#do you ever get to a panel that makes you push away from your desk and exclaim ‘no’ in disbelief

[tbcanary]

folks. we need to talk about the canonical existence of “lantern fusion.”

[mcu-coworkers]

Vampire

Summary: You tell Miguel his truths and in return he shows you his.

Word count: 1.9k+

Warnings: none really:]

A/n: Hello everyone welcome to long awaited part 4 as well as the final part to this little series! thank you guys so much for loving it I truly can't express how grateful I am for all of you I hope you love this ending and I hope to you all again in my next story! Also I will be attaching the tag list to this chapter since hopefully that makes it a little easier to find everyone. I hope everyone enjoys.xx

Tag list

Parts: I II III IIII^

Credits to the owner^:)

It had been a week since you went back to HQ and you were starting to feel lighter.

In a way, telling Miguel your truth helped you get there.

Because now, you didn't have to keep thinking about the thought of what you’d say to him if you ever saw him again.

But you did see him again, and in your opinion, you said just the right things.

Suddenly you found yourself having more energy, listening to happier songs, and taking Milo on longer walks or fun adventures.

Things were finally starting to look up for you, so much so you actually thought about returning to the spider society to get back on fighting multiversal crime.

Right on queue Peter walks through the portal.

“You sure you wanna do this? You said you’d never come back.” he questioned remembering how he found you right after everything happened.

Thinking about it one more time, you smiled and turned on your suit.

“Yep, I'm just gonna lay low. Be a freelance spider with no commitment to a sector or anything you know?” you said reassuring yourself.

“Okay but  I   mean more like to get back in you’ll have to talk to Miguel. And he hasnt been in the best of moods lately.” he said watching as you walked.

Your smile only got wider as you made your way to the portal, for the first time you felt nothing.

No butterflies in your stomach and no heart beat skipping at the mention of his name.

Progress right?

Shrugging his shoulders Peter followed you in standing right beside you as you entered the busy hallways.

“Alright well  I  ‘ll leave you to it. I'm gonna take May Day to get her mid day nap.” he said walking away.

“See ya later Pete thanks for bringing me in.” you said waving him away.

As you made your way to Miguel's office you thought about what Pete said earlier, had he really been such a grump.

You’d think he’d be happier not having to deal with you.

But like always, nothing and no one could ever help that man no matter the case.

As you made your way up Miguel was practicing his speech with Lyla.

“... I   didn’t mean what  I   said that day and if  I   knew the damage it would do  I   wouldn't have said it in the first place? Sounds stupid doesn't it?” he said, turning to face her.

“Yep, just like the first two times you said it. Miguel when you go find her you have to speak from the heart not from a piece of paper it just sounds so Scripted.” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Scripted? It's not scripted. I just think writing my thoughts down will help me pull it together.” he said huffing in frustration.

“How about this, you pretend im Y/n and tell me what you’d say, no notes just your thoughts. Right now.” she said sitting in a little AI chair she made for herself.

Thinking about it he just gave up.

“Okay but record it so  I   can take notes after.” he said, beginning to pace around the panel.

Sighing he began to get frustrated with himself, “Ay cono esto no esta sirviendo.” he said rubbing his face.

“Come on Miguel, get to it.” Lyla said, rushing him.

“This is stupid! Shes probably off with who ever the fuck Milo is having the time of her life because  I  , like the big fucking idiot  I   am, pushed her straight into his arms!” he said, at this point he was over the smashing and breaking things so he just leaned against his desk.

“It doesn't matter what  I   say anymore Lyla, She’ll never forgive me, she’ll never listen to me.  I  ‘ll never get to tell her that  I   love her and even if  I   did she’d never believe it because she thinks  I   am a big giant asshole.' ' he said lowering his voice as he got close to the end.

“But you know what? That Milo is one lucky soul, he gets to look into her eyes, make her smile, just simply be in her presence. He has everything  I   wish  I   had. Y/n.” he said, still looking down.

“ I   was a vampire, sucking the life out of her and then just tossing her to the side like she meant nothing, when in reality she was fucking everything Lyla. Milo is one lucky guy.” he said, looking up at Lyla to see her smiling.

Confused by her reaction he was getting ready to ask.

“Milo is a dog, my dog.” you said, startling him.

“Dios mío (my god), Y/n? What are yo-what are you doing here.” he said, his heart practically racing out of his chest.

“Well  I   was here to ask for my place back in the society but  I   think I'm gonna go.. Yeah I'm gonna go.” you said as tears began to well up in your eyes.

There was no actual way you just heard all of that.

Looking between you and Lyla Miguel went after you.

“No no no wait just please.” he said, holding onto your arm.

Pulling back you felt anger, the audacity of this man.

“Who do you think you are? Huh?  I  was so in love with you Miguel! So stupidly in love with you because  I   thought you were this hero that helped everyone and you just needed someone to help you.” you said laughing to yourself.

“People told me to stay away from you, that you’d never accept the help or even my friendship. But  I   shook them off and thought they were crazy for not wanting to see through that rough surface you carried, but  I   did,  I   wanted to.  I   wanted to believe that  I   could break through and see the real you, but  I   realized there is no breaking through. That was it there was no surface, that's just who you are and it was all thanks to you. No one else helped me realize it, just you.” you said shoving a finger into his chest.

“And when  I   took that leap of faith and told you how  I   felt you kicked me to the curb, you bled me dry like a goddamn vampire. Because of you  I   almost gave it all up.  I   was so broken, so lost. All because  I   risked my place next to you and  I   lost it. But in reality   I   never had it. There was no place next you because you're Big bad Spiderman 2099 and you work better alone. Fine, work alone.” you said walking away, nope, not walking away you weren't done.

“ No you know what, it's not fair. You do not get to reject me and make me go through all of this to just turn around and say that you love me. You’re a vampire, Miguel O’hara. You just like to suck the life out of me and toss me to the side until you feel like using me again.” you said tears were beginning to fall.

“Y/n please,  I   never meant for you to feel like this,  I   just,  I   just want you to come back.  I   understand if what  I   said was too much but we need you here.  I   need you here.” he said, looking at you with soft eyes.

God he was making it difficult to walk away.

“If this is your way of getting some fucked up little thrill  I   wont do it,  I   wont.” you said looking at him with threatening eyes.

“ I   know it's hard to believe what  I‘m saying but could you atleast try? Dios mio mujer  I‘m trying to confess my love for you and you're making it impossible!” he said, running his hands through his hair.

He fell for such a headstrong woman.

Looking at you again he decided to just go for it, “Oh fuck it.” he said looking at your lips.

“Wha-” before you could finish his lips were on yours and he was pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

Putting your hand against his chest you considered pulling away but as he cupped your face and pulled you closer your hands found themselves making their way to the back of his neck and pulling him closer.

Pulling away, Miguel continued to give you pecs allowing you to catch your breath.

“Believe me now?” he whispered.

“Mmmm, still a little skeptical.” you said smiling as he leaned back in smiling into the kiss.

“Aww aren't you two just the cutest? Lyla please tell me you got that.” you heard startling you as you pulled away.

“Yup, got it all.” she said pointing to the recording hologram, “So good.” she said smiling.

You tried to detach yourself from Miguel but he continued to hold you tightly by the waste.

So instead you opted for hiding into his chest and smiling.

“What do you need, Parker.” Miguel said as he looked at the walking interruption.

“My friend who came to see the walking grump was taking a little long just wanted to make sure she made it out alive.” he said, covering May Day's bright eyes.

“As you can see she is alive and well, you can go now.” he said, putting his attention back on you.

“Alright, im gone you kids be safe, take it slow.” he said jokingly.

“Peter!” you yelped turning a bright shade red.

“So,  I'm a blood sucking vampire?If  I   knew any better  I‘d think you have a thing for vampires amor.” he said as he kissed down your neck gently grazing you with his fangs.

Moving your head to give him more space you moved your hands into his hair and pulled at the roots.

“Just one.” you said smiling as he brought his lips back to yours.

“Good. Because this ones gonna do more than suck the life out of you.” he said as he pulled you back in for a kiss.

Smiling into the kiss you pulled away trying to control your laughter.

Confused by your reaction Miguel just watched.

“You were je-jealous of my dog?” you said trying to catch your breath.

Shoulder slumping Miguel hoped you wouldn't bring that up.

“You're not letting that go are you.” he said looking at the wall.

“Oh no, never  I   do have to admit, he is one handsome boy.” you said bursting out in laughter.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” he said as he attempted to keep a straight face, hearing your laugh in his office again made it hard.

Finally, everything was how he wanted it.

You at his side, with a dog, but nonetheless at his side.

Now he just had to get Milo on his side too.

Did this mean he was a dog dad now? 

“Wait Lyla did you know she was coming here?” he asked suddenly realizing that you just so happened to walk in at a perfect time.

“Yup, saw her on the surveillance footage and you were taking too long for my liking, you are welcome boss man.” she said, saluting him before disappearing.

Deciding to let it go he focused back on you, “worth it.”

Meanwhile Lyla was showing the other spiders the video collecting her winnings from the bets she placed.

“These damn AI’s always know everything.” Jess whispered under her breath.

She’d take it up with Miguel later, but for now… who knew he could be such a softy?

You did, more than ever now.

[littlest-dark-age]

Day 1 : Fall out in the cold star light

Stalker eddie can't seem to keep his hands to himself

tw : somno, thigh fucking, pet names (precious angel, baby, good slut), eddie calls himself daddy, delusional eddie, slight degradation, mentions of eddie following reader. If I missed anything, please let me know

Eddie knows he shouldn't feel like this, and that his feelings towards you shouldn't push him to do illegal actions. Especially when the town already is convinced he sacrifices goats behind his trailer, yet he can't seem to help it. Finding himself standing in front of your house well past midnight, with such perverse intentions. 

He didn't mean to sneak in while you were home the first time it happened and panicked when he saw your sleeping form tucked into your cozy bed. You had said that you'd be staying the night with Robin whenever he was watching you in the library. Yet in the few hours that he wasn't staring at the back of your head and straining his ears to hear your words, something had come up for her to not be able to have you over that night. Eddie quickly decided that this, being able to watch over you as you rested peacefully unaware of him so close, was better than shoving his face in your pillow and blowing his load all over your poor teddy bears. This is where such a dirty and disgusting habit was born. Sneaking in when he knew you were at home and daring himself to do more and more every night, silently hoping you'd wake in the midst of him touching you. 

Eddie climbs the vine covered lattice panel until he's able to grab onto the edge of your cracked window and hauls himself into your room. Instantly being welcomed by the gentle glow of your little lamp tucked away on the corner of your desk and the sight of you, slightly snoring with your face squished into the pillow. 

A smile spreads across his face at the sight of you, his sweet angel, before he shrugs off his jacket and vest and carefully kicks off his beat up shoes near the window. Eddie shuffles over to the side of your bed in the dim light, trying to be quiet so as to not wake you. He bends down and softly strokes your exposed cheek with his large, warm hands. A bolt of excitement running through him like it always does whenever he gets to feel you, even if it's something as simple as resting his hand on your cheek. 

Growing bolder at the fact that you didn't stir at the light touch, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and another to the tip of your nose. Resting his own forehead against yours, Eddie closes his eyes and simply breathes you in for a moment. Before he mixes your intoxicating scent with his own. 

"I love you so much baby. Can't ever get you out of my head but I'm not sure if I want to." His gentle mumbles seem so loud in the calm air of your bedroom. 

