooner?!

“a very long time.” she leans in for another quick kiss before completely laying down on the bed. “finish changing and come cuddle with me.” you hop up and tear all of your clothes off, putting on your pijamas as quickly as you can.

“you’re so cute.” you hear her remark as you’re struggling to put your shorts on. as soon as you’re done, you jump back into bed, wrapping around her like a sloth. you plant kisses all over her face as she smiles, you just can’t contain yourself. you can’t fathom that she actually likes you. the girl you’ve been completely whipped for all this time actually likes you.

she pushes your hair out of you face, running her fingers through it.

“miyeon?” you ask while looking into her eyes. “yes?” she responds, still playing with your hair. “what are we now?” she kisses you again, bringing you closer to her chest.

“whatever you want us to be, pretty girl.”

[bluewatersfairy]

daydreamin' - j.t.

a/n: I started writing this at the beginning of the '22-'23 season and have been meaning to do something with it for literally 2 years. Hope you enjoy lmao!

synopsis: reader gets a little too lost in her head whilst on set with Jayson

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI! small mentions of oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, exhibitionist kink mentioned/depicted, slight degrading/name calling (literally once if you squint), filth but like in a fun way.

word count: 5.3k (imagine if i could just shut the fuck up)

•••

Time felt slowed and your eyelids were droopy, despite the clock behind you reading 11am.  An early call time mixed with a red-eye meant that there wasn’t much time to rest horizontally, or at all.  Some things were worth the sacrifice for though.  He was most definitely one of those things.

When the story first landed on your desk, you almost couldn’t believe it.  The Celtics had been playing on your television for as long as you could remember.  You’d grown up watching every draft and noting down each new player that joined the roster.  You were always in to support the new up-and-comers as a child and in your professional life.  

You’d written and pitched a few stories about the young core over recent years but nothing had ever been picked up for a full length piece.  The best you got was a short piece for one special edition that highlighted the great women that stood behind the biggest sportsmen in sports today.  The NBA section was one of the smallest word counts you’d been given, but you did the best you could.

A full length piece like this being handed to you, a cover story no less, made little sense to you.  You weren’t going to turn it down, but it took you a few minutes to process what was being asked of you.  Truthfully, it hadn’t properly sunk in until you were on the plane, flying cross-country for a 48-hour stay.  A full cover story on someone with all eyes on him meant that it was going to be the biggest opportunity of your career.  Not only was it a big deal for him, it was for you too.  You were not going to let yourself waste it by getting lost in him. 

Even as the sirens wailed, trying to pull you back to reality, your eyes couldn’t pull away from Jayson.  Like magnets, his hands forced you to scan over his chest with his next pose.  The fake sweat that had been sprayed over him caught the light as the photographer wanted and your heart almost stopped.  You didn’t understand why this story meant he had to pose for thirst-trap-like pictures in his Celtic uniform.  Did the universe have something against you?

Someone called your name from behind you and snapped you out of your daydream.  They were clearly impatient, the sound of a clicking pen matching with the click of dress shoes on concrete floors.  With your attention turned back to the little prep work you had left to complete, you did a final once over of the questions you’d prepared for Jayson.  His agent was watching every move you made and when you finally handed them the sheet, they marched off calling a hurried ‘thank you’ to you.  

You took a deep breath for the 100th time and looked over your recorder again.  Full battery?  Yes.  Storage status?  Completely empty.  Vocal tests?  All three completed.  It was fine, perfect even; ready to go whenever Jayson was.  Your anxiety, however, was making it difficult for you to be ready.  In a quiet tone, you started to count to ten, reaching for a cracker as you did.  You needed to nibble on something that wouldn’t come straight back up.  Looking at your hand holding the cracker, you noticed just how obviously your now jumpy nature was.  Your nerves were starting to present to others; this is not good, you thought to yourself, just fake it, smile and push through.  You needed water, a lot of it.  Was your throat always this dry?

“They want me to wear a tie,” Jayson’s voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you to turn around a little too quickly.  His deep and raspy tone had caught you off guard.  Your body’s immediate response was to send spirals to the pit of your stomach and float to your chest with impeccable speed.

“If you’d rather not, I don’t think it’s necessary?”  you replied, your uncertainty and want to please him clear as day. 

“Nah,” he shook his head and flashed his charming smile at you, “they’ve got a vision, I’ll stick to it.”

He had changed into his formal look for the shoot.  It was a classic black Dior suit with a white button up.  It was tailored to his figure beautifully and gave him a really classically handsome look.  It was the lining of the suit jacket that made it special as well as the socks he wore.  Custom-made with embellishments of his home city and his mother and sons’ names stitched over his heart.  He looked incredibly dapper and handsome, clean and perfect.  

You swallowed and let your eyes fall to his hands as he showed you the three ties he’d been given.  They were all quite simple and classic, but you were immediately drawn to the Dior silk black ribbon tie with a bee embellishment

“Which one do you think?” Jayson held all three of them up to his chest and posed for you.  He let out something of a chuckle, his eyes focusing on you as he scrunched his nose.  He was absolutely adorable, and he was starting to make you melt.

You gently tapped on the tie you thought was best and expected him to step away and give you a second to breathe.  Instead, he reached behind you to put the unchosen ties down before putting the one you had selected over his shoulder. 

“Here,” Jayson said, starting to tweak his collar, “could you, y’know?”

You nodded your head quickly and took the tie from him, your fingertips lingering against his warm skin for a second too long.

“They’ve got a stool here somewhere,” you said more to yourself than him as your eyes scanned the room.  You spotted it and brought it over to him, hoping it would help close the height difference.

Jayson’s gaze stayed on your face from the moment you lifted the tie from his hand until the moment you stepped off of the stool.  It was intense.  It didn’t help the way he smirked when you fiddled with the tie.  Or the way he tugged on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.  You almost told him to stop, not that you were actually sure what it was that you wanted him to stop doing.  If anything, you were the one that needed to stop. 

It took almost every part of you to stop the image of you wrapping the tie around his wrists instead of the collar of his dress shirt.  Like dominos, the scene that unfolded couldn’t be stopped, so you’d just have to push it down and ignore it.

Ignore the way he’d look, completely naked with his wingspan stretched out to either side of your bed.  The cool black silk ties secured his big hands against the wooden headboard.  He didn’t struggle against the ties, all he did was wriggle his wrists to see how much he could do.  It wasn’t a lot, he could tell this wasn’t your first time. 

His head turned away from his wrists to find you standing at the foot of the bed, only in an emerald green two-piece lingerie set.  It complimented your deep brown skin devilishly well, Jayson couldn’t look away.  He let out a deep, throaty groan as he watched you slip your thumbs under the hem of your panties and began to pull them down your hips.

“You’re so good to me,” he part moaned, “look at you baby, I can’t say nothin’.”

His entire body flexed as you knelt on the bed only in your bra.  You licked your lips and watched his girthy cock move with the rest of his muscles.  You were so tempted to crawl up his body, and stop with your mouth hovering dangerously close to his dick.  Teasingly, you’d kiss the tip and gently caress the shaft.  Your mouth watered at the thought.  You knew yourself well enough that you wouldn’t stop with a little teasing.  You’d end up taking the whole thing in your mouth, making a mess of your lipstick and your mascara as your eyes watered.  

To compromise, when your mouth hovered over his cock, you gripped the shaft with your left hand.  Jayson’s response was similar to one of pain or a burn – a gasp of surprise that expressed both pleasure and discomfort.  It made you giggle and you wondered if he had ever been like this with anyone else.  

“Fuck,” he dragged out as he watched your spit fall from your plump lips to his tip.  

You rubbed your thumb over the head and dragged the saliva down his shaft, pumping him so you could hear him sing out in pleasure.  He threw his head back and looked up for the first time that night.  He was met with the surprise of a lifetime.  You had had a mirror on the ceiling installed, and he now had two of the best views possible. 

“You could be a professional,” Jayson said as he looked over himself in the mirror.  “I’ve never been able to get my ties just right.”

“I’ll add that to my resume,” you smiled at him and carefully stepped down from the stool.  “Great sports journalist, even better tie-tyer.”

“You could pimp yourself out to fashion houses and modelling agencies,” he laughed, “you’d get an inside scope of what goes on behind the scenes as well.”

“That’s not half bad, actually.”  You shared a moment of laughter, and another of silence and gazing at each other before you were brought back to the real world by the photographer.  

Jayson went back to posing, though now it was less structured.  They were getting shots of him smiling and showing off the inside lining of his jacket, as well as a few of him holding his shoes.  You took a seat and let yourself go over your notes, though you were still distracted by him.  You weren’t sure if it was that he was a natural in front of the camera or simply that he was very handsome, but every time you looked up, he looked beyond good.  You were constantly reminded of just how fine he was and it was so overwhelming.  

He oozed that type of physical attraction that you felt deep in your uterus.  Your whole body just wanted him everywhere and there wasn’t much to stop it.  His quiet manner was no help either.  As a journalist, you were always digging for a bigger story and you wanted to just get into his mind and learn as much about him as possible.  He was easy to talk to, and you found that a connection between the interviewer and interviewee was what made a great piece.  