Slowly standing all the way up, he begins to crawl onto the bed with you. Stilling when his weight causes the springs to creek as he examines your face for any signs of your waking while he has one knee on the bed, perched on the soft mattress to be as close as he possibly can be. The closeness and your scent causing his cock to stir in his ripped jeans and making them even tighter on him. 

Eddie is finally able to settle in and lay down next to your sleeping body, tucking himself into your neck as he slides his hands over your blanket covered side. Slowly rubbing up and down the length of your side before beginning to tug the soft blanket down, little by little. Revealing your cute pajamas that you got for your birthday last year that also happened to be your favorite, at least that's what you told Robin. He feels like he knows you so well yet is still so far away from you, as if you were the sun and he was the moon. Forced away from one another, yet Eddie couldn't resist your pull. Always wanting to keep you in view, needing to know every scrap of information you would give him. Even if you didn't know you were giving it to him. You consumed Eddie in every way possible and had to know you did, it's why you never bothered to lock your window or the reason you'd always wear such cute night clothes when you knew he was going to sneak in. At least, that's what Eddie convinced himself to push the guilt down of cumming into your underwear the first time. Now he doesn't care, too high on the feeling of you and being able to feel you. 

Blinking away the thoughts that flood his corrupt mind, Eddie shifts you carefully onto your back and finishes tugging the covers down to your thighs. 

"My precious angel….god, look at you. You were teasing me today, weren't you? Showing off those legs during gym because you missed me? You don't have to slut yourself out like that just because I've been busy, honey. Daddy was just busy, that's all. Didn't forget about you….not one bit." Eddie practically purrs out into the silence of your room while fumbling with the knot on the drawstrings of your pajama bottoms. 

He pulls down the bottoms and lifts your legs ever so slightly, giving himself just enough room to wiggle between them. His cold rings grazing your warm and soft skin as he looks down at you from sitting on his knees. Free hand reaching down to unzip and pull his half hard cock out of his jeans, hissing at the cold. Shifting his hips so he can rut against your thigh, brows furrowing at the feeling of your pillow soft skin. 

The sound of Eddie's jeans ruffling against your sheets fill the room along with the quiet squeaking of your bed as he rubs himself against your thighs. Eagerly tugging up your top to reveal your chest, he leans down and presses sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your stomach. Hunched over your body, covering every possible inch of skin with his drooly kisses, slowly making his way up your chest and around your nipples. Flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and moaning at the taste of your skin. 

"Hold on baby, sorry, gonna rearrange you a bit," he shuffles around so both of your legs are to the left of him and pressed together, trapping his cock between your thighs ",there we go. Fuck…" 

Eddie slowly starts to pump his cock between your legs, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back. Imagining how much better it would feel to actually be in you. 

"No no no, not yet. Want you awake when I finally fuck you. Wanna watch you struggle to take my cock, gonna stretch you out so fucking good. Its tempting though, fucking you awake. Watching that peaceful face turn to shock when you realize what's going on. See those pretty eyes roll back when you feel how good I am to you, that I'm doing all of it to make you feel good." He rambles to the ceiling, hips slapping against your thighs and making them jiggle with every thrust. The mental image of you spread out on his dick causing the knot in his stomach to tangle even further, bolts of pleasure running through him as sweat starts to form on his hairline. 

Jaw dropping as he tries to bite back his moans, whines and hushed whimpers still escaping. Wanting so badly to be able to moan out your name like a prayer but knowing it wouldn't end well if your parents found the town freak corrupting and using their child's body for his own sick desires. The thought of them, and the whole town, knowing that you're his nearly sends him over the edge. You'd be branded with the mark of the beast in their minds and so he'd get you all to himself for whatever he wanted. 

Eddie yanks your underwear hurriedly, holding up one of your legs against him so he can tug on his weeping cook. Gripping himself, he quickly begins to fuck his fist. Pressing kisses to your calf that's resting on his shoulder, the knot in his belly finally snapping as he cums all over you. Thick white spurts coating your precious skin as his whole body shudders. Hips pumping into his slick fist so he can give you every drop of his cum as he pants. 

"Fuck, take it. Take it like a good slut for daddy. That's it baby, that's it…" He rasps out with closed eyes before gulping and beginning to adjust your clothes. Rubbing your underwear into his cum to make a nice wet spot that you'll get embarrassed about in the morning. 

Eddie takes a moment to make sure his knees won't give out as he's climbing back down your lattice paneling, watching your chest rise with every breath. Thinking about how tomorrow during lunch, you'll tell Robin that you think you might need to see someone for leaving such a large wet patch in your underwear over a dream. Not knowing that the town freak, Eddie munson, was the cause

[tinypandacakes]

Too Sweet Not to Share [Capt. Price x Ghost x F!Reader] Ch. 2 — Discovery

Two heavy knocks sounded at the door, a solid fist against the wood. Your eyes shot open in alarm, and you looked up from your place on your knees between your captain’s thighs. Price looked unworried, his posture still relaxed and leaned back in his desk chair. You, on the other hand? A bucket of ice water may as well have been dumped over you, yanking you from the moment in an instant. Your mind raced a thousand miles in a second — your clothes were off, you probably looked like a mess, Price was nowhere near finishing, and —

“Captain, a word?” Ghost’s gruff voice came through, muffled on the other side of the door.

No.

Oh, fuck.

Not him, not him. Why could it not be literally anyone except the one man who unnerved you almost as easily as Price could? This situation was precarious enough as it was, and this was the closest you’d ever gotten to being caught. You two were playing a dangerous game—

and now, you might get caught.

You lifted your mouth off of Price, your lips trying to form words and questions but failing to come up with anything coherent. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping away the moisture across your lips and chin.

Another knock. Shit.

You tried to stand and find your clothes and maybe at least make yourself halfway decent and not seem like a complete bumbling fool in front of Ghost when he came in. But Price’s hand dropped to your shoulder, halting you before your knees left the floor, his grip unyielding as iron.

Price’s boot nudged at your knees, coaxing you to scoot to your left and back. What was he doing? You needed to scramble to throw your clothes on, clean yourself up. Your brow wrinkled in confusion as he guided you —

under his desk.

Oh.

It wasn’t a bad hiding spot, really. You were obscured from the front, the thick wood paneling hiding Price’s legs and you. As small as you were, it wasn’t quite uncomfortable as far as space went, your shoulders only hunched slightly.

The knock came a third time, an insistent thunk of the side of a fist against the door. Price was still unhurried, smoothing down his shirt. Your heart rose into your throat.

“Ca-Captain, Sir…” you started. “The Lieutenant,” you said, voice hushed. “He’s—he’ll—”

“Hush,” he shushed, his hand slipping to the top of your head, pushing it down until your cheek rested against his thigh. “Be a good girl and wait here for me. Quietly,” he added sternly.

[usagichuu]

university!dan heng x reader oneshot

a/n: a continuation of the university!dan heng headcanons! it’s been a while since ive properly written so please bear w me, not proofread so also plz bear w me

genre: sfw, first kiss, gn reader

notes: i actually do a lot of archival research in uni irl and hence this scenario has crossed my mind many times but for context for those who haven’t been around uni libraries before: to maximize space many libraries will have their shelves packed together in one huge block of shelves, so you can’t actually access the shelves by walking between them. in order for you to access the shelf you’re looking for you need to turn a wheel on the corresponding shelf to push the adjacent shelves aside and open up a pathway for you to walk between the shelves (does this even make any sense?). but you need to be careful! because if you aren’t paying attention, someone in another row may be trying to get a book and when you open up yours you might squish them :( anyways! context so this makes sense.

It’d been a few weeks into the semester since you first met him at the library, since those steely gray eyes that peered over at you from the front desk seemed to puncture right through your defences. It’s funny how one day of forgetting your laptop charger could turn into a new daily routine of dropping by the library, requesting to rent one just so you could be struck again. Charger rentals quickly turned to him asking you about the books you’re reading to chats about classes. Then one day he started leaving you cups of tea on your desk for your late night sessions - and always when you have your head down for a power nap so you can’t ever thank him. But the teabag in your cups are always the same brand as the ones you see dangling from his thermos, though he will always deny it.

Today you actually did need his help, though. You were looking for a specific book that was not in the regular library shelves, and needed someone to guide you through the labyrinth that was the archives. Luckily for you, Dan Heng seemed to know them like the back of his hand.

“Sorry to take you away from your job like this.”

“I work at the library help desk. You are asking for my help,” he says matter-of-factly, “This is quite literally my job.”

The archive stacks lay out before the two of you, with stacks on stacks of shelves stretched out for what must be all the way from East to West campus. With the archives located in the library’s underground level, it was entirely plausible. The archives room was lit by large fluorescent panels on the ceilings, which seemed to hang low compared to the tall shelves. It was crazy how in a room that loomed this large, they still had to stack the shelves together to accommodate all of them. Each shelf had a great big wheel on its side, which you knew you had to turn to roll the adjacent shelves aside, allowing you passage to the shelf of your choice. With the smell of finely aging books curling yellow with the years wafting through the room and these great big contraptions of shelves, being down here almost felt otherworldly. You looked to Dan Heng - how long must someone spend down here to sift through the shelf labels as algorithmically as he did?

“May I?” Snapping out of your awe, you found him holding his hand out to you, expectantly. Wait - what?

“Huh?”

“Your phone. I forgot the call number.”

Oh. You hand your phone over. This deep into the archives, with the fortress of shelf stacks in front and behind you, the ceiling lights could only reach so far. So when he opened your phone, the light of the screen gently illuminated his face.

“Interesting background.”

“Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Friendly banter is an effective way to make a friendly atmosphere between library staff and visitors.

���I didn’t take you for the bantering type.”

Just before you swear you could detect an almost imperceptible smile. But just as quickly as it came, the light of your phone was snuffed out.

“Here it is,” he set both hands firmly on the wheel, turning and rolling what must have been eight stacks of shelves aside, which gave way with a creak and the crackle of plastic-wrapped books. A space opened up between your two target shelves, just wide enough for one of you at a time to pass through.

“Looks cozy,” you say, taking a step inside. But you knew this was the farthest right he could push the shelves, and you didn’t want to trouble him to push aside any more. “Let’s go find that book.”

You two work silently, scanning the bookshelves row by row: you on one side and him on the other, meeting in the middle. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little flustered when you two bumped shoulders as you finished the first row, him just silently turning to you, shaking his head. It’s not on this one. And then you two proceeded to the next row.

You went on like this for a little bit, occasionally accidentally brushing hands as you two closely watched the book spines, only for you to hurriedly draw your hand away. But row by row, shelf by shelf, he started to move his hand to yours first, your hands lingering, skin to skin, for just a moment as you both pretended to be carefully observing the last book. Never daring to look the other in the eye lest either one betrays the look on their face. First a brush of the knuckles, them the backs of your fingers, then-

The shelves began to close together with a heavy groan. They must have been so quiet, else must not have realized you two were there, and began to close up the stacks, and they were closing in quickly.

Dan Heng immediately put himself between you and the incoming shelf, bracing himself on the shelf behind you. “Excuse me!” He shouts to the stranger, and the shelves ceased.

The stranger called back. “Sorry! I’ll be done in a sec!”

The momentary shock settling down, you realized the position you were in: the two of you, pressed dangerously close together, Dan Heng with one arm above you to steady himself on the shelf behind you, looking down at you. Your faces were so close as you turned your head up to look at him, you felt a lock of his hair brush your forehead.