You needed this to be the best story of your career, an opportunity like this had the possibility of elevating your life and opening countless doors.  Hopefully, you’d finally get that job offer that would bring you to the east coast, the one you’d been looking for for close to a year.  

Your name being called from across the room pulls your gaze away from Jayson and you began to make your way over to what looked to be a team meeting.  There wasn’t much for you to say or do, except listen and nod when appropriate.  Jayson’s team was taking the lead of a majority of this shoot as he had a few other things he had to fit into his day.  You knew going in that the interview portion would come at the end, that you were really only there to get a feel of the vibe and find your footing with him.  

“I’ve gone over your questions,” Jayson’s agent turned to face you, “they’re good, nothing I can tell he won’t answer.  He seems to like you as well so he should give you more than you need for this to be an excellent cover story.” 

You nodded your head, agreeing, to show you were listening and noticed their gaze had gone back to Jayson.  When you turned to follow it, you found Jayson was looking directly at you.  He wasn’t being subtle about it either.  When your eyes found his, he smiled his stunning smile and the camera flashed.

“I might need you to cover him more often if you can get him to smile like that,” his agent commented, “he’s like a child sometimes when he smiles for the camera.”  Without another word, they’d walked away and you were standing alone again.  

You could sense that things were starting to move a bit quicker.  His team seemed to be prepping more and you caught bits and pieces of the requests and questions being thrown around amongst them.  Someone was sent off to get coffee, someone else was sent outside to make sure the balcony was accessible, comfortable and private.  You had assumed you would interview Jayson inside but it seemed everyone else had a different idea in mind.  

It was Jayson who approached you first to invite you out there to get started.  In your past experiences of interviewing professional and famous athletes, this wasn’t a norm.  Usually you were sent to the preferred interview spot to wait for the interviewee and they certainly weren’t the people to direct you there either.  But this was Jayson.  This is the narrative he’d created for himself, a polite, respectable young man.  

He walked two steps behind you, now in a pair of grey sweats and a black Jaylen Brown graphic tee.  He was more relaxed now and in turn, you felt a little more at ease.  If he was still in his Dior suit, it would’ve been a different story, you would’ve felt under-dressed in your business-casual outfit.  

“It’s beautiful out here,” Jayson said as you both stepped out, his hand reaching to the small of your back to guide you around the table and chairs to see the view properly.

“It is,” you breathed out as you placed your hands on the balcony rail.  You felt like you could see forever from right there, like you were at the top of the world.

“It’s so much better at night, when all the city lights are on.  You really feel like you’re on top of the world,” he paused as he placed his hand next to yours, “it’s romantic too.  All the lights in the dark, you’re just a world away from everyone else.  No one can see or hear you up here, it’s comfortable.”  you watched closely as his hand moved to rest on top of yours. 

You tried to imagine it, what it would feel like to be this far removed from everyone, just you and him.  The small of your back seemed to burn as you tried to remember what it felt like to have his hand there.  What would it feel like if there was no material in the way, and he was pushing you forward, making your back arch?

Pitch black surrounding you and just the sparkling lights of the city far below you.  You can barely hear the cars driving by, just the soft breeze brushing past your ears and the melodic rhythm and harmonious sounds of your grunts and moans mixing together.  You’d felt far too exposed when Jayson had first started to undress you but his mouth had quickly erased all your worries and insecurities from your mind.  He covered you in kisses before he reached your core.  He’d turned you around so fast, you’d barely had a moment to catch yourself on the balcony before he’d buried his face in your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds and only breaking to nip at your inner thighs and round ass. 

The second you’d got him naked after he’d chivalrously made you cum twice, his body was immediately pushed up against yours.  Your hands were hot on his body, grabbing at his waist and hips while your lips fought against his own.

“You’re eager,” he teased as he broke away from your lips, grinning as he dropped his head to your clavicle, “‘bit of a change from before.”

“I think it’s more than you’re an exhibitionist and I think logically about how sex with us works.”  Jayson stood up straight at your rebuttal so he could look down at you properly. 

“Exhibitionists like to be seen and heard, look around princess,” he smirked as he spun you back so your ass was pressed to his front again, “no one can see or hear us up here.”

Jayson, truthfully, was exhilarated by the freedom that came with fucking outside and it became very obvious to you, very quickly.  He was louder than usual, but he was making you that much louder too.  His voice was rough as he told you to let him hear you, telling you to say his name louder and louder.  He wanted you to praise him unashamed and let everyone know exactly who was making you cum at that very moment.  

He also wanted someone to see how good you were for him, he was basically begging to see a flash in a window somewhere.  Jayson Tatum and his beautiful mystery whore, oh he could see it in white writing as he pulled out and sprayed his load on your back.  