“Are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something, when you realize that with his body pressed to yours he could feel your heart beating wildly in your chest - and was that his thrumming in response? Must the adrenaline from saving you from the shelves be getting him this worked up? Why was your own heart still fluttering if the threat is over? And… Why did your face feel so warm?

“I’m…” You look into his eyes for the first time since you two entered the shelves - he’s handsome. Devastatingly handsome. The faint ceiling lights cut through the shelves, offering a window of light for you to look at him, him to look at you.

“Sorry… Is this too close?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s… It’s fine…”

Your eyes wandered - could he see where they were looking? Down his face to his lips, and you tried to focus on something - anything - to distract you but all that was before you was him, his eyes gray like winter above you, his heart thumping through his jacket and against your chest, and his lips, god, his lips.

You two stand in silence as you try to peel your eyes away from him. But then he gently puts his free hand under your chin, tipping it back up to look at him. You can’t hide it now - you cheeks flushed pink, the way you’re looking at him. Your foreheads are touching now, his eyes searching yours as his gentle breath fans across your face, a few locks of hair on your cheek stirring. You quietly whisper.

“Is teasing me also part of your job description?”

A flutter of his eyelashes. Yours closing in response. Your hearts, drumming up courage in you both as he lowers his face and you bring yours up to meet his.

And then the gentlest, gentlest of kisses. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, and his hand under your chin drops to your waist in response, drawing you near. His kisses are long and drawn out, then punctuated: short, sweet like haiku syllables, playing out on your lips, writing you to life.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

a/n: thanks for reading yahoo!

writing masterlist

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Sexiest Bedroom Scene Ever

(x)

Summary: Y/N is determined to make Jensen get some sleep, even if other ideas keep popping into her head. And his.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Nothing really. Some kissing, some mentions of naked Jensen, implied smut.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 1,103

A/N: Listening to Jensen talk about how exhausted he was during his JibCon panel today, my mind immediately began thinking of how much I'd like to take care of him and help him get some rest. This little drabble came out of that!

As always, of course this story is about a Jensen from a different part of the multiverse, who is single.  This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

"Surprise!" You shouted as Jensen walked through the hotel room door.

His olive green eyes went wide before a huge smile spread across his face, brightening the room.

"Y/N, sweetheart! What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled you into his arms. You didn't answer immediately, just wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his broad chest. After nearly a month of zoom calls and brief daily check-ins before bed, you just needed to savor the feel of him and the scent of him, so close to you again.

Finally you pulled back, resting your chin on his chest and looking up into his face. The exhaustion you saw there made no difference to the beauty of his face, but it did make you very excited to show him the surprise you had waiting for him in the bedroom.

"When did you get here?" He asked just before pressing his lips to your forehead.

"About an hour ago." You pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders, and then tossed it into the couch. Pulling on his hand, you tugged him toward the bedroom. "Which gave me just enough time to make the bedroom super sexy." You said in a seductive voice.

You could see heat bloom in his eyes, warring with exhaustion. "Oh, really?" He said, and you could hear the trepidation amongst the intrigue in his tone.

Poor guy. You pushed open the bedroom door and put him out of his misery.

The door opened onto a sleeper's paradise. The lighting was dim, and soft, gentle Spanish guitar music played quietly in the background. A pair of soft cotton pajama bottoms were placed over the back of the desk chair, just waiting for him to slip into them, and the thick, cozy covers on the bed were pulled back invitingly.

Jensen looked down at you and the relief and joy in his eyes was almost comical.

"Jesus, that may be the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen!" He enthused. "God, I love you." He said before capturing your mouth in a hard, passionate kiss that left you stumbling slightly and gasping.

You shook your head. "You can't do that again, or that bed is not going to be used for sleeping."

Again his tired eyes flared with lust. "That would be good too."

But you just shook your head again. "After, honey. I promise, after. But right now, you have a night ahead of you that includes eight hours of uninterrupted, deep sleep."

The moan that rolled out of his mouth made your core clench. God, you'd waited so long to be with him, and he looked so good, and he smelled like heaven.

But you gave yourself a mental pinch. This is not about me! you reminded yourself. This is about taking care of this man who often forgets to take care of himself.

"Thank you, so much." He said, as he pulled you to him again, resting his chin on your head.

You kissed the hollow at the base of his throat and then pulled away from him before you could be tempted into more.

"Arms up." You ordered and he lifted them immediately, as docile as a sleepy toddler.

You pulled his green t-shirt over his head and tossed it away. When faced with his bare torso, you couldn't help but run your fingers over his bare chest and down his flat tummy to the button on his jeans.

"Mmmm..." Jensen moaned low. "Keep that up and that bed is not going to be used for sleeping." He said low and quiet, repeating your warning back to you.

"Tsk! Tsk!" You chided. "Be a good boy, and when you wake up there'll be a treat waiting for you." You purposely slid your hand over his hardening cock as you pushed his jeans down over his hips.

He hissed and you pulled away, walking to the chair and grabbing the pajama bottoms.

"Tease." He said softly, as he took the pajamas from you and pushed down his boxer briefs.

When you moaned at the sight of his cock hanging between his legs, semi-hard and beautiful, Jensen chuckled and pulled on the pajamas.

Ignoring your raging hormones, you took Jensen's hand and led him over to the bed. You stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Okay, Mr. Ackles, I order you to crawl in there, close your eyes and sleep until I wake you."

Jensen frowned. "Are you not sleeping with me?"

You shrugged. "I have a few things I should work on before I go to bed, and I thought you'd get a better sleep if you had the bed to yourself."

His beautiful mouth slumped into a fat pout. "But I always sleep better when I have you near me." His voice was definitely a whine and without waiting for you to respond, he turned you so your back was pressed into his chest and then pulled you down onto the bed.

"Jensen!" You squealed, surprised by his manhandling, but not objecting to it.

He spooned in close behind you, and grunted into the side of your neck; you shivered. "I want you close by when I wake up, cause I'm gonna want that treat you promised."

You turned your head so he could kiss you and he did, holding your cheek and turning your face a little more, so he could reach his tongue deeper into your mouth.

When he ended the kiss you were both panting and you turned your face away from him.

"Jensen Ross Ackles. You knock that off right now, and go to sleep." You admonished him breathlessly.

He chuckled low and squeezed you tighter as he settled in against your body. "Yes Ma'am."

Within minutes he was sound asleep and you turned in his arms to look at him. His face was always a work of art, but never more so than when it was in repose, close beside you like this, close enough that you could count his freckles.

You were tempted beyond belief to run your fingers across his plush lips, trail them along his sculpted cheekbones, connect the dots of his freckles with your lips. You'd d been so long away from him.

But up close you could also see how his eyelids were tinted blue with exhaustion, his cheeks seemed a little more hollowed than usual from the lack of sleep. So there was no way you were going to chance waking him.

Instead you just stared at him and slowly felt yourself being lulled to sleep by his deep, rhythmic breathing, and the warmth of his body pressed to yours.

You closed your eyes and let your mind drift into pleasant dreams of what awaited you when you woke up.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@siospins2

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@fangirlxwritesx67

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

[sunshinereddie]

stay calm

so i haven’t quite finished my ACTUAL fic for day 5 of reddie week yet (it might not be ready until tmrw, unfortunately) so i’m deciding to share some snippets from another crossover idea i had…

reddie x five nights at freddy’s!!

im aware that this is a pretty niche crossover but it’s one of my favourites, so i hope you enjoy this small snippet! 🐻🐰🐤🦊

1,726 words. cw: blood and child death mention.

@reddieweek Day 5 Prompt: Books/Games/Movies/TV!

read under the cut!

“Hey,” Richie says, dropping his headphones to dangle around his neck. “Did you know that a kid died here once?” Richie bites down on his bottom lip to try and hide his smile when he sees Eddie’s shoulders stiffen and his hand freeze as he toggles through the different cameras.

“Yeah right,” Eddie finally says, but Richie can see right through the false confidence he’s trying to put on.

“I’m serious,” Richie presses, rolling his chair over to the cameras, leaning close to Eddie. Eddie flinches at the harsh squeaking of the chair’s wheels and the sudden appearance of Richie at his side. Richie grins at the sight of Eddie’s pale face and his wide, worrying eyes before he continues. “Back in ‘87, there was a birthday party going on here. Apparently, the little birthday boy just loved one of the animatronics and wanted to give it a hug, but kids aren’t allowed on the stage. The employees told him it was dangerous, but the kid thought, what could be so dangerous about them? So, when none of the staff were looking, the kid climbed up onto the stage and tried to start playing with one of the animatronics, the fox one. He must have pushed a button or yanked the machine the wrong way or something, because next thing he knew…” Richie jumps forward in his seat and slams his hand down on the desk, the harsh clap cutting through the silence of the office and making Eddie recoil back in surprise. “The fox freaked out and bit the kid’s arm clean off. Apparently there was blood everywhere- he bled out before the ambulance even arrived.”

Richie leans in closer towards Eddie, waiting to get a reaction from him. When Richie finishes telling his story, Eddie looks like he’s about five seconds away from pissing his pants. Richie tries his best to hold in a laugh as he watches the story sink into Eddie’s mind, the images Richie planted into his head haunting him.

“You’re full of it,” Eddie says eventually, rolling himself back over to the desk. “Stop making shit up.”

“I’m not!” Richie defends. “It’s true. I went to middle school with the kid’s older brother. He told me all about it.”

“Well, then he was a liar,” Eddie says firmly, some of the shakiness disappearing from his voice. Richie isn’t sure if Eddie is trying to diminish Richie’s story, or comfort himself.

Richie shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “He wasn’t. That’s why they keep the fox off the main stage nowadays.” Richie reaches over to the camera panel and switches the monitor from the main stage to the camera titled “Pirate’s Cove”, which displays a fuzzy image of a small stage closed off with a curtain and a sign attached to the stage reading, Sorry! Out of Order. “They weren’t sure why it bit the kid in the first place, so they couldn’t repair it so it wouldn’t do it again. And, apparently there was so much blood that they couldn’t get it out of the suit.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not nice to tell lies?” Eddie says, switching the camera from Pirate’s Cove back to the Main Stage.

“Oh, she did,” Richie replies. “She also told me never to come back to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, because they say that the ghost of the boy who died still haunts the place to this day…” His hand sneaks around the back of Eddie’s chair, then grabs the collar of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie practically jumps out of his seat, letting out a string of curses as he smacks Richie’s hand away.

“Asshole!” he says, grabbing a ball of crumpled paper from the desk and launching it at Richie’s face. Richie also nearly falls from his seat, but in his case, it’s because he’s howling with laughter at Eddie’s reaction. Richie didn’t mean to really scare the poor guy, just to poke fun at his nerves, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, Richie thought it was kind of cute, the way Eddie’s cheeks and ears flushed bright red as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Oh, man, that was good,” Richie says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”

Eddie grumbles something that Richie couldn’t quite hear, though he could assume the general idea from Eddie’s tone. Richie wheels himself back over to his side of the desk, lifting his headphones back onto his ears and pressing play on his Walkman. He glances over to the clock on the wall- it’s 1:37am. The night had been going by painfully slow, but at least that amused him for a little chunk of time. And hey, Richie thinks to himself as he reassumes his position of resting his feet up against the desk and leaning back in his chair, at least if I start to get bored, I know a way to entertain myself.

Eddie, on the other hand, was not as impressed by Richie’s idea of “entertainment.” It took a few minutes for his heart to slow back down to a normal pace, with Eddie glancing over to the side every once in a while to make sure Richie wasn’t getting up to anything else.