“Do you want a napkin?”  Jayson asked as he got comfortable in the chair across from you.  

One of the people from his team had brought out their coffees and had given Jayson a handful of napkins.  You made a note in your mind that it was likely because he asks for extra when he had his son with him and it was just what his team did without thinking.  

You smiled and took one from him before crossing your legs and letting yourself relax into the chair a bit.  You mumbled a thanks as you slipped it under your tablet that was resting on your lap.  

You pressed the green button on your voice recorder and placed it on the table in front of you before asking Jayson if he was ready.  He nodded his head eagerly and rubbed his hands together.

“Where would you like to start?”  you smiled across at him and he returned the smile.

“In the middle, like all the good stories.” 

That was what you wanted to hear and you glanced at your notes, not that you needed to.  You knew exactly where you were going to start.

“In your relatively short career thus far, you’ve managed to accomplish many things other players spend their entire lives trying to reach, and many retire without touching the surface.  You’ve got gold medals, a signature shoe, multiple all-NBA placings and now a world championship, and that’s within the world of basketball.  If we stepped out, we could list so many more business endeavours.  We know you idolised Kobe and his own off-season adventures and his life outside the league went far beyond basketball.  What I want to know is what you want your future off-seasons to look like?  Do you have a desire to pursue something creative?”  

It was a long-winded question, but asking it made Jayson light up, this seemed to spark something that he was eager to share.  Starting in the middle was always the best when you had a good vibe with an interviewee.  You’d managed to create an emotional bond of sorts with Jayson already so you didn’t have to do the relationship-building-questions.  You could just ask something incredibly personal and trust that you would be given something you can easily build off of.  And that was exactly what Jayson gave you.

He begun by explaining that in the last two-years or so, he’d grown an interest in art and had started something of a collection.  “It’s not necessarily something to brag about compared to some of the collections I’ve been exposed to in the art-world, but it’s a start and I’m really proud of it.”

He was inspired too, he continued to explain.  He loved the portraits and landscapes he’d been exposed to and the realism of it all, but he was a story-lover above all things and it’s those type of paintings that draw him in.  

“You don’t always know straight away what you’re looking at, but when you read or hear the title of the painting, or a brief explanation about it, you start to see the painting as the story it is.”

“Would you ever consider picking up a brush and trying something yourself?”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “but I wouldn’t want it to be for anyone but me, y’know?  Like them sex portraits and intimate art pieces that are created out of lust and love.  

“I’m lucky ‘cause my job is my passion, right?  I go to work and I train really hard and play even harder and while basketball is a creative process, it’s set in its ways.  I’m so attracted to the idea of doing something that’s physically and mentally freeing and I think that’s why I’m kinda obsessed with those types of paintings and why I wanna make them myself.”

He paused for a second, his eyes pulling away from yours for the first time since he’d started talking about it.  “Maybe,” he adds quickly, “I maybe want to make them myself.”  He laughed lightly and shook his head a little, definitely questioning a little bit why he’d said so much.

But it was good, it was what you wanted to hear from him.  It humanised him, showed more of his personality that he was so protective of.  It was an easy spot for you to jump from as well, you had a million things that you could ask from here and you sure as hell were gonna ask them.  You just had to avoid anything to do with sex and lust, because that was where you’d been stuck for the better half of the last 3 hours since you’d arrived at this shoot.

It was not helping you at all either, that Jayson was manspreading in his seat and you could definitely see his dickprint in his grey sweats.  It was unprofessional, of course, but you could not stop looking at it every few minutes.  And while he was talking about a sex portrait, you could’ve sworn you’d seen it react.  God help your mind and where it was running off to in that moment.

A locked door and a series of paints could be spread all around him and he could be instructing you what to do.  Promising you everything was safe and it was just an idea he had, and a massive canvas he’d found a little too easily.  

Or maybe it would start more innocently.  He’d wanted to try a live-model art class but it felt a little wrong for him, as a well known face and figure around Boston, to show up to a class to draw a naked woman.  So instead, he’d ask you to.  Sketching would turn to painting, or him trying to do something abstract.

“Can I see it?” you’d crossed your arm over your chest, holding your large breasts from spilling out as you walked to stand beside him.  He had this look of amusement on his face that you quickly shared.

What he’d painted and sketched maybe looked somewhat like you, if you focused on your body shape, but everything else was unclear.  You bit back a laugh and tried to wait for Jayson to say something regarding what he’d done.  

“I don’t think painting is my God given talent,” he mumbled quietly and before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.  Jayson turned to look at you and watched for a moment, before he very smoothly flicked paint over your arms and chest.  