Eddie doesn’t believe a word that Richie said. What kind of a business would keep things open and running if a kid was brutally killed in their restaurant? And they would especially never keep the animatronic that did it. There was no way. But still… Eddie shivers at the image that his over-active imagination created in his head, of the scene- the false scene- that Richie has described.

Eddie also does not believe in ghosts. Out of all the things that Richie said to try and scare him, the idea of the ghost of this child haunting the restaurant is the most ridiculous. It was just a silly ghost story, one that Eddie is much too old to be getting scared of. But still… Eddie had to admit, there is something haunting about the animatronics, as he stares at them on stage through the camera. He knows that they are supposed to be fun and exciting for the kids, but Eddie wonders how anyone could enjoy a party run by those things. The rabbit one isn’t that bad- it looks dirty and its jaw hangs at a weird, broken angle that makes Eddie wonder how it got like that. The bird, sitting on the far end of the stage isn’t much worse, but it also isn’t any better. Its beak is full of teeth that Eddie thinks are just a bit too sharp for the mascot of a children’s restaurant, and it wore a bib around its neck displaying the words LET'S EAT, but the words are faded and hard to read underneath several dark, splattered stains on the white fabric. But the worst had to be the bear, Freddy, the face of the business. It's not that Freddy is necessarily scary, but Eddie finds it hard to not get creeped out by those eyes staring back at the camera, eyes that seem a bit too humanlike-

Eddie freezes.

Wait a minute.

Had the bear always been looking into the camera? The rabbit and the chicken are staring out to the room, their metal eyelids shut, and Eddie could have sworn that the bear had been in the exact same position. But even through the static of the camera and the darkness of the dimly-lit building, there was no mistaking it- Freddy is staring at the camera. Staring at him. Eddie tells himself he must have just not been paying attention before, that Freddy had always been looking towards the camera, and Eddie only just noticed now because he was actually looking at them, not just scanning over the pictures of each camera. Yes, that was it.

Eddie stares at Freddy. Freddy stares back. His eyes are open wide, so much so that Eddie can see most of the white of the white ball in the sockets, with the black pupils painted on directly in the center. He knows that they’re nothing more than plastic balls painted to look like eyes, and yet… something about it still makes Eddie feel unsettled. He knows that they’re nothing more than plastic eyes in an animatronic suit, but it still feels like they’re… watching him. It still feels like they can see him.

Eddie starts to turn to Richie to ask if he could remember if Freddy had always been looking to the camera or not, but he quickly catches himself before the words can make it out of his mouth. Surely if Eddie asks a question like that, Richie would make fun of him for the rest of the night. Eddie can already feel the embarrassment burning his cheeks as he imagines Richie’s teasing, “Wait, don’t tell me you actually got scared from that story! Oh man, I really got you!” Eddie shakes his head and lets out a grumbled sigh, unheard by Richie through his blaring music. As much as Eddie would have hated to hear Richie say it, he knows Richie would have been right. Why is he getting so worked up about it? The animatronics don’t move, he was just letting Richie’s stupid story fill his head with an even more stupid idea, and causing himself to uncessarily worry. Eddie is sure he must have just not noticed where Freddy was looking until he started paying attention to it. Eddie turns back to the cameras, ready to switch off from the Show Stage to do another check of the building.

Freddy isn’t looking at the camera.

Freddy, now perfectly in position with the rabbit and the bird on either side of him, is facing the room in front of him, leaving Eddie to stare in shock at the side of his head. Eddie leans forward, getting as close to the monitor as he can to make sure that yes, he’s seeing things right, that yes, Freddy is not looking directly into the camera, he’s looking out in front of him, in fact he’s not looking at all, because his metal eyelids are shut. It almost looks like he’s sleeping.

As Eddie looks at the camera, there’s only one thought in his mind.

What the fuck?

[conceptsformyowner]

💻 Strictly bound to my desk

PTJ #30

Last week (I’m a week behind) I was…actually, I’ll let AI summarize it:

Last week, the narrator was chained to their desk for four hours and experienced a pleasurable feeling of belonging to their Owner. Later, their Owner blindfolded them and engaged in a session of hunger play, feeding them a single piece of bread throughout the day, followed by a session of bondage and humiliation. The narrator felt a sense of objectification and pleasure in being used as their Owner's "bondage toy”

I mean…wrong tone and voice but very accurate. 9/10

Enjoy!

🌄 Daily

Tuesday ⛓️🖥️⛓️ | ⬆️⬆️⬆️

On Tuesday, my Owner chained me up for my working hours. I work 4 hours every day on my computer, and to feel like I still belong to them even when I’m doing something else and they can’t interrupt me, on Tuesday they started tying me to the desk.

With me standing at the end of the dining room table, my laptop sitting on a small elevated standing desk on top of the table, my Owner grabbed both my ankles and tied them each strictly to two of the table legs. My legs now forced apart slightly, with absolutely zero leeway, they then removed a panel that’s part of the top of the table, so they could thread my chain through the hole it left. They looped the chain back around and back up to my neck and they snapped it in place.

I now could not move my ankles. At all. Really really strict. Ugh. I love it. And even my torso had limited movement; I could stand comfortably, but moving backwards was not an option, or standing on my toes.

They stepped away, told me how much prettier I was when I was restrained, kissed me, and then left me to my work.

In order to keep from having to constantly sort of flex forwards, since my ankles were ever so slightly misaligned in front of my torso, I managed to reach out to grab a chair, and I spent a few seconds positioning it behind me, to form some sort of “backrest”. I could relax a bit more now, my hips pushing against the chair’s back, and the chair pushing against the wall.

This was a bit easier.

I spent three hours like that, my legs growing more and more tired and sore. I eventually had to sit on the floor, even if my feet were kept apart uncomfortably and my neck was still chained to the table.

I loved it. It made me feel so theirs. Lately they’ve also been calling me ”my bondage toy” which makes me so happy. I’m kind of ashamed about being a bondage toy, I hardly ever see anyone describe that as something they’d desire, something they’d want. I feel like a freak. You know what it’s like, you’re reading this, you’re kinky. But all of this made it so much better. I adore being my Owner’s bondage toy. And being restrained while working is wonderful. I hope we find more ways of doing it if it gets to be too much on my legs. I think we definitely will.

Later that day, while we were on the couch, they wrapped their arm around my waist, kissed me strongly and said:

“Lets go to bed. I’m gonna fuck your face.”

They led me to the room, made me kneel, then put their hand in my hair, made a fist, and started dragging me to bed.

Fuck

Tossing me on my bed (the floor next to their bed) they blindfolded me and led me up on to kneel on their bed. They fucked my face while using a vibrator, double toy, and when they were done they plugged my face hole with the used vibrator. Fuck. They’re so hot. I love when they put things in my mouth. I love when they use me, and they did it again, pushing their fingers down my throat and then making me suck and lick them until they came a second time. They fucked my face one last time before allowing me to lie down and rest for a second, still blindfolded. Used and worthless. Their object.

“I love coming when you can’t.” they said while turning me around and kissing me. Fuck.

They made me stand next to bed and gave me a nice spanking session, then a (SUPER TASTY) chocolate treat, and then we finally cuddled.

I had earned 3 points, totaling now to 45.

Friday 🥖 | 🪝 | ⬆️⬆️⬆️

🔴 CW: hunger play - the whole day | triggered;dr at the end 🔴

On Friday, we had rolled the dice the day before for what I would eat that day and the result was: Nothing.

Allowed only to have breakfast so as to be able to take my medication, I was restrained to my desk, like on Tuesday, and hungrily I did a few hours of work.

A few friends were coming over that afternoon to play TTRPG, and my brain needed to kind-of function, so my Owner allowed me to have a single piece of bread, that I would have to ration throughout the day as best as I could.

Our friends didn’t question why I was taking a tiny bite out of a barely-eaten single piece of bread every 20 minutes, but maybe they already assumed it had to do with our dynamic, which they’re not oblivious to. If they had asked, my Owner would’ve surely taken the opportunity to show off how much they can degrade me, that that was all I was allowed to eat that day. They’ve done it before. I love it when they do that. I love when they show me off or humiliate me like that.

After our friends left, we were in the kitchen cleaning up and preparing dinner when I started thinking that I should announce that I felt too free, because I was starting to.

Just then, before I could say anything, they pushed me against the kitchen wall, pulled my hands above my head and to the back of my neck, pulling down while kissing me, thoroughly enjoying exposing me and making me more helpless.

But then they looked above me and they got that shine in their eyes.

“I wonder…”

They pulled my hands up above me until I was on my tiptoes. Slightly confused, and very subbily startled, I looked up to see what they were doing.

omg

They were trying to attach each of my cuffs to a hook in the wall of the kitchen. I had to stretch out all the way and get on my tiptoes before they managed to get the rings of my cuffs through the hook.

They let go and stepped back. Fuck it was tight. Bending my arms was completely impossible, the cuffs pulled tight on my wrists, forcing me to stay on my tiptoes if I wanted to keep my blood flowing to my hands. It felt incredible.

They looked so in love. “Oh you look so prettyy”

My breath was heavy, I was helpless, completely exposed, stretched, immobile except for kicking maybe (though they very quickly fixed that by joining my feet). Just a hooked up object. Fuck. This is amazing. This is it.

They grabbed the now half-eaten bread, showed it to me and said “Are you hungry?”

Fuck yes. Yes I was. Fuck.

“Yes, s…wait…no…” but I remembered for a moment, “toy doesn’t have wants.”

I don’t know if my Owner wanted that answer or if they wanted me to beg for the food, I honestly would’ve done any, I am whatever they want me to be. In any case, they decided they didn’t dislike that answer.

“Good toy.” they smiled and fed me a bite of bread. To a person this would’ve seemed like a small bite but it was much bigger than the ones I had been taking all day, since this bread was all I was allowed to eat.

They stepped away, left the bread on the counter and simply continued making dinner while I was there, hanging, hooked up, stretched in the corner next to the fridge that would cover and hide me with its doors whenever my Owner would open it. They went away for a bit and turned off the light, which just added more objectification on top. Just a captive, hanging, exposed and helpless, suffering in the corner of the dark room.

It does not matter. It does not have rights.

They came back, turning the light back on.

“Do you want to eat?”

“No, sir.”

“Good toy. Oh, wait.” They said and quickly left once more, returning with a blindfold in their hand. They placed it on my head, blinding me completely, and firmly instructed: “Open”

I opened my mouth, expecting to be fed as reward for behaving well, when I felt the silicone starting to be pushed into my mouth. Surprised, I took the dildo the whole way up to the very base and then held onto it as my Owner left it in my throat.

My Owner took pictures and filmed me, telling me how beautiful I looked. I won’t share the pictures here, but @musingsformyowner said they looked beautiful and my Owner agrees. Just an object that my Owner can approach and use whenever they want and then just leave hanging there.

I heard my Owner open the freezer, and then I felt them press an icecube against my chest. They ran it through my body, making me quake and shiver, which is the maximum amount of movement I could make. I was in toyspace, just being tortured and used, just a naked hooked up object, hanging vulnerable with its mouth plugged.

They placed the ice on my shoulder and left it there, slowly melting on my skin and dropping ice-cold drops of water, now sliding all the way down my defeated, weak body.

The kept playing with me, calling me pretty, calling me worthless, “My beautiful worthless toy.”

After a few minutes, the ice had slid off my body and onto the ground when they released me, led me to the sofa to allow me to lie down there, and gave me the remaining bread.

I ate the rest of that day’s food before they flipped me over and onto their knees, and spanked me for 60 seconds as my daily pain training session.

They took me to their bed and fucked my face, then put me on top of them stuck their fingers in my mouth while they jerked off, making me lick and suck them and drool down their arm as they reached their second orgasm. They fucked my face to use me for a third time before resting, and sending me to sleep tied up on the floor as usual.

Damn

Hot damn

I love them

I got 3 more points, totaling to 48.

PS: Next to my bed, we’d brought an emergency bread in a tupperware in case I found myself not able to sleep from the hunger. Luckily, I was fine and did not need it.

🟢 Td;DR: My Owner found a way to hang me from a hook in the kitchen so that I’m stretched out. They did that and gagged me with a dildo, ran ice down my body, released me, spanked me, and fucked my face 3 times. 🟢

🌇 Closing thoughts

As per the last couple journals, I’m in a bit of a rush, if I’m lucky the next one will be the last rushed one. I love all of this. I can’t believe this is my life. I hope you enjoy reading it. Any questions, I love answering them.

See you in a few days for this actual week’s journal!

[a-very-bad-klefkichain25]

Chaos

The magic screamed out of me. A cacophony of black and red sparks burst around the room. Tables and chairs flung back. The desk cracked down the center.

And that … Monster.

The monster hit the wall with a loud crack as the wooden panels broke from the impact.

I move forward slowly, the burning red of my magic trickles up and down my arms.

“Do you ever think about all the lives you’ve ruined?”

The monster flung its arm out, still conscious. Good. I wanted it to see its death coming.

An array of lights appeared in the air, shooting out at me, however, a flick of my hand bounced the closest away from me, hitting the wall and leaving a scorch mark. I raise my other hand, condensing my magic in a shimmering black red shield, reflecting more of the monster’s magic.

With a flick of my fingers, the shield rushes out, a shockwave that slams the monster into the wall again.

“P-please.”

I rush forward, coating my hand in chaos magic and grab the monster around it’s throat. Where my fingers dig in, it’s skin sizzles.

“Did you know they call chaos magic nigh uncontrollable?”

I lean in closer, pushing down on the monster, keeping it pinned.

“As I see the world,” I whisper. “so shall it be.”

I glare into the monster’s eyes.

“You have given me the greatest catalyst to learn how to control what was thought to overtake the user.”

I can feel the power surge, I’m certain my eyes begin to glow a burning red to any who saw them.

“Hatred. Pure and simple.”

I push down harder, making the monster whimper.

“I will become a monster so that others do not have to.”

I hear movement and look to the side, and see Daighre, flames flicker from his eyes and hands.

“Y-You there! Boy!” the monster shouts out. “Save me from this crazy man! I’ll give you enough money that you’ll never need to fear hunger or cold!”

Daighre takes a few steps forward, his attention only on me.

“Is that him?” he asks me. “Is that the man?”

I stare at Daighre.

“Yes.”

He nods, affirming.

“Your actions are your own Tyrian; you know I won’t judge you for them. I know what he did to you.”

Daighre turns away, but looks back.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Blessed Zaccra would punish you for doing what you need to do either, I think you’ve still earned peace Tyrian.”

And with that he walks away.

“No!” The monster shouts. “Get back here and help me you stupid fu- “

I slam my weight down on the monster, cutting it off.

“My rage is justified, and my thoughts are aligned.” I say to the monster.

It looks at me in fear.

“All my magic, any magic, has ever needed, is the abject belief that it will happen.”

I let my magic flow out of me, burning red and oil pitch.

“You thought you could take advantage of all those children? Of me?”

I begin to burn into the monster’s skin. It begins to scream.

“You will receive the death you’ve earned.”

I push downward and let my magic flow.

[naomi-m-7777]

How Do Smart Light Bulbs Operate

Have you ever fallen asleep in a chair only to wake up to switch off a light? Or do you start out the driveway and then realize you left a light on? Instead of getting up or moving closer to a switch, you may just push a button on your computer, tablet, or smartphone to turn on a smart home light bulb.

Regarding electrical components and appearance, "regular" light bulbs and "smart" light bulb are comparable. The primary distinction is the use of WiFi or Z-wave technologies to link smart light bulbs. A central device (like your router or a control panel) that interacts with your computer or phone is the point of communication for both WiFi and Z-wave equipment.

Smart switches, smart plugs, and smart lighting

Smart switches allow you to remotely control lights in addition to manual light control like regular switches. They are fixed in your wall and have a variety of controls, including those for lighting, bathroom ceiling fans, fireplaces, and more.

For wirelessly controlling lights that don't use a normal size bulb, smart plugs are fantastic. To ensure that your work is always lit, you may automate your desk lamp to turn on as the sun sets.

Why smart light bulbs are a good idea

They make it simple to operate lights around the house

Lighting can be controlled from anywhere in the house with smart light bulbs, which is one of their top uses. If other rooms' lights were still on, you could save time at night by turning them all off using your phone. When you're finally cozy in bed and realize you left a light on downstairs, smart light bulbs can also come in helpful.

They safeguard your home

Home security is a less obvious but no less significant application for smart light bulbs. It is important to install lights that you can turn on and off while you are away from home because homes that appear empty for days are better targets for burglars.

Use smart light bulbs to reduce your electricity usage

You're less likely to leave lights on while you're not using them if you can control them remotely and create routines for them. Even though it's unlikely that a single light bulb is to blame for your high electricity bill, you can still save energy by just using the lights you actually need at any one time.

Energy-saving LEDs are used in smart light bulbs.

Compared to conventional bulbs, each smart light bulb will use less energy. Smart light bulbs use less electricity to produce the same brightness because they are LEDs. Additionally, the average LED light bulb has a lifespan of at least 15 years.

Families' daily lives are made safer and more connected with Cove Smart. For more than a decade, we have been innovating the home security sector. And that's only the beginning.

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[sunflowergyeomie]

can you handle it?

sypnosis: jeonghan is a real pain in the ass, we all know that. he always seems to get you to do things you never agreed on doing, you try not to fall for them though. what if one day you accidentally fall into his trap and give in, without knowing at all?

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader (vagina bearing)

genre: established relationship, fashion design student!au, architect!au, smut (18+ only)

word count: 2.9k

warnings: profanity, m!dom, degradation, lots of cum play, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names, size kink?? if you squint

a/n: bcos the irl girl version of jeonghan (aka my devil angel twin) @shuajeong told me "there aren't any fics of jeonghan lately", thus ✨this is written purely for you and your pain 😘 i have to say though, this isn't my best work :( i kept going back and forth and i rewrote and changed things at least three times so 😖😖 (i'm lowkey done with it so i'm sorry i tried, i really did) please forgive me.

Challenge?

Oh, it’s a challenge, alright.

Annoyed is what it is, lips pressed tightly together as you sink in the indescribable feeling. That’s what was currently happening seeing how there is a huge load of cum in your panties – an ignorant aftermath of your quickie with Jeonghan this morning before he drove you to class.

He even had the nerve to question how long you could stay like that for the entire day. You took that as him asking for a challenge and having been with you for a while now, Jeonghan knew you were never one to back down from them. Having basked in the afterglow of sex sure made you think anything was possible – or more accurately speaking his dick just made you dumb.

Now that it’s almost noon, you’re absolutely starting to regret the choice you’ve made, especially when you’re sitting halfway through your second lecture for the day, simply feeling that load threatening to spill out from the cotton panel, onto your inner thighs and slowly ooze down your legs.

Multiple calls of your name put a halt to your thoughts. A hand waves across your face while your eyes focus and refocus as the silhouettes come into sight. Your friends, Mingyu and Minghao are both staring at you, confusion etched across their faces, anticipating an answer from a question one of them probably asked. But in all honesty, you couldn’t recall the subject matter, nor did you give a shit about their issues because your main concern at this time is to get the hell out of there. “Oh, huh? Oh yes, sorry, yes, I’ll absolutely do that.”

A little laugh escapes from Mingyu’s lips while Minghao frowns. “I said.. What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asks, “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Minghao chimes in. “We can take n-“

“I’m fine, guys. Just a little tired,” You brush off, not wanting to go too deep into whatever you were currently feeling. It’s not that the guys weren’t close to you. In fact, they grew to be one of the closest ever since freshman year when all three of you showed up in the same pattern drafting class, wary looks on everybody’s faces in a new environment. Since the fashion department itself is small with only a few hundred students enrolled, it also meant that classes were taken with familiar faces, rarely is there a fashion student you haven’t seen before. Not to mention you were always being grouped in numerous projects and that’s how the three of you came to be. Both of them knew of your relationship with Jeonghan, of course, but there’s just some things that are better off left unsaid even if they are your best friends.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the both of them stealing glances at you every now and then. Even though they didn’t buy your excuse, Mingyu and Minghao knew better than not to bug you about it so throughout the whole three-hour lecture, you could just sense their concern emanating off their bodies. Adding on to your growing anxiety, making you more on edge, terrified that at any moment they would catch a glimpse of whatever dirty secret you were holding in – quite literally. Pulling out your phone, you quickly sent a text.

[12:03 PM]

you: I can’t take this anymore.

hannie: what’s wrong, princess?

You groaned, exasperation coating your breath. Was he playing dumb?

you: you know what I mean, han.

hannie: and what about it?

hannie: if I recall correctly, weren’t you the one who practically begged me to cum inside of you? Was just doing what you asked me to, princess :)

Scoffing in disbelief, you ignore his message, tossing the device straight into your bag, now furious at yourself for agreeing to it.

Stupid dick.

You weren’t even that horny this morning.

The cement walkways on campus greet the three of you as you step through the warm breeze. The sun shining through every leaf on the tall oak trees above you signal the firsts of many beautiful days now that summer is just around the corner. The bright weather is a big contrast to your dampening mood as your feet slowly drag along the blocks, leaving a gap between you and your friends while you try to keep up. You weren’t too keen on walking too fast right now. One wrong shift and you could be at risk of having Jeonghan’s gooey, semi-translucent, and not-so-warm release pooling down from underneath your mound. The two paid no attention to you though, they’re happily chatting about lunch options and the next possible location for studying afterwards. Not that you were going to join them anyways, not until you get the mess in between your legs situated.

“How about donkkaseu?” Mingyu turns around to ask, head whipping back mid-sentence to look at you, only to turn around and see that you’re already gone. His head turns left and right, trying to find you in the crowd of students, squinting his eyes for even a glimpse of your backpack but you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d she go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Minghao gives him a pointed look. “Jeonghan.” He says bluntly.

Jeonghan works downtown, a full hour away from your university. He was a busy man, well-equipped with knowledge and never failed to take pride in his work, no matter what it was. Your boyfriend was a well-wanted individual – not only with people who desperately wanted to be in his inner circle but also in his field of work with the numerous clients fighting for a slot in his schedule. Jeonghan has never-ending project proposals, spending most of his hours reviewing alterations and redevelopments on his building designs – a perfectionist, you often say or an obsession as others might call it. Knowing how serious his job was to him, you made sure not to meddle in with his profession, seeing how much it irritated him whenever he couldn’t concentrate, but this time was different – and you couldn’t hold yourself back from making the journey. You bow as you greet the secretary at the front desk. She takes one look up from her screen and already knows who you’re here for, immediately telling you of your boyfriend’s whereabouts while you nod back in thankfulness.