“I didn’t say anything!” You squealed as he managed to throw a small amount of paint on you again.  There was this look on his face now that seemed so joyous yet dangerous, like he was plotting something that was no good.  

Your suspicious were confirmed when he started to pull off his own clothes and you realised that he was evening the playing field – this was now war.  Like teenagers, the two of you started running around the room throwing paint at one another and laughing with the highest amounts of joy you’d experienced in so long.  It was freeing and peaceful.  The type of thing, you realised, love songs and stories were made of.  

“God, I love you,” Jayson confessed as he grabbed you around the waist, his chest covered in the red and yellow paint that covered your hands, and you covered in the blue and green that covered his.  

“I love you,” you replied with a massive grin, your arms wrapping around him and you pressed your lips to his.  

“I have an idea,” Jayson smiled as rubbed your core over his dick.

“Are you ever not horny?” you asked, feeling just how much he’d started to feel in a very short amount of time.

“‘Could ask you the same thing?” he smirked before raising his eyebrows at you.  

It was the easiest transition from him holding you to the two of you on the floor, on top of a massive canvas he’d had laying there for the past few days.  You’re on top of him, hands pressed against the canvas as he switched between gripping your hips and your tits, while you rode his cock like a pro.  Your head was thrown back, the lube he’d drenched on his cock before you climbed on made everything feel so much better.  

“Roll your hips just like that baby,” he encouraged you with dark eyes, “you know how to do me right.”

You keep going on top of him until he tells you to stop.  You climbed off him and watched as he hit his cock roughly.  He didn’t want to cum yet, he wanted to do more, you could see it in his face.  You carefully lent forward, your hands leaving prints on the canvas and you gently kissed his lips.

“You okay?” he asked softly as he slipped his hand down your back.

“I’m okay, baby,” you smiled, “I’m just checking if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he echoed and kissed you again, “I have an idea though.”

He sat up as he spoke and moved to be behind you.  He kissed your shoulders and your neck and moved you gently, but with a certain sense of control that made you that much hotter.  You on all fours had given him this idea of your body’s print on the canvas.  Your tits were covered in paint, as was the rest of your torso, it would be a sight to see.  One he needed to see.

He pushed your chest down and guided your ass up leaving your pretty pussy on full display for him.  He let a stream of spit drip onto your throbbing hole and pressed his thumb against it, rubbing and teasing you and making you moan loudly.  You pushed your hips back and wiggled your ass, trying to get him to slip inside you again.

“I want you face down and ass up till I fill that pussy up,” he ordered, his hand pushing you down even more so you were pressed fully into the canvas.

“Whatever you want Jay, just fuck me.”

When he slipped into you again, he filled you to the hilt and did nothing to hold himself back.  He fucked you into the canvas and watched with a devilish grin as you spread your hands out to try and grip on to something.  It left pretty marks over the canvas and made him think more and more about how your tit print is gonna look.

“Your tits are gonna look so good on here baby,” he moaned before smacking your ass, “almost as good as you fucking feel right now, oh fuck.”

You turned your head to the side and let your moans sing along with his.  He was so turned on that it was driving you crazy, you didn’t even know what it was but you needed it to happen more.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Say that again?” you asked as you lowered your coffee mug from your lips, your cheeks red.

“Are you gonna come?” Jayson asked again, “to the ring ceremony?  I know you’ve covered me and Jaylen before, so it would make sense if they fly you out for it.”

You smiled and nodded your head, “I hope they do.  I’ll let them know you asked, might give them the push to do it.”  

“You can give them my number if you want, they can call and I’ll let them know that I personally want you there.”  He winked at you and made you blush yet again.  

You only had a few more questions left, you’d gotten a lot of content from Jayson in the past 30 minutes, you were really grateful for it.  You knew it would read well too and would most likely give you more opportunities for future cover stories.  You knew you could write this well.  You were determined to as well, not just for yourself but for Jayson too.  

You had one final question to ask and it made you smile, this was all very full circle considering you started with a middle-type question.

“Lastly, how are you?  How does it feel to be doing a cover story?”

He chuckled a little and rubbed his temple, “no matter how many I do, I always love doing them.  I forget how good it feels to be in front of the camera, honestly.  I feel real important and I really enjoy being the centre of attention.”  

You giggled a little at this comment and it makes him smile even more, “I really enjoyed talking to you too, I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Hopefully when I’m in for the ring ceremony,” you replied and you both share a short laugh before you’re thanking him and officially ending your audio recording.

Wrapping things up is a much quicker process than getting everything set up.  Before you know it, you’ve shaken everyone on his team's hands and thanked them for having you.  The photographers have told you they’ll be in contact within the next few days and just like that you’re standing in the elevator and the doors are almost closed.