Pushing the heavy doors to Jeonghan’s office, the first thing you notice were his eyebrows deeply furrowed upon his face, a definite telltale to the attentiveness of the task in front of him. A few coworkers were surrounding him, each hovered over what seemed to be like another one of his drawing plans. At the click of the doorknob, Jeonghan’s head perked up when he saw you enter. A smile threatens to pull at his lips, but he bites them to prevent the joy from appearing. He’s been waiting for you all day. Having expected you to cave in earlier so he could have an excuse to take a long break. The current deal he was working on was getting to his head even though he’s gone over it a couple times already. He just needs a reset, a breather of some sort, … a release. Jeonghan fakes innocence however when he asks why you’re here. Simultaneously, his brain has already got his fingers wrapped around the string – pulling once, twice, three times, officially starting the internal mischievousness in him. A devious idea accelerating right before your very own eyes.

You furiously start making your way towards him, hair flying in all directions, nostrils flared in annoyance, your cheeks flamed red from built-up anger since the early morning you got to school, and the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You were a hot-tempered mess, you knew that but god, all he could think about was how beautiful you look. The way your eyes are rounded with the curvature of your nose bridge, adding on to the natural tint to your soft lips. Your lips that pout ever so slightly whenever you want something, your lips that taste like a mixture of yourself and that artificial strawberry-flavoured chapstick you apply every morning, your lips he so badly wants to feel against his own.

Your voice cuts through, interrupting his trance. “Excuse me, can I speak to you privately for one second?”

“Of course.” Jeonghan grins, dropping the pen as his hands start pushing his body up from the plush chair, quickly dismissing his staff with a wave of the hand. They take a hint as one by one, each of them starts leaving. He stands up, arms already going around your waist to pull you close, “Hi baby, how was your day?” He asks, head tilting as his hands are already reaching up to run his fingers through your hair.

You open your mouth to spew words, anger bubbling in letters as they boil up to the back of your throat but all of which dies down when the fire is turned off. Blocked off after the door is shut behind the last person when his demeanour takes a turn and switches a whole 180 degrees. His plan finally comes into action as his acting skills gear up. Licking his lips, his hands drop as he takes a step closer to you, hovering over your tiny figure. He’s finally got you where he wanted you in the first place. His eyes peer down from the lenses of his wired glasses, “Don’t you know better than not to interrupt me while I’m working?” He pauses. “What do you think my staff will think if you’re here for too long?” The back of his fingers gently trails down your face, almost feather-like as you try to press your face against his palm, leaning more into his touch.

“Guess you couldn’t keep it in, huh? I always knew you were a little slut.” Jeonghan tsked, “Was my cock not enough that you needed a second filling? It’s only been a few hours, darling.”

He starts walking back to his desk, hands going into his pockets as he leans against the edge. It shouldn’t have intimidated you, the way his eyes bore into yours but you gulped anyways, a feeling of excitement stirring in your lower abdomen as you clenched around nothing. You opened your mouth to retaliate, only for it to be shaped like what seems like a silent ‘o’. One of his eyebrows raise, a silent gesture for you to come.

Out of habit, your legs start moving obediently on their own until they reach the fronts of Jeonghan’s dress shoes. Tracing the outline of his long, toned legs hidden underneath the carob brown material of his trousers, you couldn’t help catching onto the small details of the garment. The modern leg-lines seamed in to elongate his legs, waistband wrapped around his torso showcasing his slim but strong build, the button with its holes as imaginary eyes and a crossed thread disguised as lips silently screaming ‘open me, open me!’.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to tear your eyes away from his lower half to look at him. “I thought you came here to say something, but I can practically see the drool coming out of your pretty little mouth, staring at my cock.”

“I-“, He spins you around, positions changed now that you’re the one leaning against the desk. Jeonghan dives his head to capture your lips with his. You’re taken by surprise as a gasp escapes from your mouth while he takes that as a chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your bottom lip; full of need and desire, desperate to let out his frustrations. All your effort is focused on keeping up, molding your mouths together. Your anger is now replaced with lust. His hands are moving down to grip your ass.

Your breath hitches when his lips start trailing down your jaw, gently nibbling the soft skin on your neck before travelling down the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t bother trying to take off your top, opting to unbutton the first few, just enough to expose your lacy bra. Slipping underneath one cup to carefully knead your honey soft skin before latching his mouth onto your nipple, sucking gently but firmly. You whine as he hoists you up and places you on the surface, his face never detaching from your soft and full chest as he quickly pulls your pants off, leaving you in just your soaked panties.

“Maybe it was a good idea to leave my cum in you,” Jeonghan’s fingers hook onto the waistband. He smirks before pulling them down completely, stopping mid-thigh. “Easier to prepare.”

A trail of your slick follows as his digits spread your pussy, using his middle finger to slowly drag up your wet slit. His other hand is gripping your thigh when he reaches down in between, scooping the leftover cum from the previous session and forcing it back into your pussy. You watch with wide eyes only to have them roll back completely when he finishes by stuffing them all the way into you, resulting in a loud moan.

“P-please”

Jeonghan chuckles, satisfied by your reaction. He had you beckoning at his every move yet you were sure the satisfaction still wasn’t enough for him, not just yet. He pulls his fingers out to strip himself of his own pants, popping his member out. The hand with the fingers that were just inside of you is now rubbing all over his cock, using the little beads of precum along with a bit of your slick to pump himself.

Jeonghan’s cock is pretty, like the boy himself. He’s not too big or too small but he knows his angles and he knows how to use them right. Every time the two of you get intimate, which is quite often, his thrusts are sharp, clean and reach to the most inner parts of you – something that leaves soreness inside of you for days. But that doesn’t seem to matter whenever the two of you are having hot and steamy sex five days out of the seven weekly.

“You better stay fucking quiet.”

One hand is gripping your waist for extra support while the other is slowly guiding his length into you. The growl in his voice sends another wave of arousal between your legs, the wetness starting to spill and gather down your thighs. His eyes diverted down to pay attention to the way his length was disappearing inside of you. Each stroke covering his manhood with even more of your juices.

“F-ffuck, baby.” He curses under his breath. “You’re still so tight.”

His voice was breathy, almost like a whine before he picks up his speed, splitting your folds with a sloppy rhythm, expecting to chase both your highs before his coworkers come barging back in. Although the thought of getting caught in such a compromising position arouses him, Jeonghan couldn’t risk letting anyone seeing you in your most vulnerable state. Not when you have all the right curves, exclusive only for his viewing.

At some point, his hands start pulling you into him to meet his every thrust, your tits bouncing as you start feeling the delicious new angle he’s ruining you from. The tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix with every stretch. The familiar feeling of tension starts to build as your eyes squeeze tighter, your orgasm is approaching faster and faster. You’ve never wanted to scream his name out loud so badly when he slams once, no, twice into you, releasing the coil sending intensifying waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. Your tight heat clenching and unclenching around him causing Jeonghan to groan, “Shit.”

“Cum in me.” You insisted weakly. He gives in as he presses himself balls deep, cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, cum shooting in spurts coating your walls in white. The groan emerging from the back of his throat muffled as he quickly smashes his lips onto yours to conceal it. Your muscles move on your own, hiding your own whimper as your lips move together in unison. His body slumps over yours while he rests his head against your shoulder, pressing a light kiss as a way to say thank you.

In the intimacy of the moment, your arms are thrown around his broad shoulders, subconsciously pulling him closer as the two of you try to catch your breaths. When he lifts his head up, his doll eyes are already staring into your glossy ones. A tender smile spreading across his face, pecking your lips one more time before he slowly pulls out. Straight away, the emptiness is evident as his warmth disappears, your hole gaping while he looks down to appreciate the work done on your ruined pussy.

You feel your panties being pulled back up, now snug on your hips as he lets go of the elastic waistband to hear it snap back on your skin.

“Guess you have two loads to keep in now.” A devilish look covering every inch of his handsome face.

“Jeonghan!” you lunged at him. He cackles maniacally, successfully dodging while you attempt to jump on his back. The blood in your veins starts boiling again, both hands reaching up to cover your face when you realize your mistake for the second time today.

Jeonghan’s dick really did make you dumb.

[blouisparadise]

We frequently get asked what our members favorite fics are, so for today’s rec list, we asked each member of BLP to choose FIVE favorite fics for this list - no repeats allowed. Please keep in mind that this is not a complete list of our favorites - there are so many amazing BL fics out there that we all have a lot more than this! Still, we hope you enjoy. Happy reading!

1) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.

Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it. Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

2) Quietly Our Hearts Beat | Explicit | 7539 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis and Harry in the universe of ‘A Quiet Place’.

3) A Love Reaction | Explicit | 9968 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis’s staring up at him, head tilted slightly back, and his blue eyes are glassy, locked with Harry’s in an unblinking and gentle gaze. He looks ready to do whatever Harry says, to please him whatever way.

4) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8854 words

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

5) No Good Unless It’s Real | Explicit | 17021 words

Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

6) A Springtime’s Wilt, An Autumn’s Bloom | Explicit | 20593 words

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

7) Ready To Fall | Explicit | 21220 words

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

8) Written In The Stars (That’s You And Me) | Explicit | 22632 words

Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers.

To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?”

9) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23561 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

10) England Has My Bones | Explicit | 24087 words

The next time Harry thinks about calling, it’s 4.14 in the morning on a Parisian hotel balcony.

11) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 24868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

12) Hold Onto This Heaven (Of Yours) | Explicit | 25213 words

An ode to being too young, too sad, and too in love.

13) The Devil’s In The Details | Explicit | 25372 words

He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks.

“When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?”

Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

14) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27086 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

15) You Fit In My Poems (Like A Perfect Rhyme) | Explicit | 27598 words

The one where Harry works in an old bookshop and Louis is the pretty stranger that ends up stranded there in the middle of a storm.

16) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel

The accidental bonding A/B/O fic.

17) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

18) Stuck On You | Explicit | 33983 words

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

19) Coeur De Pirate | Explicit | 34207 words

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

20) What This World Is About | Explicit | 34472 words

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

21) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

22) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39830 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

23) The Space Between | Explicit | 39917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

24) The Sweetest Incantation | Explicit | 40580 words

Harry is a witch who's still working on developing his powers and Louis is a werecat who falls into his life and turns it upside down.

25) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

26) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

27) Love’s Truest Language | Explicit | 48195 words

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow.

“Where's your order forms, then?”

“I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him.

Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

28) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

The one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

29) Latibule | Mature | 54322 words

A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

30) Warming Up To You | Explicit | 56227 words

Prompt 111: Louis and Harry are strangers that somehow got stranded during a blizzard. They find themselves in an abandoned cabin and have to cuddle for warmth. Cuddling leads to much more.

31) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68214 words

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this.

32) Curly Bun Man | Not Rated | 68597 words

I just paid for these Doritos but they're stuck in the vending machine and I know you've been waiting but I am not going to let you buy something until you help me. AU.

33) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words | Sequel

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

34) Through Struggles, To The Stars | Explicit | 80582 words

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right.

35) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

36) Where You Lay | Explicit | 86038 words

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles.  Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

37) And Down The Long And Silent Street | Mature | 86090 words

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

38) Swim In The Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

39) The Galaxy’s Edge | Explicit | 113921 words

Things never quite go as they are planned during a simple rescue job.

40) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Explicit | 126057 words | Sequel (WIP)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[violetlilysunshine]

He’s Not My Harry

Boyfriend Harry Holland x Actress Reader

Summary: You’re presenting at Comic Con and a fan asks you a question about your relationships with Harry and Tom.

WC: 1,550

Warnings: A little angsty maybe??? But nothing really

A/N: I’ve never been to Comic Con so I don’t really know how it works, also written before Tomdaya, so don’t at me.

REQUESTS OPEN - Or just come chat :)

MASTERLIST - JOIN MY TAGLIST

Your new show was invited to present at Comic Con this year and you were over the moon. You were already planning to go to Comic Con, since Harry would be there with Tom, but now you got to be featured as well. You hadn’t seen Harry in way too long. You and Tom had filmed together in Atlanta, becoming fast friends. After he had introduced you to Harry, you guys hit it off immediately, quickly becoming a couple.

The distance had been pretty hard on the both of you, but you were still going strong after two years. You and Harry made your relationship public just a week before Comic Con, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each other once you reunited. You posted a casual, “Happy two years,” and a cute picture, keeping it short and sweet, mimicking Harrison and Grace. Harry on the other hand seized the opportunity and posted, “Two years. Gotcha beat Haz and Grace,” making sure to tag them both. Luckily, they found it funny and you all laughed it off.

You both had gotten more positive messages than you were expecting, but quite a bit of hate as well. You expected to get some, but didn’t really think people would be sending as much to Harry as they were. You felt really bad about it, but he reassured you over and over that he was fine. The absolute last thing you were prepared for, was how much hate he was getting because the fans were shipping you with Tom instead.

The boys got in last night and Harry called you immediately upon leaving the airport. He texted you again as they were pulling into the hotel and you bolted down the stairs. You found them at the front desk, checking in together and Harry was just taking a room key.

He turned around, spotting you standing by the staircase. His face broke into a giant smile, his eyes lighting up at your presence. You skipped across the room, jumping into his arms immediately as he dropped his bag, his other hand still holding his phone and key as he wrapped it around your waist.

“Hey, Red,” you greeted him quietly in his ear as you snuggled into his neck.

He rubbed his face deeper into your hair, “hi, darling,” he whispered back.

You pulled back slightly, arms still latched around his neck, and pulled him into a deep kiss. You were glad that you’d posted together because you wouldn’t have been able to hold back.

When you pulled away, you saw some fans taking pictures scattered across the lobby, but you weren’t all that worried about it. You’d kind of expected it, and most of their focus was on Tom anyway.

“Alright, you lot, c’mon,” Tom called, picking up his bag and heading towards the elevators.

You unwrapped from Harry, taking his camera bag over your shoulder as he grabbed his larger suitcase.

“Alright, love, so I’m in 615 with Harrison,” he told you as you waited for the elevator, “you can drop by whenever you like, alright?”

“Oh,” you answered in a small voice, smile dropping just slightly.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“Well, I sorta thought maybe you could stay with me...”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know what you wanted to do, so I just got this one with Harrison. It’s connected to Tom’s too, but uh, I’d rather be with you if that’s what you want,” he said with a smile.

“Hey!” Harrison called turning around.

“Sorry bro, but do you really blame me?” Harry said, smirking.

“Whatever, div,” Harrison turned back around, climbing into the elevator behind Tom.

“Okay, we’re in 710,” you told him, as well as Tom and Harrison, passing Harry your second key.

“Maybe I should write the numbers on them so I don’t get ‘em mixed up,” Harry laughed.

You giggled back, looping your arm around his wrist.

~~~~~

Waking up next to Harry was your favorite thing in the world; you loved feeling his arm carelessly thrown over you and his legs tangled with yours. You loved seeing his sleepy morning smile and crazy bed head curls. You loved hearing his raspy morning voice and his grumbles as he awoke. You’d never get enough of it or him.

You rolled over this morning to find his eyes already on you; you smiled gently, bringing a hand up to push the curls off his forehead.

“Morning, baby,” he said, pulling you closer.

“Mmm, hi,” you whispered.

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” he said, leaning forward to kiss along your jawline.

You giggled as his hair brushed over your face, “unfortunately, we both have things to do.”

“Mmm yeah, stupid work,” he grunted, tucking into your neck, pressing a few kisses to your skin before mumbling, “stupid Tom.”

You laughed loudly at that, knowing he was just joking and he didn’t really think badly of his brother.

You giggled again, pulling his head up to kiss him for real. He held your kiss for a moment, before pulling away. He brushed his fingers against your skin under your shirt, just watching you for a moment. You giggled under his intense gaze.

“What time are your panels, darling?” he questioned gently.

You rattled off what you could remember before asking, “why?”

“Well I wanna come to as many as I can o’course! Maybe bring the guys with me just for fun.”

“Mmkay,” you giggled, before pulling him in for a few more slow kisses.

Before you knew it, your alarm was going off, “have to get up and get ready,” you said sadly.

“Me too. Was supposed to be at Tom’s half an hour ago,” he chuckled.

You slapped his chest lightly before rolling out of bed to get ready for the day.

He chuckled deeply, watching you fiddling around and getting your stuff together for a second before getting out of bed to do the same.

~~~~~

You weren’t really expecting anyone to bring Harry up today in your panel, but of course, three questions in, someone said something.

“Hi, um, my question is for Y/N,” the fan said timidly into the microphone.

“Hey, darling!” you cheered with a big smile, “what’s up?”

“Um, well I saw you posted a happy two years with Harry, and I was wondering why you picked him instead of Tom?”

Your face dropped instantly, lips curling down and eyes losing their sparkle. You stared blankly at the fan before asking, “are you serious?” in a low voice.

The fan just looked back at you, nodding only the slightest bit.

You took a deep breath, glancing at the ceiling before opening your mouth. You opened and closed it a few times, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

“I know that the smart thing to do here would be to not answer that question, but I’m going to,” you breathed, “I’m going to answer it once and that’s that,” you said finally. “Let me start with this: I hate that question because it sounds like ‘why’d you settle for Harry when you could have had Tom?’” you paused, “it makes it seem like Harry is less than Tom and that is absolutely not true at all,” you took a break there, breathing deeply.

You noticed fans were beginning to chatter in the audience, pointing at the boys sitting in the front row. You noticed the look on Harry’s face and after that, all you could see was red.

“I don’t need you to point at them, guys, I know they’re there,” you spoke tenderly into the mic, chuckling a little bit so as not to scream.

You continued your answer, speaking slowly, “Tom and Harry are not one-in-the-same. They’re not interchangeable. They are two completely different people. Harry offers me things that no one else in the world ever could. He’s kind and smart and beautiful and confident and genuine and hardworking and so, so incredibly talented and one of the absolute greatest people you could ever surround yourself with,” your voice started to falter as you got choked up, almost crying from anger, “and not that Tom isn’t all of those things, but he’s not my Harry. Tom is great and one of my best friends in the world and I’m so grateful for that, but... I love Harry so much that it hurts,”

You took another break, glancing at the ceiling again to try and keep yourself from losing it, “and if anyone puts him down in front of me again, I’m absolutely going to lose my shit. So…” you trailed off, chuckling again, “so, in conclusion, they’re very different and while Tom is great, Harry is the best. Next question, please.”

You turned to face the fan on the other side of the audience, placing your mic in your lap and tossing your hair behind your shoulder. You took a deep breath, shaking off your anger, and looking at Harry in the audience again. His happy expression had returned now, his eyes brightening and a very small smile gracing his features. You gave him a tight lipped smile back mouthing, “I love you,” to him quickly.

He mouthed, “I love you more,” back, making your smile grow even wider.

TAGLIST:  @samhollandscupcake @spider-barnes @hogwartsmarvelmommy @tulipholland @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cupids-crystals @sunwardsss

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

[vinyleee]

Kisaki (25) x Reader (18+)

tw: death, guns, blood

☆*:.｡. o

you held your breath as you stood between the two burly men that escorted you in the cramped elevator. the light was dim, even so it produced a glare against the scuffed metal. flashes of vibrant lights shown in the windows from the city, green and purple scattered against the thin surface of your red dress. he had requested you wear it tonight, for it was ‘a special occasion’

“damn how much longer is this lift going to take,” one of the guards grunted out looking at the key panel as he fiddled with his gun. he traced the tip of his index finger over the sights, as if preparing himself to aim at someone.

“heh, might take a half hour more for all we know… boss ordered us to take her all the way to the penthouse so it’s not like we can just get off on the next floor.” The other guard replied rolling his shoulders back, fixing his posture.

you released your breath and looked at the guard to your right, still fixed on his gun. you studied the features of his face as he lifted the gun up to look through the sights.

“hmm what’s wrong miss.. heh.. do you want to play?” he chortled when he noticed you staring. ‘here, don’t be shy.’

he placed one large hand on the small of your back, causing you to shiver. “don’t worry im friendly…”he grinned when you put a hand out to stop him from getting to close. he saw it as an opening, he placed the pistol he had been studying in your hand.

the weight of the gun shocked you, but it felt… almost comfortable. as you wrapped your fingers around the handle the gripping rubbed against your skin. it felt natural to you.

you twisted your wrist left and right to see the different angles of the pistol. nothing was rather interesting about the pistol except for a few tally marks, you guess to mark how many victims it had killed.

“hey now what are you doing giving that to her?”the other man bit out as you raised the gun up to see yourself just what the other guard found so enticing about the gun.

“oh come on were just having fun! right little lady?”,the one who handed you the gun chuckled.

you ignored him and looked up to the ceiling, your eyes moving across the space between the dying fluorescent lights. trying to spot a camera or a microphone somewhere you stood up on the tips of your toes and traced your fingers directly above you were standing. there was a slight convex in the metal that you skimmed the tips of your fingers over.

he was watching.

you felt reassured as you brought your hand back down to your side. “here, Ive had enough fun.” you sigh handing the man his gun back.

“oh silly you.. I’m not,” he put the gun back in its holster and placed his hands on your waist. he brought you into his chest and put his nose to the top of your head, breathing in your scent.

“ugh as soon as I take over this place and kill boss, you’re gonna be mine baby…”he said tracing one hand up your exposed back, from the opening of the dress.

“what are you saying?” the other guard said as he pried his partners hands off you. “you’ve lost it haven’t you? do you know who he is? he isn’t just some wanna be gangster… he’s kisaki.”

‘kisaki.’ the word rang through your ears, and left a warmth in your cheeks as if he had just caressed your face. kisaki, your kisaki.

you relaxed instantly at the sound of his name. ‘ah let him do as he pleases.’ you raise a hand up stopping the guards from a fight that neither of them would come back from.

just then the elevator chimes. “for fucks sake about time.”

you let out an exasperated sigh as you stepped out of the elevator. behind you the two men silently cursed at each other as the followed after you.

“stay by my side”, the guard set on stealing your heart said lightly wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling out his gun once more, except this time ready to pull the trigger on anyone who threatened your safety.

the other, more collected, guard walked a few steps in front of you with his gun trained in front of him. he looked down the turns and twists of the hallways that lead to different rooms of kisakis building. he kept his back close to the wall and stuck out his gun first then his head peaked out ever so slightly around the corner.

at the end of the hall you could make out shadows of men pacing back in forth through a crack in the door. suddenly the air around you felt static, why would kisaki call you to his penthouse and have two… very unqualified guards escort you.

your head started to throb as you searched for an answer. each scenario you played out in your head led to someone dying. that was the best case. you didn’t want to think of worse ones, so you stopped to take a deep breath.

‘nothing is going to happen’ you reassured yourself. kisaki would protect you. there was nothing to fear.

as you neared the door to kisakis pent house you heard someone murmur a few distasteful things about you.