Almost closed before someone stuck their hand in and forced the doors open again.

“Sorry,” Jayson said and slid in quickly, and pushed the closed door button.  He moved to stand beside you and together, you watched the doors closed.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” Jayson mumbled as he cupped your face in his hand and kissed you.  You welcomed his embrace and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Hey baby,” you cooed, looking up at him.

“How long are you here for?” he asked, his hand not so subtly grabbing at your behind, “I’m not leaving your side for the rest of it.”

“30 hours,” you went on your tiptoes quickly and kissed the base of his neck, “I have a couple things I want to do.”

“Mm,” he hummed at the feeling of your lips still on his neck, “I’m so proud of you, this is such a big opportunity and you crushed all that shit.  Everyone was saying they’re so impressed with you.”  

“Do you wanna show me how proud you are?” you asked looking up at him, finally feeling like you can let out everything you’ve been feeling and thinking about.

“Oh,” Jayson said as he realised, “okay then, we gotta go.”

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Coachella)

Summary: You attend Coachella 2024 with Harry, Mitch, and Sarah. Between discovering new music, meeting people you would never have dreamed of meeting, and spending time with your three significant others, you'd say it's a pretty perfect day.

AN: Thank you to @ba8ygal for requesting this! It was very fun to write, especially with Harry currently making the rounds attending a bunch of festivals!

ALSO! I took some creative liberty with the Coachella schedule and blended Friday and Saturday's shows so it makes sense for the story.

Previous Chapters: Can be found here!

Word Count: 1.8K

CW: alcohol consumption

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One regret you have in life is not going to Coachella in 2022. It’s not that you had an opportunity and turned it down. In fact, you didn’t even know it was happening until after it ended. You also weren’t a Harry Styles fan at the time. But you woke up one morning in April and suddenly your entire tik tok for you page was Harry Styles and Shania Twain singing together. 

Growing up, your parents always listened to country music so Shania’s songs were often played. It’s no surprise the algorithm showed you these videos, and you’re very grateful that they introduced you to Harry’s music. 

In the following weeks you watched not only Harry’s Coachella videos on repeat, but videos from numerous past performances both solo, and from one direction. Suddenly, your life has been changed. You were now a huge Harry fan. 

After finally seeing one of his concerts, you became obsessed with his band as well. Which is why it was so startling to bump into his drummer Sarah, and her husband/Harry’s guitarist Mitch. Even more surprising is when the married couple got close to you, so close that they invited you into their relationship, which eventually grew to include Harry as well. 

Now, months into the four of you being together, you’re headed on a trip to Coachella. It’s not too often that you all go out in public together, not because you’re hiding per se, but more because Harry’s been laying low since Love on Tour ended. Plus Mitch and Sarah had been busy with Mitch’s tour for Come June. 

All three of them are extremely excited to attend shows, rather than be in them for once. They love performing, but it’s nice to take a break and let other people entertain them for a day. 

The four of you had created a plan for which shows you’d go see on this one day adventure. The toughest part would be getting from Chappel Roan’s set to Sabrina Carpenter's. Who in the world thought to put them at overlapping times? 

Getting there is more of a production than you’re used to. But this being such a busy music festival, everyone’s safety is being taken very seriously. Meaning instead of the four of you just driving there together, you’re loaded up in a van with a driver and a couple security guards. 

You’re sitting next to Sarah in the back row, Mitch and Harry in front of you. Harry turns to you and says, “Stay close to me today. I don’t want anything happening to you.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes considering he’s already said this numerous times. But you know he means well, is just looking out for you, so you reply, “I will, Harry. Promise.” 

To be honest, you’re a little nervous. The closer you get, the more real the situation becomes. Sure you’ve been talking about this day, but now that it’s here you feel a little worried. Mostly about what people might say about the four of you together. 

You’re going to have to be careful, keeping a distance from Mitch and Sarah so people don’t speculate about your relationship with them. It’s always exhausting when you need to tiptoe around your boyfriend and girlfriend but it’s worth it to keep your relationship steady. 

You’re also nervous to be seen in public as Harry Styles's girlfriend. You’d overthought your outfit, changing it repeatedly in the past few days. It wasn’t until all three of them told you that they loved your outfit that you finally felt confident in it. 

You just hope you won’t embarrass them, that you won’t reflect poorly on Harry. You know that people can be harsh, and they’ll judge Harry based on the things you do and say. So yea, you’re a bit anxious to be attending a music festival with him. 

When the four of you arrive you’re taken to a VIP area. It’s where you’ll be hanging out any time you’re not watching anyone’s sets. You’re only there a minute before other people start arriving. You lean close to Harry’s side and he quietly whispers information about everyone. You’re grateful that he’s keeping you in the loop, making sure you know what’s going on around you. Otherwise, you know you’d just be standing there with a polite smile and feeling so out of place. 

After a quick lunch, you all make your way to one of the stages. As you walk out, Harry’s hand goes to your waist, making sure he’s always in contact with you so nothing can happen to you. 

You all spend the afternoon listening to a number of performers, switching stages when necessary. There's a moment when Harry leaves to run to the bathroom and someone else in the crowd gets close to you and Mitch instinctively pulls you to his side. Sarah quickly intervenes, stepping between you two so she can hold onto you instead. 

You hate not being able to be near Mitch in public. At least with Sarah people just think the two of you are besties so you can get away with holding each other, so long as it doesn’t look too romantic. 

Finally it’s time to see Chappel Roan. You’ve been looking forward to this moment. She’s as great a performer as you’d heard and you have a wonderful time singing and dancing along. You'd taught the other three how to do the Hot To Go dance, and you know videos of them doing it will be posted all over social media before the day is over. 

As soon as her set is finished, security guards help you get to Sabrina Carpenter’s stage. You’d missed the beginning, but have fun watching the rest. Mitch definitely notices the way to watch Sabrina, but truly you can’t help it. She’s hot, and you have eyes. 

Harry suggests grabbing food and eating dinner in the van. He knows you’ll all appreciate some time to recharge and be away from other people. You sit in the back with Mitch, still keeping space in case people see in, but you do get to hold hands for a bit which fulfills your need to be close to him. 

“What time is it?” You ask as everyone finishes eating. 

“About 7:15,” Sarah replies. 

“Can we check out Jon Batiste for a little bit?” You ask. 

“Of course love. Ready to head over now?” Harry answers. 

“Yup, let's get back out there!” 

You miss the look the other three share. They’re so endeared by your excitement, so happy to bring you to your first festival and see you have fun. If there’s one thing they love, it’s being able to introduce you to new experiences, and they love seeing it all through your eyes. 

For the next hour you all walk around the festival, peeking in on a couple different artists before finally making your way to see Ice Spice. This had been Harry’s request, and the rest of you were on board. 

You’d seen a fair number of celebrities throughout the day, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what happens next. Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce enter the VIP area you’re in, and quickly make their way over. 

Harry lets go of you briefly to hug Taylor and shake Travis hand. 

“Taylor, this is my girlfriend, Y/N, and this is Sarah, and Mitch,” Harry says, introducing you all. You’re taken aback when Taylor pulls you in for a hug as well. 

You’d been a fan of hers since you were in middle school, but you’re determined to keep your chill. You settle for a simple, “It’s so nice to meet you! I love your music.”

“Thank you so much!” She replies. “Have you made it to any of the Eras Tour shows yet?”

“No, I haven’t been able to go,” you say with a jokingly over exaggerated frown.

“Okay, well we have to fix that,” she says, and before you can process what she means, the lights go down and music begins to play. 

You all focus your attention on the stage, cheering for Ice Spice as she begins her set. As everyone dances and signs along, you notice Harry being even touchier than before. You’d all had a couple drinks throughout the day, nothing too crazy but just enough that he’s definitely feeling a little loose. And he always gets extra clingy when he’s had a drink or two. 

It never feels overbearing or possessive with Harry (or Mitch and Sarah for that matter). It always feels safe, secure.  There’s also a sense of pride in having Harry by your side. You know there are thousands of people who’d love to be in your position, and you try to never take for granted the fact that Harry has chosen you. 

The four of you dance together, laughing when you see Travis effortlessly lifting Taylor up to see over the crowd, Harry jokingly doing the same a second later. It’s a fun little group, and it’s easy to see everyone is having a great time letting loose for the night. 

When Ice Spice finishes you all say goodbye to the others, Taylor taking your phone number with the promise to be in touch, which absolutely has your mind spinning. 

You’re starting to get tired but you’re not ready for the night to end just yet and so you watch No Doubt followed by TheDrums. The latter band was Sarah’s find, having obviously been intrigued by the name and then fell in love with their music. It’s not what you’d normally listen to, but seeing how much she enjoys it has shifted your perspective on them. 

It’s nearing midnight and Harry notices how much you’re starting to lean on him, indicating your energy is officially depleting. With a look to your security, your group starts to head back to the van. 

You and Sarah once again take the back row, and you only last a few minutes into the drive before you’re sound asleep on her shoulder. When the van pulls up to your shared home, you’re woken up by the feeling of someone jostling you. 

“Sorry baby, tried to carry you in without waking you but it’s an awkward angle,” Mitch says. 