“why do you keep that bitch around, she does nothing but distract you boss. your priorities aren’t straight anymore…”

“hmm so that’s how you truly feel,” you heard kisaki laugh.

as you approached the door you pictured the expression kisaki was making as kisaki laughed. his face was probably flushed with excitement, and his eyes were probably just as piercing as ever.

you felt your breath hitch as you thought of his eyes. the way they could make you fear for your life in an instant, turned you on.

closing your eyes yet again, you imagined kisaki restraining your hands above your head and staring you down with those eyes. you imagined him pressing his knee into your dripping pussy and forcing you against the wall.

“ehem”, the guard who had been swatting through turns of each hallway cleared his throat, trying to get your attention.

“hm what is it”, you turned around to face him after he whisked you away from your fantasy.

“we should go inside now before kisaki gets upset that we took so long…” the corners of his eyes squinted as he winced, imagining what would happen to him if he didn’t follow kisakis orders.

“ok then, shall we?” you straighten your shoulders and fix your hair before gently pushing the thick double doors open.

“boss I just think you should…never mind, if you’ll excuse me.” the man who spoke ill of you muttered stepping to the right to avoid coming into contact with the opening doors.

as the doors swung open and the two guards walked into the penthouse you took in as much of the room as possible.

the entire penthouse was made up of windows. lights from the city flooded in making the use of no lights seem rather understandable. kisaki leaned against a mahogany desk directly across from you. his arms folded over his pinstripe vest, his sleeves rolled up exposing the veins from his hands to his forearms. the purple and green lights that had danced across your dress in the elevator now illuminated kisakis figure.

“no,” kisaki gritted through his teeth at the man who wanted so desperately to leave after bad mouthing you. “you stay, and you my darling come here” he raised one finger up and curled it back, beckoning you.

you let out a shaky breath as you stepped forward, your hands bunching up pieces of the red dress he had requested.

“ah why so nervous sweetheart?” kisaki mocked taking long steps toward you, “you look perfect in that dress I ordered for you. as I knew you would.”

“thank you…” you said in a hushed voice, avoiding his eyes.

in a half of a second his hand was on your jaw, pulling your face towards his, “look at me when you speak to me, bitch”

you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden aggressiveness, your face flushed with heat. your head started to spin with anticipation. kisakis lips were inching closer to yours. his breath warm against your mouth.

he licked his lips and smiled as he pulled away, “ah ah ah, not just yet sweetheart we have some business to take care of.”

you shook your head and turned around to see the expressions of the ‘business’. you had known what was going to happen. you turned back around to face kisaki yet again.

he was now sitting on the desk with his legs spread and a mocking smile plastered on his face, “won’t you come sit” he patted his leg.

as you approached him you heart raced, his touch would turn you into a thoughtless animal searching for the pleasure that only he could deliver.

“good girl”, he murmured into your ear, nibbling on it a bit, when you placed yourself into his lap.

you wrapped an arm over his shoulders and placed your other hand on his chest. you ran your hands over the cloth of his vest, eventually you tugged on his tie a bit, begging him silently.

he slid his perfect hands around your waist and pulled you in closer to him. the scent of sage and liquor wafted into your nose as you put your face in the crook of his neck. he was so intoxicating.

“mmm you’re just so impatient tonight hmm” he said tracing a hand up your thigh and under you dress slipping two fingers into your panties.

“boss.” one of the guards whispered, “can we leave?”he rocked back and forth on his heels uncomfortably waiting for a response.

kisaki brought his eyes up to the men and sighed, “cant you see im busy, now be patient and wait for your orders until then.. keep your mouths shut.”

you let out a breath as he turned his attention back to you, biting your collarbone. “ah fuck,” he breathed into your neck. “i just can’t wait to be inside you.” he lifted his head and grinned at you.

you bit your lip as he placed two fingers against your dripping cunt. he rubbed soft, gentle circles into your pussy. your body twitched under his touch, your head felt light and you could feel the heat starting to rise up.

he slid his other hand from your waist directly up to the small of your back while pushing two fingers inside you. he chuckled as he felt you wrap around him in excitement. “oh you want me so bad don’t you slut?” he pushed his fingers deeper inside you. “say it and maybe I’ll give you what you want so bad”

“kisaki I want you… I want you so bad, please.” you whined out gripping his tie tightly.

“aren’t you ashamed, begging for me to fuck you in front of three strangers? mm not so lady like of you.” he said, abruptly pulling his fingers out of you and licking them.

“my apologies gentleman we should get back to business.” he lifted you off of him and placed you on the desk as he stood up. he took his time walking around to reach into a drawer, in which he pulled out a glock.

“kisaki…what’re you doing?” you asked trying to collect yourself after kisaki toyed with you.

“ah don’t worry princess just look at me, ok?” he stepped beside you grabbing your hand and training the gun to the man who had come onto you in the elevator.

“you shouldn’t have underestimated me, I have eyes and ears everywhere. I know what you did to her. offering a women a gun, have you no sense?” kisaki smiled pulling the trigger before the guard could answer in his defense.

you kept your eyes on kisaki even when you heard the guards body thump as he hit the floor. even when you knew the pool of blood that seeped from his corpse would spread out to the furniture. even still, you’re eyes never looked away from kisaki.

you squeezed your legs together when you saw kisakis smile grow and his eyes squint. the light shining in through the windows made him stand out against the darkness of the room. on your own face the light scattered onto you as well.

“now who’s next? hmm?” he chuckled moving his gun back and forth between the last two men. “you, the one bad mouthing my property, and questioning my priorities. you really are so stupid.” again he pulled the trigger. and still you kept your eyes on him. you felt heat rising up in your chest as you watched his smile grow with every person he killed.

“ah, the last man standing.” kisaki released your hand and stood up. he walked over to the last person he was yet to kill in the room. “you did well today, you followed my orders thoroughly. you can leave now. oh but one more thing, call someone to clean this mess up.” he used his gun to point at the bodies sprawled on the floor.

“y-yes sir” the last man stammered out before speeding out the door.

“finally” kisaki raised his arms up as he turns around to face you. “youve been such a good girl you deserve a reward.”

he came back to the desk where you sat cross legged waiting for him to give you the pleasure he denied you before. putting a finger out he removed a strand of hair from your eyes and put it behind your ear.

“do you know how many people I’ve ordered to kill for me? hmm you don’t think I wouldn’t kill for you? after all the things they did to you? stripping you of your clothes with their eyes. you’re mine, and I’ll kill anyone who doesn’t fucking agree. all mine princess, now I think it’s time for you to show me your appreciation. on your knees slut.”

your mouth watered as you slid down to the floor. kisaki rubbed his cock through his pants waiting for you to do as he ordered. unbuttoning his pants you moved one hand up under his shirt to feel more of him. “im getting impatient,” he whispered gripping some of your hair and pushing your face down onto his cock.

you licked circles around his tip and up his shaft, causing him to grunt and pull your hair roughly. you brought your hands up to stroke him as you sucked.

the air was filled with the sound of slurping and choking. you felt him deep in your throat, making you want more.

you’re head bobbed up and down as you picked up speed sucking and licking all around his cock. “ah fuck, just like that” he groaned out throwing his head back with pleasure. your hands came down to your pussy to touch yourself as you pleasured him. the more of a reaction you got from him the worse you needed him.

he pulled you by your hair taking your mouth of off his cock. “did I give you permission to touch yourself?” he leaned down grinning in your face.

“n-no but…” you stammered trying to find the words to say in your fuzzy head.

“then take your hands away from yourself and keep sucking you slut.” he thrusted his cock into your mouth as you brought your hands back up.

you moaned as his dick slid deeper down your throat, you did your best to lick and suck but your movements were getting sluggish from the pleasure.

“cmon,” he whined out thrusting into your mouth, “you can go a little longer. isn’t this what you wanted bitch? or would you rather be riding me right now?”

you looked up at him through watery eyes trying to beg him to give you the pleasure you needed so badly.

he pulled out of your mouth and picked you up laying you down on the table.

“youve done enough, good job princess.” he sighed kissing you lips gently before climbing on top of you. his face hung inches away from yours as he smiled, “since you were so impatient earlier I’ll give you what you want, but I cant promise I’ll be nice.”

he slid the dress of off you from your shoulders, following that he ripped off your panties and bra. he spread open your legs and licked circles around your nipples as he thrust into you.

you moaned out his name in surprise, he wasn’t going to go easy on you. you gripped the sides of the desk as he continuously thrust into your dripping pussy.

suddenly he stopped, taking off his glasses and shoving his tongue down your throat. “you’re insides feel so fucking good” he breathed as your tongues met. he sucked and bit your lip when you released the kiss for a breath, a string of saliva attached your mouths.

“ah ah ah, you don’t get any breaks.” he laughed breathlessly while groping your titties. you let out small whimpers as he slowly started to thrust into you again.

his breathing became erratic and his hands came up to your thighs as he came to his climax. “so fucking close, princess” your insides twitched around him as you neared yours as well.

you felt him twitch inside you as he came, “ah fuck” he whined out, moaning your name.

your hands came up to his face as he thrusted into you slowly, his movements becoming more sluggish. his face was flushed and wet with sweat. the slowness and sweetness of his movements felt even better then when he was going fast.

“ah kisaki…” you released onto his cock as you gripped his tie. he shoved his tongue down your throat yet again not allowing you a break from the pleasure.

“you can hold on a little longer cant you doll.” his warm breath breezed over your face as your eyes teared up once more.

“y-yeah” you gasped trying to catch your breath.

he shoved himself deeper inside you causing your back to arch and you to moan out his name. “god that’s what I wanted to hear, your pretty little voice… now I won’t stop till I have you screaming out my name.”

he placed a hand on your cheek and smiled devilishly, hearing you moan out so desperately gave him his motivation to go rough back.

your mind was flooded with pleasure as kisaki railed into you on the desk. by the end of the night all you knew was the sound of skin clapping against skin and the squelching noises of your fluids mixing with his. all you felt was kisaki inside you, so deep you could feel him in your guts.

you watched his desperate expression as he made you cum over and over again, the smile that stretched across his face every time you moaned out his name and begged him to make you cum. all you wanted was the taste of his mouth in yours. you wanted to feel his tongue in your mouth like two dancers performing a waltz.

you came over and over again to kisaki until you had nothing left. “kisaki… ah… please stop.. I cant cum anymore.”

“oh baby i know you have more in you.” he grinned as he slammed into you faster and whined as the pleasure was getting to be too much for him too.

“ah.. kisaki.. I’m gonna…” before you could get it out kisaki started sucking on your titties as he slowed down the pace.

“i thought you had nothing left.” he laughed when he felt you twitching around him again.

“i didn’t ” you whimpered, hands coming up to his back tugging on the fabric of his vest he didn’t have time to take off.

your body twitched under him as you held onto him, the pleasure wouldnt stop. slowly he pulled his sopping cock out of your twitching pussy and started leaving love bites all over you.

“ahh it still feels…” Kisaki shushed you before you could continue

“just relax,” he said combing his fingers through your hair and sitting you up. “I went to far im sorry. I… I just wanted you to know I’d do anything, for you.”

you relaxed into his arms and closed your eyes. you knew, even if he didn’t kill those men for you, and even if he didn’t pleasure you past your limit. you knew.

“thank you kisaki…”

authors note: this was my first serious ff so im sorry if it ended weird.. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I hoped you enjoyed it either way (^_−)−☆