“That's okay,” you practically slur out, moving just enough to get out of the vehicle and into Mitch’s arms. He carries you straight to the extra large master bathroom and the four of you all get ready for bed. 

Even in your drowsy state you can’t help but think about the contrasting sides of your life. Everything is always so lavish and exciting when you’re in public with your partners, but here at home it’s so calm, so domestic. 

Crawling into bed surrounded by the others, you’re so grateful for every aspect of life that comes along with loving and being loved by Harry, Mitch, and Sarah.

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Thank you so much for reading! Someone else requested an angsty extra a long time ago and I could not for the life of me figure out what to do. BUT I finally got an idea so that will be coming soon!

[otomehonyaku]

Diabolik Lovers Lost Eden Stellaworth Tokuten Short Stories スペシャル特典小冊子 ☽ Shuu ver.

This short story booklet was part of the Stellaworth set for Lost Eden! Keep reading below the cut for Shuu’s version.

S ☽ [Ayato’s version by @kyouxa] [Laito’s version by @kyouxa] [Shuu’s version] [Reiji’s version] [Kanato’s version] [Subaru’s version]

M ☽ [Ruki’s version] [Yuma's version] [Kou’s version] [Azusa's version]

TK ☽ [Carla’s version] [Shin’s version] [Kino’s version]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As always, special thanks to @karleksmumskladdkaka for providing the scans ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The familiar I sent off disappeared into the forest in the blink of an eye. I had entrusted it with a letter of gratitude to the Vibora. Ever since we established peace with them, the relations between Vampires and the Vibora have improved significantly. I had just come back from a diplomatic visit to the Vibora’s castle.

It would be a stretch to say that the Demon World had returned to a perfect state of law and order, but there was at least a reasonable balance between the different Species now.

In the midst of these events, I had assumed the throne. It’s not like the responsibility that came with being the Vampire King had naturally occurred to me, but to succumb to the whims of my mentally disturbed father had been even less than ideal. I had no intention of letting him destroy the world so easily.

I closed the window and returned to my chair, exhaling in relief. That letter should have been the last one I had to write for now… As I sat lost in thought for a moment, I sensed a presence outside of the room. However, whoever it was did not knock on the door. With a sigh, I called out.

“What are you doing over there?”

The person outside the door seemed surprised that I had called out so suddenly. After a brief moment of hesitation, the door was opened with reluctance. As expected, it was her who poked her head into the room.

“You’re really perceptive…”

“You just give yourself away too easily. Why were you just standing there, anyway? You might as well barge in.”

“Well… I figured you’d be busy…”

I sighed again. Even though we had been living together like this for a while, she was still trying to be courteous. I’d already told her she didn’t have to do that for me, but she had a nasty habit of doing it anyway.

The official duties I had to carry out had been piling up recently, and I felt like the extent of her worrying about me had increased along with it. Knowing her, she would likely be afraid to be in the Vampire King’s way. However…

“I’m not particularly busy. I’ve done my work for the day. Did you need me for something?”

“Nothing specific. I just…”

“Just…?”

She kept silent.

“What? Are you still that reserved around me?”

“No, but…”

I stood up from my chair and walked over to her.

“Then why won’t you just be honest and tell me that you came in here just because you missed me?”

With one hand, I pulled her close to me and kissed her more roughly than I usually did. I pushed her body up against the wall, taking my sweet time to taste her lips again. Somehow, the act made me feel a little nostalgic.

“It’s been a while since I did this, hasn’t it?”

“Huh? But you…”

It seemed she’d been about to say it herself—I could tell by the way her face flushed. Actually, I’d kissed her earlier this morning, so it hadn’t even been that long. If anything, what she’d been trying to say was…

“It feels like it’s been much longer because I was so busy, right? But, since I’ve taken care of things for today, I can finally spend some time with you. Since you’re already here, humour me for a bit. I need a break.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off by pressing my lips to hers again. I could feel the strength leaving her body. I took the opportunity to plant a kiss on the pale skin peeking out from under her shirt collar, causing her to whimper. It was easy to push her down onto the bed in this state.

”Sorry, you can’t behave that way and expect me to hold back. This is your own fault, you know?”

She stared at me, bewildered.

“You’re probably trying to be thoughtful by avoiding me, but I go a little crazy if I don’t see you for a while… and you know what happens to this world when the Vampire King loses his composure, don’t you? So stay close to me. We’ll all be in trouble if you don’t.”

She nodded in understanding.

I smiled as I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t just nod for the sake of it, but keep your promise, will you? I don’t feel like letting you go for today, so be a good girl and keep my company until I’m satisfied.”

With that, I wrapped my arms around her delicate body a little tighter.